June 14th 2002

Alain de Botton has written another book, philosophising about the art of travel. I am glad to see philosophy presented as a meaningful and practical pursuit. It's quite popular for some reason, possibly because of the millennium and the existential reflection that went with it. Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder was a major best seller and is partly a mini-philosophy course. And de Botton's last philosophy book was made into a TV series. But he's a bit prim and smug; I think it's because he focusses on classical ideas. His version of philosophy tends to exclude feelings and the reality of non-rational, emotional logic. He considers, for example, the disparity between how you think a foreign place will be and its experiential fact. This becomes an intellectual question where it may be valid to maintain your idea about the other place by never actually visiting it.

The idea we have about something is not equivalent to its physical and emotional fact; life is - fortunately - far more than mental apprehension. 'Being philosophical' can become excessive intellectualism.

I've been to Crete six times now, and still enjoy it. Three times I went with a girlfriend; the other three I was on my own. I'm familiar with most of the south coast; I stayed at a north coast resort just once and won't repeat that: I prefer to find the smaller places, travelling around as I wish.

I once went to a lecture at a Spanish cultural institute, where an expatriate writer was talking about his books. He compared Spain to life in Britain and said that "Spain is therapy". 'Therapy' is now a term for anything that makes you feel good; I have no doubt Spain does that, and I want to visit. But it does not have what I like about Greece: simple, friendly, inexpensive, and beautiful island living. There are plenty of unspoilt villages nestling between the lovely mountains, and the dazzling blue sea.

Like most people, my life is complicated; Cretan living is relatively simple, like the landscape, where ordinary human concerns make up the texture of the day. A simple environment affects the mind; it calms you and you gradually fit into a slower pace of life. The hot sun, mountains, limited transport, and island mentality have their own rhythm.

This time, I went first to Mirtos. It is a genuinely pretty village - unlike the manufactured prettiness of some other Greek locations. The people were warm and hospitable, and if you went back to a taverna a second night, you started to become their friend. One hostess greeted people with her arm on your shoulder, or inside your own arm. At about 10 o'clock one night I heard Greek music and two of the men there were treating us to a spontaneous and unaffected show of traditional dancing. Children wander around, sometimes holding the hands of younger toddlers, happy and secure. The village is their playground.

Much as I liked Mirtos, it lacked a good beach and after 5 days it was time for a change. I decided to get a taxi to Lendas - relatively extravagant (over two hours across the mountains - and he presumably had to return), but still ridiculously cheap by UK standards at less than £40. The alternative was a long and arduous journey north and then back south, across the island. I hadn't planned to visit Lendas; originally it was the alternative choice, from guidebook descriptions.

A German woman who worked at Mirtos said "you can't compare" the two villages, because "Lendas is in the mountains". True enough in a way, but you can still compare the two kinds of experience. Lendas is even smaller, is not as pretty and does not have such an established - and welcoming - Greek community, but the setting is far more dramatic. It is very popular with Germans, and is one of those places where beach hippies live in tents - on what is a very good beach.

Eastern Crete is surprisingly fertile; the view from a bus is occasionally like the green UK countryside. Lendas is as simple and dramatic as any place on Crete. I liked it, and may well return. My idea about it is linked to the experience I had, and integral to that is recognising how the environment affected my thinking rhythms. Thought - and philosophy - is not a hermetically sealed activity with no material or emotional reference. It is, rather, part of a wider context.

My Bus Journey