"Xdfvkbirier!"
Ha ha ha!
"Drtbbkiopsw!"
Ha ha ha!
"TYECVBJOPFEE!"
HA HA HA!

It was an early morning bus and although I could not understand what the Greek people were saying, I enjoyed their warmth, friendliness and humour. It began amongst the passengers, and then the driver responded over his loudspeaker. It was as if they all knew each other, but their acquaintance was mostly just shared commuting.

The majority got off at a mountain village, and ten minutes later teenagers started to board. I knew from an earlier conversation that there was a school in Mires - the destination - serving the children of the surrounding mountains. We were held up by a flock of sheep on the road. What a great excuse: it's not my fault I'm late, it was the sheep!

I enjoyed the mountain scenery - what was, for them, like my regular walk to the newsagents. I managed to convey to the ticket collector where I was going, and he managed to explain that I had to change to another bus at Mires, about halfway into the journey. Time for a quick stop at the nearest taverna, full of elderly men taking their morning coffee. I asked for the same - a small, strong, Greek coffee, which always comes with a glass of water to dilute the caffeine and provide your body with some much needed fluids.

The sun was hot, early in the morning. It was the end of my holiday and I'd had enough of it - rather than take the opportunity to soak it up, trying to antidote months of UK sun-starvation, I sought the shade and wore a hat. I was surprised to see the same ticket collector on my next bus, arriving from the opposite direction.

About an hour later, the urban scrawl of Heraklion began to appear. Half finished buildings, Super Markets, car dealers and chemists advertising Cellu-Stop for women. During my journey, it was strange to see both elderly black-clad women and young girls cross themselves whenever they saw a roadside crucifix, and at the beginning and end of their journey. Like they were hypnotised, but didn't realise it: if you asked them why they did it, you knew what the answer would be. And yet, how do they know it's true? How is it different from any other story in a book? - apart from the fact that millions of people are familiar with the same narrative, and believe that believing it somehow changes their spiritual position. "A belief is not a fact", as a wise man said to me once. They did not cross themselves in the city, where religious narrative is replaced with the narrative of commerce, and life is so much faster, more frantic and competitive. People folded their arms in Heraklion; no one did that in the mountains.