Markets in Hania

Nervousness enveloped me as I arrived in Hania - more so than the pressure that I had built up in my head to do with the market project. Where would I go, how would I get the information needed, would it take the whole course of the trip (seven days) to obtain one or two pictures and an interview!? All these thoughts spiralled in my mind although other things like the rapid speed of the taxi driver on the dual carriage way SHOULD have been more of a concern but nope it wasn’t!

The perception of Hania upon arrival was certainly a different one than the one that stayed with me for the duration. The enclosed village type area where I was staying, was not a real reflection but simply a judgmental illusion that I had made up!

Fresh shrimp, lamb, mullet and a throat warming complimentary beverage of ‘Reikia’ was my great welcome to Hania and all in the short space of time from my arrival! The fresh sea breeze upon my face and a mere introduction to the Cretian hospitality was a treat.

With the Laundry members already settled I was told that there was an outdoor market not so far from where we were staying.

The heat was hot, it was superb, this island was certainly proving to be a little paradise with the sea not far away, the mix of a western town but still illuminating signs of history, with ancient pathways and embedded monuments still in tact. I walked up a very steep hill, not far from what seemed to be a government building with flags outside. I trekked up the hill and when I reached I wasn’t sure which way I had to head: Left or Right?. Going with my instincts, which, was correct I walked towards left first. There were open stalls consisting mainly of textiles, clothes and K Shoes - yes there were brand new Hush Puppies also - the smell of real leather and suede hit me - I knew that I would be getting a great deal, well only if they had my size! The sizes of course were small, probably confirming the fact that the people on this island tend to be very small!

Five minutes into my ‘market victim’ escapade I bumped into my first Market Trader he reminded me on an older version of Colombo! He had an array of goods, mainly plastic nitbits, board games, quite simply the kind of things that people get rid of in their homes or that I find in my Grandmothers house. I do hate to use the work junk, but well, it was glorified junk! I asked him how long he had been working at this particular market to which he replied many years - he seemed quite laid back, not really stressed by the need for making money. I took a few pictures of him and he remained very patient. Before I left him I couldn’t resist but tell him that he reminded me of a Cretan Colombo to which replied to me ‘I am Colombo!’ and that made my day. Colombo suggested that I head towards the right, to the other part of the market as it was a long walk and it would be closing in a couple of hours.

Fruit, veg, and cheese stalls occupied the next part of the market, it seemed like traders were selling replicas of each others goods, but upon closer inspection it was very clear that although the goods looked the same, they were unique to each trader. After all, if you grow your own produce, it is likely to be different from someone else’s - even if it is a minute difference. Families, brothers, sisters, boyfriends and girlfriends managed stalls and most were open to me taking pictures. I received a more positive response than some of those markets that I had covered in the UK. The hostility just wasn’t here! (Take that, Brixton Market) - the people were happy and although I did get a few traders that didn’t want their picture taken, I can’t say that I was running off scared that they’d arrest me or shoot me with a shot gun hidden in between bits of fruit or a sweet potato or two.

Walking further along the street, music permeated the whole area. With an element of paparazzi, I slowly approached my prey, and mimed ‘photo’ to a man with the Lyra and to my surprise I was welcomed.  The man with the Lyra started playing faster. I felt like exposing some sort of belly dance routine, the sounds of the Lyra seemed a little partial to an Arab influence. This of course is something I dare not mention. Ottoman occupation of Hania tends not to be spoken of - in fact they do not appear to teach it in History class in Crete.

After I had taken the photo the man ushered me to another stall where he frantically tried to find a pen. He wrote down his address on a piece of cardboard (in Greek) and motioned for me to send the photo.

Not far from there, I met a gentleman called Bill - he begged me to take pictures of his stall and introduced me to his brother. Again, I was presented with a scrap piece of paper, which contained an address. This became a bit of a habit as I made my way towards the end of the market; nevertheless, it worked well for me because I managed to get loads of pictures!

At the end of my market trek I was approached by Bill again who gave me a big bag of tomatoes - they were huge - delicious also - Luandry Member and Artist Alicja Rogalska ravenouely ate  them up - she said that in Poland they eat them like Apples - they certainly were big and juicy enough!

It wasn’t just tomatoes I was rewarded with - another trader gave me a big orange, another an apple, I really felt like the days work had been a special social experience.
The centre of Hania near the harbor clarified a particular tourist presence - American and German OAP’s seemed to be a favourite, each clones of one  another in their  khaki type shorts, open toe sandals and bum bags!  In fact it was these OAP’s who probably outdid me in my day trip to the Mountains in Omalos. I took a coach early in the morning and half way through my mountain stint, I started to wonder whether the coach that dropped me off would be waiting for me at the end of the walk. Of course, I found out that this was not the case and that the coach I had arrived on would be waiting right at the top where it dropped me off. It was inevitable. Those four hours of walking the seven and a half hour ramble would now be reversed. Furthermore, there was only one coach that would pick me up otherwise I would be stranded. I used a stick to guide myself back up the mountains, sweating and puffing - I used a natural water fountain for my salvation. I did make it in the nick of time. But the coach was an hour late! In this time I met a lovely South African lady who lived in Norway as a translator for Gender Equality in Government. I was invited for dinner later on that evening where I also met her friend - a translator for environmental issues in government.

On those days that I had spare time, I would pop down to the workshop where young people from a local school were preparing for an exhibition on their ‘multi-cultural Hania’. I enjoyed contributing my ‘artistic’ skills and being educated about their cultural heritage and how they envisaged their creative piece. It was certainly satisfying to see them put together this showcase, this masterpiece.

The day before I left, I learnt that there was another street market along the pier. The prospect of another venture through a market place was unavoidable.  Although my last venture consisted of being chased, begged and ushered to take pictures of traders, I was looking forward to the motivating delights my work was presenting.

On my walk towards the market, my eyes caught sight of the convincing DNG bags being sold by two friends from West Africa. I happily browsed through the bags on offer and with my distinct taste my eyes fell upon a ‘non-designer’ bag. It certainly was original, real leather with intricate embroidery upon the front. I haggled with the salesman and in true Cheema style received a bargain. I agreed to pay and collect on my way back from the market.

I walked right into the market, which was openly occupying a road running parallel to the sea front. As I walked down, I acted like a tourist taking pictures - again I was granted permission to take photographs. Continuing my path along the market, I heard a familiar voice ‘Seeeemmmmiii, Seemmmmiiii’ I turned around to see Bill the market trader from the other street market. He introduced me to another brother of his, then urged me to come to his stall where he picked out fresh tomatoes, placed them in a bag and gave them to me. Second time around! Heading towards the end of the market, I came across Colombo again! He explained that the Government keep on trying to move the market around because they think that it is untidy on the island. Colombo went onto mention how there was another location that this market operated at - on top of a hill also.  I started to see some familiar issues to those in the UK, with some Council Gestapo trying to drive out certain market places - using those same ‘transfer’ techniques.

Albanians and a few Romanians seemed to inhabit the last part of the market walk - most very open for me to take pictures and those with a presence that you wouldn’t push too far (Brixtonian mannerism tends to roll off my tongue).

This was the end of my market experience, it was the day before I was due to leave but I felt fulfilled not by the opportunity to take pictures, but the ability to meet and bond with those who did not know how to speak English, but yet participated and understood what I was doing. A lot of the traders looked out for me and spread good words to other traders whilst I was doing to market trail and this in itself was very humbling.

Hania is an appealing place to visit, I can see why people like to return often. There is a unique hospitality (not talking about the Albanian Ganja on offer either), but it is the Cretans proud grasp of their culture and willingness to share their heritage that makes this island a special place.

Simret is a young artist, working in video and photography. She has worked on a variety of projects, from running a weekly a weekly film club for troubled teenagers teaching them how to use camera and editing equipment to assisting Paris based artist Esther Shalev Gerz on a West Midlands project.