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About Heraklion

Lemme paint ya a picture, dawg. Last time I got one, I’m laid out, lights dim, some chick’s hands workin’ magic. Felt like that line from *The White Ribbon*—“It’s a strange thing, isn’t it?”—‘cept ain’t no creepy village vibes, just pure bliss, ya feel me? Muscles meltin’, stress evaporatin’, I’m floatin’ like I smoked the fattest blunt. But yo, what pissed me off? Some spots charge crazy stacks, like $200 for an hour! Man, I ain’t droppin’ that kinda green for a rubdown, even if it’s sexy as fuck. Made me wanna yell, “Who did this? Who’s to blame?”—straight outta the movie, dawg.

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It offers nothing special over other islands but it is horribly expensive and feels overcrowded even before high season has started. Many beaches are mediocre.

Anyway, I pay up, and it’s delish. I’m munching away, feeling good, when suddenly, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and it’s a bunch of tourists tripping over each other on the steps of the Apollo Theater. Classic! I can’t help but laugh. They’re all like, “Opa!” and I’m just standing there, shaking my head.

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