One Night at The Doge Hotel

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  Chania, Greece
Saturday, May 24, 2008

Arriving in Chania near dawn as I did yesterday, I missed a few of the nightlife and the appointments of my room. Both worth a few words here after my first night. The Doge (or Dodgy, as I prefer to think of it now) is one of many old Venetian houses that's been converted to a "hotel" offering rooms above one of many gift shops that line the alleys and lanes just up from the harbor. Mine, on the top floor is fairly comfortable, with a dark wood ceiling and a beautiful 19th c. carved wooden bed draped with gauzy muslin mosquito netting. It has a sink, a hotplate and a curious assortment of dishes, pots and utensils. Other decor aside from a couple of cane chairs consists of several empty candelabra.Wooden shutters open to the street below and if I lean out the window far enough I can see a slice of the wharf and harbor framed by the shops a block away at the end of the street. The air conditioner near the ceiling works off a remote that's missing batteries. (The proprietor has supplied some by the time I get back from dinner, but the remote still appears not to work.) The bathroom is straight out of Hitchcock, lit by a small, fluorescent bulb above the sink that flickers on with a few electrical snaps like a bug zapper, but does little to penetrate the shadows of the small shower and makes shaving a bit of guesswork. The management has skipped frippery like shampoo and bath soap.

When I return to the room around 10, it's still quite stuffy so I open all the shutters and windows, read a little by the dim light near the bed and fall asleep the sound of the crowded wharf.

Young Greeks are full of passion and brio and possibly quite a bit of beer. This is never so apparent as it is when the waterside bars close around 2.30 in the morning. Endless legions of bellowing, squealing, whistling and signing revelers pass under my window, sometimes growling on scooters, all at top volume, celebrating the pre-dawn hours of a new day. I scarcely have time to appreciate it all as the parade lasts only until 5.30 or so. Then, for another 30 minutes or so, aside from a few stragglers who need to yell even louder to compensate for their small number, it's silent again and I ind myself drifting off again. But the street can remain silent only so long and at 6 sharp, with the first light of dawn, a garbage truck groans slowly up the street, coughing, slamming and heaving its way to the end of the block before slowly backing all the way back again. Once more, I nod off as the first birds begin to sing and then wake again to the stentorian conversation of two old street cleaners.

My night's research indicates the best time for sleeping is between 10 and midnight and 6.15 to 7.30. After that, shopkeepers arrive and start clanging open the metal grates and sliding doors and dragging racks of souvenirs out from the backs of the shops amid much loud and spirited debate. When this begins I find any further attempt at sleep far too exhausting and try something else instead.

After a quick shower with dish liquid, I find myself the only guest in the little breakfast room at the bottom of the stairs. The girl who doesn't speak English brings me a cup of hot coffee. I watch her in the kitchen putting various breads on my plate while she unsuccessfully stifles a sneeze. She blows her nose into a handkerchief and retrieves my cheese and ham toast from the toaster oven, adds a small cup of yogurt and breakfast is served.