Anne, June, 2015


Late, that I found your site, but not too late.

I still remember the atmosphere when I arrived in Matala in 1970. I saw pictures from the caves in the German magazine ‘twen’ and hitchhiked all the way through Yugoslavia. At this time, you were fully responsible for your life with 21 years and I was only 20, so I always avoided to get in contact with police. I had some money from working in a factory for half a year, maybe 800 German Marks, and that was it, but I was on my way to India and I made it. But that’s another story.


In Matala I fell in love immediately to an American guy. Mac had a cave on the left side of the hill and we could hear the drums from the caves opposite and see the flickering light from the fireplaces. Of course nobody had a photo camera; we were Hippies and would not steal other peoples soul through a camera. And of course we would not use sun protecting cream, we were HIPPIES and let the nature do their thing. One day, after spending 10 hours at Red Beach on a strong LSD trip, I was so burned, that packages of yoghurt on my body did not help any more.


I listened to the white album in the small cafenéon that was run by the only communist in Matala in this Military Regime Time. And that was the last time, I saw the beach of Matala the way it was. Next day I took the bus to Mires to see a doctor for my sunburn and when I came back, the road into Matala was closed by soldiers. All our rucksacks were laying outside the village. They didn’t want us there any more and we could not see any of our greek friends and neighbors. The caves were full of soldiers and they used our homes as a toilet. We saw the flashlight from cameras in the caves and weeks later you could read the articles about dirty hippies and photos to prove that. I was already on my way to India, but that’s another story.


Greetings, have a good day,