I lost my wallet in Budapest.

I lost two pair of reading glasses as well. Not all at the same time.

No, the losses were sprinkled over time but just close enough to each other to move mild annoyance into eye rolling, I-want-to-kick-myself frustration!

Not exactly a big story but it's worth mentioning that while losing your wallet, and the license inside, isn't the end of the world, it does make it hard to hire cars from the usual outlets. 

Thankfully some dodgy Greek scooter hire companies didn’t care so much, which made exploring Crete somewhat more possible.

That softened the blow having to wear glasses from a Hungarian supermarket for the next few months. 

And I say 'somewhat possible' because 125cc scooters don't pack much punch and struggle with longer distances, Crete's hills and winding mountain roads.

They struggle with highways as well; you have to ride on the shoulder to let cars pass you.

And corners, they don't do corners very well. The front wheel can slide out from under you if you’re not careful.

Comfort? Hmmm, much more that 45 mins and you feel it!

Come to think of it, outside of weaving between traffic in town and easy parking, they're quite limited. 

But given the alternative, which was no vehicle, I was in no position to complain.

Because of their fuel capacity, speed limitation and general comfort, my range wasn't much more than a radius of about an hour.

For that reason, and purely by chance, it turned out that staying in Chania was a good choice as I was able to get to Samaria Gorge, Choni beaches, some mountain villages whose names escape me, and other spots along the coast.

The hairiest moment on a scooter was on the southern side of Crete around Plakias.

There are fewer tourists around Plakias which gives it a very different vibe. It's also significantly less built out, without the shops, restaurants or old town districts to attract large numbers of tourists.

The mountains here are closer to the sea, olive groves are everywhere to be seen, churches sit on top of hills, and monasteries amongst them.

Between and cutting through the mountains are beautiful canyons and gorges that mainly run north-south, which make for a picturesque bus ride from the north side of the island. 

The water was cooler as well, a welcome relief from the bath-warm waters around Chania.

But there was the wind. The Meltemi. A howling, all day and night, gale force wind that lasted 5 days. It might have lasted longer; it was blowing when I arrived and still blowing when I left.

Around Plakias the Meltemi took on a whole new dimension. The wind races down the slopes of the mountains and picks up force as it gets funnelled through the gorges and canyons, before blowing out to sea toward Africa with brute force.

If you were unlucky enough to be out on a boat, I'm sure that's where you'd end up.

I was on a featherlight scooter, so my only concern was being blown over, or blown sideways by violent and sudden gusts into oncoming cars, or perhaps down a hillside.

The helmet might have spared my head in such a fall, but the volcanic rocks would have torn me to shreds.

I figured the best strategy was to ride with my legs extended out in case I was blown over.

I headed west so I could find a place to take photos of the spray and eventually found a barren point of sharp, jagged volcanic rock.

The wind was so strong it would occasionally knock me off balance while standing. I lost skin off my shins when I couldn't stay upright after one particularly violent gust.

At times the wind would come from east and west as it wrapped around the point, producing opposing banks of spray that would blow toward each other out to sea. Other times, little twisters would appear and blow themselves out.

I spent a few hours taking photos and clambering around the rocks, trying to pick my way down the rocks to the water, an idea I gave up on quickly.

Sharp rocks, deep crevices, blow-you-over wind, solo traveller; not a good combination.

As uncomfortable and dangerous as the wind was, it beathed some life into me, made me feel exhilarated, a welcome change from hot oppressive sameness of each day around Chania.

I edged my way back to town, happy with my haul of images, legs astride my scooter and doing my best to stay upright.

That night, like every night before, I listened to the relentless howl as I went to sleep, with the addition of some scraped shins.