The Big Roof Drama

Hello friends, family, and fellow dreamers!

It’s time for another update from our dusty (but slowly rising) corner of Crete! When we last wrote about our construction, we had just finished the foundation and were proudly staring at our freshly poured columns, slightly dazed from wrestling with Greek bureaucracy and praying to the water gods for mercy. Spoiler alert: those gods are moody.

Fast forward to early June, and the concrete jungle gym of columns had grown into a full-blown forest of steel and wood. It was time for the big pour—the upper floor slab! On June 23rd, everything was set. Literally tons of rebar were in place, the formwork stood tall and proud, and the concrete trucks rumbled through the village like Greek chariots. What could go wrong?

Ah yes. Water. Again.

Despite Michel’s repeated reminders that summer water rationing is a Thing here—and that it should really be part of the planning—the taps went dry exactly when we needed them most. On a +30°C day, with fresh concrete baking in the sun, this is every builder’s nightmare. Concrete needs water to cure, or it crumbles like week-old koulouri.

Thankfully, our wonderful neighbor (with a different water source) came to the rescue. His well had some flow, though not quite enough for the sprinkler system, so Michel himself resorted to hand-watering the slab like it was a particularly demanding olive tree. Miraculously, just as the final trowel passed over the surface, our own supply came back on. Sprinklers engaged. Crisis averted. For now.

The concrete cured over the next (very hot) ten days, during which we could finally climb up to our future guest apartment and enjoy the breathtaking view over the Aegean sea—via a medieval-looking self-built ladder, because of course. But hey, sunsets from up there? Worth it.

Next: the roof. Same dance: columns, steel, formwork… and another looming date with destiny (and a concrete truck). On July 17th, it was time to pour the roof. Michel double-checked: “Water ok?” Builder: “Yes, yes, all fine, don’t worry.” Famous last words.

At 10:15 that morning, Michel left with Jasmin and Jane for a vet visit and a well-deserved coffee run in Chania. At 11:00, the phone rang:
“There is no water – they closed the supply!”

Michel: “…Use the neighbor’s water again!”
Builder: “It’s not my job. I can’t use the sprinkler. I have to leave. Not my problem.”
Michel: “…You can’t leave. The roof will—”
Builder: “Bye.”

So instead of sipping coffee in the old town of Chania, Michel found himself back on-site by 12:00, hose in hand, sun blazing, watering the roof like a Cretan fireman. Six hours of concrete babysitting followed. Jasmin brought supplies—hat, lunch, and some cold beers—and we somehow made it through. The architects scrambled to send an express water delivery, but it arrived at 14:00, way too late. The roof, however, was saved. The mood? A little less so.

Let’s just say that the communication between builder and architect reminded us more of a broken walkie-talkie than a construction team. And while no roofs were harmed in the making of this story, our patience took some serious damage.

But hey, life (and construction) moves on.

Soon after, the brick walls went up—finally giving us a real sense of rooms, corners, and cozy nooks. The dimensions are clearer, the light is amazing, and yes, we had to move one wall because it was in the wrong place. But that’s just part of the fun, right?

Drywall is now underway, and decisions are flying at us faster than you can say “Kalimera.” In true Greek fashion, much of the planning happens a day before execution. Or the morning of. Or sometimes… during. We’ve learned to breathe, laugh, and say “ok, let’s improvise!”

Oh, and the best part? Tired of waiting for approvals and shifting blame, Michel took things into his own hands and organized our official water access himself. One day later, we had water running on the property. That’s right. After months of “mañana” and confusion, it was sorted in 24 hours. If only we knew this and had done it sooner! (Insert image of Michel pulling his hair out.)

So here we are, one roof, one heroic hose session, and a couple of gray hairs later, finally seeing our dream home take shape. The walls are talking (well, echoing), the sunsets are stunning, and while Greek planning might not be their strong suit, we’re slowly finding our rhythm.

More dramatic updates soon.

With love from Crete,
Michel, Jasmin and Jane