One More Kilometre

Sometimes the finish line moves—but the dream remains the same.

When we boarded the early morning flight from Zurich to Chania on 18 June, we genuinely believed this would be one of the easiest trips of our entire house project.

No long holiday. No sightseeing plans. Just a few days to carry out the final inspection, coordinate the furniture deliveries and prepare everything before the whole family – including our four dogs – moves into our new home for four weeks in July.

Simple, right?

Well… if you’ve been following our journey for a while, you probably already know that things rarely go exactly according to plan.

Hope is a stubborn thing

This was already the fourth time we had been told that the house would finally be ready.

Inside: completed, deep cleaned and ready to move in.

Outside: yes, construction would still be ongoing, but that was perfectly fine.

For the second time we decided not to book an Airbnb. During our April visit we had ended up renting one anyway because the house simply wasn’t ready.

This time we believed—or perhaps hoped—it would be different.

Hope can be wonderfully optimistic.

Hope can also be incredibly naïve.

The moment we knew

The daughter of our main architect welcomed us because the architect herself was unavailable that day—even though she had known about our visit for weeks and had received several reminders.

No problem, we thought.

Let’s finally see our home.

The front door opened.

The very first thing we saw wasn’t our beautiful new entrance.

It was expensive tile cutters, buckets and construction equipment stored in our living room.

Jasmin looked at me.

I looked at Jasmin.

Neither of us had to say a word.

We both knew.

This wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

Apparently, “deep cleaned” means different things

To be completely fair, many things looked really good.

The house itself is beautiful.

The workmanship of many individual trades is excellent.

The tiling looks fantastic. The carpenter has done wonderful work. The overall design is almost what we had dreamed of.

But “deep cleaned” clearly means something different depending on who you ask.

For us it doesn’t include:

• paint marks on white walls,
• dusty corners,
• holes in ceilings,
• unfinished door frames,
• scratched windows,
• saw dust hiding in cabinets.

So, our very first request was simple:

“The cleaners need to come back.”

That apparently opened an unexpected discussion.

“Isn’t it already clean?”

“Do they really need to come again?”

I looked over to Jasmin.

Her face answered before she even spoke.

This wasn’t about being difficult.

This was about finishing what had been promised.

Let’s just say… my voice became a little firmer than usual.

Eventually, cleaners were arranged for the following morning.

Small victory.

A swim can fix more than you think

After unloading furniture that had already been delivered that morning—and after moving everything we had stored since April—we both felt exactly the same.

Frustrated.

Misunderstood.

And perhaps worst of all, questioning ourselves.

“Are we expecting too much?”

“Are we really that complicated?”

So, we did what Crete has taught us many times before.

We went to the sea.

There is something deeply healing about walking into the still refreshing Mediterranean while the evening sun turns everything golden.

Floating in the water.

Looking back towards the White Mountains.

Breathing.

It reminds you why you started this crazy adventure in the first place.

Sometimes you don’t need answers.

Sometimes you simply need salt water.

The end of an era

Later, while enjoying our Freddo Espresso at our favourite beach club “Poseidon” in Agia Marina, we chatted with Vangelis, one of the owner’s son.

What he told us made us unexpectedly sad.

His father’s long-term business partner Michalis had retired.

Most of the old team had left.

And after decades, the main owners of the property had decided not to renew the lease.

By next year, the beach club will no longer exist.

Fourteen years ago, during one of my first trips to Crete, I swam exactly here.

Since then, Georgios, Michalis, Pedro and the rest of the team have welcomed us year after year.

Some places become part of your personal story.

Watching them disappear feels strangely emotional.

It is another reminder that time never stands still.

Our first night at home

That evening we slept in our own house for the very first time.

No air conditioning yet.

The heat pump still wasn’t fully operational.

But surprisingly, we didn’t need it.

The insulation worked wonderfully and the cool sea breeze flowed naturally through the apartment.

It was incredibly quiet.

Almost unbelievably quiet.

Until sunrise.

Because…

…we also don’t have curtains yet.

The Cretan sun is a wonderfully reliable alarm clock.

Testing… and discovering

Friday became “testing day.”

Jane’s bed was delivered and assembled.

The cleaners returned.

I walked through the remaining paint work together with the painter.

Then we started testing all appliances.

Which was an excellent idea.

Because within minutes we discovered:

One toilet cistern wasn’t working properly.

The washing machine leaked spectacularly when pumping out the water.

The bathroom briefly transformed into a private indoor swimming pool.

On the positive side…

…at least the floor drain worked perfectly.

Another phone call.

Another escalation.

The plumber—who should already have been there on Thursday or Friday—was nowhere to be found.

Only after another rather direct conversation was a Saturday visit arranged.

He arrived.

With his family.

Weekend clothes.

No tools.

So instead of fixing anything, we could only show him what needed fixing.

We sincerely hope everything has now been repaired.

Unfortunately, we still don’t know.

Communication remains… let’s call it “a work in progress.”

The real challenge isn’t building

Many people ask us what the hardest part of building a house in Crete is.

The workers?

No.

The craftsmanship?

Definitely not.

The bureaucracy?

Sometimes.

Missing plans?

Occasionally.

For us, the biggest challenge has been communication.

Lack of transparency.

Delays that aren’t communicated.

Problems that are hidden instead of discussed openly.

Trust becomes difficult when information is missing.

Ironically, the individual craftsmen themselves have often been excellent.

Our gardener Dimitris is a perfect example.

If he is delayed, he tells us.

His offers are transparent.

He always keeps his word.

That is why we trust him completely.

In July we’ll work together to install the irrigation system, prepare the landscaping and finally begin planting fruit trees, herbs and flowers around the house.

Those are exactly the moments we are looking forward to.

Friends make difficult days lighter

Fortunately, this trip wasn’t only about construction.

On Friday morning we enjoyed coffee with our dear friends Diane and Paul, who live in Tavronitis and adopted our foster dogs Tychi and Loumi last year.

In the evening we met Donna and Harvey in Chania.

Over the past months they often sent us photos of the construction site whenever updates from the architects simply didn’t arrive – they are our private spies.

We finished the day with dinner at Pulse, our favorite vegan restaurant.

Good food.

Good friends.

Beautiful sunset.

Sometimes that is exactly the perspective you need.

Healing through work

By Saturday our disappointment had quietly transformed into determination.

Instead of waiting for others, we simply got to work ourselves.

For almost six hours we cleaned the property.

Every nail.

Every broken piece of glass.

Every plastic wrapper.

Every forgotten construction leftover.

Slowly the place began to feel different.

Cleaner.

Calmer.

More like home.

It is fascinating how a clean environment also calms your mind.

People naturally begin treating a tidy place with more respect than a messy construction site.

Later that afternoon we visited Michalis at his Pavilion Lounge in Chania, enjoyed another Freddo Espresso (and yes… there were quite a few Freddos during this trip…) while watching life unfold on Mitropoleos Square in front of the beautiful cathedral.

One more kilometre

This trip wasn’t the final inspection we had hoped for.

Not even close.

And yet…

It somehow became something more valuable.

It reminded us that this journey has never just been about building a house.

It has been about learning patience.

Learning resilience.

Understanding another culture.

Growing closer together as husband and wife.

Learning which people earn your trust—and which don’t.

Standing on our roof terrace at sunset, looking over the sea towards the Rodopou Peninsula, all the frustrations suddenly become much smaller.

The minimalist house slowly becomes the peaceful home we imagined years ago.

Nature surrounds us.

The evening light fills every room.

And for a moment you remember exactly why you dared to start this adventure.

Building a house from afar sometimes feels like running a marathon.

Just when you think you’ve reached the finish line…

…someone quietly moves it another kilometre further.

So yes.

Our marathon has become one kilometre longer.

But that’s okay.

We’ll take another deep breath.

Keep running.

And eventually—we know—we’ll cross that finish line.

We couldn’t have come this far without all the friends, family and followers who have encouraged us, supported us and simply listened throughout this journey.

Thank you for running this marathon with us.

The finish line is finally beginning to appear.