September 2021: Legacy of the Minoans on Crete

Origins of Europe’s First Civilization
The Minoan civilization of Crete dates back to 3500 BC, making it the first advanced civilization in Europe. Its history is deeply intertwined with that of ancient Greece and its mythology. According to legend, Zeus himself was born in a cave high in the mountains of Crete. The Minoan era is believed to have ended abruptly due to a catastrophic volcanic eruption on the island of Santorini. The resulting tsunamis likely devastated Crete’s coastal settlements, bringing a sudden and dramatic close to the Minoan age.

The Myth Behind the Name
The name “Minoan” is derived from the legendary King Minos of Crete. Many myths are associated with King Minos, the most famous being the story of the labyrinth and the minotaur.

The Legend of the Labyrinth
According to the myth, King Minos received a magnificent bull from Poseidon, the god of the sea, which he was supposed to sacrifice in honor of the gods. However, Minos defied their will and kept the bull for himself. Angered, Poseidon caused Minos’ wife to fall in love with the bull. Their union produced Asterious—a creature that was half man, half bull—known as the minotaur.

Upon discovering this, King Minos ordered the construction of a massive labyrinth to imprison the beast. The maze was designed to be so complex that even its architect once became lost within it. Each year, seven young men and seven young women were sent into the labyrinth as sacrifices, serving as the minotaur’s only source of sustenance.

The Hero Theseus and the End of the Minotaur
Eventually, Theseus of Athens, one of the intended sacrifices, entered the labyrinth determined to slay the beast. With the help of King Minos’ daughter, who had fallen in love with him, Theseus learned the secret of escaping the maze. He successfully killed the minotaur and found his way out, ending the reign of terror that had haunted Crete for generations.

The Labyrinth and the Palace of Knossos
According to popular belief, the labyrinth of the minotaur was located beneath the Palace of Knossos, the political and ceremonial center of ancient Crete. This palace, situated near the modern city of Heraklion on Crete’s northern coast, is one of the most significant archaeological sites in the Aegean world. Yet, no one truly knows whether the labyrinth ever existed, nor where it might have been if it did. Still, legends often spring from fragments of truth, and it is likely that some real historical structure or tradition inspired the story of the minotaur and the maze.

This leads to a compelling question: if the labyrinth was meant to imprison a monstrous creature, why would King Minos have built it directly beneath his palace? Would it not have been safer and more logical to place it far away, hidden from the royal residence?

A Labyrinth Hidden in the Highlands
If the mythical labyrinth did exist, its origins may lie in a cave system deep in the highlands of central Crete. There, an ancient man-made network of tunnels winds deep into the heart of a mountain. Inscriptions resembling early Minoan writing can still be found on some of the cave’s walls. The tunnels stretch for miles and are constructed in a confusing, almost disorienting layout—remarkably similar to how the labyrinth of myth is described.

The Labyrinth Cave Near Gortyna
The cave system lies in the mountains near the ancient Minoan city of Gortyna. Today, the site is surrounded by vast olive groves that eventually give way to the towering peak of Mount Ida, a mountain steeped in mythological significance as the place where Zeus was said to have been raised.

Very little is known about the so-called labyrinth cave, and its exact location is deliberately not published online. Archaeologists and explorers believe there are two man-made tunnel systems associated with the site:

The Smaller Cave
The first and more accessible cave is relatively small—about a 30-minute journey from entrance to end. It is marked on Google Maps and reached via a narrow gravel road winding through olive groves. Despite its modest size, the structure is ancient, and many scholars believe it was constructed during the same era as the larger labyrinth cave. However, there is no known connection between the two systems.

The Larger, Hidden Cave
The second cave is vastly larger, stretching miles into the mountain’s depths. Its entrance is nothing more than a narrow opening in the ground, requiring explorers to squeeze through just to enter. Once inside, the tunnels are dangerously unstable and highly prone to collapse. Adding to the risk is the presence of unexploded munitions—remnants of World War II left behind by Nazi forces who used the cave as a weapons storage site.

Due to these significant hazards, the cave’s precise location is kept secret, and exploration is limited to a handful of archaeologists and specialized caving teams. Whether this mysterious labyrinth inspired the myth of the minotaur remains uncertain—but it continues to fuel one of ancient Crete’s most enduring legends.

Location of Labyrinth Cave on Crete

A Nazi Stronghold Beneath the Earth
Because of its immense size and depth, the labyrinth cave was repurposed by Nazi Germany during World War II as an underground arsenal for storing weapons and munitions. The tunnels extended so far into the mountain that the Nazis installed generators to pump oxygen into the cave. They also reinforced sections of the unstable ancient passageways with concrete, turning the once-mythic site into a fortified military depot.

When the tide of war shifted and Germany could no longer defend Crete from advancing Allied forces, the Nazis were forced to abandon the cave. Lacking the time to remove their stockpiles and fearing they would fall into enemy hands, they bombed the entrance to the labyrinth, causing it and much of the tunnel network to collapse.

Post-War Salvage and Tragedy
In the aftermath of the war, local villagers discovered new ways to access the cave. They salvaged leftover munitions to sell as scrap metal or to repurpose for their own use. However, these efforts were fraught with danger. Many villagers were killed by cave-ins or explosions triggered by unstable, live ordnance. By the 1950s, the Greek military intervened, sealing off the cave with metal bars and officially prohibiting entry to prevent further loss of life.

Explorations and Theories
Despite these restrictions, determined explorers still managed to breach the cave’s defenses. At least one scientific expedition, with government permission, entered the labyrinth in the 1990s. Their findings suggested that the tunnels might originally have been part of a quarry, used to extract materials for the construction of the Minoan palace at Knossos or other ancient buildings. However, the explorers also concluded that the labyrinth’s disorienting structure, along with the ancient inscriptions deep within its passages, provided compelling evidence that this might indeed be the legendary maze of the minotaur.

Even today, many sections of the cave remain unexplored. The deeper tunnels are dangerously unstable, and collapses have rendered large portions inaccessible. Some historians have even argued that one of the greatest war crimes committed by the Nazis was their destruction of the cave—an act that may have forever sealed away ancient artifacts, treasures, and answers to long-standing mysteries of the Minoan civilization.

A Modern-Day Adventure Begins
For me, the very idea of exploring an ancient labyrinth entwined with myths of the minotaur, Nazi history, and hidden archaeological secrets was irresistible—like stepping straight into an Indiana Jones adventure. My wife shared my excitement, and together we resolved to find this mysterious cave for ourselves. But first, our journey would begin with a flight to Heraklion, the capital of Crete.

Arrival in Heraklion
We arrived in Heraklion late in the afternoon, narrowly avoiding a missed connection from Athens after our departure flight from Albania was delayed. The mad dash through the airport—cutting through lines and sprinting between gates—ended anticlimactically when we discovered that our connecting flight was also delayed.

Upon landing on Crete, we collected our rental car, a flimsy little go-cart of a vehicle that inspired very little confidence. I worried about how it would handle the rough backroads leading to the labyrinth cave, but with rental cars scarce and prices steep, we had no real choice but to make do with what we had.

A Brief Taste of Luxury
Our first stop was a 30-minute drive to a beachfront hotel—a five-star resort far more luxurious than the places we usually stay. Friends from San Diego were meeting us there for dinner that evening and had generously booked us a private beach cottage for two nights. The resort was everything you’d expect: elegant, comfortable, and relaxing. But as nice as it was, I’ve never been one to travel for relaxation.

The Search for the Labyrinth Begins
Our real purpose on Crete was adventure. And early the next morning, Paula and I would set off in search of the mysterious labyrinth cave—our own real-life treasure hunt into the mythic heart of Minoan legend.

Amirandes Grecotel Hotel

The View from the Restaurant at the Amirandes Grecotel Hotel

Into the Heart of Crete
We set off early the next morning, leaving the comfort of the coast and the tourist resorts behind us. Our little rental car struggled as we turned off the main highway and wound our way into the rugged interior of the island, climbing steadily over Crete’s mountainous spine.

Our destination was the smaller labyrinth cave—one of the few marked locations on Google Maps. Following the digital trail, we navigated a maze of narrow one-lane roads that twisted through quiet, timeless villages. The pace of life here felt a world away from the bustling coast. Elderly men sat sipping coffee in shaded plazas, goats wandered lazily across the road, and whitewashed homes clung to the hillsides as if unchanged for centuries.

It felt as though we were driving back in time, deeper into the heart of Crete and closer to the ancient mysteries that had drawn us here.

Village Life

View from the Hill of the Labyrinth Cave

Finding the Hidden Entrance
Despite our best efforts, Google Maps initially led us in the wrong direction. The labyrinth cave’s location is notoriously difficult to pinpoint, and the marked spot on the map turned out to be misleading. Fortunately, I had taken detailed notes from my research before the trip, and by cross-referencing those with the map, we were eventually able to find the correct turnoff—a narrow dirt road winding through endless olive groves toward the base of a mountain.

The drive was slow and bumpy, our little rental car struggling over the uneven track, but at last, the road ended at a small clearing near the cave site. We parked and stepped out into the dry, baking heat of the Cretan countryside. Aside from a single elderly farmer resting in the shade of the cave’s entrance, we were completely alone. He didn’t speak a word of English, but he gave us a friendly nod before turning his gaze back toward the olive trees.

The entrance to the cave yawned before us—simple, unassuming, and yet brimming with mystery. It was hard to believe that this quiet hillside could conceal one of the most enigmatic and storied sites in all of Greek mythology.

Small Labyrinth Cave Entrance

Exploring the Smaller Labyrinth
The smaller cave was fascinating in its own right. We switched on our flashlights and stepped into the cool darkness, following the narrow tunnel as it twisted beneath the mountain. The air grew damp and still as we moved deeper inside, our footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls. The cave extended for about thirty minutes of careful walking before ending abruptly. A few small side tunnels branched off along the way, but they led nowhere—dead ends carved into the rock ages ago.

While the experience was intriguing, this was not the labyrinth we had come for. The true goal—the vast and mysterious larger cave—was still out there somewhere, hidden in the mountain above us.

The Search for the Hidden Labyrinth
Now that we knew we were close, we set out to find the entrance to the legendary larger cave. But this would prove far more difficult than we had imagined. The mountainside was cloaked in thorny shrubs and dense scrub vegetation, making every step a struggle. According to the caver who had written about it online, the entrance was nothing more than a small, inconspicuous hole in the rock face—nearly impossible to spot unless you knew exactly where to look.

Determined, we spent the next hour hiking up and down the scorching mountainside, scanning every crevice and shadow for signs of the elusive entrance. The midday sun beat down on us relentlessly, and the steep, uneven terrain quickly sapped our energy.

After covering only a fraction of the mountain, I realized the enormity of the task. It would take days—perhaps weeks—to search the entire area thoroughly. And even then, there was no guarantee we would find anything. For all we knew, the cave’s entrance might no longer exist. It had been many years since the article describing it was written, and there was a good chance that the authorities had sealed it—or worse, that it had collapsed long ago, burying the ancient tunnels forever.

We exhausted our search and gave up. It was hot and it was time to drive to the southern coast, where I had found some remote coves to swim in.  This was the excuse I told myself, and with the shame of defeat brushed off to the side we drove off back down the dirt road through the olive tree plantation. The road was blocled by a water truck and to the side stood a farm boy. Paula and I decided, why not ask a local if he knew the location of the entrance.  This was our last shot at finding it. So I asked him if he spoke english. “Yes of course”. Do you know where the large cave is? He lowered his tone and said, “ah yes, but it is dangerous.” I anticipated he might respond this way, so I asked him if he could just show us the entrance and I promised we would not enter especially since I was with my wife. he looked at us and reluctantly agreed and motioned for us to follow him on his motorbike. With excitement, we followed him passed the small cave, up over the mountain down really bad narrow roads with thorn branches, barbed wire hanging out and huge ruts in the middle of the road. I struggled to keep up with him in our crappy little rental car and I also didnt want to damage the vehicle since this type of road is not covered in our insurance. We eventually came to a small cliff and he stopped and pointed over the side and said,” it is down there”. I asked him if he had ever been there and said yes. he wasn’t much for words and set off leaving us alone on top of the presumed cave entrance.  

We scrambled down through the brush to the bottom of the cliff to where a small tree was located. There was a cave-in of rocks. All of this was met the description of the cavers website. Located before the mound of rocks was a barbed wire fence and a sign that stated no trespassing. Then right behind that was a small hole in the ground. We found it!!!

Entrance to Labyrinth  Cave

Entering the Hidden Labyrinth
At last, after hours of searching, we found it—the elusive entrance to the larger labyrinth cave. It was exactly as the article had described: a small, unremarkable hole in the ground, easy to miss even when standing right next to it. Yet this uninviting gap was our gateway into one of the most mysterious places on Crete.

I paused for a moment, weighing the risks. We had no idea what awaited us below. The cave was known to be unstable, and there was still the very real possibility of unexploded World War II ordnance buried deep within. I had told our friends at the hotel where we were going, and our rental car was parked just above the entrance. If something happened, hopefully someone would come looking. But standing at the edge of a forgotten labyrinth tied to both ancient myth and modern war, turning back wasn’t an option.

Into the Depths
I lowered myself in feet first, the earth closing around me as I crawled into the narrow passage. Armed with headlamps and flashlights, we inched forward through the twisting entrance, which stretched about ten feet before widening. Jagged rocks scraped against my boots and backpack as I pushed ahead, and then suddenly the ground beneath me changed—shards of twisted metal blocked the way forward.

The remnants of heavy iron bars, once sealing the entrance, had been violently forced apart. Someone—or something—had broken through here long ago. Beyond them, the cramped tunnel opened into a wide concrete passageway. This, I realized, was the structure the Nazis had built to reinforce the ancient cave during the war.

Moments later, Paula followed me inside. 

Paula in the Cave’s Entrance

Paula at the Entrance Tunnel

Deeper Into the Labyrinth
The concrete tunnel was eerily silent, its cold, damp walls marked with graffiti that appeared to date back to the early 1950s—likely left by members of the Greek military who had sealed the cave decades ago. The faded names, dates, and cryptic symbols felt like echoes of a forgotten time, reminders that we were not the first to pass through this place since the Nazis had abandoned it.

We pressed onward, our flashlight beams piercing the darkness as the tunnel stretched deeper beneath the mountain. Gradually, the reinforced concrete walls gave way to something far older—ancient stonework carved by human hands thousands of years ago. These were the original Minoan passageways, and their rough, timeworn surfaces told a story of incredible age.

The deeper we ventured, the more chaotic the tunnel system became. Passages branched off in multiple directions, twisting and turning in the disorienting style that had inspired the very concept of a labyrinth. Piles of decaying wooden munitions crates and rusted shell casings littered the ground along the walls, remnants of the cave’s wartime past.

Among the scattered debris, one hulking metallic ruin caught our attention. According to the research we’d read, it was part of the original generator system the Nazis had installed to pump oxygen deep into the tunnels through an elaborate network of hoses. Seeing it in person—half-collapsed and corroded—was a haunting reminder of how this place had been transformed from an ancient sacred site into a subterranean fortress of war.

Paula the Explorer

Paula Looking at a Heap of Munitions

More Piles of WWII Munitions

Miscellaneous WWII Materials

A Descent Into Myth
The deeper we went, the more surreal the experience became. The cave was pitch black and unsettlingly quiet—its twisting tunnels and ancient stone walls felt like the perfect stage for myth to spring to life. It wasn’t hard to imagine a minotaur lurking in the shadows ahead, waiting for its next sacrifice.

We pressed on for about thirty minutes, carefully staying to the center of the path to minimize the risk of stepping on any unexploded ordnance. Realistically, there probably wasn’t any left, but I wasn’t about to take chances. The tunnels seemed endless, stretching deeper and deeper into the earth. Part of me wanted to keep going, to see just how far they reached, but a quieter, wiser voice in the back of my mind urged caution.

We were, after all, trespassing in a dangerous and unstable cave that could collapse at any moment. Our rental car parked above was a silent giveaway of our presence. As much as I hated to admit it, it was time to turn back. We retraced our steps and crawled once again through the narrow entrance tunnel, emerging at last into the blinding light of the Cretan afternoon.

Remote Southern Crete

A Hidden Paradise on Crete’s Southern Coast
Having achieved our mission, we decided to celebrate our victory with a swim in one of the remote southern coves I had scouted earlier on Google Earth. The southern coast of Crete is rugged and wild, accessible mostly by rough dirt roads. It is an adventurer’s paradise—untouched by large hotels or mass tourism.

We had only enough time for one stop before dinner with our friends, so we set our sights on a particularly secluded spot. Getting there involved pushing open a gate meant to keep goats corralled and then navigating a steep, rocky 4WD road in our underpowered rental car.

The heat was intense when we arrived, and the sight of the turquoise water was irresistible. We dove into the idyllic cove, swimming through hidden sea caves and cooling off in the crystal-clear Aegean. It was a moment of pure joy and freedom, a perfect counterpoint to the dark mystery of the labyrinth we had just explored.

A Close Call on the Climb Out
Our adventure wasn’t over yet, though. The drive back up the steep, sandy track turned into a nerve-wracking ordeal. The car struggled for traction, spinning its wheels as I tried again and again to climb the incline. For a moment, I feared we might be stranded miles from the nearest house.

Finally, on the verge of stalling the engine, the little car found grip and inched its way upward. I was too afraid to stop and risk losing momentum, so Paula walked alongside, guiding me from the side of the track. Slowly, painfully, we crept back to the top.

Remote Southern Crete

The End of One Adventure, the Start of Another
Our brief but unforgettable adventure in Crete had come to an end. From ancient labyrinths and Nazi relics to hidden coves and perilous roads, it had been everything I could have hoped for—and more. The next morning, we boarded a ferry bound for the island of Sikinos, ready to begin the next chapter of our journey.