Greek traffic or: ten amusing ways to get a heart attack

“On the roads are these,” Mike said, holding up a small whitish-yellow thing. “Near the beach. Dorn. Be careful, or pssssshh.” Mike's mimicing of a bicycle tire emptying was nigh-lifelike, while his accented English was anything but. “Dorn, Dorn, you know!”
“Aha, doorn,” I said, grasping the concept far sooner than NoKey, who was trying to cross-reference Mike's babble with his meagre knowledge of the big fat Greek lexicon. “Thorn.” I continued. “I see.”

Not ten minutes later NoKey was taking a left turn, dodging traffic, when we heard Mike again. “Pssssshh.” it went, and it turned out not to be Mike but NoKey's back tire. He had asked for a mountain bike specifically, but it was no more thorn-resistant than my yellow city-bike with the telltale white metal basket on the back seat. The basket was there, presumably, so tourists would not be tempted to look stylish on their bicylces, to make sure they are recognised by the local population as stupid tourists and therefore even a larger risk in traffic than authentic Greek people, or possibly even to discourage them to give eachother lifts.

Only just that morning we were warned about the Police (astinopía) who would give naughty people not wearing their helmets on scooters and in quads a three hundred euro fine. Cyclists were free – more like outlawed if you ask me – and were not required to wear any protections. There was just one thing: one-way streets. In the Netherlands, cyclists are often excepted from one-way streets, but in Greece, everyone should abide by it. Cars would thunder on past, never looking into streets nothing should be coming out of so it's best all around if you just abide by the laws of one-way streets.
Oh, that's right. Cars thunder on past anyway.
The most amazing thing happens when you actually get out there with your tourist bicycle. Greek people will take care not to hurt you. No matter how large the car, if the street is too narrow, they'll not pass you by. A bit of wobbling helps too. If you indicate you want to take a left turn, and stick out your hand far enough, they'll keep a spare spot for you.
None of this helped with NoKey's flat tire though.

We had a cup of tea (tsái) at Stamatis & Lydia's restaurant, Taverna Alexandros, and proceeded to bring the bicycle back. Because of the weird siesta afternoon naps Greek people have, the Bicycle shop – Mike's place – would only open at half past five in the evening. So until that time, NoKey would be bicycleless.

We soon found out that with a bicycle wasn't much better anyway. Kos city used to be a lot less complicated. Yes, of course the Kanari boulevard was one-way, but that could be avoided by using the paralel streets two streets over, towards the harbour. However, cycling from our current apartment required us to go by Ameriki and more often than not landed us in the back alleys of Kos near the hospital, while we actually wanted to go towards the harbour side of Kos. *sigh* All of this because of impossible one-way streets.
I say back alleys, but these are wide streets, comparable to Greek highways.
And I did mention Greek people drive a little crazy right?

I would not be far off were I to say that all Greeks speed when they drive. Do they drive a motorcycle or a scooter, a helmet is nowhere in sight and often is not even present under the saddle storage. They really race around the island, and the cars are worse. I do not feel very comfortable in this traffic, riding a small yellow bike with its telltale basket on the back seat. While in the small streets near Kanari, the drivers are real gentlemen, on these large roads it's speed or be spent, and a bicycle doesn't feature in the equasion.

In any case, my current theory is that the roads of the island are all coated in a small layer of rubber where the tires have molten to the asphalt. Crossing the street in my hiking boots is actually rather slippery. And then there are the thorns...
NoKey has a replacement bicycle now and I encourage him to go cycling onto Mt.Dikeos, but I don't know how many thorns there will be. For now, we are very content next to the pool in the shade, sipping himó portokáli through a straw and éna neráki at hand.

The thing that can be stuck on a fork, and in the right mix, kill small insects.

Josef put a small platter in front of NoKey. Josef, whose name was actually Youssoef but had been thoroughly Greekified, had asked after tzaziki when NoKey had asked for a very peculiar dessert. After the antúss (flowers) and the spanakopitákia it had been time for NoKey's regular dessert. At home, he takes pride in eating anywhere of 300 to 500 ml of yoghurt a night. In Greece, famed for its feta and lamb, the thing is called yaoúrti.

Greece has a fine cuisine. Aforementioned feta and lamb feature high on the list, meat is revered, but fish is not safe either (although I've not come much farther than glóssa [sole]). Ice cream was hardly to be found two years ago but now has shouldered its way to the desserts, and not many people (except for the obvious Greek people, and one can argue that there are a lot of Greek indeed, mainly because they tend to be loud, so my previous statement is nullified) can enjoy the taste of good baklavá.

Yaourti has not been used a lot in Greek cuisine and though the term itself has in its turn shouldered its way into other languages (yoghurt both in Dutch, German and English, though pronounciation is different) I can think of only two Greek dishes that feature it. One was discovered on the menu of Josef's Taverna Old River today, being Yaourtlou, with vegetables like eggplant and zuccini broiled in the other famous Greek recipe with yoaourti: tzaziki.
A million restaurants and no two tzaziki are alike. The tzaziki I had the first night in that taverna near the harbour featured a very, very salty kind. Josef's tzaziki missed the least important ingredient (cucumber) but was nice on the pepper, yoghurt and garlic (skórda). The garlic in tzaziki is raw and an excellent bug repellant as you sweat rather profusely in the Greek summer weather. Even NoKey is wary to approach me after I had tzaziki^*).

NoKey and I stared at the plate. The yaourti probably stared back, although eyes had not yet evolved. It did feature three humps, presumably because Cook had ladled three big spoons out of an even larger bucket.
Carefully, NoKey pulled the plate towards him. The yaourti failed to sprout legs or possibly tentacles to pull back to safety. It didn't move either. The entire blob, for lack of a better word, failed to move or even quiver. You know how pudding or jello sort of moves when you touch it? The yaourti didn't. It refrained from even moving a little bit, mimicking a rock more than anything.

“You're not going to like this.” NoKey said, picking up an eating utensil. There was no spoon delivered with the yaourti, but a fork might work as well. NoKey sliced off a small bit, as if taking a bit of pie, and brought it to his mouth.
As much as I love tzaziki, I hate lumpy yoghurt. Yoghurt should be sweetened, either by honey (méli) or by syrup or as a last resort, sugar. It should be eaten with a spoon and quiver in fear as we move the plate. It should not have any lumps, as much as NoKey likes there to be some, and should never be as thick as a rock and as still as a mountain.
NoKey's 'hmm' brought me back to the here and now. He was holding a slice of yaourti expertly speared on his fork. The yaourti could be said to cower in fear, except that it still didn't move, budge, develop sensory organs or even slide down the fork in a gracious yet slumpy way.

I'd sign it up for a new and unexplored lifeform, except that NoKey viciously slaughtered the first and only creature of its kind. Although NoKey believes that “where there's one tub of yaourti, there's bound to be more”, I can only hope that this ghastly outcast of Greek cuisine remains shrouded in the mists of myth.

Except for the tzaziki, of course. There can never be enough tzaziki.


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^*) In all fairness, it should be noted that NoKey hates the smell and taste of raw garlic, and is not to be counted under the insectoids at all. Except, possibly, during mating season, when I lose track of how many appendages he actually has.