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janestarz“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.
“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.
