by Nick Jenkin
Nick – As we sipped our coffees, we gazed out of the ship’s window. Symi appeared on our starboard side, a dragon silhouette sleeping in the shallows, as the sun rose behind it. We had been away nearly 3 weeks and were very excited to be back, especially with our new toy. It would revolutionise our existence. No more the waiting for the bus or the walk up to the village on a Sunday afternoon because we had forgotten to buy enough milk.
Nancy – We had also worked out that we did approximately 3 journeys a week on the bus going in and out of town. It is extremely cheap at 1.50 euros each way per person. But, add that up. Two people, both ways, 3 times a week – that’s 18 euros a week. That’s about 80 euros a month, 960 euros a year. That means the scooter will have paid for itself half way through the second year, and beyond that we would be saving nearly 1,000 euros a year! We were astounded when we worked it out! How many meals out is that?
Nick – How many bottles of wine? I can get a litre and a half of Retsina for 3.50 euros, which is about £1.50 a bottle. £1.50 into a thousand pounds – well, let’s just say it’s a lot of booze!
Nancy – Nick, for goodness’ sake you sound like an alcoholic.
Nick – I do don’t I. Sorry.
What I will really miss is going on the bus with all the locals. Up the twisting lanes and along the narrow road by the side of the harbour.
The call went out across the intercom for drivers to go to the vehicle deck, so I went below. I untied the ropes holding my bike and joined the rest of the Symi bikers in a huddle near the ramp. The crew member in charge thrust out his hand to hold us back. In response, we throttled our engines, so he turned again and gave us a stern look. He screwed his eyes and then beckoned the cars to leave first. The game was on. When he turned his back, we inched forward, revving our engines, until he turned round again with an even sterner face. It was just like the child’s game ‘Statues’. He turned his back, we crept forward, he turned around and we all stopped and pretended we hadn’t moved. He shouted at us to stay, he turned his back, we crept forward until, finally, he had had enough and let us go.
On the quay, Nancy waited, helmet firmly on.
Nancy – And Nick was being silly, refusing to put his on.
Nick – From now on I was free. Free as a bird. No one wears their helmets on the island except for tourists. So, say what you will, my helmet hung resolutely on the hook at the front of the bike.
Nancy – At last, we were home, after 7 days and 1,300 miles, half of them driven. Calculating that it is 3 miles into town and how often we would make the trip, we had burnt over a year of the new scooter’s life in one week. Poor little thing.
Nick – But it had achieved something that very few other scooters had done. It had crossed Europe by road and survived.
Nancy – And so had we. Nick arrived on terra firma and I gave him a hug and a kiss. We had done it, together. Over slippery roads, against battling lorries and bad drivers, in spite of the Italian police, bad maps, wrong turns and bug-eyed mile after bug-eyed mile, we had survived. We had worked together, picking up the baton when the other grew tired. Sometimes we clutched each other tight just to get us through, but we had made it.
Nick – As I held Nancy in my arms, I realised how essential she had been to our journey and how essential she would be on our journey to come.
Nancy – Now he’s just getting soppy.
Nick – And of course the scooter had been essential too, but she knows how to take a compliment. She must have received 20 on the way, from French, Germans, Italians and Greeks alike.
The typical one that sticks in my mind was early one morning when an old man came over. He pushed his cap from his forehead, stood back and admired:
‘Vespa?’ he asked.
‘No, it’s an AJS from Britain.’
‘You’ve come all the way from Britain?’
‘Yes, we’re travelling to Greece.’
‘Greece!’
‘Not a Vespa then?’
‘No, it’s a Chinese, retro.’
Oh!’ and off he went.
The conversation went more or less the same no matter what the language. I wonder if any of them actually went away and bought one.
But here we were on the quay on Symi and, after all that, where were the crowds, cheering and clapping, the hugs and kisses for bravery and self-sacrifice? Where were the banners and confetti falling from the sky?
Mind you it was only 6am, perhaps they would be amassing later!
Nancy – We stopped off at the ‘always-open shop’ on the harbour for essentials, drove up the hill and down the other side into Pedi our home bay, parked up, unloaded, put on the bike cover, kissed the neighbours on both cheeks, shut the door, went upstairs, showered and got into bed.
As we drifted off, my hand found Nick’s as his hand searched for mine.
Home, sweet home!
Just an Afterthought
Nick – Well, we have been home a month now.
We had to make the scooter legal by declaring it at customs in Rhodes and we wanted to register it to gain Greek number plates, to avoid a massive government tax after 6 months.
We made 3 journeys to Rhodes, helmets tightly fitted I might add. We got the necessary paperwork from customs then drove up the Lindos road and got another piece of paper to take down the Lindos Road to the bank in town. They gave us another piece of paper to take up the Lindos Road to the MOT garage (yes, even though it was brand new!), then drove across the Lindos Road to the registration office. Here we queued for 90 minutes and got another piece of paper to take down the Lindos Road to the motor tax office by the sea. We paid the road tax and were given another piece of paper to drive back up the Lindos Road to the number plate office. We were too late, but we knocked on the door and finally got the actual metal number plate – PYP 883 (whoopee!). Then we drove back across the Lindos Road to the MOT garage again and got a sticker to put on our number plate to prove it had passed.
When we finally stood outside the last office, with the number plate in our hands, we took a large breath. It was difficult to believe we had arrived legally now, as well as physically.
I am speaking generally, I know, but Greeks do seem to love their triple paper work, triple stamps, and triple records. However, throughout all the hassle, they were uniformly helpful and friendly even though at times they must have been quietly losing it in their sweaty, air-starved offices.
Nancy – And now, despite me thinking I would never drive the scooter, I have started practicing. It is difficult because I can’t take Nick on the back to help. It makes it all too heavy and wobbly. So, I have to do it all myself.
I have been up to the town and back on my own now and once, over the top and along the narrow road by the sea into the harbour town. It is difficult when I meet a car on the narrow roads and some of the corners are very sharp. I stop if there is any problem or walk the bike round if I am feeling a little unsure about a corner, but I am getting there.
Nick – And without being patronising, I think it’s brilliant. I’m glad Nancy wears her helmet too, I do worry. At last, she will soon be free of me having to drive her everywhere and indeed, when she gets used to driving with me on the back, she can take me home after a night at the taverna.
Nancy – I love you darling but not that much. On yer bike!
