Second day in Rhodes, first day being able to actually see it. Alright, this one's going to be great. We got our travel kinks out yesterday-- this one's going to be smooth riding. In fact, yesterday was so ridiculous the rest of the trip is going to be a breeze.
After arriving late last night (let's not get started about that day again...) we stayed up deciding just what there was to do on the island of Rhodes. We had planned to arrive in the city center, stay one night, tour the city during the next day and take an overnight ferry to a nearby island. As has already been covered, we never exactly ended up in the city of Rhodes. In fact, we were what we lovingly now refer to as "the country". So, in Ozburn-mishap-tradition, we looked at the map, figured out where we were (not an easy task on an island that apparently only names its streets when it feels like it and seldom actually puts those names on a map), and decided to spend the day exploring the south of the island and voyage to the capitol city the next day.
We consulted with "Doctor Love", who was pleased to find me in a better mood, and he agreed to find us a car and allow us to stay an extra day. Within an hour the Jeep pulled up, we paid the fare, and were off. Off to a gas station that is. We were told that the tank was 9 liters. Or at least that's what we thought we heard.
Ok. So, if the tank is 9 liters and this island's not so big, there's no way we need to fill it all the way up, right? Let's fill it 4 liters and that should do. (For any other Stupid Americans, 4 liters is just over 1 gallon. Yup, we didn't know that either...) Actually, as we come to find out, the Greek-speaking man was telling us that we'd need at least 9 liters to get to Lindos, the smaller town in southern Rhodes. Woops... let's chalk that up to accent trouble rather than selective listening.
And we're off. No international drivers licenses, no idea how to read the signs, no idea how much gas to put in the car, just two fun-loving American gals off to see the beautiful beaches. (Side note: knowing how to drive stick is a must. Anyone--Katie!!!-- who refuses to learn is one day going to miss out on an acclaimed Greek adventure and will never realize just how great a Honda Fit is with a manual transmission, which might be an even more considerable tragedy. Sermon over.) The ride was enchanting but being the driver, I was the one that had to stare at the gas gauge getting lower... lower... lower. We pull over at a Shell station to fill up but of course they don't take credit cards and we were fresh out of Euros. We hop back in the car, off to find an ATM, turn the key... turn the key... turn the key! Start you gosh darn Jeep! Start! (The Fit would never have this problem. Just saying.)
Needless to say, our battery was dead. Middle of a gas station. Boiling sun blaring down on our bare shoulders. It would be 2 hours and a few Coca-Colas later before our little Greek man came to our rescue. (Is it actually considered a rescue when he was in fact the one to not give us a car with a working battery?!) We explained to him that he should fill up the gas tank, after all, we had sat in the heat of the day for 2 hours.
-- Two hours? What is two hours?
Vivid flashbacks of the "One night? What is one night?" conversation came surging back and we decided that these Greeks must have way too much time on their hands. Clearly Americans know how to pack our days enough that missing two hours is a complete and utter tragedy. What? Waste time?! Psshh.
Finally, 11 km up the road was the stunning town of Lindos. Quintessential Greek village: white residences, stone castle looming above and inconceivable blue sky overhead. Ok, the Jeep debacle was worth this. This is pretty amazing.
We wandered around streets made from tiny stones expertly laid, but slick from years of use. (It has already been established that I am not the most graceful of people so that was interesting.) The 4' wide streets were crowded with jewelry stores, tourists and donkeys whose owners were attempting to grab anyone, place in the saddle and lead them up these slippery stones to the rising castle at the height of the mountain.
We had a fabulous lunch on a rooftop terrace. In fact, the only un-fabulous thing about all of Lindos was their choice of table napkin. Who buys these little dinky paper excuses for a napkin anyway? They most certainly do not hold up for to a traveler who, despite her courteous upbringing, can not seem to keep fresh tomatoes off her skirt. Nor do they hold up to tucking into one's shirt and stuffing behind one's knees to mop up the incomprehensible amount of perspiration that seems to have no end. Lindos chose these napkins? Honestly, the nerve.
We decided to trade sweat with clear water and made our way down to the beach, peeled off our shoes and slipped our legs into the sparkling Lindos water. Later we discovered that we once again would be covered in sweat after we hiked back up the mountain to our Jeep in the afternoon sun. Luckily, this time, our gas-guzzler started.
The drive back to our accidental hotel was uneventful compared to the morning's thrills. "Doctor Love" was there to greet us with white wine, tatziki and the most succulent stuffed mushrooms imaginable. We finished the day by showering off the Jeep grime in the curtain-less shower and watching the sun go down over the water from our balcony. The breeze was perfect and together with the wine and long drives in the sun, the whispering ocean water was having no trouble lulling us to sleep. Just when we thought we could complain about a hard day...
We consulted with "Doctor Love", who was pleased to find me in a better mood, and he agreed to find us a car and allow us to stay an extra day. Within an hour the Jeep pulled up, we paid the fare, and were off. Off to a gas station that is. We were told that the tank was 9 liters. Or at least that's what we thought we heard.
Ok. So, if the tank is 9 liters and this island's not so big, there's no way we need to fill it all the way up, right? Let's fill it 4 liters and that should do. (For any other Stupid Americans, 4 liters is just over 1 gallon. Yup, we didn't know that either...) Actually, as we come to find out, the Greek-speaking man was telling us that we'd need at least 9 liters to get to Lindos, the smaller town in southern Rhodes. Woops... let's chalk that up to accent trouble rather than selective listening.
-- Two hours? What is two hours?
Vivid flashbacks of the "One night? What is one night?" conversation came surging back and we decided that these Greeks must have way too much time on their hands. Clearly Americans know how to pack our days enough that missing two hours is a complete and utter tragedy. What? Waste time?! Psshh.
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| Lindos |
We wandered around streets made from tiny stones expertly laid, but slick from years of use. (It has already been established that I am not the most graceful of people so that was interesting.) The 4' wide streets were crowded with jewelry stores, tourists and donkeys whose owners were attempting to grab anyone, place in the saddle and lead them up these slippery stones to the rising castle at the height of the mountain.
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| prosciutto, melon, greek salad, prawns and avacados |
The drive back to our accidental hotel was uneventful compared to the morning's thrills. "Doctor Love" was there to greet us with white wine, tatziki and the most succulent stuffed mushrooms imaginable. We finished the day by showering off the Jeep grime in the curtain-less shower and watching the sun go down over the water from our balcony. The breeze was perfect and together with the wine and long drives in the sun, the whispering ocean water was having no trouble lulling us to sleep. Just when we thought we could complain about a hard day...
