Since I love bicycles and hate cars, the most logical progression in long distance transportation seems to be the scooter. I have loved the scooter from afar ever since I moved to Miami Beach, but have never had the opportunity to ride one. So I guess you could say I came to Europe awaiting my chance to scooter around.
I thought this would happen in Milan where my mom’s friend Marco, a wiry man whose smile seemed to touch either side of his glasses, rides a scooter around town. Alas, Marco had but one helmet so this could not happen. My first proper European scooter ride occurred in Genova late one night and completely by accident.
I had just finished hiking the Cinque Terre trail and was feeling exalted. I met two witty and entertaining guys over Caipiroskas and the Gypsy Kings and did not want to make the 2 hour train ride back to Genova so I procrastinated. I took the last possible train to Genova and did not bother to check its arrival station; I just assumed Genova meant Genova. This is not the case. I ended up at some random station which was covered in graffiti just after midnight. There was not a soul around and I had no idea how to get back to my hostel from there, so I asked the only unfrightening looking person around: he was fair and tall, with pouty lips that made him look young innocent. I asked him if he spoke English. He shook his head and exhaled his drag. “Dove il esacion principe?” I asked, in my pathetic accent. He nodded and walked toward the road. Thinking he was going to point me in the right direction, I followed him, but he turned and walked toward some scooters. He flicked out his cigarette and handed me a helmet, then put me on the back of his scooter and took me there. In our limited phraseology we managed to exchange names and ages and a few facts about ourselves, but I couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous this situation was and how screwed I would have been if this guy hadn’t been there. He dropped me off at the train station and I got his email address so that I could give him a proper thank you in Italian. He beeped good-bye and I waved back to Wissam, my hero scooter boy.
Because my first scooter experience was so positive, I thought nothing of it when Mike, Sally and Brenden approached me with the suggestion on my last day in Corfu. Mike and I were scheduled to take the overnight bus to Athens, so we had the day to kill. So I rented me a scooter, filled it up with gas and fell in line behind Brenden and we took to the hills. We had been exploring for about twenty minutes when the roads became curvy and slick. When Brenden slipped on a sharp downhill curve, I panicked. I threw on my breaks and promptly skid out as well. Brenden walked away with some scrapes on his hip and elbow, but I was hurt pretty badly. When my left leg flipped back up from under the scooter, I could see that I needed stitches and a hospital. Mike was behind me and he stopped (without falling because he's a god with amazing pecs) and a friendly Greek stopped his car as well. Spiros and his friends put me in their car and took me back to the Pink Palace, where I knew they would know how to seek medical treatment. These Greeks were so sweet to me. They put me in their car, gave me their clothes to bleed on and tried to soothe me and make me laugh on the way to the hostel. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t believe how terribly unlucky I felt. I had already lost my iPod and had yet to find out that I had broken my camera during the crash, now I had to see a doctor in a foreign country.
When we arrived at the Pink Palace, Spiros went in to have reception call a doctor while Jake and Dean carried me down to the Quad Safari area of the hostel and sat me down on a sun bed to wait for the doctor. I insisted that they put disinfectant on me, which hurt so much I had to beg them to stop. I can almost hear myself now, trying not to scream and making really pathetic noises instead. Enter Christos the doctor- this man looked like the Santa Clause of all doctors. With a beaming smile and cheerful eyes smushed behind his wire classes, he checked me for broken bones and cleaned my knees and ankle. He told me I needed stitches and carried me to his car to take me to his office.
This man had me in stitches, literally. I was crying and laughing at the same time. He would make me laugh with phrases like, “no pain, no gain” or “you feel pain? Ha ha, it’s alive!” He would also congratulate me when I made it through a hard part by saying, “brava” or “you are very brave.” The procedure was relatively easy and when we were done, Christos looks down at me and says, “Okay! Bureaucracy time!” So even the commies have a sense of humor about their inefficiency. Funny thing is, it is my country that’s giving me the problems with the claim.
But all is well that ends well. Eleven days after my stitches came out, Mike and I rented a scooter to explore the island of Rhodes, our last Greek island. It was fantastic and terrifying. We saw gorgeous beaches, turquoise water lined with rocky cliffs so that it sort of looks like California. But there are pine trees where the road takes you further up the mountain, so that it also looks like North Carolina. Scootering around Rhodes, we saw a preserved medieval castle and climbed to the top to see the view of the surrounding ocean. We also discovered a narrow strip of beach with the ocean on either side, though the south side was flat and the north side was rough. There were more wind and kite surfers than I have ever seen in one place, though it was obvious that the north beach surfers were more experienced. The ride home was frightening because the wind began to knock us over, but Mike, always the champ, got us home safely and even learned how to pass traffic like a Greek.
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