Paxos day one

Today’s first mission was to pick up my rental scooter. I woke up at 10 am and I’d arranged to meet him at 10 am. Oops. Luckily he’s only a two minute walk away and I was not delayed by much. Liina, yesterday’s aforementioned American, was kind enough to refer me which made things smooth. He doesn’t have too many questions to ask. It’s not like I can take this thing very far. After a quick riding test I was off. To start, I explored the south end of the island.

Is this a selfie?

It felt good to be back on a bike, especially in a way that I am not entirely accustomed to. In the US, being safe on a motorcycle takes a lot of work. Rider training, a quality full face helmet, anti abrasive gear from head to toe, earplugs. Out here the speeds are slower so it just doesn’t take as much to stay safe. The going limit on the island is about 25 miles an hour, this is generally adhered to. Some places are slower than that. As bicycle speeds, you can get away with bicycle protection. Helmets are optional and I’ve never seen anyone wearing gloves. No flip flops yet. K = 0.5 * M * (V^2), this means when you double your speed you quadruple the kinetic energy that needs to be dissipated in a crash. Basically if you’re going twenty instead of eighty, wearing a pasta strainer as a helmet is much more understandable.

Something about the rock formation in the distance brought me peace

I donned my pasta strainer and headed for Mongonissi, an islet on the south end of Paxos. It is connected to the mainland by a small stone bridge just wide enough for two vehicles to carefully squeeze past each other. The road over is high above the sea and winds gracefully above the waves. I can see the mainland and beyond. I sat at this point for a while to read, enjoying the clarity of the water and the peace.Cement trucks began to punctuate my peace and I left. 

Cement trucks before noon means there is a concrete plant on the island. This place has a heartbeat and it is the ferry. I feel is closely since the room I am staying in abuts the road between the port and Gaios, the largest settlement. If cement trucks are running full before the ferry arrives from the mainland at 12:45, they had to get filled here. I can hear the traffic in town steadily building as the ferry approaches. I head to the port to see the action. People are already starting to gather to wait. There are five taxis on the island, two are parked waiting on the boat. Trucks with waste or deadheading back to the mainland are patiently sitting.

I took the road up north to Longos to see another village. Gaios is peaceful in the off season, Longos was downright spooky. It reminded me more of a movie set in a zombie movie than a place where people live. Most curious was a large empty building at the edge near the water with a smokestack several stories high. This is the tallest manmade structure I’ve seen here. Maybe the power station ages ago? I’ll have to ask someone later. Since there wasn’t much going on and the cats were starting to mob me, I turned south again for Gaios.

The feral cat population here is immense. I think there are more cats than people here. They are kind and keep to themselves, I imagine they keep other pests in line. Each cat has an area they are generally known to stick around and the locals know the personalities of the felines around them just as well as the humans.

Lunch was not so good. This is a small town so I’ll just say I did not seek out a recommendation and I was not impressed. There was something refreshing about getting bad food though. Life is contrast and we cannot have good without bad. Sometimes that means a raw egg here and there. Oops.

After a nap it was time for run club. Yes I have genuinely lost my mind. Those of you who know me know that I am not a runner that was just a sport that never appealed to me. Even on two wheels, I’m a bikie not a cyclist. I like my exercise to dovetail with my life, not to be separate from it. However, I was invited to join the group for an evening and who was I to say no? The opportunity to talk to people in American English was simply too enticing.

I met Liina and her fiancée Chris in Gaios and saw them wearing matching Paxos Run Club shirts. Wow, this is legit. On a good day, they’ll see one or two percent of Gaios’ population in their ranks. That’s a dozen or two people, the scale of everything here just keeps blowing my mind. We’re joined by one other person, a local restauranteur from Lakka, the island’s northernmost settlement.

Our finish line and the queen of the island. Statue for scale.

We trot off and I start by trying to keep pace with someone, anyone. Liina and I manage to chat for a bit before I decide it’s time for me to walk it so I don’t die. This isn’t America and I’ll need to use my legs tomorrow.

We all meet up at the starting statue and go out for drinks. We talk about life on the island and do those of us who aren’t locals, how we got there. Liina is a photojournalist who writes about travel, naturally she’d know about a spot like this. Chris left his dissatisfying corporate job and was working for a local scuba outfit until the season ended. Right now he’s relaxing in town until he goes to school for more certifications. Our local restaurant owner works in the high season only and closes for the low. That is the rhythm here, the locals work like hell for six months and take six months off before the British invade in the summertime.

Liina has some more recommendations for me to enjoy my final day on the island. To start, tonight’s dinner. I scooted off to Kourteika, a tiny village situated at a major road junction. Get the US idea of a major junction out of your head, this is just a waypoint as you cruise from east to west. The roads here don’t even have names, if you’re lucky an intersection may have a sign pointing the way to some settlement or attraction. If you’re luckier still you may be able to understand it.The Dalos Taverna is a small humble tavern that has been run by the same family for about 150 years. The wood fireplace heating the patio was the perfect thing after the chilly scooter ride over where I got lost multiple times in the inky black roads.

Giant beans, peppers stuffed with cheese, bread. I felt like I was in a roadhouse in the US 200 years ago. We’ve killed more of these places. Simple and delicious food with a room full of people who all know each other. Hell, their great grandparents probably all knew each other. Some men in front of me are slowly smoking, chatting, and snacking. Two old men are playing dominos. A couple behind me is quietly enjoying dinner together. I took about two hours to finish my meal, I was reading a book and savored each bean individually. Something happened there that I haven’t experienced since I left the US, the waitress asked me if I was done! Wild, one of those things you don’t realizes has not been happening until it happens.

I scoot back and freeze my ass off at 25 miles an hour. Memories are flooding back of riding my Motobacane 50V through the hills behind Santa Barbara on wet cold winter nights. The weather and landscape is almost identical. Olive trees and moist ocean air.

Taverna by night