Or rather the sad part. There was only one really for me at least. (Or I guess two, but let's continue on with one.) And that was May 8th, 2008, in Santorini. The saddest day of the year. After weeks of waiting the opportunity finally arose to cast off the compact car, dismissively scoff at the public bus, and briefly rest our weary feet by renting ourselves some mopeds. No matter that some in our group did not wish to do so, that there was no real "need" for mopeds, or even that there was no "good reason" to rent some. To hell with some people! Screw having reasons for doing things! We're riding mopeds!
Or so that was the plan. It turned out, however, that not only does Greece require some sort of special Greek moped license, but even if you can find a less reputable dealer willing to overlook such requirements, they still require that you know how to ride one. What the heck? What's with all these regulations Greece? Why you gotta be like that? At least that's what I would have said had I not instead tried to bluff my way through the process. In the end while I can give short, evasive answers with the best of 'em, once seated upon a moped I do not know what to do. Seems there are a lot more switches, buttons, and levers than I imagined. I kind of always thought it would just be a bike with an engine, but apparently it's a bike with an engine and a sixteen button minimum. After staring confusedly at both the bike and the dealer for a good five minutes while repeatedly assuring him I knew what I was doing, I resigned myself to my fate, he removed the keys, and I got off.
The dealer also repeatedly offered up an ATV as an alternative throughout our protracted struggle, but I wanted nothing to do with such silliness. ATVs!? Seriously! I left Greece feeling strongly about a great many of things, but the strongest of which I felt concerned tourists and four-wheelers. Who's going to take anyone seriously who rides around town on a big, slow, lumbering vehicle designed, in just about every way, for off-road travel. My patients would not respect me were word to get out. I would not respect myself. The site of a troupe of four-wheelers inching along the side of a farm road thinking that by somehow driving mostly on the edge of the road it would allow other vehicles to easily pass is a site I saw all too often and that I will likely not soon forget. Look! Now I've almost talked more about ATVs than mopeds! Ridiculous!
So Paul and Rachel zoomed off merrily on their moped, and I slinked away to an Internet cafe where I sulked for a good hour before I found other things to do. The end.
On a not sad note, here're my photos. No captions yet. Try and guess what everything is.
Paul and Rachel having the happiest time of their lives.What the heck does moped even mean? Motarized pedestrian? Myeh.
