Holy god. Remind me to never drive in Greece. Apparently the white stripes on the road are a mere suggestion to be ignored. The taxi driver, who greeted us in English, displayed his entire command of the language in one brief sentence.
“Is okay I get them” when faced with our luggage. Not that I’m disparaging, mind… I speak a hella lot less Greek than his English.
I showed him my phone, to which he promptly helped himself, then was typing into his phone as he drove. He then tossed it on the passenger seat.
Me: may I have my phone back please.
Driver: momento, momento.
I’m in no mood. Sum total six hour’s sleep over two nights does nothing for my disposition. Beloved squeezed my hand so I kept my yap shut. With effort.
He keeps driving and talking into the phone, sighs heavily and says something Greeky.
The phone rings as he weaves around. He answers then hands the phone to me. A woman’s voice comes out but I can’t understand a damn thing over the driver shouting at the top of his lungs.
Suddenly I get it. DUH. The addresss to the AirBnB is in English. The Greek alphabet… significantly different. He doesn’t read English.
Of course, the English translation isn’t an easy read, either, but we got there. And I eventually got my phone back.
Pedestrian right of way is a joke. Two people were walking through a zebra crossing – you know, stripey crosswalk, big orange lights strobing to warn drivers?
Yeah. He sped up.
No fools they… they ran.
Me: I’m going to my grave without ever driving in Greece.
Beloved: they require an international driver’s license anyway.
Me: not necessary. I’ll die happy. And hopefully not on the street dodging these insane drivers.
Examining Misadventures 