Four wheels are better than two...

Walk the streets like you are on holiday; with no urgency, nowhere to be, at no particular time, let new things wash over you, absorb the differences from what you are accustomed and take the world in your stride; you’ll find adventure comes naturally with a change of scenery. This is the tale of once such adventure.

Coming from a temperate climate you can smell ‘real’ heat in other countries; you can see it in the colour of the scorched earth and all of this is before you step out of the airport and actually feel the sun with its reduced proximity on your face. Then, just as you are coming to terms with the glare, the increasing heat with its burn on your skin and thinking “somewhere around here there must be lizards sun bathing”, someone gives you a leaflet for a water park and you think “that sounds like a good idea”. Four hours on a plane, not even arriving in a different continent but just to a place where the usual rules don’t apply, as always we’d paid our money and now we were taking our ride. Technically it wasn’t even my money, but we won’t deal with technicalities - I was definitely along for the ride, even if my adventurous tendencies do need coaxing out to play on occasions. I was in good company though, as one should always be when travelling, we never bring the best or worse out in ourselves - we need others to do it for us, I was with that person that brings out the best in me, here we shall simply call her ‘she’.
There were some basic parameters that brought about the format of the day in question, they stemmed from the aforementioned leaflet, the entrance fee to the water park, its distance from our accommodation, the price of taxis on the island and our own shortage of funds combined with a frugal nature (in my case instilled by my mother at a young age). Without getting into complicated mathematical equations it was cheaper to hire a vehicle for the day and visit the water park than it would be to get a taxi the 20km there and back. We’d studied and been approached about vehicle hire daily since our arrival on the island, there were jeeps, cars, buggies, mopeds, motor bikes, quad bikes - just about any configuration of motorised transport available to a licensed driver. Of course to the local inhabitants the vehicle of choice was the scooter, generally with as much bare flesh on display as possible, no helmet, definitely some sun glasses, probably some flip-flops and a distinct lack of caution, common and road sense. This is not how I roll, especially abroad with travel insurance bought off a price comparison website. I have however, under gone a limited session of training in riding quad bikes, principally for use off road rather than as a means of transport, I’m also aware that they should not be used for carrying passengers, despite all of this when planning the outing over the days leading up to said excursion it was deemed that four wheels would be better than two, we probably should have just hired a car – but where is the adventure in that?
It was yet another blisteringly hot day as we left the apartment to go investigate the quad hire situation, ideally from a risk assessment perspective I’d have liked long trousers on us both – but in the heat this simply wasn’t going to be an option, at least we’d gone for trainers rather than flip-flops. The previous night we’d discussed our impending excursion with some other guests and the barman at our apartment complex. We’d heard stories of other water parks nearer by and easier to get to, but the leaflet I was given at the airport said it all; “forget the rest & try the best!!!” – “unlimited FUN for all the FAMILY!!!” – “It’s WET!!! It’s WILD!!! – “Escape from Reality!!!”. With that quantity of exclamation marks and the prospect of leaving this tardy reality behind for a new brighter world, the only choice for us had to be “Water City”.
Walking down the hill I had some numbers in my head, and as we approached the hire places I knew we’d be looking at something in the region of 250 or 300cc rather than a 125cc which would probably ensure our place as road kill. It was at the second hire centre that we found the kind of machine we were after. My negotiations with the thick-set, tanned and dark haired salesman were brief but meaningful,
“Hello, is this more than 250cc?” I enquired surveying a mid range quad at the front of his establishment.
“Yes. This one 300.” came the reply in workable English, then pointing to another small yellow machine “That one 125.” Then to another blue monster of a bike “that one 450.”
Next came his prices, which we probably could have read of the display board ourselves.
“How long you need for?”
“Just today, we’re going to Water City, is the 300cc OK?” I foolishly asked, already knowing the response.
“Water City, Yes. This one OK.”
“And does the price include insurance?”
“Insurance, ten Euros more a day.”
Then with a sideways glance to my would-be co-pilot, “Yes that’s fine.”
“OK, follow me please.”
“OK.”
Work wasn’t the guy’s forte; standing around pretending to be cool and unfussed was much more his thing, I’d imagine he was fairly comfortable on the beach in Speedos; probably playing bat and ball. Never the less we went upstairs to the office beyond the showroom/forecourt. The paperwork was completed at haste, with just a cursory look at my driving license; we ended up paying €20 a day for insurance that I assume gave us ‘fully-comp’ rather than ‘3rd party only’. On the way down from the office to get the keys I had the temerity to ask for helmets. The response was less than positive. There were three or four on a shelf behind a counter at the back of ‘the yard’ – none of which looked even remotely medium let alone small which is what we were going to need.
“You must go to other office and collect more helmets there.” The sales man said with a point in the direction of the nearby town, “I phone for you and say you are coming. Go along road into town, opposite the Vodafone shop.”
We took the best helmets he had on offer and headed back to the quad on the frontage road, with a low level of reassurance. The guy ‘helping’ us put the key in the ignition and kindly informed us “You need to get fuel.” This was all working out just brilliantly.
“Ok, is it diesel?” I asked
“No, No! No diesel – the petrol”
“Ah – Ok – do I go over there?” I said pointing across the road to a filling station.
“No! No this is private. You must go along road in town until the end, then fuel station will be on left.”
There followed the briefest of driving lessons - generally just starting the thing; which as it turned out I was going to get a lot of practice at throughout the day. Gears wise it was forward and reverse, which would make life easier. Then probably less than 10 minutes after setting eyes on the bike it was ours and I was turning it around on the frontage road and heading down in to town, complete with my co-pilot wearing an oversized helmet and a rucksack all unsafely positioned on a nonexistent rear seat, holding on as best as she could.
As a thoroughbred citizen of the UK driving on the right side of the road has never come easy to me; joining a main road from a slip going the wrong way, thus cutting across traffic all on a quad bike did therefore not fill me with joy. However, with careful observation and a thrust of acceleration we were out of the slip across the main road and heading into town on the right and right side of the road – even if it felt oh so wrong.
Although still early in the day town was busy and negotiating what can only be described as the ‘main drag’ or ‘the strip’ as I liked to call it, wasn’t easy – cars, scooters and buses jostled for position whilst tourist pedestrians ambled along – mostly sun stroked and or hung over. Somewhere in this mix a red quad bike was being driven increasingly expertly between all, with a co-pilot keeping a keen eye out for a mobile phone shop with a logo she knew only too well. Once this was located I was made aware and indicated right, a rare courtesy on this road and stopped at a 45° angle to ‘the strip. We found the bigger brother of our hire company and went in where it seemed we were reasonably expected, I’d imagine the call ahead was not high on the priority list for the proprietors, but then nothing really seemed to matter to any great extent. Never the less my wing-woman and I were furnished with slightly better fitting and fetching helmets and we were back on ‘the strip’ negotiating another path through the melee to go and find fuel.
Perhaps it is only my ‘Britishness’ that makes me see it as sad when Europeans learn their English from American TV and films, occasionally this is combined with an accent and I’m left thinking that Hollywood has a lot to answer for. But whatever the accent or locality of the language they’ve learnt, multilingual are these European ‘American’ speakers and for one whom only knows the Queen’s English such as me, communication and therefore life abroad are made possible. For this I should be thankful, but of course I’m not and therefore poured scorn on a sign that said ‘Gas Station’ as we pulled across the traffic and headed for a pump – complete with an attendant. I am no expert on the oil industry nor the fuel capacity or consumption of a quad bike – but in no time the tank was filled to the brim and we were left with change from our fuel allowance, for this I was thankful. Bidding our attendant farewell it was back in to the traffic and out on the main road heading eastwards along the north coast.
Leaving the town behind us the quad groaned its way along the tarmac as I accelerated to find a good cruising speed. I hung to the right hand curb mindful of the cars and bikes speeding past us, but with a top speed of somewhere between 30 and 40mph (or possibly kmph) we weren’t too much of a hold up. The road was wide enough for vehicles to pass us as it headed in land to avoid the resorts on the north coast and now away from the hustle and bustle of town I may have even relaxed and began at to focus more on navigation rather than simply survival. As per usual this was a mistake, I’m not sure how far we’d travelled along the road but mindful of our need to head southwards inland and having just passed a sign for a water park pointing in that direction I pulled over to the right prior to making a U-turn to see if it was indeed our turning I had missed. With a gap in the traffic I made my move; as I now remember from my brief tutorage in driving quad bikes, distribution of weight is important, particularly when manoeuvring in tight curves, the idea is to lean forwards with weight over the inside wheel as you bring the handlebar in on the same side towards you. This knowledge escaped me as I swung in an arc, not nearly tight enough and at far too great a speed across two lanes of traffic. I can’t be sure how long we were in the air for or even whether all four wheels did indeed leave the ground at the same time, but with a series of thuds we careered up and over a bank on the opposite of the road from where we had come. We landed at a halt back on tarmac in a cloud of dust with a crunch, just about upright and still in contact with the vehicle – on which we were both briefly just passengers. Slightly bruised, confused, shocked and in my co-pilots case appalled we gathered our wits about us. I disembarked the vehicle and gave it a brief inspection and, as you would expect from a vehicle designed for off road travel, it looked OK. Gathering our sensibilities we headed gingerly back in the direction we had come from, rejoining the road and now heading east, back to the junction with the sign for a water park.
Perhaps realising that we were in fact working off a map on a leaflet handed to us at an airport that purported an escape from reality as we knew it, my co-pilot turned navigator and made the executive decision that we should stop in a nearby shop just before the junction and ask for directions – something which as a male goes directly against my instincts. I pulled up and was left to contemplate what had just happened and the sensibility of the entire excursion whilst my more than sensible female companion sought out help. She returned successful – this wasn’t the water park we were looking for, not even close. Apparently the proprietor of the shop had spoken impeccable English and given full and frank directions complete with landmarks. We needed to continue westward along the same road and head over a bridge then down into a town avoiding joining the main highway toward the airport. From there we would look for signs to Water City and turn left heading back underneath the highway and up a hill towards our destination.
With a small amount renewed confidence we set off, up to the junction, being sure to be on the right side of the road and then at a green light, with a clear road ahead, across the lanes back onto the main road down past the scene of our earlier ‘episode’. Back at cruising speed all was well, even overtaking a couple of other slower tourists on quads, however, these successes were short lived as heading up hill our engine faded sharply without so much as a cough or a splutter and coasted to a halt at the side of a road with traffic rushing by, not good. My mind raced at what damage we might have done and how the hell we were going to get back to base let alone to the water park, but then pulling tight the brake I pressed the ignition switch, the engine fired and we were off again. For a while we were back on track but a few hundred metres up the road the engine died again and we coasted once more to a halt. This time it didn’t start first time, but eventually went at the 4th attempt a few minutes later; the small part of my brain that knows about vehicular maintenance moved towards it being an issue of overheating. Either these bikes were not made for long journeys running at high revs or there was a problem with the bike’s cooling system, if it even had one. We could have phoned up the hire place or even turned back, but both geographically and emotionally we had come too far and so soldiered on. The bike worked better coasting downhill as the road turned back toward the sea but at random intervals usually when there was no safe place to stop it would die all over again. This continued along the main road and over the bridge, below which was a dry, barren gully where a river should have been, and down to the junction with the main highway which we safely negotiated. Passing a man unsuccessfully herding goats, we headed down in the next town where we of course missed our next turning but realised in time to do, this time round, a successful U-turn and follow our first sign for Water City. Heading under the highway the road stretched uphill in front of us and I knew this was bad news for both the ailing bike and its driver. The climb started steady enough but then tuned into a winding zigzag stepping it’s away up a steep hillside with hairpin corners linking into each other. With my recent record of sharp turns I was careful to get my weight over the inside wheel as we turned and headed ever upwards, all this whilst dealing with oncoming traffic, cars overtaking and the bike still cutting out at irregular intervals. Luckily on the turns at least the bike kept going and eventually the road levelled out as we turned right down past a large placard on the brow of the hill, mocking the Hollywood sign, in large letters it read “Water City”. The bike cut out one last time before our arrival, as if to insure its point had been successfully made, contradicting the salesman at the hire place,
“This one not OK.”
Once restarted we turned into the car park and approaching the entrance there was no relief on my part, no sense of achievement just a vague feeling that if nothing else I could forget about the journey home for a few hours. We left the quad bike to one side of the main entrance next to some scooters, well away from the cars and buses and walked up to the entrance kiosk. We paid our money, brushed through the turnstiles with helmets in hand and entered the kingdom of Water City.
Reality didn’t seem to disappear as we came out of the turnstiles but perhaps it did alter, a bit. There were various inflatable rings; some carried by a wide range of people of all ages and in front of them a mass of multicoloured chutes, rapids and slides descending into various pools at the bottom of the hill with sun loungers aplenty laid out, all around palm trees and grass filled in between the neat patio paths and steps. There were screams of delight, merriment and sheer terror, all in equal measure being carried on the breeze from all around; at the top of the stairs was me, sweating, still stressed from the journey and before long heading to get changed and roll a cigarette. My partner in “fun for all the family” and I convened at the lockers of which we’d purchased two – the second principally to hold our helmets, although as it turned out they didn’t both fit in the same locker so all belongings including a cool bag packed lunch were divided between the two. Now in our swimwear we headed for the attractions busying ourselves with the ride with the shortest queue first. This was a steep tube slide that although fast and frantic was a steady introduction to the thrills and spills to come. Much more sedate was our ride around ‘The lazy River’ in rubber rings which involved stopping to pose for the park photographer.
Even if we had the climate for them, water parks on the scale of Water City just couldn’t exist in the UK: Health and safety, insurance companies, public health, planning regulations - all the tedious elements that actually make our society the forward thinking place it is wouldn’t allow it. That said, if we did have the climate the chances are we wouldn’t be as uptight as we are and maybe then throwing yourself down a near vertical slide for a hundred metres, being thrown around in a circle in a large bowl at the bottom and dropping headfirst, hopefully still in one piece, into a pool about a metre deep would be perfectly acceptable. The attractions names speak for themselves: Hydro Tube, Free Fall, Body Slide Cyclone, Kamikaze, Turbo Guns, Black & Red Whole (I think they meant hole), Hyper Race, Crazy River, Sidewinder and Turbo Cyclone. At the time of our arrival “Sidewinder” was closed for maintenance, I was hesitant as to whether I should be reassured by this or not. No matter though as it was open a few hours later and I then found myself side by side with ‘she’ holding an inflatable in the shape of a figure of 8 about to take on the “Sidewinder”. This slide consisted of two steep ramps joined in a ‘V’ shape with a gully at the bottom. You were launched in your inflatable from the top of one ramp down over the gully and straight up the other side where you either turned by momentum and headed back down forwards or gravity took hold first and you slid back down backwards; this continued until both forces were spent and you settled in the gully where a shallow stream lead you off into a pool to one side of the ‘V’. Standing near the front of the queue however, I wasn’t too concerned about the physics but more occupied about the biology in the shape of the weeds growing in the structure holding up the ramps and the vacated bird nest above the stairwell. Perhaps this had been the source of the earlier emergency maintenance. Reaching the front of the line a life/death guard met us with an evil eye, we’d seen him earlier on another ride and I think he had taken a shine to my female co-rider – this didn’t bode well as we sat in our inflatable – boy in the front, girl at the back – not really ready for what was about to happen. He launched us with all his considerable might to such an extent we flew downwards, skimmed over the gully and reached the top of the opposite ramp with its narrow lip in a matter of split seconds, another metre and we’d have been over the other side and falling to a wet and messy end. In an attempt to avoid sliding back down backwards I was able to turn us through about 45°, but this just meant we came down sideways instead, back over the gully and towards where we had just come. This process continued another few times until our momentum had waned. Coming to a rest at the bottom and with panic well and truly set in, I concerned myself with vacating the area as soon as possible – this involved standing up to pull our inflatable towards the exit pool – in this I was effective, however, as I sat back down I landed on my co-rider’s left foot with a bump. A move that was not appreciated at the time nor for the rest of the day walking around the park and going up the various steps and down the various slides.
Taking a rest for lunch I headed back to the lockers to retrieve our sandwich making materials and other picnic items. I can’t recall the exact workings of the lockers or how I got myself in the predicament that I did, but in the course of getting lunch and moving various items around the lockers I managed to lock the key to one of the lockers inside the very locker that it opened. It doesn’t matter how many American TV programs they’ve watched, trying to explain that to someone who does not have English as their first language is tough going. I didn’t even realise myself what I had done at first and spent a while re-tracing my steps up and down the complex looking for the key, not easy when the soles of your feet are burning on the drier sections of the concrete with every step. Eventually I gave in to my own brain and had to accept that the day wasn’t moving in the direction I hoped it would and headed into the gift shop where I had earlier purchased the keys and padlocks. After some gesticulating and much mangled conversation I headed back to the lockers and awaited a man with a master key. He duly came and upon opening the locker I took out a towel and with it the lost key fell to the floor. I looked stupid, as I often do, but at least I looked honest, as I generally am.
After shamefully explaining the fresh mess I had concocted to the ‘other half’ we enjoyed our picnic lunch on some sun loungers under the protective shade of a parasol, then continued our thrill seeking mission taking on ‘Freefall’ as well as re-visiting a few rides from the morning but deciding against re-joining the queue for the ‘Sidewinder’. ‘Freefall’ like most of the slides did not afford the comfort and protection of an inflatable as you took your ride; this meant as we got into the afternoon the skin on my back was diminishing from scraping across the joints in the plastic at high speed, this combined with the now swollen and bruised left foot meant before too long we were back to the lockers for our towels and helmets having exhausted our reserves of fun and excitement, for now. After successfully negotiating the locker situation and timidly handing back in both keys to the gift shop, we collected a souvenir photo, as if we could ever forget our trip to Water City. It had been an escape from reality, of sorts, certainly only as a result of a few hours on a plane could we have experienced these things and despite the aching in our bodies from being thrown around the slides it was well worth the effort, adventure and money.
Outside the main entrance my heart sank as I looked towards our Quad bike, not at the thought of our journey back, although that would have been the case had a car not been blocking us in against the wall in front of which we parked. There was space to manoeuvre and edge backwards and forwards but it was going to be 30 or 40 point turn to squeeze through. She had the idea, it was a good one; grabbing hold of the bull bars we were able to lift the quad and turn it, then pushing by hand we squeezed it through a narrow gap past a supporting pillar and the car that had imprisoned it.
As much as I will never forget Water City and its delights I didn’t stop to look over my shoulder as we pulled away and started our descent back towards the coast. Winding down the hill we stopped to admire the view from on high; the scorched barren hill top heading down to olive groves with the terracotta roofs of farm buildings, then the white washed walls of hotels and holiday apartments along the coast and beyond them a clear blue sea with rocky islands on the horizon meeting a cloudless sky, all in an azure haze. But enough of that dross, we took some photos of us in our shades and helmets on back of the quad and set about the journey home. Winding down the hill was easier going than heading up, even as the engine cut out I was able to coast to a suitable place to pull over and re-start it. This wasn’t the case as we got further down towards sea level and if anything the engine gave out more often on the return journey and in ever more inconvenient places. There had also been a few flights come in to the island that afternoon which meant an increase in the traffic on the roads – notably in the form of coaches winding their way around the island resorts dropping off holiday makers at their destinations. This did not bode well for us trundling back along main road to our own resort. The coach drivers didn’t give way or so much as an inch as they passed us and with their increased girth it made our lowly position in the road ‘pecking order’ even more precarious; this was of course whilst the engine was running - when it wasn’t we were sitting ducks. Several times on the return leg of our journey we were marooned on the side a road with no lay-by or hard shoulder to call upon, it was all I could do to guide the bike up on to dusty verges to get us out of the path of passing traffic. Never the less we somehow avoided what should have been certain death and when the bike did work we made good progress; before too long we had passed the scene of our earlier attempt at a U–turn and were edging our way back to the outskirts of ‘the strip’ where we had earlier collected our helmets and fuel. As if our progress had not be slow enough before dropping into town we were passed by the local Sight-seeing train, which wasn’t actually a train but a tractor pulling a series of trailers hooked together. With every bit of my fibre I fought against the temptation to follow the gleaming white train in an effort to catch up and overtake it; but this was neither the time nor the vehicle for racing. So we headed back on to “the strip” where we were sandwiched behind cars and coaches with motor cycles and pedestrians passing us by as we crawled through the busy town. At one stage we were lodged behind a coach delivering passengers with parked cars to our right and other vehicles passing us by on the wrong side of the road to our left. There was another quad behind and so with no room to manoeuvre I could do nothing but sit and wait whilst inhaling face and lung-fulls of exhaust fumes. Wearily we made it through the strip and were at least on the right side of the road to turn sharply off the main drag and head back to our apartment. The turn was a sharp hairpin but by now my cornering had improved and we headed back past the rear of the hire place with a torrent of abuse running around my head but not leaving my mouth. The fuel gauge was still over half full and we had a few hours before the quad had to be returned so we decided to head back to our place and celebrate an accomplished mission before heading off to explore the local villages, hopefully on some quieter roads.
After we’d been up to drop off our bag and recover from the homeward journey we returned to our less than mean machine and headed back out. It fared better at slower speeds but still cut out on now and again, but by this point that was simply part of normal operation. We explored the local villages with their traditional buildings, shops and restaurants; a touch of culture to follow our day of more modern entertainment. Having passed a local bakers we found a suitable spot to park up and went in to sample their delights. We sat in the local square with a treat each and then headed into a quiet bar for a drink, escaping the still strong sun for a while. It was a traditional place with bare stone walls and a long wooden bar running along one side. Traditional that is except for the two large televisions mounted up on the wall, but having chosen to holiday during a major football tournament there were generally large televisions wherever we went. Making conversation with the waitress whilst sipping on an ice cold beer we learned of her recent employment at the tavern and her ineptitude at working the music system contained within a DJ booth at the far end of the bar. This was demonstrated by the fact that she could only manage to play the same track over and over and to coin her phrase she did not know “which buttons she had pressed”. The girl seemed so fearful of her absent boss’ reaction when he returned to discover this, I decided to go over and help. But just as I was getting to grips with the software and mixer she saw the owner coming back across the road and yelped as she ushered me from behind the booth,
“Aggggh! Here he comes back. Quickly, Stop, Stop!” she screamed.
Reasonably unperturbed I sauntered back to my seat and continued my beer as the owner walked in and seeing her near the booth immediately went over and began to fiddle himself, I could tell straight away that he didn’t really have a clue either and as quickly as he had walked in he was gone leaving the same song still playing. Finishing our drinks and getting up to go it was only as were saying our goodbyes that the waitress interrupted us,
“You pay me now, please?”
“Oh, god – we’re so sorry” was our joint response, full of English embarrassment and over the top apology as I then explained,
“In the UK we always pay first in bars, I just totally forgot where I was.”
Good old shame and embarrassment, combined with charm I’m sure it can transform even the ugliest of situations. We paid and tipped, then left her to the music centre and possibly, judging by her earlier reaction, a subsequent beating from her boss. We got back to the quad and headed back down the hill past our apartment and towards the hire place. The bike cut out a couple more times on the way, but despite trying to use up fuel by driving back and forth outside it wouldn’t die in the presence of its owners. Giving up, we parked it out the back of the hire company and returning our helmets and the key we attempted to explain the problems we had experienced. Typically the salesman we dealt with that morning wasn’t that fussed as he took the keys and heard my tales of woe,
“Sure, sure. We will look at engine. Thank you.”
He wasn’t going to look at anything, he was going to siphon off the remaining fuel, park the quad back out the front and give it to an unsuspecting person the very next morning in the same state we had received it – possibly now with slightly more damage to the suspension. Still, what are tourists for if it’s not being taken for a ride?
Leaving the hire centre we crossed over the road to the supermarket to pick up some supplies, as we did so we saw from behind a couple climbing aboard a quad bike and speeding off down the main road. They were both dressed in just swimwear save for their sunglasses and flip-flops, the female passenger carrying a fully inflated lilo under her arm which was flapping in the breeze and making a bid for freedom as they headed in to town. Laughing hysterically my companion grabbed for her camera to get a picture as they drove off.
“Good Luck with the buses” I thought to myself with a knowing smile.

The thing about adventure is that you get out what you put in, sometimes in disproportionate levels. The chances are that couple with a lilo drove at high speeds and got home with all their flesh fully intact, with no problems what-so-ever. That’s not how my life works; the smallest of nods in the direction of adventure bring about the craziest of times and since I’m always enjoying life the most when it is not going according to plan, I love it. So, I’ll be cautious as I walk the streets like I’m on holiday; because there is always bound to be an urgency and yes, I’ll let new things wash over me and take them in my stride, but I have to be careful as I tread. Life comes at such a pace, sometimes just holding on whilst it throws me through the air is the only option. In my case, I guess the overriding thing is that when I land it’s better to have four wheels hitting the ground, as opposed to just two.