The air at Rhodes airport was thick and hot, so the temptation was to swallow rather than breathe. People shuffled from luggage belt to luggage belt in a game of airport roulette, where the prize was your luggage.
Harassed-looking airport officials avoided eye contact with tourists, and the airport seemed to swell at the edges each time a plane landed and delivered another throng of sunseekers through the airport doors.
Despite a resolve to take the bus into Rhodes Old Town and find the pensions suggested by the guidebook, it turned out that a wet-behind-the-ears, worn-out backpacker was easy prey for the first tout to approach the airport doors.
“Hai, you with the backpack, you’ve got rrrooom?”
“Uuuum …”
“Come to my naaice pensiyon, not far, iss close-close.”
“Well …”
It was, after all, 10pm and the idea of dumping 25kg of backpack, peeling off a sweat-drenched T-shirt and sitting in front of a fan for an hour, achieving nothing more than a regular heartbeat, definitely appealed.
An amateur attempt at haggling resulted in my paying three times what I could afford, for two arduous nights at a pension that sat under the airport flight path, alongside the main road to the airport.
Twice an hour, as aeroplanes landed and took off, the whole building vibrated and rattled as if possessed, and the quiet between planes was randomly punctuated by whining mopeds and 30-year-old cars clattering along, wishing for death. A quizzical look was all that resulted from my questioning the pension owner about the noise, and she pointed out another Swedish guest who had been returning to the lodging during the summer months for 30 years. The guest used a hearing aid, which was probably off for the majority of the time. I sighed and tried to flag down a passing bus that I assumed was heading in the direction of the Old Town.
Sunny Rhodes Island takes a little getting used to. The year on the island usually has 360 days of sunshine — add to that history, culture, stories of knights and prices that are more affordable (if only slightly) than the most of those in the rest of Europe.
It is a package that most European tourists find irresistible. After 9am the streets are bustling with tourists wearing as little as possible, and German and English are as common as Greek.
Only after a few days of peering over a map, looking slightly concerned, do the seemingly organically designed streets and their names become familiar. The heat turns the lightest garment into heavy, sodden sacking and a frenetic approach to the day is quickly abandoned as the sun climbs higher. Restaurant owners, hair slicked back, carefully groomed and reminding one of used-car salesmen, heckle and harass the passing tourists as they compete for business.
Stores that sell trinkets and annoying plastic toys that only last a few minutes in a child’s hands sit alongside jewellery or leather shops — the stern, wrinkled, owners usually resting in a plastic chair at the entrance.
Rhodos is the largest of the Dodecanese Islands and is situated at the crossroads of two major sea routes. It is the meeting place of the Middle East, Europe and Africa.
This fortunate position has brought economic wealth as well as a trove of culture and history, making the city one of the leaders in the ancient Greek world.
It has seen battles won and lost, art created and destroyed — and is the site of the one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.
The Colossus, which stood astride the harbour entrance, represented the sun god Helios and was constructed between 304 and 293BCE.
It apparently stood for about 55 years before being demolished by an earthquake, which also did significant damage to the city itself.
Figurines of the Colossus are as plentiful as Eiffel Tower key rings under the Eiffel Tower. And despite some sceptical thought that such a construction was an impossible feat and that the statue never existed, the islanders will defend its legend with passion.
Slowly, as the flood of tourism washes over and past you, you start to notice other things.
The Old Town — in its maze of uneven, cobbled streets that play host to tourists and buzzing, careening mopeds — is a standing contradiction in itself.
There exists a community of people that are as inquisitive of the tourists as they are of the residents.
Every day the same old men and women drag wobbly, wooden chairs out to the same spot in the shade and just sit.
As you explore, feral kittens tumble, mewl and streak across the age-worn cobblestones in the quieter alleys, and a few random turns will often yield a quieter, vine-covered taverna more than willing to serve an ice-cold Mythos beer and a Mediterranean dish of some sort.
The restaurants, for the most part, have almost identical menus, and it is fun to try a different plate a day — and whoever said no to haloumi cheese or a Greek salad on a hot day?
Around the town stands a castle wall, strong and high, with only a few entrances to the Old Town from the harbour and the New Town through solid arches. Some of the arches still boast original, heavy wood-and-iron doors that formed a convincing barrier against enemies in ancient wars.
Huge cannonballs now serve as decoration and are littered about the
Old Town and in the moat among palm trees and information boards.
The main port is a curious mixture of vast ocean liners and quaint fishing boats, all neatly tied up on an almost unbelievable, turquoise-blue sea. The commercial harbour ends with a public pool and rowing boathouse, but just around the corner, the yachting harbour boasts row upon row of neat, white-and-blue yachts, flying flags from around the world.
The swarms of tourists demand a certain amount of patience and the stifling heat takes some getting used to, but one of the biggest adjustments that has to be made is going to a beach without waves. Even on a windy day, the most the Mediterranean sea could manage was a ferocious lapping.
A South African upbringing instilled in me the need to fight cross-currents, dive under breakers, get dunked once or twice and to leave the sea breathless with a runny nose, having swallowed a litre of sea water and collected a cupful of sand in my costume.
Eventually, however, the lapping becomes mesmerising, time slows down and a gentle dip in the cool waters every hour seems just perfect.
On the beaches of Rhodes it seems that Helios, the sun god, is still worshipped. Most beachgoers carry three different factors of sun lotion, a body-and-head hair bleach and have an understanding of parasol manoeuvring for ultimate UV-ray absorption.
Some of the locals understandably despise the streams of curious camera clenchers, and will only communicate in grumbles. Others realise that the island depends on tourism for its existence, and will go out of their way to help.
The bus system is run on frenetic arguing, yelling and arm-waving — but is, for the most part, efficient, on time, and bus conductors are used to the varying pronunciations of tourist attractions by visitors in broken Greek.
Venturing out of the Rhodes Old Town into some places in the New Town can often lead to pleasant discoveries and cheaper prices, and the island has more to offer than Rhodes Old Town.
An easy, hour-long bus trip along the coast will take you to the town of Lindos. Apparently famous for its shipyards in ancient times, it now thrives mainly on the tourist trade.
Its castle sits protectively at the top of the hill overlooking the harbour, and a maze of houses nestles against the walls of the castle, creating a blur of whitewashed walls and cobblestone alleyways.
The island has vineyards to visit, history at every stop, day trips to other islands of the Dodecanese and more. It can be explored as a backpacker or as a the guest of an upmarket hotel — and neither experience will disappoint.
At dusk an expectant hush settles over Rhodos. The parasols are cleared from the pebble beaches and the tavernas start to glow under the now deeper green, natural cover of grapevines.
Traditional music played on the bazouki winds its way through alleyways, which no longer compete with the hum of crowds, mopeds and store owners.
The more modern clubs and nightspots come alive and start up the thrumming beats that will last until the sun, once again, begins its climb over the island between the Mediterranean and Aegean seas that worships the sun god.
The lowdown:
Thompsons are offering a special to Greece — R8 249 for flights to Athens, domestic flights to Rhodes, all return transfers and continental breakfast included, between May 16 and July 10. For more information check out www.thompsons.co.za or call Tel: (011) 770 7677. It is about R36 for a bus trip from the Old Town to the airport. Beer costs from R23. The cheapest toasted sandwich is about R12. A gyros (schwarma) is R36. Backpackers can pay from R131 a night for dormitories, and quaint pensions start at about R180 each for a double room, about R360 for a cheaper triple. Visit www.visitcyclades.com, www.greektouristoffice.com and www.greecetravel.com/rhodes/#city.