Zero tolerance of parking meters
We had to go to Nicosia to the doctor and, there not being any viable form of public transportation between the two relatively close cities, we drove the car. If I were in Paris, London or Athens there would be a train. Even if I were in Vijayawada in southeast India and needed to get to Chandigarh in the northwest, I’d pay a nominal sum and ride the rails and not have to worry about nutcase, macho, inconsiderate highway jockeys or the cost of the petrol or where the hell to park once I got there.
Driving in Cyprus when there is little or no traffic – and this is much of the time – can be pleasant, but if you happen to travel the highway near cities at just those moments when everyone else has decided to leave for work, which seems to be five minutes before they are supposed to arrive, you’re in trouble. When I used to commute between Limassol and Nicosia every day I noticed that if I arrived at Strovolos at quarter to seven or before, I could cruise into the city in under three minutes.
However, if I arrived at Strovolos at ten to seven, a mere five minutes later, it would take a full half-hour more to get to work. I also noticed that certain co-workers, who lived within two miles of the job, were always late, with the excuse of the bumper-to-bumper queue at the final traffic light. When I made the friendly suggestion that perhaps they might leave the house a few minutes earlier, they looked at me as if I were two tacos short of a combination plate.
Anyway, we arrived at the doctor just on time and began the search for legal parking. Round and round we went in an ever-widening, ever-distancing circle with a small convoy of others on the same quest until we hit a spot just as someone was leaving it.
Next problem was to decipher the instructions on the meter. And how much time would we need? There was always a long wait at this particular doctor. The limit on the meter was two hours. Better opt for that, since both of us needed to be examined (as it were). After an hour and a half inside the surgery it was obvious I should run out to feed the meter. There were still thirty minutes showing, but when I dropped a coin in, these were eliminated and my time started again from zero! I had never seen a bandit meter like this before, even in cut-throat cities like New York. I had enough change for another hour. On the hike back to the surgery, the thought occurred to me: What if I were alone at the clinic and at just short of two hours found myself patiently waiting butt-naked on the examining table while the physician attended to someone else who happened to take great delight in the sound of his own voice?
Needless to say when we finally got back to the car it displayed a ticket. We were just two minutes late, but the fine was only €8 and had to be paid by the 16th, a few weeks away.
On the 14th I drove the car (again, no real public transport) to the appropriate office in Limassol to pay the ticket. Round and round I drove, searching for legal parking. Twenty minutes later and several blocks away I found a spot in front of a bungalow on a residential street. As soon as I stepped out of the car a man ran out of the bungalow shouting that I couldn’t park there. This was his spot and when his wife returned from her shopping she’d have to park somewhere else. I explained my situation, promised to be right back but in the end had to remind him that he had no legal right to that section of a public street.
The clerk at the office laughed at my ticket. “You can’t pay this here. This is from Nicosia.”
“Oh. Has Limassol now become part of Khazastan?” She didn’t find this amusing as she punched my data into her computer.
“Besides, you are late. The computer won’t take your money now.”
“How can I be late? It says the 16th. Today is the 14th.”
“No, the computer says the 6th.” She looked at my ticket. “Ah, you see. The pen maybe didn’t write well. That’s not a one before the six. It’s a zero.”
“That’s ridiculous. Look at it. Anyone would think that’s a one.”
“I’m sorry. You can’t pay now anyway. It will go to court.”
“I have to go to court for an €8 ticket that was miswritten?”
“No, of course you don’t have to go. In some months time you will get a new ticket.
But if you want to fight this one, you have to go to court.”
“Fine. I’ll go to court.”
“But you can’t go alone. You must have a lawyer. And it’s in Nicosia.”
