We had the habit of running in the beach or near about it in the evenings and when we had time at hand after dinner (when not busy in some movie or TV) we ambled around the city to enjoy the sights and sounds. By the end of a month we had become expert pedestrians, following rules of the road, looking right and left before we crossed. We were standing in the sidewalk, waiting for the traffic to ebb so that we could walk across. We had scarcely waited for not more than a couple of minutes, when the car that was about to pass us stopped. It was a beat-up Citroen with good brakes. The vehicles behind also stopped automatically. The driver of the Citroen signaled us to pass. I, for one was at a loss of words at this royal treatment. This initial shock soon wore off as the same happened at every crossroad. The pedestrians were the Lords of the roads!!!. There were a lot of other pedestrians apart from us. Many of them were very fit, some of them not as good. The many pedestrians who were fit were dressed in singlets and shorts in peak Mediterranean winter, braving cold winds at ten or eleven in the night to go about their jog or run their marathon. It was a strange sight seeing them run at this unearthly hour when most of the people I know back home are either in front of the TV or the PC or having dinner peacefully. It really must require a lot of effort and dedication to sweat it out in the roads just before midnight. Pheidipides would have been very proud, indeed.
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