StrangeRover
3rd Nov 2005, 17:45
Just back from a fantastic 80 degrees in SW Cyprus. What an off-roader's heaven.
The regulation mode of transport for the locals is a Jap crew-cab pick-up with assorted kids hanging out the windows and a box full of dogs in the load-bed: The box is obviously an option, as the dogs frequently jump-out at speed and can be seen sprinting along the hot tarmac to try and catch up with the extended family.
Avoid anything with red plates: Hire cars! And therefore being generaly abused and roundly thrashed up hill (with the aircon off for the much-needed extra 3 and a half horses) or bombing down hill (passing cement trucks on blind bends, hell-bent on getting up the next hill).
Posh white OneTen CSWs ferry leather skinned ex-pats with Khaki shorts, Jesus sandals and socks to must-see tourist attractions all over the island. We seem to have progressed (regressed?) from knotted hanky to duck-billed baseball cap.
For the adventurer, there are Vitaras to be had at a tenner a day (plus fuel). Turn off any highway (I use the expression very loosly) and you can test the mettle (and metal) of man and machine on the dry limestone hills. Nobody gives a flying feck. Freedom!
Maps can be found in the fiction section of most bookshops: The island is flooded with Euro-subsidy and roads are being laid from everywhere to anywhere, from anywhere to everywhere else and from everywhere else to nowhere. Word from the wise: Just find the coast and follow it home! But don't be fooled by the blue lines on the maps. That's where nature used to send the water before the civil engineers moved up into the mountains with their dams and a million miles of pipe. Now the water is carefully piped to trickle onto the roots or each grape vine and banana tree. Not a drop is wasted. I guess there's probably bylaws making you drink your own pi55.
And after that meandering preamble, Landrovers. Yes, Landies. Loads of them slowly returning to nature in yards, barns or left to die where they dropped like the skeletons of oxen. But whoa, I'm drifting again. You name it, it's there slowly rotting. Series ones, twos, two-As, the full range of short and long wheelbases. Canvas/alloy/thatch, they're all represented here. And they sit on the right. Just as god intended. The climate is so dry for most of the year that rust is such a scarce commodity there's probably a black market.
All the new cars are cheaper than here and UK services folk get to buy them 'duty free'. As most of the island is largely dependant upon imports, there are loads of ISO containers leaving empty. To get a car back to Blighty will set you back about £300 notes.
Food for thought? :D
The regulation mode of transport for the locals is a Jap crew-cab pick-up with assorted kids hanging out the windows and a box full of dogs in the load-bed: The box is obviously an option, as the dogs frequently jump-out at speed and can be seen sprinting along the hot tarmac to try and catch up with the extended family.
Avoid anything with red plates: Hire cars! And therefore being generaly abused and roundly thrashed up hill (with the aircon off for the much-needed extra 3 and a half horses) or bombing down hill (passing cement trucks on blind bends, hell-bent on getting up the next hill).
Posh white OneTen CSWs ferry leather skinned ex-pats with Khaki shorts, Jesus sandals and socks to must-see tourist attractions all over the island. We seem to have progressed (regressed?) from knotted hanky to duck-billed baseball cap.
For the adventurer, there are Vitaras to be had at a tenner a day (plus fuel). Turn off any highway (I use the expression very loosly) and you can test the mettle (and metal) of man and machine on the dry limestone hills. Nobody gives a flying feck. Freedom!
Maps can be found in the fiction section of most bookshops: The island is flooded with Euro-subsidy and roads are being laid from everywhere to anywhere, from anywhere to everywhere else and from everywhere else to nowhere. Word from the wise: Just find the coast and follow it home! But don't be fooled by the blue lines on the maps. That's where nature used to send the water before the civil engineers moved up into the mountains with their dams and a million miles of pipe. Now the water is carefully piped to trickle onto the roots or each grape vine and banana tree. Not a drop is wasted. I guess there's probably bylaws making you drink your own pi55.
And after that meandering preamble, Landrovers. Yes, Landies. Loads of them slowly returning to nature in yards, barns or left to die where they dropped like the skeletons of oxen. But whoa, I'm drifting again. You name it, it's there slowly rotting. Series ones, twos, two-As, the full range of short and long wheelbases. Canvas/alloy/thatch, they're all represented here. And they sit on the right. Just as god intended. The climate is so dry for most of the year that rust is such a scarce commodity there's probably a black market.
All the new cars are cheaper than here and UK services folk get to buy them 'duty free'. As most of the island is largely dependant upon imports, there are loads of ISO containers leaving empty. To get a car back to Blighty will set you back about £300 notes.
Food for thought? :D