Crikey! 1981. That's a long long time ago.
Having got off the ferry and seen the queue for the horse & carriages, we decided to hire bikes. We'd met up with a Canadian mum and daughter and spent the rest of the day with them. Anyhoo, having cycled up the hill past splendid houses, comfortable heat under overhanging trees and dappled sunlight, we got chatting to some Australians who mentioned we'd missed Trosky's holiday home. Back up a hill we went and locked the bikes wandering down a steep hill to gawk at the decrepit hovel that remains of Trosky's place.
Back at the bikes, the cylinders of both locks brake. Brilliant. Stranded. So we begin to traipse back to town and flag down a horse & carriage. After a 'bit' of a discussion, we finally got the hire shop to realise what had happened, where the bikes were, and no, they weren't going to get paid.
We grabbed some food to make a makeshift picnic and went further round, away from the crowds. Thereafter, my wife and the other two girls went swimming with some Syrian refugee children, and got chatting to an islander called Serin, who worked at the airport, and even though it was his day off, was more than happy to walk with us round the island showing us 'stuff' and answering our constant questions about all things to do with island life and Turkey. Brilliant day.