What's the Greek for "where is the nearest argon arc welder ?"

The answer is "πού είναι ο κοντινότερος οξυγονοκολλητής τόξων αργού;", according to Babelfish.  By preference, I would have used the 3rd person singular of the verb to exist, viz "υπάρχει", somewhere in there.

Here's a trick shot involving a pineapple and my bike at the beach.

 Nothing has been planned in advance - we are in the land of spontaneity.  it's a nice day so we ride south along the coast  towards Leonidho to find the fresh water lake just past Aghia Anastasia latterly turned into a nature reserve with EU funding.  This comprises a car park with a poor surface, some defaced boards displaying wild life information but no tea room.

A dramatic view of Paralia Astros in the background.

The KKE have been issuing spray cans by the look of it - EU funding is apparently not now welcome by these born again Trotskyists.

On the way back to Mrs Nikos Towers mountain retreat we pop into the monastery at Iera Moni Loukous for a quick coffee and chat with Mother Popi about world affairs.  It's good to find a monastery with non-commercial pretensions and the seven nuns here busy themselves with horticulture and entertaining the odd visitor.  The two coffees and turkish delight were paid for by the  €1 purchase of a candle to place in the chapel in the best traditions.

A traveller should never be turned away from a proper monastery - but we must mostly cover bare skin - the wearing of shoes is actually encouraged.

I could fill the blog up with pictures of this tranquil beautiful monastery but we are transgressing from the argon arc welder theme too much.

The next morning over breakfast Mrs Nikos surveys the valley below and the mountains beyond and declares that she wants to explore there.  I rush for the Garmin GPS and maps and waste time planning a route - It's the triumph of hope over experience in these lands and Mrs Nikos says "nah* - we just ride through the village and turn right down that track over there!" - she points to a goat track that snakes in a descending spiral around the adjacent mountain . I delay the preparations as much as possible hoping for some natural cataclysm  to prevent the trip.
 *she actually said "nein"

Unfortunately hell did not freeze over and here we are lost down some goat track.  The eagle eyed observer will note the caption on the GPS says "driving on road" but sometimes this randomly changed too "proceed to road". The term road is pejorative.

έχουμε φθάσει -We have arrived at somewhere

 So I had a crash course in riding off road a fully laden (sorry dear) 400kg  motorcycle down dirt tracks and up dirt tracks and through winding narrow concrete paved village streets with goats and shepherds (we met Manoli near home on a 1 in 3 track and Mrs N had a good chat whilst I burnt the clutch out).  When we finally "hit asphalt" I whooped with joy and I drove back to Mrs Nikos Towers with that feeling one gets in a tennis match when winning 40 - love last game final set.  Except it never works out does it?

The result of practical application of incompetence or was it incontinence - spelling has never been my strength

On the two previous occasions when I have ridden directly up to Mrs Nikos Towers, I rode solo  - the entrance is formidable and  requires a deft 180degree turn on gravel covered broken concrete with a 1 in 3 rise upto the parking place - most cars going up there do so on only 3 wheels due to the topography. Now I was 40 love up so giving it gas I swung round without dropping off Mrs Nikos   (aka as "auto steer") from pillion, put my left foot down to stabilise the turn and discovered that due to the inviolate laws of Euclid my left leg would have needed to be 4 feet longer than normal to provide any stabilsing effect.  I think therefore I dropped the bike. I dropped Mrs Nikos after all (the rear pannier box provided protection) but the rear left footpeg cast aluminum mounting plate was broken - I started to sip tsiporro on the rocks and concluded that a skilled argon arc welder could join this back on before the ice melted.

On the way to Tripolis to find a BMW dealer or at least a welder with the correct equipment, we find this old chap - at least 20 years old (just count the concentric rings and multiply by 2π).

We find a motorcycle dealer in Tripolis who confirms that the nearest BMW agent is some unspecified distance away and responds when I ask whether he could order the part with the Greek shrug  and the tutting vertical motion of the jaw "ees deeeefeeeecult" (  "θέλω να έχω το μεσημεριανό γεύμα και να κάνω την αγάπη στην"). We discuss welding. Kindly, he leads us through town at break neck speeds on the BMW F650GS to a welding shop.  The man at the welding shop responds with the Greek shrug  and the tutting vertical motion of the jaw "ees deeeefeeeecult -eeemmpossseeble- ees magneeeeesium" ("έχει τα μεγάλα στήθη - πρέπει να αρμέξω την αίγα μου").

This is the main square of Tripoli - there is probably a considerable amount of EU tax payer's money being spent here,

 Mrs Nikos says that she does not need a foot rest anyway - I say yes you do.  I hatch up a cunning plan and use my ingenuity and considerable training, skill and experience as a self taught son of a self taught Ottoman Greek botch it merchant (aka another chip off the old Turkish delight).

We visit Mr Marcardes at Meligou - the sort of hardware store that stocks trunnion adapters for Nero's offside chariot wheel - if only they could find it.

This kit of parts....

...assembles thus:  A rear foot rest is born from 8mm stud, garden hose, washers and self locking nuts. Mark Evans please may I have your job?

Who needs a welder anyway?