Cypriot Health and Safety - 13th October 2006

While searching for a shortcut to the beach I found the following in the road...



Yes it is a metal wire support cable which is embedded right in the middle of the road. To make matters worse there is no street lighting in this area.

Imagine the fun you could have. You wait till dark, order a pizza and then watch the pizza delivery boy coming around the corner on his motorized hairdryer that passes for a moped.... then you phone the police and watch them drive into it too.

Epistle from Cyprus V - 10th October 2006

Bird migration
Cyprus lies at the eastern end of the Mediterranean sea and is in the path of many birds migrating from Europe and Russia. As most of the birds in the UK wear in indistinguishable brown uniform that makes it difficult to tell them apart I was amazed to see a brightly coloured
Bee-eater for the first time perched on a wire in front of the house. I had heard them and caught glimpses previously but this one was close up and quite an amazing bird to English eyes.
A few days later in Otto's coffee shop we sat with one of the locals called Kostas who just by chance had a dead bee-eater on the window sill behind him. To save H.'s English sensibilities Kostas tried to tell us that it simply fell from the sky and possibly died of old age or exhaustion. A trickle of blood from under its wing gave the game away. It did give us the chance to see it close up and they are slightly larger than an English blackbird but with a formidable beak with which it kills and eats up to 250 bees in a day. As such they are not held in high regard by the locals. Cyprus like Greece is famed for its honey with yoghurt. As the evening wore on H. picked up the bird and said she would take it home to bury it. At this point Kostas decided it time to emphasize to us that we were now in Cyprus not England. He promptly took it into the coffee bar and plucked it put it in a pan and presented it in front of us with an oil and vinegar dressing and some of the local unleavened bread.

Cypriot health and safety regulations
I have been aware since I arrived that Cypriots merely pay lip service to health and safety matters. This was brought starkly home to me on a recent boat trip.
It was an organized snorkel trip with perhaps the largest scuba operator in Cyprus. I was wary to begin with when I found that the snorkel instructor had only arrived from the UK the previous week. The ‘captain’ of the boat I took to be Egyptian as the conversation between he and the instructor was stilted to say the least. Things did not get off to a good start when the manifest of passengers’ names blew from the quayside into the sea and no one seemed concerned. On the other boat trips I have been on we have been obliged to wear safety vests. Not here though. The safety vests were all neatly stowed under some netting. The sea was a little rough so the ‘captain’ elected for a couple of rock shoals about 1 or 2 miles from the coast. The ‘captain’ slowed the boat occasionally so that the sound of the engines did not disturb his mobile telephone conversations. Eventually he selected the leeward side of the first of the rocky shoals but after about 20 minutes it was apparent that the rough sea was causing too much foam and cut up seaweed in the water so he opted for the second rocks. This was a good deal calmer and visibility was much better. Off went the intrepid band of snorkellers (should that be a school of snorkellers?) into the water. After a little while I decided to try the end of the rocks. I swam out in that direction. Just for safety’s sake I turned to keep an eye on the boat only to see it disappearing into the distance. Panic is an overused word and in this case does not go near far enough to describe my feelings. They were off the Richter scale. Had I been caught up in a strong current without noticing? What to do now? At this stage the boat was just about reachable so I started out swimming towards it. Then it turned and started back toward me. Thanks heavens for that they have noticed I am not there and are coming back I naively thought. The boat then sailed passed me and they shouted over at me ‘Swim after the boat.’ “Swim after the boat?” Who did they think I was Mark Spitz? Perhaps it was some kind of Cypriot water torture. Make the Englishman swim after the boat, exhaust him and watch him slowly drown just out of reach of safety. Eventually they stopped (layman’s term meaning dropped anchor) back near the rocks again. It was all a mistake. The original anchor they had used was not heavy enough and they had drifted away. What a lark it was what a joke. Exhausted I dragged myself back on board leaving fingerprint impressions embedded on the handrail.
Unfortunately I did not have the wit or composure to ask them if the boat had managed to drift so far in so short a space of time what in heavens name were we doing snorkeling there.

Domestic issues
In a previous note I mentioned how we are coming to grips with some of the more mundane things of life. Hilary has started my domestic education and shown me where the washing machine is and how it is loaded. This has come as a major shock to me but apparently well known in female circles. Wasn’t it a hard enough blow when the truth about Father Christmas was finally revealed. Now to shatter all my illusions it appears that the Laundry Fairy is also a myth. All these years of blissful ignorance and it transpires that socks and underwear do not magically move from the bedroom floor to the washing machine and back to a sock drawer. This is something I might have to get used to.

Kostas' father in law at Loutra tis Aphrodite
We had the good fortune to meet Kostas' father-in-law at the coffee shop. I hope he won't mind me saying that he is about 75 (blame Kostas!) and he was recovering from a Keith Richards moment. He took the grand-children to Loutra tis Aphrodite for a day out. This is the Baths of Aphrodite near Laatchi in the north west of Cyprus a place where Aphrodite the goddess of Love is said to have bathed and received lovers there including Adonis. The place is not as spectacular as it sounds but is worth a visit for the local beaches. However he became lost and decided to climb a tree to get his bearings. He then fell from the tree into the small stream that runs from the springs. The waters of the baths are reputed to have miraculous powers. Sadly the goddess was not around to save him and finished in hospital recovering from cuts and bruises. Just goes to prove:-

A grown man should no go tree-climbing
It's about time that that guy grew up
But most fathers are really like winos and weirdoes
In the long run, they always screw up

Tell me about it.... (Thanks Loudo I knew I could use a quote from you sometime.)

As predicted D. returned home. I guess I must be like the bougainvillea. OK from a distance but you do not want to get too close. Bye D.

Finally

I know you have wanted the answer to this question since the first paragraph. The answer is yes it was delicious and it tasted of honey. What did you expect?

Enough for today.

Greek Cypriot Invention - 12th October 2006

Archimedes? A mere boy. Euclid? A meddler (not to mention scourge of future generations of school kids).






Yianni is the real giant of Greek innovation and genius. I believe this could be a model for the house of the future. Some day all houses will be built with a bar across the front door.

Partial Eclipse - 6th September 2006

Some readers of the epistles have requested photographs and I thought about it for a while. I decided against on the grounds that a photograph would ruin the image that you may have built for this place. Instead I will put up some images of other events that may be viewed in isolation.




There was a partitial eclipse on 6th September and I was looking forward to the event as the nightsky here is usually very clear.

Then 15 minutes before the eclipse the cloud started to come over. It was just like being in the UK again. I did manage to capture a couple of shots of the moon looking through some of the palm trees at the bottom of the garden.

Apologies to any photographers out there as I am not one of your number. The images were taken on a DV Camcorder.

The eclipse can be seen as a shadow on the top left of the moon.

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Coptic Gales - 27th September 2006

For some time we have heard locals talk about the Coptic Gales. These are seasonal winds with evocative Arabic names that effect this part of the world. I had checked with the charts and we were due one on 27th September, the El-Saleeb (the Cross). There is a nice chart of them here:

http://cyprus-storms.batcave.net/coptic_chart.jpg

That day was fine and so I went to bed sceptical about the whole thing. During the night we were woken by a wind blowing through the house in New Testament fashion. The curtains blew about and outside the garden furniture was blown over.
The strangest thing was that normally the temperature drops slowly over night so we would have expected it to cool from 25C (77F) to 20C (68F) whereas on that night the temperature rose from 25C (77F) to 31C (87F) at 6:00 am.

After all these years I understand why Joni Mitchell sang "The wind is in from Africa and last night I couldn't sleep".

Epistle from Cyprus IV - 26th September 2006

The end of the previous epistle gave some of the more mundane details of Cyprus life such as bill paying. We are expecting our local rates/council tax bill shortly. Rumour has it that this in the order of £100. That is £100 per year not per month. If I lived in the next village at the top of the hill then for my £100 council tax I would receive £200 winter heating allowance per year because the village is above 600 metres altitude. Unfortunately we did not know about that when we were choosing a house. Even so £100 to have your bins emptied twice a week (Monday and Thursday) is not bad. Emptying the bins twice a week is essential because the stench is overpowering when left for a full week.

Jean-Baptiste Grenouille would love Cyprus. For those not familiar with the name he is the main character in Patrick Suskind's novel 'Perfume' and is a man with a superhuman sense of smell.The variety of smells in Cyprus is astounding. From the truly gut-wrenching stench of the bins behind the restaurants in the tourist areas to the heavenly delights in the medicinal herb gardens in the monasteries high in the mountains. Fortunately the majority are pleasant. When you walk through the village in the early evening there are the smells of the barbeques that the Cypriots love and the herbs like rosemary, basil and thyme that seem to grow wild on every patch of waste ground. On Thursday evenings there is the smell of 'kleftiko' around the large supermarkets. Kleftiko is lamb that is oven baked in a traditional half-round oven. Then we are able to pick rosemary for cooking our roast while walking back with the Sunday papers.

Talking of smells there was a bit of a stink at Otto's bar recently. (Sorry could not resist it.) His neighbour a lady who runs the coffee bar opposite complained about the smells coming from Ottos drainage system. You have to remember that most of the village drainage system is one step from a plastic bucket. Otto at least has a flushing toilet and tap. OK so the toilet runs into a septic tank in his back yard and the tap runs straight into the ground but his is quite high-tech. The tap drainage was thought to be the culprit because it was running directly onto the ground that was used as the urinal before the inside toilet was installed. I think his neighbour may have had a bit of case.

Cometh the hour cometh the man and up steps Jimmy to the rescue. Jimmy you will remember is Otto's resident scouser and Jimmy has warfarin bruised fingers in many pies. He stays with Stefan a builder so they volunteer to fix the problem. They duly arrive on Sunday morning Jimmy wearing his preferred headgear of black baseball cap and start to dig for the drainage system which no one can remember exactly where it is. At least Stefan digs and Jimmy supervises. After a short while he digs up a very large black spider. Now Stefan is not too keen on spiders but pushes the spider aside and he soldiers on. Soon afterwards the rest of the spider's family appears and Stefan is bit more jumpy. Jimmy chooses this moment to knock his own cap from his head and the cap falls and hits Stefan on the leg.

Stefan beat that cap to death three times over before he realised what it was.

In addition to these occasional notes I have been using a webcam to keep in contact with people at home. I think I should proffer the benefit of my experience of webcam use. The golden rule for using a webcam is that no matter how hot it may be in Cyprus when using a webcam you must always wear a t-shirt. People watching you will *always* assume that because you do not have a shirt you also do not have trousers.

I have mentioned that there are two coffee bars on the main street of Tremithousa, Otto's the one we frequent and the other selling only coffee, water, soft drinks and postage stamps which is run by the little old lady opposite. This lady does not speak a word of English and combined with our lack of Greek leads to very short conversations each morning when we fetch our newspaper and essentials. She is always pleasant and smiles to everyone in the village and is one of the local matriarchs treated with great respect. One local arrived on his motorized bicycle. To call to call it a motorcycle would be to offend others of the type. He duly stayed ordered his water and Cypriot metreo, or medium sweet coffee which to anyone else is sugar with a dash of coffee and slowly drank it and talked over the next 45 minutes. A single coffee the size of a thimble will take a minimum of 45 minutes. When he was done he walked to his cycle lifted the seat and removed his motorcycle helmet which he keeps there and removed a single lemon. You have to remember that Cypriots will never use a motorcycle helmet if they can avoid it and instead it decorates their elbows or is kept warm and safe under the seat lest it be damaged. Anyway he then took the single lemon with two hands and presented it to the lady in the coffee shop with such reverence and care it could have been mistaken for a Faberge egg. She accepted it with equal dignity. It is wonderful how such small gifts can appear so great.

Finally today I wanted to say a word about cars. We have settled our transport problem and far exceeded our budget with a old Nissan March 1000cc. After some initial teething problems it has performed OK but it has set me looking around at the locals and the ex-pats. It is quite simple really. The ex-pat drives a Honda. It has to be a Honda and best of all the CR-V. The Cyprus Retirement Vehicle as they are know locally. A 4 wheel drive CR-V is absolutely essential for negotiating the tough terrain of the recently tarmac ked car park at the UKCA Club (UK Citizens Association) after a heavy Sunday lunch.

The Cypriots are equally demanding. They want a truck. A Toyota HiLux or Mitsubishi L200. A big one. A huge 'dont-mess-me-with-me' one. Doesn't matter how old or what condition. In fact the older and worse the condition the better it is to intimidate the ex-pats in those head on situations. The Cypriots are best I have seen at engineering those head on situations. Yes the Italians, French and Spanish are mere amateurs when it comes the head on confrontation. The Cypriot is king of the brown flair, eyeball to eyeball car showdown.

The standard of Cypriot driving is a matter of great concern to the ex-pat community. So much so that it is the source of an unending thread of letters to the Cypriot English language newspaper. The Cypriots are totally unconcerned so much so that they have developed their own language form that they use while driving. It is an abbreviated form of Morse code performed with the car horn. An example would be as follows.

A Cypriot truck (T) overtakes a Cypriot construction digger (CD) on a pedestrian crossing outside a school at the start of the school day.

CD - "Beep beep"
T - "Beep beep"
CD - "Beep"

Translated into former empire ex-pat speak it would go as follows.

CD - "I say old chap that is an extremely dangerous maneuver there are children about."
T - "Sorry about that I hardly noticed them while I was chatting on my mobile phone. I will get them next time."
CD - "No problem. It could happen to anyone. I wish the little blighters would stand still. I nearly missed one myself."

If it was translated into the more recent ex-pat speak there would be too many expletives for me to repeat.

One of the recurring themes in these notes is that of the Greek Orthodox church and I have to relate a subject which nearly knocked my eye out when I saw it in the main English language newspaper. Greece being the cradle of democracy the Greek Orthodox church is more democratic than most. At the moment there is an election being held for the position of Archbishop and there are bishop candidates from the different regions of the island. This election contest has turned bitter and the candidates have said some harsh words about each other. Something of a local storm in a teacup one would say. However the local Cyprus Mail ran a front page leader headline which summed it up: "BISHOP BASHING".

Definitively enough for today.

Epistle from Cyprus III - 12th September 2006

We have at last discovered the name of the barman/owner/farmer at the local watering hole. 'Orthonos' or Otto as the ex-pats know him because Orthonos is too difficult for the English tongue apparently. Otto told us of the expected arrival of 'Jimmy' who was his best customer and a close friend. The name 'Jimmy' immediately conjured up the image of a savage and tattooed Scotman almost certainly using Cyprus as a base to spend his illgotten gains from the ice-cream wars and remain out Her Majesty's custody. Apologies to any Scots reading this but the name 'Jimmy' always seems to be accompanied by the words 'See you Jimmy' in a strong Glaswegian accent with an implied threat and a potential bottle fight.

A few days later we called in at the coffee bar which was unusually busy and we took our place outside. It is a strange fact that the ex-pat comes to Cyprus for the good weather and then likes to sit inside a smoky barroom to drink his beer. The locals on the other hand sit outside in the shade and fresh air and drink coffee. After a few minutes a tall and well upholstered ex-pat wearing the white singlet vest so beloved of the holiday makers on Blackpool promenade came to join us. He invited himself to our table. Actually these are not tables but small white stools that Otto puts outside his customers to rest their drinks on. The chairs that we use are handmade rustic ones which I am sure would fetch a high price in trendy London shops. The new ex-pat starting talking and his accent was immediately apparent as a Scouser and then the penny dropped that it was not so much 'See you Jimmy' as 'R A Jimmy R A'. As it happens Jimmy comes from Whiston which was/is a small village near to Huyton where I was brought up. At that time both Whiston and Huyton were separate villages which have since been consumed by the ever expanding Liverpool district. Jimmy was back for a few months recuperating from his second heart attack. His arms are covered in bruises and cuts caused by the warfarin medication he has to take. They should not last long he tells us as he has to cut down on the warfarin to be able to consume more alcohol.

J. has already made an agreement with the local Greek Orthodox priest that he can be buried here on the island as it costs only £300 and that is much cheaper than flying home.

Ah the practicality of the hardened drinker.

J. was the first English person in the village. He is so well known that after his first heart attack which happened here the local taxi driver took him to the hospital for free and then picked up his dry cleaning afterwards. You certainly do not get that kind of service with the NHS.

Cyprus is famous if not infamous for its cats. If it was not for the Cyprus cats then there would only be a third as many postcards for sale. They are not as obvious this time as they have been on earlier visits here when they were at every restaurant, bar and hotel and under every chair and table they could have been mistaken for a carpet. The tourist office office have obviously got their act together on this since joining the EU. On one previous holiday there was an occasion when we were driving through a small mountain village and the local children greeted us by waving a dead kitten through the car window. Obviously a quaint local custom.

The Cyprus cat is a thin and spidery creature that appears to have jumped straight out of an LS Lowry painting. (Actually Lowry wrote "I can't do a cat yet. The only way I can do a cat is by doing a very bad dog and then in a way decapitating it and it becomes a cat'")

Cypriot cats exist in one of three states. (I was going to say three categories but that would be too much!) The first state is asleep and always in the coolest and shadiest place. They are the exact opposite of 'Mrs. Chippy' the cat that accompanied Scott to the Antarctic. It was said that Mrs. Chippy was the best thermometer on the ship in that he (Mrs. Chippy was indeed a male) always found the warmest place on the ship whether below in the galley or on deck in the Antarctic sunshine.

The Cyprus cat however is more akin to a vampire and never willingly walks in direct sunshine. If they are forced to move from one location to another they enter the second state which is hurtling from shadow to shadow with legs and tail thrashing and flailing as though all are moving independently. For some unknown reason they usually do this in the evening, across roads and in front of the oncoming traffic.

While performing this trick they frequently enter the third state where they can be returned to their owners by quietly slipping them under the front door.

Hilary has been very much looking forward to the arrival of our youngest daughter D. D.is 16 years old and has decided to come and live with us for the moment. At least she will stay until we have our first major disagreement. I asked Hilary if she was looking forward to taking D. out shopping and doing that kind of girlie thing but she said she was mored concerned with acting as a referee between D. and me.

D. arrived at Larnaka airport which is at the eastern end of the island about 2 hours drive away. We had never been there before and I have to say if that had been the first place we visited then we would probably never have returned. Geographically it has all the variety of Morecambe Bay mud flats. An uninteresting landscape covered in holiday housing and interrupted by dried salt lakes. In its favour I have to point out that the beaches are much better there but I can understand why Agia Napa has the reputation for being such a boozy holiday resort. You would need copious quantities of alcohol to compensate for the boring landscape.

One highlight of the trip however was the opportunity to visit the inside of a mosque. We have seen several mosques in the south of Cyprus but sadly up to now they had all been neglected and sometimes vandalised. The Hala Sultan Tekke mosque near to Larnaka airport has been restored and opened to visitors. Even women! I have to say I did not see any women there but there were signatures in the visitors book to prove they had been there and had come from all over the world. There was even a Koran donated by a couple from the exotic location of Blackburn Lancashire. The Cyprus cats were of course there and had probably been there since before the mosque was built.
It was the first time I had been inside a mosque anywhere. What a contrast it was to the many Greek Orthodox churches in the south. Entering a GO church is like an assault on the senses. The smell of candles and incense and the incredible gold and blue paintings are almost overwhelming. The mosque by contrast was quite Spartan and restrained inside. Something that they both have in common though is the high roofs, stone pillars and walls and cool atmosphere.

The second highlight of the trip was of course picking up D. at the airport. Yes yes yes! At last there is someone on the island who is paler than me. She has the colouring of an extra in a vampire movie. Despite Hilary's misgivings it was nearly 18 whole hours before we had our first argument. OK so that includes 14 hours while D. was in bed asleep. Teenagers, vampires and Cyprus cats never arise before Noon and never ever go out in the direct sunlight.

My quest for the perfect suntan continues. I decided that perhaps the factor 155+ sunblock I was using may be preventing me from reaching the bronzed look and a possible new career as a male model. I decided to experiment with factor 75+ and see if that improved things. After one day I was burned red raw. Strangely though the redness and burning was down my front and back and had completely missed my sides which were still grayish white. I looked like someone wearing an Ajax football shirt. My eldest daughter W. insists this is because when I lie down my stomach is that much closer to the sun. Ha ha. Anyway after that I went back to my normal sunblock and within a few days I was restored to my normal unhealthy 'Y-front grey' hue. We must appear a strange sight when out walking together. Hilary with her gypsy colouring, myself like a preserved cadaver and D. like one of the undead. That may explain the locals slamming their doors when we approach.

Those of a squeamish nature should move on to their next email as I am going to touch on a personal subject. Hairy ears. There is no good beating about the bush (pun intended) as this is something that has affected me for several years now. You start to notice these thingswhen the barber spends more time on your ears and eyebrows than he does on your head. In the last few weeks I have noticed another change. At first I thought it was my imagination. Things are getting worse. I put it down to the additional hours sunshine. At first this was just a theory but I believe it has been confirmed as I have observed the ears of the Cypriot men. It is quite astonishing how hairy a Cypriot ear can be. I believe there is a lucrative business opportunity here if I can find a way of transplanting the hairy skin from a Cypriot ear to a balding English head. I envisage planeloads of shiny pated tourists coming here and returning home with a full head of thick dark hair. I just have to find an entrepreneurial balding business man with airline connections. Anyone have Stelios' number? I checked on his website http://www.easy.com/stelios/gallery.html) and easyhair.com is the only thing he does not have already.

As we have been here over a month we are starting to get into the Cypriot 'system'. That terrible thing where you have to pay bills. We received our water rates bill. Over here everyone is metered so you pay for what you use. The bill itself was a handwritten form none of that computer generated rubbish for Cyprus and for a little over a month the bill was £80. This was something of a shock as we had been led to believe that everything over here was cheaper this being the promised land of milk and honey. Well yoghurt and honey anyway.We checked the figures as best we could and looked at the meter reading. It seems we had been charged for water before we moved in. A simple accounting error and that was it so we could go and get it corrected. This meant a visit to the village Mukhtar who is the local elected council person. The Mukhtar has an office located in one of the local bars (where else?) and is open for business after 15:00 each day. The office itself is a small room with a desk and a couple of chairs for people to sit and wait. There is no concept of privacy as everyone knows everyone else's business. At least they certainly do after a visit to the mukhtar.
There is also no concept of queuing. The English people arrive and sit in an orderly fashion whereas the Cypriots arrive and walk to the front of any queue there may be. I guess it is their country so fair enough. As the Mukhtar is an elected representative then he has no personal property and the locals are free to help themselves to his cigarettes, drinks etc. I have to admit we were a bit vague on that bit but it is something that the British could learn from. If the elected representatives everywhere had no personal property and the electorate are free to come and take whatever they fancied I am sure we would have a fairer and more democratic system. I think we could learn from this Greek tradition after all Greece is the cradle of democracy. "Excuse me Mr. B I will just take the 3 piece suite you are sitting on. You can tell Sherie later OK?"

When all the locals were done we spoke to the Mukhtar and explained the situation. We thought there was going to be a long process of changing the bill which would take for ever. Not a bit of it. A scribble here, a tap tap tap on his Casio calculator, another scribble there and it was all done. The bill was down to £28 for 2 months. Not a computer in sight and it all worked fine. Having spent 6 weeks trying to get BT to persuade their computer to issue a final bill I am now convinced that computers only slow things down.

Our only other dealing with the Mukhtar was to enquire where our mail was going. Silly us! Didn't we know the postman was on holiday for 6 days? Do not worry the post will start to arrive when he gets back or maybe a few days later. One of the few Greek expressions we have picked up is 'Sigah sigah'. 'Slowly slowly'. If the plumber says he will visit tomorrow then that is Cypriot timescale which could be tomorrow or could be next week. Don't worry it will happen .... eventually.

Enough for today.

Epistle from Cyprus II - 29th August 2006

Here is number 2 in a limited series of notes from sunny Cyprus. Unbelievably it is now 4 weeks since I departed the UK. It hardly seems possible and time has flown by. For those who were notpaying attention the first part of my last note was a pack of lies. At least everything except my time of arrival and the temperature. Anyway here a few more observations about my current life.

I have found a marked similarity between Greek grammar and Cypriot wine. For example the definite article in Greek (the word 'the' you moron!) comes in several flavours. Like other European languages it has a masculine, feminine and neuter variety. As I am sure you all know wine also has similar characteristics of red, white and rose.
The similarity does not end there however. The Greek definite article (Pay attention at the back there boy! Yes I am still talking about the word 'the'!) also has three variations for each gender. These are nominative, accusative and genitive. This gives a total of nine variations for the word 'the'.
Similarly with local wine (at least when purchased in the quantities that I am thinking about) comes in sweet, medium and dry for each of the three colours. This also gives nine variations. Now that I have your attention there is more. The Greek definite article (Yes yes yes I am still talking about the word 'the'!) has both singular and plural versions for each of the previous nine. This gives a grand total of 18 possibilities for the word 'the'. I suppose I could continue and say the same is true with the wine but that might be stretching the point.

Ere.. I shay.. pash be adudda o' dose female genitive plurals..

However it does give you some idea of how easy English must seem in comparison and perhaps it accounts for why Anglophones are so bad at learning other languages. Our brains are never exerted when we are learning our native tongue.

I should mention something of the local Flora and Fauna
One day last week I witnessed a David Attenborough moment. A life and death struggle between a wasp and a spider. Being a lifelong Spider-man fan there was no doubting where my sympathies lay but I was on a loser here. A small but terrifying wasp was everywhere and soon immobilized her eight-legged victim. She then proceeded to find a suitable location and drag her prey to a quite hole to lay her eggs and depart. Ah the female of the species.

The bungalow is surrounded by bougainvillea (sp?). Very picturesque and all but do not be fooled. Anyone who is familiar with this will know it is a nightmare. It is covered in thorns at every leaf joint just waiting to impale the unwary. The petals when they fall are almost indestructible. They do not seem to rot into the earth like other biological material but simply blow around for ever clogging up every drain hole and blowing through every doorway. I am thinking of suggesting to NASA that they may want to use these petals as a heat shield on the Space shuttle because as far as I can see they are almost indestructible. I just have to find someway of knitting them together.

A few mornings back we discovered we had been sharing our bed with a monster. There was a spider as big as a dinner plate dead in the bed. I swear it was that big. In the morning closer inspection showed it was actually the size of a 50 pence coin but as many out there will confirm the size of objects in bed is often greatly exaggerated.

One day we were tidying the garden with a little pruning of the bushes and plants. Hilary discovered a cute little green 'grasshopper'. However this 'grasshopper' turned out to be a preying mantis.

Traditional English sports
Some of you may be aware of the traditional 'olde englishe' pastime of cherry stones. The aficionados of the game will know that this involves the eating of cherries and then the firing of the cherry stone between the thumb and forefinger at a target the size of a beer bottle, some 8 to 12 feet away. The game is usually accompanied by copious quantities of English beer. Circumstances have demanded that I have adapted the game to use olives and olive stones instead. I have to say that unlike English beer this is something that travels very well. Mmmmmm. What do you mean you never heard of such a game?

Village life.
The village of Tremithousa is quite unusual in that it changes the spelling of its name according to who you ask and which map you look at. The village itself is situated outside Paphos on the side of a hill. It is a mixture of traditional Cypriot houses in the centre and newer 'villas' around the outside. I can only assume that the locals have made a packet selling off land to the developers. That said it is one of the less developed areas here. We went for a drive to some of the other nearby villages and it could be anywhere in Spain.
The main street of the village runs from the village piazza at the southern point then uphill northwards. The geographic position might seem irrelevant now but wait....

To call it a 'street' is a bit of flattery as at some points it is only the width of 2 people with their arms outstretched. That does not stop the locals from using it as a race track and stunt arena. One of their favourite tricks is to drive their quad bikes up the hill and then tip the bike on to 2 wheels and weave from sideto side of the road .... in the dark .... with no lights. I have to admit I was impressed by that.

The main street has 2 local coffee bars one on each side. These are conveniently positioned so that in the morning you can sit in one and drink Greek coffee and water in the shade and then in the afternoon move to the other side of the road to drink beer and still enjoy the shade. See how the geography of the location is all important and cunningly planned for the all day drinker, idler and ne'er-do-well!!

In my previous epistle I may have seemed a little dismissive of the local attitude to religion. How wrong could I be? The same night I finished that note we visited the local watering hole. The local priest came in and joined us with a few other locals. It was the eve of the big Greek Orthodox celebration of the Assumption of the Virgin. They sat near by and the priest joined the others for a few drinks. By and by someone drove up with some of the local bread which he handed over. From that point I swear it was a miracle. Food seemed to appear from every pocket and every car until the table was covered with a veritable feast.

To rub salt in the priest invited us to join them and the locals were only too glad to share whatever they had with us. This spontaneity seems quite characteristic.

A few evenings later some of the younger village men decided they would have a barbecue. In the main street next to the coffee shop and between the telephone box and wooden telegraph pole. Once again it was quite amazing to see how they produced food from nowhere. Also it was surprising to see such a diverse age range mixing together. The group of about 15-20 guys ranged from 40s to early teens and all seem to be able to mix and chat together. I do not think I have ever seen anything like this in the UK.

By marked contrast we sat with an ex-pat local for a short period were he told us that he had been in Cyprus for 10 years and how much he disliked the Cypriots. He finished his beer and went home to the wife. Apparently his wife does not like him drinking in the pub so he only ever has the one. What a waste of space, oxygen and beer!

Mesogi (mes soy ee) is a village approximately a 20 minute walk away. It is a larger and more populous and popular village especially with the ex-pats and tourists. We decided to eat at one of the taverns there. Once again we struggled to finish the meal and had to admit defeat before the final courses were served. Towards the end of the meal 2 police officers, one armed with a pistol arrived and started to inspect the place including the kitchen. We assumed they were there on some official business. As they approached the room we were in they stopped at table with two local men. The sergeant poured two glasses of beer which I assumed he was giving to the two diners. This shows how rash it is to assume anything here. He then took a large swig from one and proceeded to help himself to the meal. This was not enough. They then decided to put several tables together and had an impromptu feast next to our table. The proprietor served them by now the group had grown to 6 with his finest. One of the guys had brought his own bottle the local version of ouzo. This seems a fairly common practice in the smaller taverns here whereas bringing your own drink into a pub or bar at home would be an invitation for immediate eviction. They insisted that Hilary and I join them for several shots of this firewater. It was not too bad.

They joined us in conversation and when they found out that we were staying in the neighbouring village of Tremithousa thought it great fun to tell the story of the 'Tremithousa brain'. Apparently it is a well documented fact that the average brain in Tremithousa weighs in at 300 grams whereas in Mesogi the average is 400 grams. At least it is well documented in Mesogi. I thought it wiser not to ask if the fact was as well recorded when I got back to my local. As one wag later pointed out perhaps with my brain I should be well at home here in Tremithousa.

Enough for today.

Epistle from Cyprus I - 15th August 2006

It is almost 2 weeks since I arrived so I thought I should at least let you know how things are going. I will not be correcting spelling mistakes, grammar errors or looking for missing / duplicate words. Pedants should stop here. (Mr.P that means you.)

The flight arrived at 23:15 local time and the temperature was 25C. I expected things to continue much in the same vein. How naive! Since then things have gone downhill. The weather has been unseasonably cold. As yet I have not been able to go down to the beach not only due to the cold but also the oil slick that moved in from the Lebanese coast.
The new accommodation is fine if you do not mind hot and cold running cockroaches and nights interrupted by rats scurrying outside and the sound of gunshots from the Lebanese refugees making themselves feel at home. For the last 4 days I have been laid up in bed suffering from the Cypriot equivalent of Delhi belly. Most annoying considering the restaurants are so expensive. OK if you are reading this in your place of employment you had better stop now and go back to pretend to be working as you probably feel much happier with the news of my misfortune. If you are really bored then continue reading....








Except for the arrival time and the temperature all of the above is fabrication! So far things have gone pretty smoothly. The rented place is a bungalow in the village of T. just overlooking Paphos. It has its own pool and garden with the regulation number of palm trees and tropical plants. We had a nasty scare this morning when we thought there was a bees nest at the bottom of the garden and the place was swarming with bees and wasps. It turned out that one of the palms had fruited overnight and the bees and wasps were drunk on the nectar. So drunk in fact that they were drowning themselves in the swimming pool and prevented me from taking my early morning constitutional.

The view from the garden is quite beautiful by day overlooking the town and the sea and even better at night when the coastline is all lit up. I am settling in to a regular routine of sweeping the pool by morning, early morning dip, wander to the local village for a newspaper and to the bakery for bread and cakes followed by a heavy day lounging around the pool or visiting one of the beaches or mountains.

Hilary and I have established ourselves in one of the two local taverns. There is "Ollies" run by ex-pats and serving beer at £1.20 per large bottle in the stainless steel and antiseptic clean, purpose built bar or there is the locally run tavern without a bar or air conditioning which serves beer at £1.00 for the same size bottle. We are usually to be found outside the latter in the evenings. The guy who runs the tavern looks for all the world like George on the farm that I used to stay on. Those who know George will have an instant mental image but for those who do not picture a dentally challenged version of Albert Steptoe (senior). Not sure why it is that I gravitate towards these Steptoesque characters. He recently introduced us to his home-made Halloumi cheese. I have never been a great fan of Halloumi as it always appeared leathery and chewy. This the tavern owner tells me is where we English go wrong. Halloumi should be eaten freshly made otherwise it does indeed go leathery and is then only fit for grilling. I have to say he was right because his fresh Halloumi had a consistency more akin to Fetta and was delicious not to mention courtesy of the house.

The clientelle at the tavern are a mix of ex-pats who have gone native and locals. The ex-pats drink inside at one of the rough tables while the locals sit outside and make a great deal of noise. There is no jukebox so one of them usually drives his 4x4 Japanese pickup next to the door and turns the music up to wake the dead.

I was hoping to go down to the beach where the only fashion accessories are a golden tan and a film of body oil. After 2 weeks I should have picked up something of a tan. Not a bit of it. I have simply gone an unusual grey colour of unwashed Y-fronts. I am sure I can here them say 'Here comes that dirty looking Englishman'. Still it could be worse. I could have the lobster pink appearance of the 2 week holidaymaker or the deep puce of the ex-pat. Hilary on the otherhand has simply gone brown like a native. I am trying to persuade her that she should start selling pegs and lucky heather door to door. Whenever we go somewhere I push her to the front in the hope that as a 'local' we maybe offered some cheap rates and bargains. It also has the advantage that I am nearest the door in case things go awry.

The house is situated in Ayiou Giorgiou, St George's and has a large Greek Orthodox church about 50 meters away between us and our place of worship. It took us several nights to figure out that the strange smell was not one of the locals exotic horticulture but rather the incense and wax from the church that was drifting down. They take their religion as a serious business. Sunday's start on Saturday night with an early service and Sunday morning starts at 7 am with bells calling the heathen English to worship. For those recalcitrants among us all of the services are relayed by loudspeaker to the neighbourhood. The services run for a good 90 minutes but unfortunately there are no football matches running at that time that compete with them so they have the field to themselves.

Enough for today