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
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
posted by /s at 12:08 pm
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