The Three States of Cypriot Cats

Try this one....

2008-01-28T14:48:00.000+02:00

OnlyaBirdinaGildedCage.blogspot.com

An idle thought...

2007-09-21T14:50:00.000+03:00

If a parent gives a kid a mobile phone (cell phone) then that is the last communication you will have with them.

Unless the kid wants you tom pay the bill of course.

Epistle from Cyprus XIV - 24th July 2007

2007-07-24T09:04:00.000+03:00

Incredibly as it may seem it is now a year since I started my time here in Cyprus. The landscape has turned from dry and parched through to fresh and green during the winter and spring and back to the arid dry. The first fresh crop of dead cats decorates the roadsides and the red numbers plates of the tourists' hire cars seem to outnumber the local cars.

Later today I will disappear over the internet event horizon when my telephone is disconnected and I was going to make this entry a final one with reflections over the year. I have decided to leave that until I have have had a little time to think about it a little and instead share one Cyprus' best kept secrets.

Several months back I was making one of my many sorties around the mountain villages. I had visited a large dam called Evretou and noticed tourists signs for something called the Skarfos Bridge. I decided to have a look and after a short drive and walk found a small arched stone bridge. The bridge no longer has water running under it because over hundreds of years the river has diverted and now runs by what would have been the northern approachway to the bridge.

Skarfos Bridge

The location was so quiet I stayed around quite a while. The bridge is not near any of the more modern roadways and was part of an old trading network that ran to the heart of mountains in the centre of the island. The trade was in the copper ore that gives Cyprus its name. It was so peaceful I decided that when I got back home I would use the internet to look up any other mediaval bridges in Cyprus and then try and visit them. This proved a lot more difficult than I imagined.

Purely by coincidence in the following days I read an article in the local paper about some people who tried to visit some of these bridges that are located in the mountains and forests of central Cyprus and gave up without seeing any believing the bridges to be a myth.
I found a map with a series of three 'Venetian Bridges' marked on it and took the road to the nearest point a small town called Arminou. Now just because point A appears near point B on a map does not mean it is easy to get from A to B. The road became a loose dirt one which became a forest track which became a rutted nightmare.
If the hire car company ever find out I am sure I will be in big trouble. Eventually I was forced to turn back from finding one of the bridges and try in the opposite direction.

The view from the mountain track approaching Kelefos

Here I had more success and was rewarded when I drove the car through a small ford and found the Kelefos Bridge (Tzelefos Bridge). This is a much larger bridge than Skarfos and has a small stream running under it. The water has been dammed to deepen it and wonder of wonders there are fish and small fresh water crabs. It is picnic area and on Sunday is popular with Cypriots which started me thinking how did they all get there. I found out when I continued on the road to the next bridge. The road was a good all weather surface which I should have used in the first place. The problem is you cannot see that on a tourist map where all the mountain roads appear as a yellow line of equal significance.

Kelefos Bridge

The road lead to Elaia Bridge which is another impressive span over a riverbed that has been gouged out of solid rock over the millenia. Here the river was drying up in the intense summer heat. The last few pools of water were a veritable bouillabaisse filled with small fish struggling for oxygen. Seeing the mountain terrain over which traders with their caravans of camels would pass cannot fail to impress. Finding these places with a car and modern roads is difficult enough.
Elaia Bridge

I had now almost completed my task of seeing the bridges but one remained ellusive and would have to wait to another day.

The final bridge is called Roudias and was by far the most difficult to locate. The fact that most of the internet references to Roudias referred to it because it is famous for its vultures and that I could not find a picture of it should have given me a clue. Having failed to find it from the most obvious direction on the map I tried the the opposite direction.

Once again the road ran out. I came to a deserted Turkish village which on the map is called Vretsia but is known to locals as Vrecha. You do start to worry a bit in these deserted villages when you can see that the minaret in the mosque has bullet holes in it. By a stroke of luck I ran into a forest ranger who told me that although I was only 2 kilometers from the bridge it was impossible to go directly there and I would have to double back on another route for about 5 kilometers. I will never know what the 2 kilometer road was like but the 5 kilometers seemed like 50. I had only 2 liters of water and apple and some dried apricots and was beginning to wonder how they would find my dental records out here in Cyprus.

Then I was there in the middle of it. I had found Cyprus's hidden heart. If Aphrodite lived and bathed anywhere in Cyprus it was here. Towering pine trees at the bottom of a mountain valley. The breeze is cool and the sound of cicadas fills the air. Butterflies are drinking by the river bank. As I walk down by the water's edge lizards dart back into the undergrowth and frogs leap into the safety of the water. Small fish hide in the depths as I approach and insects scoot across the surface.

And here too is the Roudias Bridge. Built against a natural rock outcrop it is the most beautiful and most impressive of them all. The river runs against the base of the rock and sweeps under the arch of the bridge. I was the only person there. I was the only person for miles. I had my own personal paradise. I basked in the dappled sunshine under the trees. I stripped and swam in the river and hoped that Aphrodite was not watching. Never did water and dried apricots taste so good. I found a coin on the riverbank and threw it back into the river for luck and for someone else to find.

Roudias Bridge
Apologies for the poor quality of this picture which does not do it justice. I had dropped my digital camera and lost the memory card!

Eventually my time ran out. The real world was calling me back it's voice sifting through the forest. It was shouting. 'Money' it shouted. 'Work' it bellowed. 'Responsibility' it roared. I dried myself with my floppy hat and heeded the call.

The Clock is Ticking - 18th July 2007

2007-07-18T11:53:00.000+03:00

Many people will know Cyprus as a holiday island and may even have been here to one of the holiday resorts by the sea. Our local town of Paphos is one such holiday destination and is pretty much indistinguishable from a thousand other tourist destinations here in Cyprus and in Greece, Spain and all around the Mediterreanean Sea.

Paphos is slightly different in that it is split into two distinct areas. There is Kato Paphos (Lower Paphos) which is the tourist area with its hotels, bars, restaurants and beaches. In its favour I have to say they have a great ice cream shop on along the sea front which I would recommend to anyone who visits the island.

Then there is the old town area called Pano Paphos (Upper Paphos) which is the former Turkish town centre complete with its mosque. This is the part of Paphos that I particularly like. The area still has a Turkish feel to it with many small workshops, trademen and artisans all of which are open to the street for the passerby to see. Before I finish with this blog I wanted to give some idea of what this area is like and so this entry is merely a series of photographs showing a little of everyday life in Pano Paphos.

Pano Paphos has a central open market area that is now used as a carpark, a covered public market that has many small stalls selling linen and other tourist goods and nearby is the mosque that is now closed. The area is surrounded by a series of small streets with 2 storey buildings usually with a workshop at the street level.

Apologies in advance for the poor quality of some of the pictures.

One of the small side streets with its small workshops

Peering into a workshop were they make chairs. Just chairs!

Customized exhausts.

A tailor at work outside his shop.

A furniture shop preparing the tall church pews typical of the Greek Orthodox Church

Looking inside the covered public market

Notice that amid the traditional Cyprus lace there are the racks of pirate DVDs

A selection of DVDs easily available at many of the market stalls

Tin Pan Alley

Busy at work welding in the street

Something completely illegal anywhere else due to the possibility of 'arc eye', damage to the eye caused by looking at arc welding without protecting the eyes

The mosque near the central market

A workshop doing heaven knows what

Outside one of the furniture workshops

A clothes repair shop

Bicycle repairs

And the motorcycle repair shop

Upholstery made to measure

Another furniture workshop

The entrance to my favourite watering hole in town 'Timothy's Bar'

Bar and coffee shop and art dealer and antiques and you name it.

The beautiful tiled floor in Timothy's bar

More tiled floors in Timothy's

I am not a foot fetishist honest.

The band warms up at Timothy's

Letting down your hair at Timothy's

Notice the old chap on the right who is too far gone to get up and shake his stuff.

And finally....

Everyone should take their sheep to town now and then.

Lightning sometimes strikes twice here.

2007-07-11T19:46:00.000+03:00

As chance would have it we had another fire to the north of the village on 10th July 2007 and the fire helicopters were in action again. Usually they collect water from the sea but this time they were using a small purpose built reservoir which is about 500 meters outside the village. We had 'rainfall' for the first time in months as the helicopters went over the house. I managed to get a close up of one of them picking up water.

During the summer months there is nothing on the island that evenly vaguely resembles a river. This is due to a combination of the hot dry weather and government policy that 'no drop of water to the sea'. The idea was that any rain water that fell on the land should be saved for drinking and irrigation. However I recently attended a lecture given by the Cyprus Marine Protection Agency (CYMEPA) where it was stated that this policy was now acknowledged to be one which damages the sea environment because the usual flow of river water no longer nourishes the seas. A much greater emphasis is now placed on water recycling and minimizing usage.

The sight of a fire helicopter is quite novel for English people as we do not have them at home but I promise no more helicopter movies from now on.

(Unless I get requests for the "let's burn down McDonald's" fire were the helicopters came to the rescue!)

Excitement comes to Tremithousa

2007-07-09T10:44:00.000+03:00

Cyprus is a little bit off the beat track by anybody's standards and Tremithousa even more so. Imagine the excitement when we had our very own fire in one of the ravines that separates the village from the main road to the town. The ravine is next to the village cemetery.

When the fire helicopters arrived the whole village turned out to watch. Better than TV.

A Bug's Life - 6th July 2007

2007-07-06T21:41:00.000+03:00

One thing that has become more and more apparent during my time here is a lack of decorum and propriety. There is a lack of order here that extends from highest to the lowest orders of society.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the breakdown in the unspoken entente that exists in the UK between the human and insect populations. At home insects know where they belong. There is strict dividing line between human habitat inside the household and insect habitat outside the household. At home neither party would dream of infringing on the other's privacy and breaking what is a most satisfactory arrangement.

Here there is no such sense of correctness. Insects simply do not know there place.
Ants march freely and brazenly across the kitchen threshold. Millipedes constantly barge their way under the door jams and arrange themselves around the living room, up the walls and on the curtains even going as far as attempting to copulate with the spiral telephone cord. Woodlice do likewise and then fall in small armoured balls at the base of the walls. These require daily sweeping from the house and back outside. There appears to be no end to their varieties. Ants range from something that could mug a rottweiler to those that are microscopic.

Their memories are disappointingly short. Only days after a ceasefire is declared in one of my numerous chemical warefare battles with them than they have breached the defenses again and are encamped around the refridgerator or front door trying to establish new territory. They are not happy with the entire garden and surrounding areas. Their colonial ambitions appear to know no bounds.

Houdini-esque mosquitos, an insect rarely seen in the UK, find invisible holes in the fly screens to torment us at night. And why is it that a creature that was one second buzzing sweet nothings around your ears determined to stop you sleeping in the dark should suddenly become so shy when the light is switched on. I am awaiting the kiss of the benchuca to complete the experience.

Tremithousa School Crossing

2007-07-02T12:52:00.001+03:00

Not see this piece of graffiti previously. I thought it quite appropriate.

Little angels.

Epistle from Cyprus XV - 01 July 2007

2007-07-01T10:42:00.000+03:00

Love in a Warm Climate

Allow me to introduce Phoenicia. Phoenicia is from Greece, tall, very slim with absolutely zero conversation skills who works in a local hospital. Phoenicia found me at a weak moment when I was desperate. It was a brief affair and we were together for just 4 days and 3 hot sultry nights. It seems we were made for one another but then, cold and silent, Phoenicia moved on to some other poor sucker. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

If the ambient daytime temperature is in the 40s only dropping to low 30s each night even a cold fish like myself ought to be prepared for trouble. If you have been running a fever for 48 hours you should not wait a further 48 hours after the start of a bout of 'wildies' before seeking medical assistance.

With a hot fever you start to find some new cold hard facts of life. Like the fact that a ceiling fan is actually a fiendish device; a cross between crack cocaine and Chinese water torture. 'Turn it on! Turn it on! I need it!' 'For crying out loud turn off that noise.'

That an air conditioning unit is actually the sinister big brother of the ceiling fan but with added bleeding sinuses and razor wire stuffed down the throat.

That cicadas are an insect created by the devil and sent directly from hell to a tree outside your window. Their 'singing' has the effect of an electrode wired directly into the brain without anaesthetic. They practice at anytime of day or night beginning with a solo and finishing with full orchestra each voice slightly syncopated to induce the maximum mind numbing pain.

Sunshine is no longer a tourist magnet but is there to sear your brain just before removing your retinas.

That a Cypriot ambulance is a small mobile glass house used to increase the body temperature to dangerous levels. As in common with all Cypriot vehicles at least one tyre skid stop is obligatory. They are guaranteed to rise your profile in your neighbourhood.

- 'Hey! Everything OK?'

- 'Yes I always travel by ambulance. You simply can not get a taxi this far out of town.'

Anyway the hospital reception was an icy 25C and mercifully brief. I am taken to a hospital side room and then I am introduced to Phoenicia. Cool, tall, exotic and silent. Within an hour of hooking up with Phoenicia I start to feel better. I start to see things more clearly. Phoenicia introduces some new friends like Cannula, Saline, Glucose, Ciprofloxican, Bioflor, Buscopan. There are so many I lose track of their names. I started to count my liquid intake but as anyone who knows me will attest after 4 litres of saline and 2 antibiotics I am anybodies.

The hospital staff extract so many specimens and samples I am left feeling like a piece of rag thrown out by a ladies sewing circle. By the way does anyone know why they put a spoon in that little sample tube? Does somebody get to taste it?

Excuse me from breaking with protocol and traditional British reserve here. I know I am only the patient here and it is not my place to ask questions. However is it really my job to check the IV tube for air bubbles that are making their way every 15 minutes into my veins? OK OK I am over-reacting and I am sorry. A male nurse assures me it takes about 20 millilitres of air to cause an embolism. I am calmed and return to bed.

Wait a minute, is that 20 millilitres in total? Do I have to sit here and count them? How big is a bubble anyway?

Here are a few tips if you ever find yourself in the same situation.

Shave your entire body. I have mentioned the fact that Cypriots are hairy. It makes no difference. There are no concessions granted here when removing sticking plaster.

Try and avoid the room opposite or adjacent to the guy who sounds like he is wearing an aqualung filled with snot.

Try and avoid the room opposite or adjacent to the guy who has had his nurse alarm call bell removed. This was not done without good cause. To compensate he has now memorized the name of every nurse on the entire 3 shift roster. Not only that he is happy to demonstrate his new found knowledge and he will call those names incessantly every 8 seconds for the entire 3 shifts.

ETET. Entry to exit times for food. Initially I believed I had sub-second responses but the doctor tells me it was much longer. If I want to make the Guinness Book or Records I have to 'push the envelope'. I assure him that my envelope is already pushed completely out of shape.
The fingers on my left hand are so swollen with IV saline drip I cannot close them to make a
fist. It makes no difference as I am so weak I could not fight my way out of a wet paper bag. They are like a bunch of small white unripe bananas. I hear a universal sigh of relief as I realize I will never play the violin.

01:15AM and my IV has stopped flowing so I go to the nurses' station. She wriggles the cannula back and forward, up and down inside my vein to demonstrate how I can control the flow of saline myself. After I come down from the ceiling I decide that if it stops again it can stay stopped.

Anyone who has been there will tell you that hospitals are boring. Hours and hours of boredom. Nothing to do except work on my Homer Simpson impressions. 'Bed goes up' 'Bed goes down' 'Bed goes up' 'Bed goes down'.

Phoenica and me

I watch an apartment block opposite and I can see a tall leggy blond in a red bikini and sheer white top assisting her partner into a parking space. She makes sure the car is nice and close to the building with just sufficient space for a passing bus or 18-wheeler to slip into the gap. I wait with anticipation to see her driving partner. A stunning petite brunette or perhaps some sleek tanned Greek Adonis? Instead a short obese bald man dressed in a thong gets out. For heavens sake put that away in public.

For a few moments while they enter the building I wonder whether there really is a God. Then I realize that there is ... and He is mocking me.

The Roads in Cyprus - 22 June 2007

2007-06-22T17:42:00.001+03:00

I have on occasion made disparaging remarks about the driving in Cyprus. I think I may have found at least one of the reasons. Early one morning I was driving toward a small mountain village called Nata and approached a sharp left hand bend. Unusually for a mountain road the track was wide enough for two vehicles and was welled marked with white linings.

Which set of lines would you follow? Download the image and zoom it to see if that helps. Remember that in Cyprus, as in the UK, we drive on the left. (Actually it could have been worse if I had been driving on the right hand side!)

Epistle from Cyprus XIV - 20th June 2007

2007-06-20T20:54:00.000+03:00

Come to school with me.

I have just completed my year of evening classes in Modern Greek level 1. I thought you might want to come along with me and experience a Cypriot Gymnasium (secondary school). OK I know you spent long enough trying to get out of school and vowed that you would never return never mind all that rubbish about it being 'the best years of your life'. OK put on your sunglasses because you will need them.

The school I attend twice a week is in the village of Emba about 5 minutes drive away. The building is a large two story concrete building. This is the one, you may remember from a previous blog entry, that was struck by lightning one evening while we were in class. The building is painted a stark white and as with most Cypriot schools has several flags hoisted at the front.

The Apostle Andrew Gymnasium, Emba

One of the flags is the EU flag blue with gold stars. Cyprus is a keen EU member as they receive quite a few benefits and are able to use their EU veto freely in any negotiations regarding Turkey's application to join the EU. As you might expect one is the flag of the Cyprus
Republic which is a white background and a yellow/gold outline of a map of Cyprus and two crossed olive branches. These olive branches are supposed to symbolize peace between the Greek and Turkish communities in Cyprus. Ironic really as this is never likely to happen while the third and most prominently displayed is always the Greek national flag symbolizing a desire for unity with the Greek mainland. Unity with Greece is a complete anathema to the Turkish Cypriot community. (Anathema: nice Greek word there!) The Cypriots appear to be labouring under the misconception that because they speak the same language as the Greek mainland they inevitably should unite with Greece. Perhaps they should have a word with USA, Australian and New Zealand nationals to get that issue sorted out. However lets get into class because I am late as usual.

Peeking up at classroom B9.

I am in classroom B9 on the first floor. There are windows along both sides of the classroom and all the windows and doors are open because of the heat and white net curtains blow in the warm breeze. The walls are all painted white, there is a whiteboard at the front and it is illuminated by white strip lighting without the regulation diffusers that are mandatory in most office environments. The classroom furniture that was once had a wood veneer is now covered in graffiti. White graffiti of course. The students use white printers correction fluid to plaster the chairs and tables. The white graffiti even extends to the glass in the window frames. The chairs and tables have been extensively vandalized and it is difficult to find a chair that is not so
splintered that it does not injure the more tender parts of the anatomy. One week we had new furniture but withing in 2 weeks it had either been removed or customized by the students to match the existing stuff, it was impossible to tell. I don't know if they are feeding the kids around here but each chair and desk appears to have bite marks taken from them.

The lesson itself is like yet another 40 year timewarp. The teacher reads today's lesson and the class repeat it back parrot fashion. Then repeat it again. And again. The teaching technique seems to owe more to the era of 'reading, writing and arithmetic, talk to the tune of a hickory stick' than any modern theory of learning. The chanting is interrupted occasionally by the ring of a mobile phone. No one in Cyprus would ever dream of switching off their cell phone. Even the teachers will immediately break off from whatever they are doing to answer the phone. After 90 minutes of chanting in Greek in this room I am starting to suffer snow blindness and am glad when the session is over. I am sure if these conditions were inside a prison they would be considered a form of psychological torture. My head is buzzing maybe I should drive back home and visit the coffee shop.

Ah! Save haven and warm welcome outside the coffee shop.

How many cats to the boatload? 20 May 2007

2007-05-20T09:27:00.000+03:00

The legend that Helena the mother of the Emperor Constantine was the first person to bring cats to Cyprus is just that. I found the following National Geographic reference to a 9500 year old mummified cat in Cyprus.

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/04/0408_040408_oldestpetcat.html

So it seems that Helena missed the boat.... or the boatload which ever you prefer.

There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that the cat described in the National Geographic article was the victim of a hit-and-run incident by a 9500 year old Cypriot at the wheel of his chariot.

Epistle from Cyprus XIII - 16th May 2007

2007-05-15T13:30:00.000+03:00

More on Birdwatching
I have decided to make use of the time I have spent birdwatching by publishing a book of the many photographs I have taken. The current working title is 'Cyprus: Burds Wot I Soor'. I envisage a deluxe edition of 350 pages (I am sure that should be enough to include even those species yet to be officially classified), each page a glossy 6" x 8" photograph. These will be a miscellany of blurred images or small black dots receding into the distance or the occasional in focus picture of a tree or some foliage. I will of course include some careful posed images of the sparrows eating bread crumbs on the patio and the pigeons on next doors roof unless I can persuade Andreas to rid me of them first. You may remember Andreas as the shotgun owner who celebrates Easter in such a noisy fashion.

I did manage to see one bird which I was pleased with. I was told by one of the ex-pats that there were several European Rollers in a small valley nearby. According to Wikipedia this is a 'Near Threatened' bird.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_Roller

It is a highly colourful bird about the size of a crow and I was very happy when after several hours I managed to track some down and get another set of blurred images for my collection.
When I told my bird watching colleague he shot me down faster than the European Roller that was flat in the road near their nesting location. Apparently they are common as vermin and can be seen all over Europe.

Some More Wildlife
One of the side effects of birdwatching is that you invariably come into contact with some of the islands snake population. The dense undergrowth by the side of the rivers is loved by the snakes just as much as the birds. In fact on several occasions I have nearly stepped on one only for them to disappear rapidly into the long grass. Each time they have moved so fast they have been impossible to identify.

However on one occasion I was driving out to one of the small mountain villages in pursuit of that perfect bird picture for the book when I noticed what looked like a crack in the road surface and so slowed down and eventually stopped. It was a large snake that I recognized from its mug shots at the local police station as a 'Blunt Nosed Viper'.As I was stopped in the road and starting to take photographs several other 4x4s came up and stopped to see what I was doing. The locals were also quite amazed by such a large snake and so they started to take photographs on their mobile (cell) phones too. Eventually there was quite a little traffic jam on the hillside. A line of 4x4s, trucks and tractors all behind my little blue Nissan.

The Blunt Nosed Viper

The first man who approached me told me 'This is the number one killer in my country (Cyprus)'. Leaving aside the fact that the last person killed by a Blunt Nosed Viper was in 1996 who was walking barefoot in the grass, I think he was also forgetting the dozens of people killed by in road accidents by the homicidal maniacs behind the wheel over here and the rising number of domestic murders committed by Cypriot husbands on their foreign born wives and girlfriends.

One of the late comers to the snake gathering conferred with his countrymen and then asked if I wanted to pick up the snake. I am not sure if he was just checking how stupid the ex-pats are or if he mistook me for Moe. ("Homer, I was born a snakehandler and I will die a snakehandler").

Eventually the group of Cypriots decided that as I had been first on the scene it was my snake
and I was offered the honour of killing the snake by running over it in the car. It caused some confusion when I refused as the snake and I had a mutual agreement to live and let live and at last the snake slipped away under my car and off into the long grass at the side of the road. I trust that had I attempted to pick up our slippery friend he would have stopped me but you never know. There is not much in the way of entertainment in these remote villages and the story of how a crazy Englishman was hopping around after being bitten by a snake is something you could tell in the coffee shops for a long time.

Tackling a Blue Pool Snake

A particularly vicious specimen

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man

He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can

But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.

Cultural differences

I came upon the following sign in a small village nearby. I think it sums up one of the differences between Cyprus and England. Bear in mind that the graffiti on the walls in some of these villages refers to the return from exile of Archbishop Makarios. That was in 1956.

I can imagine the reaction from one of my daughters if I suggested that her clothes should be repaired rather than discarded after a few weeks and replaced with this months latest fashion.

I can't see this on my High Street

Maybe 40 years ago but not in 2007.

An Update on Easter in Tremithousa - 26th April 2007

2007-04-24T19:33:00.000+03:00

Great Friday or Good Friday (Μεγάλη Παρασκευή)

First you need to know a bit about the construction of a Greek Orthodox church.
They follow a cruciform (cross-shaped) plan and are oriented west to east with a raised altar at the eastern end. The altar is separated and obscured from the main body of the church by a screen called an iconostasis that is decorated with large brightly painted icons. There is a door in the centre of the screen called the Beautiful Gate through which only the priest may pass. During Lent the icons on the screen are hidden behind black material.

The iconostasis with the Beautiful Gate in the centre
This picture shows an iconostasis from the small church outside the monastery at Stavrovouni.

The Easter Friday (here it is called Great Friday) service is long. Very long. 19:30 - 22:00. The priest is dressed in black vestments and can just be seen through the door in the iconostasis. The entire service is in the form of chants with the disembodied voice of the priest singing behind the screen and acolytes chanting their responses.
The congregation is divided with the women on one side and men on the other. Although the women outnumber the men by a large majority. The women and young girls are all dressed in black. Everyone is dressed in their Easter best outfits. I feel like I have stumbled into a Goths convention or a mismatched outing of group of dark haired dark eyed houris and the opening scene from Macbeth.
The service has a familiar feel. It is like a 45 year time warp for Catholicism where you sit through an entire service in a language that you do not understand. At least here you get to stand instead of groveling on your knees. All during the service there is a constant barrage of fireworks set off by the young men and boys who are guarding the bonfire which is about 20 meters from the church door.
In the centre of the church is what appears to be a funeral bier with a white shroud laid on it. The bier is crowned with 12 candles. During the service young girls are invited to come forward to throw flowers over this bier. When the service is over the candles are taken down. The entire congregation comes forward to kiss the shroud on the bier. They then have their hand sprinkled with water in a ritual cleansing before receiving a single bloom from the priest. This being Cyprus of course the men come first and the women after.
The bier is then lifted and carried aloft around part of the village accompanied by singing and chanting all the way. IThe procession stops at regular intervals to allow the ex-pats to gawp from their windows.
When it arrives back at the church there is one lap of honour around the church before the final event. The 12 candles are broken up and thrown to the congregation. It is believed to bring good fortune if you firstly manage to get hold of a piece of candle and secondly manage to keep it at home or in your car for an entire year. As in all things Cypriot it is not what you know but who you know. Otto, who assists at the church, has saved me a piece of candle and I do not have to scramble and fight for it.

Great Saturday or Easter Saturday (Μεγάλο Σάββατο)

This is altogether a jollier occasion. The service starts in Otto's coffee shop with a couple of warmers to fortify us for the coming night. The church service starts at 23:00 and goes on till 00:30.

Everyone brings their own candle except for heathens and ne'er-do-wells such as myself who take a candle from a box by the church door. People have been making and decorating these candles over the previous weeks especially for this occasion. They are beautifully wound around with ribbons and flowers and with little wind protectors near the wick.
Except for the ones in the box which look like a stick. Holding one of these is like wearing National Health Service glasses. (A stigma that I believe is similar to Welfare coupons in the US)
Today the priest is in white vestments and the black covers have been removed from the iconostasis. Once again the service is accompanied by a gathering crescendo of fireworks on the doorstep. Last year there was insufficient space outside and the lads were forced to bring them inside the church. The priest was not amused and set about them. I certainly would not want to get on the wrong side of this priest. He is a small and powerfully built man and he lives with his wife and family at one end of the village. He is a farmer and is frequently to be seen driving around the village in his tractor with a plough or harrow at the back. I mention this merely to compare it with the strange life led by priests of the Catholic church who live an entirely unnatural and isolated existence. Here it seems a priest can live a normal human life.

At midnight the lights in the church are turned out and the priest comes through the Beautiful Gate with a single lighted candle. This symbolizes the Light of the World. This candle is then used to light all the candles held by the congregation symbolizing the Light spreading around the World. Once again it is believed to be lucky if you can take your candle home and draw three little crosses above your front door with the soot from your candle. My candle does even get as far as the church door before it needs relighting. Then there is a candlelight procession around the church with the church icons held high and leading the way. At one point the church icon are held aloft to forma bridge and the congregation walk under. All this is to the thunderous explosions of hundreds of fireworks on each side so that you cannot hear yourself think.

People drift away home with their candles. As we walk back to the coffee shop a lady drives by in her car and around the corner where we are standing. The passenger window is rolled down and in one hand she holds a mobile phone in the other she holds a lighted candle. Its OK you can do that sort of thing here.

The bonfire has been lit by the church and the village lads have started the barbeque. You should know by now that every celebration in Cyprus is incomplete without a barbeque. When we get back to the church after more fortification at the coffee shop we find the food is ready. A couple of police cars are there and the policemen stand around eating and drinking. After about thirty minutes they decide that the drinks and barbeque are up to standard and leave presumably to find the next barbeque.

The priest sits at the middle of a long tressel table surrounded by villagers. A rival barbeque has been set up by another group of lads about 20 metres away. The rival barbeques entertain themselves by throwing fireworks at each other. The priest is not immune to this. His own side frequently drop fireworks under his chair though he seems not to notice and barely blinks an eye. The joke never fails to lose its appeal even after the twentieth firework and he ignores them all.

The food and drink flows freely. I have no idea who provided it all but someone is always ready to fill up my plate or my glass. The bonfire is roaring and every few minutes there is a huge explosion as one of the homemade fireworks explode. These are serious pieces of ordinance which are detonated a little way away. A piece of shrapnel from one of these would do serious injury.

This little beauty (the one on the right!) exploded about 30 feet away from us.

(That's a metal pipe by the way)

At three thirty Andreas, one of the group, takes the priest home in his pickup truck and returns with his shotgun. He then starts the celebratory shots in the air over the church roof. The fireworks, shooting and feasting continues.

At five o'clock I feel I have done my bit having stayed longer than the other ex-pats and decide it call it a night. Surely nothing else can happen and so I leave them to it. Just as I am departing the group remember that they have not played with the church bell all night. I go off to sleep with the frenzied clanging of the church bell in the background.

The next day the fireworks continue. It is unanimously agreed it was a good evening. Two people were arrested after I departed. Andreas for shooting his shotgun and not having a licence and Costas for shouting at the policemen down at the station while trying to get Andreas released. Costas was allowed out that day and Andreas on Easter Monday.

I don't know about you but church was never this entertaining for me when I was growing up. You never know I might still be going if it had.

Ouch - 24th April 2007

2007-04-24T12:16:00.000+03:00

OK I did not realize so many people would be so keen to know. However I can't just give you the answer that would be too easy. Instead here are a few lines of a song that is significant to me and will also help to get the answer of what is inside the monastery.

Now if you make a pilgrimage I hope you find your grail
Be loyal to the ones you leave with even if you fail
Be chivalrous to strangers you meet along the road
As you take that holy ride yourselves to know
You take that holy ride yourselves to know WZ

The answer is in the song. Come on you are all internet users it is easy now.

Epistle from Cyprus XII - 22 April 2007

2007-04-22T18:16:00.000+03:00

A Pilgrimage

This all started several months ago when we went to Larnaka airport to pick up D. On the way back I noticed what appeared to be a fortress or castle on a high mountain and I made a half-hearted decision to visit the place but not knowing the name of the place it would be difficult and so I put it out of my mind.
This particular day however started as a pilgrimage to Bethlehem in search of a miracle cure. At least a trip to the HP service centre on Bethlehem Street, Nicosia with a laptop with a broken LCD. If anyone asks what you do for a living tell them you collect the 20 cent coins in the public toilets. When was the last time you asked one of those people for help with a problem with your own toilet? Nobody bothers them with work related questions. Can you look at this printer? Can you check my mobile phone?
Having left the patient in the care of the HP laptop hospital (and if you ever read this HP support people I am still waiting for that email you said you would send) I turned back on the 140 kilometre trip home.
Hunger diverted me from the motorway and my stomach directed me along the smaller side roads between Nicosia and Larnaca. It complained bitterly as each small restaurant we found was closed because it was out of season. As I was driving I noticed several tourist signs for a monastery called Stavrovouni but at this point my stomach was still holding the steering wheel.
Generally Mr. Stomach has the timing of a Swiss chronograph and the direction of a GPS but it soon became apparent that there were no restaurants or coffee shops open in this area so we called it quits and tried to head back to the motorway hoping to find the next large town.
Now things started to get strange. No matter which direction I drove I could not find the road back. The tourist map that I had was as meaningful as a Jackson Pollock. The only consistent road sign were the brown tourist signs towards the monastery. Rome, it seems, had been transported to Stavrovouni.

Eventually I was on a road head up a steep mountain and being drawn like a moth to a flame. Mr. Stomach had abandoned all hope of ever being fed again and given himself to his fate of a slow and painful starvation. After 30 minutes I arrived at a car park outside the monastery at the top of the mountain. I bowed to the inevitable and decide to have a look. Just my luck it is just after 1 o’clock in the afternoon and the monastery is closed between 11am and 2pm. Even the monks out here take a siesta.

I decided to wait and have a look around which is not a problem. This car park has the best views in the whole of the south of Cyprus and possibly the entire island. The monastery sits on the very peak of the mountain and dominates the area. I can see from the oil terminal at Limassol in the west, across the salt lakes and the airport at Larnaca and to the very south east tip of the island at Cape Greco. To the north it looks over a central plain to the Pentadaktylos mountains of Nicosia. (Pente - five, daktylos - finger) Thank heavens there are five instead of one of two.

I am so high that I can look down on a light aircraft performing acrobatics in one of the valleys to the north. The plane is swooping down into a valley and trying to chase its own shadow on a mountainside. To the northwest I can see into the heart of the Troodos mountains and the dome of the tracking station on the peak of mount Olympus that looks like a giant golfball. There is snow up there in Troodos.

There I sat in the cool shade of the monastery gates and I could hear the monks chanting inside so it wasn't a siesta. From this vantage it is easy to imagine that you can see across the Mediterranean as far as Egypt and Libya to the south and Lebanon to the east.

Stavrovouni Monastery. There is a footpath but I advise you to take the road.

Eventually the clock crawled around to 2pm and one of the monks opened a small door to the side of the large gates. He was not my vision of a typical monk. He was about as far from the Friar Tuck image as it is to get. He was very tall and elderly with a scratchy grey beard and wore a pair of overalls and an overcoat. An overcoat in this weather! He scrutinized me and asked that I take my camera back to the car as photographs are not allowed inside the monastery. I was then free to around the monastery gardens and up to the central monastery itself. Good job he did not notice the mobile phone. I spent most of the time while looking around, worrying that the phone would ring while I was in one of the quietest and most sacred of their rooms. I did not want to get it out and turn it off lest they caught me and threw me from the precipice for being a god-forsaken heathen.

What was inside the monastery? Well half of the people reading this will never get to find out. Women are not allowed inside the monastery. This is a bit strange because the place was founded by Helena the mother of eastern Emperor Constantine. As for the other half of the readers…well you will just have to come and see it for yourselves. It is worth it just for the view.

Footnote 1
The title of this blog “The Three States…” and the monastery of Stavrovouni are linked. The Emporer Constantine’s mother Helena was forced to land on the island by a storm. Cyprus had been suffering from a 50 year drought and was overrun with snakes. As well as founding the monastery as a gesture of thanks to the island she sent a boatload of cats which were freed to exterminate the snakes. I am not sure exactly how many cats make up a ‘boatload’ but I can vouch that the cats are still here and they are still working.

Footnote 2
I did eventually hear back from HP Support Team. Well after I rang them back again they contacted me. They had sent me an email to the wrong address. Sound familiar. Anyway the patient is back with its owner and I am about £400 poorer for the experience. By the way K. what about my garden hoe? I never got that back.

Footnote 3
The very second I was outside the monastery gate that damn phone rang. Is that divine intervention or what?

Some updates - 10th April 2007

2007-04-10T13:37:00.000+03:00

A slice of good luck

One of my Romanian friends is Nicu. The other Romanians tease him because he comes from an rural area of Romania that is between Transylvania and Moldavia. The Moldavians have a reputation in Romania for their simple and bucolic life. He has the distinction of being the only person I know who fell asleep while riding his motorcycle. This happened late one night and the other Romanians say it is because he forgot he was on a motorcycle and thought he was back home on his horse. He takes all the teasing with good grace.
A few nights ago Nicu had a visit from another Romanian husband and wife. There had been some slight between them and in the ensuing fracas the woman stabbed Nicu in the arm with a broken glass and severely wounded him. The apartment was soaked in blood across the floors and up the walls. Nicu had to be taken to hospital for sutures and had lost a couple of pints of blood. When asked about it later he said he had been lucky. He was quizzed by what he meant. He said that the guy had brought a chainsaw with him and it was lucky that he could not start it.

More spirit activity

Hilary and I were in a restaurant in the next village with two friends and, as the fates would have it, the lady 'psychic, palmist and angel reader' was also there . See(http://thethreestatesofcypriotcats.blogspot.com/2007/03/from-home-of-xenon-of-kition-27th-march.html)
A further coincidence was that our two friends happened to know the psychic lady very well. Perhaps not such a coincidence was that the lady was once again in free touch with the spirits. When she noticed our two friends she came over to our table to declare her undying affection for them both. At that very moment there was a knocking sound on the underside of our table.
Unfortunately the lady was on another plane and missed the message but I received a kick under the table.

Birdwatching in Cyprus

At this time of year there are many more birds around. During the hotter summer months they are not to be seen and I suspect they either migrate of move to cooler locations higher in the mountains of the island. Encouraged by a friend I have started a very amateurish interest in birdwatching. It is a hobby that I find immensely frustrating. My modus operandi is as follows

Adopt relaxed position in chair on the veranda
Wait for a bird to appear on a bush or neighbouring rooftop
Use binoculars and attempt to memorize the subject (size, colouring)
Rush to the computer and lookup subject on the internet.

Even with the entire global resources of the internet at my disposal I have failed to identify anything that was not a sparrow of a pigeon. I have decided that the answer is to adopt the Japanese scientific approach to tghis kind of research. Find it, shoot it, eat it then make a decision about what it was.

"Bang...."
"Mmmmm... that duck was delicious"
"That wasn't a duck it did not have any feathers. It was enormous and grey. It had a tail and lived in the sea. I think it was a whale"
"Are you sure? Ducks have tails and live in water"
"Yeah you are right....and it was delicious"
"Tell you what lets shoot another one and eat it just to check"
"Bang...."
"Mmmmm... that duck was delicious"

Epistle from Cyprus XI - 5th April 2007

2007-04-05T15:12:00.000+03:00

The Easter Build-up

It was early this morning and I was in the shower and I could hear a groups of kids coming down the road as they were making so much noise. Suddenly there was a beating at the door and ringing of the door bell sufficient to raise the dead. My immediate thought was that it was one of the traditions were children visit all the houses in the neighbourhood and extort goodies and money with an implied threat of violence or vandalism. This is much in the mould of the child's Christmas wish list that closely resembles a list of hijackers demands (suitcase with $2 million in unmarked notes, plane ready fuelled with pilot...oh and a Playstation and a new bike).

When we lived in Sweden they had a similar Easter tradition were children would dress as the Påsk Kärring (Poask Sherring) or Easter Witch and take a basket from door to door to gather sweets, eggs and other goodies.

Mr Grumpy eventually stepped from the shower and quickly dressed so as to avoid embarrassment and possible arrest. Of course by the time I got to the door the children were already several streets distant so I prepared for the worst and opened the front door to inspect the damage.
There on the doorstep was a small bundle with a decorated cellophane wrapper. Inside bundle was a small loaf of Tsoureki (Easter Bread) and 2 Kokkina Paschalina Avga (red painted Easter eggs).

Then there was the slow realisation that here the children are actually delivering gifts instead than demanding money with menaces.

My Easter Easter Bread and Red Eggs

I mentioned in a previous note that Easter rather Christmas is the big Greek Orthodox celebration. The preparations have been going on since the beginning of Lent on what is called Cleansing Monday. Each Sunday a large load of wood is delivered to outside the church in preparation for a large bonfire and fireworks celebration on Easter Saturday night. The wood is usually in the form of a tree trunk complete with roots. These are frequently dragged along the roads or on the back of pickup trucks and made into large piles.

On the way to Agiou Georgiou Church

Each church will have their own bonfire and it is a matter of some pride as to which village church has the largest bonfire. This leads to a deal of intrigue. Raids on other village bonfires are quite common. This is either to supplement your own bonfire or for commercial reasons. Firewood of any description is valuable here in Cyprus where they do not yet have their own supplies of coal, oil or natural gas.

The stash of one of the local rivals

These raids serve as a good excuse for the village boys to form vigilante groups to guard their own bonfire. They camp out in the evening next to the bonfire with the barbecue and associated party and loud music that goes with it. With such revelry it is not surprising that nights are punctuated with the sound of explosions as the boys let off steam and fireworks. Hilary has not been impressed with the consequent lack of sleep.

Well the Easter build-up has been so good I for one am looking forward to the main event.

Glad Påsk

Καλό Πάσχα

Paşte Fericit

Happy Easter

From the Home of Xenon of Kition - 27th March 2007

2007-03-27T17:25:00.000+03:00

One of the similarities that I notice from living in Cyprus, Sweden and to my limited knowledge also the USA is the number of unsolicited bits of junk advertising that drop through my letter box. They are usually for local supermarkets and electrical stores listing their latest bargain offers. These flyers are actually quite useful and are eagerly awaited by the locals. Over here they are not content to merely slip them into your letter box but you will also be assailed at each set of traffic lights by people pushing them through any available open window in the car.

One recent letter box delivery that did catch my eye was for “Mind, Body and Spirit Exhibition”. It came with a glossy magazine that described the exhibition and the various presenters. These were the usual motley collection of psychics, palmreaders, regression therapists, tuning fork healers, rebirther trainers etc. I have seen similar exhibitions advertised back in the UK and it always amazes me that they need such an extensive advertising campaign. Surely if the psychics were any good then all of that would be unnecessary and people would just turn up. Maybe I am too sceptical.

A selection of flyers including my favourite.

I continued to read the glossy magazine that ‘celebrates the 11th in the current series of events promoting holistic health and self-development’. Again I am surprised they needed to have so many, surely one would have been enough or maybe two to pick up the stragglers like myself.

To my amazement there staring from the glossy pages was a face I recognised. A lady of a certain age who has stayed in the village several times. She had a long and impressive resume and longer list of letters after her name. She was described as being able to offer ‘Private Tarot Readings, Psychic Awakening Courses, Palmistry, Crystal, Reiki & Angel Readings’ and many more besides.

She is well known around the village for an encounter that she experienced with the spirits in Otto’s coffee shop that caused her to fall from her bar stool banging her head on a table. Still under the influence of these powerful spirits she proceeded to talk in a foul and abusive tongue to the locals before staggering out of the door. She was last seen the next day leaving the village with a black eye that had resisted her extensive healing powers.

My own experiences with the local spirits were equally painful and now I stick to the beer.

I like to think that Xenon (also known as Xeno of Citium) would be smiling.

Lost and Found - 24th March 2007

2007-03-24T10:19:00.000+02:00

I thought I should add this as a footnote to the previous entry about the Coptic gales.

In the unlikely event that a representative of the Egyptian government reads this and they want to know where their desert has gone it is in the front of my house on top of my car. I would be very grateful if someone could pop around and pick it up and wash the car before they leave. Thanks.

El Shams - El Kebira - 23th March 2007

2007-03-23T09:23:00.000+02:00

It is the time of the Big Sun gale. I remain sceptical about the Coptic Gales and their basis in scientific fact but I have to acknowledge that today we are in the middle of a gale. It has been simmering for the last 48 hours and the temperature and the wind from a southwest direction has been steadily increasing. These warm winds that sweep in from Africa (for there have been several) are certainly strange for someone from the northern parts of Europe. In that part of the world any wind is normally guaranteed to freeze the marrow of your bones.

The Halal Sultan Tekke Mosque - 23 March 2007

2007-03-21T11:24:00.000+02:00

I was dropping off a friend at Larnaca airport about a 2 hour drive away so I decided to have another look at the mosque and the salt water lagoons that are just 2 minutes from the airport. It was definitely worth the trouble. The salt water lagoons were crowded with pink flamingoes and other water birds. I was lucky to have my binoculars with me but unfortunately the wild birds were out of range for the camera.

The mosque itself was a bit less mobile so I managed to get a couple of pictures.

The Halal Sultan Tekke Mosque, Larnaca

Although I caught the image it cost me dearly. I was savaged by a several mosquitos that, to judge by the size of the bite marks, must have been the size of small dogs.

You meet the most interesting and friendly of people in these places. Here I met a man from Chechnya who had been asked to visit the mosque by his teacher as part of a pilgrimage. He was dressed in a full traditional costume called a beshmet and a small pointed hat. A character straight from Arabian Nights. He was only too willing to practice his English and give me a personal tour of the mosque.

An unexpected sight - 21 March 2007

2007-03-21T10:52:00.000+02:00

I suppose the geography of Cyprus should have given me a clue. An island in the Mediterranean Sea to the west of Israel so that some would believe it located in the heart of Europe probably close to Rome or those nice Swiss with their cuckoo clocks. The western EU countries see it to the east of Turkey in the depths of the Middle East. Somewhere near Syria. Probably a suburb of Beirut.
It was still a surprise to come across a full scale and savage battle right on my doorstep. Two armies opposing each other and fighting over an apparently barren and stony wasteland. Long supply routes hampering both sides with a constant flow of messages back to their HQs and a stream of reinforcements sent to the frontline. The battlefield itself was littered with corpses. Soldiers engaged in single combat and all prepared for the indiscriminate use of chemical weapons. Each soldier with inhuman strength desperate to overcome their opponent as though they knew that the loser would be dragged back behind enemy lines for a fate that does not bear thinking about.
For hours the battle continued, a war of attrition limited only by the number of bodies each side could throw at the enemy. The next day neither side had prevailed and the landscape they had battled for was as bleak and barren as ever with no sign that either had ever been there.
The only sign of life were the highly coloured butterflies that warmed themselves on the grey rocks.

A visitor to Tremithousa - 14th March 2007

2007-03-14T20:00:00.000+02:00

My son Matthew has threatened to come and stay in Cyprus for several weeks!! Well I know how he likes to watch movies and, as I have just finished a book by John Irving, I thought I would recommend a film for him to watch and absorb.

I am not sure he will find this one at the video library.