Last day - and we're even more reluctant than usual, though cheered by the thought of the pleasures of London. Plenty of things we haven't done but it's pretty clear we'll be back.
JAWORSKI TRAVELS
We live our lives forever taking leave - Rilke
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Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Tuesday, March 29/2011
Our second bus tour. This time with Paradise Tours, which, it turns out, offers the same tours as Follow Me for about 60% of the price. Tickets from The Ticket Shop, so no commissions. This time our tour is of the Eastern Algarve. The first pleasure is the tour of Albufeira's hotel areas, as we and a Dutch couple are picked up first. This takes us through the full horror of endless hotels, bars, restaurants, etc., many of them scarcely hiking distance from the seal, and leaves us very happy with our quiet little old world corner - we see nothing we would have traded it for.
Our first real stop is in Old Faro, where half our number promptly disappears on a half day shopping tour. Mostly Faro isn't old word at all, but there is a cobbled area, a cathedral (didn't pay the three euros to look inside) and quite a few storks' nests. The nests are protected so some, like a large one on a very modern lamp standard, are probably inconvenient. We sit by the harbour eating pastries from a little patisserie until the bus is off again.
Olhao, farther along the coast, has storks too, one nesting on a chimney by a large salt pile. Salt isn't all they harvest. There are large covered markets with organic fruit and vegetables and fresh fish and seafood. The most striking fish are the espada - long, flat fish of an artificially bright silver colour. Turns out they're called scabbard fish.
Tavira, a little inland, is a beautifully picturesque vilage on a river, though the arched bridge touted as Roman isn't Roman and is quite a bit later than 4th century. J and I have a nice lunch in a little pizza restaurant. Then on to Réal St Antonio. Another little harbour and tiled main square. Meet a Canadian (she)/Scottish (he) couple who live in Sterling but own a place in Tavira for winter getaways and golf. They seem quite happy with the arrangement.
Our final stop is Ayamonte in Spain,largely to cross the newish international bridge and say we've beento Spain in case we hadn't previously. And, for the first time in the guide's experience, police do board the bus at the border and ask to see passports. When one passenger unwisely tries to take a photograph of a policeman he is told no photographs as "I'm risking my life." Are all policemen drama majors? The Spanish side is, at this point, pretty uninspiring. Huge housing developments. No one house ugly until mass multiplied with no room for landscaping. The hotels are bigger too. Portugal has very benign legislation. Individuals can't own seafront land without providing public access and seafront buildings can't be more than three storeys high. Very civilised.
Home by about 7:30. Nothing wildly exciting but storks and bridges and pretty harbours. A good day.
Our first real stop is in Old Faro, where half our number promptly disappears on a half day shopping tour. Mostly Faro isn't old word at all, but there is a cobbled area, a cathedral (didn't pay the three euros to look inside) and quite a few storks' nests. The nests are protected so some, like a large one on a very modern lamp standard, are probably inconvenient. We sit by the harbour eating pastries from a little patisserie until the bus is off again.
Olhao, farther along the coast, has storks too, one nesting on a chimney by a large salt pile. Salt isn't all they harvest. There are large covered markets with organic fruit and vegetables and fresh fish and seafood. The most striking fish are the espada - long, flat fish of an artificially bright silver colour. Turns out they're called scabbard fish.
Tavira, a little inland, is a beautifully picturesque vilage on a river, though the arched bridge touted as Roman isn't Roman and is quite a bit later than 4th century. J and I have a nice lunch in a little pizza restaurant. Then on to Réal St Antonio. Another little harbour and tiled main square. Meet a Canadian (she)/Scottish (he) couple who live in Sterling but own a place in Tavira for winter getaways and golf. They seem quite happy with the arrangement.
Our final stop is Ayamonte in Spain,largely to cross the newish international bridge and say we've beento Spain in case we hadn't previously. And, for the first time in the guide's experience, police do board the bus at the border and ask to see passports. When one passenger unwisely tries to take a photograph of a policeman he is told no photographs as "I'm risking my life." Are all policemen drama majors? The Spanish side is, at this point, pretty uninspiring. Huge housing developments. No one house ugly until mass multiplied with no room for landscaping. The hotels are bigger too. Portugal has very benign legislation. Individuals can't own seafront land without providing public access and seafront buildings can't be more than three storeys high. Very civilised.
Home by about 7:30. Nothing wildly exciting but storks and bridges and pretty harbours. A good day.
Monday, 28 March 2011
Monday, March 28/2011
Stroll again through the square and surrounds, and stop to buy tickets for tomorrow's tour of the eastern Algarve, now that rain looks unlikely. J asks the woman at the ticket office how business is. Much worse than last year - fewer people for shorter periods and spending less whilst here. Stop on the way back for coffee and almond tart at Sir Harry's (good Portuguese name?) in the square. Would have defined the sweet as cake rather than tart, but it's very good - not overly sweet and surprisingly large, with whipped cream. Coffee very good as well.
Down in the afternoon to Ali's supermarket for more oranges, following Rua Sir Cliff Richards (cantor). A lovely view of the sea and we follow the sea road back. The architecture is lovely - even more recent buildings have the same square white lines, blue trim and Mediterranean red tile roofs. J points out the fascinating little chimneys - small, pointed white ones with little domes or shaped like miniature Greek parthenons. Walk down cobbled paths edged with limestone rocks pitted like skulls and look out over the Atlantic and the resting gulls spacing themselves over the fine sand beach.
Down in the afternoon to Ali's supermarket for more oranges, following Rua Sir Cliff Richards (cantor). A lovely view of the sea and we follow the sea road back. The architecture is lovely - even more recent buildings have the same square white lines, blue trim and Mediterranean red tile roofs. J points out the fascinating little chimneys - small, pointed white ones with little domes or shaped like miniature Greek parthenons. Walk down cobbled paths edged with limestone rocks pitted like skulls and look out over the Atlantic and the resting gulls spacing themselves over the fine sand beach.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Sunday, March 27/2011
Time change to daylight savings across Europe, so back to 6 hours ahead of Central time. The sports bars aren't open at seven for the Australian Grand Prix, opening race of the season since Bahrain had to be cancelled. They are open for the afternoon replay though so one o'clock sees us at Eddie's Sports Bar, a five minute walk away, for a pint and the race, which is interesting despite knowing in advance who won. It's a fairly big bar by local standards, all dark brick and wood, with football jerseys decorating the ceiling. Only half a dozen of us there, but a nice atmosphere - and nice smells of the Sunday roast and Yorkshire pudding as well. Good thing we have spareribs to look forward to at home.
The dinner wine is, happily, the best of the buy-two-get-one free at the wine shop. Gran Toc Hill reserva 2000. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend from Spain, and very nice.
Lilly emails to assure us that they are fine in Lattakia (Syria), and to say that the chaos is being created by outside, non-Syrian elements and that there is a great deal of support for Assad and hopes for reforms in the near future.
The dinner wine is, happily, the best of the buy-two-get-one free at the wine shop. Gran Toc Hill reserva 2000. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend from Spain, and very nice.
Lilly emails to assure us that they are fine in Lattakia (Syria), and to say that the chaos is being created by outside, non-Syrian elements and that there is a great deal of support for Assad and hopes for reforms in the near future.
Saturday, March 26/2011
Stroll through the old town spotting the ticket office and the bus shop for future reference. We've been told that they're near the former site of the bus station = "anyone can tell you where the old bus station was." Sounds probable, but it's always a little unsettling to steer by a landmark that's no longer there. Just as Rachel used to complain that people in Sioux Lookout always gave directions using the former names of local establishments rather than the ones posted on the buildings. But we do find the offices. And we also pass a small stall with the heavy Portuguese cardigans that we admired on the day trip. Here we're in luck, as the charcoal coloured sweater that I favour is clearly not one of the more interesting ones to the woman who owns the stall and she's happy to make a deal. In fact we're both happy. Stop for coffee at O Alentejano on the way back.
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Friday, March 25/2011
Early in the morning (sixish?) feel an earthquake. J still asleep.
Meet a couple from Thunder Bay, of all places, when we're up near Modelo. She's on antibiotics with some kind of respiratory infection, rather spoiling her holiday, but they've booked a two night trip to Gibraltar and Tangiers. Meet them a few minutes later in the pastry cum ice cream shop.
Out to dinner at O Alentejano on the little Rue de Liberdade. It's a tiny place but has excellent online reviews - and well deserved. J has sole meunière, beautifully succulent with garlic and lemon. I have Bacalhau a Bras, Portuguese cod, a lovely peasant dish of salt cod sautéed with onion, grated potatoes and egg. As usual we share so that we each experience both. The coffee is a pleasure in its own right. And such a pleasure after Cyprus where the normal alternative to Cypriot (Greek) coffee is Nescafé. And the price for a beautiful cup of Carmelo coffee is the same as that for instant in Cyprus! The owner asks if we felt the earthquake this morning.
Meet a couple from Thunder Bay, of all places, when we're up near Modelo. She's on antibiotics with some kind of respiratory infection, rather spoiling her holiday, but they've booked a two night trip to Gibraltar and Tangiers. Meet them a few minutes later in the pastry cum ice cream shop.
Out to dinner at O Alentejano on the little Rue de Liberdade. It's a tiny place but has excellent online reviews - and well deserved. J has sole meunière, beautifully succulent with garlic and lemon. I have Bacalhau a Bras, Portuguese cod, a lovely peasant dish of salt cod sautéed with onion, grated potatoes and egg. As usual we share so that we each experience both. The coffee is a pleasure in its own right. And such a pleasure after Cyprus where the normal alternative to Cypriot (Greek) coffee is Nescafé. And the price for a beautiful cup of Carmelo coffee is the same as that for instant in Cyprus! The owner asks if we felt the earthquake this morning.
Thursday, March 24/2011
The (Follow Me) bus picks us up at the green statue, the statue of the patron saint Vicente de Albufeira, along with a young couple from St Vicente Hotel. Surprised to find the bus, which probably seats 80, is almost full. The young couple are stuck in the back width-of-the-bus row. The tour is in English, French and German, with the guide switching fluently. So out past what I take for tall, sweeping mimosas but turn out to be luxuriantly golden acacias. Also olives, grape vines and orange groves. The oranges aren't native to Portugal, nor are the acacias or the ubiquitous eucalyptus (both from Australia) but the figs and almonds are.
Then up into the hills to Silves, the old Moorish capital. There's a cathedral and a castle (dark red like the iron rich local soil). Would have liked to go in the castle, but apart from the admittedly modest entry fee (€2.50, or €1.25 for the retired) there's a queue and we're not really here long enough to waste it all standing in line. The castle is at the top of a roughly cobbled road leading past buildings with nice 18th century iron work balconies. The settlement is much older than that. Both Romans and Phoenicians mined the iron and copper rich area, but very few buildings date from before 1755, the year of Portugal's massively destructive earthquake. There is a second century bridge though, a small Roman arch across the river still used by pedestrians. And halfway up the hill there are storks' nests, at least one clearly occupied by a nesting bird with young to feed. The nests are huge and look quite capable of holding human infants.
And further up into the mountains to Monchique. It's too cloudy, almost foggy, for good views here. There's an over-organised stop for wine tasting though - choice of port, a fairly uncomplex almond liqueur, wine or the local "fire water" (read schnapps?) all in glasses not much bigger than a toothpaste cap - moving right along, there are 80 people filing through in ten minutes. The shop is actually quite interesting, with heavy handmade cardigans and ponchos (€25 to €30 - can't be a great deal more than the price of the wool) as well as colourful tiles and various things like trivets made from the local cork. We've passed quite a few cork oak trees, many of them "naked" to the branching point as the outer bark, the cork, has already been harvested, hacked off in sheets an inch and a half thick or more. This is quite sustainable, and in fact the forests are ecologically valuable. The cork is harvested every nine years and the tree thrives, with the protection of its substantial second inner bark. In the air is the scent of smoke from the cork processing plant. Our lunch stop is in the mountains. J and I pass on the arranged meal and picnic near a stone wall, watching a man nearby working on his garden and listening to a rooster's call by the side of a quiet road.
After lunch is Lagos, with its protected harbour full of yachts. It's nice but somehow seems a little more cosmetised than "our" old town. Funny how any place we've stayed in and done our own cooking we feel like we've lived in - e.g. Rhodes, Krakow, Albufeira - whereas places we may have stayed in for as long or longer, such as Sousse or Bangkok, we feel we've only visited. Lagos has lots of little restaurants and shops, including more with the heavy Portuguese sweaters. This is an historic city - explorers sailed from here to the new world in Portugal's golden age. In the centre of the town there's a spot that once was a slave market. Indeed a dark skinned woman walks slowly past with a large basked balanced perfectly on her head. Not by chance, though, as she stops for coins from the first of our number to step forward with his camera.
We go past Sagres, now a surfing centre but historically home to a navigation school. At the photo op stop one man loses his camera, so the coach turns back - fortunately only a couple of minutes on. One of the other passengers finds the camera in the long grass, amid cheers by the rest of us. Last stop is Cape St Vincent, the southwest corner of Europe. On one side of the lighthouse - second strongest lighthouse light in the world - the Atlantic leads to Africa, on the other side to the Americas. The cliffs are formidable. A few men can be seen fishing from craggy ledges. Not a spot where one would wish to do battle with a fish with any fight to him, and apparently fishermen are occasionally lost here.
It would have been nice to have stopped at Portimao on the way back, but it's been a long day. Half past seven when we get home.
Then up into the hills to Silves, the old Moorish capital. There's a cathedral and a castle (dark red like the iron rich local soil). Would have liked to go in the castle, but apart from the admittedly modest entry fee (€2.50, or €1.25 for the retired) there's a queue and we're not really here long enough to waste it all standing in line. The castle is at the top of a roughly cobbled road leading past buildings with nice 18th century iron work balconies. The settlement is much older than that. Both Romans and Phoenicians mined the iron and copper rich area, but very few buildings date from before 1755, the year of Portugal's massively destructive earthquake. There is a second century bridge though, a small Roman arch across the river still used by pedestrians. And halfway up the hill there are storks' nests, at least one clearly occupied by a nesting bird with young to feed. The nests are huge and look quite capable of holding human infants.
And further up into the mountains to Monchique. It's too cloudy, almost foggy, for good views here. There's an over-organised stop for wine tasting though - choice of port, a fairly uncomplex almond liqueur, wine or the local "fire water" (read schnapps?) all in glasses not much bigger than a toothpaste cap - moving right along, there are 80 people filing through in ten minutes. The shop is actually quite interesting, with heavy handmade cardigans and ponchos (€25 to €30 - can't be a great deal more than the price of the wool) as well as colourful tiles and various things like trivets made from the local cork. We've passed quite a few cork oak trees, many of them "naked" to the branching point as the outer bark, the cork, has already been harvested, hacked off in sheets an inch and a half thick or more. This is quite sustainable, and in fact the forests are ecologically valuable. The cork is harvested every nine years and the tree thrives, with the protection of its substantial second inner bark. In the air is the scent of smoke from the cork processing plant. Our lunch stop is in the mountains. J and I pass on the arranged meal and picnic near a stone wall, watching a man nearby working on his garden and listening to a rooster's call by the side of a quiet road.
After lunch is Lagos, with its protected harbour full of yachts. It's nice but somehow seems a little more cosmetised than "our" old town. Funny how any place we've stayed in and done our own cooking we feel like we've lived in - e.g. Rhodes, Krakow, Albufeira - whereas places we may have stayed in for as long or longer, such as Sousse or Bangkok, we feel we've only visited. Lagos has lots of little restaurants and shops, including more with the heavy Portuguese sweaters. This is an historic city - explorers sailed from here to the new world in Portugal's golden age. In the centre of the town there's a spot that once was a slave market. Indeed a dark skinned woman walks slowly past with a large basked balanced perfectly on her head. Not by chance, though, as she stops for coins from the first of our number to step forward with his camera.
We go past Sagres, now a surfing centre but historically home to a navigation school. At the photo op stop one man loses his camera, so the coach turns back - fortunately only a couple of minutes on. One of the other passengers finds the camera in the long grass, amid cheers by the rest of us. Last stop is Cape St Vincent, the southwest corner of Europe. On one side of the lighthouse - second strongest lighthouse light in the world - the Atlantic leads to Africa, on the other side to the Americas. The cliffs are formidable. A few men can be seen fishing from craggy ledges. Not a spot where one would wish to do battle with a fish with any fight to him, and apparently fishermen are occasionally lost here.
It would have been nice to have stopped at Portimao on the way back, but it's been a long day. Half past seven when we get home.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Wednesday, March 23/2011
The Accuweather site shows no rain for the region tomorrow (as previously predicted), so we book a tour for tomorrow with Follow Me Tours. Billed as the Historical Tour, it's a full day tour and covers most of the western Algarve.
Find Modelo, the supermarket up past the city hall. A good find as it has fair variety at much cheaper prices than the little shops. Knew the locals had to survive somehow, and things are tough here - in the evening the prime minister tenders his resignation when there is not enough support for his minority government's austerity budget.
Find Modelo, the supermarket up past the city hall. A good find as it has fair variety at much cheaper prices than the little shops. Knew the locals had to survive somehow, and things are tough here - in the evening the prime minister tenders his resignation when there is not enough support for his minority government's austerity budget.
Tuesday, March 22/2011
We take a look for a tiny restaurant that had excellent reviews - finding it in a little cobbled lane - for future reference. Sign on a nearby restaurant: Touts Wanted. It is, of course, what one calls them, but sounds a little insulting for a help wanted notice. Stop at the square for a beer - pints for €1.75 ($2.45 CAD, £1.55). Start by sitting in the sun, but it`s just too hot.
Email from Dino asking what country we`re in - the blog doesn`t say. Surely it must, I think - but no, he's right of course. There we are flying off from Gatwick and then landing with no country mentioned [since amended]. Probably foreshadowing the day when I'll have to search through the stamps in my passport to decide where I am - or look at the photograph to decide who I am.
Email from Dino asking what country we`re in - the blog doesn`t say. Surely it must, I think - but no, he's right of course. There we are flying off from Gatwick and then landing with no country mentioned [since amended]. Probably foreshadowing the day when I'll have to search through the stamps in my passport to decide where I am - or look at the photograph to decide who I am.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Monday, March 21/2011
Now officially into spring, though it's mostly a state of mind and a question of location. We've really had nothing but spring since November. Read the restaurant reviews online and start on the first of the three bottles of wine from the shop on 25 April Street. Turns out April 25 (1974) was the beginning of the Carnation Revolution, leftish military coup leading to democracy. But 1974 isn't really all that long ago. People like Emilia must remember it well.
Sunday, March 20/2011
People on the sun loungers outside our patio, but never more than half a dozen. It is, as Emilia at reception says, very calm. Morning stroll and we take the escalator up from the heart of the old town to the cliff top overlooking the Fisherman's Beach. It's a very long escalator, actually two stage - maybe ten storeys? Saves a really intimidating climb.
Pass all sorts of coffee and dinner spots, mentally marking them as well as we can for future reference in the maze. Meanwhile J makes amazingly good spareribs for a man with two burners and no oven. Quite as good as barbecued. We're reading at night - alternating an Ian Rankin novel (detective fiction set in Edinburgh) and The Bookseller of Kabul.
Pass all sorts of coffee and dinner spots, mentally marking them as well as we can for future reference in the maze. Meanwhile J makes amazingly good spareribs for a man with two burners and no oven. Quite as good as barbecued. We're reading at night - alternating an Ian Rankin novel (detective fiction set in Edinburgh) and The Bookseller of Kabul.
Saturday, March 19/2011
Sunny and surprisingly hot in the noonday sun. We take a morning walk along the sea edge of the old town. Albufeira is not only hills but huge sandstone cliffs towering above the fine sand beaches. It's a little reminiscent of Cornwall. There are massive cliffs - and plenty of restaurants and bars atop them, but not blocking the view. Lots of lookouts and the beaches occupied but not crowded. Back through the lanes around the square.
Also trek up above the old town to Lidl to get a few groceries at more normal prices. It's at least a mile, though, and nothing in Albufeira is on the level, quite literally. Like all Lidl stores it's a mix of international and local goods - local in this case including three foot long slabs of dried cod. We're more modest in our purchases - grapes, yoghurt, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and a package of amazingly lean spareribs (€5 - $7 CAD or £4.38 - for 1200 grams).
Also trek up above the old town to Lidl to get a few groceries at more normal prices. It's at least a mile, though, and nothing in Albufeira is on the level, quite literally. Like all Lidl stores it's a mix of international and local goods - local in this case including three foot long slabs of dried cod. We're more modest in our purchases - grapes, yoghurt, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and a package of amazingly lean spareribs (€5 - $7 CAD or £4.38 - for 1200 grams).
Monday, 21 March 2011
Friday, March 18/2011
Wake up to see the rest of our surroundings. We're on the ground floor with a little patio overlooking the pool. There aren't many flats but they're all white and tile, and a few sun yellow sun loungers by the pool. Gulls overhead.
We're in Albufeira old town and a five minute walk from the beach and the tourist streets around the square. There's a tunnel through to the beach and several streets and lanes, cobbled, some with little Moorish looking arches and restaurants, bars and tourist shops. Sunny and any number of places to stop for coffee or beer.
Ask at reception about supermarkets, having seen the high prices and pathetic produce at the corner shops. Well, there's one near the cemetery; sometimes open, sometimes closed. It's open, but we seem to be the only customers and we can see why. The prices are horrific and not really compensated for by quality or variety, unfortunately. but we do get a few things as a start, and on the way back stop at a little shop for what later proves to be a perfectly drinkable bottle of red for €1.95. There's no sign of a clerk at the till here so I gesture with the bottle toward the two old-timers sitting warming themselves on a bench outside the door, thinking one is the proprietor. He's not, but when he bellows "Joao" a bald man shuffles in from an adjoining room and takes my money.
We're in Albufeira old town and a five minute walk from the beach and the tourist streets around the square. There's a tunnel through to the beach and several streets and lanes, cobbled, some with little Moorish looking arches and restaurants, bars and tourist shops. Sunny and any number of places to stop for coffee or beer.
Ask at reception about supermarkets, having seen the high prices and pathetic produce at the corner shops. Well, there's one near the cemetery; sometimes open, sometimes closed. It's open, but we seem to be the only customers and we can see why. The prices are horrific and not really compensated for by quality or variety, unfortunately. but we do get a few things as a start, and on the way back stop at a little shop for what later proves to be a perfectly drinkable bottle of red for €1.95. There's no sign of a clerk at the till here so I gesture with the bottle toward the two old-timers sitting warming themselves on a bench outside the door, thinking one is the proprietor. He's not, but when he bellows "Joao" a bald man shuffles in from an adjoining room and takes my money.
Sunday, 20 March 2011
Thursday, March 17/2011
Wake up knowing there's all kinds of visiting time - flight not until 5:10 - but where does it go (the time, not the flight). Tea and Chelsea buns and talk. And we do book Jean online on a trip to New Brunswick in May.
Then off by tube and train to Gatwick. Was one o'clock early enough to leave? More than. EasyJet flight is due to leave at 5:10 and gets off the ground at 7:10, en route to Faro, Portugal. Usual herding and squashing. but the little man (honestly, shorter than me) with the transfer van is there, and, half an hour later, we're at the hotel in nearby (half hour drive) Albufeira. And reception has stayed open half an hour past their 10 pm closing time, so we're not standing in the street phoning them on the mobile.
The studio is large, airy and very clean. Massive bed turns out to be two singles pushed together and covered with a magnificent bedspread. There is a quite decent small fridge, two burners, a small microwave and a tv with a fair bit of English. And we have free wifi in the room with a fairly fast connection - so our alternative to CNN is BBC World or Al Jazeera on the netbook. Very nice.
Then off by tube and train to Gatwick. Was one o'clock early enough to leave? More than. EasyJet flight is due to leave at 5:10 and gets off the ground at 7:10, en route to Faro, Portugal. Usual herding and squashing. but the little man (honestly, shorter than me) with the transfer van is there, and, half an hour later, we're at the hotel in nearby (half hour drive) Albufeira. And reception has stayed open half an hour past their 10 pm closing time, so we're not standing in the street phoning them on the mobile.
The studio is large, airy and very clean. Massive bed turns out to be two singles pushed together and covered with a magnificent bedspread. There is a quite decent small fridge, two burners, a small microwave and a tv with a fair bit of English. And we have free wifi in the room with a fairly fast connection - so our alternative to CNN is BBC World or Al Jazeera on the netbook. Very nice.
Friday, 18 March 2011
Wednesday, March 16/2011
Moving day. The packing is basically done, but there are always the sorting out and bits to do. Too many grapefruit, and jars to the recycle bin. The calendar with the old photos of Larnaca that nearly gets left behind because we're so used to seeing it on the wall that it looks like it belongs there.
Then with Maggi out to the Tekke - the mosque on the salt lake near the airport. It's high on the list of Moslem holy places, being the burial place of Mahammed's aunt/foster mother (depending on whose account you read). But it's a lovely spot on its own with light breezes off the lake and bird song. A young hawk sits on a tall post and there are the usual hopeful cats. There are bits of exposed stone wall which we find following a sign for the remains of an ancient settlement but no further info. How ancient, who lived here by the lake listening to the ancestors of these birds? In the distance there are pink birds on the lake, but they aren't the flamingoes that winter here. Something smaller and a more delicate pink.
M drops us at the airport. The flight's an hour late, leaving us lots of time for people watching, though as with most airport renovations (in this case a whole new airport) the point was to find more ways for you to spend your money not to find more places for you to sit. It's hot but we spot one woman wearing suede winter boots with pink "fur" trim. It's interesting. One would have thought that culture and habit notwithstanding, perspiration would have the same trigger temperature.
Nice dinner aboard - moussaka, Greek salad and an ok Argentinian wine. OK that is until my newspaper knocks J's glass off the tray and he's wearing an amazing amount of it, pinkly there covering both front and back pockets even after a trip to the WC.
Terminal 5 is efficient if soulless. Twenty-five minutes from landing to boarding the tube, suitcases and all, so we're at Jean's just before 10. Tea and chat. There are samosas and curry? No, we're full - though tempted. But we do put J's trousers through the wash - and the wine vanishes.
Then with Maggi out to the Tekke - the mosque on the salt lake near the airport. It's high on the list of Moslem holy places, being the burial place of Mahammed's aunt/foster mother (depending on whose account you read). But it's a lovely spot on its own with light breezes off the lake and bird song. A young hawk sits on a tall post and there are the usual hopeful cats. There are bits of exposed stone wall which we find following a sign for the remains of an ancient settlement but no further info. How ancient, who lived here by the lake listening to the ancestors of these birds? In the distance there are pink birds on the lake, but they aren't the flamingoes that winter here. Something smaller and a more delicate pink.
M drops us at the airport. The flight's an hour late, leaving us lots of time for people watching, though as with most airport renovations (in this case a whole new airport) the point was to find more ways for you to spend your money not to find more places for you to sit. It's hot but we spot one woman wearing suede winter boots with pink "fur" trim. It's interesting. One would have thought that culture and habit notwithstanding, perspiration would have the same trigger temperature.
Nice dinner aboard - moussaka, Greek salad and an ok Argentinian wine. OK that is until my newspaper knocks J's glass off the tray and he's wearing an amazing amount of it, pinkly there covering both front and back pockets even after a trip to the WC.
Terminal 5 is efficient if soulless. Twenty-five minutes from landing to boarding the tube, suitcases and all, so we're at Jean's just before 10. Tea and chat. There are samosas and curry? No, we're full - though tempted. But we do put J's trousers through the wash - and the wine vanishes.
Tuesday, March 15/2011
Coffee at noon with Margaret, from Terra Sancta. She and her husband moved to Larnaca 20 years ago, after he retired, but he died two years ago. She shows us a pendant he gave her - a hundred dollar Canadian gold coin, which he got in his sailing days and she had mounted. We are joined by her friends Helen and Richard, expats living in Kiti, just south of Larnaca. Then Margaret off to work at the animal welfare charity shop and J and I back along the beach.
The flowers are just bursting out now. They're there all winter but getting pretty shopworn by the end. Now the bougainvillea has new life and along the promenade there are beds of marigold, snapdragons, and petunias. Geraniums here are bush height.
To dinner at Vlachos with Maggi, Jane and Bill, Harry, and Jan, a friend of J&B whom we haven't met before. Elsa is in England, so Harry's holding the fort with the 6 dogs and 15 cats. Never any problem what to do with the leftovers from dinner. The food is so good that there shouldn't be any but so generous that there always are. Jane's moussaka would have fed at least two.
The flowers are just bursting out now. They're there all winter but getting pretty shopworn by the end. Now the bougainvillea has new life and along the promenade there are beds of marigold, snapdragons, and petunias. Geraniums here are bush height.
To dinner at Vlachos with Maggi, Jane and Bill, Harry, and Jan, a friend of J&B whom we haven't met before. Elsa is in England, so Harry's holding the fort with the 6 dogs and 15 cats. Never any problem what to do with the leftovers from dinner. The food is so good that there shouldn't be any but so generous that there always are. Jane's moussaka would have fed at least two.
Monday, March 14/2011
Day one of packing - the easy stuff. Three months lets us get far too comfortable. lso trying to download bits of useful stuff on the netbook - like bus info on Albufeira. Predicting no free wifi.
Unsolicited email which I don't open headed "God will appreciate it if you help me relocate to your country."
Unsolicited email which I don't open headed "God will appreciate it if you help me relocate to your country."
Sunday, March 13/2011
Warm and suny. To 9:30 Mass, and ashes for those who weren't out on Wednesday - like us. Out in the afternoon to the promenade, which is beginning to pick up now with more tourists arriving. Coffee outside the café on the beach, with a bit of a concert in the background at the bandstand
Lauren's baby was born last night - a boy called Dallas.
Lauren's baby was born last night - a boy called Dallas.
Saturday, March 12/2011
Sun and warmth back. J and Maggi and I back to our regular café for Cyprus coffees. Maggi takes the red wrappers from the little Italian biscuits to use as a shim under the wobbly table leg. Sad thinking it's our last market Saturday.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Friday, March 11/2011
The coldest morning of the year - seven and a half degrees when we wake up. January was much warmer. It eventually struggles up to 16, but there's not much sun. Usually the official high is misleading as it's much hotter in the sun.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Thursday, March 10/2011
Jane, Bill and Maggi to dinner. So back to our student days as far as space and crockery are concerned. As far as actual cooking facilities are concerned too. We have a hot plate with two burners. One and a half really, as one starts malfunctioning midway through preparations. No oven. We do have (our own) microwave, though, unknown in our student days. Bill and Jane have spent several years living on their boat (catamaran now up for sale) though, so they're well used to cramped space and limited facilities.
J braises a nice beef roast (sold as beef blanco at Metro, so we have indeed taken pot luck) and slow cooks it all afternoon in our big soup pot, while I make red cabbage with bacon, apple and balsamic vinegar and carrots with orange zest. Then we start with veggies and dips and drinks when people come, which gives us time to boil the potatoes and reheat things. Our last bit of entertaining as we're about to start using up and packing up. Good company and interesting conversation.
J braises a nice beef roast (sold as beef blanco at Metro, so we have indeed taken pot luck) and slow cooks it all afternoon in our big soup pot, while I make red cabbage with bacon, apple and balsamic vinegar and carrots with orange zest. Then we start with veggies and dips and drinks when people come, which gives us time to boil the potatoes and reheat things. Our last bit of entertaining as we're about to start using up and packing up. Good company and interesting conversation.
Wednesday, March 16/2011
Final visit to the dentist as I get the replacement bridge put in and J has fillings to build up his lower front teeth. Happily there are old National Georgraphics as well as Greek magazines in the waiting room.
Sign near Carrefour advertising an interesting range of services:
EMPLOYMENT AGENCY
MARRIAGE AGENCY
GREEK LESSONS
TOURIST SERVICES
SINGLES CLUB
Something for everybody!
Sign near Carrefour advertising an interesting range of services:
EMPLOYMENT AGENCY
MARRIAGE AGENCY
GREEK LESSONS
TOURIST SERVICES
SINGLES CLUB
Something for everybody!
Tuesday, March 8/2011
We're about to go out when the black clouds roll in and it pours, so a reading afternoon, Ian kRankin alternating with Colin Thubron's Journey into Cyprus. Then, on the weather, we see the big blotch of cloud covering the eastern end of the Mediterranean, and at night the thunder and lightning follow. Then hail.
Monday, March 7/2011
The threatened showers never quite happen but dark clouds scud past, are replaced by sun and well up again from the hills to the west. But it looks clear enough to walk down to the beach, though too windy to bother taking umbrellas, which would be useless. We take filter coffees out to the small pier at the south end of the beach and drink them while watching boys flying kites on the beach. One lands in the sea and a father carefully reels it in. It's mostly tourists and immigrants, as the locals will have taken their picnics to the countryside, or at least as far out as the Tekke, the mosque on the salt lake, out near the airport, which honours the foster mother of Mohammed.
The Clean Monday picnics will feature vegetables, especially greens, and seafood. Lent begins today for the Orthodox, and fasting in the Orthodox Church means no dairy as well as no meat. there are certainly people who take the fasting very seriously, but in general the mood is the antithesis of Ash Wednesday. It's a joyful holiday and the preceding Saturday a very busy one in the supermarkets as people stock up for their picnics.
And we note an article on page five of yesterday's (Cyprus) Sunday Mail, headed "The Guilt-free Treat for Lent: Platres Shop Makes Handmade Chocolates Without Dairy Products." Apparently a box of chocolates for Lent can be had for €15.
The Clean Monday picnics will feature vegetables, especially greens, and seafood. Lent begins today for the Orthodox, and fasting in the Orthodox Church means no dairy as well as no meat. there are certainly people who take the fasting very seriously, but in general the mood is the antithesis of Ash Wednesday. It's a joyful holiday and the preceding Saturday a very busy one in the supermarkets as people stock up for their picnics.
And we note an article on page five of yesterday's (Cyprus) Sunday Mail, headed "The Guilt-free Treat for Lent: Platres Shop Makes Handmade Chocolates Without Dairy Products." Apparently a box of chocolates for Lent can be had for €15.
Sunday, March 6/2011
After Mass there's a bookstand available outside, second hand books selling for 50¢ each. Quite a lot of light romance but we pick up a copy of The Bookseller of Kabul, an account written by a Norwegian woman, a journalist who had lived with the bookseller and his family.
On the way home we`re passed by a Cypriot woman, probably well into her seventies and dressed in the traditional black skirt and coat. She`s sitting ramrod upright on a motorbike, rolled stockings coming just below the knee and white helmet on head, unsmiling. Far better captured on film than in words, but we have no camera with us and could hardly have asked anyway.
On the way home we`re passed by a Cypriot woman, probably well into her seventies and dressed in the traditional black skirt and coat. She`s sitting ramrod upright on a motorbike, rolled stockings coming just below the knee and white helmet on head, unsmiling. Far better captured on film than in words, but we have no camera with us and could hardly have asked anyway.
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Saturday, March 5/2011
After coffee - guess we can call it our café when the owner sees us sit down and says automatically two sketo (unsweetened Cyprus coffees) - we wander through the market. There's a large blue plastic vegetable bin with live snails. Cypriots gather them on the hillsides. J buys a big bag of grapefruit (he counts 21) for €1.70 (£1.45, $2.30 CAD). I stop at Prinos greengrocers on the way back. It`s crazy busy, since Monday will be Clean Monday. This is the day when the Orthodox clean the house and also cleanse the body of meat for the beginning of Lent. It`s not very penitential though, compared with Ash Wednesday in the western Church. Usually marked by countryside picnics featuring vegetables (especially greens - hence the crowding at Prinos) and seafood. Also by kite flying. A major public holiday.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Friday, March 4/2011
M off to Rome for six days, though she texts from the airport to say that the taxi she had booked failed to arrive and had to be reordered. Taxis in Cyprus are expensive, apart from the reliability factor. The standard price for a taxi from the airport to town is €15 (£12.75 or $20 CAD). For 50% more you can get a minicab from Jean`s in West Harrow all the way out to Heathrow 4. That`s much farther and furthermore both the price of petrol and the cost of living are significantly higher in London. But then the price of a slow-crawling taxi from the train station in Sioux Lookout to Moosehorn Road is well over $20, and petrol less than anywhere in Europe, so obviously there are other factors at play.
Friday, 4 March 2011
Thursday, March 3/2011
Stunningly beautiful day. J comes home in the morning with a large bag of fresh oranges but we wait until early afternoon to walk along the beach and over to our café to avoid the hottest sun. Maggi and Dino already there so we join them for coffee. Stop at the bakery on the way home and our favourite magro (black) bread, a dense rye with sesame seeds is still hot, so at home we start the meal with warm bread and salad, the bread still scenting the room.
Wednesday, March 2/2011
How did Gaddafi, with all the ability and inclination in the world for self-aggrandizement, only rise to the rank of colonel?
Tuesday, March 1/2011
Home from Damascus late last night, and this morning a dental appointment to have the bridge removed where I have a single missing tooth, as it's beginning to deteriorate. Feel a bit like a bit of antiquated plumbing or an old engine with rusted clamps as Xenia first tries hammering to dislodge the old bridge and then, with the hammer blows still reverberating in my skull, resorts to a miniature saw. Note the advantage to having a female dentist - less fist occupying the overstretched mouth. And her observations prove right: there are large holes in the metal of the bridge and it wouldn't have lasted much longer. I save it to show J.
To M's for g&t in the afternoon - the solace of a liquid diet after dental work.
To M's for g&t in the afternoon - the solace of a liquid diet after dental work.
Monday, February 28/2011
Last day, and as always too little time. Have to work out a way of getting a longer visa. Back to the endlessly fascinating souq. Yesterday we spotted what seemed to be several cafés with free wireless signs, so that seems like a good idea. though as soon as we start looking they seem a bit thinner on the ground. But we find one on Bab Touma, just off Straight Street in the Christian quarter, and even think to check as we go in that they do have wireless.
We turn down the Turkish coffee, as the accompanying water seems a bit suspect. Filter coffee seems incomprehensible to them, but Nescafé, unfortunately, doesn't, so we settle for it. However, the wifi simply doesn't happen. The young man suggests it's our computer or the weather. No - we have an excellent connection but no access. Ah well, the coffee is served at a table with a brocade cloth. It's a remarkable place - cave-like with rough stone walls and an interesting combination of ancient and new. As well as the dysfunctional wifi there's an excellent flat screen tv in one arched niche, the sound muted so that the picture of a singer contrasts oddly with the songs playing on the radio. There's a big open stone wall oven, now filled with more modern kitchen items. Up winding stone stairs to the loo. The ladies' is identified by a Minnie Mouse doll on the door, but the basin is handbeaten copper.
An early dinner on Straight Street. The restaurant doesn't look ancient but it's busy at four o'clock. All locals. We're first given a black seeded flatbread with two unidentifiable but delicious dips. Then leg of lamb with a bulgar and chickpea pilaf and seasoned ground chicken shaped around pistachios and sautéed, as well as rice with pine nuts. As we're leaving, saying no time for coffee or dessert, a huge tray of pastries are put in front of us - and our selections don't appear on the bill.
The Syrian guide reappears at Happy Nights to accompany us to the airport, this time on a bus with returning Greek cypriots. Everything at the airport is x-rayed, hand luggage twice. Queueing for boarding passes, J witnesses the Greek Cypriot guide asking an old man what he's doing in line. He says that he's not well and was told to go to the desk. No, she says, nobody told you that - go and sit down. And he does, reappearing later on the plane.
Once through security, we try to change money, but find it must be done before security. However a girl at one of the shops is happy to find a friend to help. It's technically illegal but there's so much giggling as we negotiate the rate that it's impossible to suspect undercover police. My comment that in renovations Duty Free comes first, well before WCs proves true. The loo is mixed gender and chaotic, the Duty Free state of the art. In Duty Free we do buy a mobile, Nokia 2700 Classic, a quad. Payment is in hard currency and change in US notes. If 50¢ is due you get a KitKat bar instead of coins.
The flight is posted on the monitor so we head to the departure lounge. Then, after queuing to have boarding passes checked and hand luggage through another x-ray (here, for the first time, a sign saying no liquids appears, but no one seems concerned), we are all asked to vacate - the flight is late. And twenty minutes later we`re called back. So home to Cyprus.
We turn down the Turkish coffee, as the accompanying water seems a bit suspect. Filter coffee seems incomprehensible to them, but Nescafé, unfortunately, doesn't, so we settle for it. However, the wifi simply doesn't happen. The young man suggests it's our computer or the weather. No - we have an excellent connection but no access. Ah well, the coffee is served at a table with a brocade cloth. It's a remarkable place - cave-like with rough stone walls and an interesting combination of ancient and new. As well as the dysfunctional wifi there's an excellent flat screen tv in one arched niche, the sound muted so that the picture of a singer contrasts oddly with the songs playing on the radio. There's a big open stone wall oven, now filled with more modern kitchen items. Up winding stone stairs to the loo. The ladies' is identified by a Minnie Mouse doll on the door, but the basin is handbeaten copper.
An early dinner on Straight Street. The restaurant doesn't look ancient but it's busy at four o'clock. All locals. We're first given a black seeded flatbread with two unidentifiable but delicious dips. Then leg of lamb with a bulgar and chickpea pilaf and seasoned ground chicken shaped around pistachios and sautéed, as well as rice with pine nuts. As we're leaving, saying no time for coffee or dessert, a huge tray of pastries are put in front of us - and our selections don't appear on the bill.
The Syrian guide reappears at Happy Nights to accompany us to the airport, this time on a bus with returning Greek cypriots. Everything at the airport is x-rayed, hand luggage twice. Queueing for boarding passes, J witnesses the Greek Cypriot guide asking an old man what he's doing in line. He says that he's not well and was told to go to the desk. No, she says, nobody told you that - go and sit down. And he does, reappearing later on the plane.
Once through security, we try to change money, but find it must be done before security. However a girl at one of the shops is happy to find a friend to help. It's technically illegal but there's so much giggling as we negotiate the rate that it's impossible to suspect undercover police. My comment that in renovations Duty Free comes first, well before WCs proves true. The loo is mixed gender and chaotic, the Duty Free state of the art. In Duty Free we do buy a mobile, Nokia 2700 Classic, a quad. Payment is in hard currency and change in US notes. If 50¢ is due you get a KitKat bar instead of coins.
The flight is posted on the monitor so we head to the departure lounge. Then, after queuing to have boarding passes checked and hand luggage through another x-ray (here, for the first time, a sign saying no liquids appears, but no one seems concerned), we are all asked to vacate - the flight is late. And twenty minutes later we`re called back. So home to Cyprus.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Sunday, February 27/2011
Walk around the central area, reorienting ourselves. Where did the Catholic Church go - the one we went to seven years ago? You could see it from the Fardoss, now being renovated. Check in the bookstore at the five star Cham Palace Hotel, but Lonely Planet is no help. Spot our old restaurant, Abou Kamal, on Azem Square, but its sister restaurant, Ali Baba, on the ground floor, has its windows covered with newspaper.
Then down to the souq. You could get fat on the way, as admiring the Syrian pastries and sweet preserved fruit in the shop windows leads to generous and delicious free samples. Hamidiyeh Souq, the main old market, was ancient when St Paul was in Damascus, and it sells everything from gold to perfume to school supplies to socks. There's an ice cream parlour that, Lilly told us, has made its owners billionaires. But we always seem to leave it for a later that never comes, as the souq is a huge maze and we never quite retrace our steps, even when we try. It's bigger than the souq in Sousse (Tunisia) and much more fun. Shops with gold and brocades gleam jewel-like and while offers are constant they're often half-hearted (how many tourists really buy socks?). There's none of the hard edge, almost harrassment.
We circle slowly round the ancient lanes, some covered and some not, toward the old Christian district and Straight St, mentioned in the Book of Acts as the site of St Paul's conversion. As before, the new jostles comfortably against the old, with satellite dishes topping crumbling ancient buildings and tipsy old balconies overhanging shops selling mobile phone cards. But J laments the disappearance of many of the oldest building fronts as the centuries old woodwork is covered with plaster or sometimes wide strips of metal. Will the metal protect the wood? No, he says, water will get between the metal and the wood and the wood will rot faster.
In the evening to Abou Kamal restaurant for dinner. As we leave "Trevor" is watching the unfolding drama of events in Libya and comments on the number of Arab countries in revolt. We're interested in the range of tv chanels that seem to be freely available. Al Jazeera is particularly uncompromising in presenting material that one might have supposed Arab dictatorships were not eager to have citizens view. Syria is a comfortable and seemingly stable coutry, but it's not a democracy - it's illegal, for example, to criticise the president in public. Though there's a fair bit of toleration for religious minorities. Also, interestingly, while the GDP per capita is lower than Egypt's, it seems to be more evenly distributed. Begging is probably less common than in Toronto, and there aren't visible extremes.
We're a bit early at Abou Kamal and it's not terribly full yet, but the other diners are all local families. Snowy linen cloth and a night view of Azem Square. The menu is a delight and we remember it from previous visits. For example the griled bird - further explained as griled local bird. Urban pigeon? Perhaps best not to order, but what might we be missing? There are some partial explanations too. Motable is defined as griled egg plant, yogurt and sesame, while Mahamara is mushtast, red pepper, sesame and oil. These from the dips on the mixed appetizer tray. Delicious, but we never do sort out what they all are, other than the very good humus.
We order a chicken dish with a cheese topped sauce and a mushroom fricassee with bits of lamb. Pass up the "tournedoes (ceeseoregy, or Plin)" - which I eventually translate as "cheese, or egg or plain." No rice included, though there's lots of pita bread and the appetizers were pretty filling. The total doesn't come to much more than the sum of the parts, despite the ominous warning on the menu that "this price doesn't include consumptive fees." At tip time we get two hovering waiters watching as we decide how much to part with. Must have been satisfactory as I get helped on with my jacket.
Back at Happy Nights we ask "Trevor" if there have been any more revolutions. "No," he says, "I think that's enough."
Then down to the souq. You could get fat on the way, as admiring the Syrian pastries and sweet preserved fruit in the shop windows leads to generous and delicious free samples. Hamidiyeh Souq, the main old market, was ancient when St Paul was in Damascus, and it sells everything from gold to perfume to school supplies to socks. There's an ice cream parlour that, Lilly told us, has made its owners billionaires. But we always seem to leave it for a later that never comes, as the souq is a huge maze and we never quite retrace our steps, even when we try. It's bigger than the souq in Sousse (Tunisia) and much more fun. Shops with gold and brocades gleam jewel-like and while offers are constant they're often half-hearted (how many tourists really buy socks?). There's none of the hard edge, almost harrassment.
We circle slowly round the ancient lanes, some covered and some not, toward the old Christian district and Straight St, mentioned in the Book of Acts as the site of St Paul's conversion. As before, the new jostles comfortably against the old, with satellite dishes topping crumbling ancient buildings and tipsy old balconies overhanging shops selling mobile phone cards. But J laments the disappearance of many of the oldest building fronts as the centuries old woodwork is covered with plaster or sometimes wide strips of metal. Will the metal protect the wood? No, he says, water will get between the metal and the wood and the wood will rot faster.
In the evening to Abou Kamal restaurant for dinner. As we leave "Trevor" is watching the unfolding drama of events in Libya and comments on the number of Arab countries in revolt. We're interested in the range of tv chanels that seem to be freely available. Al Jazeera is particularly uncompromising in presenting material that one might have supposed Arab dictatorships were not eager to have citizens view. Syria is a comfortable and seemingly stable coutry, but it's not a democracy - it's illegal, for example, to criticise the president in public. Though there's a fair bit of toleration for religious minorities. Also, interestingly, while the GDP per capita is lower than Egypt's, it seems to be more evenly distributed. Begging is probably less common than in Toronto, and there aren't visible extremes.
We're a bit early at Abou Kamal and it's not terribly full yet, but the other diners are all local families. Snowy linen cloth and a night view of Azem Square. The menu is a delight and we remember it from previous visits. For example the griled bird - further explained as griled local bird. Urban pigeon? Perhaps best not to order, but what might we be missing? There are some partial explanations too. Motable is defined as griled egg plant, yogurt and sesame, while Mahamara is mushtast, red pepper, sesame and oil. These from the dips on the mixed appetizer tray. Delicious, but we never do sort out what they all are, other than the very good humus.
We order a chicken dish with a cheese topped sauce and a mushroom fricassee with bits of lamb. Pass up the "tournedoes (ceeseoregy, or Plin)" - which I eventually translate as "cheese, or egg or plain." No rice included, though there's lots of pita bread and the appetizers were pretty filling. The total doesn't come to much more than the sum of the parts, despite the ominous warning on the menu that "this price doesn't include consumptive fees." At tip time we get two hovering waiters watching as we decide how much to part with. Must have been satisfactory as I get helped on with my jacket.
Back at Happy Nights we ask "Trevor" if there have been any more revolutions. "No," he says, "I think that's enough."
Saturday, February 26/2011
The day starts with ominous spatters of rain on the window, but bits of light sky as well, and breakfast - brought in on trays. It's substantial enough - hardboiled egg, large roll, cheese triangle, apricot jam, synthetic juice (remarkably reminiscent of flat orange crush), slices of tinned peach and pre-packaged pieces of cake and chocolate croissant. Not precisely what we would have chosen to eat, but certainly more than enough. We each get a tea bag and a small packet of Nescafé as well. So we attempt to heat a small pot of water on the flat electronic burner. Looks obvious but the burner doesn't begin to heat. Turns out that the stove is smarter than we are - it won't come on until there's a pot on the burner.
Lilly and Steven arrive about eleven to meet us in the lobby. Lilly and I met online pursuing overlapping genealogical interests. We have shared (Manning) ancestry, but you have to go back to the early 1700's along the Hudson River to find it. Lilly is a Californian married to a Syrian and living in Lattakia on the northern coast. Steven, her 18 year old son is a very pleasant young man and has accompanied Lilly on the five hour bus ride from Lattakia, lured in part by the opportunity to buy DVDs.
It's lovely meeting them after years of emails, and we're lucky to have them as local guides to some of the spots we haven't visited before, Lilly filling in background information and Steven fluently reading the Arabic explanations and negotiating local prices.
We start with the tomb of the chivalrous Saladdin (literally Righteousness of the Faith - Salah ad-Din, a description rather than a given name), who recaptured the Holy Land from the Crusaders - respected opposite number to Richard the Lionheart.
Then to the Umayyad Mosque, also in the old city, considered the fourth holiest site in Islam. It was completed in 715 on the site of an earlier Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, whose head is believed to be in a shrine within. For years Christians and Moslems shared the building but eventually the arrangement broke down. The buuilding itself is huge and classically proportioned (based on the temple of Jupiter which preceded the basilica - itself a replacement of an earlier temple to the old pagan god Ba'al). There's a spacious courtyard and Lilly and I don long hooded cover-up coats before entering. There is a stunning gold mosaic over the outside entrance and beautiful mosaic work and carving inside - as well as a lot of high ceilinged space and white walls giving a sense of peace. Women pray on one side and men on the other, but there are no dividing walls - just Corinthian columns.
The mosque is also a sacred place for Shi'ites as it marks the place where the head of Mohammed's grandson Hussein was previously displayed. He's regarded as a Shia martyr (long story, best googled) and many Iranians visit the site. Lilly points them out in the mosque and in the souk, recognisable by their black chadors, worn by young women as well as old. We spend some time outside the shrine of John the Baptist, all pillars and coloured glass and metal grillwork, through which can just be glimpsed a coffin-like object - much bigger than a head.
We stop for lunch at a restaurant in the old city - accessed through a long passage with ancient doors leading to houses still occupied. The restaurant is in an old house with tables in a spacious courtyard. It's a beautiful spot and Lilly and Steven explain the menu to us, describing the various Syrian dishes. Seems it's a bit like a Polish menu though. (In Poland a menu lists everything that might ever be on offer - you have to ask which of the items they actually have). So we end up with beef (J) and chicken (Lilly and me) in a tasty tomato and pepper sauce over rice. Steven orders a dish in a yoghurt sauce. All very nice and in an amazing spot. A good chance to visit as well. And the bill is interesting too - featuring not only the sour pickles and the bottle of water and packet of pitas, but also the box of tissues. A lovely experience.
After lunch we visit the Azem Palace, built in 1750 for the Ottoman governor of Damascus, and consisting of several buildings around an enormous courtyard. Steven and I estimate that one servant would have had to do nothing but sweep. It's done in limestone, sandstone, basalt and marble, giving a patterned effect, and features ceilings with painted wooden paels in rooms that have been restored to display period furnishings and costumes. Most impressive is the family baths, though we're up against closing time and a little in the way of baksheesh is required to let us stay. But Lilly is right - it is impressive, a smaller version of the public hammam with baths of different size in its various rooms and a complex water delivery system. Lilly has a friend who is a member of the Azem family. The family lived in the palace until the 1920's, and her friend's father was actually born here. Impressive to us, but L says the friend's teenage children are completely uninterested in this bit of ancient history.
We separate outside the fountained courtyard and Lilly and Steven leave to pursue more modern shopping spots. We have a brief conversation with an American woman who looks about our age. She's ordinarily resident in France but has a visa to stay in Syria for three months. She's a confirmed traveller and likes the Middle East, but backs up our perception that accommodation is expensive in Syria. She's paying 300 euros a month for a small apartment, but says it's pretty basic. Food, though, is inexpensive, and the city is interesting.
We get lost, as one ought, in the maze of the souq, and then head back to our hotel. Here we meet the owner who, Kiki has told us, stays at the Sunflower when visiting Cyprus. The theory is that we'll rest a bit and dthen find something to eat, but we lose our initiative as we relax in front of the television updates on the Libyan revolution, and settle for tea and biscuits.
Lilly and Steven arrive about eleven to meet us in the lobby. Lilly and I met online pursuing overlapping genealogical interests. We have shared (Manning) ancestry, but you have to go back to the early 1700's along the Hudson River to find it. Lilly is a Californian married to a Syrian and living in Lattakia on the northern coast. Steven, her 18 year old son is a very pleasant young man and has accompanied Lilly on the five hour bus ride from Lattakia, lured in part by the opportunity to buy DVDs.
It's lovely meeting them after years of emails, and we're lucky to have them as local guides to some of the spots we haven't visited before, Lilly filling in background information and Steven fluently reading the Arabic explanations and negotiating local prices.
We start with the tomb of the chivalrous Saladdin (literally Righteousness of the Faith - Salah ad-Din, a description rather than a given name), who recaptured the Holy Land from the Crusaders - respected opposite number to Richard the Lionheart.
Then to the Umayyad Mosque, also in the old city, considered the fourth holiest site in Islam. It was completed in 715 on the site of an earlier Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, whose head is believed to be in a shrine within. For years Christians and Moslems shared the building but eventually the arrangement broke down. The buuilding itself is huge and classically proportioned (based on the temple of Jupiter which preceded the basilica - itself a replacement of an earlier temple to the old pagan god Ba'al). There's a spacious courtyard and Lilly and I don long hooded cover-up coats before entering. There is a stunning gold mosaic over the outside entrance and beautiful mosaic work and carving inside - as well as a lot of high ceilinged space and white walls giving a sense of peace. Women pray on one side and men on the other, but there are no dividing walls - just Corinthian columns.
The mosque is also a sacred place for Shi'ites as it marks the place where the head of Mohammed's grandson Hussein was previously displayed. He's regarded as a Shia martyr (long story, best googled) and many Iranians visit the site. Lilly points them out in the mosque and in the souk, recognisable by their black chadors, worn by young women as well as old. We spend some time outside the shrine of John the Baptist, all pillars and coloured glass and metal grillwork, through which can just be glimpsed a coffin-like object - much bigger than a head.
We stop for lunch at a restaurant in the old city - accessed through a long passage with ancient doors leading to houses still occupied. The restaurant is in an old house with tables in a spacious courtyard. It's a beautiful spot and Lilly and Steven explain the menu to us, describing the various Syrian dishes. Seems it's a bit like a Polish menu though. (In Poland a menu lists everything that might ever be on offer - you have to ask which of the items they actually have). So we end up with beef (J) and chicken (Lilly and me) in a tasty tomato and pepper sauce over rice. Steven orders a dish in a yoghurt sauce. All very nice and in an amazing spot. A good chance to visit as well. And the bill is interesting too - featuring not only the sour pickles and the bottle of water and packet of pitas, but also the box of tissues. A lovely experience.
After lunch we visit the Azem Palace, built in 1750 for the Ottoman governor of Damascus, and consisting of several buildings around an enormous courtyard. Steven and I estimate that one servant would have had to do nothing but sweep. It's done in limestone, sandstone, basalt and marble, giving a patterned effect, and features ceilings with painted wooden paels in rooms that have been restored to display period furnishings and costumes. Most impressive is the family baths, though we're up against closing time and a little in the way of baksheesh is required to let us stay. But Lilly is right - it is impressive, a smaller version of the public hammam with baths of different size in its various rooms and a complex water delivery system. Lilly has a friend who is a member of the Azem family. The family lived in the palace until the 1920's, and her friend's father was actually born here. Impressive to us, but L says the friend's teenage children are completely uninterested in this bit of ancient history.
We separate outside the fountained courtyard and Lilly and Steven leave to pursue more modern shopping spots. We have a brief conversation with an American woman who looks about our age. She's ordinarily resident in France but has a visa to stay in Syria for three months. She's a confirmed traveller and likes the Middle East, but backs up our perception that accommodation is expensive in Syria. She's paying 300 euros a month for a small apartment, but says it's pretty basic. Food, though, is inexpensive, and the city is interesting.
We get lost, as one ought, in the maze of the souq, and then head back to our hotel. Here we meet the owner who, Kiki has told us, stays at the Sunflower when visiting Cyprus. The theory is that we'll rest a bit and dthen find something to eat, but we lose our initiative as we relax in front of the television updates on the Libyan revolution, and settle for tea and biscuits.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Friday, February 25/2011
We're meant to be leaving Larnaca at 18:30, a late change from our 21:50 departure and, as the girl at the agency points out, an improvement. But we notice that the arrival time in Damascus is 21:15 and ask how a flight that should be an hour has stretched out to almost three. Turns out that someone has helpfully switched us to the milk run - Damascus via Aleppo with an hour's stop. So switch back to the original, and M kindly drops us at the airport. We're early and have lots of time at the departure lounge - number 23 according to the monitor - until boarding, when the person checking tells us it's the wrong flight. Brief panic. Seems they've changed the deparature gate and we, sitting in the departure lounge, haven't kept rechecking. But it's a smallish airport so no big problem - we're saved from going to Athens.
Flights to the middle east from Cyprus are all ascent and descent - an hour to Damascus. We're on a group visa but the group actually consists of the two of us, so we're met by our contact, who shepherds us through immigration. And past the cash point where we withdraw Syrian pounds - roughly 50 to the dollar. Despite the many warnings online about its erratic performance, the machine delivers crisp new S£500 notes, with our guide being helpful to the point of leaning in and indicating on the screen the amount we should withdraw - less, actually, than we intend to.
It`s a half hour drive north to the city, home to 6 million people by day and 5 million by night. We`re at the Happy Nights Hotel, just off Martyrs' Square and not much more than a five minute walk from the ancient walled part of the city. A rather grotty entrance area and a tiny lift with a non-automatic door that takes us to the third floor and the little lobby. There a young man with the same laugh as our nephew Trevor presides over the night desk. Our room is one of nine - small but newly redone with fresh carpet and tiles so shiny they look wet and the thickest towels of any place we've stayed. It's billed as a studio and there is a bit of a kitchen in the entry with microwave and a single electronic burner and minimal dishes, as well as a bar fridge in the main room.
There's a small flat screen tv fixed high on the wall at an angle more or less impossible to appreciate from the bed. J discovers the method in the madness - the screen is easily viewed in the dresser mirror, though of course all words are in mirror writing and weather maps downright confusing. News tickers and subtitles pretty useless too. But there are well over 400 chanels, all with excellent picture and sound, including BBC World, Al Jazeera, Euronews and CNN - all in English.
Flights to the middle east from Cyprus are all ascent and descent - an hour to Damascus. We're on a group visa but the group actually consists of the two of us, so we're met by our contact, who shepherds us through immigration. And past the cash point where we withdraw Syrian pounds - roughly 50 to the dollar. Despite the many warnings online about its erratic performance, the machine delivers crisp new S£500 notes, with our guide being helpful to the point of leaning in and indicating on the screen the amount we should withdraw - less, actually, than we intend to.
It`s a half hour drive north to the city, home to 6 million people by day and 5 million by night. We`re at the Happy Nights Hotel, just off Martyrs' Square and not much more than a five minute walk from the ancient walled part of the city. A rather grotty entrance area and a tiny lift with a non-automatic door that takes us to the third floor and the little lobby. There a young man with the same laugh as our nephew Trevor presides over the night desk. Our room is one of nine - small but newly redone with fresh carpet and tiles so shiny they look wet and the thickest towels of any place we've stayed. It's billed as a studio and there is a bit of a kitchen in the entry with microwave and a single electronic burner and minimal dishes, as well as a bar fridge in the main room.
There's a small flat screen tv fixed high on the wall at an angle more or less impossible to appreciate from the bed. J discovers the method in the madness - the screen is easily viewed in the dresser mirror, though of course all words are in mirror writing and weather maps downright confusing. News tickers and subtitles pretty useless too. But there are well over 400 chanels, all with excellent picture and sound, including BBC World, Al Jazeera, Euronews and CNN - all in English.
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