Sunday, January 26/2014

Rain. Well, as they always say in Cyprus, we need it. So lots of reading done. Which is good because Mantel's Wolf Hall is excellent and will vanish electronically from various devices in a week's time when our fourteen days are up. Ready or not. Still, it's amazing that we can borrow books this way.

Saturday, January 25/2014

Overcast, though not actually raining. J points out that coffee outside at Harry's will be less pleasure than it ought to be, so ask M to come over here in the afternoon instead, which means that coffee runs to Jaworski meze as well. Maxi doesn't get to come - no dogs allowed, though she would be quiet and good. Give some unworthy thought to smuggling her in the back way, but discover that the back gate is padlocked. Not ideal for fire exit, though better than the door being locked.

Friday, January 24/2014

Stop at St Helena's charity shop, usually open 10 to 2 three days a week. It's tiny and crowded, but friendly. A chat with a man called Mike Bailey, who's there on his first stint. He suggests Oman as a travel destination, having served there in the army. We talk about the Middle East and he seems surprised and impressed when I mention the Sykes Picot drawing of the map and the troubles arising therefrom. Surprised because I'm a woman, or just generally? Do have to admit that J is much better informed than I re Middle East in general, as well as on most historical matters. The Sykes Picot moment, though, is symbolic of the moment of pleasure when one discovers a totally unexpected shared viewpoint or interest with a casual acquaintance or a complete stranger.

Thursday, January 23/2014

With Bill and Jane and Harry and Ailsa to try out a new restaurant a bit further out the Dhekelia Road. Well, new to us and to B and J - H and A have beeb before and,min fact, Harry produces two free glass of wine vouchers which the waitress uses to top up our carafe. Starters not a patch on Vlachos, though the dips are a pretty contrast in tiny dishes, accompanied by pitas and toast. Menu fairly ambitious - H and A have swordfish - and the service friendly enough, but there isn't Vlachos' overwhelming Cypriot hospitality. Still, an interesting change and the same excellent company. Ailsa with the usual actual doggy bag to add excitement to the dinners of their many dogs.

Wednesday, January 22/2014

Dental appointments, fortunately only for cleaning, so not too scary, although Xenia does give a small filling as well. So two cleanings and a filling for €120 ($181.64 CAD, £99.43). There may be an advantage to female dentists - smaller hands filling your mouth.

Walk out along Mackenzy (accurate local spelling) to inspect the new road works. They will be impressive eventually, but have been going on well over a year now and nowhere near completion. The former road, now dug up and impassible, was crumbling alarmingly at the edges, so that pulling left to park always seemed hazardous. It hasn't been widened, but between the road and the sea a lovely wide walkway is in the process of construction, its seaside wall suitable for seating. The restaurants which were located (illegally?) on the sea side have been forced to move and those on the land side must be desperately waiting for better patron access. But the walkway will stretch for at least a kilometre and be very attractive once it's finished - which won't be soon. Where is the money coming from? Or is was it all earmarked before the financial crisis?

Our walk ends at the Flamingo Hotel, where we have our annual look at the paintings on the wall, several of which are by our friend Jane. One of her artists' groups meets here weekly and their works grace the walls, mostly for sale, a benefit to both hotel and artists.

Tuesday, January 21/2014

Coffee at waterfront with Maggi. Then a stop at the charity shop. The animal one. Run by a British couple, now Cypriot residents. We try to remember to take our used plastic grocery bags down as each roll of bags that doesn't have to be purchased represents more dog food for rescued animals. Sometimes interesting buys there - shirts or books or the occasional cd - and each essentially a donation to a good cause. This is where we bought our first (hardcover) volume of Tony Benn's memoirs, as well as the Ian Rankin that we're currently reading.

Monday, January 20/2014

This is definitely the warmest and sunniest January we can remember. Cyprus is not a rainy country, but what rain there is falls mainly in the winter and there have been years when it seemed to fall part of almost every day in January. The year, for example, when it was impossible to get within a block of what is now Carrefour without wading ankle deep through water. That a question of poor drainage rather than simply excess rain, admittedly. But this year has been stunning. May bode ill for water rationing this summer of course. As does the fact that it often takes up to fifteen minutes running water to get it hot enough to shower.

Sunday, January 19/2014

Begin reading aloud Wolf Hall, Mantel's book. Immediately obvious why it won the Booker. It's astonishingly well written. None of the phoney characters and stilted dialogue that mar so much historical fiction. Also, there is a remarkable flow that makes it extremely easy to read quickly aloud. Which is good because we have two weeks to read 1600 pages of it - admittedly ipad mini size pages.

Saturday, January 18/2014

Coffee at Harry's. Sunny and warm. The kind of weather in which one is tempted to order beer instead of coffee, but it's a bit early in the day for that. 

Download notice from the Ontario Library for Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, Booker winning novel about the life of Thomas Cromwell, with Cromwell cast as hero and Thomas More as villain. Apparently Mantel is a scrupulous researcher, although interpretation and slant are, of course, her own. We've been in queue waiting for the book and will get it for two weeks, so will postpone the download for a couple of days hoping that when we do get it fourteen days will be long enough to read it aloud, as we won't get to renew without a wait.

Friday, January 17/2014

Maggi invites us to her flat for lunch. But first a walk, the one she and Maxi take regularly, through the old leper colony by the salt lake. The colony is deserted now, but the houses are still there, and a little hospital and the recreation areas? Overgrown now, and unoccupied, except possibly by the odd squatter (M reports having seen, and then not seen, a pair of shoes outside one of the doors, as if waiting for a night porter of old). It's a rather haunting scene, despite the inevitable broken glass and discarded appliances. Easy to imagine it as a little community with some charm, other than the obviously uncharming aspect of the leprosy itself. We're reminded of that by the presence of a large white bell, this one obviously not worn by lepers but possibly used to summon the community. There's an attractive, not-so-little church as well that looks like it's still used on occasion. And we're only metres away from the salt lake - just off the dirt road where a ten foot high tumbleweed marks the edge and past some even taller pampas grass to the beach. More beach and less salt lake than usual as there's been so little rain but the flamingos are back on their winter route north, dozens if not hundreds of them in the distance. Maxi has a lovely time, off the lead and following endless scents.

Then back to M's flat for lunch, beginning with homemade soup followed by snails in the shell, oozing garlic butter. Then a meze of dips and pate and cheeses, including my favourite dark, sweet Norwegian goat's cheese. Ending with Greek coffee and little Battenburg cakes. By which time we really need the long walk back and, in any case, none of us is in any shape to drive, thanks to G&Ts. Merlot and liqueurs. 

Perfect day, and supper, oddly enough, surplus to requirements.

Thursday, January 16/2014

Just leaving the bakery with a loaf of our favourite sesame studded rye bread still warm in its paper bag when a young woman steps out of the shop next to it. It's Elana, the Romanian former receptionist at the Eleanora. Must be about six years now since we last saw her. She says that she has spotted us before but always when she was busy with a customer. Now she's working a twelve hour day but, as she says, she has a job. And her friends in Romania who thought she was crazy to leave a good government job have watched as corruption and austerity have taken their toll with jobs disappearing and salaries and pensions cut back to unsurvivable levels. She's the second Romanian this month to admit to us that in some ways it was better under Ceaucescu. Maslow's hierarchy of needs: not much value to democracy if you starve to death.

Wednesday, January 15/2014

We pass on the way to the waterfront a small shop that rejoices in the name of Tony's Alcohol Paradise.  Opening time is eleven and we're usually a little earlier than that, but recently there's been no sign of activity, so we've wondered if, improbably, Tony had fallen victim to the recession. Today, though, he's open. No, he hasn't been away, but he's on his own and trying to keep it open from 11 AM to 11 PM, so sometimes he's a little late starting. It's an interesting shop with everything from cheap litre boxes of wine to high end single malts. Which was his undoing a year ago when thieves broke in and stole fifteen bottles of whiskey worth about €10,000. As he says, they knew exactly what they were doing.

Tuesday, January 14/2014

Have now added an Ian Rankin novel (mystery, set in Edinburgh), courtesy of our favourite charity shop, to the regular reading aloud. Rankin and Lillian Beckwith (Scottish islands, fictionalised autobiography) are the daytime reading as they're "real" books. No glowing in the dark and no ability to change font size, as with the ebooks. Meanwhile Alan Clark's diary has reached the end of 1990, and therefore the end of Thatcher's prime ministership. His book is regarded as a primary source for the coup and is indeed interesting. Also the source of a fair bit of dramatic irony, as we know with hindsight a great deal that Clark doesn't know as we follow the calculations and predictions re the leadership ballots. Also, we know, as Clark doesn't, that a decade later he will no longer be alive.

Monday, January 13/2014

The official day of VAT increase (to 19%). Go to Carrefour thinking they might have a new sale flyer out - although food is taxed at a lower rate. Far from it - there's only massive restocking of shelves going on as well as a notice saying that temporarily the price on the shelf may not match the price at the till. In which case the price at the till rules.

Sunday, January 12/2014

M here in the afternoon for nibbles and wine - really our supper. First sauteed artichoke hearts of the season. They're labour intensive (J's labour, and he can never die because there are too many things I wouldn't know how to do) but SO good. He's also done humus with caramelised onions, and a mackerel spread, and olives, and cheeses, and toasted pitas. I've cut up veg and made tzatziki. Nice leftovers, except for the artichokes, which predictably aren't left over. One of the nicest things about Cyprus is the year round supply of really fresh fruit and vegetables.

Saturday, January 11/2014

Regular Saturday coffee with Maggi, this time at Harry's by St Lazarus Church.  M has been talking to Martina, a Slovak girl who works at a travel agency we have sometimes used. When the banking crisis hit Martina had recently bought a flat, which she is now desperately trying to hang on to. First her hours were cut drastically as the business went downhill, so she asked the employer to lay her off so she could get benefits. He wouldn't and she finally found a second part time job in a betting shop. Then got laid off in the travel agency. Or nearly so. She still gets €20 (£16.66, $29.88 CAD) for coming in Saturdays to do the week's clerical/computer work which the old man isn't really up to. Those little travel agencies must be a dying breed. They actually only act as rather slow agents for larger travel companies that sponsor the packages. It usually takes them a couple of days to find out "if there is availability" - and this in an age in which it's easy to do instant (and often cheaper) bookings on line. So Martina is just one sad story of many in Cyprus's new economy. 

Friday, January 10/2014

Stop on the way home at the Elephant Store, formerly Sarris Supermarket. Sarris went out of business after the financial crisis last spring. Have no idea who bought it and some things are still labelled Sarris, some Elephant Store? Wouldn't become our main grocer's but there were some very good buys. Notably an enormous 3 kilo glass jar of sundried tomatoes for €5 (£4.16, $7.47 CAD). Can only think that they'd decided to stop carrying them and were disposing of what remained. Seems a shame that here we have no use for the jar here.

Thursday, January 9/2014

The government owns two tv stations, CYBC 1 and 2. They're supposed to be privatised although it's not clear that they'd be a desirable buy. Their chief attraction for us used to be evening movies, especially on the weekends, subtitled in Greek but almost always in English. We'd be grateful that they were subtitled rather than dubbed, but they had an astonishing number of grade B films - or worse - and often repeated the same film a few days later. They also had a ten minute evening news broadcast in English. Actually they still have it, but it's almost too annoying to watch. The presenters are no longer shown, though still recognisable by voice, and what is seen is a series of news clips, some local and some international. It's a poor source of international news and an annoying source for Cypriot politics. Anything concerning relations with the Turkish speaking north of the island is full of clumsy references to their "so-called" president, government, etc., with analysis in the same vein. And now there is a sort of background music, more repetitive single note sound, throughout the whole broadcast. The only purpose that springs to mind would be to drive viewers away so that the station could reasonably claim that they needn't provide an English news as there are no longer any watchers. 

Wednesday, January 8/2014

Arvid and Eva, the Norwegians in the next flat are back. Hear Norwegian being spoken in the hallway and then see the pile of boxes outside the door as I'm leaving to meet J. Take the lift down and there's Eva on the ground floor with more cases. All the things they stored from last year. We wish each other Happy New Year and then hug. Funny, we don't really spend much time with them when they're here but there's a nice congenial feeling. They do speak English and if this were China or Egypt we'd probably hang out together, but here it's much simpler for them to socialise with fellow Norwegians. 

Tuesday, January 7/2014

M and I drive down to the waterfront to meet J for coffee. M is so busy trying to see where the traffic lights got knocked down by the police station that she starts through the red light. Two policemen are standing outside counting cars or something but not interested in us.

Monday, January 6/2014

Epiphany. Couldn't for years figure out why the feast that I had thought was all about the three wise men should here seem to refer to the baptism of Christ. The answer is in the word itself, ephiphaneia, or appearing., better translated as "striking manifestation" - and therefore the manifestation of Jesus as divine. Clumsy, but with some logic to it. Also known in Greek as fota, or light, day. Candles are lit at church and take home to burn in front of icons for the next forty days. There's a parade from the church to the waterfront where the bishop throws in a cross and the young men dive to retrieve it. It's never lost as it's prudently tied to the end of a string. We don't go down in time for the parade (which always seems pretty militaristic, with cadets and soldiers actually carrying weapons) but do go down later to enjoy the crowds and collect some of the aromatic branches strewn on the pier. The road is blocked to traffic and it's all festive, families strolling and booths selling everything from icons to helium balloons to hot dogs. Lovely warm day and we buy ice creams - J's caramel and mine lemon.

Sunday, January 5/2014

Wake up as J puts on Everly Brothers cd in honour of Phil, who died Friday. Elizabeth Jane Howard died on Thursday, just after I finished reading All Change, the fifth (and now obviously last) volume of the Cazalet Chronicles. I had been saying to J, that I thought her a much better writer than Kingsley Amis, to whom she was at one point married, and that perhaps, as she was now 90, I should not delay over writing to tell her so. Well, of course I did, and there's not much point now in saying that she was interviewed only two weeks ago. She was talking to James Naughtie, and sounded pretty feisty. Still writing (well, All Change was published only two months ago) and saying that writing was what gave her reason to get up in the morning.

Saturday, January 4/2014

Beginning of a long weekend, with Epiphany celebrated on Monday. Walk down to the waterfront and find that the sidewalk immediately in front of the police station has been,  rather inconveniently, cordoned off, forcing us into the road at the corner where we turn down to the pier. Then we see why. Someone has crashed through the metal barrier and come across the pavement, knocking down a traffic light on its standard and damaging the tall artificial Christmas tree. An awkward place to have that sort of accident, although we joke that the police must have a hard time if they followed their usual practice of ignoring Cypriot lawbreakers in case they should prove to be influential or relatives of friends. They should adopt the three monkeys as their logo: see no crime, hear no reports, make no charges.

Friday, January 3/2014

Another reminder of Cyprus's financial woes. As of January 13 VAT will move from 18 to 19 percent. A pretty hefty tax rate. Some significant reductions and exemptions though. Food is taxed, but at 8% (not including alcohol which is the regular) as are books and newspapers. Assumed that the increase would be effective January 1, but it seems not. Some truly ugly measures as well, though. Foreign domestic workers, who had their salary reduced by 5% from €484 to €460 are going to see it reduced again as part of the austerity plan. From this is deducted an employment tax and their room and board. And a depressing number of them have difficulty in collecting even what they're owed by comparatively affluent employers. A Sri Lankan friend of Maggi's has just had to threaten to quit if she was not paid, as she had not been for the whole time she had worked for the family, looking after an elderly woman with dementia. She was alone in the flat with the woman so got no time off and the family kept fobbing her off, saying that it was inconvenient or they were saving the money to give her later. Like most of these women M's friend relied on the money to send home to her family. 

Thursday, January 2/2014

Venera comes to clean the flat a little earlier than usual, though still close to noon. It's a job that usually takes her less than five minutes, and consists mainly of emptying the garbage, cleaning the toilet and sink and washing bathroom and kitchen floors. We're sitting about reading the papers electronically when, instead of leaving, she comes through to say something that sounds like cravat. We follow her through to the bedroom where she is pointing at the unmade beds, obviously asking if we want them made. No, no.  Usually I have them done earlier and usually she comes later. Maggi later identifies the word, transcribed more or less as krevvati. 

M has invited us out to dinner at the Ocean Basket. Was meant to be New Year's Day but they weren't open then so we all settled for the 2nd.  Joined by her friends Pat and Andrea, both retired to Cyprus and both dog lovers/walkers. The restaurant is a chain, originally started in South Africa. Specialty is kingklip. It's actually a form of eel, which sounds offputting but turns out to be moist white fillets, available either dreaded and fried or grilled and very nice. Nice getting to know M's other friends as well. She and Andrea have a cruise in the far east planned for March.

After the meal we take the enormous bag of leftovers that Pat has persuaded the waiter to retrieve from the next table and head off to feed the harbour cats, a regular task that Pat has set herself. Calling would be closer to the mark than task, for it brings her here more than once a day and there is more than one feeding station. And she's out of pocket on a fair scale for cat food. So down we go to the end of the pier, opposite Europa Square where the Christmas tree is, and the buildings picked out with Christmas lights. When they hear (smell?) her coming the cats appear out of the darkness, squeezing through the marina fence to share the bounty. Six here and more will be waiting by the tourist office. The town used to be willing to neuter them but that service fell victim to budget cuts.

Wednesday, January 1/2014

New Year's Day. Temperature in Sioux Lookout -41. No windchill involved, just the ugly basic official Environment Canada temperature. Unpleasant storm warnings in the UK as well. Seems indecent us luxuriating with coffee in the sun with Maggi and dog down on the waterfront. M has forgotten her house key and is hoping the next door neighbours return soon so she can climb in from their flat. As today is as important a feast as Christmas (perhaps more so as we got maid service on Christmas but not today) we can only hope that M's neighbours won't be out visiting until midnight.

Day ends happily. We make a spaghetti with shrimp in the sauce and Maggi messages to say that her neighbours returned as she got back.

Tuesday, December 31/2013

New Year's Eve. Already. In the morning to visit Betty and John, whom we met Friday. After retirement they lived for some time on their boat, now sold. Then in Cyprus and now in Turkey. They're making a Christmas visit to Cyprus, where they've kept a house and car. The house is tiny but stunning. It was originally a disused end unit in an old traditional Cypriot building, with thick stone walls and had been used for storage. No indoor kitchen or loo. John and Betty, with help from a son, have turned it into a little jewel of a place. There's a small sitting room with high ceiling and a loft with fitted bedroom and loo. Small kitchen added behind the sitting room. It's all beautifully done with glowing woodwork and indirect lighting, a tribute to John's skill in previous careers as electrical and building contractors.

Nice visit as we sip tea, sample the holiday goodies and talk about their life in England and East Africa and. Friday they're off back to Turkey.

It's New Year's Eve and for us a quiet one. We do watch the fireworks from our sitting room. A pretty good view but they don't last more than a couple of minutes. Wouldn't have been worth walking down for, though as J says it's about more than the fireworks - there's also the festive crowd, and he's right. There's also free wine, though it's not a patch on the wee dram of whisky with which we welcome in the new year.

Monday, December 30/2013

Usual problem with Cyprus booze buying. Good sales (although not quite up to standard this year) from a little before Christmas until New Year's, or maybe Epiphany. Good enough that it would be best to buy the supply until mid-March now, if only one could estimate it accurately. Brand name whiskey blends for as little as €8 (£6.65, $11.60 CAD) a bottle. So how often will we entertain, who will it be and what will they drink? Our own needs a little easier to predict. Would be lovely to take lots with us but between weight and Canadian customs not highly practical. Lidl has quite good sales on young but perfectly drinkable French and Italian wines at under €2 a bottle (£1.66, $2.90 CAD). And their sales, happily, not limited to Christmas run-up. Their liquor is another matter. Tends toward Brand X - names along the lines Glen Tartan, aged 3 years. And not even desperately cheap. 

Sunday, December 29/2013

Rainy, windy day. But we're retired. Plenty to read. Alternating, in the read-aloud department, Lillian Beckwith's fictionalised memoirs of life as an Englishwoman relocated to the Hebrides (1950s) and Alan Clarke's political diary, or one volume thereof. Both very funny, in entirely different ways. Clarke is the man who came up with the 4 I's of the (would be published) diarist:

You need to make your diary immediate; write it on the day, because even on the day after you begin to think, "I can improve history a bit." Be indiscreet; as Chips Channon said, there's nothing more dull than a discreet diary; you might as well have a dull or discreet soul. Be intimate; those intimate details are very important. And make your diary indecipherable, so that if somebody chances upon it, they cannot quite read what you have said.

Clarke is indiscreet, both about colleagues and about his eye for women, but he's also quite funny, with adolescent ego and quite a lot of charm mixed in with his insider view of the Thatcher era Tory party and the downfall of Thatcher.