Sun is good news for the local businesses, and café tables and wares are moved into the sun in the squares and narrow cobbled streets. J counts sixteen tour buses, and we pass a class of local children, aged about fourteen, paying half-hearted attention as their teacher holds forth at an historic spot. But we know from being here in March that the old city can be alive from ten to four and then become a semi-ghost town as the last bus leaves. There is everything from local crafts to designer handbags on sale, but only six short hours to market them.
We eat supper at dusk in a small kebab place around the corner from us that serves mainly locals, we have noted. It's built beside the medieval walls of the old city and serves a somewhat more traditional version of the ubiquitous kebab style dishes. We order sheftalia (beautifully seasoned little Cypriot sausages made locally all over the island) and Adana kebabs - long grilled shapes of minced meat. They come with pitas, salad, freshly cut and fried chips, and, interestingly, a very large dollop of strained yoghurt. This used to be typical of Turkish cuisine but has almost disappeared from the cafés, though it may survive, along with dishes of stewed aubergine or pulses, in home kitchens. In Turkish cooking yoghurt is often found on the plate beside meat or stewed vegetables. Excellent meal.
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