Saturday, december 23/2017

Flat finally looking Christmassy, thanks primarily to J, who has revived bits of decorations stored from previous years, from our little stained glass (well, all right, plastic, but nicer than that sounds) Christmas tree that catches the light from the window where it is fixed to the European village Christmas card that he turned into a pop up version one year. The tiny wooden Christmas people have been enjoying their freedom from the storage box for some time already. We have traditions! 

Friday, December 22/2017

 Skies have been more than overcast. There seems to be a thickness to the air, so belatedly check with Plume labs site, which provides a pollution index for most of the world. And indeed the pollution is extreme, confirmed by online version of Cyprus Mail; surprisingly, higher than New Delhi. Warnings re outdoor activity, heart and lung patients, etc. Most of the pollution is particulate matter, in our case chiefly dust, which is a periodic problem and usually results from winds blowing our way from the Sahara. Usually the dust gives the air a reddish cast, but this is just grey and gloomy.

Thursday, December 21/2017

Combination of somewhat better wifi and mini speaker means J can get Christmas carols regardless of what the radio (mostly British forces from Dhekelia base) is playing. Reflecting on perceived differences between popular Christmas music in Canada and UK, and thinking that we never hear Wham’s Last Christmas and the Pogues’ Fairytale of New York in Canada while both are played endlessly on British radio. Then it occurs to me that the last Christmas we spent in Canada was 1999. Eighteen years ago - not even this century! Have no idea what is currently popular. Think of J’s mother commenting on things that were done differently in Poland without considering that the Poland of her memories was half a century away.

Wednesday, December 20/2017

Water turned off for four hours yesterday for servicing. Came on not much later than predicted' except that we and two other (actually unoccupied) flats were left with only hot water. No cold. Apparently crud from the old lines has been dislodged and is blocking pipes - and we're now on the lowest floor of flats so gravity has prevailed. Seems at first preferable to the opposite. True, the toilet normally uses cold, but quite possible to fill the small wash tub with hot, let it cool, and leave in readiness for the next flush. More important, showering with no cold in the mix even less desirable than with no hot. Not even redeeming aspect of virtue, to which I do not in any case aspire. Plumber promises return visit today.

J and I to Lidl where French Merlot is on sale 6 bottles for €20 (£10.65, $18.30 CAD). The last wine we bought there on sale was more than drinkable, so worth the gamble. By the time we're back the flat has been cleaned, small bed in the corner which we'd rather liked gone (carpet which we didn't want disappeared on the weekend) and cold water on tap. 

Evening meze at the Blacksmith restaurant. Very carnivore, despite large salad, as Cypriots typically prefer, but interesting. No hope of finishing the fourteen dishes, so Ailsa and Harry's animals will do well.

Monday, December 18/2017

Have discovered the one spot in the flat where night reading of real (non-e) books is possible. It's a space about four feet by five, large enough for a chair but chair would block doors to both loo and cupboard where liquor and wine reside. But bright overhead light.

Sunday, December 17/2017

Overcast, but still hitting 20+ so nobody’s complaining. Jane and Bill pick us up and we head south of Larnaca to the village of Kofinou. Kofinou was, before the island was divided, a mostly Turkish village, and the scene of some pretty ugly conflict. The remaining Turkish people have all been rehoused in the North, and the people of the present village are Greeks who came South after the conflict. Now Kofinou is known for several restaurants that specialise in kleftiko, and Sunday midday is a popular time to go. The beehive shaped outdoor ovens are busy, as the kleftiko is slow cooked (traditionally in clay) for five hours. With roast potatoes, salad, and beer or village wine. Very nice.

Saturday, December 16/2017

Reading four books aloud, which is at least one more than optimal, but some things more pleasure when shared. The serious read is a biography of Guy Fawkes, interesting as much for bits of period information as for the main subject. Fawkes was a Yorkshire man and part of his childhood was spent in York, the oldest parts of which Elaine and Phil took us to - the Shambles, named for the benches that butchers displayed their meat on, with some fourteenth century buildings still standing. He was born in 1570, six years after Shakespeare, but pre deceased him by ten years with the aid of the executioner. 

The light read is an Ian Rankin mystery, set, as usual, in Edinburgh. Rankin's writing gets better with time, as writing should, though he's hitting the problem of a protagonist beginning to age past his role. In between serious and light there's BBC journalist John Simpson's A Mad World My Masters, described on the jacket as 'a celebration of some of the world's wilder places and the unusual characters that inhabit them' and as fascinating and funny as his first autobiographical book. 

These three are daytime books, relying as they do on daylight. Electric lights in the flat designed for decor and sufficient for eating but not reading. So evening read aloud is always an ebook - at the moment Hinterland, autobiography of Chris Mullin, author of the best political diaries of the Blair years. Happiness is knowing there's more than one good unread book still stored. 

Roll up unwanted carpet before going out and leave it in the corner near the door. Cowardice or language barrier preventing explaining that we don't want it? Still there when we return, but floor cleaned.

Friday, December 15/2017

To Lidl. Actually, prices of produce, meat, cheese, etc rarely match local shops unless there is a sale, but sales are fairly frequent and wine, liquor, chocolate prices (the basics) usually quite good. Bread and pastries good as well. Less accountability, though, than with small Cypriot shops, where one might conceivably discuss the quality of this week's fillet. J suggests I should wear my sunhat home, but we opt to use it to wrap the second wine bottle to avoid clinking. 

Home to find, as half expected, carpet not cleaned and tile on far side of carpet not swept or mopped either, thus creating a large section of the flat which the cleaners will presumably feel free to ignore. Possibly unfair suspicion that this was the main point of Maria's finding us the carpet.

Thursday, December 14/2017

One of our chief objections to the previous flat was the ancient carpet, vacuuming of which did not appear to fall within the remit of the cleaners, though given the equally ancient and feeble nature of the vacuum cleaner (which we had on occasion borrowed) this was somewhat understandable. So it is with rather mixed feelings that we return from shopping to find Maria installing a brightly coloured largish area rug atop our clean new tiles. Cleaner, it must be said, than its fourth floor predecessor, but by no means pristine, and destined, we fear, to deteriorate, slowly or otherwise, throughout our stay. Situation made worse by the fact that we - introverts, Canadians, or simply nicely brought up - feel compelled to make polite, possibly even grateful sounding, noises, though our lack of a common language may disguise some of the detail. 

Wednesday, December 13/2017

Haircuts for both of us, at the same little place we've been going to for the last seventeen years. If it has a name, we don't know it, but they don't make appointments. You just show up and wait if the queue doesn't seem too long. Usually find that bringing a book I really want to read means I get taken quickly. 

Then walk down the crooked little street that used to be home to a number of artisans working in front of their shops in a communal arrangement that may well be centuries old. But this year most of the shops are padlocked and the street seems to be turning into cafés and boutiques. Attractive, but a loss of living history. Two shops seem still to be functioning. In one a man is making chairs, while across the road two men are heating a metal rod in a small forge. So the traditions are not quite dead. 

J collects his watch. Ten euros and an explanation - the previous inner works were not quite the right size but this will be perfect. J not entirely happy, as the watchmaker had previously charged €10 for the works he is now disparaging. No mention then of their being the wrong size. 

Our regular coffee spot is across the road and this is our first time this season. But we're greeted with a smile as regulars. Sketo (sugarless)? Good memory! 

Andreas Apostolos Taverna for dinner with B&J, Harry and Ailsa. Good food and indecently massive portions. Always less problematic when with H&A as they have so many rescue animals that the leftovers needn't be wasted, even less attractive ones like chips or rice. Relaxed, if fairly noisy, Cypriot hospitality. Bill comes to €68 ($102 CAD, £60) for six of us. Includes more than we can eat, beer or wine, and the fruit, small pastries and Greek coffee that are gratis after we've paid. And, as in most places outside Canada, tax already figured in. Everyone stops at our place briefly to admire the new flat, but mindful of a previous occasion when we all piled into the lift which promptly died (thoroughly, repairman required) we go in two lots. Quite sure we weren't over the posted weight warning last time, but....

Tuesday, December 12/2017

J takes his Seiko in to the tiny repair shop near St Lazarus Church. Should be ready tomorrow. 

Meanwhile I take the bus out along Dhekelia Road to Mario the tailor's with the corduroy bought in London. Mild panic yesterday as I fail to locate the fabric. 

Jane: You must have accidentally thrown it out with the rubbish. 

Me: Not possible. The package was the size and weight of an old Sunday Times [or New York Times]. 

Eventually discovered at the bottom of a suitcase previously (and obviously badly) searched. Actually, discovered using time honoured method of searching for something else. So jacket now underway.

Monday, December 11/2017

Not entirely surprising info on perceived corruption from today's Cyprus Mail:

"All businesses surveyed for a new Eurobarometer report believe corruption is widespread, which makes the island the leading EU country in this category, closely followed by Greece...seen the biggest change with an increase of 16 percentage points. Since 2015, Cyprus has seen the biggest change with an increase of 16 percentage points. While in 2013 only a minority (47 per cent) viewed nepotism as an issue, now nearly three quarters (72 per cent) do...As in the previous survey, companies in Bulgaria and Cypus, with 87 per cent each, are the most likely to agree bribery and the use of connections is often the easiest way to obtain certain public services in their country."

J undoubtedly right in seeing the country as essentially tribal. Hence many Cypriots will not only recommend a relative or friend when asked for advice on sales or services but will also patronise businesses owned by relations and friends themselves even though prices may be higher or products inferior. Presumably there are long term benefits regardless but one does learn to ask ex pats rather than locals for recommendations in order to obtain a disinterested (NOT uninterested) opinion. 

Sunday, December 12/2017

Bill has organised a work party cum barbecue to finish cutting and trimming the trees, with the usable bits going to David and Susan, who have a fireplace. Bus to Pyla (arrives more or less when predicted, but as it's Sunday morning - not much in the way of passengers or traffic - moves with record speed, no doubt providing time at the end of the route for the driver's cup of coffee and allowing would-be passengers who arrive at their stops just on time to see the tail lights disappearing. 

Lovely lunch, with smoked trout fillets done on the barbecue as well as skewers of seafood and salmon. 

Saturday, December 9/2017

Division of labour. J to Lidl for bread and cashews (latter on sale) and, as it turns out, also coffee and chocolate. I in opposite direction to the bus station in the hopes of getting them to explain the new (as of July) schedule for the 424 bus to Pyla. The legend, in Greek and English, has green and white squares, with white purporting to show Monday to Friday times and green Monday to Sunday. Some tolerant mansplaining ensues, the upshot of which is that from Monday to Friday the bus goes at all times shown on both white and green squares. On Saturday and Sunday it goes only at the times shown in green. Whatever. At least now we know. 

First attempt, in the evening, at watching the television. In theory there is a romcom film which may be passable. Most films on tv here are in English with Greek subtitles, which should be teaching us some Greek but really isn't much. Allow for usual flexibility re listed times, but film does not appear, so summon up old, but previously unseen by us, episode of One Foot in the Grave on one of the iPads. Probably more entertaining than B movie anyway.

Friday, December 8/2017

Jane and Bill stop in for coffee - and get to admire our new flat. Agree it is a step up - as well as three floors down. We wake up in the morning, look around, and smile. 

In the afternoon to what is now unimaginatively, and only semi-accurately, named the Super Discount Store. Probably still known to locals by its long term title, Sarris, still faintly visible atop the building. Our in house name for it remains the Elephant Store, after one of its briefer incarnations. Blue cheese, milk, wine, onions, tomatoes, tomato paste, mushrooms, cucumbers. I call J's attention to a display of cakes bearing a proprietary name that would make them unsaleable in the English speaking world - Morfat. We all know that's the result, but no one cares to think about it. 

First spaghetti of the Larnaca season, so the new flat is properly christened.

Thursday. December 7/2017

J and Bill trim trees in the little park that serves as Bill and Jane's garden extension. They're at the stage where it's become a two people with a ladder job, and left to themselves they'd continue into the hydro lines. Electric power saw borrowed from Harry and they finish all but one tree. Fish and chip supper at Cessac on the British forces base and then Jane and I go to an evening in which we are to create a Picasso. 

Had vaguely expected something free expression and Picasso-esque, but turns out we are copying a painting, with paint, canvas and brushes provided. So, armed with a postcard sized copy of Jeune Fille Endormie, already squared, we begin. The others paint regularly, although their own works rather than Picasso copies, but I haven't painted since the poster paint days of elementary school. Watch everyone slapping on large blocks of deep primary colour, knowing they can alter the colours later. Acrylics clearly no relation to poster paints! Don't get finished, but an interesting experience, lightened by a glass of prosecco midway through the evening.

Wednesday, December 6/2017

First floor infinitely preferable to fourth. Feels like we've moved up a star, hotelwise. So unpack the boxes we've stored over the summer, with some difficulty as they're in a general storage and junk cum staff coffee room. An inaccessible end of the room is crammed several deep with boxes and cases of remarkable weight belonging to us and Norwegian regulars, but J perseveres with minimal breakage. Until now we've been more or less camping on the fourth floor but this allows us to set up regular housekeeping. 

Maggi stops for a cup of tea, but brings fakes (savoury lentil dish -short a and two syllables and completely authentic), as well as a fresh koulouri and four figs picked this morning. We have bread, good mature cheddar and wine, so impromptu lunch. And tea later.

Tuesday, December 5/2017

Post office very busy. Well, no wonder. They close at 3 and there are extra Christmas queues. It's a wonderful life, if you're a Cypriot civil servant. First stop at our favourite charity shop. Stocks seem rather depleted - not that we're actually looking for anything in particular. Coffee sitting on a bench on the promenade. Warm in the sun and there quite a number of sunbathers on the beach. 

J has short discussion with Chris, manager, re having raised rent 20% on our deteriorating flat. First three floors renovated in 2012. Ours, while retaining best view, continuing downward slide since heaven knows when. Carpet well beyond retrieval, towel rack broken, many etceteras. Chris, immovable re price, claims it to be the best flat in the building. If we want a different flat, feel free. So we opt for first floor. Better layout, cleaner, even a somewhat-bigger-than-bar-sized fridge. Oddly, though perhaps kindly, they suggest we spend the night on first floor and see if we really prefer it. So we do. 

Monday, December 4/2017

By noon Jane and Bill have already been to the press and have brought us our reward - a litre of olive oil, extra virgin first cold press. In theory from the olives we picked, though it's a continuous process with people arriving with their olives all the time. A bit, someone said flippantly, like hoping the ashes in the urn belong to your own relative.

Sunday, December 3/2017

Sunday. J checks out Lidl, half a mile down the road and I pick up the Sunday edition of the Cyprus Mail. Extremely thin once tv listings and such removed but ok-ish on local news, though happy to pad with unnecessary international stories. Pretty good puzzle section, and J doesn't compete to nab it. Sadly, the Mail's bravest columnist, Loucas Charlambous, died suddenly in July. We'll miss his opinion pieces. 

Jane calls to see if we want Sunday lunch at Cambanella's, and we do. Take the bus - but it unexpectedly turns off the Dhekelia Road well before we get there. Apparently the road is being resurfaced so there is a diversion. And no real indication of any likelihood of returning to the main route. Kind and helpful intervention on our behalf by a young student, who doesn't speak Greek, with bus driver, who pretty well doesn't speak English. Driver stops at a point where he is about to go further away from the main road and points. There, turn left, 400 metres. He's more or less right, although it's a bit of a walk before we're close enough to recognise landmarks. Four hundred metres rather optimistic, although our orienteering skills may have been a bit rusty. Lovely day, though, and we are on time. Would otherwise have been early. 

After lunch to Jane and Bill's to pick olives. Surprisingly, it seems that the small green ones, which are what the tree produces, are apparently the best for oil. We get 14 litres in a couple of hours. Interestingly, same number of kilos. So the density of olives equals that of water. New bit of trivia.

Saturday, December 2/2017

Rather depressing decor, along with injunctions not to put anything on the walls. Looks rather like they've been to a car boot sale. But Venera arrives in the morning as requested, bearing a two burner hotplate to replace the single burner we were greeted with last night as well as, in subsequent trips, a stainless steel frying pan to replace a small detefloned disaster, and a microwave. Definite improvement. Off to begin restocking - beyond last night's essentials of bread, wine, whiskey and oranges. Now have free range eggs, tinned beans, onions, garlic, bananas (small and local but astonishingly cheap). Now becoming possible to produce a meal of sorts. Very nice after a month of not doing our own cooking.

Friday, December 1/2017

Last day in Famagusta, although we can't imagine not going back. Of all the places we have travelled, it has probably touched our hearts the most. A beautiful combination of history, architecture, and the people. Welcoming people, yes, but so much more - philosophical, engaged, creative, passionate, vulnerable, tolerant. We will be back. 

Official high is 21, but much warmer than that in the sun. J's little thermometer shows 36 degrees when we take it out as we're sitting in the square. On Fehmi's street the older men move their chairs and newspapers into the sun and soak in the warmth. Jane and Bill meet us at lunchtime and we have a meal at Fa Kebap. Very nice - though they are out of sheftalia, and inexplicably don't carry Efes Turkish lager, usually considered the best on the island. Then back across the border, where the guard asks, quite civilly, if he can look in the trunk. He lifts it - for about ten seconds and waves us through. Odd. We haven't brought alcohol or cigarettes, but J and I each have a suitcase and a carry-on. They could have been full of whiskey. What use is opening the trunk? Although there was the time a man was smuggled into the South illegally in a car trunk. That didn't end well. 

Stop at Jane and Bill's for coffee, and to admire their orange tree, fruit just ripe. Collect out suitcases and then  back to Larnaca and the Sunflower. Our usual flat. Had wondered half heartedly whether 20% price hike this year meant renovations had reached the fourth floor, but no. Slightly more dilapidated than previous year. More likely to reflect increasing numbers of tourists competing for rooms. Ah well. Brief outing to acquire bread, humus, wine, whisky, and oranges. Grand total of €14.02. The oranges, clementines, were €0.39 a kilo ($0.59 CAD, 34p UK). Twenty of them for 43 euro cents!

Thursday, November 30/2017

Last of the dental work. Only Fehmi, with his lovely laid back style and philosophical reflections could make seeing the dentist something to look forward to. He's a very good photographer as well, and a collector of old Cypriot photographs, and leaves J looking at historical photos synced to music on the computer screen in his office, next to the surgery. 

Fehmi's wife, Phyllis (have no idea whether spelling is English, though she is a London born Turkish Cypriot) comes in when I'm finished and we start discussing traditional Cypriot cooking. I'm lamenting the disappearance of small traditional restaurants such as the one we used to frequent in Girne (Kyrenia) in 2001. This culminates in their inviting us to lunch at Minder, a small restaurant specialising in Turkish village cuisine, near the Famagusta market. 

The cook is a lovely tiny woman who displays and explains all the varied dishes, lifting each metal lid to reveal the contents for us - stuffed vegetables, stewed herbs, bulgar in deep fried crusts, lamb on the bone, and much more. But my dentist said not to eat for two hours, I say, only half joking. Something soft, he says, and recommends manti, the little meat dumplings in warm yoghurt sauce. So after Phyllis has ordered we end up with a beautiful assortment too much to finish, but lovely, traditional, vegetable based - and soft!

Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPad

Wednesday, November 29/2017

Oranges 🍊🍊 at breakfast sweeter than yesterday, because of the rain Sevket says. But sunny today and warm. Twenty? More in the sun of course. In the square in front of the cathedral cum mosque dogs lie basking, reminiscent of he old saying "Mad dogs and Englishmen lie out in the noonday sun". Not that these dogs are mad; quite the opposite. They refuse the slices of ultra-bland soft white cheese J has saved from breakfast, as did the thin feral cats encountered earlier. 

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.

Tuesday, November 28/2017

                      Photograph by Fehmi Tuncel, Famagusta

Rain begins at breakfast, not immediately obvious as it's still sunny- just with vertical lines of rain. And probably a rainbow if we were to run out and look for it. Breakfast always the same here. Would say that grows tiresome, and it rather does, but ironically at home I eat the same slice of wholegrain toast with peanut butter six days out of seven, obviously without complaint. Here it's olives (quite nice black ones), village bread, an egg, tomatoes and cucumber, and cheese. Two kinds of cheese - a round slice of soft white cheese of truly astonishing blandness and two slices of absolutely delicious grilled halloumi (hellim in Turkish). The coffee is instant, but really nothing to complain about. 

Our host, proprietor of the hotel - or probably more accurately the proprietor's husband - comes to the table to present us with his most recent publication, a book of Cypriot legends written in Turkish but with complete translations to English and German. And he has inscribed it. He teaches mathematics at the university in Nicosia, so this is a sideline, from the other side of the brain. Again, the relational - and cultural - North Cyprus. 

Avoid showers going over to see Fehmi but spend ten minutes in consultation and about forty-five minutes discussing everything from photography (he's a very interesting photographer) to historic houses. No way to avoid the showers going back, and, as always when it rains in Cyprus, torrents of water in the streets.

Monday, November 27/2017

Ulus arrives at nine, just after we've finished breakfast. Quite an amazing person in so many ways. He retired from teaching this autumn, and has tears in his eyes as he talks of leaving his students. It's an elementary school and some of the children he had taught for three years - as well as being confidant and advisor. They were an interesting lot - many of them refugees - and Ulus grew very close to them. Post retirement he is as busy as ever, heavily involved in bicommunal cultural and co-operative activities, many of hem peace related. He has recently returned from a major cultural event in Paphos (in the South), where he was born and spent his childhood, before the division of the island. The visit was obviously a very moving one for him in many ways - among other things he visited with people who had known his parents and grandparents, all of whom were educated people with deep ties in both Greek and Turkish communities. In fact he talks of his grandmother fostering the baby son of a close friend, a Greek woman, who had died in childbirth - a man he still thinks of as an uncle. 

Sadly, we have to excuse ourselves, as we have dental appointments with Fehmi, our wonderful dentist, whose daughter was taught by Ulus many years ago. The old walled city here is a small and highly relational world. Fehmi greets us like old friends, spends a great deal of time on my mouth (which involves some rearranging of local appointments - extreme kindness on his part and on theirs). And persuades the lab technician to complete some work for us this week while we're still booked to be here. There is a lovely old world feeling about staying here which is a very unusual accompaniment to dental visits!

Sunday, November 26/2017

Return to Famagusta 

Sunday morning wake to sun and breeze and bougainvillea blossoms. Late November isn't prime time for flowers, but the olives are ripe for picking ( and some are already in jars on the counter). Breakfast outside - as it should be. Bill's made bacon and egg and mushrooms. We turn down Jane's kind suggestion that we start with cereal, aware that we're going to Cambanella's for traditional English Sunday lunch at noon. 

As we do. Three courses and the wife and hostess at the carvery as disappointed as any European grandmother if we only sample two of the four roasts (though we steel ourselves against her entreaties, knowing how good the desserts will be. 

From there we drive to Famagusta and the Altun Tabya Hotel. They remember us, and the room is much like last April's - basic but clean and quite OK. Oddly, there are mothballs in the sink and shower drains. I google and yes, people (especially Asians it seems, although this establishment is clearly not Asian) do sometimes use mothballs to discourage fruit flies and small flies that live around damp drains. Mothballs toxic to inhale and presumably carcinogenic, as well as neurologically damaging - though in all fairness probably somewhat short of fatal during a week's exposure when one thinks of all the years of winter woollens stored in closets. Anyway, the scent is pretty powerful so we wrap them and put them in the bathroom bin with the lid on. 

Message Ulus, whom we met last spring, and he answers that he will meet us for coffee at nine, before going offline. No chance to say that we do have dental appointments shortly after ten.

Saturday, November 25/2017

Lying half awake thinking, pleasantly, that six o'clock is taking a decently long time coming, when J announces that it's ten to seven. Fortunately all packing done and recycling disposal and garbage to the bins across the street last night, so we leave at 7:10. Actually, ridiculously early by most standards, but on flight days we always allow for plan B. 

Train from St Pancras - and somebody's plan B going into effect on the opposite platform as there is an announcement that one of the trains going north will be approximately forty-two minutes late (only the Germans can match the precision of the British). There's even an explanation, though we don't quite catch it. The advantages of going on a Saturday are clear even before we board. We're not competing with the commuters for standing room only - the train is nearly empty. As evidenced by the animated graphics on a screen inside the car showing our location, number of cars, how empty or crowded each carriage is, and the location of each toilet (as well as whether it is occupied and in working order!). Does lead us to some speculation on what VIA Rail's top brass would make of it and whether they have ever travelled on trains outside North America. 

Longish wait, self inflicted, at Gatwick, though EasyJet check in surprisingly efficient, including fully automated baggage drop which actually recognises that we are travelling together and that my 18 kilo case more than balances J's 20.5 kilo one. It allows us 40k jointly rather than 20 each. 

Gatwick itself not UK send off at its best. Endless shiny pathway snaking hypnotically through glitzy duty free before reaching departure seating. Ninety minutes free wifi but no charging points in evidence. Water bottles fillable only from fountain immediately after security (water in loos hot), so back through duty free, snaking against pedestrian traffic this time, to fill ours. Obvious that locating free drinking water near passenger seating would be considered a hostile move by shops selling it in plastic bottles. 

Flight about four and a half hours and fine, although we're startled to be met by wet tarmac and lightning. Arrivals in Cyprus have always meant descending through clouds into sunlight and citrus and birdsong. Though at eight pm we weren't really expecting sunshine. Jane and Bill looking sunny enough though. They collect us and take us home with them for g&t and a lovely steak and kidney stew that's been in the slow cooker for hours, and a good night's sleep.

Friday, November 24/2017

For some reason the smaller the suitcase the more time it takes to pack it. Not really odd maybe, as there is a Chinese puzzle quality to the effort. Last day in London. A good visit, though notably colder than usual. Temperature supposed to be six tomorrow. Time to go. Genie very kindly tells us that almost all her rooms are now let by the week - so let her know as soon as possible when we will be coming back in the spring.

Thursday, November 23/2017

J and I to Embankment where we change Canadian currency to sterling - interestingly at a better rate than the bank would have given us if we'd used a cash point to take it out of our home account. 

Then we separate, he to enjoy central London and I to visit Jean in West Harrow. I leave via Charing Cross Station, a place that always makes me remember Kieran, aged six, observing rough sleepers bedded down in its long foot tunnels, saying nothing as his eyes widened. Charing Cross underground tunnels often have as strong a smell of urine as the streets of central Paris, but it's not bad today. I pass a single empty sleeping bag, then four together, two of them occupied, looking relatively cheerful. The effect is multicoloured (although I'm too discreet - and too decent - to photograph it). There are miscellaneous clothes and bits of bedding as well as magazines and newspapers. Well, everyone needs reading material, and the newspapers probably serve a dual purpose as insulation, and are, in any case, free. The magazines maybe a bit more aspirational - I spot a brightly covered motor car  publication. You don't have to have a home to dream about fast cars.

Wednesday, November 22/2017

Budget day, UK. Have to say that I prefer Philip Hammond, the Chancellor, to most of the rest of the cabinet, but suspect my reasons are more stylistic than political. He's low key, low ego, low drama. Having said which, I frequently disagree. His cancellation of the stamp duty for first time buyers of houses worth under £300,000 will, I suspect, serve mainly to raise the price of houses. There will be beneficiaries, of course, but not necessarily the poor. Not even a particularly partisan position on my part. Similar measures were taken when Alistair Darling was (Labour) chancellor with little effect in terms of making housing more affordable, and of course a substantial loss to the tax payer. 

The British are almost unable to mention first time buyers without referring to "being able to get on the property ladder". Which seems to be a part of the Anglo (Canadian, American, Australian, English - but not Scottish) view of housing as capital asset more than home. Rental is often more cost effective and is much more common in continental Europe, and also in Scotland. 

Sadly, the government's economic growth and debt projections are depressing. Hammond tries arguing that the problems are global, but unfortunately for him the picture is rosier in the rest of the G8 and in the EU.

Tuesday, November 21/2017

Have a list for the day, which we get started on fairly early, as the wifi dies at Starbucks mid-morning. Down Goldhawk Road to buy more corduroy - my favourite fabric and becoming inexplicably difficult to find. Not so difficult this time, as we remember which of the many fabric shops (almost all run by Sikhs) actually had black corduroy last year and start there. So mission accomplished almost instantly, which gives us time for a quick look at Shepherd's Bush Market and a sample of the spring rolls at the busy food stall at the corner. 

Second errand is buying the train tickets for Saturday's run out to Gatwick. So to King's Cross/St Pancras, where we follow the wheelchair route - establishing the location of the lifts for next weekend with the luggage. St Pancras has pianos in the hall, one of which is being played, as usual by someone with talent. Fortunately no chopsticks players here. The girl who sells the tickets says that on Saturday we'll have to go from London Bridge not St Pancras as there will be weekend works. But at London Bridge, surely? No, but she's already on the phone. Yes, yes. That would be Sunday - on Saturday you can go from St Pancras. Which leaves me unsure whether to be pleased that I checked online for weekend planned engineering disruptions - or worried that the girl's new information still seems not quite right, as I'd thought the London Bridge works were longer term than a day. As usual, we'll leave early enough to deal with most eventualities. 

Errands on Kilburn High Road, include buying low dosage aspirins. They're much cheaper at Savers than anywhere else, but oddly enough there is a regulation (everywhere, not just at Savers) preventing the purchase of more than two packets at a time, each packet containing 28 tablets in blister pack. So the winter's supply involves J and I each buying our two packets on more than one occasion, without actually having to pretend we don't know each other.  Does seem odd. Surely anyone attempting suicide could find a more efficient method. Don't know if the blister packs would slow down a determined child, but they would have been a definite deterrent to my mother.

Monday, November 20/2017

First Ania arrives, Jenny's cleaner who has been living with her elderly Auntie Vera. She's Polish and very cheerful, but looking forward to Christmas when she can go back to Poland. Lots of family in Edmonton, she tells us. Then J goes with Doug to inspect the flat he's done up to sell, in Surbiton. Quite impressed. Jenny collects Cody and brings him home before he's picked up for lunch at a friend's. Friend's foster father is a bit late so we pass the time with him demonstrating judo holds and charades. He's bright, and funny, and very busy. So goodbyes until April, and we're off to the train. Not cold, but darkish and on the edge of drizzle.

Sunday, November 19/2017

To Thames Ditton, as we've been invited to dinner while Jenny's brother Andy is visiting. We've never gone there in the dark before and are invited for five,  but sunset is pretty early at this time of year, and London is farther north than Sioux Lookout - though warmer. Andy lives in Cornwall (we visited a few years back) but has been spending quite a bit of time in Cyprus, before and after Sam, their father, died this summer. Good to see him again - he's always interesting to talk to - thoughtful, informed, and low ego. Emma is here too, and we have a happy, leisurely dinner. Lovely of Jenny and Doug, who have quite a bit else on their plate, between grandchildren and Jenny's mum, now in a care home. And Doug doing up a flat to sell, as well as looking after the ones let to students.,

Saturday, November 18/2017

A man at a nearby table at Starbucks leaves behind his copy of The Times, having stayed over two coffees - quite long enough to have read it all. And I'm happy to acquire it, though I probably wouldn't have paid the £1.70 ($2.85 CAD) cover price for the pleasure. 

The Saturday Times has a good weekend section, as well as The Review, with theatre and book reviews as well as several puzzles, which the previous owner has kindly left undone. 

And in one of the book reviews (of Patronising Bastards by Quentin Letts) there is a reminder of the gender neutral loos at the Barbican, encountered by us earlier in the week and actually  labelled "gender-neutral toilet with urinals" and "gender-neutral toilet with cubicles". The ones we visited were in a little frequented subterranean corner and were toilets we remembered from past visits and sought out for their quiet cleanliness. In the event, we just walked in to the loos we had always used in the past, in Js case without actually reading the sign - happily unaware that he might have been sharing the "with urinals" with unexpected mixed company.

Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPad

Friday, November 17/2017

To the Saatchi Gallery, one of our regular stops. It's been closed as they set up new exhibitions, but the wait has been worth it. There are a number of pretty shocking displays of contemporary Russian protest art, featuring Pussy Riot and also artists that we're not familiar with. 

The shock effect begins immediately in the first gallery with the work of Pyotr Pavlensky. What we see is photograph and sculpture, but his passion is clearly for performance art. And so we have Carcass, a record of the naked artist wrapped in layers of barbed wire at the seat of the St Petersburg Assembly, intended to represent the individual's position in the legal system, forced to comply as a silent animal. In the next room is the small but horrifying sculpture Fixation commemorating the occasion, on November 10, 2013, when Pavlensky, again naked, nailed his own scrotum to the pavement of Red Square, remaining until police covered him with a white sheet - and then arrested him. Thus the police became unwitting actors in the drama, proving the individual's fixation in the face of police power. 

After this, the Pussy Riot exhibit is both more familiar and, oddly enough, less shocking, featuring mainly film clips (as well as small masked matryoshka dolls behind bars. 

Then back to shock effect - and it's considerable - with Damir Muratov's group photos, highly satirical and sparing no political feelings. 

Even the less compelling works in this show would be central to a lesser exhibition. We finish with a series of wall graffiti posts above television screens showing only "snow", helpfully hand labelled "Art" on a sheet of A4 paper, featuring slogans like "the revolution belongs to you". 

And including a moral challenge from Desmond Tutu: "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor". If this seems educational, or even didactic, it is, in an old-fashioned 60's way. There are even handouts labelled "homework" - suggestions for fighting injustice to be read later. 

Stop at the lower ground floor before leaving, in order to use the loo, and are intrigued by one last piece. It's the classic Uncle Sam Wants You picture, but done as a mosaic, every piece cut from an American comic, the background cut outs of words and the figure from comic book pictures. And done so cleverly that it takes a minute to realise what you are looking at!

Thursday, November 16/2017

They're working on the corner next to where we stay. Unspecified sewer operations plus extensive recurbing. Fascinating from the point of view of a Canadian, all four corners are fenced off, while men in high vis vests and digging machines do their thing but road and pedestrian traffic is never impeded. The whole procedure does take a matter of weeks, but no longer than it would do if, Canadian-style, they had closed the road. The fencing is moveable, of course, and is frequently rearranged to suit changing bits of excavation or paving, occasionally more than once in a day. But calm carrying on is indeed what is happening.

Wednesday, November 15/2017

We have tickets for a talk by Dr Ben Broadbent, deputy head of the Bank of England, at the London School of Economics. The talk is free, but they're expecting more people wishing to attend than there will be seats, so they've been allocated randomly. At least that's the theory. It's in the Hong Kong Theatre at Clement House, which is not a very large auditorium, but there are still empty seats when the talk starts, so our both having tickets is down to over optimism on their part, not good luck on ours. The topic is Brexit and Interest Rates, and unfortunately we're rather more interested in the Brexit bit than the interest rates. But still currency exchange is important and this is Mark Carney's 2IC. 

Well, those who didn't apply for tickets may have known something we didn't. The event is an hour, including fifteen minutes for questions, and that's more than enough. The worst is that the man is difficult to hear, and this doesn't seem to be down to the sound system. We're in the second row, probably within thirty feet of him and he is using the Mike, but we probably catch no more than fifty percent of what he says. J has the advantage of being better educated than I in economics, but this advantage is more or less negated by his having worse hearing. Not the first time we've encountered this at the LSE, and not down to old age either. There seem to be quite a lot of people with a great deal of knowledge and no presentation skills at all. In all fairness, Dr Broadbent may not have to present his ideas to an audience very often. But he does engage in a great deal of mumbling, punctuated by muttered asides. Would have been worse if it hadn't been for the natural non-committal reticence of the professional economist, so no great loss. 

I tell J as we leave that I do know a very good pub nearby - just round behind the Courts of Justice, but fail to spark any interest. He simply doesn't regard this as beer drinking weather and the lure of real ale is ineffective.

Tuesday, November

Finally (one hopes) deliver as much corroborative material as possible to our tiny HSBC branch at Charing Cross where we are now on first name terms with the affable Hassan, who probably hopes that his friendly "see you" as we're leaving is inaccurate. Photograph the pedestrian crossing light at Trafalgar Square. We cross when it's green but can't imagine what the code is. Green light for ménage à trois?

Monday, November 13/2017

To the Barbican library for the first time in ages, maybe years. It's so peaceful and civilised, helpful people going about their work with an almost monastic quiet and efficiency. And the VPNs work here, as they have unhappily ceased to do in most public venues. 

So take advantage of the opportunity to check in for the flight to Cyprus Saturday week and download boarding passes. Only five allowed per device, which seems reasonable. When we boarded in Fredericton they were unhappy about two boarding passes on one device, citing Transport Canada. Intended to check this as it seemed unreasonable. What about the passenger accompanied by small children or an elderly blind parent? My baby has dropped his smart phone and my mother can't see hers? 

Make copies of phone bills for UK bank in the continuing interest of proving J's identity and residence, although they say not to use online billing. It is an exact copy, though a downloaded one. They also say full first name, and Bell has used Joe instead of Joseph. On reflection, the only other utility bill we receive is from Sioux Hydro, which does the same. Do I detect an urban bias here? J has lived in the same community for 65 years and doesn't have what HSBC considers proof of residence. Electric bill addressed to Joe, water pumped from lake by us. Heat is wood, delivered in 16 foot lengths without a written bill. It's a different world, although there may be similar arrangements in small communities in the Scottish islands. Driving licence does have full name and address, but they seem only to want it if it's EU. Wonder if Brexit will broaden or narrow the requirements. 

Stop in Kilburn on the way home (which it isn't) to pick up a few things at Aldi. And pass Roses, which, surprisingly on a Monday, is featuring lamb kleftiko. So, unexpected supper stop. Only a couple of tables empty this time, and kleftiko falling succulent lay off the bone as always.

Sunday, November 13/2017

It's cold. Not cool, not chilly, cold. Bitter wind. OK, not as cold as much of Canada, and no snow - though temperatures in much of the UK outside of London will be below zero tonight. Robin Lustig, in his blog on Friday, laments the "real human misery" attendant on a welfare crisis and increasing homelessness, noting "last night, there were eight homeless people shivering beneath a railway bridge close to where I live in north London" whereas "a year ago, there were none". And this morning there is someone lying in a sleeping bag (which doesn't look thick enough) outside Bayswater tube station. A not uncommon sight in central London streets or in the long tunnels leading to Charing Cross tube station, but we've never seen it here before. Add it to the beggars regularly stationed outside Tesco's and McDonalds. The takings don't look very impressive, and the bits of blanket and newspaper seem pretty poor insulation on days like this.

Saturday, November 11/2017

Meet up with Jenny at the National Theatre, an excellent spot for meeting as its lobby is large and quiet and comfortable and you can get coffee - or for that matter something stronger. So we have a good chat and then head down the South Bank to the Tate Modern, which none of us have been to for a while. 

Enter via the Turbine Hall, where there is usually a large, often multi-storey installation. And need there is one now - a huge brightly striped carpet (the colours of British bank notes the sign informs us helpfully) with a large reflective pendulum swinging overhead. Children playing happily on the carpet and beyond it on triple swings. The thought being vaguely philosophical, re grounding through gravity and commerce. Jenny takes the same view of galleries as we do - view a small number of exhibits and leave before over saturation. 

And there are a number of new works to see. The Tower of Babel, for example  tall tower made entirely of electronic sound devices - transistor radios, cassette players, etc. The room is darkened and the sound track too confused to disentangle - mainstream media at its most unclear. 

And then there's a huge canvas by French Communist artist André Fougeron, caricaturing Americanisation as well as French colonialism. Plenty of hits here, from exploitation of the underprivileged to the electric chair, as used in the execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. 

Then we're back to the National Theatre. On the other side of the river we spot what we quickly identify as the Lord Mayor's annual procession, bands, Cinderella style golden coach and all. Pretty chilly for outdoor picnicking but we have a nice sandwich lunch inside, and more chat. Pretty quiet lounge except when theatre goers are arriving or leaving. 

Realise quite late in the day that we met up just before the Armistice two minutes of silence. And weren't silent.

Friday, November 10/2017

After stopping at the bank we cross Trafalgar Square to the Canadian High Commission. Cross is not quite the right word for the circumnavigation up past the pavement artists in front of the National Gallery. The square itself is blocked off as preparations are made for the U2 concert on Saturday night. Seven thousand free tickets disappeared within hours. 

Stop at the high commission mainly to lament the changes over the past ten years or so, from the time it was a home away from home for Canadians and you could read a slightly outdated Globe and Mail or join the short queue of backpackers waiting to check their email on one of three rather slow computers. Nice clean loo as well. Now the primary function of those guarding the entrance - who never seem to be Canadian - appears to be keeping the likes of us out. There is still a small gallery and the exhibitions are open to the public, but J's suspicion is that their primary interests are commercial rather than diplomatic. 

This began under Harper of course but sadly doesn't seem to have been reversed by the current administration. In fact quite the opposite. When diplomatic staff were already lamenting the scrapping of diplomacy for commerce and hard nosed confrontation there were still cultural events at Canada House. As ordinary citizens we registered and attended a discussion of multiculturalism and Islam by journalists Doug Saunders and Yasmin Alibhai-Brown. Even a glass of wine and some civilised conversation first. The man on security detail (ex Greek army) is sympathetic but clearly thinks we haven't kept up with the times. Someone was stabbed just over there he tells us, pointing down the street. You know what it's like now - you read the papers. And just try going to the American embassy - they'll make you stand well back while they point a gun at you. Not sure that times are much more dangerous than they were for citizens on the street, although we can see that terrorist incidents are more frequent and embassies are obvious potential targets. However, not convinced. Soft targets have featured prominently lately, not only because they are less well guarded but because they increase public fear by suggesting people are not safe anywhere. 

Our friendly Greek offers to take our photo (declined), provides us with little Canadian/UK flag pins (albeit described as Canadian/English flags) and points out that we could resort to the embassy in the event that we lost our passports. (Has fortunately never occurred, although many years ago I did wash my jeans with passport in pocket). But he's not really the right person to regret the loss of a legitimate cultural rôle for an embassy.

Thursday, November 9/2017

First visit with Jean this autumn. We were actually in Fredericton at the same time in September/October but ironically getting together here is simpler. Better public transport and fewer other calls on our time. Cool, but not wet. And dark, of course. London considerably north of our "northern" Ontario home, and the end of summer time makes for very early nightfall. As usual we're overly greedy with the Bombay mix before we even reach the meal. Good chat and we're joined by Shanthi, whom we haven't seen for a couple of years now. Inevitable political gossip as International Development minister Priti Patel is being replaced as we speak.

Wednesday, November 8/2017

No complaints, but Starbucks noticeably less busy this stay. Good for us, because desirable corner table usually free, queue not too long, etc. Suspect it's not down to the quality of the coffee - which we like but may not be to everyone's taste - or to complaints about tax avoidance, as other coffee shops in the area don't seem over-full either. Too many coffee venues spreading the custom too thin? Also there seems to be a shortage of the more eccentric customers - those talking to themselves (without benefit of microphone) or opening packets of toast, or using the downstairs seating area as a changing room. An improvement in tone of course, but a bit of a loss in colour.

Tuesday, November 7/2017

Alexander is in London (he lives just south of Cambridge) and collects us, as he has to be in the area of Paddington Station anyway. He's found a restaurant in Notting Hill to try for our now traditional lunch date. It's called The Shed, and is an unprepossessing building well disguised by vines. A young woman is smoking (quite legitimately) in the outside porch where there are a couple of tables and A comments on how nice this is. I have to assure her that both A and J are inhaling deeply before she is relieved to find this is not sarcasm. 

A long unpretentious room with small tables, and a short menu with dishes designed for sharing. The owners, three brothers, have their own farm and vineyard and we have a carafe of their bright, floral tasting white wine as well as choosing one "fast" and one "slow" dish each for the sharing. A salad, battered cauliflower florets with almonds (and a bit of curry heat?), venison ragout, beef sirloin, hake with "sea vegetables", and slip sole, as well as their own thickly cut seeded bread. Portions not large (and not underpriced) but the food is lovely and we're more than satisfied. 

Gives us a chance to catch up as well. Alexander voluble as usual on any number of topics, from British politics to Mendelssohn's period living in Notting Hill (not then a part of London) to the merits of various electric cars. He's been busy still occupied with tuning and transporting instruments, as well as regaining his pilot's licence. Accused of not slowing down, he says that he works as hard as ever when he's working, but works fewer days in a month. Fair enough. He also tells us about burying Flora's ashes next to their baby son, as she had wished, and shows us a photo of the grave stone, beautifully simple and graceful. 

Mobile needs charging by night. So the charged battery with which we arrived lasted almost six days of admittedly light use. Not bad, as it's the original battery in the mobile we bought in Damascus just before the Syrian war.

Monday, November 6/2017

Down to our bank - HSBC Charing Cross branch - who want an update on our profile. Fair enough, as it seems we've had the account for a mildly surprising fifteen years. 

Just off Trafalgar Square, so we take a bus to Camden Town and check out the shops along Camden High Street for future reference. Just our imagination, or is the street becoming slightly seedier? It's never been rich, but there's something a bit depressing about Inverness Street market, where the veg were fresh and the stall owners rough and cheerful in a there-you-go-luv sort of way, being replaced by long queues at Poundland and Lidl, where the prices seem to have risen slightly without the variety or quality of the offerings improving much. So another bus to Kilburn High Road, which still a multicultural energy about it. Once Irish, as the name suggests, it's now a bit of everything, with lots of Middle East and African in the mix, though you can still buy Irish newspapers.

Sunday, November 5/2017

Up before dawn for the annual London to Brighton Veteran Car Run. Can't remember now how many years we've been doing this - several, anyway. It's a rally that celebrates the passing of the Locomotives on the Highway Act in November 1896. Sometimes known as the Red Flag Act, it required that automobile drivers be preceded on the road by a man carrying a red flag in warning. Every time I set the alarm for six o'clock a small part of me thinks that it might rain, we might not really have to be up in the cold darkness. 

But at the first sight or sound of a veteran car  the adrenaline starts. Some cars are trailered in buty some drivers have stayed at hotels on our side of Hyde Park and head out along the Bayswater Road, two and three (sometimes even one) cylinder cars audible before we spot them in the dark. And brave drivers as many of the old cars have no lights at all. One pretty noisy little car we see loses power at each red light along the road and the driver has to pedal furiously until the engine catches when the lights turn green. Probably all right once on the open road, although like many of the entrants not too speedy. Cars are deemed to have completed the run (it's not a race) if they reach Brighton, some sixty miles away, by 4:30 in the afternoon, about a nine hour window. We enter the park while cars are still arriving, but it's a longish walk along the Serpentine where the vehicles are marshalled, admiring as we go, and the first cars are off before we reach the start point. 

A pity in a way, as the lead car is a treasure - an 1893 Peugeot constructed only seven years after the world's first car. There's plenty to feast the eyes on, though, with some 450 cars in the event. They're all pre-1905 and come from as far away as Australia and Argentina. No two alike, and some must barely meet the definition of car, with tiller in place of steering wheel and bare boards construction. 

Many are three wheeled and the passenger, when there is one, sometimes in front of the driver rather than beside or behind him (or in a few cases her). Totally delightful and the participants, many in period dress, are visibly thrilled. A little over an hour from the time the first car leaves at 7:02 until the last is on its way. By this time we're pretty chilled. The sun is up, but we've been standing watching for a long time, so home by tube to put a kettle on.