Presciently, ended last year’s blog on May 2 wondering if there were a market for disaster travel writing, and am now writing the Journal of the Plague Year. Not that it’s been a disaster for us so far, and so far no sign of the plague.
In fact our circumstances are embarrassingly pleasant and this pretty well tops the list of places we’d be happy to be now. Fortunately were able yesterday to choose the food for our remaining time under “house arrest”. Choose it, that is, from what was available late in the day from the tiny shop around the corner. Our host, currently having medical treatment in Turkey, suggested we could make a foray out before the national clamp down, but best if we wore gloves and masks.
Signal eye roll. But J remembered seeing gloves, and indeed a search uncovered a box of surgical gloves, though no masks. Did contrive to tie a cotton scarf so that it could function as one, though J declined similar decoration. And in any case mine kept slipping down. The other two or three customers paid us no attention, but did note that the owner wore gloves like ours - though no mask.
Produce supplies pretty depleted but acquire good red peppers, a few acceptable onions, seven large but very dehydrated mushrooms, and bananas. Also a kilo of strained yoghurt, tinned tomatoes, jam and (surprisingly) peanut butter. Not much bread left and all white, so add some hamburger buns. Spaghetti, though, available as whole grain. Sausage. Added a frozen chicken, chicken stock cubes, a packet of biscuits and a bottle of Turkish vodka. Think fast - should we be buying two packets of biscuits? Two bottles of vodka? There is in fact quite a fair supply of dried beans, rice, lentils and seasoning at home, as well as Thursday’s purchases.
So today begins with coffee and the sound of an ambulance. Go to the door to investigate, as do the neighbours across the narrow lane. Slows almost to a stop by our door but masked attendants look straight ahead. Resumes progress with siren. Discover that all passing vehicles come close to stopping a couple of feet from our door as the unevenness of the road at this point forms a natural speed bump.
Scramble the eggs from the market for Sunday brunch. Dark yolks and very fresh. Feather down still clinging. Toast last of the wholemeal bread from England. Consider that as house arrest goes the food is remarkably good. Terry Waite would have been envious.
Take our chairs out to the front steps. Temperature about 20, but closer to 30 in the sun, with a light breeze. Not much of the world going by as we sit, since everybody else is supposed to stay home except for essential movement like grocery shopping or necessary work. But the animals haven’t been informed so cats and dogs carry on with business as usual. A man comes out with two tiny pups, barely coordinated as they explore. Women water the flowers and chat, accidentally or otherwise standing pretty well the recommended two metres apart. Then a woman from across the way comes over and hands us a napkin with two fat pastries. Börek. Still warm and filled with raisins and apricot. Lovely of her.
Open the bottle of Turkish Cabernet Sauvignon left for us and find it’s quite drinkable with tonight’s spaghetti. Jane calls and says the flight they were booked on moving back to the UK from the South was cancelled, as were all flights after the 20th so they managed to get one from Paphos on the 20th.
Plenty of reading time and, apart from ebooks plenty of news to read, even without the conspiracy theories.
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