Three ships came sailing in. Not Christmas Day, although some happy to anticipate the season. Larnaca Bay this afternoon. Ships right and centre are cargo while the one on the left is a destroyer. Not particularly unusual for destroyers, usually US, to pay a courtesy call to Larnaca port, but this one doesn’t appear to have been mentioned in the news although obviously not in hiding.
Go for my semi-annual haircut to the same shop I’ve been going to for over twenty years, and J as well until he started cutting his own hair. It’s a family business, with a framed photograph of the grandfather, now deceased, on the wall. We remember when he was an active barber. Now the son and his wife run the business, with dubious assistance from the grandson, as good looking as his father but seemingly having inherited none of the family talent. Has been in training for at least four years and not good at or permitted to do, much beyond shampooing and some combing. Even less busy than last time as the wife is not there and I’m the only customer. Good cut and, once father takes over, good comb out. But as last time feel the weight of responsibility for keeping the business solvent. He charges me €12 (£10.50, $18 CAD). It was €10 ten years ago. I give him €15 but can’t imagine how they survive.
Then we stop to see another survivor - Natalia the Ukrainian jeweller. As she was last winter, she’s running a small take out pastry business over near St Lazarus Church. Not optimistic about the situation in Ukraine where her family is and distressed by the situation in Israel and Palestine. But one bit of good has emerged as a result of war in Ukraine. Her adult son, who came to Cyprus as a small child and has known no other life - speaks Greek and not Ukrainian or Russian - has finally been given a visa by the Cyprus government as part of their response to those unable to remain in war torn Ukraine. Who knows if it will be renewed next year, but for now….We buy some spinach and feta pastries - large, warm and delicious - and eat them on a bench by St Lazarus.
Two stops on the way home. One for bread and the other at the large and insanely crowded second hand store - clothes, books, jewellery, small appliances, kitchenware so closely packed as to make examining them almost impossible. Racks spilling out into the courtyard a matter of necessity. Normally, though not it seems this year, travel with the small kitchen implement known as —Well, here we wander into the wilds of bilingualism, multiculturalism and more. Am well aware that the implement is frequently referred to in British English as a fish slice but the term simply doesn’t come off my tongue, not least, probably, because you could use one regularly for a lifetime without ever cooking fish. Apparently often referred to in America as a spatula, but to me a spatula is a different animal. Rubber in my youth though usually silicone now, smaller, not slotted, flexible, and good for getting the last bit of icing or whatever out of the bowl without using your fingers. Lifter? As close as anything, though so general it helps to know you’re talking kitchen and not workshop or gym when you suggest buying one. And no idea what it might be called in Greek, which may have contributed to my reluctance to ask Venera for one when I did look up the translation for stainless steel, thereby obtaining a pretty decent frying pan. Anyway, we now have a lifter and can take it with us to the next place.
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