Thursday, November 30/2023

Spectacular view from our bedroom. Corner of the deck looking up to the peaks of the Pentadaktyl Mountains. Sun first hits the craggy rock around quarter past eight. If we lived on the southern slope we would have it much earlier, but then we wouldn’t have the view of the sea from the other side of the flat. Looking across the orchard, or past the next door neighbour’s arbour we see the dark blue of the Mediterranean, and, if it’s clear, the mountainous coast of Turkey. 

We take the dolmus in to Girne. Hadn’t realised it, but the little buses are not a municipal service but are independently owned and in some cases in competition. This explains a violent argument between our driver of yesterday and the driver of another dolmus that had just passed us. An overtaking bus can unfairly scoop up the passengers from the next stop. Didn’t come to blows though sounded as if it might. Bearing in mind that even quite friendly disputes in the Mediterranean can sound murderous to Anglo ears. Used to say that I had divorced a man without ever talking to him like that.

Today’s driver is loud and cheerful - especially loud. Spends most of the trip in speaking at astonishingly high volume, presumably to some unseen listener to whom he is connected through his earphones. Speech occasionally punctuated by hand gestures, both hands joining in. A (Russian?) woman we have picked up along the way tells him bluntly that he is too loud. He apologises and lowers the volume very slightly. A few minutes later she asks him to drive a little faster as she is already late. Then complains that he shouldn’t be talking at all while he is driving as it’s dangerous. Complaints pretty cheerfully ignored, leading to speculation that he has as much domestic practice in ignoring criticism as she has in giving it.