Intrigued by a set of flags we can see from our patio. Not the Turkish Cypriot and Turkish pair on the mountainside, our weather vanes. But looking uphill in the other direction, to our left, are a set of three flags - Turkish Cypriot, Turkish, and, in the central position, Swedish. So presumably we have Swedish neighbours, or possibly part time neighbours. Much harder than one might suppose to establish what building the flags belong to, as they’re in a large area full of luxuriant growth, and walking round by the road doesn’t give particularly good lines of sight to the centre.
But we’re out walking anyway so try to calculate the flag’s home, only managing to narrow it down to half a dozen possibilities. Lots not always regular in shape and short of walking down long, steep drives and demanding to view corresponding gardens it’s impossible to tell who owns the Swedish flag. No convenient little sign proclaiming Johansson or Larsson - or for that matter Yilmas or Demir, for purposes of elimination.
Past our home from last year. No cats in sight. The almond tree by the parking lot, which was in exuberant bloom at this time a year ago, is flowering but it’s no better than the ones that are near us now. Portending a poor nut harvest or just a bit slow this year?
Circle round and downhill and pass the field where the goats hang out - as opposed to the orchard across from us where goats do live but seem to be permanently shut away. These are busy eating, trimming the leaves from a pile of branches. They’re highly curious, and some of them come over to the fence to say hello. We’re still in the old village and their paddock backs onto houses and small apartment buildings. But Lapta is good at sharing space.
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