Monday, March 12/2018

Heading, indirectly, to Kakopetria, a picturesque village in the Troodos Mountains. Jane comes here after swimming and Bill is to take the bus in from Pyla and join us. He arrives a little after ten, somewhat put out by having waited endlessly for the one bus that goes down their road. Last time it was fifteen minutes early so he timed himself accordingly, only for it to be ten minutes late this time. As that bus only goes every hour or hour and a half, catching it can be a procedure. 

We're off to Nicosia first, where Jane has a cushion to return to IKEA. The store is a newish addition to Cyprus and we've not been before and stay just long enough for Jane to do the return and us to pick up a catalogue. Entirely in Greek as, more surprisingly, are all the signs in the store - unlike road signs or those in supermarkets. But we can look at the pictures and see the prices. 

Then out of the city no west. We're actually following the border just south of it, although we're really reminded of that only when Bill spots a UN lookout spot. And Jane a sign showing that we're only a few kilometres from Morphou (Guzulyurt to the Turkish), and nearly on the west coast. We're gaining altitude at the same time and can at times see the sea to the north of the island. 

Kakopetria is a lovely little village nestled in a valley. We've been here before but it was three years ago. Quite a compelling place, though. One of those spots that leaves you thinking I could stop and live here, this would be as good as anywhere. An odd thought for a gypsy like me. (And yes, I know the word is politically incorrect but it still feels so much more romantic than the alternatives, and traveller is terribly imprecise). The restaurant is called The Mill, and there once was a mill here. Now restaurant and hotel. With probably the nicest trout I've ever tasted - although it's had competition! We all know we're going to order the trout but read the menu anyway out of curiosity and for general inspiration. 

Then down the steep and windy roads and home via Limassol. A reminder of just how small this island country is. Between ten o'clock and six we've gone from seaside to mountains and back, been to the three largest cities and looked down on the Mediterranean on the north coast before lunch and the south coast after.

Sunday, March 11/2018

Sunday lunch at Cambanella’s. The bus, as usual, gets us there a few minutes early, so we take a walk around a field, where it turns out the poppies are just appearing. Spurs discussion between J and me about whether I prefer British or Canadian Remembrance Day poppies. And I’m torn. Initially, British poppies looked faded and a bit drab to me. But they’re a lot more like real poppies in colour. Canadian ones have the virtue of being what I grew up with, but they’re too crimson, and I’m starting to regard the velvety texture combined with the brilliant colour as a bit vulgar - kind of Elvis in gold paint on black velvet. But the ones in the field are lovely. 

After lunch over to a small freshwater pool - actually where the drainage ditches empty with water from the fields. Moorhens not in evidence, but a still egret poised watching the fish. And some of the fish are surprisingly large - perhaps eighteen inches - as they surface in the murky water to take the bread J throws them. It’s just metres away from the walkway along the sea. A fresh water lagoon.

Saturday, March 10/2018

Lovely as it might be to have servants, I'd be bad at it. Winters in Cyprus are the closest we come, with our monthly rent paying for daily cleaning and twice weekly linen change as well as the one bedroom hotel apartment. The cleaning consists of emptying the garbage, providing the toilet paper, sweeping and washing the tile floors and cleaning the bathroom fixtures. If we didn't make the beds the cleaners probably would do, but like all the other (Scandinavian) long stayers in the hotels we've lived in we regard that as our responsibility. (In fact one Swedish woman of our slight acquaintance was the cause of scandalised gossip amongst long stay Scandinavians for leaving the beds for the maids.) 

Cleaning has never been problematic in the other places we've stayed - pretty thorough and occurring either six or seven days a week. Here it has always been rather lick and a promise, and on the fourth floor the sisters (in the familial not religious sense) got it down to about three minutes by virtue - though virtue doesn't seem like quite the right word - of never vacuuming. One of the advantages of the move to the first floor was that the floors were all tile so that the sitting room as well as the kitchen and loo got washed daily. At first, that is. Then the odd day of no show, then two, and eventually three. In the end almost a guarantee that if we did not go out there would be no service, possibly with the self-deluding excuse of not disturbing us. 

At which point I feel compelled to mention the problem to Kiki, the receptionist, so as not to report Venera the maid, whom I like, to Management, whom I don't much. Putting it as tactfully as possible - has the cleaning schedule perhaps changed? Kiki is clearly appalled at the slackness, and presumably this will solve the problem. The sad thing is that we don't usually tip - for what is the worst housekeeping service we've ever experienced - which may have led to worse service. It's also possible, even probable, that the cleaners are underpaid, but given a fairly hefty rental increase this year we're unenthusiastic about assuming the burden of subsidising the staff. Ah well, servant problem not one I'm blessed with at home. 

As we're having lunch, Kiki comes up to the flat with a large bag of oranges. Left for us at reception. By a man - no she doesn't know who - an old man. Mystery solved when Ailsa calls to say that Harry has taken us some oranges (they have a tree). I say we'd been wondering but didn't get far by asking for a description. Ailsa agrees that there would have been no obvious descriptors - he's not tall, short, fat, or excessively thin. Don't feel compelled to mention Kiki having said old. Don't actually think of Harry as old, but suppose that at eighty the description is not completely unfair.

Friday, March 9/2018

 Partly out of interest and partly because the nearby British forces base provides us with quite a bit of BBC radio, and partly because we're much closer to the UK than to North America in time zone, we follow quite a bit of British news. Heavily Brexit for weeks, with continuing bits of complaint about the effects of austerity on health and social programming. 

Now, for the past several days, a lot of dramatic focus on the attempted murder by nerve poison of the former Russian spy Skripal and his daughter. Trying to remember whether the somewhat similar poisoning twelve years ago of the former spy Litvinenko received quite the same non-stop coverage. We were in London at that time and certainly it was a major news story, made more dramatic by the fact that for days he was conscious and contributing clues to the murder mystery until inevitable death overtook him. 

The cases are not precisely analogous, because Skripal was a double agent who betrayed his fellow Russian spies for cash and was convicted of treason and then given to the West as part of a later prisoner exchange. Litvinenko reacted against Russian corruption and sought asylum in the West. This does make him a somewhat more sympathetic character, but it also makes him a more likely Kremlin target. The convention has been that those who were part of prisoner exchanges are not targeted afterward by the governments that originally employed them, as this would make future spy swaps pointless - no one would participate. However either high level secret service personnel or those involved in illegal international activity such as money laundering might well have wanted revenge, wished to make a very public warning and had some access to highly restricted chemicals. In that case the perpetrators would be Russian but not Russia, I.e. the Kremlin. 

Even this much analysis is too much for the BBC, which endlessly repeats the basic story of finding the two victims, the fact that an unspecified nerve poison is involved and threats of sanctions that must be taken against Russia if it is indeed found to be the culprit. More than once an hour, and always as the lead story, even in the absence of new information. Brexit has disappeared from the news entirely, at a point at which the UK is more or less paralysed by government infighting and the EU has frozen talks until there is an amended proposal to discuss. It has not become any less urgent, but is more than failing the 'if it bleeds it leads' test. 

In fact, following the cui bono principle, one can't help observing (tasteless as it may be to joke about these things) that the chief immediate beneficiary of the Skripal poisoning is probably Theresa May, whose failings have been replaced in the media by a great deal of posturing about the UK's intent to identify those responsible for the poisoning and bring them to justice. The outrage at an attack on British soil is perfectly legitimate, but twenty years from now the story will be all but forgotten while the UK will have been majorly determined by whatever the Brexit negotiations create.

Thursday, March 8/2018

Thursday, and the dust in the air much reduced, as promised. Warm (definitely T-shirt weather) and windy. Meet J down on the promenade and we stop for coffee on their balcony. By far the best - and cheapest - coffee in town. Prefer Harry's Café, but the thought that they might not have put the large umbrellas up for shade is a deterrent. Bad timing at McD. It's 11:30 and crammed with teenagers. Half holiday? Teacher's strike? Student walkout? The last two not nearly as uncommon as they might be in most countries, but no way of knowing. They're all in pretty good humour as befits the newly released, but it makes for about a fifteen minute wait. 

Good people watching site though. Quite a lot of people on the beach, with several in the water. Sea temperature today 17.6. (August average 28.1). So any warm, sunny day is good swimming. The poles for the beach umbrellas are now planted on the beach by the dozen, but umbrella rental has not yet begun.

Wednesday, March 7/2018

Early to Prinos to get some fruit for lunch. Early by our standards at least; Prinos has been open since 6:30, as always, and is unlikely to consider eight o'clock early. And it will be open until early evening. When we first started coming to Cyprus all but the smallest corner shops closed mid-afternoon on Wednesdays and Saturdays, an inconvenient old time practice backed by legislation that the larger enterprises fought, eventually successfully. We have pears and grapefruit and oranges at home but add apples,  kiwi and grapes (imported) and strawberries (local). Citrus fruits are beautiful all winter here and there have been local greenhouse strawberries for a month now, but grape and fresh fig seasons end in late autumn, about the time we arrive. There are local apples but they're never as good as the imports, our favourites being Pink Lady from Greece or (preferably) Italy.

The artichokes are in season now and J has bought half a dozen. He's learned by dint of watching a seller at the market, to trim away everything but the heart and carves the tiny slices off the choke to sauté in olive oil. Very highly labour intensive - probably ten to fifteen minutes an artichoke for the trimming and carving - and the yield is small, but lovely and rich. An appetiser today when Jane and Bill join us for lunch, but also a luxury topping for pizza on rare occasions.

Tuesday, March 6/2018

Cooking the vegetables so that they only have to be reheated tomorrow when Bill and Jane come to lunch. Necessary because we only have two burners and a microwave. The frying pan is good stainless steel but not very big, which means endless panfulls. Strips of red pepper, long dark green beans, hard boiled free range eggs cut lengthwise with their dark orange yellow eyes. Time consuming but such an aesthetic pleasure. Later J trims the artichokes and slices the hearts. Truly labour intensive, but I read to him from the third volume of Alan Bennett's diaries as he's sautéing them. Bennet's diaries always such gems it feels they should be saved for dessert - but wifi off, so options limited.

Monday, March 5/2018

Back to the air pollution. And as usual the haze in the sky is particulate matter, most probably dust from the Sahara. Improving by Thursday, according to the paper. It's been a dusty year. No truly horrible day, but a number of warnings. No one to blame, really, either. Not much to be done about desert sand and wind.

Sunday, March 4/2018

Invited to Jane and Bill's for Sunday lunch. Beautiful roast leg of lamb and we eat outside as usual. Susan and David here again, and, happily, Maureen from down the terrace. She's going to London in a couple of weeks to visit her daughter and has taken our UK mobile number so we can meet up for a drink. After the others have gone we watch first part of The Crown, with Claire Foy as a very young Queen Elizabeth. Well done, but liberties? Was the Queen Mother really that self-centred? Who knows.

Saturday, March 3/2018

Caption in today’s Cyprus Mail reads “Man arrested illegally entering Republic by jumping off wall “. The man was a Kurd and had obviously landed, by air or more likely sea, in the North - where he would probably have been made more welcome. Although as far as the Republic (the South) is concerned any landing in the North is illegal. However, for whatever reason, he chose to enter the South by jumping from the old Venetian walls, exiting via a small park atop the wall in broad daylight at 2:30 in the afternoon. Unsubtle enough to make one wonder about his mental state, although if he intended to apply for asylum or assistance he would have had questioning to face anyway. And jumped is undoubtedly an overly dramatic way of putting it - scrambled more likely. 

We remember being in that park looking down, on the only visit when we ourselves entered illegally (from the point of view of the South), taking the ferry from Turkey to Kyrenia. It was a very odd feeling going to Nicosia and looking down on the South where we had stayed the previous month, barred from entry. The border is much freer now than it was in 2001, but only non-EU tourists who land in the South can cross freely from North to South. And yes, they would know. Your passport would give you away.

Friday, March 2/2018

Theresa May's much anticipated speech on Brexit - part whatever - proving largely that the driving force, as it was for her predecessor - is the unpleasant task of trying to satisfy a hopelessly divided and antagonistic cabinet. Jonathan Freedland in the Guardian has the metaphor for it: 

'When I was a young child I had a tantrum at a motorway cafe. My parents ordered for everyone, selecting baked beans on toast for me. I stamped my foot and demanded I choose for myself. I then proceeded to read the entire menu, holding up everyone, including an increasingly impatient waitress. Finally, I announced my choice: I would have baked beans on toast.

The memory of that episode returned to me while watching Theresa May give her big Brexit speech at Mansion House today. The speech was praised in some quarters for being serious and, by the standards of her government, pretty detailed. The main takeaway was that the prime minister had finally bidden farewell to “cakeism”, admitting that we couldn’t both leave the single market and have unchanged access to it. “Life is going to be different,” she warned.

But the speech also suggested that Brexit could end up rather like my strop at Little Chef. We would put ourselves and the rest of Europe through a great ordeal, only to end up with an arrangement rather like the one we could have had anyway, all for the sake of feeling in control. Except that, in this case, the end result would be both inferior to, and much more costly than, the dish originally on offer.'

Indeed.

Thursday, March 1/2018

Tourist arrested for drunk driving. Normally the locals have significantly worse driving habits than the tourists. In fact, today as I'm walking to the bank a car travelling north on the very busy Makarios Avenue pulls across the southbound lane midblock, forcing a honking car to brake in order to avoid a collision, and proceeds to park on the far side of the road (heading the wrong direction, of course). 

But the arrest of a tourist is unusual. Tickets, yes. It's an open secret that car hire licence plates (coloured red to alert those who need to know) are much more likely to be ticketed for minor infractions. This is a small island and no police officer wishes to find that the ticket recipient is a friend of a relative or relative of a friend. Besides, it's only right that those who can afford to holiday should contribute to the state coffers. 

So the caption 'tourist arrested for drunk driving' arouses immediate cynicism. Does drunk mean fractionally over the conservative .05 blood alcohol, and were the red plates the reason he was stopped. No, and no. The 28 year old visitor attracted patrol car attention by speeding in a town at midnight without lights, overtaking two cars stopped at a red light and driving through said red light. Fair cop - obvious cause for investigation. And he was breathalysed at three times the drink drive limit. But also charged with possession of weapons. Two knives (not described), a collapsible baton (?), and a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer? No doubt that it could inflict grievous bodily harm, but is it really a prohibited weapon? Who knew? Fence post installers be warned.

Wednesday, February 28/2018

Haircut day. Me, that is, as J usually cuts his own. Then we meet up in the courtyard of St Helena's Anglican, where the regular end of month used book sale is taking place. It's generally pretty good, as the books are donated disproportionately by British expats about our age. Too many light novels, but often a few gems as well. While browsing, I overhear the following conversation between a man and woman. He has obviously remarked on, and probably recommended, a vegetarian cook book:

She:  (apologetically) I really should be vegetarian, but I’m too weak.

He:   Oh, the problem is people eat too early. I never eat anything after five o’clock. I eat a big     

breakfast though.

She: (probably hoping to avoid further unsolicited advice) Have you ever eaten meat?

He:   Oh yes! I’ve eaten dog. I’ve eaten rat, I’ve eaten mouse.

She:  (weakly) That must have been when you were very hungry.

He:   Oh no! It was for the experience. I like to experience everything!

I do refrain from commenting on the stellar social life he must have, never eating before five and then vegetarian or rat. In all fairness, the vegetarian period seems to have followed, and probably superseded, the rodent period, but he is at pains to point out the voluntary nature of the dog and rat experiences.

On the way home we come across a cat, happily soaking up the sun.

Tuesday, February 27/2018

Flowers are not all that's bright and beautiful along the road on the way to meet up with J for coffee.

Monday, February 26/2018

Showery and a reading day. Current reading aloud book is Judith Flanders' A Circle of Sisters. It's the story of four sisters from a large middle class Victorian family who through marriage became the wives of Pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne Jones and Edward Poynter (who became head of the Royal Academy), and the mothers of Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin and poet Rudyard Kipling. It's highly readable but still a well referenced piece of scholarship, as much a pleasure for the social history as for the narrative. A "real" book, though, so only readable in daytime natural light. 

Mildly annoyed that, for the second time in a week the sisters who clean the hotel have skipped our flat. Just thinking we should say something when there's a knock at the door. Housekeeping? Well, sort of. Kiki, the receptionist, and Venera, the younger cleaner, with a foil covered plate of baking. It's the birthday of Maria, the older sister and she has been baking. It seems ungracious to mention the non-cleaning in the same breath as the thanks for baking, so we don't. But no return visit with a mop. As J says, no one should have to clean on their birthday.

Sunday, February 25/2018

To Kofinou for lamb kleftiko, with Jane and Bill and their neighbour Maureen. A bit cloudy but not cold and the restaurant surrounded by flowers and almond trees in blossom.  There are several restaurants in the village that specialise in kleftiko, and Sunday's are often busy. Entirely local, apart from us, and ordering anything other than the obvious can involve poor translation on our part or even hand gestures. Thus we don't manage to get Jane a small carafe of wine, but the good woman does understand that a small rather than large bottle will suit. The rest of us drink beer, which is simpler. And we all have salad - large shared bowl - as well as olives and pourgouri (a bulgar and vermicelli dish which is nice but which we know better than to eat much of, as it's filling and we know how much kleftiko and roast potato will follow). Kleftiko is from the outdoor beehive shaped ovens, cooked to a melting softness. 

Opposite us are three Cypriot hunters enjoying an enormous meal. They're dressed in typical Cypriot hunter garb - camouflage! Horrifying to Canadians, who wonder why there aren't even more accidental shootings. Meal finishes with small warm cheese filled pastries, two apiece. Though we thought we were full. 

And the kleftiko? As we're leaving we read, for the first time, the single sheet menu taped to the front door and reading in part kleftiko (goat). Have no way of knowing if that is sometimes or always, and in any case goat meat very difficult to distinguish from lamb. We wonder about bringing pictures to inquire next time, in preference to trying out animal noises. Only really idle curiosity - except for Maureen, who does seem mildly distressed.

Saturday, February 24/2018

To Lidl for bread and walnuts. Well, they have the bread. As is so frequently the case with Lidl, the walnuts are on sale at a pretty good price, but conspicuous by their absence. Since it's a Saturday/Sunday sale beginning this morning, it's pretty clear that there won't be any. But they have a pretty good multi-grain seeded bread. 

On the way we pass the still under construction 16 storey Radisson Blu Hotel. We've been watching the construction for some time - talking years not months - and have wondered at its location. It's an unprepossessing on-the-way-out-of-town strip with shops, car dealerships and such on the land side and the commercial port and huge oil storage containers along the sea front. There is, certainly, a plan for the removal of the oil refinery installations and depots and the development of a beach front linking up with the beaches by the hotels further up the coastal road. Unclear whether the water would need decontamination. But Cypriot plans are often slow in coming to fruition. Meanwhile, the Radisson Blu remains unfinished, though with some signs of construction activity, in an area characterised by oil tanks and the sort of unsalubrious hotels one might expect of a commercial port area. (OK, we're within walking distance ourselves, but the sleazy nightclubs and substandard hotels are past our place. 

The Tourism Board has definitely had plans: 

"The road leading from Larnaka city centre to the tourist region of the Larnaka-Dekeleia Road will undergo regeneration with the removal of the oil refineries and new area upgrades. The area will be developed for touristic and recreational use and with the refineries transferred there will also be an additional 3 km of beach for use. Larnaka-Dekeleia Road is lined with hotels, holiday apartments, restaurants, pubs and other leisure facilities."

 All very nice, but perhaps optimistic, as the completion date listed is 2014. Meanwhile, the Radisson Blu, if not the refineries removal, is progressing with outer cladding and a sign. Also an impressive website, describing five star facilities, conference rooms and a twenty-four hour restaurant. You can even get married on the sixteenth floor in a room with a Mediterranean view. Only in the smallest of print does it say that it is opening in early 2018 - which must by any definition mean by June 30. There's high rise parking too, which is good, because on street is pretty poor. Traffic heading to the centre is undisciplined and central parking desperate, but anyone staying at a five star hotel shouldn't balk at the prospect of an overpriced taxi. Or they could cross the road and wait for the half hourly bus. With a view of the oil refineries.

Friday, February 23/2018

Several snails on a wall and sidewalk between us and the greengrocer. Fairly large ones. They're not far from a fenced yard with lots of greenery and flowers where they'd be much better fed and presumably happier, so it's a mystery what they're doing here. Tempting to toss them into the long grass, but we don't interfere. Locals often look for them in the fields and collect them as a delicacy.

J has acquired a very nice beef fillet from the butcher at Prinos. The plus and minus of living in a simpler food culture. He inquired on Friday and was told to come back on Wednesday. And indeed on Wednesday it was there, a kilo and a half of it. So the timing of the invitation to Jane and Bill for Friday follows on the butcher's acquisition. Soft as butter lovely, though, with mushroom sauce and leeks and carrots and salad. As always, we have two burners (with somewhat uneven heat) and a microwave. Really miss the radiators of past years. Once a dish was hot it was possible to keep it warm until everything was ready. Fresh local strawberries now - greenhouse, obviously, but nice.

Thursday, February 22/2018

The two flats directly above us are occupied, by friendly, quiet Norwegians. For whatever reason, though, the kitchen sink and bathroom toilet empty with sounds as clear and present as if they were in our flat. Not an annoyance, but slightly weird, to walk past the loo and hear the flush, knowing neither of us is in there. Kind of like sharing the place with a friendly ghost.

Wednesday, February 21/2018

Jane’s birthday and the gang meets up at a Chinese restaurant (which we actually suspect of being Filipino, but Asian, anyway). Nice festive sparkly decor appropriate to a birthday, and the food’s pretty good too. With seven of us each choosing a dish there’s lots to sample. And bonus - Jane gets the owner to turn down the music so we can hear everyone at the table. As with every restaurant here, regardless of the ethnicity of the food, there’s Greek coffee to finish. Lovely warm night as we leave - stars and a sliver of a moon lying on its back.