Our second bus tour. This time with Paradise Tours, which, it turns out, offers the same tours as Follow Me for about 60% of the price. Tickets from The Ticket Shop, so no commissions. This time our tour is of the Eastern Algarve. The first pleasure is the tour of Albufeira's hotel areas, as we and a Dutch couple are picked up first. This takes us through the full horror of endless hotels, bars, restaurants, etc., many of them scarcely hiking distance from the seal, and leaves us very happy with our quiet little old world corner - we see nothing we would have traded it for.
Our first real stop is in Old Faro, where half our number promptly disappears on a half day shopping tour. Mostly Faro isn't old word at all, but there is a cobbled area, a cathedral (didn't pay the three euros to look inside) and quite a few storks' nests. The nests are protected so some, like a large one on a very modern lamp standard, are probably inconvenient. We sit by the harbour eating pastries from a little patisserie until the bus is off again.
Olhao, farther along the coast, has storks too, one nesting on a chimney by a large salt pile. Salt isn't all they harvest. There are large covered markets with organic fruit and vegetables and fresh fish and seafood. The most striking fish are the espada - long, flat fish of an artificially bright silver colour. Turns out they're called scabbard fish.
Tavira, a little inland, is a beautifully picturesque vilage on a river, though the arched bridge touted as Roman isn't Roman and is quite a bit later than 4th century. J and I have a nice lunch in a little pizza restaurant. Then on to Réal St Antonio. Another little harbour and tiled main square. Meet a Canadian (she)/Scottish (he) couple who live in Sterling but own a place in Tavira for winter getaways and golf. They seem quite happy with the arrangement.
Our final stop is Ayamonte in Spain,largely to cross the newish international bridge and say we've beento Spain in case we hadn't previously. And, for the first time in the guide's experience, police do board the bus at the border and ask to see passports. When one passenger unwisely tries to take a photograph of a policeman he is told no photographs as "I'm risking my life." Are all policemen drama majors? The Spanish side is, at this point, pretty uninspiring. Huge housing developments. No one house ugly until mass multiplied with no room for landscaping. The hotels are bigger too. Portugal has very benign legislation. Individuals can't own seafront land without providing public access and seafront buildings can't be more than three storeys high. Very civilised.
Home by about 7:30. Nothing wildly exciting but storks and bridges and pretty harbours. A good day.
JAWORSKI TRAVELS
We live our lives forever taking leave - Rilke
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Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Monday, 28 March 2011
Monday, March 28/2011
Stroll again through the square and surrounds, and stop to buy tickets for tomorrow's tour of the eastern Algarve, now that rain looks unlikely. J asks the woman at the ticket office how business is. Much worse than last year - fewer people for shorter periods and spending less whilst here. Stop on the way back for coffee and almond tart at Sir Harry's (good Portuguese name?) in the square. Would have defined the sweet as cake rather than tart, but it's very good - not overly sweet and surprisingly large, with whipped cream. Coffee very good as well.
Down in the afternoon to Ali's supermarket for more oranges, following Rua Sir Cliff Richards (cantor). A lovely view of the sea and we follow the sea road back. The architecture is lovely - even more recent buildings have the same square white lines, blue trim and Mediterranean red tile roofs. J points out the fascinating little chimneys - small, pointed white ones with little domes or shaped like miniature Greek parthenons. Walk down cobbled paths edged with limestone rocks pitted like skulls and look out over the Atlantic and the resting gulls spacing themselves over the fine sand beach.
Down in the afternoon to Ali's supermarket for more oranges, following Rua Sir Cliff Richards (cantor). A lovely view of the sea and we follow the sea road back. The architecture is lovely - even more recent buildings have the same square white lines, blue trim and Mediterranean red tile roofs. J points out the fascinating little chimneys - small, pointed white ones with little domes or shaped like miniature Greek parthenons. Walk down cobbled paths edged with limestone rocks pitted like skulls and look out over the Atlantic and the resting gulls spacing themselves over the fine sand beach.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Sunday, March 27/2011
Time change to daylight savings across Europe, so back to 6 hours ahead of Central time. The sports bars aren't open at seven for the Australian Grand Prix, opening race of the season since Bahrain had to be cancelled. They are open for the afternoon replay though so one o'clock sees us at Eddie's Sports Bar, a five minute walk away, for a pint and the race, which is interesting despite knowing in advance who won. It's a fairly big bar by local standards, all dark brick and wood, with football jerseys decorating the ceiling. Only half a dozen of us there, but a nice atmosphere - and nice smells of the Sunday roast and Yorkshire pudding as well. Good thing we have spareribs to look forward to at home.
The dinner wine is, happily, the best of the buy-two-get-one free at the wine shop. Gran Toc Hill reserva 2000. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend from Spain, and very nice.
Lilly emails to assure us that they are fine in Lattakia (Syria), and to say that the chaos is being created by outside, non-Syrian elements and that there is a great deal of support for Assad and hopes for reforms in the near future.
The dinner wine is, happily, the best of the buy-two-get-one free at the wine shop. Gran Toc Hill reserva 2000. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend. It's a Tempranillo, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend from Spain, and very nice.
Lilly emails to assure us that they are fine in Lattakia (Syria), and to say that the chaos is being created by outside, non-Syrian elements and that there is a great deal of support for Assad and hopes for reforms in the near future.
Saturday, March 26/2011
Stroll through the old town spotting the ticket office and the bus shop for future reference. We've been told that they're near the former site of the bus station = "anyone can tell you where the old bus station was." Sounds probable, but it's always a little unsettling to steer by a landmark that's no longer there. Just as Rachel used to complain that people in Sioux Lookout always gave directions using the former names of local establishments rather than the ones posted on the buildings. But we do find the offices. And we also pass a small stall with the heavy Portuguese cardigans that we admired on the day trip. Here we're in luck, as the charcoal coloured sweater that I favour is clearly not one of the more interesting ones to the woman who owns the stall and she's happy to make a deal. In fact we're both happy. Stop for coffee at O Alentejano on the way back.
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Friday, March 25/2011
Early in the morning (sixish?) feel an earthquake. J still asleep.
Meet a couple from Thunder Bay, of all places, when we're up near Modelo. She's on antibiotics with some kind of respiratory infection, rather spoiling her holiday, but they've booked a two night trip to Gibraltar and Tangiers. Meet them a few minutes later in the pastry cum ice cream shop.
Out to dinner at O Alentejano on the little Rue de Liberdade. It's a tiny place but has excellent online reviews - and well deserved. J has sole meunière, beautifully succulent with garlic and lemon. I have Bacalhau a Bras, Portuguese cod, a lovely peasant dish of salt cod sautéed with onion, grated potatoes and egg. As usual we share so that we each experience both. The coffee is a pleasure in its own right. And such a pleasure after Cyprus where the normal alternative to Cypriot (Greek) coffee is Nescafé. And the price for a beautiful cup of Carmelo coffee is the same as that for instant in Cyprus! The owner asks if we felt the earthquake this morning.
Meet a couple from Thunder Bay, of all places, when we're up near Modelo. She's on antibiotics with some kind of respiratory infection, rather spoiling her holiday, but they've booked a two night trip to Gibraltar and Tangiers. Meet them a few minutes later in the pastry cum ice cream shop.
Out to dinner at O Alentejano on the little Rue de Liberdade. It's a tiny place but has excellent online reviews - and well deserved. J has sole meunière, beautifully succulent with garlic and lemon. I have Bacalhau a Bras, Portuguese cod, a lovely peasant dish of salt cod sautéed with onion, grated potatoes and egg. As usual we share so that we each experience both. The coffee is a pleasure in its own right. And such a pleasure after Cyprus where the normal alternative to Cypriot (Greek) coffee is Nescafé. And the price for a beautiful cup of Carmelo coffee is the same as that for instant in Cyprus! The owner asks if we felt the earthquake this morning.
Thursday, March 24/2011
The (Follow Me) bus picks us up at the green statue, the statue of the patron saint Vicente de Albufeira, along with a young couple from St Vicente Hotel. Surprised to find the bus, which probably seats 80, is almost full. The young couple are stuck in the back width-of-the-bus row. The tour is in English, French and German, with the guide switching fluently. So out past what I take for tall, sweeping mimosas but turn out to be luxuriantly golden acacias. Also olives, grape vines and orange groves. The oranges aren't native to Portugal, nor are the acacias or the ubiquitous eucalyptus (both from Australia) but the figs and almonds are.
Then up into the hills to Silves, the old Moorish capital. There's a cathedral and a castle (dark red like the iron rich local soil). Would have liked to go in the castle, but apart from the admittedly modest entry fee (€2.50, or €1.25 for the retired) there's a queue and we're not really here long enough to waste it all standing in line. The castle is at the top of a roughly cobbled road leading past buildings with nice 18th century iron work balconies. The settlement is much older than that. Both Romans and Phoenicians mined the iron and copper rich area, but very few buildings date from before 1755, the year of Portugal's massively destructive earthquake. There is a second century bridge though, a small Roman arch across the river still used by pedestrians. And halfway up the hill there are storks' nests, at least one clearly occupied by a nesting bird with young to feed. The nests are huge and look quite capable of holding human infants.
And further up into the mountains to Monchique. It's too cloudy, almost foggy, for good views here. There's an over-organised stop for wine tasting though - choice of port, a fairly uncomplex almond liqueur, wine or the local "fire water" (read schnapps?) all in glasses not much bigger than a toothpaste cap - moving right along, there are 80 people filing through in ten minutes. The shop is actually quite interesting, with heavy handmade cardigans and ponchos (€25 to €30 - can't be a great deal more than the price of the wool) as well as colourful tiles and various things like trivets made from the local cork. We've passed quite a few cork oak trees, many of them "naked" to the branching point as the outer bark, the cork, has already been harvested, hacked off in sheets an inch and a half thick or more. This is quite sustainable, and in fact the forests are ecologically valuable. The cork is harvested every nine years and the tree thrives, with the protection of its substantial second inner bark. In the air is the scent of smoke from the cork processing plant. Our lunch stop is in the mountains. J and I pass on the arranged meal and picnic near a stone wall, watching a man nearby working on his garden and listening to a rooster's call by the side of a quiet road.
After lunch is Lagos, with its protected harbour full of yachts. It's nice but somehow seems a little more cosmetised than "our" old town. Funny how any place we've stayed in and done our own cooking we feel like we've lived in - e.g. Rhodes, Krakow, Albufeira - whereas places we may have stayed in for as long or longer, such as Sousse or Bangkok, we feel we've only visited. Lagos has lots of little restaurants and shops, including more with the heavy Portuguese sweaters. This is an historic city - explorers sailed from here to the new world in Portugal's golden age. In the centre of the town there's a spot that once was a slave market. Indeed a dark skinned woman walks slowly past with a large basked balanced perfectly on her head. Not by chance, though, as she stops for coins from the first of our number to step forward with his camera.
We go past Sagres, now a surfing centre but historically home to a navigation school. At the photo op stop one man loses his camera, so the coach turns back - fortunately only a couple of minutes on. One of the other passengers finds the camera in the long grass, amid cheers by the rest of us. Last stop is Cape St Vincent, the southwest corner of Europe. On one side of the lighthouse - second strongest lighthouse light in the world - the Atlantic leads to Africa, on the other side to the Americas. The cliffs are formidable. A few men can be seen fishing from craggy ledges. Not a spot where one would wish to do battle with a fish with any fight to him, and apparently fishermen are occasionally lost here.
It would have been nice to have stopped at Portimao on the way back, but it's been a long day. Half past seven when we get home.
Then up into the hills to Silves, the old Moorish capital. There's a cathedral and a castle (dark red like the iron rich local soil). Would have liked to go in the castle, but apart from the admittedly modest entry fee (€2.50, or €1.25 for the retired) there's a queue and we're not really here long enough to waste it all standing in line. The castle is at the top of a roughly cobbled road leading past buildings with nice 18th century iron work balconies. The settlement is much older than that. Both Romans and Phoenicians mined the iron and copper rich area, but very few buildings date from before 1755, the year of Portugal's massively destructive earthquake. There is a second century bridge though, a small Roman arch across the river still used by pedestrians. And halfway up the hill there are storks' nests, at least one clearly occupied by a nesting bird with young to feed. The nests are huge and look quite capable of holding human infants.
And further up into the mountains to Monchique. It's too cloudy, almost foggy, for good views here. There's an over-organised stop for wine tasting though - choice of port, a fairly uncomplex almond liqueur, wine or the local "fire water" (read schnapps?) all in glasses not much bigger than a toothpaste cap - moving right along, there are 80 people filing through in ten minutes. The shop is actually quite interesting, with heavy handmade cardigans and ponchos (€25 to €30 - can't be a great deal more than the price of the wool) as well as colourful tiles and various things like trivets made from the local cork. We've passed quite a few cork oak trees, many of them "naked" to the branching point as the outer bark, the cork, has already been harvested, hacked off in sheets an inch and a half thick or more. This is quite sustainable, and in fact the forests are ecologically valuable. The cork is harvested every nine years and the tree thrives, with the protection of its substantial second inner bark. In the air is the scent of smoke from the cork processing plant. Our lunch stop is in the mountains. J and I pass on the arranged meal and picnic near a stone wall, watching a man nearby working on his garden and listening to a rooster's call by the side of a quiet road.
After lunch is Lagos, with its protected harbour full of yachts. It's nice but somehow seems a little more cosmetised than "our" old town. Funny how any place we've stayed in and done our own cooking we feel like we've lived in - e.g. Rhodes, Krakow, Albufeira - whereas places we may have stayed in for as long or longer, such as Sousse or Bangkok, we feel we've only visited. Lagos has lots of little restaurants and shops, including more with the heavy Portuguese sweaters. This is an historic city - explorers sailed from here to the new world in Portugal's golden age. In the centre of the town there's a spot that once was a slave market. Indeed a dark skinned woman walks slowly past with a large basked balanced perfectly on her head. Not by chance, though, as she stops for coins from the first of our number to step forward with his camera.
We go past Sagres, now a surfing centre but historically home to a navigation school. At the photo op stop one man loses his camera, so the coach turns back - fortunately only a couple of minutes on. One of the other passengers finds the camera in the long grass, amid cheers by the rest of us. Last stop is Cape St Vincent, the southwest corner of Europe. On one side of the lighthouse - second strongest lighthouse light in the world - the Atlantic leads to Africa, on the other side to the Americas. The cliffs are formidable. A few men can be seen fishing from craggy ledges. Not a spot where one would wish to do battle with a fish with any fight to him, and apparently fishermen are occasionally lost here.
It would have been nice to have stopped at Portimao on the way back, but it's been a long day. Half past seven when we get home.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Wednesday, March 23/2011
The Accuweather site shows no rain for the region tomorrow (as previously predicted), so we book a tour for tomorrow with Follow Me Tours. Billed as the Historical Tour, it's a full day tour and covers most of the western Algarve.
Find Modelo, the supermarket up past the city hall. A good find as it has fair variety at much cheaper prices than the little shops. Knew the locals had to survive somehow, and things are tough here - in the evening the prime minister tenders his resignation when there is not enough support for his minority government's austerity budget.
Find Modelo, the supermarket up past the city hall. A good find as it has fair variety at much cheaper prices than the little shops. Knew the locals had to survive somehow, and things are tough here - in the evening the prime minister tenders his resignation when there is not enough support for his minority government's austerity budget.
Tuesday, March 22/2011
We take a look for a tiny restaurant that had excellent reviews - finding it in a little cobbled lane - for future reference. Sign on a nearby restaurant: Touts Wanted. It is, of course, what one calls them, but sounds a little insulting for a help wanted notice. Stop at the square for a beer - pints for €1.75 ($2.45 CAD, £1.55). Start by sitting in the sun, but it`s just too hot.
Email from Dino asking what country we`re in - the blog doesn`t say. Surely it must, I think - but no, he's right of course. There we are flying off from Gatwick and then landing with no country mentioned [since amended]. Probably foreshadowing the day when I'll have to search through the stamps in my passport to decide where I am - or look at the photograph to decide who I am.
Email from Dino asking what country we`re in - the blog doesn`t say. Surely it must, I think - but no, he's right of course. There we are flying off from Gatwick and then landing with no country mentioned [since amended]. Probably foreshadowing the day when I'll have to search through the stamps in my passport to decide where I am - or look at the photograph to decide who I am.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Monday, March 21/2011
Now officially into spring, though it's mostly a state of mind and a question of location. We've really had nothing but spring since November. Read the restaurant reviews online and start on the first of the three bottles of wine from the shop on 25 April Street. Turns out April 25 (1974) was the beginning of the Carnation Revolution, leftish military coup leading to democracy. But 1974 isn't really all that long ago. People like Emilia must remember it well.
Sunday, March 20/2011
People on the sun loungers outside our patio, but never more than half a dozen. It is, as Emilia at reception says, very calm. Morning stroll and we take the escalator up from the heart of the old town to the cliff top overlooking the Fisherman's Beach. It's a very long escalator, actually two stage - maybe ten storeys? Saves a really intimidating climb.
Pass all sorts of coffee and dinner spots, mentally marking them as well as we can for future reference in the maze. Meanwhile J makes amazingly good spareribs for a man with two burners and no oven. Quite as good as barbecued. We're reading at night - alternating an Ian Rankin novel (detective fiction set in Edinburgh) and The Bookseller of Kabul.
Pass all sorts of coffee and dinner spots, mentally marking them as well as we can for future reference in the maze. Meanwhile J makes amazingly good spareribs for a man with two burners and no oven. Quite as good as barbecued. We're reading at night - alternating an Ian Rankin novel (detective fiction set in Edinburgh) and The Bookseller of Kabul.
Saturday, March 19/2011
Sunny and surprisingly hot in the noonday sun. We take a morning walk along the sea edge of the old town. Albufeira is not only hills but huge sandstone cliffs towering above the fine sand beaches. It's a little reminiscent of Cornwall. There are massive cliffs - and plenty of restaurants and bars atop them, but not blocking the view. Lots of lookouts and the beaches occupied but not crowded. Back through the lanes around the square.
Also trek up above the old town to Lidl to get a few groceries at more normal prices. It's at least a mile, though, and nothing in Albufeira is on the level, quite literally. Like all Lidl stores it's a mix of international and local goods - local in this case including three foot long slabs of dried cod. We're more modest in our purchases - grapes, yoghurt, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and a package of amazingly lean spareribs (€5 - $7 CAD or £4.38 - for 1200 grams).
Also trek up above the old town to Lidl to get a few groceries at more normal prices. It's at least a mile, though, and nothing in Albufeira is on the level, quite literally. Like all Lidl stores it's a mix of international and local goods - local in this case including three foot long slabs of dried cod. We're more modest in our purchases - grapes, yoghurt, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and a package of amazingly lean spareribs (€5 - $7 CAD or £4.38 - for 1200 grams).
Monday, 21 March 2011
Friday, March 18/2011
Wake up to see the rest of our surroundings. We're on the ground floor with a little patio overlooking the pool. There aren't many flats but they're all white and tile, and a few sun yellow sun loungers by the pool. Gulls overhead.
We're in Albufeira old town and a five minute walk from the beach and the tourist streets around the square. There's a tunnel through to the beach and several streets and lanes, cobbled, some with little Moorish looking arches and restaurants, bars and tourist shops. Sunny and any number of places to stop for coffee or beer.
Ask at reception about supermarkets, having seen the high prices and pathetic produce at the corner shops. Well, there's one near the cemetery; sometimes open, sometimes closed. It's open, but we seem to be the only customers and we can see why. The prices are horrific and not really compensated for by quality or variety, unfortunately. but we do get a few things as a start, and on the way back stop at a little shop for what later proves to be a perfectly drinkable bottle of red for €1.95. There's no sign of a clerk at the till here so I gesture with the bottle toward the two old-timers sitting warming themselves on a bench outside the door, thinking one is the proprietor. He's not, but when he bellows "Joao" a bald man shuffles in from an adjoining room and takes my money.
We're in Albufeira old town and a five minute walk from the beach and the tourist streets around the square. There's a tunnel through to the beach and several streets and lanes, cobbled, some with little Moorish looking arches and restaurants, bars and tourist shops. Sunny and any number of places to stop for coffee or beer.
Ask at reception about supermarkets, having seen the high prices and pathetic produce at the corner shops. Well, there's one near the cemetery; sometimes open, sometimes closed. It's open, but we seem to be the only customers and we can see why. The prices are horrific and not really compensated for by quality or variety, unfortunately. but we do get a few things as a start, and on the way back stop at a little shop for what later proves to be a perfectly drinkable bottle of red for €1.95. There's no sign of a clerk at the till here so I gesture with the bottle toward the two old-timers sitting warming themselves on a bench outside the door, thinking one is the proprietor. He's not, but when he bellows "Joao" a bald man shuffles in from an adjoining room and takes my money.
Sunday, 20 March 2011
Thursday, March 17/2011
Wake up knowing there's all kinds of visiting time - flight not until 5:10 - but where does it go (the time, not the flight). Tea and Chelsea buns and talk. And we do book Jean online on a trip to New Brunswick in May.
Then off by tube and train to Gatwick. Was one o'clock early enough to leave? More than. EasyJet flight is due to leave at 5:10 and gets off the ground at 7:10, en route to Faro, Portugal. Usual herding and squashing. but the little man (honestly, shorter than me) with the transfer van is there, and, half an hour later, we're at the hotel in nearby (half hour drive) Albufeira. And reception has stayed open half an hour past their 10 pm closing time, so we're not standing in the street phoning them on the mobile.
The studio is large, airy and very clean. Massive bed turns out to be two singles pushed together and covered with a magnificent bedspread. There is a quite decent small fridge, two burners, a small microwave and a tv with a fair bit of English. And we have free wifi in the room with a fairly fast connection - so our alternative to CNN is BBC World or Al Jazeera on the netbook. Very nice.
Then off by tube and train to Gatwick. Was one o'clock early enough to leave? More than. EasyJet flight is due to leave at 5:10 and gets off the ground at 7:10, en route to Faro, Portugal. Usual herding and squashing. but the little man (honestly, shorter than me) with the transfer van is there, and, half an hour later, we're at the hotel in nearby (half hour drive) Albufeira. And reception has stayed open half an hour past their 10 pm closing time, so we're not standing in the street phoning them on the mobile.
The studio is large, airy and very clean. Massive bed turns out to be two singles pushed together and covered with a magnificent bedspread. There is a quite decent small fridge, two burners, a small microwave and a tv with a fair bit of English. And we have free wifi in the room with a fairly fast connection - so our alternative to CNN is BBC World or Al Jazeera on the netbook. Very nice.
Friday, 18 March 2011
Wednesday, March 16/2011
Moving day. The packing is basically done, but there are always the sorting out and bits to do. Too many grapefruit, and jars to the recycle bin. The calendar with the old photos of Larnaca that nearly gets left behind because we're so used to seeing it on the wall that it looks like it belongs there.
Then with Maggi out to the Tekke - the mosque on the salt lake near the airport. It's high on the list of Moslem holy places, being the burial place of Mahammed's aunt/foster mother (depending on whose account you read). But it's a lovely spot on its own with light breezes off the lake and bird song. A young hawk sits on a tall post and there are the usual hopeful cats. There are bits of exposed stone wall which we find following a sign for the remains of an ancient settlement but no further info. How ancient, who lived here by the lake listening to the ancestors of these birds? In the distance there are pink birds on the lake, but they aren't the flamingoes that winter here. Something smaller and a more delicate pink.
M drops us at the airport. The flight's an hour late, leaving us lots of time for people watching, though as with most airport renovations (in this case a whole new airport) the point was to find more ways for you to spend your money not to find more places for you to sit. It's hot but we spot one woman wearing suede winter boots with pink "fur" trim. It's interesting. One would have thought that culture and habit notwithstanding, perspiration would have the same trigger temperature.
Nice dinner aboard - moussaka, Greek salad and an ok Argentinian wine. OK that is until my newspaper knocks J's glass off the tray and he's wearing an amazing amount of it, pinkly there covering both front and back pockets even after a trip to the WC.
Terminal 5 is efficient if soulless. Twenty-five minutes from landing to boarding the tube, suitcases and all, so we're at Jean's just before 10. Tea and chat. There are samosas and curry? No, we're full - though tempted. But we do put J's trousers through the wash - and the wine vanishes.
Then with Maggi out to the Tekke - the mosque on the salt lake near the airport. It's high on the list of Moslem holy places, being the burial place of Mahammed's aunt/foster mother (depending on whose account you read). But it's a lovely spot on its own with light breezes off the lake and bird song. A young hawk sits on a tall post and there are the usual hopeful cats. There are bits of exposed stone wall which we find following a sign for the remains of an ancient settlement but no further info. How ancient, who lived here by the lake listening to the ancestors of these birds? In the distance there are pink birds on the lake, but they aren't the flamingoes that winter here. Something smaller and a more delicate pink.
M drops us at the airport. The flight's an hour late, leaving us lots of time for people watching, though as with most airport renovations (in this case a whole new airport) the point was to find more ways for you to spend your money not to find more places for you to sit. It's hot but we spot one woman wearing suede winter boots with pink "fur" trim. It's interesting. One would have thought that culture and habit notwithstanding, perspiration would have the same trigger temperature.
Nice dinner aboard - moussaka, Greek salad and an ok Argentinian wine. OK that is until my newspaper knocks J's glass off the tray and he's wearing an amazing amount of it, pinkly there covering both front and back pockets even after a trip to the WC.
Terminal 5 is efficient if soulless. Twenty-five minutes from landing to boarding the tube, suitcases and all, so we're at Jean's just before 10. Tea and chat. There are samosas and curry? No, we're full - though tempted. But we do put J's trousers through the wash - and the wine vanishes.
Tuesday, March 15/2011
Coffee at noon with Margaret, from Terra Sancta. She and her husband moved to Larnaca 20 years ago, after he retired, but he died two years ago. She shows us a pendant he gave her - a hundred dollar Canadian gold coin, which he got in his sailing days and she had mounted. We are joined by her friends Helen and Richard, expats living in Kiti, just south of Larnaca. Then Margaret off to work at the animal welfare charity shop and J and I back along the beach.
The flowers are just bursting out now. They're there all winter but getting pretty shopworn by the end. Now the bougainvillea has new life and along the promenade there are beds of marigold, snapdragons, and petunias. Geraniums here are bush height.
To dinner at Vlachos with Maggi, Jane and Bill, Harry, and Jan, a friend of J&B whom we haven't met before. Elsa is in England, so Harry's holding the fort with the 6 dogs and 15 cats. Never any problem what to do with the leftovers from dinner. The food is so good that there shouldn't be any but so generous that there always are. Jane's moussaka would have fed at least two.
The flowers are just bursting out now. They're there all winter but getting pretty shopworn by the end. Now the bougainvillea has new life and along the promenade there are beds of marigold, snapdragons, and petunias. Geraniums here are bush height.
To dinner at Vlachos with Maggi, Jane and Bill, Harry, and Jan, a friend of J&B whom we haven't met before. Elsa is in England, so Harry's holding the fort with the 6 dogs and 15 cats. Never any problem what to do with the leftovers from dinner. The food is so good that there shouldn't be any but so generous that there always are. Jane's moussaka would have fed at least two.
Monday, March 14/2011
Day one of packing - the easy stuff. Three months lets us get far too comfortable. lso trying to download bits of useful stuff on the netbook - like bus info on Albufeira. Predicting no free wifi.
Unsolicited email which I don't open headed "God will appreciate it if you help me relocate to your country."
Unsolicited email which I don't open headed "God will appreciate it if you help me relocate to your country."
Sunday, March 13/2011
Warm and suny. To 9:30 Mass, and ashes for those who weren't out on Wednesday - like us. Out in the afternoon to the promenade, which is beginning to pick up now with more tourists arriving. Coffee outside the café on the beach, with a bit of a concert in the background at the bandstand
Lauren's baby was born last night - a boy called Dallas.
Lauren's baby was born last night - a boy called Dallas.
Saturday, March 12/2011
Sun and warmth back. J and Maggi and I back to our regular café for Cyprus coffees. Maggi takes the red wrappers from the little Italian biscuits to use as a shim under the wobbly table leg. Sad thinking it's our last market Saturday.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Friday, March 11/2011
The coldest morning of the year - seven and a half degrees when we wake up. January was much warmer. It eventually struggles up to 16, but there's not much sun. Usually the official high is misleading as it's much hotter in the sun.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Thursday, March 10/2011
Jane, Bill and Maggi to dinner. So back to our student days as far as space and crockery are concerned. As far as actual cooking facilities are concerned too. We have a hot plate with two burners. One and a half really, as one starts malfunctioning midway through preparations. No oven. We do have (our own) microwave, though, unknown in our student days. Bill and Jane have spent several years living on their boat (catamaran now up for sale) though, so they're well used to cramped space and limited facilities.
J braises a nice beef roast (sold as beef blanco at Metro, so we have indeed taken pot luck) and slow cooks it all afternoon in our big soup pot, while I make red cabbage with bacon, apple and balsamic vinegar and carrots with orange zest. Then we start with veggies and dips and drinks when people come, which gives us time to boil the potatoes and reheat things. Our last bit of entertaining as we're about to start using up and packing up. Good company and interesting conversation.
J braises a nice beef roast (sold as beef blanco at Metro, so we have indeed taken pot luck) and slow cooks it all afternoon in our big soup pot, while I make red cabbage with bacon, apple and balsamic vinegar and carrots with orange zest. Then we start with veggies and dips and drinks when people come, which gives us time to boil the potatoes and reheat things. Our last bit of entertaining as we're about to start using up and packing up. Good company and interesting conversation.
Wednesday, March 16/2011
Final visit to the dentist as I get the replacement bridge put in and J has fillings to build up his lower front teeth. Happily there are old National Georgraphics as well as Greek magazines in the waiting room.
Sign near Carrefour advertising an interesting range of services:
EMPLOYMENT AGENCY
MARRIAGE AGENCY
GREEK LESSONS
TOURIST SERVICES
SINGLES CLUB
Something for everybody!
Sign near Carrefour advertising an interesting range of services:
EMPLOYMENT AGENCY
MARRIAGE AGENCY
GREEK LESSONS
TOURIST SERVICES
SINGLES CLUB
Something for everybody!
Tuesday, March 8/2011
We're about to go out when the black clouds roll in and it pours, so a reading afternoon, Ian kRankin alternating with Colin Thubron's Journey into Cyprus. Then, on the weather, we see the big blotch of cloud covering the eastern end of the Mediterranean, and at night the thunder and lightning follow. Then hail.
Monday, March 7/2011
The threatened showers never quite happen but dark clouds scud past, are replaced by sun and well up again from the hills to the west. But it looks clear enough to walk down to the beach, though too windy to bother taking umbrellas, which would be useless. We take filter coffees out to the small pier at the south end of the beach and drink them while watching boys flying kites on the beach. One lands in the sea and a father carefully reels it in. It's mostly tourists and immigrants, as the locals will have taken their picnics to the countryside, or at least as far out as the Tekke, the mosque on the salt lake, out near the airport, which honours the foster mother of Mohammed.
The Clean Monday picnics will feature vegetables, especially greens, and seafood. Lent begins today for the Orthodox, and fasting in the Orthodox Church means no dairy as well as no meat. there are certainly people who take the fasting very seriously, but in general the mood is the antithesis of Ash Wednesday. It's a joyful holiday and the preceding Saturday a very busy one in the supermarkets as people stock up for their picnics.
And we note an article on page five of yesterday's (Cyprus) Sunday Mail, headed "The Guilt-free Treat for Lent: Platres Shop Makes Handmade Chocolates Without Dairy Products." Apparently a box of chocolates for Lent can be had for €15.
The Clean Monday picnics will feature vegetables, especially greens, and seafood. Lent begins today for the Orthodox, and fasting in the Orthodox Church means no dairy as well as no meat. there are certainly people who take the fasting very seriously, but in general the mood is the antithesis of Ash Wednesday. It's a joyful holiday and the preceding Saturday a very busy one in the supermarkets as people stock up for their picnics.
And we note an article on page five of yesterday's (Cyprus) Sunday Mail, headed "The Guilt-free Treat for Lent: Platres Shop Makes Handmade Chocolates Without Dairy Products." Apparently a box of chocolates for Lent can be had for €15.
Sunday, March 6/2011
After Mass there's a bookstand available outside, second hand books selling for 50¢ each. Quite a lot of light romance but we pick up a copy of The Bookseller of Kabul, an account written by a Norwegian woman, a journalist who had lived with the bookseller and his family.
On the way home we`re passed by a Cypriot woman, probably well into her seventies and dressed in the traditional black skirt and coat. She`s sitting ramrod upright on a motorbike, rolled stockings coming just below the knee and white helmet on head, unsmiling. Far better captured on film than in words, but we have no camera with us and could hardly have asked anyway.
On the way home we`re passed by a Cypriot woman, probably well into her seventies and dressed in the traditional black skirt and coat. She`s sitting ramrod upright on a motorbike, rolled stockings coming just below the knee and white helmet on head, unsmiling. Far better captured on film than in words, but we have no camera with us and could hardly have asked anyway.
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Saturday, March 5/2011
After coffee - guess we can call it our café when the owner sees us sit down and says automatically two sketo (unsweetened Cyprus coffees) - we wander through the market. There's a large blue plastic vegetable bin with live snails. Cypriots gather them on the hillsides. J buys a big bag of grapefruit (he counts 21) for €1.70 (£1.45, $2.30 CAD). I stop at Prinos greengrocers on the way back. It`s crazy busy, since Monday will be Clean Monday. This is the day when the Orthodox clean the house and also cleanse the body of meat for the beginning of Lent. It`s not very penitential though, compared with Ash Wednesday in the western Church. Usually marked by countryside picnics featuring vegetables (especially greens - hence the crowding at Prinos) and seafood. Also by kite flying. A major public holiday.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Friday, March 4/2011
M off to Rome for six days, though she texts from the airport to say that the taxi she had booked failed to arrive and had to be reordered. Taxis in Cyprus are expensive, apart from the reliability factor. The standard price for a taxi from the airport to town is €15 (£12.75 or $20 CAD). For 50% more you can get a minicab from Jean`s in West Harrow all the way out to Heathrow 4. That`s much farther and furthermore both the price of petrol and the cost of living are significantly higher in London. But then the price of a slow-crawling taxi from the train station in Sioux Lookout to Moosehorn Road is well over $20, and petrol less than anywhere in Europe, so obviously there are other factors at play.
Friday, 4 March 2011
Thursday, March 3/2011
Stunningly beautiful day. J comes home in the morning with a large bag of fresh oranges but we wait until early afternoon to walk along the beach and over to our café to avoid the hottest sun. Maggi and Dino already there so we join them for coffee. Stop at the bakery on the way home and our favourite magro (black) bread, a dense rye with sesame seeds is still hot, so at home we start the meal with warm bread and salad, the bread still scenting the room.
Wednesday, March 2/2011
How did Gaddafi, with all the ability and inclination in the world for self-aggrandizement, only rise to the rank of colonel?
Tuesday, March 1/2011
Home from Damascus late last night, and this morning a dental appointment to have the bridge removed where I have a single missing tooth, as it's beginning to deteriorate. Feel a bit like a bit of antiquated plumbing or an old engine with rusted clamps as Xenia first tries hammering to dislodge the old bridge and then, with the hammer blows still reverberating in my skull, resorts to a miniature saw. Note the advantage to having a female dentist - less fist occupying the overstretched mouth. And her observations prove right: there are large holes in the metal of the bridge and it wouldn't have lasted much longer. I save it to show J.
To M's for g&t in the afternoon - the solace of a liquid diet after dental work.
To M's for g&t in the afternoon - the solace of a liquid diet after dental work.
Monday, February 28/2011
Last day, and as always too little time. Have to work out a way of getting a longer visa. Back to the endlessly fascinating souq. Yesterday we spotted what seemed to be several cafés with free wireless signs, so that seems like a good idea. though as soon as we start looking they seem a bit thinner on the ground. But we find one on Bab Touma, just off Straight Street in the Christian quarter, and even think to check as we go in that they do have wireless.
We turn down the Turkish coffee, as the accompanying water seems a bit suspect. Filter coffee seems incomprehensible to them, but Nescafé, unfortunately, doesn't, so we settle for it. However, the wifi simply doesn't happen. The young man suggests it's our computer or the weather. No - we have an excellent connection but no access. Ah well, the coffee is served at a table with a brocade cloth. It's a remarkable place - cave-like with rough stone walls and an interesting combination of ancient and new. As well as the dysfunctional wifi there's an excellent flat screen tv in one arched niche, the sound muted so that the picture of a singer contrasts oddly with the songs playing on the radio. There's a big open stone wall oven, now filled with more modern kitchen items. Up winding stone stairs to the loo. The ladies' is identified by a Minnie Mouse doll on the door, but the basin is handbeaten copper.
An early dinner on Straight Street. The restaurant doesn't look ancient but it's busy at four o'clock. All locals. We're first given a black seeded flatbread with two unidentifiable but delicious dips. Then leg of lamb with a bulgar and chickpea pilaf and seasoned ground chicken shaped around pistachios and sautéed, as well as rice with pine nuts. As we're leaving, saying no time for coffee or dessert, a huge tray of pastries are put in front of us - and our selections don't appear on the bill.
The Syrian guide reappears at Happy Nights to accompany us to the airport, this time on a bus with returning Greek cypriots. Everything at the airport is x-rayed, hand luggage twice. Queueing for boarding passes, J witnesses the Greek Cypriot guide asking an old man what he's doing in line. He says that he's not well and was told to go to the desk. No, she says, nobody told you that - go and sit down. And he does, reappearing later on the plane.
Once through security, we try to change money, but find it must be done before security. However a girl at one of the shops is happy to find a friend to help. It's technically illegal but there's so much giggling as we negotiate the rate that it's impossible to suspect undercover police. My comment that in renovations Duty Free comes first, well before WCs proves true. The loo is mixed gender and chaotic, the Duty Free state of the art. In Duty Free we do buy a mobile, Nokia 2700 Classic, a quad. Payment is in hard currency and change in US notes. If 50¢ is due you get a KitKat bar instead of coins.
The flight is posted on the monitor so we head to the departure lounge. Then, after queuing to have boarding passes checked and hand luggage through another x-ray (here, for the first time, a sign saying no liquids appears, but no one seems concerned), we are all asked to vacate - the flight is late. And twenty minutes later we`re called back. So home to Cyprus.
We turn down the Turkish coffee, as the accompanying water seems a bit suspect. Filter coffee seems incomprehensible to them, but Nescafé, unfortunately, doesn't, so we settle for it. However, the wifi simply doesn't happen. The young man suggests it's our computer or the weather. No - we have an excellent connection but no access. Ah well, the coffee is served at a table with a brocade cloth. It's a remarkable place - cave-like with rough stone walls and an interesting combination of ancient and new. As well as the dysfunctional wifi there's an excellent flat screen tv in one arched niche, the sound muted so that the picture of a singer contrasts oddly with the songs playing on the radio. There's a big open stone wall oven, now filled with more modern kitchen items. Up winding stone stairs to the loo. The ladies' is identified by a Minnie Mouse doll on the door, but the basin is handbeaten copper.
An early dinner on Straight Street. The restaurant doesn't look ancient but it's busy at four o'clock. All locals. We're first given a black seeded flatbread with two unidentifiable but delicious dips. Then leg of lamb with a bulgar and chickpea pilaf and seasoned ground chicken shaped around pistachios and sautéed, as well as rice with pine nuts. As we're leaving, saying no time for coffee or dessert, a huge tray of pastries are put in front of us - and our selections don't appear on the bill.
The Syrian guide reappears at Happy Nights to accompany us to the airport, this time on a bus with returning Greek cypriots. Everything at the airport is x-rayed, hand luggage twice. Queueing for boarding passes, J witnesses the Greek Cypriot guide asking an old man what he's doing in line. He says that he's not well and was told to go to the desk. No, she says, nobody told you that - go and sit down. And he does, reappearing later on the plane.
Once through security, we try to change money, but find it must be done before security. However a girl at one of the shops is happy to find a friend to help. It's technically illegal but there's so much giggling as we negotiate the rate that it's impossible to suspect undercover police. My comment that in renovations Duty Free comes first, well before WCs proves true. The loo is mixed gender and chaotic, the Duty Free state of the art. In Duty Free we do buy a mobile, Nokia 2700 Classic, a quad. Payment is in hard currency and change in US notes. If 50¢ is due you get a KitKat bar instead of coins.
The flight is posted on the monitor so we head to the departure lounge. Then, after queuing to have boarding passes checked and hand luggage through another x-ray (here, for the first time, a sign saying no liquids appears, but no one seems concerned), we are all asked to vacate - the flight is late. And twenty minutes later we`re called back. So home to Cyprus.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Sunday, February 27/2011
Walk around the central area, reorienting ourselves. Where did the Catholic Church go - the one we went to seven years ago? You could see it from the Fardoss, now being renovated. Check in the bookstore at the five star Cham Palace Hotel, but Lonely Planet is no help. Spot our old restaurant, Abou Kamal, on Azem Square, but its sister restaurant, Ali Baba, on the ground floor, has its windows covered with newspaper.
Then down to the souq. You could get fat on the way, as admiring the Syrian pastries and sweet preserved fruit in the shop windows leads to generous and delicious free samples. Hamidiyeh Souq, the main old market, was ancient when St Paul was in Damascus, and it sells everything from gold to perfume to school supplies to socks. There's an ice cream parlour that, Lilly told us, has made its owners billionaires. But we always seem to leave it for a later that never comes, as the souq is a huge maze and we never quite retrace our steps, even when we try. It's bigger than the souq in Sousse (Tunisia) and much more fun. Shops with gold and brocades gleam jewel-like and while offers are constant they're often half-hearted (how many tourists really buy socks?). There's none of the hard edge, almost harrassment.
We circle slowly round the ancient lanes, some covered and some not, toward the old Christian district and Straight St, mentioned in the Book of Acts as the site of St Paul's conversion. As before, the new jostles comfortably against the old, with satellite dishes topping crumbling ancient buildings and tipsy old balconies overhanging shops selling mobile phone cards. But J laments the disappearance of many of the oldest building fronts as the centuries old woodwork is covered with plaster or sometimes wide strips of metal. Will the metal protect the wood? No, he says, water will get between the metal and the wood and the wood will rot faster.
In the evening to Abou Kamal restaurant for dinner. As we leave "Trevor" is watching the unfolding drama of events in Libya and comments on the number of Arab countries in revolt. We're interested in the range of tv chanels that seem to be freely available. Al Jazeera is particularly uncompromising in presenting material that one might have supposed Arab dictatorships were not eager to have citizens view. Syria is a comfortable and seemingly stable coutry, but it's not a democracy - it's illegal, for example, to criticise the president in public. Though there's a fair bit of toleration for religious minorities. Also, interestingly, while the GDP per capita is lower than Egypt's, it seems to be more evenly distributed. Begging is probably less common than in Toronto, and there aren't visible extremes.
We're a bit early at Abou Kamal and it's not terribly full yet, but the other diners are all local families. Snowy linen cloth and a night view of Azem Square. The menu is a delight and we remember it from previous visits. For example the griled bird - further explained as griled local bird. Urban pigeon? Perhaps best not to order, but what might we be missing? There are some partial explanations too. Motable is defined as griled egg plant, yogurt and sesame, while Mahamara is mushtast, red pepper, sesame and oil. These from the dips on the mixed appetizer tray. Delicious, but we never do sort out what they all are, other than the very good humus.
We order a chicken dish with a cheese topped sauce and a mushroom fricassee with bits of lamb. Pass up the "tournedoes (ceeseoregy, or Plin)" - which I eventually translate as "cheese, or egg or plain." No rice included, though there's lots of pita bread and the appetizers were pretty filling. The total doesn't come to much more than the sum of the parts, despite the ominous warning on the menu that "this price doesn't include consumptive fees." At tip time we get two hovering waiters watching as we decide how much to part with. Must have been satisfactory as I get helped on with my jacket.
Back at Happy Nights we ask "Trevor" if there have been any more revolutions. "No," he says, "I think that's enough."
Then down to the souq. You could get fat on the way, as admiring the Syrian pastries and sweet preserved fruit in the shop windows leads to generous and delicious free samples. Hamidiyeh Souq, the main old market, was ancient when St Paul was in Damascus, and it sells everything from gold to perfume to school supplies to socks. There's an ice cream parlour that, Lilly told us, has made its owners billionaires. But we always seem to leave it for a later that never comes, as the souq is a huge maze and we never quite retrace our steps, even when we try. It's bigger than the souq in Sousse (Tunisia) and much more fun. Shops with gold and brocades gleam jewel-like and while offers are constant they're often half-hearted (how many tourists really buy socks?). There's none of the hard edge, almost harrassment.
We circle slowly round the ancient lanes, some covered and some not, toward the old Christian district and Straight St, mentioned in the Book of Acts as the site of St Paul's conversion. As before, the new jostles comfortably against the old, with satellite dishes topping crumbling ancient buildings and tipsy old balconies overhanging shops selling mobile phone cards. But J laments the disappearance of many of the oldest building fronts as the centuries old woodwork is covered with plaster or sometimes wide strips of metal. Will the metal protect the wood? No, he says, water will get between the metal and the wood and the wood will rot faster.
In the evening to Abou Kamal restaurant for dinner. As we leave "Trevor" is watching the unfolding drama of events in Libya and comments on the number of Arab countries in revolt. We're interested in the range of tv chanels that seem to be freely available. Al Jazeera is particularly uncompromising in presenting material that one might have supposed Arab dictatorships were not eager to have citizens view. Syria is a comfortable and seemingly stable coutry, but it's not a democracy - it's illegal, for example, to criticise the president in public. Though there's a fair bit of toleration for religious minorities. Also, interestingly, while the GDP per capita is lower than Egypt's, it seems to be more evenly distributed. Begging is probably less common than in Toronto, and there aren't visible extremes.
We're a bit early at Abou Kamal and it's not terribly full yet, but the other diners are all local families. Snowy linen cloth and a night view of Azem Square. The menu is a delight and we remember it from previous visits. For example the griled bird - further explained as griled local bird. Urban pigeon? Perhaps best not to order, but what might we be missing? There are some partial explanations too. Motable is defined as griled egg plant, yogurt and sesame, while Mahamara is mushtast, red pepper, sesame and oil. These from the dips on the mixed appetizer tray. Delicious, but we never do sort out what they all are, other than the very good humus.
We order a chicken dish with a cheese topped sauce and a mushroom fricassee with bits of lamb. Pass up the "tournedoes (ceeseoregy, or Plin)" - which I eventually translate as "cheese, or egg or plain." No rice included, though there's lots of pita bread and the appetizers were pretty filling. The total doesn't come to much more than the sum of the parts, despite the ominous warning on the menu that "this price doesn't include consumptive fees." At tip time we get two hovering waiters watching as we decide how much to part with. Must have been satisfactory as I get helped on with my jacket.
Back at Happy Nights we ask "Trevor" if there have been any more revolutions. "No," he says, "I think that's enough."
Saturday, February 26/2011
The day starts with ominous spatters of rain on the window, but bits of light sky as well, and breakfast - brought in on trays. It's substantial enough - hardboiled egg, large roll, cheese triangle, apricot jam, synthetic juice (remarkably reminiscent of flat orange crush), slices of tinned peach and pre-packaged pieces of cake and chocolate croissant. Not precisely what we would have chosen to eat, but certainly more than enough. We each get a tea bag and a small packet of Nescafé as well. So we attempt to heat a small pot of water on the flat electronic burner. Looks obvious but the burner doesn't begin to heat. Turns out that the stove is smarter than we are - it won't come on until there's a pot on the burner.
Lilly and Steven arrive about eleven to meet us in the lobby. Lilly and I met online pursuing overlapping genealogical interests. We have shared (Manning) ancestry, but you have to go back to the early 1700's along the Hudson River to find it. Lilly is a Californian married to a Syrian and living in Lattakia on the northern coast. Steven, her 18 year old son is a very pleasant young man and has accompanied Lilly on the five hour bus ride from Lattakia, lured in part by the opportunity to buy DVDs.
It's lovely meeting them after years of emails, and we're lucky to have them as local guides to some of the spots we haven't visited before, Lilly filling in background information and Steven fluently reading the Arabic explanations and negotiating local prices.
We start with the tomb of the chivalrous Saladdin (literally Righteousness of the Faith - Salah ad-Din, a description rather than a given name), who recaptured the Holy Land from the Crusaders - respected opposite number to Richard the Lionheart.
Then to the Umayyad Mosque, also in the old city, considered the fourth holiest site in Islam. It was completed in 715 on the site of an earlier Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, whose head is believed to be in a shrine within. For years Christians and Moslems shared the building but eventually the arrangement broke down. The buuilding itself is huge and classically proportioned (based on the temple of Jupiter which preceded the basilica - itself a replacement of an earlier temple to the old pagan god Ba'al). There's a spacious courtyard and Lilly and I don long hooded cover-up coats before entering. There is a stunning gold mosaic over the outside entrance and beautiful mosaic work and carving inside - as well as a lot of high ceilinged space and white walls giving a sense of peace. Women pray on one side and men on the other, but there are no dividing walls - just Corinthian columns.
The mosque is also a sacred place for Shi'ites as it marks the place where the head of Mohammed's grandson Hussein was previously displayed. He's regarded as a Shia martyr (long story, best googled) and many Iranians visit the site. Lilly points them out in the mosque and in the souk, recognisable by their black chadors, worn by young women as well as old. We spend some time outside the shrine of John the Baptist, all pillars and coloured glass and metal grillwork, through which can just be glimpsed a coffin-like object - much bigger than a head.
We stop for lunch at a restaurant in the old city - accessed through a long passage with ancient doors leading to houses still occupied. The restaurant is in an old house with tables in a spacious courtyard. It's a beautiful spot and Lilly and Steven explain the menu to us, describing the various Syrian dishes. Seems it's a bit like a Polish menu though. (In Poland a menu lists everything that might ever be on offer - you have to ask which of the items they actually have). So we end up with beef (J) and chicken (Lilly and me) in a tasty tomato and pepper sauce over rice. Steven orders a dish in a yoghurt sauce. All very nice and in an amazing spot. A good chance to visit as well. And the bill is interesting too - featuring not only the sour pickles and the bottle of water and packet of pitas, but also the box of tissues. A lovely experience.
After lunch we visit the Azem Palace, built in 1750 for the Ottoman governor of Damascus, and consisting of several buildings around an enormous courtyard. Steven and I estimate that one servant would have had to do nothing but sweep. It's done in limestone, sandstone, basalt and marble, giving a patterned effect, and features ceilings with painted wooden paels in rooms that have been restored to display period furnishings and costumes. Most impressive is the family baths, though we're up against closing time and a little in the way of baksheesh is required to let us stay. But Lilly is right - it is impressive, a smaller version of the public hammam with baths of different size in its various rooms and a complex water delivery system. Lilly has a friend who is a member of the Azem family. The family lived in the palace until the 1920's, and her friend's father was actually born here. Impressive to us, but L says the friend's teenage children are completely uninterested in this bit of ancient history.
We separate outside the fountained courtyard and Lilly and Steven leave to pursue more modern shopping spots. We have a brief conversation with an American woman who looks about our age. She's ordinarily resident in France but has a visa to stay in Syria for three months. She's a confirmed traveller and likes the Middle East, but backs up our perception that accommodation is expensive in Syria. She's paying 300 euros a month for a small apartment, but says it's pretty basic. Food, though, is inexpensive, and the city is interesting.
We get lost, as one ought, in the maze of the souq, and then head back to our hotel. Here we meet the owner who, Kiki has told us, stays at the Sunflower when visiting Cyprus. The theory is that we'll rest a bit and dthen find something to eat, but we lose our initiative as we relax in front of the television updates on the Libyan revolution, and settle for tea and biscuits.
Lilly and Steven arrive about eleven to meet us in the lobby. Lilly and I met online pursuing overlapping genealogical interests. We have shared (Manning) ancestry, but you have to go back to the early 1700's along the Hudson River to find it. Lilly is a Californian married to a Syrian and living in Lattakia on the northern coast. Steven, her 18 year old son is a very pleasant young man and has accompanied Lilly on the five hour bus ride from Lattakia, lured in part by the opportunity to buy DVDs.
It's lovely meeting them after years of emails, and we're lucky to have them as local guides to some of the spots we haven't visited before, Lilly filling in background information and Steven fluently reading the Arabic explanations and negotiating local prices.
We start with the tomb of the chivalrous Saladdin (literally Righteousness of the Faith - Salah ad-Din, a description rather than a given name), who recaptured the Holy Land from the Crusaders - respected opposite number to Richard the Lionheart.
Then to the Umayyad Mosque, also in the old city, considered the fourth holiest site in Islam. It was completed in 715 on the site of an earlier Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, whose head is believed to be in a shrine within. For years Christians and Moslems shared the building but eventually the arrangement broke down. The buuilding itself is huge and classically proportioned (based on the temple of Jupiter which preceded the basilica - itself a replacement of an earlier temple to the old pagan god Ba'al). There's a spacious courtyard and Lilly and I don long hooded cover-up coats before entering. There is a stunning gold mosaic over the outside entrance and beautiful mosaic work and carving inside - as well as a lot of high ceilinged space and white walls giving a sense of peace. Women pray on one side and men on the other, but there are no dividing walls - just Corinthian columns.
The mosque is also a sacred place for Shi'ites as it marks the place where the head of Mohammed's grandson Hussein was previously displayed. He's regarded as a Shia martyr (long story, best googled) and many Iranians visit the site. Lilly points them out in the mosque and in the souk, recognisable by their black chadors, worn by young women as well as old. We spend some time outside the shrine of John the Baptist, all pillars and coloured glass and metal grillwork, through which can just be glimpsed a coffin-like object - much bigger than a head.
We stop for lunch at a restaurant in the old city - accessed through a long passage with ancient doors leading to houses still occupied. The restaurant is in an old house with tables in a spacious courtyard. It's a beautiful spot and Lilly and Steven explain the menu to us, describing the various Syrian dishes. Seems it's a bit like a Polish menu though. (In Poland a menu lists everything that might ever be on offer - you have to ask which of the items they actually have). So we end up with beef (J) and chicken (Lilly and me) in a tasty tomato and pepper sauce over rice. Steven orders a dish in a yoghurt sauce. All very nice and in an amazing spot. A good chance to visit as well. And the bill is interesting too - featuring not only the sour pickles and the bottle of water and packet of pitas, but also the box of tissues. A lovely experience.
After lunch we visit the Azem Palace, built in 1750 for the Ottoman governor of Damascus, and consisting of several buildings around an enormous courtyard. Steven and I estimate that one servant would have had to do nothing but sweep. It's done in limestone, sandstone, basalt and marble, giving a patterned effect, and features ceilings with painted wooden paels in rooms that have been restored to display period furnishings and costumes. Most impressive is the family baths, though we're up against closing time and a little in the way of baksheesh is required to let us stay. But Lilly is right - it is impressive, a smaller version of the public hammam with baths of different size in its various rooms and a complex water delivery system. Lilly has a friend who is a member of the Azem family. The family lived in the palace until the 1920's, and her friend's father was actually born here. Impressive to us, but L says the friend's teenage children are completely uninterested in this bit of ancient history.
We separate outside the fountained courtyard and Lilly and Steven leave to pursue more modern shopping spots. We have a brief conversation with an American woman who looks about our age. She's ordinarily resident in France but has a visa to stay in Syria for three months. She's a confirmed traveller and likes the Middle East, but backs up our perception that accommodation is expensive in Syria. She's paying 300 euros a month for a small apartment, but says it's pretty basic. Food, though, is inexpensive, and the city is interesting.
We get lost, as one ought, in the maze of the souq, and then head back to our hotel. Here we meet the owner who, Kiki has told us, stays at the Sunflower when visiting Cyprus. The theory is that we'll rest a bit and dthen find something to eat, but we lose our initiative as we relax in front of the television updates on the Libyan revolution, and settle for tea and biscuits.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Friday, February 25/2011
We're meant to be leaving Larnaca at 18:30, a late change from our 21:50 departure and, as the girl at the agency points out, an improvement. But we notice that the arrival time in Damascus is 21:15 and ask how a flight that should be an hour has stretched out to almost three. Turns out that someone has helpfully switched us to the milk run - Damascus via Aleppo with an hour's stop. So switch back to the original, and M kindly drops us at the airport. We're early and have lots of time at the departure lounge - number 23 according to the monitor - until boarding, when the person checking tells us it's the wrong flight. Brief panic. Seems they've changed the deparature gate and we, sitting in the departure lounge, haven't kept rechecking. But it's a smallish airport so no big problem - we're saved from going to Athens.
Flights to the middle east from Cyprus are all ascent and descent - an hour to Damascus. We're on a group visa but the group actually consists of the two of us, so we're met by our contact, who shepherds us through immigration. And past the cash point where we withdraw Syrian pounds - roughly 50 to the dollar. Despite the many warnings online about its erratic performance, the machine delivers crisp new S£500 notes, with our guide being helpful to the point of leaning in and indicating on the screen the amount we should withdraw - less, actually, than we intend to.
It`s a half hour drive north to the city, home to 6 million people by day and 5 million by night. We`re at the Happy Nights Hotel, just off Martyrs' Square and not much more than a five minute walk from the ancient walled part of the city. A rather grotty entrance area and a tiny lift with a non-automatic door that takes us to the third floor and the little lobby. There a young man with the same laugh as our nephew Trevor presides over the night desk. Our room is one of nine - small but newly redone with fresh carpet and tiles so shiny they look wet and the thickest towels of any place we've stayed. It's billed as a studio and there is a bit of a kitchen in the entry with microwave and a single electronic burner and minimal dishes, as well as a bar fridge in the main room.
There's a small flat screen tv fixed high on the wall at an angle more or less impossible to appreciate from the bed. J discovers the method in the madness - the screen is easily viewed in the dresser mirror, though of course all words are in mirror writing and weather maps downright confusing. News tickers and subtitles pretty useless too. But there are well over 400 chanels, all with excellent picture and sound, including BBC World, Al Jazeera, Euronews and CNN - all in English.
Flights to the middle east from Cyprus are all ascent and descent - an hour to Damascus. We're on a group visa but the group actually consists of the two of us, so we're met by our contact, who shepherds us through immigration. And past the cash point where we withdraw Syrian pounds - roughly 50 to the dollar. Despite the many warnings online about its erratic performance, the machine delivers crisp new S£500 notes, with our guide being helpful to the point of leaning in and indicating on the screen the amount we should withdraw - less, actually, than we intend to.
It`s a half hour drive north to the city, home to 6 million people by day and 5 million by night. We`re at the Happy Nights Hotel, just off Martyrs' Square and not much more than a five minute walk from the ancient walled part of the city. A rather grotty entrance area and a tiny lift with a non-automatic door that takes us to the third floor and the little lobby. There a young man with the same laugh as our nephew Trevor presides over the night desk. Our room is one of nine - small but newly redone with fresh carpet and tiles so shiny they look wet and the thickest towels of any place we've stayed. It's billed as a studio and there is a bit of a kitchen in the entry with microwave and a single electronic burner and minimal dishes, as well as a bar fridge in the main room.
There's a small flat screen tv fixed high on the wall at an angle more or less impossible to appreciate from the bed. J discovers the method in the madness - the screen is easily viewed in the dresser mirror, though of course all words are in mirror writing and weather maps downright confusing. News tickers and subtitles pretty useless too. But there are well over 400 chanels, all with excellent picture and sound, including BBC World, Al Jazeera, Euronews and CNN - all in English.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Thursday, February 24/2011
Robert Fisk, intrepid reporter on the Middle East for The Independent is now in Tripoli, just as most people are trying desperately to leave. He provides a fascinating, though not particularly encouraging, insight into Gadaffi's though processes. It seems that a friend of Fisk's was granted a twenty minute interview with the Libyan leader. Thinking that the friend had had a facelift, when in fact he was simply young looking, Gadaffi insisted on spending the entire twenty minutes inquiring about facelifts, apparently wanting one for himself.
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Wednesday, February 23/2011
Haircuts part two. We go earlier this morning, by 9:30, but wait until nearly eleven. In part it's the usual Cypriot problem. In theory there's a queue but in practice the tribal system takes over, with friends, relatives, friends of relatives and relatives of friends taking precedence. Not speaking Greek is no asset, both because we can't (though probably wouldn't) engage in special pleading and because we don't pick up on what pleas and promises have been made. I usually simply take a book but with J there as well I'm too polite to sit and read it. And why do we do it? The man is cheap (€10 for my haircut and €5 for J's) and he's very good.
Over to our café afterward for Cyprus coffees, sporting our new haircuts, though with sunglasses designed for preventing ocular deterioration rather than displaying status.
Over to our café afterward for Cyprus coffees, sporting our new haircuts, though with sunglasses designed for preventing ocular deterioration rather than displaying status.
Tuesday, February 22/2011
J has a dental appointment this morning so I go along and make an appointment for next week to have my bridge replaced - or step one thereof. It's about thirty years old, more or less - I haven't really kept track - and apparently these things don't last forever. Ernie, our dentist at home, says that teeth are only designed to last about forty years - in which case we're pleased to be outliving them. Should have had haircuts as well, as part of the general self-improvement process, but our usual spot is very fullso we decide not to wait.
Down to M's flat at four for drinks - and to examine the mysterious shell she's found. A dark shadow inhabits the interior, presumably once alive but dissection with a kitchen knife just leads it to crumble.
Gaddafi makes a bizarre speech, looking strangely like Baron Von Munchausen. He vows to stay to the last bullet and to die in his country, leading one to hope someone puts him out of his misery before there are too many hundred more bodies on the street.
Down to M's flat at four for drinks - and to examine the mysterious shell she's found. A dark shadow inhabits the interior, presumably once alive but dissection with a kitchen knife just leads it to crumble.
Gaddafi makes a bizarre speech, looking strangely like Baron Von Munchausen. He vows to stay to the last bullet and to die in his country, leading one to hope someone puts him out of his misery before there are too many hundred more bodies on the street.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Monday, February 21/2011
We're about to leave for Pyla - actually out on our way to the bus, but the rain starts, so it seems a bit pointless standing at the bus stop in the rain in order to go on the hash walk (me). Shame though, as J was to visit with Bill at the same time.
Television and radio are riveting though, as the violence continues in Libya. Heartbreaking pleas for world help from Libyans who report horrific events like security people going into hospitals and killing patients and medical staff. . We listen to the extreme distress of Libyans telling of the bodies on the streets over poor phone lines - it sometimes impossible to separate breaking transmission from accounts mixed with sobs. At the same time, as we watch BBC television with the sound muted the ticker tells of two Libyan fighter planes landing in Malta rather than obey orders to bomb their own people - while the footage on the entertainment news shows Lady Gaga arriving at some event in a transparent egg. Bizarre juxtaposition!
Television and radio are riveting though, as the violence continues in Libya. Heartbreaking pleas for world help from Libyans who report horrific events like security people going into hospitals and killing patients and medical staff. . We listen to the extreme distress of Libyans telling of the bodies on the streets over poor phone lines - it sometimes impossible to separate breaking transmission from accounts mixed with sobs. At the same time, as we watch BBC television with the sound muted the ticker tells of two Libyan fighter planes landing in Malta rather than obey orders to bomb their own people - while the footage on the entertainment news shows Lady Gaga arriving at some event in a transparent egg. Bizarre juxtaposition!
Sunday, February 20/2011
Brunch and lazy reading. We're nearly finished The Towers of Silence, Book 3 of the Raj Quartet.
Saturday, February 19/2011
Coffee at our usual joined by M's friend Dino, a British Cypriot. Stop at the market round the corner on the way back for a bag (of 14) large fresh grapefruit for €1.50. They let J shift grapefruit to get more pink ones and fewer white in his bag.
Friday, February 18/2011
J, M and I to the English language Mediterranean High School for their production of Grease. A good choice as it's fun and has a cast of thousands to boost the ticket sales to family. The two leads are a bit lightweight but two of the major backups are professional quality good. It's packed and everyone has a good time.
Thursday, February 17/2011
Dougie drops over - the first time we have seen him this year. We were talking about not having seen him when M, who had his mobile number, texted. Dougie is a British born Cypriot who drives a local bus. For the last ten years it's been the airport route and he was always cheerful and friendly - knew his regulars by name. And of course that's how we knew him. In fact, as his business card shows, his name isn't really Dougie but Christakis Antoniou. So why Dougie, we ask. Well, it comes from the second half of his first name, and in Greek the t is pronounced like d. So it's a corruption of Daki.
He's in transition now, disillusioned by a system that has moved him to a backwater village route and left him with an unpleasant six day work week - and this despite the fact that they're expanding the routes and have hired new drivers So he's finishing next month and off back to Jersey where he drove a tourist bus for years and has maintained a house and a flat.
He's in transition now, disillusioned by a system that has moved him to a backwater village route and left him with an unpleasant six day work week - and this despite the fact that they're expanding the routes and have hired new drivers So he's finishing next month and off back to Jersey where he drove a tourist bus for years and has maintained a house and a flat.
Wednesday, February 16/2011
To the dentist in the morning for teeth cleaning. Some difficulty finding our files - J doesn't exist in the Greek alphabet.
M has Jane and Bill and us to dinner - chicken curry. And nice evening with good company. These hotel flats do at least have the basics of furniture and crockery so that it does feel somewhat like home entertaining.
M has Jane and Bill and us to dinner - chicken curry. And nice evening with good company. These hotel flats do at least have the basics of furniture and crockery so that it does feel somewhat like home entertaining.
Tuesday, February 15/2011
The cleaner doesn't exactly knock at the door - it's closer to a scratching sound and reminds one inevitably of the dog wanting to come in. The "cleaning" is a minimalist performance - a little under five minutes and not involving vacuum or duster. Bathroom and kitchen floors wet mopped, toilet and sink cleaned and rubbish removed. Better than nothing. The difficulty is that when one does ask to borrow the vacuum there is a certain amount of horror downstairs as it interferes with the myth that the cleaning staff does all this. And given that the cleaning staff is one, possibly a bit simple and almost certainly underpaid woman, the charade continues.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Monday, February 14/2011
Once more the Cypriot news is full of violence on the part of football fans - including injuries to the police, who were attacked with slingshots and nails - therefore malice aforethought. While deploring the violence and warning that deaths may eventually result, police and authorities always stop short of the obvious solution - forcing teams with uncontrollable fans to play their games in empty stadiums behind locked doors. No fans. It's worked quite well elsewhere.
Google some more on Dave Barr - in order to find the sad news that he died in Vancouver two years ago.
Google some more on Dave Barr - in order to find the sad news that he died in Vancouver two years ago.
Sunday, February 13/2011
Online booking for our trip to Portugal. Takes a few tries as I eventually figure out I'm trying to use my UK debit card with a room-booking account in J's name. So eventually I create an account in my name and it all works. So now airfare, with EasyJet, studio in Albufeira and transfers in one fell swoop.
Idly google Jaworski and Sioux Lookout and find the obvious and expected and the totally unexpected - a reference in Dave Barr's autobiography One Lucky Canuck. Dave and his wife Irene were part of the 12 person group we went with to China in 1990. It must be only a small section of his book - and there are bits missing from the google online posting - but it's still pretty exciting. Dave had obviously made detailed notes and done background research as well. We'll have to get a copy and then we'll have a wonderful account of the China trip - from before the days when we kept a journal.
According to the evening news there has been an earthquake south of Limassol. Three point something. No damage and we didn't feel it here. We did feel one back about Christmas. Went on for 30 seconds or so, but no news report that we noticed.
Idly google Jaworski and Sioux Lookout and find the obvious and expected and the totally unexpected - a reference in Dave Barr's autobiography One Lucky Canuck. Dave and his wife Irene were part of the 12 person group we went with to China in 1990. It must be only a small section of his book - and there are bits missing from the google online posting - but it's still pretty exciting. Dave had obviously made detailed notes and done background research as well. We'll have to get a copy and then we'll have a wonderful account of the China trip - from before the days when we kept a journal.
According to the evening news there has been an earthquake south of Limassol. Three point something. No damage and we didn't feel it here. We did feel one back about Christmas. Went on for 30 seconds or so, but no news report that we noticed.
Saturday, February 12/2011
Back to our favourite café - our new local.
In the evening J, M and I head over to the restaurant known as "not the Famagusta but the one next to it." We go at six, ridiculously early for cypriots and unnaturally early even for us, mindful of the fact that it closes at 7:30. We do know tht it's popular at lunch. What we haven't picked up is that it's basically cafeteria style and by the end of the day the choice is pretty diminished. So a walk along Macarios looking at the options. In the end we finish up at the Famagusta, right across from the Sunflower.
It turns out to be a pleasure. Not very full at this hour (by now 6:30) but a traditional Cypriot enu, and attentive proprietor (cum chef?). We order beef stifado and it's excellent. Done in a nice balance of Commandaria style wine with a touch of vinegar and succulent onions. He discusses the cooking methods in detail and agrees to see what they have in vegetables - spinach, it seems, which we all like. We also get a small sample - on the house, he explains - of cypriot preserved fruit. It purports to be lime peel preserved to curling softness in syrup and bottled for weeks. However, the fact that it's carrot coloured and the fact that limes are the most expensive and rare of Cypriot citrus fruits make us wonder. Very nice, but sweet enough that the small sample is plenty.
In the evening J, M and I head over to the restaurant known as "not the Famagusta but the one next to it." We go at six, ridiculously early for cypriots and unnaturally early even for us, mindful of the fact that it closes at 7:30. We do know tht it's popular at lunch. What we haven't picked up is that it's basically cafeteria style and by the end of the day the choice is pretty diminished. So a walk along Macarios looking at the options. In the end we finish up at the Famagusta, right across from the Sunflower.
It turns out to be a pleasure. Not very full at this hour (by now 6:30) but a traditional Cypriot enu, and attentive proprietor (cum chef?). We order beef stifado and it's excellent. Done in a nice balance of Commandaria style wine with a touch of vinegar and succulent onions. He discusses the cooking methods in detail and agrees to see what they have in vegetables - spinach, it seems, which we all like. We also get a small sample - on the house, he explains - of cypriot preserved fruit. It purports to be lime peel preserved to curling softness in syrup and bottled for weeks. However, the fact that it's carrot coloured and the fact that limes are the most expensive and rare of Cypriot citrus fruits make us wonder. Very nice, but sweet enough that the small sample is plenty.
Friday, 11 February 2011
Friday, February 11/2011
Another coffee at our now favourite café in the warm sun. Ah, it's a hard life.
G&T and nibbles (first class) at M's and then we come home to the breaking news that Mubarek has resigned and that, temporarily one prays, the army is in charge, though prepared, they say, for elections to follow. Less than a day after Mubarek's appalling non-resignation speech. For all the fears, the jubilation is a joy to watch. The square we have watched for the past two and a half weeks is pulsing with celebration and the lights now at dusk give it a golden glow, punctuated with fireworks above the throng - a people who for the past thirty years have been forbidden to gather in groups of more than five, hundreds of thousands of them.
We've been watching the visuals on BBC World television, while listening to similar coverage on BBC World radio - not pirated and therefore much better quality sound.
G&T and nibbles (first class) at M's and then we come home to the breaking news that Mubarek has resigned and that, temporarily one prays, the army is in charge, though prepared, they say, for elections to follow. Less than a day after Mubarek's appalling non-resignation speech. For all the fears, the jubilation is a joy to watch. The square we have watched for the past two and a half weeks is pulsing with celebration and the lights now at dusk give it a golden glow, punctuated with fireworks above the throng - a people who for the past thirty years have been forbidden to gather in groups of more than five, hundreds of thousands of them.
We've been watching the visuals on BBC World television, while listening to similar coverage on BBC World radio - not pirated and therefore much better quality sound.
Thursday, February 10/2011
Mostly looking for a trip out of London. Of course air fares have risen, and the "no frills" ones are so misleading. Unlike Canada, the Uk is not allowed to advertise fares without including taxes and fees. What they do, however, is advertise fares that don't include luggage, food or seat selection and the differences are major. RyanAir, for instance, charges £40 ($64 CAD) per suitcase. Meanwhile Marty emails to say that the Welby is very busy and they`re now booking bedsits in London into mid-March, so not time to waste.
In the evening Mubarek comes on television to speak to the Egyptian people. Rumour had had it - and quite high level rumour - that he would resign, but not a bit of it. He`s quite pleased to refer to the people`s "legitimate grievances" and say that their martyrs will not have died in vain and those responsible will be punished. No doubt some wretched persons will be tortured for obeying orders, but this is little comfort to anyone. The response in Tahir Square is as distressed as one might expect. The BBC ticker describes public reaction as "angery" and that seems about right - three syllable anger.
In the evening Mubarek comes on television to speak to the Egyptian people. Rumour had had it - and quite high level rumour - that he would resign, but not a bit of it. He`s quite pleased to refer to the people`s "legitimate grievances" and say that their martyrs will not have died in vain and those responsible will be punished. No doubt some wretched persons will be tortured for obeying orders, but this is little comfort to anyone. The response in Tahir Square is as distressed as one might expect. The BBC ticker describes public reaction as "angery" and that seems about right - three syllable anger.
Wednesday, February 9/2011
This morning brings the deferred ceremony recognizing our status as long-term visitors (though there must be many longer about). Thus we leave early enough to find the building (Larnaca Chamber of Commerce and Industry), just round the corner from the Kition really.
We're greeted inside by Takis Vorides. He's a city councillor and head of the tourism committee and, surprisingly, we have met him before - J several years ago and both of us this past Saturdayas we passed his house on the way from the market to Metro. He expressed interest in the ceremony then (having asked how long we had been coming to Larnaka) and had me email him the specifics - apparently to see that it was his committee that waas planning the recognition. So here he is, representing the major (whom Kikki refers to as the major, obviously the same word origin and essential meaning). He's warm and avuncular, greeting us with kisses and expressions of pleasure.
There's Nana(?), the young assistant and another man, who Mr. Vovides refers to as Kikkis Kyriakides, whom he has known since his youth. (Only later do I fish out the Sunflower's business card listing Mr. Kyriakides as managing director).
We go to the boardroom (though we're told the ceremony is usually at the fort, as it would have been last week). There's a very large period representation of the Larnaca waterfront and Mr. Vovides uses it to provide a short history lesson, from St. Lazarus to the export of heaps of salt from the salt lake. He's a former customs inspector and has a good memory for the exports. Larnaca is also the birthplace of Xenon, founder of the Stoic school of philosophy and he points out that the name comes from the tradition of standing in a stoa or arched doorway to do the teaching.
Then we are presented with an engraved plaque set in daark wood calling Mr and Mrs Jaworski "loyal friends of Larnaca," as well as a bottle of Cypriot shiraz, both contained in a cotton bag decorated with a colourful picture - the winner of the Larnaca graffitti contest. And a snapshot for the website if we don't object.
In the evening M to dinner. J does a chicken.
We're greeted inside by Takis Vorides. He's a city councillor and head of the tourism committee and, surprisingly, we have met him before - J several years ago and both of us this past Saturdayas we passed his house on the way from the market to Metro. He expressed interest in the ceremony then (having asked how long we had been coming to Larnaka) and had me email him the specifics - apparently to see that it was his committee that waas planning the recognition. So here he is, representing the major (whom Kikki refers to as the major, obviously the same word origin and essential meaning). He's warm and avuncular, greeting us with kisses and expressions of pleasure.
There's Nana(?), the young assistant and another man, who Mr. Vovides refers to as Kikkis Kyriakides, whom he has known since his youth. (Only later do I fish out the Sunflower's business card listing Mr. Kyriakides as managing director).
We go to the boardroom (though we're told the ceremony is usually at the fort, as it would have been last week). There's a very large period representation of the Larnaca waterfront and Mr. Vovides uses it to provide a short history lesson, from St. Lazarus to the export of heaps of salt from the salt lake. He's a former customs inspector and has a good memory for the exports. Larnaca is also the birthplace of Xenon, founder of the Stoic school of philosophy and he points out that the name comes from the tradition of standing in a stoa or arched doorway to do the teaching.
Then we are presented with an engraved plaque set in daark wood calling Mr and Mrs Jaworski "loyal friends of Larnaca," as well as a bottle of Cypriot shiraz, both contained in a cotton bag decorated with a colourful picture - the winner of the Larnaca graffitti contest. And a snapshot for the website if we don't object.
In the evening M to dinner. J does a chicken.
Tuesday, February 8/2011
Book our trip to Syria for February 25-28, using the little agency next door run by Chris, son of Mr. Andreas who runs our building.
Variation on the customer taking a grape while passing the fruit counter. At Carrefour we see a woman munching a whole banana and discarding the peel as she heads off toward the meat counter.
Variation on the customer taking a grape while passing the fruit counter. At Carrefour we see a woman munching a whole banana and discarding the peel as she heads off toward the meat counter.
Monday, February 7/2011
Cyprus lulls one - but there are other places to see, so now busy setting up side trip to Syria and also a trip after we get back to London. We fly to London March 16 and February is a short month.
Monday, 7 February 2011
Sunday, February 6/2011
Another beautiful sunny day. Brunch and the newspaper - which J points out is getting worse by the week. It always had a high proportion of fill - ads, standard bits from the international press, and lightweight reports on local services, verging on advertisement. but there have always been some fairly good local opinion pieces and they're thinning out. The paper is also our weekly telly guide though. Overpriced as such at a euro sixty perhaps, but we're not likely to give it up, especially as it also includes a guide for BBC World Service radio.
Walk down along the promenade. It's busy now but not on weekdays, so presumably most of these people, whether Cypriot, Asian, or East Europen, have day jobs keeping them occupied. There don't seem to be very many genuine tourists. Stop at yesterday's café for Cyprus coffee. Exactly our best image of retirement - sitting at a little sidewalk café in the sun, sea view, old buildigs, short sleeve weather in February and a friendly café owner who remembers us.
Walk down along the promenade. It's busy now but not on weekdays, so presumably most of these people, whether Cypriot, Asian, or East Europen, have day jobs keeping them occupied. There don't seem to be very many genuine tourists. Stop at yesterday's café for Cyprus coffee. Exactly our best image of retirement - sitting at a little sidewalk café in the sun, sea view, old buildigs, short sleeve weather in February and a friendly café owner who remembers us.
Saturday, February 5/2011
Sun back in evidence and M has sussed out a café where the sun hits earlier and stays later It's just round the corner from the Athene - the best of our former hotels, now half rebuilt and up for sale. Tables a bit weather warped - and nice wicker chairs just off the pavement with views of sea and lovely old Larnaca buildings across the road and lots of interesting foot traffic. The owner is a painter as well, so his paintings are in evidence as well as large blow-ups of old Larnaca photographs. Friendly relaxed atmosphere and even biscuits with the Cyprus coffees. Good find!
M to dinner in the evening. Spaghetti with vegetarian sauce - lots of mushrooms.
Email fro Lilly in Syria. She's planning to take the bus in from Lattakia - four hours up the coast - and meet us in Damascus for a day and is giving us several possible plans of what we could see and do. Quite exciting.
M to dinner in the evening. Spaghetti with vegetarian sauce - lots of mushrooms.
Email fro Lilly in Syria. She's planning to take the bus in from Lattakia - four hours up the coast - and meet us in Damascus for a day and is giving us several possible plans of what we could see and do. Quite exciting.
Friday, February 4/2011
Cloudy, bits of light showers, and cool - about 15. Then it occurs to us that in mucay h of the world this would pass for an incredible spring day in mid-winter. But we make soup and read. Currently Ian Rankin's Black and Blue alternately with Paul Scott's The Towers of Silence, third book in the Raj Quartet. M and I play Scrabble in the evening.
Thursday, February 3/2011
Home from Carrefour with an enormous stalk of celery - a good three feet high, many stemmed, with luxuriant dark green leaves. As J says when I get back, "You've come home with a tree." No waste, though. We share part of it with Maggi and J dries the leves and powders them before starting on the stems.
Watch the last two episodes of Downton Abbey.
Watch the last two episodes of Downton Abbey.
Wednesday, February 2/2011
J and I to town hall to check on hotel tax update. Not astonishingly, there is no update - try back about the 10th. Run into Maggi there, come to ask for a Larnaca calendar with historic pictures of the town. We admire the pictures and are shown large ones on office and boardroom walls as well, the office occupants looking a little startled at finding themselves part of a tour.
Mobile rings outside. It's Larnaca Tourist people. Back when we were first at the town hall in mid-January, Androula, who we spoke to, said that the city likes to honour long term tourists (we've confessed to eleven years). We obligingly filled out a form, feeling that there was no need to be rude about refusing to let them type up a certificate. Turned out there was more to it than that. They wanted to arrange a ceremony. So we left, hoping it would all disappear into the bureaucracy and be forgotten. Back to the ringing mobile - turns out we've just missed the ceremony and everyone was waiting. Didn't we get the fax? They sent a fax to the hotel. Ah well - a new date will be arranged. So be sure to ask for the fax.
We're watchig the next bit of Downton Abbey when Kikki arrives with the fax, having guessed that if we weren't in our flat we'd be in Maggi's. So no escape this time.
Throughout the night the protestors in Tahrir Square are attacked by pro Mubarek forces - many of whom admit to being paid thugs.
Mobile rings outside. It's Larnaca Tourist people. Back when we were first at the town hall in mid-January, Androula, who we spoke to, said that the city likes to honour long term tourists (we've confessed to eleven years). We obligingly filled out a form, feeling that there was no need to be rude about refusing to let them type up a certificate. Turned out there was more to it than that. They wanted to arrange a ceremony. So we left, hoping it would all disappear into the bureaucracy and be forgotten. Back to the ringing mobile - turns out we've just missed the ceremony and everyone was waiting. Didn't we get the fax? They sent a fax to the hotel. Ah well - a new date will be arranged. So be sure to ask for the fax.
We're watchig the next bit of Downton Abbey when Kikki arrives with the fax, having guessed that if we weren't in our flat we'd be in Maggi's. So no escape this time.
Throughout the night the protestors in Tahrir Square are attacked by pro Mubarek forces - many of whom admit to being paid thugs.
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Tuesday, February 1/2011
In evening watch first disc of Jane's Downton Abbey DVD on M's laptop - and are hooked.
Watching Cairo for a week now. we knkow Tahir Square. It's big, but not huge. Certainly not Tiananmen. Can't help wondering about some of the baser practicalities of the demo. Do hundreds of thousands of people use the loo at KFC - or what?
Watching Cairo for a week now. we knkow Tahir Square. It's big, but not huge. Certainly not Tiananmen. Can't help wondering about some of the baser practicalities of the demo. Do hundreds of thousands of people use the loo at KFC - or what?
Monday, January 31/2011
Nicely balanced day. Morning listening to the Today program (BBC Radio 4) and in the afternoon M and I meet up with Jane for the Monday hash. It's in extensive parkland near Aridippou, which is now more or less suburban Larnaca. A nice walk with lovely views of surrounding hillsides which have, somehow, raken in enough rain to be as green as Ireland. I chat on the walk with Fatholsa (spelling almost certainly wrong) a Cypriot woman who has lived ingermany for over 40 years but spends frequent extended holidays in cyprus where she maintains a flat. She's a translator and fluent in five languages. Very interesting.
Monday, 31 January 2011
Sunday, January 30/2011
Follow the Egyptian demonstrations throughout the day on BBC. Sound of explosions outside at supper time - almost undoubtedly war games on the part of the army here, but the sound effects go well with the Cairo and Alexandria pictures. Al Jazeera reports demonstrations in Jordan calling for the replacement of the prime minister.
Saturday, January 29/2011
Market day - which means coffee at Jimmy's Café, just outside the market. We walk down with Maggi and are joined a bit later by Jane and Bill. Then a wander through the market, though we donèt buy anything. Just not as good prices or quality as it used to be - or as Prinos. So J heads off to Prinos while M and I browse the charity shops and end up with a petticoat, CD's and a lamp (M) and paperbacks (me), feeling that if these are not strictly necessary they're at least a contribution to the animal shelters.
Down before dinner to M's flat for a drink and to admire the new lamp in situ. Then spaghetti carbonara with sautéed mushrooms and artichoke hearts.
As we finish the day, the curfew has proven ineffective in Cairo, though no ore ineffective than Mubarek`s efforts at providing a new government without actually making any ovesdoward democracy or even elections.
Down before dinner to M's flat for a drink and to admire the new lamp in situ. Then spaghetti carbonara with sautéed mushrooms and artichoke hearts.
As we finish the day, the curfew has proven ineffective in Cairo, though no ore ineffective than Mubarek`s efforts at providing a new government without actually making any ovesdoward democracy or even elections.
Friday, January 28/2011
Egypt in chaos, with major street demonstrations. We watch as Lyse Doucet, looking as if she hasn't slept since Tunisia, interviews an Egyptian BBC correspondent whose shirt is soaked with blood after being attacked by plain clothed police who were not at all interested in his press credentials. The streets are as full as ever. Someone reports having seen a sign saying "Mubarek, Saudi Arabia Awaits You." Mubarek may well prove a tougher nut than Bel Ali, though, if only because he's enjoyed considerably more US backing, though official US commentary is now wavering, perhaps because America is reluctant to emerge on the wrong side of history - or of future leadership. There have been close to a thousand injuries but, interestingly, the army seems reluctant to oppose the people.
Friday, 28 January 2011
Thursday, January 27/2011
Thunderstorm in the night and the day is threatening, but not bad. Meet with Maggi, Jane and Bill at an Indian restaurant with fairly good reviews for dinner. The good reviews aren't helping it much. For most of the evening we're the only party there - seems to be another for part. The food is nice enough - though the highly ambitious menu does lead one to assume much of it must be frozen. Veggie samosas are excellent and we order a variety of mostly chicken or lamb dishes, which, fortunately, Jane suggests we share Chinese restaurant style so that we all get a taste of several. Not bad at all. The service is polite to the point of gratitude though it takes some effort to waken anyone to ask for coffee. We order Cypriot coffee (which is on the menu) and should have been warned when the young Indian waiter is unfamiliar with the terms sketo and metrio (no sugar and medium amount of sugar) and also asks if we want milk - never served with Cypriot coffee. The result is odd, but drinkable. The writing is on the wall though Fourteen euros each is a lot of money for what is not a lot of food. You can do much better along this road, and with food at least as good.
Wednesday, January 26/2011
One of the explanations provided for the terrible sound on BBC World is that we are a long way from the British base at Dhekelia. This sounds, initially, irrelevant - and then simply wrong. After all, the reception was much better in the Kition, which is half a mile further. However, J's suspicion that the signal is stolen seems probable, and may also accout for frequent (inaccurate) messages that the service is unavailable or scrambled - programming continuing beneath the message. It would also explain a reluctance to solve the problem by complaining to the provider.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Tuesday, January 25/2011
Jane calls and invites over to the marina to see their boat, a catamaran called Doublit, that they have up for sale. We're not in the market of course, but J in particular is interested in the work Bill has been doing on it. It's a fair size - lots of cabin space and a nice little galley. The GPS is a good one, and fascinating. Then lunch at the marina cafeteria with Jane and Bill as well as Harry, who has ridden in to town on his Harley Davidson.
Monday, January 24/2011
In the afternoon M and I drive out to Pyla for a hash meet. Originally marked trail cross-country runs, there is now a walking contingent, which Jane attends regularly. So we're off with her to Khellia, a nearby village, where we follow the trail, false leads included (though these are mostly quickly discovered by those who are faster than we are) for an hour and a half. They're a nice bunch and pretty easy-going and it's fun. Quick drink at the end and then back to Jane and Bill's - a nice corner house with Jane's paintings on the wall - for a g&t and a meal. Lovely day.
Sunday, January 23/2011
Disgracefully lazy day, with sun streaming in our open doors to the balcony and us lounging about after brunch with the Sunday paper and our books. No excitement until early evening when we smell - and then see - smoke. There's some noise outside and it proves to be coming from outside flat 401, where a there's a man looking slightly embarrassed (though not nearly ashamed as he ought considering the stench). He says that he burnt the cooking, so we assume that this can be translated as "I'm aware of the problem and the fire is now out." As an actual explanation, it's almost certainly inaccurate. Nothing organic - except perhaps rubber - burns with that ugly a smell.
Interestingly no alarm has been triggered - audibly at least. Do we have smoke detectors? So open all the windows and doors while leaving the heating on. Does a pretty good job of clearing everywhere but the bathroom, where smoke seems to have come in through vents running above the false ceiling and has no exit window.
Interestingly no alarm has been triggered - audibly at least. Do we have smoke detectors? So open all the windows and doors while leaving the heating on. Does a pretty good job of clearing everywhere but the bathroom, where smoke seems to have come in through vents running above the false ceiling and has no exit window.
Saturday, January 22/2011
The warm weather continues and J and I pick up filter coffees from Macdonald's. Sounds a bit pathetic, but their filter coffee is quite good and half (or less) the price of anyone else's in a place where the usual alternative to Cypriot coffee is Nescafé. A character in the novel I'm reading at the moment (The Island) comments wryly that nobody appears to have had the heart to tell Greeks that Nescafé is no longer a desirable novelty. So off with our coffees to the small pier at the end of the beach where we sit and drink them, watching small boats in the distance.
Friday, January 21/2011
Tony Blair testifies again for the Chilcot Inquiry. Not easy to hear as the inquiry is carried on BBC World tv and the sound quality at the Sunflower is quite poor, although only on this chanel. Perhaps just as well, as it's maddening seeing the patronising way in which he dismisses the concerns of Lord Goldsmith, attorney general at the time, who needed considerable persuading to see it Blair's way. Blair is careful always to refer to him as Peter, thereby establishing Lord G as both an intimate and not quite an adult. This according, actually, with Lord G's own account of being shut out of the process. And, most worryingly, Blair finishes with a quite unsolicited suggestion that aggressive action may have to be taken against Iran. Stay tuned.
Thursday, January 20/2011
J still collecting info from the travel agencies on trips to Damascus. Prices are up, he notes, fro last time, and the length isn't very long - really a long weekend. But we'd really like to go again.\\Dinner tonight with the same crew as last Thursday, this time at a taverna (Greek translaates as Apostle Andrew). Not quite the same bits and pieces beforehand as at Vlachos, but nice little plates of cheese, olives, tomato, cucumber and smoked almonds. Generous portions too, with salad, chips and rice on our enormous plates as well as the meat. No waste either as Harry and Elsa always come with plastic bags to take home any leftovers to their many pets.
Wednesday, January 19/2011
Maggi's invited us to dinner at a little tverna aacross the road (known as "not the Famagusta but the one next to it"). It's very popular with locals and we've seen it doing a lovely business at lunch time. Turns out there's a good reason for this - it's not open in the evenings. In fact it closes at 7:30, which is exactly the time we head over. So M proposes Militzi's - the old standby on Makenzy (yes, that is how it's spelled). We sit in by the fire, very cosy, and have tavas and stifado, which they do exceptionally well.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Tuesday, January 18/2011
Sirens, many police cars and motorcycles, helicopters hovering loudly overhead. We don't have long to wonder if it's a case of incipient insurrection, as the police are followed by a series of black limousines, some with flags. So it's diplomatic (and as M later discovers, by dint of aasking a policewoman) the President of Armenia enroute to the airport. Interesting that love of importance and drama trumps any sense of equality with the plebs with this Communist led coalition. We're reminded of being in China twenty years ago and our little van having to pull over to the side of the road to allow a diplomatic cavalcade to zoom importantly past us to the airport. Our thought then was much the same - in the capitalist west we're certainly not equal to the powers that be in wealth or influence, but we don't have to pull out of the road to let them pass when there's no public appearance.
At least the police sirens are long past when we walk back from Lidl in the afternoon. J is carrying the goods in his blue nylon bag when I offer to take some in my bag - and am horrified to realise that the weight on my wrist is a small clear plastic bag containing three green peppers that I forgot to pay for at the checkout as they dangled lightly from my hand. We're well on oour way home by this time and the thought of going back to explain - English to Greek - that we need to get the peppeers weighed, but no, the rest is paid for, is just too much.
At least the police sirens are long past when we walk back from Lidl in the afternoon. J is carrying the goods in his blue nylon bag when I offer to take some in my bag - and am horrified to realise that the weight on my wrist is a small clear plastic bag containing three green peppers that I forgot to pay for at the checkout as they dangled lightly from my hand. We're well on oour way home by this time and the thought of going back to explain - English to Greek - that we need to get the peppeers weighed, but no, the rest is paid for, is just too much.
Monday, January 17/2011
The promised rain arrives, somewhat short of torrential, but persists all day, enough that Jane calls Maggi to cancel attendance at the (walking not running contingent) hash we had meant to go to in Pyla. Just as well as the roads would have been all mud. So mostly indoors and in the evening M and I play Scrabble.
Rather depressing announcement from Tunisia that a "unity" coalition government has been formed. The depressing bit is that, while three opposition party leaders have been given cabinet positions in this interim administration, all the other ministries remain in the hands of those who held them under BenAli, including those most hated by the general public.
Rather depressing announcement from Tunisia that a "unity" coalition government has been formed. The depressing bit is that, while three opposition party leaders have been given cabinet positions in this interim administration, all the other ministries remain in the hands of those who held them under BenAli, including those most hated by the general public.
Monday, 17 January 2011
Sunday, January 16/2011
We go to 9:30 Mass, following on the way a man and woman about our age who walk separately, she close to a block ahead, but sit together. A dispute or simply an unresolved debate on how quickly it was necessary to walk to be on time?
Tunisia still in a state of turmoil, with chaos the worst in Tunis but also in other locations, with fires destroying the Tunis train station as well as supermarkets owned by the Ben Ali extended family and some police stations (the police having the reputation of frequently being in the presidential pocket, while the army enjoys popular trust and respect). Most distressingly, the prison in Monastir has been torched, causing the death of more than forty prisoners. Curfews are in effect and many tourists have been evacuated. It does seem that demonstrators (and of course bystanders) are no longer being met by live ammunition at the hands of the authorities, though there is still shooting and looting, especially in Tunis and the presidential guard still seems to be fighting a rearguard action which, one assumes, must be doomed.
Tunisia still in a state of turmoil, with chaos the worst in Tunis but also in other locations, with fires destroying the Tunis train station as well as supermarkets owned by the Ben Ali extended family and some police stations (the police having the reputation of frequently being in the presidential pocket, while the army enjoys popular trust and respect). Most distressingly, the prison in Monastir has been torched, causing the death of more than forty prisoners. Curfews are in effect and many tourists have been evacuated. It does seem that demonstrators (and of course bystanders) are no longer being met by live ammunition at the hands of the authorities, though there is still shooting and looting, especially in Tunis and the presidential guard still seems to be fighting a rearguard action which, one assumes, must be doomed.
Saturday, January 15/2011
Lovely and sunny. Nothing we need at market, so we take advantage of the morning sun angle to have coffee at the little café right on the beach, new last year. Hypnotic watching the waves rolling in as we enjoy the coffee. Stop on the way back at Carrefour, where I run into Elsa who`s buying pet food, and at Prinos, the greengrocer, which has a number of specials - mushrooms at 2 euros a kilo, carrots at 39 cents a kilo, tomatoes at 29 cents a kilo, bananas at 49 cents a kilo - so I end up with much more than the large leaf lettuce I came for *which was only 20 cents). And everything fresh.
Maggi to dinner in the evening. We have chicken breasts from Carrefour - beautiful, fresh, and without a gram of fat - and bulgur, with stuffed mushrooms as a starter. Nice relaxed evening. No actual dining table here, but we make do with a combination of the coffee table and the little patio table. It`s been warm enough here that it`s quite late in the evening before anyone even thinks of turning on the heat if the day has been sunny.
Maggi to dinner in the evening. We have chicken breasts from Carrefour - beautiful, fresh, and without a gram of fat - and bulgur, with stuffed mushrooms as a starter. Nice relaxed evening. No actual dining table here, but we make do with a combination of the coffee table and the little patio table. It`s been warm enough here that it`s quite late in the evening before anyone even thinks of turning on the heat if the day has been sunny.
Friday, January 14/2011
M and I out to the shop at the British base as she looks for a gift. I impressed by the number of UK newspapers available, most Thursday's and one today's. Now, though, it's such a pleasure to be able to read the Guardian and the Independent online.
Very interesting developments in Tunisia as the student riots have their culmination in President Ben Ali, and presumably his deeply unpopular family, leaving the country. A precedent in the Arab world, but by no means clear yet as to the future of the country. Text fro Jenny saying "Good work in Tunisia - now revealed." Don't know if it's relevant but we were in the Soviet Union two weeks before it fell.
Very interesting developments in Tunisia as the student riots have their culmination in President Ben Ali, and presumably his deeply unpopular family, leaving the country. A precedent in the Arab world, but by no means clear yet as to the future of the country. Text fro Jenny saying "Good work in Tunisia - now revealed." Don't know if it's relevant but we were in the Soviet Union two weeks before it fell.
Thursday, January 13/2011
Very windy morning so not much action on the waterfront. Not cold though.
In the evening we go with Maggi to Vlachos Taverna on the Dhekelia Road and meet up with Jane and Bill and Elsa and Harry for a meal. It is, as they say, the way Cyprus restaurants used to be. A traditional menu, from which J and I order the mixed kebab. The main dishes are good and come with large homemade chips. Equally impressive, though, are the extras that the waiter brings beforehand, two of each for the seven of us. There are large bowls of country salad with feta and warm pita bread, as well as smaller dishes of pilaf, kohlrabi sticks, pickled beetroot and a savoury mixture of egg and sautéed onion. We could have made a whole meal before the entrées come.
Good conversation too. J is interested in some of the social and political observations. For example we had noted that in the past few years increasing numbers of buildings, such as the police station and town hall, have been ceasing the embarrassingly colonial practice of flying the Greek flag beside the Cypriot one, turning instead to the EU flag. According to Bill and Harry this is in response to direct EU pressure to stop the inappropriate use of another country's flag. They also confirm J's assessment of Cyprus as a tribal society, saying that if a Cypriot owes you money you are unlikely to geet it because he probably also owes others with much closer claims of loyalty and kinship. In fact even shopping patterns are determined by these claims, with families shopping in stores owned by those with such ties. A Cypriot, they say, will buy a car only from a dealer with whom he has a relationship, rather than comparing a number of quotes, but if he brings a new buyer to his friend or relation he will get a kickback. An interesting evening.
In the evening we go with Maggi to Vlachos Taverna on the Dhekelia Road and meet up with Jane and Bill and Elsa and Harry for a meal. It is, as they say, the way Cyprus restaurants used to be. A traditional menu, from which J and I order the mixed kebab. The main dishes are good and come with large homemade chips. Equally impressive, though, are the extras that the waiter brings beforehand, two of each for the seven of us. There are large bowls of country salad with feta and warm pita bread, as well as smaller dishes of pilaf, kohlrabi sticks, pickled beetroot and a savoury mixture of egg and sautéed onion. We could have made a whole meal before the entrées come.
Good conversation too. J is interested in some of the social and political observations. For example we had noted that in the past few years increasing numbers of buildings, such as the police station and town hall, have been ceasing the embarrassingly colonial practice of flying the Greek flag beside the Cypriot one, turning instead to the EU flag. According to Bill and Harry this is in response to direct EU pressure to stop the inappropriate use of another country's flag. They also confirm J's assessment of Cyprus as a tribal society, saying that if a Cypriot owes you money you are unlikely to geet it because he probably also owes others with much closer claims of loyalty and kinship. In fact even shopping patterns are determined by these claims, with families shopping in stores owned by those with such ties. A Cypriot, they say, will buy a car only from a dealer with whom he has a relationship, rather than comparing a number of quotes, but if he brings a new buyer to his friend or relation he will get a kickback. An interesting evening.
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Wednesday, January 12/2011
Head tax pursuit part two. Mainly in order to ascertain the facts for ourselves. This morning the hotel inspecion office is open - bright and so new you can smell the paint. The woman we speak to is friendly but we fall, she says, into a grey area - CTO cosiders tourists in hotels to be those staying less than a month. We're here for three months, but not exactly long term residents under tenant reguations. Also, they have no information on municipal taxes - the town hall would know.
The town hall is down by the waterfront - above the KFC/ There's a small booth as one enters labelled information, but it seems that not many people visit the municipal offices seeking information in English. When J asks about taxes he's told where to find a taxi - but eventually waved over to the lift. Third floor.
We're referred to Mrs. Androula, with the charming Cypriot habit of using the prefix in a semi-formal way before a first name. We only want information so that we know exactly what the situation is. She's more than sympathetic and makes some phone calls as we enjoy the amazing sea view from her office window. The situation is that there was, before 2010, a head tax payable to the municipality. Because of the financial crisis it was suspended for 2010. The assumption is that it will be reinstituted for 2011, but this has not yet happened, nor has the amount been set officially. By the end of January there should be a definite answer. Between the calls she orders coffee and gives us the 2011 Larnaca calendar, each page with a separate historical photograph of the city. We chat and J asks about her family, a son still at the gymnasium (high school) and one who was married the day after Christmas. Impulsively she takes two round wrapped cakes, each about the size of an apple, though a little flatter. They're from the wedding and she's had them here for colleagues. A totally lovely encounter.
So Maggi, up in the afternoon for a drink followed by tea and the cakes shared out. They're very rich, filled with marzipan and coated with very liberal amounts of icing sugar. Delicious, and two are more than enough for three people.
The town hall is down by the waterfront - above the KFC/ There's a small booth as one enters labelled information, but it seems that not many people visit the municipal offices seeking information in English. When J asks about taxes he's told where to find a taxi - but eventually waved over to the lift. Third floor.
We're referred to Mrs. Androula, with the charming Cypriot habit of using the prefix in a semi-formal way before a first name. We only want information so that we know exactly what the situation is. She's more than sympathetic and makes some phone calls as we enjoy the amazing sea view from her office window. The situation is that there was, before 2010, a head tax payable to the municipality. Because of the financial crisis it was suspended for 2010. The assumption is that it will be reinstituted for 2011, but this has not yet happened, nor has the amount been set officially. By the end of January there should be a definite answer. Between the calls she orders coffee and gives us the 2011 Larnaca calendar, each page with a separate historical photograph of the city. We chat and J asks about her family, a son still at the gymnasium (high school) and one who was married the day after Christmas. Impulsively she takes two round wrapped cakes, each about the size of an apple, though a little flatter. They're from the wedding and she's had them here for colleagues. A totally lovely encounter.
So Maggi, up in the afternoon for a drink followed by tea and the cakes shared out. They're very rich, filled with marzipan and coated with very liberal amounts of icing sugar. Delicious, and two are more than enough for three people.
Tuesday, January 11/2010
Mr. Andreas, owner of the Sunflower, has announced a slight rise in our rent, generously allowing Kikki, the second shift manager to break the news. Apparently the municipality has imposed a new head tax (43 cents per person per night?) and so it is being passed on. There is a bit of vagueness about the explanation, and it does seem odd that a tax would be imposed without warning - though not impossible, and it does occur to us that it's midsummer before the Town of Sioux Lookout can say what the annual property tax will be and then it's due almost immediately.
Maggi has the address and phone number for the Cyprus Tourist Organisation's hotel inspection branch, left over from a dispute in which they supported her in not paying retroactively for a rate rise. It's apparently located a couple of blocks away above a bar called the Albatross. So we check it our but find no sign of it there. However the regular tourist office is happy to redirect us to the skyscraping new Nicolaides building.
On the way there we stop and chat with Vasken Terzian, the excellent former manager of the Kition Hotel. He's still working at the little shop there but the building itself is scheduled to come down in March. We tell him, truthfully, that the Kition was by far the best managed hotel we've stayed at in Cyprus and he seems a little embarrassed but pleased.
Then on to the Nicolaides building. It's tall, cleanly modern in design and, it seems, almost empty. Apparently, so Mr.Terzian says, bought by Arabs (Qatar, Bahrain?) who seem to feel no urgency about filling it. Of course money laundering springs to mind. The CTO office is on the second floor - but not open.
Lovely film, Little Traitor, on at eleven. It's Israeli (made in 2007) and chronicles a friendship between an occupying British soldier and a fiercely pro-independence young Jewish boy.
Maggi has the address and phone number for the Cyprus Tourist Organisation's hotel inspection branch, left over from a dispute in which they supported her in not paying retroactively for a rate rise. It's apparently located a couple of blocks away above a bar called the Albatross. So we check it our but find no sign of it there. However the regular tourist office is happy to redirect us to the skyscraping new Nicolaides building.
On the way there we stop and chat with Vasken Terzian, the excellent former manager of the Kition Hotel. He's still working at the little shop there but the building itself is scheduled to come down in March. We tell him, truthfully, that the Kition was by far the best managed hotel we've stayed at in Cyprus and he seems a little embarrassed but pleased.
Then on to the Nicolaides building. It's tall, cleanly modern in design and, it seems, almost empty. Apparently, so Mr.Terzian says, bought by Arabs (Qatar, Bahrain?) who seem to feel no urgency about filling it. Of course money laundering springs to mind. The CTO office is on the second floor - but not open.
Lovely film, Little Traitor, on at eleven. It's Israeli (made in 2007) and chronicles a friendship between an occupying British soldier and a fiercely pro-independence young Jewish boy.
Monday, January 10/2011
This is boycott food day, as proposed (but not well organised) by the Green Party. It's the first day of the new 5% VAT being charged on food and medicine. The usual tax rate is 15% but until now food and drugs have been exempt. Itès as regressive a tax as they come, hitting the poor and pensioners disproportionately as seen fit by the current Communist led coalition. And the explanation that the over-large civil service has a COLA and won't be affected is designed to enrage. So we've joined the one day food purchase boycott - clearly a symbolic protest only. Though J, who goes to the supermarkets to pick up the weekly advertisements, says there's little sign of anyone else boycotting as throngs take advantage of the compensatory sales mounted in order to overcome any slowdown in buying caused by the new tax.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Sunday, January 9/2011
Brunch and newspaper (Cyprus Mail). Then walk on the beach in the afternoon. So few of the lovely old traditional buildings left in Larnaca. Each time we're out J says he must remember to take the camera as one more gaping hole appears. And so many apartment hotels closing. The Athene in its 5th year of renovations and a "for sale" sign drooping from its outer wall, the Kition closed and the furniture and crockery for sale, the Sun Hall closed for renovations. And others that have simply disappeared, some like the Four Lanterns literally. The renovations are not always aesthetic improvements either. The Eleonora's heavy black framework and trestles round the glassed-in balconies are not only untraditional - they're ugly and industrial.
M stops on her way back from Chris and Gloria's to share with us some lovely big oranges from Chris's plantation.
M stops on her way back from Chris and Gloria's to share with us some lovely big oranges from Chris's plantation.
Saturday, January 8/2011
Down to the market. Stop for Cypriot coffee with Maggi at our regular café. Pick up some grapes, rather out of season now. In the evening M treats us to dinner at the Chinese restaurant opposite. We knew it was popular as there is never any parking available here at night as we're crowded out by customers. Intriguing glass threshold with fish swimming underneath. We haven't reserved but we're early by Cypriot standards, about 7:20, and a table is produced from nowhere with smiles. Nice service and good food too.
Friday, January 7/2011
The theory is a thunder shower - the actuality another sunny day. Probably the warmest December and January we've experienced.
Friday, 7 January 2011
Thursday, January 6/2011
Epiphany - which always feels like a bigger feast day in Cyprus than Christmas, though perhaps only because the celebrations are more public and less familial. We go down with Maggi to the town pier where the archbishop, having come in a parade more military than episcopal from St. Lazarus Church (traditionally believed to be the burial place of the Biblical Lazarus) throws a cross into the sea. The teenage boys compete for the honour of retrieving it, diving into the water. And it always is retrieved safely, having been prudently tied to a cord. The Greek Orthodox Church is definitely in Church Militant mode, as the archbishop is accompanied by soldiers carrying high powered automatic rifles as well as cadets of both sexes, some of the girls carrying daisies. The red-coated military band is nice but there's a bit too much awareness of the aggressive political role played by the Cypriot Church.
But it's a lovely day, sunny and warm, and the road along the beach has been blocked off for the parade so the throngs are spilling from the pier and the promenade into the street. The pier is strewn with the aromatic sprays of leaves that we can never identify, and we gather some to bring home to our flats, Maggi retrieving a particularly attractive bunch from under a young man's feet.
Stop on the way home at a new open air café in Ermou Square and Maggi treats us to beer at a sunny café table. Shocking price but it does come with a plate of mixed nuts. It`s busy, though, and everyone in holiday mood for the end of the Christmas season.
M to dinner here in the evening. J has done beef more or less stifado style, making a sauce for it with the marinade wine and caramelised onions. And we`ve saved the New Year`s bottle of sparkling wine. Nice having M in the same building so that no one has to head out home after a visit.
But it's a lovely day, sunny and warm, and the road along the beach has been blocked off for the parade so the throngs are spilling from the pier and the promenade into the street. The pier is strewn with the aromatic sprays of leaves that we can never identify, and we gather some to bring home to our flats, Maggi retrieving a particularly attractive bunch from under a young man's feet.
Stop on the way home at a new open air café in Ermou Square and Maggi treats us to beer at a sunny café table. Shocking price but it does come with a plate of mixed nuts. It`s busy, though, and everyone in holiday mood for the end of the Christmas season.
M to dinner here in the evening. J has done beef more or less stifado style, making a sauce for it with the marinade wine and caramelised onions. And we`ve saved the New Year`s bottle of sparkling wine. Nice having M in the same building so that no one has to head out home after a visit.
Wednesday, January 5/2011
It's not only heat - it's light as well. The sun rises here a little before seven at this time of year and sets a little after four-thirty. Maggi, just arrived from Norway, contrasts it with waiting until nearly nine for dawn.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Tuesday, January 4/2011
Adding insult to injury: first Australian floods cover an area greater than Germany and France combined and then people are asked to stay out of the waters as they're infested with poisonous snakes and crocodiles.
The Christmas music continues in the supermarkets until Epiphany, official end to the season in secular as well as religious circles. So we're not surprised to hear the carols in Carrefour, but a little startled when a hearty baritone Faith of our Fathers is slipped in between them.The Christmas music continues in the supermarkets until Epiphany, official end to the season in secular as well as religious circles. So we're not surprised to hear the carols in Carrefour, but a little startled when a hearty baritone Faith of our Fathers is slipped in between them.
Maggi arrives from Norway; hungry, tired and trailing minor catastrophes. The hired car that she picked up at the airport turns out tohave only bright headlights or running lights. And, much worse, the flat she had booked last spring, immediately under ours, has been reassigned to Norwegians. Brandy, followed by hot lentil soup, is a bit of a destressor. And better, as we're nicely into the refills, Kikki phones from reception to say that she has spoken to Mr. Andreas (she'd previously said that Maggi would have to do that herself tomorrow) and that she can move to the third floor in the morning. So, relax and catch up on ten months worth of news.
The Christmas music continues in the supermarkets until Epiphany, official end to the season in secular as well as religious circles. So we're not surprised to hear the carols in Carrefour, but a little startled when a hearty baritone Faith of our Fathers is slipped in between them.The Christmas music continues in the supermarkets until Epiphany, official end to the season in secular as well as religious circles. So we're not surprised to hear the carols in Carrefour, but a little startled when a hearty baritone Faith of our Fathers is slipped in between them.
Maggi arrives from Norway; hungry, tired and trailing minor catastrophes. The hired car that she picked up at the airport turns out tohave only bright headlights or running lights. And, much worse, the flat she had booked last spring, immediately under ours, has been reassigned to Norwegians. Brandy, followed by hot lentil soup, is a bit of a destressor. And better, as we're nicely into the refills, Kikki phones from reception to say that she has spoken to Mr. Andreas (she'd previously said that Maggi would have to do that herself tomorrow) and that she can move to the third floor in the morning. So, relax and catch up on ten months worth of news.
Monday, January 3/2011
Coming back from Lidl we get caught in a shower and shelter underneath the projecting roof of a bar, closed and padlocked for the season. But it doesn't really blow over. Harder rain is followed by pea-sized hail and when that lets up we head for home and dry clothes. Rains all day (as J says at 9:30 in the evening, it's a good thing we didn't stay under the shelter until it stopped). But at home we're pretty well supplied with reading material. And we're also lucky in that the presence of the British forces means that we have BBC World radio all day on AM and several hours worth of a BBC4 and 5 mix on FM. We'd miss this quite a lot anywhere else. Well, almost anywhere. A quick think about other spots with British bases. Afghanistan? The Falklands? Iraq still? There's Gibraltar, but it's pretty expensive. A definite plus for Cyprus.
Sunday, January 2/2011
Down to the beach today, and the promenade is busy. It's sunny and we arrive while the Cypriot dance perforance is still on, as the men, in traditional costume are doing a dance that involves balancingstacks of glasses on their heads. It's more balance than dance, but impressive still as they get up to a dozenglasses before they finish, though our suspicion that the first glass is fixed to the cloth head covering is confirmed when they take these off. The performance ends with a circular dance drawing in volunteers from the (mostly tourist) audience.
Sit for a while on one of the promenade benches waatching the great parade of passers by, many with children, some with dogs on leads, one boy with a tiny puppy in his arms. It's a gathering place for locals as well as foreigners and a showplace for Christmas toys and fashions, with little girls in sparkly silver Christmas boots and mothers in impossibly spiky heels. We're sitting opposite a booth with a large and impressive display of prizes to be won by playing a small pinball-type game - tickets one euro each (or more expensive ones for a second stall featuring prizes like large bottles of liquor). J's guess is that the best prizes are virtually unwinnable, but we do see a couple of successes with the second class prizes, though most are things I'd pay not to have to display. A woman chooses a large, grey plastic pig, apparently a garden decoration as it's taken from the section including giant plastic snails and gnomes. And there's a family with three children who take turns at the pinball and head off with a four foot high pink panther bundled up and peering out uncomfortably from under the father's arm.
Sit for a while on one of the promenade benches waatching the great parade of passers by, many with children, some with dogs on leads, one boy with a tiny puppy in his arms. It's a gathering place for locals as well as foreigners and a showplace for Christmas toys and fashions, with little girls in sparkly silver Christmas boots and mothers in impossibly spiky heels. We're sitting opposite a booth with a large and impressive display of prizes to be won by playing a small pinball-type game - tickets one euro each (or more expensive ones for a second stall featuring prizes like large bottles of liquor). J's guess is that the best prizes are virtually unwinnable, but we do see a couple of successes with the second class prizes, though most are things I'd pay not to have to display. A woman chooses a large, grey plastic pig, apparently a garden decoration as it's taken from the section including giant plastic snails and gnomes. And there's a family with three children who take turns at the pinball and head off with a four foot high pink panther bundled up and peering out uncomfortably from under the father's arm.
Saturday, January 1/2011
New Year's Day, and pretty quiet. We'd intended to go down to the beach after brunch, but it showers in the afternoon so we settle for New Year's television - the Vienna Philharmonic's New Year's Day concert and Breakfast at Tiffany's. And work out this is the elventh New Year's we've spent in Cyprus, following eleven that we spent together in Sioux Lookout.
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Friday, December 31/2010
New Year's Eve. We're out at midday and pass several of the traditional barbecues held outside workplaces on the last day of the year. It's an all male ritual and it's dying out. Ten years ago, or even less, these were everywhere, with generous amounts of wine, halloui, sausages and even lamb, chicken and whisky - bread and salad greens on the side. And it was the custom to offer plates to customers or evento hail passersby to join in the celebration. Now you see much smaller gatherings - four or five men by a shop front - though one group we pass has a couple of half gallons of wine near their grill. Another has taken advanrage of a street corner just past our bakery that is equipped with two park benches, allowing the men to barbecue and eat in comfort. And in the air the smell of briquettes as people light up the grills on their balconies as well.
Our intent is to go down to the beach for midnight where there will be fireworks and free wine, beer and nuts as well as a concert. We wouldlnèt actually have stayed for the concert - very late, very loud, and standing only, but it's a nice atmosphere, with everyone from babies to the elderly, locals, foreign workers and tourists, and then the fireworks. But by eleven thirty we're feeling pretty warm and comfortable inside (though it's only dropped to about 15 degrees outside!) and inertia wins the day - not, one hopes, our symbolic mode for the coming year. So we pour a wee dram and watch the fireworks from the couch in our own sitting room,actually a pretty good view despite one building of more than ideal height. They only last about three minutes. Surely, we are agreed, it was longer than that on previous years.
Our intent is to go down to the beach for midnight where there will be fireworks and free wine, beer and nuts as well as a concert. We wouldlnèt actually have stayed for the concert - very late, very loud, and standing only, but it's a nice atmosphere, with everyone from babies to the elderly, locals, foreign workers and tourists, and then the fireworks. But by eleven thirty we're feeling pretty warm and comfortable inside (though it's only dropped to about 15 degrees outside!) and inertia wins the day - not, one hopes, our symbolic mode for the coming year. So we pour a wee dram and watch the fireworks from the couch in our own sitting room,actually a pretty good view despite one building of more than ideal height. They only last about three minutes. Surely, we are agreed, it was longer than that on previous years.
Thursday, December 30/2010
Supermarkets are a great deal closer to their famers' market origins. Thus Prinos, the greengrocer's - which runs to things other than fruit and veg - sells rabbit, skinned and all but whole and with the head still on, covered with cling wrap but looking entirely too much like what it is - a small animal curled up in sleep position. And across the road at Carrefour, the international French supermarket a bird of some description (we can't tell from the Greek) retains not only large talons, grasping for a last chance at life, but a small rather flattened red head. Not only off-putting but remarkably poor value, these bits, for the five euros plus per kilo that's fair enough for the meatier parts.
There's a feistier attitude on the part of the customers as well. So in Prinos I meet an old man grinning as he walks down an aisle with a slice of bread and several pieces of sausage in his hand - more or less an unassembled sandwich. Looking for the source of his lunch, I find it on the deli counter. He's simply taken a large piece of bread and a few of the bigger chunks of meat from the free sample plate. J later sees a woman at the same plate taking handfuls for the child with her, scorning the toothpicks provided and scrabbling through the offerings. And in Carrefour an old woman in black is energetically bashing the stem part off a large bunch of broccoli, leaving herself with only the flower ends for heer euro a kilo. Seeing my eyebrows creeping upwards she laughs gleefully. I tell J that I'm surprised she had the strength to break such a large stem, but he says that she whammed it against the edge of the bin with practised skill - she's done this before!
There's a feistier attitude on the part of the customers as well. So in Prinos I meet an old man grinning as he walks down an aisle with a slice of bread and several pieces of sausage in his hand - more or less an unassembled sandwich. Looking for the source of his lunch, I find it on the deli counter. He's simply taken a large piece of bread and a few of the bigger chunks of meat from the free sample plate. J later sees a woman at the same plate taking handfuls for the child with her, scorning the toothpicks provided and scrabbling through the offerings. And in Carrefour an old woman in black is energetically bashing the stem part off a large bunch of broccoli, leaving herself with only the flower ends for heer euro a kilo. Seeing my eyebrows creeping upwards she laughs gleefully. I tell J that I'm surprised she had the strength to break such a large stem, but he says that she whammed it against the edge of the bin with practised skill - she's done this before!
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