Thursday, January 31/2013

Overhear Mr Andreas telling M that she can stay here at the hotel as long as she wishes - for free he adds, in a gracious burst of generosity. Suspect he would be appalled if she accepted.

Wednesday, January 30/2013

M's last night so we have her to dinner - spaghetti with mushroom and tomato sauce and our remaining bottle of sparkling wine, in recognition of her starting a new life as a Cyprus resident.

Tuesday, January 29/2013

We go with M to her new flat with the heavy things - a suitcase, the microwave, and a large and somewhat insecure cardboard box with things like wine, as well as the outdoor drying rack. Flat now with carpets, lamps, etc and beginning to look quite like home.

Monday, January 28/2013

Maggi to the door with what constitutes exciting news in our small world. About a month ago Euronews began broadcasting its 24 hour news in Greek instead of English. It's not a great channel, but it was English and always available - a bit less critical in days of wifi, but wifi is only available in the lobby. In any case it is, as people were happy to point out to us, a Greek speaking country and the channel appears to be government owned and certainly not satellite. So there it was - or so we thought until Maggi discovered how to switch the audio on the remote to English - and there we have it.

Sunday, January 27/2013

From the Cyprus Mail on Sunday: 30 protected wild birds were found by Larnaca police and game officials in two restaurants. Apparently restaurants frequently offer songbirds as delicacies in spite of their being protected. Either more upscale restaurants than we frequent or offered discreetly to local afficionados. Fortunately for us. Though in China there seemed to be no bird too small or delicate to appear on the plate, and in Vietnam one restaurant we visited in Hanoi had a menu that looked like a list of endangered species.

Saturday, January 26/2013

Coffee at the little café next to the place where we both get our hair cut. Maggi has a frappé and J and I Cyprus coffees. Beer, as usual, little more than Nescafé. M has cycled over to her new flat by way of delivering her bike there, preparatory to her move next week,and then walked in to join us. She says twenty minutes, so not at all bad and actually fractionally shorter than our walk to St Lazarus.

We finish reading aloud The Provincial Lady Visits the USSR. I discovered Diary of a Provincial Lady, by E M Delafield, last winter and loved it Circa 1930, it's the lightly fictionalised diary of a middle class woman living iin rural Devonshire and balancing domestic difficulties, family life, friends and unpaid bills with wit and disarming honesty. Apparently it's never been out of print, and was followed by a number of sequels, including the Soviet Union visit we've been reading. This one particularly interesting for its view of the Soviet Union in Stalinist times, only twety years after the revolution - and, incidentally, describing visits to places that we went to ourselves in 1991, in the last weeks of the Soviet Union. Delafield died much too young, in 1943 at the age of 53, which, in a sadly ironic way, has been our good fortune, as books in ost countries are no longer under copyright 70 years after the author's death, so as of 2013 it has become easy, free and legal to download her books onto the book reader. Actually, the Provincial Lady books set in England are equally interesting, in their reflection of a world in which domestic circumstances have changed so much and human nature and relationships so little.

Friday, January 25/2013

Drinking coffee on the waterfront and watching the palm trees blowing in the breeze and the intensely blue Mediterranean. Thinking about the deep freeze at home, feel guilty about even mentioning it. Palm trees here are often planted right in the middle of the sidewalk, which provides nice shade but most be an incredible nuisance to people with prams or wheelchairs.

Thursday, January 24/2013

Mr Andreas has invited the long-stay residents to a small barbecue at one. Maggi and I have taken, unkindly perhaps, to calling him Uriah Heep (after Dickens' overly 'umble character), as even in issuing the invitation he is almost wringing his hands in apology for interrupting my low key web surfing. It's kind, though, and before one we can smell the pork souvla cooking - knuckles of pork with meat of varying tenderness attached, finger food for all but the most fastidious. there are also chips and village bread and a large bowl of salad, as well as wine and beer (Coke too, but I don't see anyone drinking it). It's  held in the courtyard by the swimming pool. (Have never seen anyone swimming in the pool, but it's shirtsleeve weather and one could). The long-stayers are mostly Norwegian, and M, of course, speaks Norwegian, having lived in Norway since the 80's. but many of the Norwegians speak quite good English, and we visit with Knut and Rigmar (sp?), the couple from the studio next door, both of them artists. Amateur? Don't know , but they've spent time working at a studio in Florence and are interesting to talk to. Knut, his wife says, learned English at school, but she lived in the country where it was't offered and had to teach herself - making an excellent job of it.Really, the occasion would have been a pleasure with the drink and chat even if there were no food. As J pours my first glass of wine into the light plastic cup, Phitos backs into me, spilling wine on my hand and the paving stones. Wouldn't mind except for looking tipsy before having a drink but no one pays any heed at all, least of all Phitos who seems quite unaware of having done it.

Wednesday, January 23/2013

We wake in the night in the middle of a rather good segment that BBC5 provides as part of the Up All Night program. A scientist gives bits of newish or obscure information and answers questions on a wide variety of scientific topics that are phoned or texted or emailed in. Tonight the scientist is explaining the success of faecal transplants in cases of C Difficile. It sounds, of course, both disgusting and improbable, but I happen to have seen an article on same today in The Atlantic, and there seem to have been some brilliant results.

This is followed by a man phoning in who sounds highly educated and who is explaining in some technical detail about nanobacteria, and going into further detail about medical implications. It begins by sounding interesting and I take him quite seriously even on the curative possibilities of couch grass, until he says that his mother was on antibiotics for two and a half years before he was born (OK, plausible) for reasons he can't say over the radio (what, distinctly odd). Then he finishes with the information that he listens to the radio at night to keep his mind off the abductors. A nutter!

Tuesday, January 22/2013

J for a haircut today - finally no queue. Interestingly (well, minorly so) all haircutting establishments are closed on Thursdays - tradition or law? After Christmas sales used to be regulated by law - couldn't begin until a particular date - but that seems to have disappeared. Thanks to the EU? And still in the only in Cyprus category, there is local parking. Locals park in "no parking" zones and, chronically on (and blocking) sidewalks, the general understanding being that the police are reluctant to upset things by handing out fines to important people or even friends of friends. this morning J hears an agitated policeman addressing a Cypriot sitting at an outdoor café. Eventually the man rises and walks slowly back to his misparked car nearly a block away and moves it to comply. No ticket and a hard job persuading the coffee drinker to take it seriously. And did the policeman know not only whose car it was but where he was to be found?

Israelis vote today, with the almost certain result being a Netanyahu coalition that moves even further to the right.

Monday, January 21/2013

Reading Tony Benn's memoirs on the ebook reader. A nice antidote to Tony Blair's memoirs, which we're still reading aloud, and covering the same period. Amazingly, Benn, who will be 88 in April, is still on the lecture circuit in a low key sort of way. Two talks currently scheduled for this year. The one in April is in Nottingham, not impossible, but not easy either.

Sunday, January 20/2013

Who says that we don't get any Canadian news in the winter? Well, actually in the electronic age, we do. When we began travelling in the winter we made use of internet cafés, sharing the facilities with teenage boys addicted to online games and often using strange keyboards that distorted Anglo touch typing bizarrely. Now, though, with netbook, tablet and wifi in the lobby we have, really, as much Canadian news as we have time for, despite the fact that increasing amounts of it hides behind paywalls. However, this morning`s Canadian news is on the front page of the Cyprus Sunday Mail and in large print: Canada put 'wrong' maple leaf on new C$20 bill.

Saturday, January 19/2013

Down to Lidl's in the morning, lured by Australian Shiraz at €2 a bottle. Nearly sold out, but we settle for two bottles, cautious about probable quality (dinner later proves that it's very nice and we should have bought more - one day sale).

Go with M to Aradippou to pick up a second lamp for her flat, and continue in search of a coffee spot in Aradippou, which still has a village centre, though it's sprawled into Larnaca suburb. but the centre seems relatively dead, though there's an attractive church. Where are the old men playing backgammon outside the village café? We do eventually find a coffee shop but it's Nescafé only - in fact mostly young people with cokes. Is there a café around? Yes, straight ahead. We continue, and ask again. Yes, says a young woman, right in here. There's a door just past the hairdresser's and inside a couple of tables, although the interior is shared with the hairdresser's. We order Cypriot coffee and it comes with a plate of biscuits which the woman says she has made herself. Very nice. But when we go to pay they refuse. No, no says the man. Genuine village hospitality. But was it a café at all? (No sign, no menus, no board with prices, only two tables) or just the hairdresser and her family being very kind?

Friday, January 18/2013

Maggi brings home small Turkish pizzas made by a young woman in her Greek language class and kindly shares them with us, along with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Thursday, January 17/2013

Presidential election campaigns continue against a backdrop of Cyprus's wait for EU bailout, with fiscal requirement anything up to €17.5 billion. Much debate as to accuracy of final figures, apportioning of blame, need for privatisation, etc.

Wednesday, January 16/2013

Theory is that J will go for overdue haircut (length only somewhat disguised by curls) and then meet me at 10 at the tourist information building for the walking tour of Larnaca. Haircut doesn't materialize due to surprising length of queue. So we meet at the tourist information and debate whether we actually want to go - settled by my saying yes to a woman who demands to know whether we're there for the walk.

It's not bad, overall. Led by a woman with copper coloured nailpolish and an engaging style, though a tendency to rhetorical questions, of the sort one feels silly either answering or looking like one doesn't know the answers to, and a habit of exaggerated repetition. Probably occupational hazards. It's a pretty international group - a Russian couple, a Finn, a Mexican man, a Peruvian girl, and a tall American from LA who has been travelling the world for a year and a half and has just landed here yesterday. Not horrifically political, although we do hear that the Turkish Cypriot North has left the city of Famagusta totally empty as a bargaining chip - imagine, she repeats it twice, the whole city. There is a vacant area of no access, but scarcely the whole city. We've been to Famagusta more than once, and indeed some of the others may have gone as well, as it's easy to book tours from the south, which makes the whole rhetoric somewhat ridiculous.

The tour heads along the waterfront and then up into the workshop area. On the street where carpentry and metalwork shops are side by side we see two enormous stills, one of them copper. Stills are used for distilling zivania, the local version of schnapps, and, more surprisingly, rose water, a standard ingredient in Cypriot baking. round the corner is a shop where the wool-like stuffing from flax is used to fill pillows and mattresses, made by the last artisan of his kind locally.

 And another veteran craftsman across the road makes very specialized wax images, to be used as votive offerings. In the shape of various organs and limbs, or even babies, they are made to present at church as an accompaniment to prayers for recovery from illness or for the birth of a child - and seem to have a history that goes well back into pagan times.  Apparently a woman praying to have a child will, if successful, name the infant after the patron saint of the church where the prayers were made. which would make one wish to choose the church with care, avoiding, for example, St Lazarus (which is on our route) and looking for a St Michael or St John in its place. The old man who makes the  images is 94 and looks much younger. He's asked for the secret of his successful aging and says that he eats sparingly, mostly fruit and vegetables with very little meat, hardly drinks alcohol, and is never jealous or angry. Even at 94, he's good-looking and on the wall is a large poster showing the son who has inherited the family talent for music (father is a violinist) and is a professional singer in Greece with a remarkable resemblance to Elvis.

Tuesday, January 15/2013

New sign at Carrefour stating that VAT increase is now in effect, and that in the case of a difference between the posted price and the checkout price the checkout price will prevail. Seems that VAT increases don't apply to food (or wine!) though, so our milk and olive paste are as marked.

Monday, January 13/2013

M and I join J down on the waterfront at McDonald's for coffee. Then J and I to the travel agency near St Lazarus Church re short break advertised in window - to Bucharest. Break necessary as well as desirable as we can only stay ninety days at a time on a Canadian passport. Can scarcely imagine how the agency is likely to continue in business. The girl (from whom we have had good service in the past) is clearly eager to leave (an appointment?) and the older man (manager?) sadly photocopies the Bucharest info, agrees that it is a good deal, but shakes his head over the suggestion of other possibilities. Not now, not without a long weekend, it would be possible but expensive. His worries about the expense precede our own and make it hard to work up much enthusiasm. Eventually he volunteers that Ryanair does fly to Chania, in Cretec from Paphos, but Ryanair itself doesn't engender much enthusiasm.

In the afternoon with Maggi to recommended store re carpet for her new flat. Carpets prove mostly garish (and has shag really come in again?) or too expensive. However, amazingly good price on glass and metal patio table with two chairs (€25, £20.70, $32.75CAD), which we shoehorn into the car. Then stop at a lighting store where M acquires a new bronzish floor lamp for reading. also fitted in to car, and all to flat.

J has cut his thumb on cracked bayonet style lightbulb, so persuade him to use small amount of vodka as disinfectant.

Sunday, January 13/2013

Sunday papers not the long read they would be in London, but still nice with brunch. Today's "only in Cyprus" offering: apartments with a common area must by law have an advisory committee of residents to administer it, which must be registered with the land office BUT the land office is refusing to accept such registrations. Hence poor maintenance, non-payment of communal fees, and other predictable problems with no apparent solution.

Saturday, January 12/2013

Maggi and Kiki and I have booked an excursion, a freebie put on by the Larnaca regional tourist bureau, taking us, we're told, to the villages of Lefkara and Tochni. We're not alone. The young Lithuanian men and some Russian women from our hotel go, and there are other pick up stops until the big touring coach is full - the last joiners a large contingent of Poles from the Flamingo hotel along Makenzy Beach.

Eleni, the guide, Maggi remembers from years back. She's quite good - informative, if a bit relentless, and not too badly distorting on the issue of Cypriot history. In Lefkara we're greeted outside the town hall with a happily brief speech and plastic glasses of wine, billed ominously as medium sweet but actually a bit like Dubonnet, slightly lemony and rather nice in an aperitif sort of way. It's accompanied by almonds - the freshest I've ever tasted, sweet and crunchy. Eleni takes us on a walk through the steep little streets and lanes, cobbled and so narrow that in places a little bridge, mini version of Venice's bridge of sighs, links two houses across a lane. Many of the houses have been beautifully restored but the weather is chilly enough that the women who make the lace for which the village is famed are mostly indoors and not working in their doorways. Maggi, Kiki and I have coffee a corner café with an attractive but relatively ineffectual fireplace, and Kiki produces from her handbag a bag of lovely biscuits her sister has baked.

Then off by coach to a restaurant where we see a demonstration of Cypriot breadmaking. Quite interesting: there's a sourdough style starter and a mixing bowl that is actually a rectangular trough, about two feet long, and the woman adds alternately warm water and flour. Traditionally, the guide says, mothers gave the starter to their daughters at marriage. Then the five loaves are put in the round indentations in a long board and left to rise before being baked on a pizza style paddle in a beehive-shaped outdoor oven. There's time for lunch, and M, K and a have moussaka, salad and a glass of red wine, and I tease Kiki about her "magic" handbag, from which she produces little sesame and nut confections at the end of our meal. Then return trip. My seatmate, Danuka, is from Krakow, here on a two week holiday with her husband.

Treats not over for the day, as we join M in her flat for g&t and meze - lovely little snacks including her excellent tzatziki and a very nice pickled herring.

Friday, January 11/2013

The Norwegians are arriving, a couple at a time, and we find ourselves smiling and greeting like old friends. Arvid and Eva next door are the first. After the dinner that Mr Andreas, the manager, treated us to last year we all feel that we know one another (well, the Norwegians already did). Many of them speak very good English and were we next-door-down-the-hall neighbours with any of them in, say, China, with no other westerners about we would socialize, but here they understandably have a better time speaking Norwegian.

Thursday, January 10/2013

J and I for a walk over to the warehouse - a discount store where almost everything is simply piled in boxes, many of them labelled €1.99. The warehouse itself is enormous and the variety of goods is huge as well - cheap Christmas ornaments, detergents, radios, shoes, cushions, flyswatters, plastic toys, scent, office furniture, umbrellas, clothing, bags of sugar, tools, pressure washers, carpets, cases of beer and soft drinks, clocks, instant coffee, crockery, bottles of wine, reading glasses, and many etceteras. The list could go on endlessly. Much of it is cheaply made and not everything is a bargain. The flyswatters at €1.99 are no better than Carrefour's at 80 cents. Some things, like the pressure washers, are justifiably expensive. Others, like the bottles of wine at €1.29, are probably worth no more than they cost. And there's the old trick of selling things in unnecessary quantities: does anyone really want three mousetraps - better built or not? Still, and interesting place - and vast.

Kiki, in reception, says that there has been snow not only in the Troodos Mountains but in Paphos, where schools and the airport have closed. Of course it doesn't take a lot of snow to shut things down when people don't have snow tyres, equipment, or driving skills to deal with it.

Wednesday, January 9/2013

Unseasonably cold weather for Cyprus, though not wet. Three degrees when we get up - virtually unheard of here. And windy. Struggles up into the double digits though. And should be in the teens by the weekend. Off to get an overdue haircut, having avoided the queue at our regular spot over the holiday season. No queue at all on this chilly midweek morning in ordinary time. I've taken the bookreader but it's not needed. And the hairdresser gets to take his time. I've never had a bad haircut here, and the prices have crept up over the years, but not very far (haircut €10, £8.15, $12.90 CAD). Men`s less, I think.

Stop at the farther Smart discount shop on the way home. There`s a sign by the door where people leave shopping baskets, etc - though not enjoined to do so - telling customers that management is not responsible for "missing private things." Sounds both scary and slightly indecent.

At Metro someone behind me says "Excuse me" and I obligingly move to the side of the aisle, expecting a shopping cart squeezing through. But no, it's Zoe, the relief receptionist from the Athene Hotel where we used to stay six years - and further - back. Our favourite of the many places here, with a southern exposure and stunning sea views, closed in order to make luxury apartments. Though surely they must have lost money in the process, as they are only just reaching the point of selling their new flats now. Zoe isn't working any longer, which may be a comment on the economy, but she is bus, babysitting the third and soon the fourth grandchild.

Tuesday, January 8/2010

Looking at the rest of the season - and at my passport, which expires in September. Many, if not most, countries require one to have a passport with six months left on it, so our choices are now limited. Particularly annoying for Canadians as we still have (or I do anyway - has it changed yet?) five year passports, unlike Brits, Americans, etc, whose passports last ten years. Furthermore Canadian passport offices are quite pompous about refusing to renew a passport with more than a year left on it. Had I wished to renew it before we left, and waited until it was four years old, I would have had a bare five weeks to hope for the new one to come through. To say nothing of paying for a new passport every four, not five, years. Rant over.

Monday, January 7/2013

Winter is catch up on reading time, and as always we're reading multiple books. As well as the ones aloud (and Tony Blair, while interesting, is a disorganised and repetitive writer, as well as self-congratulatory), I'm reading Elizabeth Jane Howard`s autobiography, Slipstream, and Stieg Larsson's The Girl Who Played with Fire. Slipstream is interesting in part for the literary and public figures that people it, but the early part, first quarter or so, is particularly interesting because it shows how very highly autobiographical the four volume Cazalet Chronicles are. Most of the main characters in Howard's life are very familiar to a reader of her quartet. Stieg Larsson is also on the bookreader, but this time courtesy of the Ontario Public Library system which allows electronic borrowing as easily from Cyprus or Morocco as from Sioux Lookout. Well, not quite as easily, as it's only possible to log in to the Ontario Public Library system when the SL library is open, and there's an eight hour time difference here. Easy to borrow a book at midnight though.

Sunday, January 6/2013

Epiphany. Somewhat less obvious for being on a Sunday. If it fell on a weekday that day would become a holiday. There will be a procession from St Lazarus Church - supposed second burial place of the Biblical Lazarus - down to the waterfront, involving both Orthodox clergy in full regalia and the military, always an odd looking combination to non-Cypriot eyes. We usually go as it's holiday spirit down at the beach - balloons, candy floss, etc. But it's cool and overcast and windy, so we don't bother. Must be a chilly time for the young men who always dive for the honour of retrieving the cross thrown in the sea by the archbishop - never lost as it remains tied to the end of a cord.

Saturday, January 5/2013

Petrol station strike in effect - or ending? - across the island. The issue is the demand by station owners that the government stop issuing licences to new stations as there isn't enough revenue to go around.  An interesting objection from a private sector that complains about Christofias' communist government, although in fact the government hasn't been all that communist and the real objection is to the government's having gone bankrupt under Christofias' watch. And that would probably have happened regardless of who had won the last election. As with Greece the transition to democracy was somewhat incomplete, with nepotism and corruption at the top a permanent feature. And not only at the top - right down to who does or does not get parking tickets as the policeman on the beat visibly struggles to identify the owner of the offending vehicle. And there is no sign of life from behind the closed doors of the beautiful (colonial architecture) police station as young hoods speed past on motorbikes or in cars with illegal Hollywood mufflers.

Friday, January 4/2013

Make lemon curd for the first time this year. Amazingly intensely lemony, with fresh lemons (from Kiki's tree this time but the greengrocer's ones are almost as fresh), sugar, butter, and eggs. About ten minutes in the microwave. J arrives back with fresh bread from our favourite bakery - whole wheat and rye, studded with sesame seeds.

Thursday, January 3/2013

Accompany M as she goes for what (she hopes) will be her final interview for a yellow paper, proof of permission for permanent residency. J and I stroll out on the fishing piers where the little boats are moored. And many are genuinely little - about sixteen feet. There's a reel on the front for winding up the nets and most boats have several tubs full of fishing nets. J counts twenty-five on one The reel gives the boats a dragon style silhouette from a distance, so when we lived at the Athene, looking out over the sea, we used to talk of the dragon boats coming home in the morning. M back all smiles with yellow paper in hand. Now free to register for the health system.Accompany M as she goes for what (she hopes) will be her final interview for a yellow paper, proof of permission for permanent residency. J and I stroll out on the fishing piers where the little boats are moored. And many are genuinely little - about sixteen feet. There's a reel on the front for winding up the nets and most boats have several tubs full of fishing nets. J counts twenty-five on one The reel gives the boats a dragon style silhouette from a distance, so when we lived at the Athene, looking out over the sea, we used to talk of the dragon boats coming home in the morning. M back all smiles with yellow paper in hand. Now free to register for the health system.

Wednesday, January 2/2013

A statutory holiday in Cyprus, like New Year's Day, so shops shut as well as offices. Only cafés open, so J, M and I down to the beach for coffee - well, J down to walk on the sand but M and I join him for coffee. Ironically the best non-Greek coffee is McDonald`s. Actually (as in Canada) quite good. But here it sells for €1 (£.81, $1.29 CAD), while Nescafé, the normal alternative to Greek coffee throughout the island, is almost universally €2. Good spot along the beach for watching the waves and the world go by.

Tuesday, January 1/2013

New Year`s Day. And a lovely, lazy day it is. We`re reading Tony Blair`s memoirs aloud (borrowed from Jenny`s father) as well as Staying On on the Kobo (Booker Prize winner by Paul Scott of Raj Quartet fame). Invited to New Year`s dinner by Maggi and very nice it is too - beef stroganoff which has been simmering happily for the afternoon, followed by creme brulée (with cake for J who is underappreciative of creme brulée). Watch a Pierce Brosnan comedy while drinking brandy. A lovely start to the year.

Monday, December 31/2012

New Year's Eve. Starts out with the town extremely busy as everyone buys last minute groceries and runs last minute errands. Sadly, the old New Year`s Eve tradition of small businesses barbecuing outside the premises and inviting passersby to join them in eating - and usually freeflowing drinking - seems almost to have disappeared. We run into Aylsa at Carrefour. J inquires about the rescued dogs they give home to - seven at the moment, to say nothing of cats and birds. Alsa herself has been plagued with bronchitis, though, and is not completely recovered. Home with another huge bags of oranges (€1.70, £1.38, $2.23 CAD for 22 large oranges).

New Year's Eve celebrations have apparently been cancelled in Nicosia and Paphos - the money going to go to hungry children instead. Larnaca, it seems, has compromised. There is to be a scaled back event, (J has seen a concert staged being erected) and some fireworks are planned. Originally we think of going, but as the evening passes we're reluctant to leave the cosiness of the flat and end up pouring ourselves a dram of whisky and watching the fireworks from the sliding doors to the balcony. And scaled back they are, unspectacular and lasting about three and a half minutes - not really worth the walk down, though it's always exciting to be in a crowd as the year turns. But we can hear the blast from the ships' horns in the harbour as 2013 hits.

Sunday, December 30/2012

Visit Margaret, who is now resident in the rest home run by the Franciscan sisters. She broke hip and shoulder and dentures in a fall, and after two weeks in hospital moved to the rest home, adjacent (and in fact attached) to the Catholic church. It's clean and attractive with pretty, serene gardens on either side. But probably too quiet and serene. Most of the other residents don't speak English and some are beyond intelligent conversation in any case. The sisters seem kind, but the worst part is that everyone has meals brought to their rooms on trays - and therefore each person eats alone. it seems a sad arrangement. The rooms themselves seem nice enough, though; Margaret has one door opening onto the corridor and one opening on an outside garden. Inside, besides the bed, there are two chairs, a fridge covered with magnets (souvenirs of her past travels), a dresser well covered with Christmas cards and photographs and a television. Comfortable, but lonely.

Saturday, December 29/2012

Overcast, but warm. We meet Maggi at the café down beside St Lazarus Church. Hordes of pigeons landing and taking off in the courtyard, the takeoff being precipitated by little boys delightedly running into the flock, watched by mothers as amused as the boys at frightening the birds. The Venetian tower of the church is stunning against an increasingly blue sky and we think how difficult - and expensive - it would be to have coffee in a setting like this in Venice - or Rome, or Paris.

Friday, December 28/2012

Long stroll through town, now open for business again. Definitely shirt sleeve weather. Stop at the little charity shop behind the Kition, where a slim woman accompanied by a young boy buys an intensely purple, slinky sequinned dress. New Year's is coming. Carrefour featuring liquor sales again - as they won't on the same scale until next Christmas (bottle of brand name Scotch whisky for €7 - £5.60, $9.35 CAD). Also generous mode with the samples; we`re greeted with tiny cups made of dark chocolate and sitting in gold foil wrappers - drink the Bailey`s they contain and then eat the cup. Christmas carols no longer playing.

Cypriots don`t know how to queue. They frequently work on the Taiwanese principle of pushing in where there`s a space only half a person deep, but it`s not all self-serving. At the post office today I`m trying to establish who is ahead of me. A man is lounging half-way across the room. As he must be there for some purpose, I look inquiringly and he indicates his pile of letters and then points to the wicket. Fortunately the language barrier prevents me from telling him to move up and look like he`s part of a queue.

Thursday, December 27/2012

Losing touch with Canadian politics - not entirely because it's impossible to keep up in the electronic age but in part because it's depressing and, in large part, because we're more in touch with world politics. Particularly, of course, Cypriot, but also UK - as we listen to BBC4 in the morning and BBC5 at night on the radio, broadcast by the British Forces from the nearby base. That is also the source of BBC World radio, with a wider perspective. In fact BBC radio is probably what we would miss most if we relocated to Paphos for the winter,Paphos being too far from the nearest base. We did have Euronews on TV until a week ago. In fact we still do have it but now it's broadcast in Greek instead of English, though the captions (news, headings - there are no subtitles) remain in English. It wasn't wonderful news to begin with, but it was always there. Have found a good streaming source for BBC World TV, but wifi only extends to the lobby.

Wednesday, December 26/2012

The warm sun continues, so we head down to the waterfront. We're not the only ones - it's a holiday for most and the promenade is crowded with people - children showing off their new acquisitions, couples with babies in prams, puppies excited by the action.Two young men walk past us, one talking on his mobile: "You'll have to invite us for coffee - we have no money today." There's plenty available for those who have money, though. Kiosks selling candy floss and popcorn or ice cream; a man roasting chestnuts and cobs of corn; bright plastic toys; helium filled balloons shaped like alligators or dalmatians or Mickey Mouse; heaps of dried fruit and nuts. An enormous Orthodox priest in black sits Rasputin-like behind a stall of religious objects, and further down the promenade there is a booth with a game of chance on display. We haven't quite worked out how the prize system works. Mostly the prizes don't look all that desirable - brightly coloured china cows or small plastic footballs. The blue stuffed elephant would probably make some little child happy, though, and there's a bottle of Johnny Walker red that must require more money or luck than the kiddy toys.

Tuesday, December 25/2012

Christmas Day. And it's sunny and glorious. Spend the day alternately doing small bits of cooking, some for last minute reheat, and relaxing. , who is not a heavy drinker, always begins Christmas day with a small one. And we take g&t's to the balcony at noon to luxuriate in the sun - which becomes too hot by the time the drinks are finished. So lovely after all that rain.

Maggi to dinner, back from visiting a friend in Agia Napa. Our eighth Christmas together, but the first since 2008 and the first without Magne, who died in July. One of our two burners gives up the ghost, but fortunately not until very nearly the end. So chicken, gravy, stuffing, potatoes, leeks, carrots, cauliflower, mushrooms - and the cake that J has been infusing for days and icing since yesterday. He takes a piece down to Kikki, who is spending a lonely shift in a very quiet reception area. The Norwegian contingent doesn't arrive until after Christmas.

Monday, December 24/2012

 Christmas Eve. Kitchen equipment consists of two burners, a microwave and a bar-sized fridge, so it's necessary to plan ahead. I make cranberry sauce squeezing local fresh oranges and adding the zest. J does the stuffing. No idea how, as the bird is as yet uncooked (he made a very early trip out this morning to get it at Metro before the queues began) and in any case there's no oven - but it's delicious.

At five o'clock time to sit back with a Cyprus brandy and listen to the nine lessons and carols broadcast live from King's College, Cambridge. Heartbreakingly beautiful boy sopranos and,  for me, at least, always the point at which Christmas begins.

Sunday, December 23/2012

Obviously rained again in the night, and in fact a bit of drizzle in the morning. The rainiest year we've ever experienced here, though not cold. M up to ask if we heard the horrific accident in the night. Collision about 1:30 am at the corner involving, apart from the victims, six police cars, ambulances, and fire engine. The people had to be cut out and the wreckage gathered rather than simply towed. A very high rate of accidents in Cyprus - and a very low rate of police willing to interfere until there has actually been an accident.

Saturday, December 22/2012

Starts by looking like rain but improves rapidly, so J, M and I walk down to St Lazarus Church. Our old café (like so many businesses) has disappeared. In fact one shop nearby has closed but still contains some goods on the shelves as well as a large tree inside - presumably once ornamental. The tree has, improbably, continued growing, filling one end of the shop and pushing its way under, over and through the centre of the padlocked doors, looking like something from a horror movie.

The pavement at the far side of St Lazarus Church, traditionally believed to be the burial place of the Biblical Lazarus (crypt there but long since vacated), is furnished with chairs and small tables. The sun reaches the first of the tables just after midday. A lovely warm spot for coffee. For reasons best know to Cypriots the Greek coffee, which is very good is €1, whereas Nescafé is €2.

Stop on the way home at the smaller Orphanides store. Orphanides is an island-wide supermarket chain which has just gone spectacularly bankrupt, sadly for its employees just before Christmas. No one was willing to advance further loans to a company with #250 million in debts, so the survival of some of the suppliers is in question as well. Meanwhile virtually everything is 40% off on the emptying shelves, so M picks up sheets and a duvet cover for her new flat and we a box of Alpen.

Friday, December 21/2012

The government has asked - blackmailed? - the crown corporations into lending it money. Primarily, one suspects, from the pension funds. The threat being that the country would be bankrupt in two or three days otherwise.

Thursday, December 20/2012

Christmas carols, mostly in English, playing in Carrefour. An odd mix, not all really deserving of the name carol - e.g. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer - and all providing a bizarre contrast between the winter wonderland of song and the world of palm trees we inhabit.

Rain again. Well, showers in the daytime but a quite spectacular display of lightning from our top (fourth) floor flat as we (J and Maggi and I) watch a Jason David film, M shocked at how different David looks not being Inspector Frost.Christmas carols, mostly in English, playing in Carrefour. An odd mix, not all really deserving of the name carol - e.g. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer - and all providing a bizarre contrast between the winter wonderland of song and the world of palm trees we inhabit.

Rain again. Well, showers in the daytime but a quite spectacular display of lightning from our top (fourth) floor flat as we (j and Maggi and I) watch a Jason David film, M shocked at how different David looks not being Inspector Frost.

Wednesday, December 19/2012

Thunderstorms predicted. Definite rainy season this year. M is off to Lidl by car and invites us to join her. Always worth a look, although there is a certain randomness to the products that will be available. Often good buys on cheese and chocolate and dinks, and indeed we do buy chocolate, wine and eggs. M acquires a couple of things for her new flat, to be occupied February 1, so we drive over. It's basically furnished, but she's adding bits. It's got personality and even a bit of charm, as well as two balconies (one of which becomes a separate living space) as well as a long sitting room, two bedrooms and a bright kitchen. We're duly appreciative and even go to the roof for a good view of the salt lake. Down the road we stop to examine a charity shop where M finds long, pink patterned curtains for her new bedroom, a good find. Trivia for the day: M's new street is Alexpapadiamanti, the "papa" segment of a Greek name indicating that at some point in the genealogy there was a priest in the family.

Mr Andreas is in reception when we return. did we remove the cover of the light in the bathroom? Was it to get more light? Yes, of course (there having been about 40 watts under an opaque shade in a windowless room). Ah, he beams. It must have a cover, he says, legally, but - triumphantly - we can have a new fixture. A hundred watts! And indeed at suppertime two young men arrive and install a dazzlingly bright light - aimed more at the eyes than the mirror, but a great improvement nontheless. And oour request for a teapot, a corkscrew and a frying pan has been met with a teapot, corkscrew and two frying pans. And the shower hardware has been fixed - more or less. Amazing Perhaps related to the two Norwegians who checked in on Monday and checked out the same day.

Two white habited nuns ahead of us at the checkout, with two supermarket carts. One contains eight cases of bottled water and one case (24 tins) of beer.

Tuesday, December 18/2012

Showers. As J says, this is the greenest Cyprus has ever looked. We separate - he taking the umbrella for the longer walk to Metro and the bakery, where he is also welcomed back (at the little bakery, not the supermarket). I go, meanwhile, to the greengrocer's. Not only is everything good and fresh (so you always buy more than you expect to) but nothing is pre-packaged, so you can buy exactly what you want - three carrots, two potatoes, etc.

Finish unpacking the boxes, four of them, that have been stored here over the summer. Here are the microwave, a couple of extra pots, our second hand radio, the candles ahd holders, a set of mugs, and even the Christmas decorations with all the little wooden people 0 angels and drummers and choristers and snowmen. And our little stained glass (probably more accurately stained plastic) Christmas tree. It's like Christmas opening up and decorating.

Monday, December 17/2012

Shared taxi to Limassol and a second shared taxi from Limassol to Larnaca. Not very shared, either, as in each case there's only one other passenger. the first car is in sad shape internally, with the framework of the seat ahead propped up by my carry-on. One assumes that mechanically it is doing better. The driver is a shameless old rogue. "Ten plus ten," he says, pointing at each of in turn. "Twenty euros." "Really," I say. "Last week it was nineteen." "yes," he says, cheerfully, handing over the euro change. Probably does quite nicely on the side. Rains on and off, now that we're down to one umbrella, but it's door to door delivery, so we're fine.

Paphos may have had the more professional management, but Larnaca has a familial feel and the warmer welcome. Mr Andreas' brother Phitos (spelling is Maggi's but I always thought Fetus couldn't be quite right) comes out on the front steps grinning from ear to ear and extending a hand. "Welcome, welcome!" Maggi waves from the balcony beneath ours. Even Maria, the cleaner, grins and says hello when she spots us. And Maggi, bless her, has lunch and a bottle of wine waiting.

Sunday, December 16/2012

Our last day already, so we treat ourselves to another wonderful meal - leg of lamb again - at the ever popular First and Last Pub, a definite keeper in the repertoire. Discover, in packing, that I have contrived to lose my umbrella - a lovely little compact one that someone had left on a London tube - down at the harbour on Friday, when it didn't actually rain. A whole possible novel in the travels of that umbrella.

Saturday, December 15/2012

We have our own flat here and do our own cooking, but the majority of residents are British and are here on half board, on sometimes just bed and breakfast. Half board costs considerably more than we pay, and does mean, probably, a less healthy diet, but it's still not a bad monthly amount compared to spending  winter in the UK, with heating costs, etc. The climate is warm, the meals are provided - with the addition of a sandwich lunch and whatever drinks are purchased, there's a good supply of books at €2 each payable to the cat protection fund, and (as the young Asian man on the reception desk puts it) if the weather is good that's a bonus. Many pensioners here for the winter. We're not tempted really, but it's clear those who eat together get to know each other much better and there's a fair sense of community.

Actually, management probably loses money on us. It's obvious that everything contributes to guests spending more than we do. Lighting in the rooms is so low wattage that reading after sunset is only possible in bed or on a tablet, and the television reception is pretty well limited to BBC World, a Russian channel with the odd subtitled American movie of the chase and shoot variety, and the more serious of the two Greek Cypriot channels. The Cypriot channels that run to subtitled English language films are, unaccountably, missing. Well, not quite unaccountably. There's free wifi and better reading light in the large pleasant lounge in the main building. And there's a young Englishman providing nightly entertainment in the bar beside the lounge, albeit his starting time of 10 pm is better designed for Greeks than elderly Brits. So, were we a bit more extrovert it would be easy to separate us from a great deal more than the £259 per month that our flat costs (€318, $416). And that`s without considering the notices asking us not to consume our own food and drinks in the happy sun lounger area around the pool, presumably another steady source of hotel income.

Friday, December 14/2012

Sunny and warm again and off to the harbour. Stop first at the post office and then down past a small cemetery. It's crowded as are all Cypriot graveyards - more graves than yard. The monuments are large but there is no green space in between them, except for small weeds growing through the stones in the narrow pathways around the graves. A little like a much smaller version of Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, concreted burial place of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, amongst others. there is a problem that Cyprus doesn't share with Paris, though. It's a small island and the earth covering is often thin. And there are no modern cremation facilities, although the Orthodox Church has dropped its official opposition. It's almost impossible to buy plots, graves are so shallow that they can be detected by odour after a heavy rain, and multiple use is common. There is no more room.


Many restaurants near the harbour, but not all are open for the winter. Note the Asian ones - Japanese, Indian and Chinese. there is now a concerted, if unlikely, effort to attract Chinese tourists and the property developers have raised billboards around Paphos with messages in Chinese characters and smiling Asian faces.

The tourists would be welcome; there aren't nearly enough in the streets, and Cyprus has always longed for high class tourists, by which they mean not ones like us who cook their own food and buy few souvenirs. We walk past restaurants along the waterfront where the touts are hoping to persuade us to join the one or two couples enjoying a meal in the sun. Stop at an arts and crafts sale that is more crafts than arts, but interesting and not the usual kitsch. On the way back we meet an enormous pink pelican on the walkway by the restaurants, standing so still it looks like a cardboard cutouts, the black eye looking not only painted, but unconvincingly painted. A young woman comes along with a chihuahua sized dog. The dog is interested in making friends, but the pelican opens an enormous scissor-like beak with, clearly, thoughts other than friendship. Fortunately the dog is on a lead.

Thursday, December 13/2012

Rain expected, and there is some to begin with, complete with sun in the east and a full rainbow. Then it clears up, so we walk down to the harbour where we pick up an open internet source, presumably from one of the restaurants, sufficient to check the email on the playbook. Then by late afternoon the Paphiessa's internet is back. And less than five years ago we were reliant on internet cafés. Now as we walk past the pool at night I tell Joe, teasingly, that he should be careful not to fall in, lest the tablet get wet.

We move to Larnaca on Monday, so trying not to buy more food than necessary - but can`t resist more Clementine oranges; sweet, mostly seedless, and still with their dark green leaves.

Priorities: Cyprus has been forced, reluctantly, to raise taxes on alcohol as part of the emergency measures allowing the country to qualify for an EU bailout - but wine is exempt!

Wednesday, December 12/2012

Rainy day - which is no problem as we curl up to read, except that the internet is down. Problem with the router, but at least it's being taken seriously and a man from Cyta is out visibly working on it.

Tuesday, December 11/2012

Cyprus next in line for EU bailout, and unhappy, naturally, about the conditions - one of which appears to be that they quit laundering Russian money.

Monday, December 10/2012

Off after breakfast to walk down to the harbour. Decide against umbrellas as we have only two for the three of us anyway. This leaves us within a block's run to the hospice charity shop when the looming black clouds turn to driving rain. A somewhat longer look around the shop than we actually require, especially as J and I are trying not to acquire any more things before next week's move to Larnaca.

When the rain stops we walk the few yards downhill to Agia Kyriaki, the little stone church, circa 14th century, that is the only surviving building on the ruins of a much larger and much older ecclesiastical complex that once included a monastery and basilica. Many marble columns still in evidence and walkways fixed over the archaeological excavations. In the midst of the ruins, actually nearer the western edge, is a short pillar, rounded at the top, presumably from much pious touching, which purports to be the pillar to which the apostle Paul was tied and beaten on his trip to Paphos, recorded in the book of Acts.

Then down to the harbour. very windy and the breakers coming from a grey-green sea and crashing over the breakwater. Not many tourists about, although it's not cold. we stop at the café nearest the corner for a pint each. Then barely back to the Paphiessa before the rain, in time for a late lunch and Maggi off to Larnaca while there's still daylight.

Sunday, December 9/2012

Maggi down from Larnaca for an overnight visit. She brings her sleeping bag and a small suitcase, which we bring in discreetly at dusk, lest overnight guests prove to be a chargeable offence. First time we've seen her since Magne's death, and she's now in the process of applying for permanent resident status in Cyprus and has rented a flat as of February, so plenty to talk about. We walk toward the harbour in search of lunch. There's a pub called The First and Last a little more than half way - about a ten minute walk - that always seems to do a thriving business with expats, and advertises an attractive looking Sunday lunch. Definitely English and not Greek, but it more than lives up to its promise - leg of lamb each, roast and mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, cauliflower with cheese, cabbage, and lots of gravy. Takes long enough we've been making jokes about having to wait until someone ordered the fourth leg, but very well worth the wait.

Saturday, December 8/2012

Small boy at the greengrocer's lifting the snails from their tray and their lettuce lunch and letting them suction onto the back of his hands. Snails €6 a kilo (£4.80, $8 CAD).

Friday, December 7/2012

Bus strike still on so shared taxi back to Paphos. Rather nice as the rain has returned and we are now carrying, in addition to our overnight things, fat hardcover books that we've borrowed, and the shared taxi provides door to door service - once the driver has figured out where the doors are, that is. A small problem in booking the service. Thinking that it might well be raining at the return time, I ask if we could be picked u at the McDonald's beside the supermarket, envisioning shelter and possibly coffee. My requests seems to be incomprehensible, and I finally give up.  On reflection, I remember a previous Cypriot passenger asking to be let out at MACdonald's, whereas my pronunciation features only one vowel - the O.  To a Greek speaker my version is probably hopeless.

Overheard in the Paphiessa lounge, speaker an elderly woman: I'm an atheist myself because you can pray anywhere.

Thursday, December 6/2012

Terrific thunderstorm in the night. I see a lightning flash through closed eyelids and have time only to wonder about detaching retinas when the enormous thunder sounds. Everything sparkly clean in the morning and all of us down to the port to surprise Jenny and Doug and meet their cruise companions, Elaine and Phil. Then back in two cars to Erimi for coffee. The grounds are beautifully designed and are reminiscent of a Roman villa, from lemon tree, flowers and statue to pool and cleverly planned tiled areas of sun and shade to suit all moods. Sam has lent Doug and Jenny one of the cars to give Phil and Elaine a bit of a tour and soon it's time for them to be back on board. Lovely seeing them, though, and the weather, despite predictions, is fine.

Wednesday, December 5/2012

Shared taxi (they run throughout the middle east, often known as services - with the French pronunciation).they will only deliver within city limits, and not to the villages, Sam kindly picks us up at a supermarket at the first roundabout. We've shared the vehicle with six other passengers, two of whom were a Polish couple  whose cruise ship is in port for the day at Limassol and  who have been visiting the historic sites in Paphos. Lovely dinner with Sam and Paddy - moussaka and apricot tart.  

Tuesday, December 4/2012

Jenny's father, Sam, and stepmother, Paddy, have invited us to visit for a couple of days in their village, Erimi, coinciding with Jenny and Doug stopping at Limassol on their Mediterranean cruise. They were supposed to have gone to Haifa, and Jenny had been looking forward especially to that stop as Sam grew up there and she had hoped to find some of his old haunts. However, as the Israeli situation heated up P&O prudently changed the stop to Limassol. And Sam conceived the plan of our visiting at the same time and coming with them to meet and surprise J and D at the port. We plan to take the bus to Limassol, but Murphy's Law strikes in the form of a country-wide bus strike. Hard not to be in sympathy with the bus drivers: they're not asking for more money - simply to be paid, as Cyprus, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and asking for an EU bailout, deals unevenly with public employees. So we book with Travel Express, the shared taxi service.

Monday, December 3/2012

Rain as promised. But not very heavy, so we make a quick foray out to the Plus store, really just a periptero (read corner shop) with pretensions. But some quite nice merlot still on offer.

Russians now make up 5% of the population of Cyprus. €300,000 on a home makes them permanent residents.

Sunday, December 2/2012

Perfect lazy Sunday morning, if requiring a bit of adaptation in the cooking department. One small frying pan, so bacon cooked first, then eggs. Which raises our perennial but as yet unanswered question: why does the streaky bacon here and in the UK, lovely, lean and flavourful, have no equivalent in Canada (admittedly the home of great back bacon). In Canada the bacon has much more fat and is infused with so much water that you can stick your finger through a slice anywhere it limply presents itself. Do we produce different pigs or just do terrible things to them? Or both? And (back to the breakfast) freshly picked oranges (Clementines, but the regular oranges here are even nicer. And the Cypriot version of a real Sunday paper - does run to three sections if you count the telly guide - with a couple of ok puzzles. We take it all (the paper not the breakfast) out to the loungers around the pool. Tomorrow it's supposed to rain.

Saturday, December 1/2012

Car boot sale this morning about five minutes walk away. Equivalent to a Canadian garage sale - and just as a garage is not a necessity for the events in Canada there are no actual car boots in evidence here - mostly tables. Itès near an animal clinic and, seemingly, partially in support of animals. No Greek Cypriots in evidece.The sellers are mainly British expats, though a few are Russian. (Russian increasingly heard on the streets and in the supermarkets). Clothing, paper back books, jewellery, miscellaneous mobile phone chargers, odd bits of china, jars of jam, children's toys. Cheerful start to the day, though we are not about to acquire much in the way of possessions for which we have no space. Everything we have with us will have to be moved to Larnaca in two weeks time. J does end up with an electrical bit that he hopes to adapt to convert our 110 radio to 220 current - while being annoyed at the thought of the converters he's left at home. And I do buy two tops - they can always be donated to a charity shop before we leave.

Friday, November 30/2012

One nice thing about Cyprus is that there are true wine specials - half price, two for one, etc. Sampling the €3 specials. Actually one could pay much less - as little as €1 a litre for Spanish - but back to the specials. The best so far, and quite nice is a 2009 French merlot at €3 (£2.40, $4 CAD). Thumbs up. Take the wine away from government liquor stores and put it in the supermarkets where it belongs. (Only in Quebec!)

Notice on the back of a jar of peanut butter: this product may contain traces of nuts.

Wednesday, November 28/2012

The hotel has a collection of cats, well loved and well fed by many of the guests.By no means the thin cats of the square iin Marrakesh. Guests come bearing treats in little foil bags, a cat who seems (oddly) to be drinking out of the bird bath is actually consuming food there, and cats lie smugly between the legs of elderly guests basking in the sun on the loungers around the pool. Even the little library in the loounge is in support of needy cats (presumably not these ones), demanding a donation of two euros (£1.50, $2.65 CAD) per used paperback. There's continual tension between Cypriots, who take a pretty casual view of animal rights and needs and British ex-pats who adopt abandoned animals, write letters to the papers condemning abuse and neglect, and volunteer at charity shops supporting animal shelters. Here, the cats have won.

Tuesday, November 27/2012

The road in front of our flat is fairly busy - a dual carriageway - but the median is crowded with rose bushes full of thick bunches of pink roses. On the way to the greengrocers we see dates on the sidewalk and look up - at a giant date palm heavily laden with dates. It's quite common in cyprus to find trees - orange, lemon, palm - planted mid-sidewalk. Must be a nightmare for people in wheelchairs or even pushing baby buggies. Usually they're planted and even tended by people living nearby. Nearer to us there's an olive tree overhanging the pavement, but most of the olives are still green.

Monday, November 26/2012

Happily lazy start. We're back in the land of endless sunshine and many of our fellow guests are on sun loungers around the pool. We make two forays out, one toward Upper Paphos for bread, with a stop at the greengrocer's for fresh grapefruit and oranges and a lemon, as well as a cauliflower and some carrots. then, in the afternoon, down to Kato (Lower) Paphos to Papantonio's supermarket for the other things.

 The waterfront is, as it was last night, curiously unbusy. Not many tourists about, and the prices seem a bit high, although there is some competition over the price of a pint - bottoms at €1.50. There`s also a new feature - an Englishwoman of early retirement age has replaced the local employees and family members soliciting business from the pavement. Very refined as she points out the virtues of the morning tea and scone at €3 (£2.40 or $4 CAD). An interesting comment on both lack of tourist business and financial difficulties

Sunday, November 25/2012

Up at 3:20 a.m., thanks to having been switched by Thomas Cook to the EasyJet flight. Actually probably not two hours sleep, as I wake in the night to the sounds of "there is a town in north Ontario." No, not still dreaming. BBC World TV is showing a presentation on oxycontin use on northern reserves, particularly in Fort Hope. As I watch, Sioux Lookout hospital appears, with Dr Dooley commenting on newborn babies in withdrawal. Quite amazing to find this playing in the middle of the night in Gatwick.

Taxi to Gatwick at 4:00. It's only a ten minute drive to the airport, but we want to be early in case there's any difficulty over the switch from Thomas Cook to EasyJet or the seat reservations. there isn't so we're early. Easyjet only allows one piece of carry-on luggage each, so my handbag has to go inside y fairly small carry-on while the leather bag with the netbook and Kobo (just big enough to hold the two) goes in J's carry-on. The readjustment involves my threading my woollen cardigan inside my winter jacket. Obviously all the other passengers have made similar arrangements - filled their pockets and worn their hats. Once in the plane the decompression is like the fat lady taking off her girdle as the overhead compartments overflow and the narrow seats are overfilled.

J and I have booked aisle seats opposite each other as we tend to do when the seats are in banks of three, and we've brought a lunch - bread and humus, cheese, and raw veggies. The seats beside me are occupied by a small family - teenage boy, mother and not-quite-two-year-old. They make a creditable but not very effective effort at stowing their bits and pieces (they've brought a pillow and small blankets as well as the more obvious items). It's a good flight, though. Both kids sleep for muchof it and there are no spills - all one could ask for really. Land in sunshine and warmth. There's a Canadian Hercules on the tarmac, interestingly. Canadian forces based in Afghanistan come here for R&R.

Transfer to the Paphiessa. We've got a one bedroom apartment with a bit of charm - if a distinct shortage of sitting room outlets and lighting. Up the outside staircase with bouganvillea blossoms brushing off on my hair. It's a lovely little place. The front landing overlooks the swimming pool and there's a balcony accessible from the bedroom but running in front of the sitting room windows with comfortable seating and a sunny south prospect. Not much closet space but a nice little living-dining room and a kitchen with microwave and toaster as well as the standard two burners.

Not too much exploration time, though, as we're off to the sports pub for the final F1 race of the season. It's a race that sees Lewis Hamilton with pole position for his final race with McLaren. The excitement, though, stems from the fact that Red Bull's Vettel has a 13 point lead over Ferrari's Alonso, meaning either could win the world championship. Odds are obviously with Vettel, but this changes almost immediately the race begins, when his car is hit and damaged. He fights his way back, though, in a rainy race that couldn't have been closer, decided only in the final lap of the season, as Vettel's sixth place finish makes him the youngest ever three time world champion.

As Pepys would say, and so to bed.

Saturday, November 24/2012

Ibis Gatwick. The hotel exists, like many others, to serve Gatwick airport. Itès not fancy but it is clean and extremely well designed for the purpose - and its basic rate is cheap, though everything additional, from breakfast to wifi, is pricey. But really not much else is necessary. They provide double bed with duvet, flat screen TV, sparkly clean loo with shower, kettle with cups and instant coffee and tea. There's also a Tesco Express five minutes walk away with yoghurt, fruit, cheese, sandwiches, etc. And a pub not far away. We're out early to stock up for the day, as the promised rain is setting in. The real fear is that the heavy rains will worsen flooding in the south of England - and there are also wind warnings for tonight and early tomorrow that could affect flights.

Friday, November 23/2012

Last breakfast. The food at the hotel has taken on a certain sameness and the flies become an increasing irritant, so that the sight of a browned fleck on the morning pancake produces an involuntary shooing wave. The jam jar has a large chip missing from the rim - but how long will it be before nostalgia sets in for the best homemade apricot jam we've ever had, full of sweet, golden chunks.

Quick final trip to the artisan centre. The building itself is quite striking inside, with Islamic tiles and stucco lace reminiscent of Alhambra Palace in Granada. Through Bab Doukkala, our nearest gate in the wall. There is often a beggar at the gate, but beggars here are fairly passive. Is this a cultural tradition or are there penalties for aggressive begging? There is quuite a police presence today, and soldiers as well, J points out. And the air is almost thick with pollution, maybe because it's the end of the week.

Pack up and check out by noon, which leaves us two hours lobby time before the taxi J has arranged (50 dhirams rather than the more common 100 - both sums more than it would be if the meter were turned out, which it never is). As we're leaving the lad from Stockton-on-Tees says his goodbyes and we find out the reason for the heavy police and military presence. The king is in the city. He attended Koutoubis Mosque this orning, the one everyone uses as a landmark. Which was a little unfortunate for our friend and his brother, who had intended to go there but couldn't. The king's presence meant that other worshippers were allowed in by invitation only.

We're at the airport in plenty of time. Exchange our remaining 120 dirhams - quite a production. Do I have a receipt for the money? Eventuallly I find that I do. Ten euros in exchange, plus an extra three and a half dh in change. But first I fill out an information form and my passport is pput through a scanner and two large duplicate recedipt forms are produced, one of which I sig. More or less the same amount of paperwork required for a marriage licence. The nice young man doesn't actually have a ten euro note, but he does have a twenty, so I hand over two five euro notes as well as the Moroccan currency. This leaves us with 10 dh in coin, but we're not at the square any more. The only thing it would buy is a single rather dry looking croissant, so we don't bother. And after going through security it's euros only.

There are two queues for the scanner in security, separated by gender. J's little bottle of water is no problem - we're not in the EU here - but the woman hesitates over my tea bags in their foil bag. Thé, I say. She repeats it but checks. Thé it is - no problem. It`s a long wait, as the BA flight is late in and threfore late leaving, but the airport is new and clean and eventually we`re underway. The plane is full and we`ve booked aisle seats opposite each other. J is sitting next to a Scottish couple who live just outside Brighton and they chat happily for most of the flight. Collect our suitcases and head for the bus stops. A small typed otice points out that the times are wrong, but the ones I got after much searching of the internet are OK and the H3 bus arrives and delivers us to the Ibis Gatwick just before midnight.

Thursday, November 22/2012

Last day in what used to be called the rose city, from the reddish buildings. Visit the artisan centre. Its a wonderful spot in the old city because it combines many of the local arts and crafts and it's possible in some cases to watch the people at work - weaving carpets, painting on wood, making sandals or doing metalwork. There is jewellery and paintings - a bit production line for tourists in some cases but also a place where the craftsmen can work in peaceful surroundings and the visitors can watch and shop without any hassle or pressure. A relief after the souks. One shop features argan oil. Originally the nuts were processed through the digestive tract of the goat and retrieved from the feces - does make one wonder who first had the idea and why. Now the pressing is done mechanically and itès possible to buy first cold press oil used for cooking or oil prized for the skin and the hair.

Last meal in the square as well. The water sellers are asking to have their photos taken -  for a price. Don't think they actually sell much, if any, water these days, and appearing in a red suit with a decorated pointed hat probably does deserve some reward. The mussel stands look attractive but we want one last lamb tagine. We also want to try pastilla, a Moroccan specialty as a starter. All right but not to be added to the repertoire, even though it sounds a bit odd. Actually it is a bit odd, but Rolf, a German man staying at the hotel, has said we should taste it and we do. It's chicken cooked inside pastry - about six inches in diameter. The unusual bit is that it hasn't quite made up its mind whether it's a sweet or a savoury, as the pastry is dusted with sugar and cinnamon and the filling includes almonds as well as chicken. We split one as a starter. All right, but not to be added to the repertoire, and served at the sort of tepid temperature that is less than ideal for chicken. Actually, a number of Moroccan offerings seem odd - like the apple juice with milk (which we haven't tried). But the tagine that follows is excellent, and sizzling hot, with the lamb and olives and vegetables still bubbling when the conical lids are lifted.

There are restaurants nearby that specialise in rooftop terraces for the view "panoramique." But there is an advantage to our view as well, on the edge of the crowd and more a part of it, watching the women with long coats as brightly coloured as saris or the teenage boys showing off their acrobatics. A bit more subject to the sales pitches though, ranging from children selling small packs of tissues to the man who offers J an exquisite picture made, rather sadly, from butterfly wings. He would  give us a good price, but price, unfortunately, isn't the problem.

Wednesday, November 21/2012

Our lobby is a busy place, busy mainly with Moroccan men - drinking mint tea steeped in little silver teapots with high lids (apparently best when poured from a height), transacting business in the morning or cheering football matches in the evening. The bar does a steady business as a "dry" bar - though we're happy to have a bottle of Famous Grouse in the room for a wee dram in the evening.  Usually, but by no means always, the men are in western dress. The jellaba may be worn coat-like on top of trousers or, like the man ahead of us at breakfast, simply over bare legs with slippered feet. J makes friends with a darkish-skinned Moslem lad from Stockton-on-Tees, here in Morocco for the first time on a week's holiday along with his brother, eager to enjoy the hammam and the tour to the mountains. They're a reminder that those who appear to us to be locals may well not be.

The water sellers are in evidence at the square tonight, wearing their traditional red garb and pointed hats. They're hung about with brass cups and carry the water in leather bags, slung over the shoulder. Apparently the brass cups are for Moslems only and, in the (seemingly unlikely) event that a non-Moslem wishes to have a drink it will be provided in a white cup. Actually there's no sign of anyone buying water from them. Probably they make a living these days by charging tourists for photo ops. They certainly add colour to a busy scene.

Tuesday, November 20/2012

One of the pleasures of the square, Jemaa al Fna, is that there are more locals than tourists and they are a continuation of a long tradition. In the earliest days the square was a place of execution, and its name means Assembly of the Dead. But for many years, certainly well over a hundred, as Edith Wharton refers to it in In Morocco (1917) it has been a gathering place for local people, not only for buying and selling but also for entertainment - storytelling, acrobatics, snake charming, etc. Traditionally it was also a centre for services, so scribes and purveyors of herbal remedies flourished. Tooth pulling is still on offer, and Lyndsay, a Yorkshire woman spending a couple of days in Marrakesh at the end of a biking holiday in the Atlas Mountains, recounts having encountered a toothpuller complete with tray of sample teeth removed from the afflicted.

It's a particular pleasure to walk through the square and see a circle of perhaps fifty men and boys surrounding a storyteller who can keep them enthralled with words alone, electronic devices left in pockets. Janet and Joe and I walk down through the medina to the square in the mid-afternoon, past the shoe shiners and the horse-drawn caleches. The men are just setting up the food stalls for the evening and the fruit stalls are flowing in the late sun - figs, dates, nuts and apricots all as beautiful as they are sweet but all, unfortunately, visited by flies.Janet admires the pointed slippers and the caftans. Many of the shops are high in tourist appeal, but there are also sellers who have staked out small bits of pavement and are selling cigarette packs from an open carton or bars of soap.

We stop at our previous restaurant for lamb tagines, seated outside where we can watch the throng in the gathering dark. The young boys toss their little blue lit whirlygigs up against the darkening sky and steam rises above the lights from the food stall. There's a steady low drumbeat and a hum of energy. On the pavement the little lanterns glow red and blue and gold.

Monday, November 19/2012

A happy surprise this morning.Others have written of the beauty of the nearby Atlas Mountains but so far, other than in our descent, we had failed to sight them. The culprit appears to have been pollution, which is pretty dire. Maybe here, as  in Athens, things are a bit better after a weekend Still a little dim in our photography efforts, although I have done some violence to J's original (taken from our hotel balcony) in an attempt to bring out the contrast, but definitely there, in the near distance beyond the Koutoubia Mosque. Janet, an Englishwoman from the Midlands, who is here for a week's Vitamin D, is of on a side tour to the mountains today, so we'll look forward to her impressions.

We walk west of our hotel along Mohammed V - have to be careful navigating as streets are seldom labelled, they often meet at odd angles,and names may be similar (for example there is also a Mohammed  VI and the two streets intersect). Our goal is the bureau de tourisme and we eventually find it, though the first policeman we ask says that he's on loan or exchange from Agadir, but his colleague will know - as he does. the office is nicely designed but almost empty; no sign of brochures, etc. The man in charge is happy to give  us a fairly decent map, though. Easier to find than the tourist office, not that we were looking, is the Canadian immigration office. The red maple leaf on its sign is visible a block away. It purports to offer services for students and would-be immigrants but we don't check it out, in part because the office itself is on the fifth floor. Spot an interesting building on the way back with Middle Eastern looking wooden balconies at the top above the usual clay-coloured facing.

Even in the streets outside the medina, carts pulled by horses or donkeys share the roadway with buses, cars and trucks. Within the medina they're joined by caleches and bikes, motor and otherwise. The donkey carts are used for deliveries and general movement of goods or building supplies, and also serve as temporary beds when empty - it's not unusual to see a worker having a kip in a cart by the side of the road.

Drop in to the store next to the hotel. As everywhere else, it is subject to flies, but here there are also small birds, sparrow-sized flying in through the open doors and perching on the pasta in open bins or on the chopping block where the meat is cut. the hotel and shops are, if anything, overstaffed, but hygiene is simply not a concern. I find myself thinking that any place that served food at home would lose its licence for similar neglect,  when I remember our regular coffee shop in the summer of 2011 when the air conditioning was non-functional and the door stood open all summer.

Sunday, November 18/2012

Rainy morning, though if internet weather can be believed this should be the only rain of our stay. At breakfast J watches as a young girl at the buffet drops a piece of cake on the floor, goes to replace it on the plate, hesitates, and finally puts it on the counter next to the plate. From whence it is retrieved by a water and replaced on the plate. So the tongs placed beside the baskets of bread and plates of cake are incomplete guarantees of hygiene. And we remember in Cairo seeing a man with an enormous tray of bread drop a loaf on the road, pick it up and return it to the tray, and carry on with his deliveries. J has another of the "pancakes" - which we have discovered are not exactly pancakes. They're not made from batter but are white squares of a phyllo-like pastry unfolded by the girl and cooked briefly, one at a time, on a small griddle.

By noon it clears and we walk a bit in the opposite direction from the medina, past a walled cemetery and the Gendarmerie Royale. One forgets that this is a kingdom. Much less African looking here - with the standard international shops and a McDonald's. J, ever the economist, checks its prices. Difficult to knkow what to make of the Big Mac Index here, as a Big Mac is fifty percent more than a lamb tagine in the medina. So who would prefer it? The streets here show the French influence - broad avenues and enormous squares. some intersections have police but they leave pedestrians to their fate, operating in chatty pairs and only responding to the occasional motoring infraction. The lanes in the medina are reminiscent of Paris as well, but only in the pervasive smell of urine.

We are reading at night a book downloaded onto the Kobo, Edith Wharton's In Morocco, an account of a journey made to Morocco in 1917 - a trip made more difficult by German submarines in the Atlantic, the division of the country into Spanish and French zones, and the combination of early motorcars and primitive dirt roads. The author laments the lack of existence of a guide book, but she is well informed and has a good eye for detail and her work makes fascinating reading.  Much of her description of Jamaa el Fna, the big square, still applies today, as she talks of the crowds surrounding dancers and snake charmers.  A little earlier we had wondered if there had been an original purpose for the niches in the walls within the medina, cavities a little bigger than a person. The question of purpose remains unanswered, but Wharton does refer to "mad negroes standing stark naked in niches of the walls and pouring down Sudanese incantations upon the fascinated crowd." Shelter for the odd beggar today seems rather dull by comparison.

Saturday, November 17/2012

Today our wandering in the shops has an objective, though not one that we achieve. We're looking for a small immersion coil. Marrakesh would seem like a probable place to find one, and at first our difficulty is in describing it. However, we get quite good at explaining in French what we want, just not good at locating one. We have hopes of the small shops outside the souk, but far more of them have electronic than electrical goods. In the end, people who understand that it would fit inside a glass, make water boil, be like a kettle without the outside casing, and be handy for making instant coffee don't know where we might find one. Though many of them would be happy to console us with other goods we might purchase.

We wander recklessly through the souk, losing ourselves quite thoroughly and inspecting both the touristy parts and the depths where tourists are nowhere to be seen. Unlike the souks in Istanbul and Damascus, there don't really seem to be sectors, so shops selling leather or fabric may alternate with those carrying ceramic tagines or sweets. At one point the only non-locals seem to be an older couple in sunhats who look as if they know where they're going. They do, and disappear into a dwelling in a tiny lane in the farther northern reaches of the souk. A Berber man tells us he can show us where the big square is - it's just after the tanneries. However, the "after" turns out to be historical rather than geographical. We're not up for a tour of the tanneries and he's offended - "then give me something." We part with a little annoyance on both sides. But between the orientation provided by the sun and the odd helpful direction we find our way back to Jamaa el Fna and the snake charmers.

Friday, November 16/2012

Friday, the Moslem holy day, and there are some signs of it. There seem to be mostly tourists at breakfast, when yesterday there were more businessmen. And quite a few of the small shops are closed, though by no meansall. We're finding new ways through the maze of the medina, guided at times by the tallest of the mosques. It's a good landmark from a distance and highly visible from the square next to it, but tends to disappear in the streets and lanes of the middle distance.

The most direct route starts through a market near the western wall. Really less a market than a lane lined witih the tiniest of shops and restaurants, catering almost entirely to locals. Children's toys - including little blonde plastic dolls reminiscent of the celluloid ones of my distant childhood and looking not at all like Moroccan babies. Vegetables - potatoes, radishes, aubergines and greens - on mats on the ground. Barber shops only gig enough to encompass the one or two chairs. Round loaves of bread and heaps of brightly coloured spices, as well as dates and figs - all wonderful to look at but unfortunately subject to the ubiquitous flies. As are the wares of the tiny butcher shops featuring three or four chickens or part of a lamb carcass.

The larger streets are home to electronics shops, more substantial restaurants or pizzarias, pharmacies, etc. At night the square seems more full, with more young families, perhaps enjoying a free day. Fathers seem as affectionate as mothers, and as happy to cuddle little daughters as sons.

Some very small children sell goods - such as packs of tissues - to tourists. A few hang out around the restaurants, less beggars than opportunists - happy no doubt to receive a coin or a sweet  should it happen. Restaurant staff send them on their way, but gently, as they also discourage the hopeful cats. The square is again full of performers - musicians and acrobats collect small crowds of admirers. There are snake charmers and belly dancers - their encircling audiences no doubt a fruitful source for pickpockets who can count on distracted subjects and an easy escape in the dark. The dark is also a good backdrop for some of the wares on sale - displays of little metal lanterns with candles flickering behind coloured glass panes ranged on the pavement, or the little fluttering blue lighted whirligigs that young boys launch into the indigo sky and gather as they flutter down.