Tuesday, March 24/2020

The lockdown slows and simplifies life. Little activity on our road so we notice what there is. The odd person going round the corner to the small grocery shop and returning a few minutes later with a small plastic bag, blue or pink, of their purchases. And the small dramas of the animal kingdom. Three cats, two related one not, in low key competition for small bit of food tossed out by neighbours. Ginger cat gives up after being edged out by two greys. Leaves to roll in long grass. Much affectation of advancing on food whilst appearing to be uninterested. Bird approaches isolated fragment indirectly. Well aware of cats but no eye contact. Does everything except whistle a tune advertising own irrelevance. Cats ignore. Bird seizes large bit of food and flies off. 

Human drama a little later. The produce truck comes by slowly as we’re sitting on the steps. Announces presence with horn and a couple of women come out. Clearly legal as there are stiff fines for lockdown violations. And our 14 days’ self isolation ends today, though technically not for a couple of hours. So we make our first purchases in days, with no clear idea what prices are likely to be. Presumably good, though as the two women filling bags seem pleased and are likely to know. All of us duly spaced out around the truck. So we buy a few onions, potatoes, oranges and mushrooms. Twenty-five Turkish lira. Roughly €3.50, $5.50 CAD, £3.30. Turkish lira struggling, but no more, recently, than the Canadian dollar or the pound sterling. Only the euro holding its own despite all the prophesies of doom. Well, they can’t all go down at once.

Last noted the truck on Friday and no idea whether it comes twice a week or indeed whether the schedule is regular. We’re always home at this stage, but not always out on the steps.

And a few minutes later while I am washing up our friendly woman from across the way comes over and gives J a small container of homemade humus. Accomplished  from two metres away? Lovely and lemony.

Iphone pings. Message reading: Your chance to help. Government seeks 250k NHS volunteers as death toll rises. Wrong location, wrong citizenship, wrong age group, but right mobile SIM card. Don’t suppose there’s much chance of a government apology for having decimated the NHS. Pretty desperate mass messaging.

Monday, March 23/2020

Have sorted the problem of the use of the word curfew. English definitions are always related to time, as in a curfew between dusk and dawn. The current TRNC government announcement has nothing to do with time but only with restrictions on what is permitted and warnings re violations. So a bit of linguistic research. 

Not directly relevant, but interesting is the origin of the word curfew. From the French couvre-feu and various Old French and Anglo-Norman versions, meaning cover the fire. Goes back to medieval times when a bell would be rung in the evening warning villages to cover the fire - not necessarily totally extinguish but take down to ember and ash - to prevent buildings catching on fire in the night. 

Submitting the word curfew to the notoriously unreliable Google Translate produces a three word phrase in Turkish. Feeding the phrase into GT in reverse elicits only one English word - curfew. However, looking up the three Turkish words - sokağa, çıkma and yasağı - separately in a Turkish-English dictionary, is a little more helpful. More or less prohibition to go on the streets. Which is indeed what the announcement is about.

Posts by British expats in TRNC are interesting. Useful specific info, but as with much social media also some misinformation and stereotypical response. Both the fair minded, precise and logical English and the other-people-should-follow-the-rules-as-we-always-do English in evidence. Particularly interested in what seems an almost hysterical response to any suggestion that dog walking might not be seen as an absolutely necessary exception to any requirement to stay at home. Not from people with obvious concerns about the need to allow dogs outside the building to do their business, but frequently from people who seem to regard thirty minute walks as a non-negotiable necessity. Doggy exceptionalism? TRNC officialdom unmoved.

The authorities are taking it seriously, though. So far 42 people have been arrested and charged for being on the street with no good reason. One expat poster suggests, sensibly, for those who don’t speak Turkish writing the destination in one word on a piece of paper in order to explain the purpose of the trip should the police ask. Thus pharmacy is eczane. Doesn’t seem too onerous a task to memorise one word per trip, but perhaps being questioned by the police would drive it straight out of a coronavirusphobic brain.

And in the evening Boris Johnson announces that the UK is also in lockdown, although the tone remains one of mitigation and apology and some of the terms are rather vague - allowed out once a day for exercise, for example, so enforcement presumably not truly possible.

Sunday, March22/2020

  Lovely and warm, our chairs on the doorstep in the morning sun. Neighbours across the road doing similar as the whole country is on lockdown - grocery and pharmacy trips only - until Friday, though there are rumours of extensions. Hoping not because this is a small but stunningly beautiful city, and by staying inside we do know what we’re missing. Possibly our favourite city in the world. 


And by evening the extension is no longer merely rumour. Posts on Facebook’s North Cyprus expats group are reporting an extension and intensification of the country wide lockdown beginning at midnight. Only available links appear to be in Turkish and we are not the only group members for whom this renders the information unreadable. Confusingly, the announcement begins by saying that a curfew will be declared. This corresponds to comments made by other posters and leads to some debate over whether curfew is what is meant as there seems no intention to relate allowable activity to a particular time of day. The answer is most probably that there is an awkward translation and that the restrictions involved are not ones of time. Helpfully someone has used Google Translate for an English version of the announcement, though the result, as usual, provides as much entertainment as edification.

The gist is actually more clear than is often the case with Google Translate, though there is some merriment over visiting dusting, which would seem to refer to cleaning people, and training is apparently a reference to outdoor physical activity.

So the upshot is that the lockdown which was to have ended Friday, will not do so but will, rather, be extended for 14 days, beginning at midnight tonight rather than on Friday and involving stricter injunctions about necessary activity and social distancing.  And violations are likely to lead to a fine of 7000 TL (about €1000) or imprisonment.

Saturday, March 21/2020

J makes morning coffee in clean old-fashioned milk bottle shaped glass jar, as ceramic coffee pot has unaccountably developed a maze of fine cracks - and no, we weren’t swearing at it, although possibly within its hearing. Tops up the coffee in my cup and for a nanosecond I see the bottle and think he is spiking my coffee. Am obscurely disappointed on realising he is not, which is actually funny as I’ve never considered that adding liquor to coffee did much favour to either the coffee or the booze.

Assume that March 21 is the equinox, the first day of spring. But no, very early yesterday morning where we are and actually very late on Thursday the 19th in central and eastern Canadian time zones, putting it after midnight in Atlantic Canada. So spring it is. Yesterday overcast and thunderstorms overnight, but sunny today. Temperature 17, but much warmer in the sun when we take chairs out to the doorstep. Probably a little below usual average, but prefer to -25 in Sioux Lookout (yes, I know, that isn’t the high for the day).

J does our no longer frozen chicken in the excellent pressure cooker, which will give us chicken broth as we’ll as quite a bit of chicken. This particular pressure cooker unfamiliar, so caution required although stone walls that must be twenty-five feet high so little chance of redecorating the ceiling. 

Re walls. Do a little preliminary googling on stone construction here. Plenty of very old stone churches or ruins of same in our walled city. Also stone used in more plebeian, less ancient buildings including ours. Proper investigation would take more time, which we may well have, but interesting early google find is a master’s thesis in architecture from the local Eastern Mediterranean University. 

It’s a study of sustainable architecture, and apart from the theoretical bits, which I skim, focuses on five buildings in Famagusta’s walled city, the first of which is the family home of our dentist, Fehmi - now his dental surgery and the office of his psychologist daughter. We know the building well and Fehmi has told us quite a bit. His dental surgery is the room he was born in, although the family no longer lives in the building, which has been not only restored but extended to make the daughter’s office. 

Happily, the thesis is written in English, though it’s clearly not the author’s first language and my fingers itch for a blue pencil.

Friday, March 20/2020

Our tenth full day in the TRNC. Have noted in Cyprus Mail (South)    that there are tourists being quarantined in a hotel near Kyrenia (here in the North). Really hoping that our self quarantine will retrospectively be considered satisfactory. So fingers crossed on no deportation. At present we are pretty well under the radar, and less threat to the world by staying put than travelling through multiple countries.

Have to say this would be a very different experience without wifi,  in terms of communication and also of stimulation and entertainment. Have been reminded of British Journalist Anthony Grey, who spent 27 months in solitary confinement in the basement of his house, imprisoned by the Chinese during the Cultural Revolution. Some of his later writing was a bit wingy, but the memoir Hostage in Peking (1970) is a remarkable account of over two years almost without contact and with extremely limited reading and writing opportunities. Early in his imprisonment he decided, with characteristic self-discipline, that he needed intellectual work - and proceeded to create, on small scraps of paper, crossword puzzles that would be good enough to sell on his release.    And here we are, in self-isolation but also with each other and a whole internet full of books, music, journals and film. Hardly forgivable to do this without producing at least some mediocre prose - though we’ll probably manage.

 An open backed truck selling produce proceeds slowly down our lane this morning, over the speed bump (which J accurately points out is deliberate, man-made) and sounds his horn a couple of times. The woman across, she of the pastries goes out to buy oranges and bananas and artichokes - a very fresh deep green, with long stems still attached. The driver goes to assist her. He’s wearing a face mask - sort of. It’s really just swaddling his chin. The pastry woman gives me a friendly wave.  

Had for supper the portion of the cooked chickpeas that we didn’t try roasting in a vaguely Moroccan sauce based on diced tomatoes and tomato paste, cumin, garlic, cayenne, etc. On rice. Actually, a keeper, though. We’re lucky in that most of our usual cooking is done from basic ingredients and we know what to do with things like a packet of hulled barley (found in the cupboard). Though with the internet how could anyone not know. Finite overlap between spices in the kitchen here and those we use most frequently at home. 

Edit

Thursday, March 19/2017

Come across blog post from December 2017: 

Last day in Famagusta, although we can’t imagine not going back. Of all the places we have travelled it has probably touched our hearts the most. A beautiful combination of history, architecture, and the people. Welcoming people, yes, but so much more - philosophical, engaged, creative, passionate, vulnerable, tolerant. We will be back.

And indeed we are back though under circumstances we would never have predicted. Understand Canadian government’s advice is to come home, but not convinced it is our best course. Assuming the flights existed, our current exit route would probably be via Istanbul, Heathrow or Gatwick, Toronto or Montreal, and Winnipeg. Plus varying bits of public transport and probably hotel booking along the way. Unlikely that no bookings would change in transit. Joining queues of the possibly infected, sitting on planes where one is lucky to be two feet away from the next face. And then a further two weeks self-quarantine. In Winnipeg? Currently no VIA trains to Sioux Lookout. And here - so far - relatively safe and happy.

For the first time in our stay hear knocking on the door. No, not the Turkish Inquisition.  The very kind lady across the road with a small gift of pastries. Again, still warm, nutty and mildly sweet in a phyllo pastry. Necessary, of course, to have a small taste immediately in order to tell whether they should be starters or dessert. And no, she technically shouldn’t be within two metres of us, but she doesn’t speak English and we don’t  touch her or breathe heavily - or reject the lovely offering.

Wednesday, March 18/2020

Our situation is anomalous in a number of ways. We travel on our own - no tour company and separate bookings for the segments, with only the Canada to UK bit booked as a return flight. We flew from London to the Republic of Cyprus (RoC) but took a taxi to the Turkish Republic of North Cyprus (TRNC), a state recognised only by Turkey and existing in a  state of varying tension with the RoC. TRNC does not normally stamp passports, as is the case with many countries whose stamp could cause future difficulties, nor was there any particular reason to ask for a stamp on a piece of paper, though we do know who our taxi driver was and he would confirm our time of entry. We are not staying at a hotel or usual tourist facility at a time when hotels are closing. We are staying in an airbnb but it is a self-contained unit with no other foreigners nearby. Our host is not actually in the country, being in Turkey for a bone marrow transplant, although she is not difficult to contact online. As a presence, we almost don’t exist.

Meanwhile we have been messaging with Ulus, a former teacher and cultural activist whom we met on a previous stay. Ulus has a daughter at university in England. Despite mixed emotions, he thinks she’s better looking after herself where she is rather than travelling on airplanes and through airports, although as a citizen she would be allowed to enter the country. This pretty much our view, particularly as we would be looking at a much more complex trip home than Ulus’ daughter. And, like Ulus, we are assuming our presence here is not problematic.

We’re not short of food during this self-isolation period, but are aware of the need to spread it evenly over the remaining days of self isolation. Could accurately refer to this as rationing but that implies a deprivation that we’re not really experiencing. Happy find in the freezer was a container of small buns (for lack of a better word), a ground meat filling covered with a soft dough. Absolutely delicious and more than a meal’s worth. Kitchen is pretty well equipped. There’s a two burner electronic hot plate unit and a small microwave, as well as a full sized fridge and a full sized - and faultlessly clean electric oven. Even a new-looking and beautifully well designed pressure cooker, which came in handy when the bag of dried chickpeas we found proved to be old enough that 24 hours soaking and extensive simmering did nothing to soften them.

J coughing. Me, suspiciously, wondering what the dry cough is. No, not covid-19. He’s been eating the oven roasted seasoned chickpeas, which were not a success. Finally chokingly drily overdone after hours of being underdone. Really not short enough of food that we are required to keep them. 

Tuesday, March 17/2020

Wake to rain and wind, and it’s a bit cool. So a pretty painless day for house arrest. We do have a heater as well, although even with stone walls that’s a borderline call. And by noon the rain is gone although there’s still a chill wind.

Listen to live streaming of Ontario Premier Doug Ford declaring a state of emergency. Like many other political leaders elsewhere he is unable to do this without a certain amount of self-congratulation and embarrassing references to his citizens as being the best, the brightest and the most unselfish in the world. Also like other leaders he is adept at giving reporters evasive answers or answers to questions other than the ones asked. An exercise in equivocation. 

Bizarre contrast between chaotic world events and extremely quiet life in our abode, an experience that is obviously being shared by many around the world as they self isolate. We are making some effort to clarify our position here. Effectively we are doing what we should be doing, although voluntary quarantine was not an issue when we arrived a week ago. Entirely possible it would be more difficult for authorities to arrange or exodus than to allow us to stay. Meanwhile, we’re in a safe and friendly place - as opposed to a journey home through at least three countries and four airports on flights that may no longer exist.

Monday, March 16/2020

Should have been dental appointments this morning, but clearly that was in a different universe. Do phone Fehmi and his wife Filiz early. Not as easy as it sounds. South Cyprus is pleased to make communication with the North as difficult as possible. So telephoning from South to North only (expensively) possible via Turkey. In North Nicosia contact can’t be prevented, but that’s as far as it goes. The problem is purely political - we’re within 10 km of the border. And it’s is a pity, because there are still quite a few euros left on a Cypriot sim that expires some time late this month. Both mobiles currently have UK sims with approximately £4 and £10, but that would disappear pretty rapidly if, as the pop-up message cheerfully informed us after welcoming us to Turkey, calls are charged at £1.40 a minute. 

So use Fongo, a VOIP app, in conjunction with a Canadian VPN. Connection not the best, but it works. Dental office, obviously closed until March 27, and then, as Filiz says, who knows what will be announced. They do give us a number to call for official health advice, but Fongo refuses to do its connecting magic again. Not actually in need of health advice but looks like we are supposed to notify authorities we are here.

Download Duolingo app to learn a little more than current half dozen words of Turkish. Should at least be able to remember how to say thank you. Do have English/Turkish Turkish/English dictionary that, happily, works offline. Google translate too for all its sins, which are many, does not badly with two or three word phrases, and furthermore is willing to pronounce them sotto voce. My email program always heads the list of the day’s emails with one advertising message. Have noticed that this is sometimes now in Turkish in acknowledgment of our location, admitting its status as reklam (advertisement). A word I recognise because of its similarity to the Polish word reklama, which announces Polish tv advertising. The Turkish for mobile phone also has a slightly Polish sound to it as well - cep telefonu. Literally pocket telephone.

Have for several years used UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office info re travel advisories. Would like it to be otherwise, but individual country advice much more specific and much more frequently updated. Can now get immediate emails when Cyprus situation changes, medically or legally. Not always welcome info to wake up to - e.g. all hotels closing - but infinitely more useful than merely being told Cyprus usually safe but avoid all non-essential travel everywhere. Today’s FCO offering:

...the [South Cyprus] government declared a state of emergency and announced additional restrictions. As from 18:00 on 16 March, any arriving passengers must present a medical certificate issued within the past four days to show they have tested negative for COVID-19. They must enter 14 days quarantine in state facilities. These restrictions are in force until 30 April.

So that is rather unequivocal.

Sunday, March 15/2020

Presciently, ended last year’s blog on May 2 wondering if there were a market for disaster travel writing, and am now writing the Journal of the Plague Year. Not that it’s been a disaster for us so far, and so far no sign of the plague. 

In fact our circumstances are embarrassingly pleasant and this pretty well tops the list of places we’d be happy to be now. Fortunately were able yesterday to choose the food for our remaining time under “house arrest”. Choose it, that is, from what was available late in the day from the tiny shop around the corner. Our host, currently having medical treatment in Turkey, suggested we could make a foray out before the national clamp down, but best if we wore gloves and masks. 

Signal eye roll. But J remembered seeing gloves, and indeed a search uncovered a box of surgical gloves, though no masks. Did contrive to tie a cotton scarf so that it could function as one, though J declined similar decoration. And in any case mine kept slipping down. The other two or three customers paid us no attention, but did note that the owner wore gloves like ours - though no mask. 

Produce supplies pretty depleted but acquire good red peppers, a few acceptable onions, seven large but very dehydrated mushrooms, and bananas. Also a kilo of strained yoghurt, tinned tomatoes, jam and (surprisingly) peanut butter. Not much bread left and all white, so add some hamburger buns. Spaghetti, though, available as whole grain. Sausage.  Added a frozen chicken, chicken stock cubes,  a packet of biscuits and a bottle of Turkish vodka. Think fast - should we be buying two packets of biscuits? Two bottles of vodka? There is in fact quite a fair supply of dried beans, rice, lentils and seasoning at home, as well as Thursday’s purchases.

So today begins with coffee and the sound of an ambulance. Go to the door to investigate, as do the neighbours across the narrow lane. Slows almost to a stop by our door but masked attendants look straight ahead. Resumes progress with siren. Discover that all passing vehicles come close to stopping a couple of feet from our door as the unevenness of the road at this point forms a natural speed bump.

Scramble the eggs from the market for Sunday brunch. Dark yolks and very fresh. Feather down still clinging. Toast last of the wholemeal bread from England. Consider that as house arrest goes the food is remarkably good. Terry Waite would have been envious.

Take our chairs out to the front steps. Temperature about 20, but closer to 30 in the sun, with a light breeze. Not much of the world going by as we sit, since everybody else is supposed to stay home except for essential movement like grocery shopping or necessary work. But the animals haven’t been informed so cats and dogs carry on with business as usual. A man comes out with two tiny pups, barely coordinated as they explore. Women water the flowers and chat, accidentally or otherwise standing pretty well the recommended two metres apart. Then a woman from across the way comes over and hands us a napkin with two fat pastries. Börek. Still warm and filled with raisins and apricot. Lovely of her. 

Open the bottle of Turkish Cabernet Sauvignon left for us and find it’s quite drinkable with tonight’s spaghetti. Jane calls and says the flight they were booked on moving back to the UK from the South was cancelled, as were all flights after the 20th so they managed to get one from Paphos on the 20th.

Plenty of reading time and, apart from ebooks plenty of news to read, even without the conspiracy theories.

Saturday, March 14/2020

Xmas Version - tree and reindeer now gone

A week is a long time in politics - and also it seems in pandemics. So the governments of Cyprus, both North and South, are tightening restrictions. Only residents allowed in, with some minor diplomatic exceptions that wouldn’t have included us. Ditto with crossing the border between North and South in either direction. Happily, our best guess is that the North is a safer place to be. In fact safer than much of the world. There have been five cases here of covid-19, four of them German tourists and one local. Anyone who has arrived in the last 14 days, including residents, is required to self-isolate for 14 days. So essentially we’ve put in the first four. And now have acquired what looks to us like close to another ten days’ food. Meanwhile, there are some pretty strict requirements for everybody:

A 14-day administrative leave was issued for all public personnel except for police officers, firefighters, health workers, civilian aviation employees and finance authorities. All businesses except for pharmacies, gas stations, bakeries and supermarkets were also ordered to close during the same period. The shutdown for schools ordered on March 10, when the first case was diagnosed, was also extended to March 27.

In fact in line with WHO recommendations and more or less the opposite of the UK’s herd immunity theory.

Nothing comparable in our  not all that short lifetime. The polio scare doesn’t come close. Hard to predict how this one will play out, but in most ways there’s nowhere we’d rather be. Lovely spot we’re staying in, temperatures around 20, quiet, beautiful (once we’re free to wander around town), fresh produce, local wine. Reminds us a little of the time the Icelandic volcano eruption kept us in London for a few bonus days - a halcyon time under ironically clear blue skies. We had on occasion thought of retiring to Cyprus. Maybe we’ve already done so.

Friday, March 13/2020

Friday the thirteenth. Not superstitious, but....1) Those who have been in the UK in the past 14 days are now supposed to self isolate for 14 days. Which, other than the dentist and buying food, is not hard to do. Will naturally tell Fehmi he needn’t touch us, though dental work not finished. 2) Fair bit of rain in the night, leading to leak in ceiling - not calamitous, and pots deployed. 3) No hot water. Could be worse, but the day is young. 

Ironic that the UK has just been put on Cypriot self-isolation lists when it was conspicuously absent from Trump’s banned European countries. The power of golf courses. Host’s brother takes ladder to roof. Leaking stops, though admittedly at more or less the same time as rain stops. Time will tell. Hot water problem remains, although “special technician” called for, and presumably will eventually appear. 

Thursday, March 12/2020

Appointment with Fehmi at 10. Early enough the restaurant touts aren’t busy. As we’ve discovered in previous stays in Famagusta, the bustle of the daytime really only begins when the tour coaches arrive mid-morning and ends when they leave mid-afternoon. After that the walled city is almost deserted. The regular city that surrounds it, Gazimagusa, isn’t quiet, of course. Its 40,000 inhabitants carry on normally. But our little walled enclave, a World Heritage Site is only home to a few and most of the sellers pack up and leave, though some of the restaurants remain open and hopeful.

Fehmi does valiant work trying to reattach my bridge, though he points out that nothing is ever static in the mouth. Teeth move, things change. Over an hour and we’re at the point where it’s usable and a little more polishing should do it. Then J. We’ll be back Monday. Fehmi’s wife, Filiz, comes in with her mobile to say that two sovereign crossing points, one of which we came through on Tuesday, have been closed, apparently until March 22. 

Pursue this online when we get home. May be retaliatory, as this closure was instituted by the North. Each side suspects the other of having more covid-19 cases than it is admitting to. As far as we are concerned, the crossing at Pyla, which remains open, is as convenient as the one we came through on our way here. And, probably most significant, the process of closing several but not all of the crossings slows casual tourist traffic, especially coaches, without disabling business, so it seems unlikely all points will close at the same time.

Overcast and windy, but today is the weekly municipal market, which we have often gone to in the past. It’s a little subdued but pretty well full size. We’re a little more cautious in the purchases than usual. Oranges, small Turkish bananas, onions, peppers, courgettes, aubergines, carrots and lentils. Eggs, for which we’ve probably overpaid because the usual containers hold 30. Fresh enough there are still tiny feathers sticking to them though. You can smell the fresh strawberries as we walk past, but we give them a miss. 

Find a half bag of manti - a small Turkish ravioli style pasta - in our freezer and make a tomato pepper onion sauce to toss it with. Manti more frequently served with a yoghurt based sauce but we find that one pretty sour.

Wednesday, March 11/2020

Time change not an asset in waking up, but we want to walk over to tell Fehmi, our dentist, that we’re here. And here for two weeks, so there’s lots of time. Lovely seeing him again - friend as well as dentist. And he makes us an appointment for tomorrow morning. He’s half way across the castle - the walled city - but that’s no more than a ten minute walk. A walk, though, that takes us past a few restaurants, all of them desperate for business. Embarrassing not to be providing it. Welcome, my friend. Very good food. 

Staff often black or Arabic looking. There is an immigration problem which does no credit to anyone. African students, especially from Nigeria, Cameroon and Zimbabwe, come to TRNC (the republic of North Cyprus) lured, sometimes deliberately by recruiters, by the prospect of an affordable university degree and hopes of eventual entry to an EU country.  They are often desperate for money to survive and take jobs for which they are likely to be underpaid. Some are unable to return to their own countries because of hopeless political situations. And any money they may earn is almost certain to be in Turkish lira, a currency in deep trouble, while their fees are charged in euros. This is a difficulty they share with the Turkish population. Hard currency is likely to be required for major purchases like cars but may be difficult to obtain. Hence we always pay Fehmi, our dentist, in either euros or sterling, although he would accept Turkish lira, and no doubt does from locals.

We take a walk just outside the walls after dusk and stop for doners, served with the usual salad, chips and rice (Jane always wondered why rice AND chips). Here the clientele is local and the prices lower. The staff a mixture of local and Asian. On the way back we pass several Africans, one a woman, probably Nigerian, carrying a large suitcase on her head.

Tuesday, March 10/2020

 Not much distinction between Monday night and Tuesday morning when going to bed not involved. Minicab booked for 3:30. Earlier than necessary down to fears of no show and lack of Plan B. Desk staff very friendly but seem genuinely unaware that their only recommended minicab is double the price of others available. But ours is fine. Arrives promptly, having texted that it is on its way. Even in London not much traffic at 4 AM. 

Heathrow not busy either. And our flight half full. As we’ve booked aisle seats opposite that in fact gives us three seats each, suitable for catching up on so far non-existent night’s sleep. Four and a half hour flight. Used to involve a pretty decent breakfast, but now BA claims that passengers prefer buying the M&S food they sell on board. This seems unlikely, as in earlier times there was a distinct lack of passengers turning down the hot breakfast saying that they’d brought supermarket sandwiches instead. However, we have brought quite a nice lunch with us and bottles of water refilled at the points most airports have now been shamed into providing.

Just before landing the pilot announces that those who have come from areas with corona virus will be asked to identify themselves to a nurse at the airport. We wonder which areas this extends to. UK? But situation clearer if not simpler on landing. Bottleneck has been arranged with questionnaires, desks and pens - and the (fortunately short) queue comes to a dead halt. Fill out questionnaires - who we are, home address and phone, where we have been, where we will be staying, etc. Do complete it. Decide not to annoy and confuse them by saying that before Sunflower will spend two weeks in the North. Provide home phone number but don’t say it has been disconnected. Final line advises that all info above should have been completed in Roman letters. Hard luck on any Greek who completed it in Greek, the official language of the country, but presumably they got different forms. 

Kemal our driver is waiting. Drives to the border at about twice the speed of Bill, who was not a slowpoke, just observant of posted limits. Short delay at the border. Now only two crossing points open, both in the British Sovereign Base Area. Government of the South closed the others days ago “for more effective control over the entry points." Move, re covid-19, unilateral, with government in the North not consulted. Usual suspicions of political motivation. Northern immigration authorities alert and medically masked. Have a penlike device that presumably checks our temperatures from a foot or two away. No question about where we’ve been. Our new passports are pretty pristine, not even having been stamped in the UK. Cleaning staff in evidence but much less alert, as masks come off and, like faces, much handled during breaks.

Kemal has the address and lets us in with the key from a digitally locked box. Interesting place. Charming, quirky garage converted to a flat with loft by the architect owner. A work in progress. Electrical and plumbing arrangements eccentric and probably not code, but not frightening. More than well equipped. Heaters, but we don’t really need them. Lots in the fridge, but we go out round the corner to a place we know. We’re near the castle walls, and no place in the old city is far from any other. Home by the light of the full moon. Tea and sleep.

Monday, March 9/2020

Last day in London, hard on the heels of the first day. Not sure when we’ve stayed here such a short time, but hoping for longer on the way back. Media full of covid-19, streets and tube not so much. See occasional persons wearing masks, but usually Asian and not more than one ever saw, as Asians frequently use masks, most often to protect others from the wearers’ colds. Not sure how much the advice to wash hands and beware of surfaces is being taken aboard. Public transport has plenty of surfaces, but also people chewing their nails and rubbing their noses. Not in Italy, apparently, where the streets are empty and even local travel restricted.

Stop briefly at Barons to say hello to Genie and can see that it is indeed in the throes of major renovation. Can’t clearly identify previous rooms, and no remaining wall and floor coverings. Dust and debris everywhere. But Genie is optimistic, if overwhelmed. Call in May and we’ll see what’s possible.

Drizzling again and we’ve barely had time to appreciate the daffodils. 

Tomorrow’s flight just after seven in the morning, so getting to Heathrow 5 two hours before is problematic. The tube doesn’t run early enough. Night buses do, but take much longer and you have to change buses. The obvious is a cab and we do book, but a little nervously, because checking the reviews is not entirely encouraging. Four stars out of five with 200 reviews often seems to mean that most customers were very satisfied but a small but significant minority were enraged by no shows. And we can see that we really should have booked earlier, yesterday or before. So, we have a booking and also crossed fingers.

Sunday, March 8/2020

Wake up at an astonishing ten minutes to ten. In mitigation, reflect that it’s five o’clock at home, and that only because daylight savings time has begun in North America but not, for another three weeks, in Europe. Be nice if those parts of the world that implement it could see fit to all do so on the same day. Jenny’s third floor is a lovely place to sleep, cool and very quiet - and like the rest of the house full of inviting books.

Emma comes over after Church along with Jasmine who is eleven, and at a lovely point of combining maturity with child innocence. And then a Sunday lunch with roast chicken. Remember before leaving that Jenny has the book that our late friend John wrote, a kind of mixture of history and myth set in Cumbria where we’ve spent time in a house we borrowed a few years back. Rather poignant moment seeing John has signed the book as he died in the autumn.

Saturday, March 6/2020

Tube plus train to Thames Ditton in the morning to Jenny and Doug’s. Despite the calendar, it looks like spring here, and we enjoy the gardens on the walk from the station.  Arrive in time to have coffee with J and D before heading out to Godalming for lunch with Jenny’s cousin Elaine, a birthday cum Palestinian lunch to which, happily, we have been invited. 

Elaine and I are FB friends of similar interests and political persuasion, though we’ve only met in person once or twice. She’s taking advantage of a birthday - which, like many of us she doesn’t really “do” any more - to put on a Palestinian meal, most of which she has made herself, and accept contributions for Palestinian relief. The Arabic food is wonderful, including lamb and rice dishes and a lovely orange cake made, I ascertain, from oranges, ground almonds and eggs, which I intend to try, despite the usual quality of oranges in Sioux Lookout. 

Enjoy chatting with the friends, most of whom are either relatives or former colleagues from education or media. We knew Jenny’s father who, like Elaine’s father, was born in Haifa with  an English father and Palestinian mother and had strong cultural ties to Palestine and the Middle East. In fact Jenny’s dad taught me to make maqluba, an Arabic dish of rice, fried vegetables and meat that is turned upside down when served. 

Home to lentil soup and talk with Doug and Jenny until bedtime. 

Friday, March 6/2020

Takes a moment to recognise the light on the morning wall as sunlight. Lovely. Back to the coffee shop and then a walk along Queensway. As always a few changes, shops that have disappeared or opened. Most startling is the almost total dismemberment of Whiteley’s, the iconic 19th century department store turned mall for which there are grand redevelopment plans that will preserve the original facade but not much more. At the moment there is the most skeletal of frameworks, and we’re looking right through it at the houses on the other side.

To Kilburn, vibrant as ever, in the afternoon. Ending up at Roses, our favourite supper place, where the (Turkish?) owner stops us and comes over to say hello, and are we coming or going. Note that kleftiko, usually a Thursday special, is on the chalkboard menu, but the young waitress is distressed when we order it. You don’t like lamb? It’s not that - but it’s all gone. Oh well, fish and chips then. Recognise a couple of regulars. One a cheerful man about our age with a knitted cap and bright eyes. He’s sitting by himself and carrying on a happy lengthy monologue, almost as if he were describing a video that only he can see. On his way out he tells us to have a good day. A friendly soul, clearly well known and accepted in the café.

Thursday, March 5/2020

Raining. And the man who sells us a bottle of wine at the little Tesco round the corner says nice day, not sarcastically, as I first assume, but merely as a standard pleasant bidding - have a good day. The inevitable rain doesn’t merit comment. February was the wettest on record for England, and no change expected before mid-March, though it’s not very cold. 

Take the bottle of wine with us to West Harrow to have lunch with Jean. Also the last of the wild blueberry jam, our usual offering from home. Cosy inside, though. Samosas, and cake with custard, and lots of catch up talk. Went for lunch but it’s fiveish when we leave. 

Television news full of covid-19, endlessly repeated - though endless repetition is the nature of tv news channels. Front page in newspapers as well. Lots of lighter stuff too, most happily a coming autumn revival of the classic satirical tv show Spitting Image, with a new set of political puppets. Puppet previews wonderful.

Wednesday, March 4/2020

Whatever the reason, our transatlantic flight is only half full. This means we each get two seats, which is a huge asset on an overnight flight. Good news is that dinner yesterday was at 20:30 (we’ve taken flights to England when it was after midnight). Bad news is that it’s not very good. Air Canada’s meals have been deteriorating steadily for years now. Happily, their wine hasn’t. It’s surprisingly good. So at breakfast (minimalism now peaking at a single stone cold slice of sweet spice bread, supplemented by us with cheese) when J declines to have last night’s empty wine bottle collected with the detritus - as they’re handy in our winter existence for small amounts of oil or vinegar, the stewardess asks if he’d like another and brings it. So our carry-ons now have two mini bottles of wine, suitable for picnicking in the hotel room, as I hadn’t drunk my second one last night.

We’re hours early for the hotel check in. Not, unfortunately, the Barons, as between weather delayed renovations and some family difficulties they’re not available. But the we’re only a couple of blocks away. Location fractionally better for tube stations and coffee shop. To which we repair to wake ourselves up with Starbucks filter and read the news until we can have our room. Bigger than Barons and less familial. Well not familial at all. Decent price and not familial at all. Decent price and (a bonus) wifi, but more into printed rules and waivers - no smoking or smoking up and signed acknowledgments, e.g. of the fact that all internet use involves significant privacy, security and confidentiality risks. Yes, VPN well worth it. Room is basic but fine. Clean, loo ok, quite a decent tv, pristine kettle.

Ah yes, kettle. J spots the sign by the tap saying that the water is not drinkable. What? This is London, where the water is always drinkable, and with no chemical cum chlorine taste. I inquire in reception. Well we don’t recommend it. If you boil it, it’s all right. Tell them that we have been staying in London for years and have never encountered a hotel where you couldn’t drink the water. Some wriggling. Well you CAN drink it - I do, the girl admits - but we don’t RECOMMEND it. Ah, the lawsuit averseness. So this is the same water that other buildings in this area use? Yes. There’s no particular problem with your pipes? Oh, NO. Right. Problem solved.

Tuesday, March 3/2020

Stage one of the Winnipeg to London flight. Sit next to an American. As J puts it, a stereotypical American, a believer in the American dream. Though one who doesn’t really think, he says frequently, that it’s going to deliver for him. We learn that he’s from Virginia, raises beef cattle but can’t afford enough land to do it on a larger scale and supplements his income by delivering new semis to destinations all over Canada and the US. Also that he is a Trump supporter and did three years in Eye-raq. And that he grows hemp, for which he apparently has a licence as well as making moonshine for which he presumably doesn’t. Much accompanied by mobile phone photos.

And he has questions as well. Do we have bears, do we pay an enormous amount of income tax, do Canadians care who wins power in the US, have we been to Dubai? We give some answers. The tax is not massively different but where the tax money goes is. Less in Canada to the military and more to health. Yes, most Canadians do care who the president is. No, we haven’t been to Dubai. 

There are things we don’t say. Despite our friend’s claim to having excellent insurance himself, we can’t understand being sanguine about medical bills being the number one cause of American bankruptcies. The overwhelming majority of Canadians are contemptuous of Trump. We haven’t been to Dubai in large part because I refuse to support a regime that is guilty of such appalling treatment of vulnerable foreign workers.

The Iraq experience leads to observations on other cultures. He’s seen Iraqi palaces - beautiful but not really well constructed. Hard not to reflect that many of the sites had survived a very long time before they were attacked. 

Actually, I had intended to read my library book, which will vanish from the tablet in nine days. (No more problem with overdue books). Perhaps it’s just as well that it’s an e-book and therefore the title is not visible: Philip Rucker and Carol Leonnig’s A Very Stable Genius, an account of Trump’s shambolic first three years in the White House. 

There is a terrible kind of innocence about our talkative new friend, both disturbing and, in a way, moving. The American dream but....Have sprayed all relevant surfaces with alcohol but can’t help thinking that it’s just as well that the American is unlikely to be spreading COVID-19. Three hour conversation at two foot range not ideal defensive measure.

Thursday, May 2/2019

Well, that’s it until next travel season. Should be late October. Will be, subject to having accumulated enough satisfactory ID to acquire new ten year passports. At which point we go, whether or not we’ve had time to book accommodation. 

Did you know there’s actually a site called Sleeping in Airports? And very useful it is, too. Full of handy information, like which airports - most, I should think - have seating inconveniently divided by armrests, so that only the Loch Ness monster could hope to get a night’s sleep. Think the last time we slept in an airport may have been 2004. No immediate plans to repeat. 

Will spend at least part of-the summer figuring out how to make the Word Press site work properly. A little like the manual in the glove compartment of the Corolla we rented. Ran to over 600 pages but not easy to find the simple stuff. Word Press .com site happy to tell me how to have an image described for the visually impaired (no, predictive text, not for the visually appealing) but not as quick on how to reposition the image. Well, of course that might not matter to the visually impaired. Aware that I haven’t even done the blog there as separate posts - just as a series of headings in one long post. Also, can’t tell if anyone reads it, while blogspot showed the hits. 

It’s really largely our own journal record anyway, and have always assumed quality and not quantity in readership. Though have to say that I noticed a slight increase in hits in the week after the handbag theft, leading me to wonder if there is a market for disaster travel writing. Probably, but will not deliberate pursue it.

Wednesday, May 1/2019

Much earlier flight than usual, so the alarm set for 4:15. Already packed, so we’re at the tube station as it opens at 5:00. And not alone, either. There are a dozen other people waiting for the first trains through. Heathrow train from South Kensington is both later and much fuller than we expected, but we’re at Heathrow by twenty to seven. And know to ask for a human when we go to check in. 

And, for the first but not the last time, we encounter someone who ignores our proffered sheet of paper and asks to just see our passports. Also, for the first but not the last time, the person we initially encounter has to find a superior to refer us to. But we’re through, though with a boarding pass only for the first segment - London to Dublin. You can get the next boarding pass at the transfer desk in Dublin - no, you won’t need to go through security again, just the transfer desk. 

Cheered by this, and not having an assigned gate yet anyway, we make a quick stop at duty free and pick up two bottles of gin. Sharp woman on the desk, who picks up instantly that a) our travel documents show that we are indeed leaving the EU, despite a boarding pass that will take us only as far as Dublin, and b) we can therefore take an officially sealed bottle with us. So two sealed bottles of gin. And barely time to collect two coffee Americanos, very hot but they’ll be nice on the plane because the flight’s at ten to nine and we’ve been up forever. First flight is Aer Lingus, a code share with Air Canada. Get referred and checked through separately - you can board as soon as you finish your coffees. Well, so much for coffee. 

Sleep pretty well all the way to Dublin and then disembark and look for the transfer desk. Find it. Says closed - and to follow the arrows to the alternate transfer desk. There are lots of arrows because it’s a longish way. Think at first that at least Toronto has a trottoir. What on earth is the English - moving sidewalk sounds so clumsy? (Actually, all this means is that I associate trottoir with airport moving sidewalks, but the moving bit is not inherent in the word).

Transfer desk wants our non-existent boarding passes. We explain. The very nice lady is sympathetic, but we’ll have to get them from Air Canada. That’s at the other terminal, but it’s not a long walk. Just back and exit through the luggage claim area and turn left. You’ll be fine. Just ask anyone as you go. We do. The young lady we ask is not nearly as sympathetic, but purses her lips and does her duty. She takes us to immigration. We’re horrified. Not that it would be a bad place to immigrate to, but all they’re going to do is ask for our passports - and then we’ll have to go through security again. With limited time and two bottles of gin. The official at immigration is no problem. Passports? Oh, that’s fine. Done. 

But we’re now officially in Ireland. Need boarding passes and then through security - again. Large Air Canada woman says oh definitely no liquid through security. Never. But takes us to Nina, who checks us out on her computer. Small problem. Could we just go over to the desk on the other side. And about the gin. That’s not fair, she murmurs. See if security will let it through. If not, come back to me and I’ll check it through in one of your carry-ons. The desk-on-the-other-side lady is nice too. Some difficulty in reaching Canadian officialdom, who appear, the efforts of the High Commission notwithstanding, never to have heard of us. 

As we wait I empty the things I don’t want to leave in a carry-on entrusted to Air Canada’s tender mercies into a plastic bag - mostly various electronic plugs and cables. Also sterling and euro coins which I dump loose into the bottom of my new handbag. We’ve chosen my carry-on to take the gin if necessary as it’s old, tattered, and of no commercial value. Bought as an extra carrier years ago. Cheap then and an unattractive camouflage, it has somehow never been retired. The family joke is that its security feature is that no thief with any standards would give it a second glance. But it’s impossible to lock satisfactorily. It’s never previously been entrusted with a decent bottle. Eventually we are approved, though, and given boarding passes for the flights to both Toronto and Winnipeg. And security no problem at all. They know all about sealed liquor. Just a brief panic when one bottle of gin seems to have disappeared, but is discovered underneath the plastic tray into which our hazardous possessions are being loaded - three ipad minis and three mobiles. No time to spend euro coins (presuming they could still be identified in the darkest depths of my handbag) but not late for flight. 

Air Canada not only unfazed by our travel documents but, as we’ve skipped the queue to deal, once again, with a human, lets us board immediately. Once aboard I point out to J my cleverness in booking via Dublin - which for the past two hours has looked a little short of brilliant. It’s the configuration of the plane, a Boeing 767-300ER. The seats are arranged XX XXX XX. Two aisles with two seats, then three in the middle, then two more. So for the transAtlantic flight no one is sitting with us. A more difficult booking than it sounds, and the reason for our 4 AM rising. It wasn’t too hard to book a flight to London with this configuration (though did that mean we had to fly on a Sunday) but none were available in London returning to Canada. Assuming that they couldn’t all be piling up somewhere in Europe, I pursued this until I discovered the flight from Dublin to Toronto. So we do have good seats. And enough tidbits to significantly improve the quality of Air Canada’s meal. Though fortunately, and in all fairness not unusually, the wine is perfectly drinkable and improves our mood significantly. The crew are forbidden to give you two at a time, but perfectly willing to come back with seconds. 

So arrive in Toronto. Canadian citizens to the left and others to the right. J incensed at being treated as non-Canadian, but really the right side queue includes, though not explicitly, everyone not in a position to slide a Canadian passport into  “the machine” - the electronic reader. The official we reach is nice, but wastes no time in sending us to ”immigration”, which proves to be the next room, where there are several wickets and a queue of maybe twenty people. Not bad, although they must all be people with problems. The young man we see is nice and efficient. As we discovered, by turning over an emergency travel document to read the reverse side, the immigration officer at our point of entry is required to retain the document. In fact one officer used the term impound. Which would leave us with no (me) or inadequate (J) ID. But when I say this our young man makes a “certified true copy” photocopy for us. 

And down to collect our suitcases. The carousel is empty and unmoving, though. There are a few straggler suitcases beside it, but they aren’t ours. We inquire at the Air Canada luggage desk. Oh, they’ll go straight through to Winnipeg. Well, that’s all right then, if accurate. I did ask someone back in London if they went to Toronto and she said yes, but then maybe all Canadian cities seem alike if you’re from away. Now up to departures with our nice certified IDs. You don’t need a passport at all to fly within Canada, just government issued photo ID. This is definitely government issued, and the photos, if unflattering, are clearly us. We’re nearly home free, though free is a bit of a misnomer for this very expensive exercise. 

Show our boarding passes and are waved into the security area by someone who barely glances at them and doesn’t ask to see our dubious IDs at all. Then, without warning, and before we’re in the queue, we’re pounced on, almost literally, by a man who seems to have sprung from the sidelines and asked for our boarding passes. No problem. But it seems there is a problem. Who made these? It’s a demand. Air Canada, in Dublin. He looks more than unconvinced. And in fact the young lady who called Ottawa to vet us and then printed the boarding passes for both flights probably wasn’t an Air Canada employee, as she seemed to be doing security checks for more than one airline. Come with me. It’s definitely an order. No time to drink the remaining water, he says,  as we’ll be in the front of the line. And he’s in a hurry, quite distressed when I stop to look for the plastic bag of liquids which has, as usual filtered down to the bottom of my handbag. 

We are indeed marched to the front of the queue. And they make it clear that they want to keep our belongings separate. No mingling of ipads or jackets. By the time I walk through the scanner and start to reassemble my life J is nowhere to be seen. Unnerving, until I spot him at one side being given what looks like a regular enhanced check. His trays are taken and checked separately. And interestingly they’re not at all concerned with the sandwiches and buns that have made it through. My mentally rehearsed explanation of the legitimacy of their contents not required. No need to explain that peanut butter is a legume and not a nut product. The gin gets what appears to be routine testing and its bags are resealed. However, the security man puts on latex gloves to handle J’s boarding pass, while showing no interest at all in mine, or in our IDs. Just as they have shown no interest in any of my possessions in the trays, while keeping J’s aside as if contaminated. 

You’re wondering why this is happening, he asks. We are. It’s random. What’s your airline? Well, Air Canada has identified you for a security check. Which sounds about as unrandom as it is possible to get. Gloves removed and boarding pass returned. And still no idea what just happened. Feels a bit like life in a spy novel. Doesn’t require paranoia to believe that they were actually waiting for us, or at least for J. Equipped with a photo? You do get your picture taken - remove the glasses please and look at the red light - when leaving Heathrow. Weird. And if they really think J is a terrorist or whatever, wouldn’t it be a bit slack not to think he might have given me the incriminating material before we reached security? 

Last flight check in and we overcome the temptation to approach the desk and ask whether our documents have to be referred to higher authority. And if our suitcases are onboard then they have to delay the flight and remove them if they don’t let us on. Not quite an ace up the sleeve, but maybe a jack. Or maybe only a deuce. And, oddly, we have noticed, on J’s boarding pass, handscrawled SSSS. Or S8S5? Not easy to tell. But when did it appear? Back in Dublin or later? Pass now officially stamped by security. Twice. And we have been rehabilitated. Maybe. Certainly there is not so much as a raised eyebrow as we board the flight for Winnipeg. And when we arrive bags on the carousel. Been a long day - approximately twenty-three hours since we got up.

Tuesday, April 30/2019

Last day. And usually ready by now despite our gypsy inclinations. Though seeing that the highs in Sioux Lookout are falling somewhat short of 10 degrees is a little sad. Though can’t really complain, as it’s the coldest we’ve experienced since last October. And ice out is on the early side. We arrived in London this month late enough that we missed the daffodils and magnolias. Thought that the lilacs we could see from our window were lasting surprisingly well until we realised they weren’t lilacs. More likely wisteria. Our schedule does have the advantage of giving us more than one spring. To the little period jewellery shop in Hampstead Antique Emporium.  Always fascinating. And a top up at Aldi on dark chocolate.