Walk around the central area, reorienting ourselves. Where did the Catholic Church go - the one we went to seven years ago? You could see it from the Fardoss, now being renovated. Check in the bookstore at the five star Cham Palace Hotel, but Lonely Planet is no help. Spot our old restaurant, Abou Kamal, on Azem Square, but its sister restaurant, Ali Baba, on the ground floor, has its windows covered with newspaper.
Then down to the souq. You could get fat on the way, as admiring the Syrian pastries and sweet preserved fruit in the shop windows leads to generous and delicious free samples. Hamidiyeh Souq, the main old market, was ancient when St Paul was in Damascus, and it sells everything from gold to perfume to school supplies to socks. There's an ice cream parlour that, Lilly told us, has made its owners billionaires. But we always seem to leave it for a later that never comes, as the souq is a huge maze and we never quite retrace our steps, even when we try. It's bigger than the souq in Sousse (Tunisia) and much more fun. Shops with gold and brocades gleam jewel-like and while offers are constant they're often half-hearted (how many tourists really buy socks?). There's none of the hard edge, almost harrassment.
We circle slowly round the ancient lanes, some covered and some not, toward the old Christian district and Straight St, mentioned in the Book of Acts as the site of St Paul's conversion. As before, the new jostles comfortably against the old, with satellite dishes topping crumbling ancient buildings and tipsy old balconies overhanging shops selling mobile phone cards. But J laments the disappearance of many of the oldest building fronts as the centuries old woodwork is covered with plaster or sometimes wide strips of metal. Will the metal protect the wood? No, he says, water will get between the metal and the wood and the wood will rot faster.
In the evening to Abou Kamal restaurant for dinner. As we leave "Trevor" is watching the unfolding drama of events in Libya and comments on the number of Arab countries in revolt. We're interested in the range of tv chanels that seem to be freely available. Al Jazeera is particularly uncompromising in presenting material that one might have supposed Arab dictatorships were not eager to have citizens view. Syria is a comfortable and seemingly stable coutry, but it's not a democracy - it's illegal, for example, to criticise the president in public. Though there's a fair bit of toleration for religious minorities. Also, interestingly, while the GDP per capita is lower than Egypt's, it seems to be more evenly distributed. Begging is probably less common than in Toronto, and there aren't visible extremes.
We're a bit early at Abou Kamal and it's not terribly full yet, but the other diners are all local families. Snowy linen cloth and a night view of Azem Square. The menu is a delight and we remember it from previous visits. For example the griled bird - further explained as griled local bird. Urban pigeon? Perhaps best not to order, but what might we be missing? There are some partial explanations too. Motable is defined as griled egg plant, yogurt and sesame, while Mahamara is mushtast, red pepper, sesame and oil. These from the dips on the mixed appetizer tray. Delicious, but we never do sort out what they all are, other than the very good humus.
We order a chicken dish with a cheese topped sauce and a mushroom fricassee with bits of lamb. Pass up the "tournedoes (ceeseoregy, or Plin)" - which I eventually translate as "cheese, or egg or plain." No rice included, though there's lots of pita bread and the appetizers were pretty filling. The total doesn't come to much more than the sum of the parts, despite the ominous warning on the menu that "this price doesn't include consumptive fees." At tip time we get two hovering waiters watching as we decide how much to part with. Must have been satisfactory as I get helped on with my jacket.
Back at Happy Nights we ask "Trevor" if there have been any more revolutions. "No," he says, "I think that's enough."
JAWORSKI TRAVELS
We live our lives forever taking leave - Rilke
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Thursday, 3 March 2011
Saturday, February 26/2011
The day starts with ominous spatters of rain on the window, but bits of light sky as well, and breakfast - brought in on trays. It's substantial enough - hardboiled egg, large roll, cheese triangle, apricot jam, synthetic juice (remarkably reminiscent of flat orange crush), slices of tinned peach and pre-packaged pieces of cake and chocolate croissant. Not precisely what we would have chosen to eat, but certainly more than enough. We each get a tea bag and a small packet of Nescafé as well. So we attempt to heat a small pot of water on the flat electronic burner. Looks obvious but the burner doesn't begin to heat. Turns out that the stove is smarter than we are - it won't come on until there's a pot on the burner.
Lilly and Steven arrive about eleven to meet us in the lobby. Lilly and I met online pursuing overlapping genealogical interests. We have shared (Manning) ancestry, but you have to go back to the early 1700's along the Hudson River to find it. Lilly is a Californian married to a Syrian and living in Lattakia on the northern coast. Steven, her 18 year old son is a very pleasant young man and has accompanied Lilly on the five hour bus ride from Lattakia, lured in part by the opportunity to buy DVDs.
It's lovely meeting them after years of emails, and we're lucky to have them as local guides to some of the spots we haven't visited before, Lilly filling in background information and Steven fluently reading the Arabic explanations and negotiating local prices.
We start with the tomb of the chivalrous Saladdin (literally Righteousness of the Faith - Salah ad-Din, a description rather than a given name), who recaptured the Holy Land from the Crusaders - respected opposite number to Richard the Lionheart.
Then to the Umayyad Mosque, also in the old city, considered the fourth holiest site in Islam. It was completed in 715 on the site of an earlier Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, whose head is believed to be in a shrine within. For years Christians and Moslems shared the building but eventually the arrangement broke down. The buuilding itself is huge and classically proportioned (based on the temple of Jupiter which preceded the basilica - itself a replacement of an earlier temple to the old pagan god Ba'al). There's a spacious courtyard and Lilly and I don long hooded cover-up coats before entering. There is a stunning gold mosaic over the outside entrance and beautiful mosaic work and carving inside - as well as a lot of high ceilinged space and white walls giving a sense of peace. Women pray on one side and men on the other, but there are no dividing walls - just Corinthian columns.
The mosque is also a sacred place for Shi'ites as it marks the place where the head of Mohammed's grandson Hussein was previously displayed. He's regarded as a Shia martyr (long story, best googled) and many Iranians visit the site. Lilly points them out in the mosque and in the souk, recognisable by their black chadors, worn by young women as well as old. We spend some time outside the shrine of John the Baptist, all pillars and coloured glass and metal grillwork, through which can just be glimpsed a coffin-like object - much bigger than a head.
We stop for lunch at a restaurant in the old city - accessed through a long passage with ancient doors leading to houses still occupied. The restaurant is in an old house with tables in a spacious courtyard. It's a beautiful spot and Lilly and Steven explain the menu to us, describing the various Syrian dishes. Seems it's a bit like a Polish menu though. (In Poland a menu lists everything that might ever be on offer - you have to ask which of the items they actually have). So we end up with beef (J) and chicken (Lilly and me) in a tasty tomato and pepper sauce over rice. Steven orders a dish in a yoghurt sauce. All very nice and in an amazing spot. A good chance to visit as well. And the bill is interesting too - featuring not only the sour pickles and the bottle of water and packet of pitas, but also the box of tissues. A lovely experience.
After lunch we visit the Azem Palace, built in 1750 for the Ottoman governor of Damascus, and consisting of several buildings around an enormous courtyard. Steven and I estimate that one servant would have had to do nothing but sweep. It's done in limestone, sandstone, basalt and marble, giving a patterned effect, and features ceilings with painted wooden paels in rooms that have been restored to display period furnishings and costumes. Most impressive is the family baths, though we're up against closing time and a little in the way of baksheesh is required to let us stay. But Lilly is right - it is impressive, a smaller version of the public hammam with baths of different size in its various rooms and a complex water delivery system. Lilly has a friend who is a member of the Azem family. The family lived in the palace until the 1920's, and her friend's father was actually born here. Impressive to us, but L says the friend's teenage children are completely uninterested in this bit of ancient history.
We separate outside the fountained courtyard and Lilly and Steven leave to pursue more modern shopping spots. We have a brief conversation with an American woman who looks about our age. She's ordinarily resident in France but has a visa to stay in Syria for three months. She's a confirmed traveller and likes the Middle East, but backs up our perception that accommodation is expensive in Syria. She's paying 300 euros a month for a small apartment, but says it's pretty basic. Food, though, is inexpensive, and the city is interesting.
We get lost, as one ought, in the maze of the souq, and then head back to our hotel. Here we meet the owner who, Kiki has told us, stays at the Sunflower when visiting Cyprus. The theory is that we'll rest a bit and dthen find something to eat, but we lose our initiative as we relax in front of the television updates on the Libyan revolution, and settle for tea and biscuits.
Lilly and Steven arrive about eleven to meet us in the lobby. Lilly and I met online pursuing overlapping genealogical interests. We have shared (Manning) ancestry, but you have to go back to the early 1700's along the Hudson River to find it. Lilly is a Californian married to a Syrian and living in Lattakia on the northern coast. Steven, her 18 year old son is a very pleasant young man and has accompanied Lilly on the five hour bus ride from Lattakia, lured in part by the opportunity to buy DVDs.
It's lovely meeting them after years of emails, and we're lucky to have them as local guides to some of the spots we haven't visited before, Lilly filling in background information and Steven fluently reading the Arabic explanations and negotiating local prices.
We start with the tomb of the chivalrous Saladdin (literally Righteousness of the Faith - Salah ad-Din, a description rather than a given name), who recaptured the Holy Land from the Crusaders - respected opposite number to Richard the Lionheart.
Then to the Umayyad Mosque, also in the old city, considered the fourth holiest site in Islam. It was completed in 715 on the site of an earlier Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, whose head is believed to be in a shrine within. For years Christians and Moslems shared the building but eventually the arrangement broke down. The buuilding itself is huge and classically proportioned (based on the temple of Jupiter which preceded the basilica - itself a replacement of an earlier temple to the old pagan god Ba'al). There's a spacious courtyard and Lilly and I don long hooded cover-up coats before entering. There is a stunning gold mosaic over the outside entrance and beautiful mosaic work and carving inside - as well as a lot of high ceilinged space and white walls giving a sense of peace. Women pray on one side and men on the other, but there are no dividing walls - just Corinthian columns.
The mosque is also a sacred place for Shi'ites as it marks the place where the head of Mohammed's grandson Hussein was previously displayed. He's regarded as a Shia martyr (long story, best googled) and many Iranians visit the site. Lilly points them out in the mosque and in the souk, recognisable by their black chadors, worn by young women as well as old. We spend some time outside the shrine of John the Baptist, all pillars and coloured glass and metal grillwork, through which can just be glimpsed a coffin-like object - much bigger than a head.
We stop for lunch at a restaurant in the old city - accessed through a long passage with ancient doors leading to houses still occupied. The restaurant is in an old house with tables in a spacious courtyard. It's a beautiful spot and Lilly and Steven explain the menu to us, describing the various Syrian dishes. Seems it's a bit like a Polish menu though. (In Poland a menu lists everything that might ever be on offer - you have to ask which of the items they actually have). So we end up with beef (J) and chicken (Lilly and me) in a tasty tomato and pepper sauce over rice. Steven orders a dish in a yoghurt sauce. All very nice and in an amazing spot. A good chance to visit as well. And the bill is interesting too - featuring not only the sour pickles and the bottle of water and packet of pitas, but also the box of tissues. A lovely experience.
After lunch we visit the Azem Palace, built in 1750 for the Ottoman governor of Damascus, and consisting of several buildings around an enormous courtyard. Steven and I estimate that one servant would have had to do nothing but sweep. It's done in limestone, sandstone, basalt and marble, giving a patterned effect, and features ceilings with painted wooden paels in rooms that have been restored to display period furnishings and costumes. Most impressive is the family baths, though we're up against closing time and a little in the way of baksheesh is required to let us stay. But Lilly is right - it is impressive, a smaller version of the public hammam with baths of different size in its various rooms and a complex water delivery system. Lilly has a friend who is a member of the Azem family. The family lived in the palace until the 1920's, and her friend's father was actually born here. Impressive to us, but L says the friend's teenage children are completely uninterested in this bit of ancient history.
We separate outside the fountained courtyard and Lilly and Steven leave to pursue more modern shopping spots. We have a brief conversation with an American woman who looks about our age. She's ordinarily resident in France but has a visa to stay in Syria for three months. She's a confirmed traveller and likes the Middle East, but backs up our perception that accommodation is expensive in Syria. She's paying 300 euros a month for a small apartment, but says it's pretty basic. Food, though, is inexpensive, and the city is interesting.
We get lost, as one ought, in the maze of the souq, and then head back to our hotel. Here we meet the owner who, Kiki has told us, stays at the Sunflower when visiting Cyprus. The theory is that we'll rest a bit and dthen find something to eat, but we lose our initiative as we relax in front of the television updates on the Libyan revolution, and settle for tea and biscuits.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Friday, February 25/2011
We're meant to be leaving Larnaca at 18:30, a late change from our 21:50 departure and, as the girl at the agency points out, an improvement. But we notice that the arrival time in Damascus is 21:15 and ask how a flight that should be an hour has stretched out to almost three. Turns out that someone has helpfully switched us to the milk run - Damascus via Aleppo with an hour's stop. So switch back to the original, and M kindly drops us at the airport. We're early and have lots of time at the departure lounge - number 23 according to the monitor - until boarding, when the person checking tells us it's the wrong flight. Brief panic. Seems they've changed the deparature gate and we, sitting in the departure lounge, haven't kept rechecking. But it's a smallish airport so no big problem - we're saved from going to Athens.
Flights to the middle east from Cyprus are all ascent and descent - an hour to Damascus. We're on a group visa but the group actually consists of the two of us, so we're met by our contact, who shepherds us through immigration. And past the cash point where we withdraw Syrian pounds - roughly 50 to the dollar. Despite the many warnings online about its erratic performance, the machine delivers crisp new S£500 notes, with our guide being helpful to the point of leaning in and indicating on the screen the amount we should withdraw - less, actually, than we intend to.
It`s a half hour drive north to the city, home to 6 million people by day and 5 million by night. We`re at the Happy Nights Hotel, just off Martyrs' Square and not much more than a five minute walk from the ancient walled part of the city. A rather grotty entrance area and a tiny lift with a non-automatic door that takes us to the third floor and the little lobby. There a young man with the same laugh as our nephew Trevor presides over the night desk. Our room is one of nine - small but newly redone with fresh carpet and tiles so shiny they look wet and the thickest towels of any place we've stayed. It's billed as a studio and there is a bit of a kitchen in the entry with microwave and a single electronic burner and minimal dishes, as well as a bar fridge in the main room.
There's a small flat screen tv fixed high on the wall at an angle more or less impossible to appreciate from the bed. J discovers the method in the madness - the screen is easily viewed in the dresser mirror, though of course all words are in mirror writing and weather maps downright confusing. News tickers and subtitles pretty useless too. But there are well over 400 chanels, all with excellent picture and sound, including BBC World, Al Jazeera, Euronews and CNN - all in English.
Flights to the middle east from Cyprus are all ascent and descent - an hour to Damascus. We're on a group visa but the group actually consists of the two of us, so we're met by our contact, who shepherds us through immigration. And past the cash point where we withdraw Syrian pounds - roughly 50 to the dollar. Despite the many warnings online about its erratic performance, the machine delivers crisp new S£500 notes, with our guide being helpful to the point of leaning in and indicating on the screen the amount we should withdraw - less, actually, than we intend to.
It`s a half hour drive north to the city, home to 6 million people by day and 5 million by night. We`re at the Happy Nights Hotel, just off Martyrs' Square and not much more than a five minute walk from the ancient walled part of the city. A rather grotty entrance area and a tiny lift with a non-automatic door that takes us to the third floor and the little lobby. There a young man with the same laugh as our nephew Trevor presides over the night desk. Our room is one of nine - small but newly redone with fresh carpet and tiles so shiny they look wet and the thickest towels of any place we've stayed. It's billed as a studio and there is a bit of a kitchen in the entry with microwave and a single electronic burner and minimal dishes, as well as a bar fridge in the main room.
There's a small flat screen tv fixed high on the wall at an angle more or less impossible to appreciate from the bed. J discovers the method in the madness - the screen is easily viewed in the dresser mirror, though of course all words are in mirror writing and weather maps downright confusing. News tickers and subtitles pretty useless too. But there are well over 400 chanels, all with excellent picture and sound, including BBC World, Al Jazeera, Euronews and CNN - all in English.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Thursday, February 24/2011
Robert Fisk, intrepid reporter on the Middle East for The Independent is now in Tripoli, just as most people are trying desperately to leave. He provides a fascinating, though not particularly encouraging, insight into Gadaffi's though processes. It seems that a friend of Fisk's was granted a twenty minute interview with the Libyan leader. Thinking that the friend had had a facelift, when in fact he was simply young looking, Gadaffi insisted on spending the entire twenty minutes inquiring about facelifts, apparently wanting one for himself.
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Wednesday, February 23/2011
Haircuts part two. We go earlier this morning, by 9:30, but wait until nearly eleven. In part it's the usual Cypriot problem. In theory there's a queue but in practice the tribal system takes over, with friends, relatives, friends of relatives and relatives of friends taking precedence. Not speaking Greek is no asset, both because we can't (though probably wouldn't) engage in special pleading and because we don't pick up on what pleas and promises have been made. I usually simply take a book but with J there as well I'm too polite to sit and read it. And why do we do it? The man is cheap (€10 for my haircut and €5 for J's) and he's very good.
Over to our café afterward for Cyprus coffees, sporting our new haircuts, though with sunglasses designed for preventing ocular deterioration rather than displaying status.
Over to our café afterward for Cyprus coffees, sporting our new haircuts, though with sunglasses designed for preventing ocular deterioration rather than displaying status.
Tuesday, February 22/2011
J has a dental appointment this morning so I go along and make an appointment for next week to have my bridge replaced - or step one thereof. It's about thirty years old, more or less - I haven't really kept track - and apparently these things don't last forever. Ernie, our dentist at home, says that teeth are only designed to last about forty years - in which case we're pleased to be outliving them. Should have had haircuts as well, as part of the general self-improvement process, but our usual spot is very fullso we decide not to wait.
Down to M's flat at four for drinks - and to examine the mysterious shell she's found. A dark shadow inhabits the interior, presumably once alive but dissection with a kitchen knife just leads it to crumble.
Gaddafi makes a bizarre speech, looking strangely like Baron Von Munchausen. He vows to stay to the last bullet and to die in his country, leading one to hope someone puts him out of his misery before there are too many hundred more bodies on the street.
Down to M's flat at four for drinks - and to examine the mysterious shell she's found. A dark shadow inhabits the interior, presumably once alive but dissection with a kitchen knife just leads it to crumble.
Gaddafi makes a bizarre speech, looking strangely like Baron Von Munchausen. He vows to stay to the last bullet and to die in his country, leading one to hope someone puts him out of his misery before there are too many hundred more bodies on the street.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Monday, February 21/2011
We're about to leave for Pyla - actually out on our way to the bus, but the rain starts, so it seems a bit pointless standing at the bus stop in the rain in order to go on the hash walk (me). Shame though, as J was to visit with Bill at the same time.
Television and radio are riveting though, as the violence continues in Libya. Heartbreaking pleas for world help from Libyans who report horrific events like security people going into hospitals and killing patients and medical staff. . We listen to the extreme distress of Libyans telling of the bodies on the streets over poor phone lines - it sometimes impossible to separate breaking transmission from accounts mixed with sobs. At the same time, as we watch BBC television with the sound muted the ticker tells of two Libyan fighter planes landing in Malta rather than obey orders to bomb their own people - while the footage on the entertainment news shows Lady Gaga arriving at some event in a transparent egg. Bizarre juxtaposition!
Television and radio are riveting though, as the violence continues in Libya. Heartbreaking pleas for world help from Libyans who report horrific events like security people going into hospitals and killing patients and medical staff. . We listen to the extreme distress of Libyans telling of the bodies on the streets over poor phone lines - it sometimes impossible to separate breaking transmission from accounts mixed with sobs. At the same time, as we watch BBC television with the sound muted the ticker tells of two Libyan fighter planes landing in Malta rather than obey orders to bomb their own people - while the footage on the entertainment news shows Lady Gaga arriving at some event in a transparent egg. Bizarre juxtaposition!
Sunday, February 20/2011
Brunch and lazy reading. We're nearly finished The Towers of Silence, Book 3 of the Raj Quartet.
Saturday, February 19/2011
Coffee at our usual joined by M's friend Dino, a British Cypriot. Stop at the market round the corner on the way back for a bag (of 14) large fresh grapefruit for €1.50. They let J shift grapefruit to get more pink ones and fewer white in his bag.
Friday, February 18/2011
J, M and I to the English language Mediterranean High School for their production of Grease. A good choice as it's fun and has a cast of thousands to boost the ticket sales to family. The two leads are a bit lightweight but two of the major backups are professional quality good. It's packed and everyone has a good time.
Thursday, February 17/2011
Dougie drops over - the first time we have seen him this year. We were talking about not having seen him when M, who had his mobile number, texted. Dougie is a British born Cypriot who drives a local bus. For the last ten years it's been the airport route and he was always cheerful and friendly - knew his regulars by name. And of course that's how we knew him. In fact, as his business card shows, his name isn't really Dougie but Christakis Antoniou. So why Dougie, we ask. Well, it comes from the second half of his first name, and in Greek the t is pronounced like d. So it's a corruption of Daki.
He's in transition now, disillusioned by a system that has moved him to a backwater village route and left him with an unpleasant six day work week - and this despite the fact that they're expanding the routes and have hired new drivers So he's finishing next month and off back to Jersey where he drove a tourist bus for years and has maintained a house and a flat.
He's in transition now, disillusioned by a system that has moved him to a backwater village route and left him with an unpleasant six day work week - and this despite the fact that they're expanding the routes and have hired new drivers So he's finishing next month and off back to Jersey where he drove a tourist bus for years and has maintained a house and a flat.
Wednesday, February 16/2011
To the dentist in the morning for teeth cleaning. Some difficulty finding our files - J doesn't exist in the Greek alphabet.
M has Jane and Bill and us to dinner - chicken curry. And nice evening with good company. These hotel flats do at least have the basics of furniture and crockery so that it does feel somewhat like home entertaining.
M has Jane and Bill and us to dinner - chicken curry. And nice evening with good company. These hotel flats do at least have the basics of furniture and crockery so that it does feel somewhat like home entertaining.
Tuesday, February 15/2011
The cleaner doesn't exactly knock at the door - it's closer to a scratching sound and reminds one inevitably of the dog wanting to come in. The "cleaning" is a minimalist performance - a little under five minutes and not involving vacuum or duster. Bathroom and kitchen floors wet mopped, toilet and sink cleaned and rubbish removed. Better than nothing. The difficulty is that when one does ask to borrow the vacuum there is a certain amount of horror downstairs as it interferes with the myth that the cleaning staff does all this. And given that the cleaning staff is one, possibly a bit simple and almost certainly underpaid woman, the charade continues.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Monday, February 14/2011
Once more the Cypriot news is full of violence on the part of football fans - including injuries to the police, who were attacked with slingshots and nails - therefore malice aforethought. While deploring the violence and warning that deaths may eventually result, police and authorities always stop short of the obvious solution - forcing teams with uncontrollable fans to play their games in empty stadiums behind locked doors. No fans. It's worked quite well elsewhere.
Google some more on Dave Barr - in order to find the sad news that he died in Vancouver two years ago.
Google some more on Dave Barr - in order to find the sad news that he died in Vancouver two years ago.
Sunday, February 13/2011
Online booking for our trip to Portugal. Takes a few tries as I eventually figure out I'm trying to use my UK debit card with a room-booking account in J's name. So eventually I create an account in my name and it all works. So now airfare, with EasyJet, studio in Albufeira and transfers in one fell swoop.
Idly google Jaworski and Sioux Lookout and find the obvious and expected and the totally unexpected - a reference in Dave Barr's autobiography One Lucky Canuck. Dave and his wife Irene were part of the 12 person group we went with to China in 1990. It must be only a small section of his book - and there are bits missing from the google online posting - but it's still pretty exciting. Dave had obviously made detailed notes and done background research as well. We'll have to get a copy and then we'll have a wonderful account of the China trip - from before the days when we kept a journal.
According to the evening news there has been an earthquake south of Limassol. Three point something. No damage and we didn't feel it here. We did feel one back about Christmas. Went on for 30 seconds or so, but no news report that we noticed.
Idly google Jaworski and Sioux Lookout and find the obvious and expected and the totally unexpected - a reference in Dave Barr's autobiography One Lucky Canuck. Dave and his wife Irene were part of the 12 person group we went with to China in 1990. It must be only a small section of his book - and there are bits missing from the google online posting - but it's still pretty exciting. Dave had obviously made detailed notes and done background research as well. We'll have to get a copy and then we'll have a wonderful account of the China trip - from before the days when we kept a journal.
According to the evening news there has been an earthquake south of Limassol. Three point something. No damage and we didn't feel it here. We did feel one back about Christmas. Went on for 30 seconds or so, but no news report that we noticed.
Saturday, February 12/2011
Back to our favourite café - our new local.
In the evening J, M and I head over to the restaurant known as "not the Famagusta but the one next to it." We go at six, ridiculously early for cypriots and unnaturally early even for us, mindful of the fact that it closes at 7:30. We do know tht it's popular at lunch. What we haven't picked up is that it's basically cafeteria style and by the end of the day the choice is pretty diminished. So a walk along Macarios looking at the options. In the end we finish up at the Famagusta, right across from the Sunflower.
It turns out to be a pleasure. Not very full at this hour (by now 6:30) but a traditional Cypriot enu, and attentive proprietor (cum chef?). We order beef stifado and it's excellent. Done in a nice balance of Commandaria style wine with a touch of vinegar and succulent onions. He discusses the cooking methods in detail and agrees to see what they have in vegetables - spinach, it seems, which we all like. We also get a small sample - on the house, he explains - of cypriot preserved fruit. It purports to be lime peel preserved to curling softness in syrup and bottled for weeks. However, the fact that it's carrot coloured and the fact that limes are the most expensive and rare of Cypriot citrus fruits make us wonder. Very nice, but sweet enough that the small sample is plenty.
In the evening J, M and I head over to the restaurant known as "not the Famagusta but the one next to it." We go at six, ridiculously early for cypriots and unnaturally early even for us, mindful of the fact that it closes at 7:30. We do know tht it's popular at lunch. What we haven't picked up is that it's basically cafeteria style and by the end of the day the choice is pretty diminished. So a walk along Macarios looking at the options. In the end we finish up at the Famagusta, right across from the Sunflower.
It turns out to be a pleasure. Not very full at this hour (by now 6:30) but a traditional Cypriot enu, and attentive proprietor (cum chef?). We order beef stifado and it's excellent. Done in a nice balance of Commandaria style wine with a touch of vinegar and succulent onions. He discusses the cooking methods in detail and agrees to see what they have in vegetables - spinach, it seems, which we all like. We also get a small sample - on the house, he explains - of cypriot preserved fruit. It purports to be lime peel preserved to curling softness in syrup and bottled for weeks. However, the fact that it's carrot coloured and the fact that limes are the most expensive and rare of Cypriot citrus fruits make us wonder. Very nice, but sweet enough that the small sample is plenty.
Friday, 11 February 2011
Friday, February 11/2011
Another coffee at our now favourite café in the warm sun. Ah, it's a hard life.
G&T and nibbles (first class) at M's and then we come home to the breaking news that Mubarek has resigned and that, temporarily one prays, the army is in charge, though prepared, they say, for elections to follow. Less than a day after Mubarek's appalling non-resignation speech. For all the fears, the jubilation is a joy to watch. The square we have watched for the past two and a half weeks is pulsing with celebration and the lights now at dusk give it a golden glow, punctuated with fireworks above the throng - a people who for the past thirty years have been forbidden to gather in groups of more than five, hundreds of thousands of them.
We've been watching the visuals on BBC World television, while listening to similar coverage on BBC World radio - not pirated and therefore much better quality sound.
G&T and nibbles (first class) at M's and then we come home to the breaking news that Mubarek has resigned and that, temporarily one prays, the army is in charge, though prepared, they say, for elections to follow. Less than a day after Mubarek's appalling non-resignation speech. For all the fears, the jubilation is a joy to watch. The square we have watched for the past two and a half weeks is pulsing with celebration and the lights now at dusk give it a golden glow, punctuated with fireworks above the throng - a people who for the past thirty years have been forbidden to gather in groups of more than five, hundreds of thousands of them.
We've been watching the visuals on BBC World television, while listening to similar coverage on BBC World radio - not pirated and therefore much better quality sound.
Thursday, February 10/2011
Mostly looking for a trip out of London. Of course air fares have risen, and the "no frills" ones are so misleading. Unlike Canada, the Uk is not allowed to advertise fares without including taxes and fees. What they do, however, is advertise fares that don't include luggage, food or seat selection and the differences are major. RyanAir, for instance, charges £40 ($64 CAD) per suitcase. Meanwhile Marty emails to say that the Welby is very busy and they`re now booking bedsits in London into mid-March, so not time to waste.
In the evening Mubarek comes on television to speak to the Egyptian people. Rumour had had it - and quite high level rumour - that he would resign, but not a bit of it. He`s quite pleased to refer to the people`s "legitimate grievances" and say that their martyrs will not have died in vain and those responsible will be punished. No doubt some wretched persons will be tortured for obeying orders, but this is little comfort to anyone. The response in Tahir Square is as distressed as one might expect. The BBC ticker describes public reaction as "angery" and that seems about right - three syllable anger.
In the evening Mubarek comes on television to speak to the Egyptian people. Rumour had had it - and quite high level rumour - that he would resign, but not a bit of it. He`s quite pleased to refer to the people`s "legitimate grievances" and say that their martyrs will not have died in vain and those responsible will be punished. No doubt some wretched persons will be tortured for obeying orders, but this is little comfort to anyone. The response in Tahir Square is as distressed as one might expect. The BBC ticker describes public reaction as "angery" and that seems about right - three syllable anger.
Wednesday, February 9/2011
This morning brings the deferred ceremony recognizing our status as long-term visitors (though there must be many longer about). Thus we leave early enough to find the building (Larnaca Chamber of Commerce and Industry), just round the corner from the Kition really.
We're greeted inside by Takis Vorides. He's a city councillor and head of the tourism committee and, surprisingly, we have met him before - J several years ago and both of us this past Saturdayas we passed his house on the way from the market to Metro. He expressed interest in the ceremony then (having asked how long we had been coming to Larnaka) and had me email him the specifics - apparently to see that it was his committee that waas planning the recognition. So here he is, representing the major (whom Kikki refers to as the major, obviously the same word origin and essential meaning). He's warm and avuncular, greeting us with kisses and expressions of pleasure.
There's Nana(?), the young assistant and another man, who Mr. Vovides refers to as Kikkis Kyriakides, whom he has known since his youth. (Only later do I fish out the Sunflower's business card listing Mr. Kyriakides as managing director).
We go to the boardroom (though we're told the ceremony is usually at the fort, as it would have been last week). There's a very large period representation of the Larnaca waterfront and Mr. Vovides uses it to provide a short history lesson, from St. Lazarus to the export of heaps of salt from the salt lake. He's a former customs inspector and has a good memory for the exports. Larnaca is also the birthplace of Xenon, founder of the Stoic school of philosophy and he points out that the name comes from the tradition of standing in a stoa or arched doorway to do the teaching.
Then we are presented with an engraved plaque set in daark wood calling Mr and Mrs Jaworski "loyal friends of Larnaca," as well as a bottle of Cypriot shiraz, both contained in a cotton bag decorated with a colourful picture - the winner of the Larnaca graffitti contest. And a snapshot for the website if we don't object.
In the evening M to dinner. J does a chicken.
We're greeted inside by Takis Vorides. He's a city councillor and head of the tourism committee and, surprisingly, we have met him before - J several years ago and both of us this past Saturdayas we passed his house on the way from the market to Metro. He expressed interest in the ceremony then (having asked how long we had been coming to Larnaka) and had me email him the specifics - apparently to see that it was his committee that waas planning the recognition. So here he is, representing the major (whom Kikki refers to as the major, obviously the same word origin and essential meaning). He's warm and avuncular, greeting us with kisses and expressions of pleasure.
There's Nana(?), the young assistant and another man, who Mr. Vovides refers to as Kikkis Kyriakides, whom he has known since his youth. (Only later do I fish out the Sunflower's business card listing Mr. Kyriakides as managing director).
We go to the boardroom (though we're told the ceremony is usually at the fort, as it would have been last week). There's a very large period representation of the Larnaca waterfront and Mr. Vovides uses it to provide a short history lesson, from St. Lazarus to the export of heaps of salt from the salt lake. He's a former customs inspector and has a good memory for the exports. Larnaca is also the birthplace of Xenon, founder of the Stoic school of philosophy and he points out that the name comes from the tradition of standing in a stoa or arched doorway to do the teaching.
Then we are presented with an engraved plaque set in daark wood calling Mr and Mrs Jaworski "loyal friends of Larnaca," as well as a bottle of Cypriot shiraz, both contained in a cotton bag decorated with a colourful picture - the winner of the Larnaca graffitti contest. And a snapshot for the website if we don't object.
In the evening M to dinner. J does a chicken.
Tuesday, February 8/2011
Book our trip to Syria for February 25-28, using the little agency next door run by Chris, son of Mr. Andreas who runs our building.
Variation on the customer taking a grape while passing the fruit counter. At Carrefour we see a woman munching a whole banana and discarding the peel as she heads off toward the meat counter.
Variation on the customer taking a grape while passing the fruit counter. At Carrefour we see a woman munching a whole banana and discarding the peel as she heads off toward the meat counter.
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