Christmas...

Sitting cosily here with a cup of herbal tea to aid indigestion after the food marathon of today. It was traditional affair, I may add, of turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings followed by what I must say was a glorious American chesecake from Zorbas. 

There was of course the kourapiedes and melomakarouna and loved or hated Christmas cake (which I kind of love). 

There was also Mr Bean and Home Alone 2 to add to the festive mood and it snowed in Troodos!  I sneaked upstairs in the midst and heard the Queen's Christmas speech. I felt I needed to keep to some British traditions. She spoke about the importance of family and forgiveness. As I listened London rang in my ears, Christmas London and those crisp cold nights when I used to pretend I was smoking from the frosty breath, wrapped up in gloves, hat and scarf. I remember vendors selling hot chestnuts on Oxford Street, keeping warm from the little fire burning, the lights, the hope, the spirit. 

Something was always missing from Christmas in Cyprus, can't put my finger on it, that magic. It was always about consumption, what presents to buy, what food to eat. I truly feel sorry for those lost souls who filled up Jumbo these past two weeks. I watched in alarm at the rising number of people filling their trolleys with cheap things. I only know this because I had to drive past on my way to my grandmother's.

 I know they had important pressies to buy but I think they have forgotten the magic of Christmas.There are other ways in which you can give and it's not always with presents. It's a crisp, cold and starry night in Limassol tonight with smells of wood burning. Kids are sitting around consumed with their new presents, my grandparents sit huddled by the television and radiator, the young are out partying. The leftover turkey and stuffing remain tightly packed in cellophane to be eaten on Boxing Day. It may not be London, but somehow by miracle, I am content and seem to have remembered Christmas.

Paphos...The Birthplace of Aphrodite

I was sitting in Debenhams cafe in Paphos the other day, enjoying my filter coffee and complimentary sweet. Two German ladies sat next to me, one with a bottle of red wine and the other with a more moderate option of still water.From the window I could just see the harbour and its boats and the top of the castle.Buses took passengers to their destination, a couple of rucksacked tourists with a puzzled expression headed towards the harbour. I've always said that if I didn't live in Limassol, I would live in Paphos. There's a sort of tranquility about the place, a magic touch that the goddess of love must have brought and it has always given me inspiration. I was always fascinated by the famous Paphos sunset.
As you enter Paphos on the left the sea opens up expansively and glistens from below where myth has it that Aphrodite sprang from the foams of the sea, a goddess of love, beauty and fertility. Lured by Aphrodite's spell, many British come to live in Paphos and they have brought their own character to the town. In return the town caters for their needs, with pubs, restaurants and English style breakfasts and lunches galore.

I make my way to the harbour. Even on this wintery day, the cafes and tavernas are still open. The sun is shadowed by a thin sheen of cloud and glows like a big electric light bulb. The sea is smooth and velvety. Boats lie moored to their anchors, bobbing happily. Another boat arrives lazily, making its way to the harbour. I look around me as I walk. An old man teaches a young boy to fish, an old woman tries to sell sea sponges to a group of tourists, a group of taxi drivers play tavli (backgammon) to kill time. A black cat (my lucky charm) sits cosily under a car. There is the smell of sea air, a light breeze with pervades everything.

I pay to go into the castle. Only the imagination can wonder at what peoples' lives were like there. The castle has served as a fortress, a prison and as a warehouse for salt by the British. Its use as a fortress is what fascinates me the most. I climb up to the top. The view is breathtaking. To the east the harbour can be seen down below, the houses and boats dotting the landscape with colour. The expanse of sea lies to the west. How amazing must it have been to see ships arriving on the horizon, to witness thunderstorms. I stand there for a while taking it all in, gathering up energy from the view before me. Aphrodite weaves her magic spells and I'm just in time for the sunset.

Larnaca Polis tou Zinona...

It's a town nobody really pays attention to. It doesn't really have the cosmopolitan feel of Limassol or Nicosia, some would argue it's a bit run down, almost forgotten and yet if you look closely this little town has its little delights. The smell of souvlakia grilling happily in the local taverna, pervades the pavement. There is a down-to earth feeling you get from this town. I walk along the narrow streets browsing the shop windows of clothes and shoes. I pass Kyrios' Takis kafeneion serving generous halloumi and lountza sandwiches and freshly squeezed orange juice at very reasonable prices. Down the road a quaint little cafe serves Greek style savouries, spanakopitta (spinach pie) and tiropitta (cheese pie), swallowed down with a strong capuccino. There are also sweet-honeyed loukoumades with mastiha ice-cream, or sokolatopitta (chocolate cake) for those with a sweet tooth.

Walk around and at some point you reach the Ayios Lazaros Church. The church is soaked in history since after Ayios Lazaros was resurrected by Jesus, he came to Larnaca and was named the first Bishop of Kition. The church was built in his honour. The interior is simple, peaceful and cool, a break from the outside world.

If you walk southwards you will eventually reach the beach and the promenade called 'Finikoues' with its characteristic long line of palm trees lining the beach front. Here you will find numerous cafes, a TGI and a McDonalds to cater for everyone. You can even walk on the pier and admire all the yachts, wondering what parts of the world those sails have been to.You can watch the sea and the passers by strolling lazily up and down, taking in the fresh sea air. A little further down in what was the Turkish quarter you can sit and eat freshly grilled snapper doused with olive oil and parsely. The delight is the crispy slices of bread lying on the base of the serving dish. You can sit there for hours watching the waves lap onto the shore. I take in every sight and smell, eating my 'glyko tou koutaliou' a pleasant taste after the fish.

 
There is a simple pleasure in all things experienced in Larnaca, and is a town that offers much, after all.

Lights, camera action...the delights of Cypriot television

I've had a bit of free time at the moment, some would argue too much free time so I have been devouring books in the hope that I will find some inspiration for my own writing. Curled up on the sofa, a cool frappe by my side, I have read quite a bit over the past two months. The television stands as a piece of the furniture, firmly switched off and from the plugs I may add, in case there is a power cut my mother casually mentions, whatever that's got to do with it. In truth I have the TV shut off for a reason. Since my family and I are not entertained by the delights of contraband Dream Box (out of choice I may add), we have to make do with Cypriot television. In the summer it's mostly boring re-runs which tend to annoy me beyond reason. You get the Star Channel with the hot goss mainly about what the would-be Hollywood Greek celebrities are doing or how Dimitri from Thessaloniki is finding the Skiathos summer clubbing scene. Boozed-up young people letting their hair down for one more time. It's entertaining but up to a point.

Then there's Euronews, on all day thanks to digital, if you are thinking deep meaningful world affairs, but even that gets dull. The highlight for most Cypriots is the evening news. Sensationalism knows no boundaries. Forget Euronews Cypriot news is a whole different ball game with the channels competing on who will attract the highest number of viewers. It's mediocre to low standard reporting, with over-dramatic voice-over which is anxious to the ear, but people still watch because quite simply there is nothing else on. Except of course PIK 2 which has some pop songs to entertain the youngsters or a David Attenborough documentary for those who out of principle refuse to watch the news.

When early autumn hits the all new mainland Greek and Cypriot series' make their debut. To be fair there is some good stuff and it's time to sit through the quiet winter months eating pistachios or whatever there is on hand and watch the same actors play different parts, some comic, some serious.
In the days when Cypriot television only had one channel and only beginning in the afternoon, television has come a long way here in Cyprus, some may say the wrong way. There is more choice and in a way it has broadened the horizons of the average Cypriot viewer but there is still a long way to go. Trash often wins over quality. Good reporting over clownish drama. Some things need to take a bit of a U-turn. So for now it's back to my book.

Sizzling Summer Madness...

There is nothing better than a bit of heat to make everyone a little loopy as if they've been drugged with a magical medicine which makes them eternally happy and outgoing. Anything is possible in the summer. Suntanned and glowing boys and girls attend the numerous parties and events dotted all over the island. Dj's and bartenders cater for the masses. The music booms, the dancing is ecstatic. Summer is a chance to meet new people, widen your social and sexual circle, if only until November. Summer nights bring on the mojitos and the shots. Wide-eyed and expectant partygoers scan their surroundings or are simply lost in a midsummer reverie.

Beach time brings on its own eccentricities. The beach becomes a hotbed of conversation and activity. Cypriots have always gone to extremes when it comes to what they take with them to the beach. Usually it's a whole catering service. You see the mothers loaded with pampers and milk bottles, the men with the cooling bags and watermelon (this is an essential item) ready to set camp on the beach. I've seen plastic chairs and tables come out and a tent set up. Over the years however under pressure of social etiquette these things have been carefully put away to make way for more European standards of beach behaviour. Now all you see coming out of the cooling bag  is fruit, an odd sandwich and a bottle of water at most.

It is also in the summer that the gym fanatics make an appearance, posing with perfection on the fashionable beaches. Zero cellulite, zero hair. It is actually quite worrying that the men are more polished than the women, hair free in fact and smothered in Tropical tanning oil. Not everyone is perfect of course. The pot bellied Cypriot man and the curvaceous Cypriot woman can still be seen. God forbid we would be surrounded by cloned barbies and kens. What a tragedy that would be!
Summer is a time of renewal, a chance to unwind and let the world go by if only for a short time. Cypriots widen their horizons by visiting other European countries and Greek islands just to get away from it all.It must be noted here that Cypriots tend to stick out like a sore thumb. In mid August the capital of  Nicosia is deserted. Some people opt to stay there just to get away from the crowds which flock to Paphos, Protaras and in Limassol. It's a matter of choice in how you choose to spend your holidays. Those that want to be seen choose the crowds. Whatever the case summer will always be a chance to let your hair down and forget about everything.

Firecrackers and Easter Bunnies...

Spring is finally here, the clocks have turned and it is time to enjoy the long days and mild weather, time for boots to be packed away and for sandals to come out. Trees are showing their petals, birds are humming and everything is generally pleasant. Another holiday is upon us, Easter. In Cyprus this is celebrated more than Christmas with more custom and feeling. People go on a fifty day fast, or as in my case a week's. For some reason, for one week only, nobody has anything bad to say about anyone. "Aftes einai ayies meres," (these are holy days) they conclude.

Easter is full of delicious smells. My grandmother's garden with the smell of orange blossom and soil after a spring shower, the flaounes baking merrily in the oven and the fresh bread hot and eaten with melted butter, if you're not fasting. In church on Friday there is the flowery scent of the Epitaph, the candles burning and the incense. Church is jam packed during these days, especially Holy Thursday, Friday and Saturday. The services are long. I take a prayer book to read during  the ceremony. It kills time. It's also an opportunity to look around the church. It's mainly the old generation who are there first and who most of the time have their appointed seat, but you get people my age too, fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, tiny toddlers and adolescents trailing through the crowded aisles looking for a pastime. The ceremony does get a bit boring for them, you see.

This holiday like all the others is surely to go off with a bang.  What do I mean? I mean firecrackers. Youths find nothing better than stunning pious churchgoers with loud bangs and crackles during the service, while the priest tries to concentrate and not lose his place over the conundrum.Eagerly awaiting holy communion after striving on a fifty day fast, the old women mumble and curse under their breath, although it's a sin.

Easter Saturday however is the climax and it has taken days of preparation, days of collecting old wooden chairs and matresses and guarding them overnight, like you would guard your life. Each church you see is competing on who will make the biggest fire to burn the scarecrow- like resemblance of Judas. But that isn't the point anymore. The point is to make the biggest fire. It is not unusual for the local fire brigade to make an appearance after calls that the electricity poles are about to catch fire. This is happening as the rest of us arrive holding a candle ready to hear the priest annnouce the Ressurection. It's a magical moment. The candles cast shadows on people's faces, softening their features and hair. Babies like little angels look around curiously. Everyone sings. The small neighbourhood of Linopetra is for one night assembled by the little church, united despite everything.

Easter Sunday is a day of feasting, something which us Cypriots are very good at. The hypermarkets have already bombarded us with their offers. It's all about the lamb and how well we we cook it to make up for the fifty days that some people have gone without meat.It is quite sad that some people end up in hospital for overeating and drinking. After all fifty days is a long time to go without meat. Then there's the eggs which have been painted red which everyone takes delight in smashing. Before you know it, Easter is over and it's back to routine, but with a lighter heart.

Planes, Trains and Audis...

I was looking in my rear view mirror the other day, when I spotted a cute guy behind me eyeing me up through his sunshades. I was on a roundabout at the time. I thought, cool I must be looking good today. I got on the exit and suddenly revving forward he overtook me from the left in a rude and disrespectful manner. I beeped the horn in dismay.

This is a characteristic example of Cypriot driving. It's aggressive and out of control or just unbearably bad. You get the ones who want to go get to their destination in whatever means possible and if that means causing fifty traffic accidents, it doesn't matter. There's ones who go so tragically slow that you wonder how they got their driving licences in the first place, usually middle aged women whose heads can just be seen on the level with the steering wheel, sitting forward looking straight ahead. In this category you also get the van drivers and taxi drivers. Now if that is a war of nerves. One category who stick out like a sore thumb are the truck drivers. Some come down from the villages and have no clue how to drive in a town. Some just think they are driving a brand new Range Rover and have no consideration for other drivers. They believe they can do whatever the hell they want.

The boys driving their sporty Audis love to show what they can do. You see them at the traffic lights, sometimes on their own, sometimes with some Russian blonde next to them. They are the masters of the road. The Audi boy looks my way casually. My Toyota Yaris can never be compared to his shiny, barely paid for vehicle. Talk about arrogance of the first degree.

Cypriot driving is bad. It reflects our attitude, our recklessness, our disrespect for others. We're not the only country which boasts bad driving. Sudan is the same. Great we can compare ourselves to a third world country. Car accidents are heard about nearly everyday. Some really serious ones could have been avoided if they were wearing a seatbelt. The statistics tell their own tragic story. Lives are lost, families are broken. The police need to change things, but responsibility also lies in the driving schools and driving instructors who teach youngsters to drive in the first place. Everything starts from there. Harsher measures need to be enforced. They've said they're bringing back speed cameras but who will care? It all comes down to mentality.That's what needs to change.

It's time to party...

I've always wondered how Cypriots let their hair down, I mean really have loads of fun and dance till they drop. In most of the swanky clubs that boast high class experience dancing is considered an error. If you dance, you're considered an alien from outer space. There is a dress code and Cypriots love to dress up for these places. Men in their posh jackets, trendy shirts and shiny pointy shoes. Women alabaster faces, lipstick and blush to perfection, recently come out of the hairdresser's. But the question is do they really have fun or is it all one big show? In these places people love the glam and paying attention to themselves. It's getting boring.

I recently experienced another side to Cypriot fun where they do dance and let their hair down and there is never a dress code. The tunes are not David Guetta and Black Eyed Peas but believe it or not Grease Lightning. People young and old forget all their inhibitions and head to the dance floor. It's true that another class of people are emerging, ones which refuse to be labelled or put into a mould. They have their own characteristic style, eccentrics who actually have something to say. In fact this group always existed but in a very passive, low-profile way. Now they are coming into the spotlight. After all, what right does anyone have, to tell you what to wear, drink or say or what car to drive? What happened to individuality?

Limassol has upgraded its entertainment culture. There are abundant restaurants, bars and clubs to suit everyone. A diverse culture is emerging which is quite exciting and  people are actually starting to enjoy themselves. So bring on John Travolta and Olivia Newton John. It's time to party!

Pets R' Us

They say that how we treat our pets reflects how we treat eachother. If that is anything to go by then Cypriot society is a mixture of good and bad. To be fair treatment of animals on the island has improved in the last decade but not as much as it should. There are still animal shelters that house abused and neglected cats and dogs. What has been done to some of them is indescribable. 

Over the  last few years having a pet has become the fashion and a passion. Cypriots squander vasts amounts of money to obtain a pure breed, like a husky for example which considering our climate can only be kept in the air conditioning through the months of summer. The sad part is that most of these dogs are treated unfairly. They are seen as a trophy of some imagined status, like you would treat an expensive car or a designer suit, sitting in the garden on a leash. 

Parents make the mistake of buying their spoilt little brats a puppy as a Christmas present,  a puppy which is abandoned after a year, as an old toy, left tied behind the house on a short rope with little water and a ration of food with no love. That first elation of taking it for walks twice a day and giving it frequent baths has been forgotten.

Hunters are another group of abusers. They train their hunting dogs to do everything they need to do and then let the dogs loose to wander alone. Many are hit by passing cars on the highway or found scrounging for food, skinny and weak. That's how my dog was found anyway.We got her from an animal shelter in Paphos and she was the most nervous and frightened creature I have ever known. She is still shy of strangers and when she hears children screaming she panics. These are what have been left of her sad young years as a puppy and can never be erased.I do believe that things can improve but there is a long way to go.

 There is this village mentality of treating badly those we consider less important than ourselves, so we can feel like the masters. Every living creature has a right to a good and loving home. The owner of the animal shelter in Paphos once described having a pet as having a baby, but a baby that will forever be a baby.Would you not care for and feed a baby? Pets are not toys or trophies, they are something which give you companionship through lonely times and are always loyal. If you give them love, they will give it back a hundred fold.So we should think carefully before we pick that cute brown and white puppy from its cage at the local pet shop.It's a creature, not a toy or trophy.