Troodos-Kykkos Monastery-Pedoulas

     The heat is now reaching an oppressive height with temperatures inland soaring during midday and so more and more people are heading to anywhere where there is cool refreshing water, to the beach or swimming pools, or in my case the mountains.
     Our destination Troodos, Kykkos Monastery and Pedoulas village. On our way we pass Trimiklini. There is a restaurant there which seems to have been there an age still decorated with multi-coloured lights and a small fountain with lights inside which I used to marvel at as a child. I remember there were arcade games inside the reataurant and we used to make our grandfather give us change to play. The restaurant seems different as I pass it now as if it has stood the test of time, but empty.
     We go by Trimiklini and the little markets selling local produce. An old lady stands making loukoumades (honey balls), another sells dried fruit and fresh seasonal fruit-cherries, nectarines, mouthwatering watermelon. As we head higher the air grows cooler and fresher. We pass little sign postings showing the way to waterfalls and nature trails. In fact if you look closely there are so many of these nature trails where you can walk or even take a bike and spend the afternoon rambling and winding round the beautiful natural paths and countryside.
     I notice the trees are sloping downwards due to the heavy snow we had this year, but their scent is still there. There is the rhythmic music of birds and a species of yellow butterfly flitting about.We soon reach Troodos square with its cafes and restaurants but don't stop. A coach load of pensioners sit and eat at one of the restaurants. Some tourists shop around for the cheapest souvenirs and postcards.
     The road becomes long and windy up to Kykkos Monastery but we reach it in the end. There is a solemn silence of reverence as we arrive and walk into the inner courtyard and are welcomed by an orchestra of birds. The monastery was founded in 1100 and it owns one of the three surviving icons ascribed to St. Luke. Archbishop Makarios served as a novice in the monastery and is buried at his own wish at Throni, three kilometres west of the monastery.
    The monastery is still, not many visitors today and the beautiful icons stand stoically, ready to be kissed and to hear the worshipper's silent prayer. A group of Russian women headscarved, listen to the priest chant a hymn and are blessed by him. In another room you can see holy relics of various saints, bits of bone and skin encased in gold-trimmed boxes. I find it a bit spine-chilling to be honest.
     We leave the monastery and decide to go for a quick coffee to Pedoula village famous for its cherry trees and nine historic churches which are included in UNESCO's World Heritage list. I swallow down a Greek coffee with crisp and cool mountain water. We sit at a cafe overlooking a majestic view of quaint little houses by the mountain, reminding us of somewhere in Italy. A white cat sits cosily at my feet and my mother recalls stories when my great uncle Yianni used to bring her to stay in Pedoula for the summer with the family. They used to spy his car coming from Nicosia from miles away as he beeped the horn and made his way down the winding roads, cars at that time being a novelty. When I was old enough to remember and he recognised my deep love for this island, he would always say to me, "There is no place like Cyprus," with his kind smile and twinkling eyes. As I sit and write this, I can even hear his voice saying those words.
     Cypriots rush to board the plane to another country paying ridiculous amounts of money on stereotyped package holidays which never live up to expectations when there is so much to see here. All you need to do is open up a book on the island and see for yourself. What I have described is nothing compared to what is on offer, hidden near steep mountain slopes and pines or near the sea but for a calm, laid-back Sunday it was all you could ask for and more.