Translated from the Yorkshire, this means, roughly, “Good Heavens, life is good.” Not exactly “In this best of all possible worlds, all is for the best. ” and I don’t think Voltaire need feel threatened, but it’s my little cry from the heart as I spend time on a Mediterranean island with the loved one. Which island? Cyprus. Not a favourite hangout of ours, not Greek enough, if that makes sense, it’s been occupied by us Brits for too long, but it’s very pretty and full of archeological sites well worth a visit. We normally like Greek Greece with small tavernas and sour wine and interesting ideas about drains. Where’s the point of going to somewhere that is just England with sunshine?
However, here we are, staying in Paphos, which is as English as it is Greek and we have a hire car and the weather has been a bit erratic, so we’ve been out and about a bit. Limassol is attractive and has a glorious, long seafront, with cafes and bars and lunatics who go swimming in the sea on days when there’s a gale blowing and temperatures in single figures. Oh yes she did, in a bikini made for someone built less generously and a towelling dressing gown. At the time, we were sitting under the heater in a bar with our coats on and hot soup.
Polis is nice, if a bit entertaining where signposts are concerned (don’t, I mean really, DON’T follow the signs that say “to the beach” we were axle deep in mud and didn’t dare stop in case we couldn’t get started again.) and Latsi, pronounced Lachi, is lovely. We had a stroll around the marina, looking at the yachts bobbing up and down alongside fishing boats and a coastguard vessel. The sun was shining and, in spite of the lively breeze, we sat outside the Faros restaurant and had a coffee. Since we had a packed lunch from the hotel, we found a spot overlooking the sea to eat, away from the bustling crowd. That may be a slight exaggeration, I think there were about eleven people at the marina.
The drive over the hills was lovely and the road was, for the most part, good, although the surface on the outskirts of Paphos had a character all its own. I expected to hear “One small step…”
Another day, we decided to do some serious site seeing and went to Kourion. If you go to just one archaeological site, make it this one. It cost 4.50 euros each and is absolutely smashing. Spread over quite a big site, it is the remains of the old city, including the agora(market place) , amphitheatre and various temples, houses and public baths. We know nothing. 150 years BC and they had proper drains and underfloor heating. My ancestors had mud, mud and more mud. And you have to bear in mind that it is winter, the “off season” and so we came away from Kourion wondering where we could find lunch. At the bottom of the hill there was a restaurant but, to be blunt, it looked as if the Addams family might live there. No tumbleweed blowing across but not very welcoming. So we approached the door with some trepidation, only to be greeted like long lost family, presented with a huge mug of coffee and a full menu. Eee, by eck.
And then it was Diva Day and we were challenged with using the Moebius Syndrome logo in a tile. Why? Go to the I am the Diva blog and learn. It’s a dreadful condition and your heart must go out to those who live with it. So I willingly do my bit to raise awareness. Stop reading this NOW and go find out more.
And my tile? I put the symbol smack in the middle, a bit wobbly because I drew it freehand, but it’s recognisable, I hope. I surrounded it with Diva Dance, for Laura; decorated it with Phicops for B-Rad and filled it with Luv-a from me.
I intend to add more pictures to this post but I’m having issues with my tablet so it will have to wait until I get home.
And that’s it for now. I’ll sithee.