You don’t have to worry about muffin tops in Cyprus. Well that’s the conclusion I’ve reached anyway. I’m talking about those lumpy bits of flesh which hang over your waistband, not burnt currants in your little cakes. The Greek Cypriots (hereafter ‘the Greeks’, let’s do this legal style) like a bit of chubbiness, which is testament to their fondness for all things sweet and sticky: so I’m well at home here and do not worry about the tightness of my trousers, it’s great! I don’t think I’ve seen a skinny person since I’ve been here. Nor have I seen anyone grossly overweight. People here are just…..well covered…..
So I’ve been here for four weeks and I’m enjoying the sunshine and good weather. I can understand why so many Brits spend the winter or even move here. It’s sunny, it’s cheap, the people speak English and you can buy Heinz ketchup etc at practically any grocery shop in town. Gin is cheap, cleaning ladies (largely from Sri Lanka) are cheap, food is cheap, the fruit and vegetables are fresh since most of them are grown here, they’re cheap too, what’s not to like? (No, I’m not being paid commission by the Tourist Board of Cyprus.) Well if I’m honest, I struggle with not being able to communicate very well and feeling like I’m part of the ex colonial master race. I don’t think I’d have done very well as a rubber planter or his wife in Sri Lanka or India. I’d certainly learn the language if I lived here, I’m afraid a great many Brits don’t and it’s certainly a challenging language!
As usual, I’m getting ahead of myself. I think I was last seen flying out of Rome after the trauma of losing The Bag. I tell you, Odysseus has nothing on me and my ramblings……..10 years? Pah! Anyhow, I was pleasantly astonished by the helpfulness of the Ryanair staff (leopards? spots? yes, it appears they can) and the plane was brand new, though needless to say it was still an assault on the eyes at 6.30 a.m. with its yellowness and blueness inside.
It was raining when I arrived but that was just a blip and it’s been pretty well non stop sunshine ever since. The nights are chilly but the days are like a good English summer’s day.
You are very aware here of how you are at the eastern end of Europe and more or less in the Middle East. It’s less than an hour to Israel for goodness sake. So everywhere, there is an abundance of flowers in bloom: jasmine, bougainvillea, passionflowers and things I can’t recognise or have forgotten the names of! The trees are creaking with various types of citrus fruit, bending their branches over the walls and almost handing you their fruit. There are palm trees waving at you as you walk along and mimosa like trees with delicately fronded leaves.
Looking out over the roofs of Nicosia, it again reminds you of your proximity to the Middle East with its creamy colours and flatness but it looks as if sputniks have landed! All the water tanks are located on the roofs and they do make the skyline very ugly. On the other hand, most buildings here tend to be lowrise: we are on the third and top floor and that is a typical height, so no real eyesores.
Nicosia itself is still of course a divided city. The green line remains, together with the bullet ridden buildings and rusting oil drums of over 40 years ago. It’s a mess, in every conceivable way. Looking out of my bedroom window, the Turkish flag is crafted as a massive bloc into the lower slopes of the nearby mountains in northern Cyprus. At night it is illuminated and twinkles defiantly through the dark. One morning, I was unable to sleep and as 5 a.m ticked round, I heard the sounds of the call to prayer from across the border, it sounded strangely eery in the dark but I rolled over and went back to sleep. This makes it sound as if the border is a huge issue, whereas in reality it is not. People go to and fro all day long and it’s just sad that it cannot be resolved. Strangely (or maybe not) the city seems to be stuck in a different time zone and it has a curiously old fashioned feel to it. It feels safe and my perception is that levels of crime are low.
The neighbours are pleasant and kind, though on one afternoon there did seem to be some kind of Greek tragedy going on down below, with lots of screaming and crashing and banging of doors. The Greeks are a volatile people and love to get involved in anything that is going on: ‘There’s an argument in the street? Let’s all watch and pass comment’, none of the Anglo Saxon taking a surreptitious peek or pretending nothing is happening. ‘You’re having a baby? Let’s all go down to the labour ward and help with the contractions!’ ‘You’ve had the baby? Let’s all visit, armed with balloons, sweets and gifts for the baby, then we’ll all sit around and chat, admire the baby and eat sweetmeats’ provided by the mother (who has nothing else to do). The Greeks are also incredibly generous, offering you food and hospitality when they barely know you. Great people, though of course you do get some unhelpful ones as well or others that quite reasonably, resent the fact that you do not speak their language. See above. I must admit, I am beginning to look forward to being home and not having to smile or be cordial and be able to have a conversation in more than three sentences of stilted syllables.
I realise I haven’t told you much about encounters with local people. Well it’s slightly different, as I’m leading a very domestic life here and my conversation is restricted to shopkeepers, shoppers and the occasional Greek I come across…..so I ‘Kali mera’ my way around town and they seem to understand but I have had my moments. The first was offering 2€ to the lady in the queue for the cup of coffee she was buying me, she was a friend of Luca’s, she smiled and said it was fine. Later Luca told me she is one of the richest women in Cyprus, so I suppose she could manage 2€…..
The other moment was at the opticians, getting a pair of prescription sunglasses to replace the ones lost in The Bag. The optician decided to test my eyes just to check the prescription was still the same. So there I sat with patch over one eye and the letters up ahead getting ever smaller. ‘What does the top line say?’ he asked as he flipped over the next screen, my eyes strained as I looked at the blurs.
‘It’s all Greek to me’ I said. I really thought it was. It wasn’t.
Upon which thought I will leave you. See you in the New Year!