Yellow

This week's Gallery theme is 'Yellow', so I flicked back through some Lightroom archives and found some pictures from the swimming classes that Zenon and Leo took with Sue at the International School pool a few years back.  I loved the way that the afternoon light picked out colours in the floats and the pool and asked Sue if I could take pictures.  She was thrilled, and I think used them for her website.  Unfortunately politics, as usual, intervened and the school made it difficult for Sue, a foreigner, to continue working from their facilities.

To see how other participants handled the prompt, please follow the link to the Gallery.

A Ride in Aphrodite's Hills

When Leo had his ninth birthday last November, I decided that I had hosted my last kids' party. Eighteen years of cakes, jelly, party games and piles of washing up came to a gentle but definite halt: there was no point in putting in my twenty. “Tell that to Zenon,” Sophia had said when I announced my early retirement to my older children. But “I'll think of something,” I had replied. 

I broached the subject to Zenon at the end of March, and after disappointment flashed across his face, hope flared. “Can I go with some friends to paintball, then?” he asked. My heart fell. I hate paintball for the same reason that I hate computer war games and anything that encourages little boys in the phoney heroism of sanitised combat. So I temporised with “Maybe we can think of something else – would you like to take two friends and try riding?”

Riding was part of my childhood. Never as accomplished an equestrienne as my sisters, I was, nonetheless, pony-mad, and began riding at four. Except for a time in Hawaii where there were no nearby stables, I rode until I left Ireland in my mid-twenties.

Cyprus is not a horse place. Donkeys have always been a part of the furniture, draught animals since time immemorial, but the few horses on the island are either on the race-track or the preserve of a (mostly English) horsey set in a few scattered saddle clubs. The climate and environment are harsh and feed is expensive, so horses have not been a part of my children's lives as they were a part of mine.

His eyes lit up immediately, so I called Anarita Equestrian Centre, open for a year or more in a village about thrity minutes drive away, where we went for pony rides after Leo's party. But Marlene said that they did not have enough suitable ponies for five of us (Zenon and two friends, Leo, and me) to go for a quiet hack in the countryside. She suggested that I call Pat at Aphrodite Hills – the saddle club attatched to the nearby InterContinental Hotel.

Pat had enough quiet horses for us all, and enough helpers to lead the boys. We settled on a date three weeks hence (Zenon's birthday falling, this year, on Orthodox Easter Sunday); a time that would allow us an hour on horseback, cake back at the stables, and a reasonable hour to hit Gino's La Sardegna Pizzeria in town for a celebration meal; and a price (discounts for being local and a group of five).

Zenon chose two friends, Loucas and Marcos, to come with us, and we showed up in plenty of time. Pat and several young ladies fitted us with hard hats, and introduced us to our steeds. Leo had a smart-looking little grey Welsh pony called Mr Bojangles, and I had a rather classy looking dark brown mare called Twizzle. The others had solid looking bays and a chestnut of around 14 h.h., which looked quiet but a long way from bored riding-school gee-gees.

We spent a peaceful hour riding along a track through olive and carob groves to a look-out from where, on a clear day, the view stretches from Troodos to Akrotiri. Each of the boys chatted with the girl who was leading him, and I – when I wasn't out in front because of Twizzle's longer stride – chatted with Pat, discovering that her son had been in Sophia's class and was also at drama with Zenon. There is no escape in our small community! Everyone is linked somehow, either through relatives or school or neighbourhood or afternoon classes.

Arriving back we did some exercises in the arena, then enjoyed Zenon's choice of cake – New York Sweets profiteroles – which we shared with our patient 'leading ladies'. While we were eating, one of the girls resaddled Twizzle and rode her around the arena, practising for an upcoming dressage test. From quiet trail horse, Twizzle metamorphosised into a nicely balanced show horse, and watching her revived dormant memories that I patiently shoved aside.

Collecting Best Beloved and Alex – Sophia was at work – we rounded off the day with an array of Gino's pizzas and I dropped Marcos and Loucas off at their respective houses just before nine in the evening.

I was a little unsure of how the boys had enjoyed the unorthodox celebration, but both of mine were enthusiastic and, according to their parents, Loucas and Marcos 'haven't stopped talking about horses since'.

So glad we passed on paintball...

Exploring the Tombs

With unstructured time on their hands my Little Ones soon begin to quarrel, and – to my antiquated thinking – the t.v and computer are not acceptable alternatives to more active pursuits So continuing my holiday goal of showing my children more of their own country, the other day I packed Zenon and Leo into the car and drove to the Tombs of the Kings.

Lise and I often took our children when the big ones were small, and Alex and Sophia have a welter of memories of climbing around and exploring the massive site which includes tomb complexes dating from the 3^rd Century B.C.E. But as Lise's and my broods increased, chasing small children and toddlers through around the pits and precipices of the area – while carrying babies in backpacks – became too much, even for us. The danger of a serious fall was all too real. I hadn't been since they fenced the place and made it a Must-See For Tourists – a decade ago it was unmanaged: no tickets, no fences, no sign-posts – just wildflowers, trees, the occasional snake, and the flavour of antiquity.

I met the usual grumbles with bland cheer: “Come on, you'll love it! We have a beautiful day and there's plenty to explore...” We joined a scattering of foreigners from tourbusses and rental cars, I paid my 1.50 Euro (the children were free), and we went in. To their surprise, the boys did love it. Leo pretended to be scared (“But there's dead people there, and bones!”) and was consoled with intermittant control of the Lumix, but Zenon's imagination thrived on the idea of ancient gentlefolk buried in the pits and plazas and he was determined to explore every one.

 At one point a camera-toting Frenchman rebuked Zenon for scaling a wall of native rock near one of the tomb complexes. “Hey!' he shouted. “Have a care. This is a place of history!” It was on the tip of my tongue to say something sharp like “As a Cypriot and an archaeologist (stretching it a little, ok) it's in my interest to preserve my children's birthright too!” I wanted to let him know that only recently has the site been fenced; that for centuries the local people came in, looted the tombs, grazed their stock, removed stones to use in their houses, camped and pic-nicked; that I didn't think that one little boy, knocking his foot against an unworked slab, would do a great deal of damage, especially when compared with the willful destruction done by developers when they find a grave during construction (The oldest well in the world was excavated by a friend after the bulldozers had already stripped off the top three metres. He was literally dodging in and out of machines as he catalogued the finds, and a maisonette in Kissonerga has been build over and around the site.) But I smiled benignly and refrained. He was only doing what he thought was right, so I told Zeen to be a bit careful and we went on our way through the fading wildflowers and spring sunshine.

A Few Days Out

The Xynisteri vinyards around Laneia village where grapes for Commanderia wine are grown.

As we left the house heading for the mountain rather than coastal road to our rented villa, Sophia said “You realise that this will be our last family holiday?” referring to her leaving for school in England in September. But she was wrong. Our last family holiday was two years ago when we went to Italy – and this time was not all the family was present anyway. Best Beloved was away on a week's jaunt visiting friends in Berlin and London, and Alex 'didn't want to come.'

Family bonding over a game of Monopoly -- in Greek.  Sophia trounced us.

Realising that I would be working in the house, field, and garden without BB for the first few days of the Easter holidays, and knowing that I would also be fending the Littles off permanent computer time, I visited the websites that we had used to rent self-catering accomodation overseas to check what Cyprus had to offer.  I eschewed the plethora of seaside villas with pools in Paphos, and chose a three-bedroom house in Lania, a hill village not far from Limassol. A quick call from the owner in response to my email confirmed that it was available for three days, and we left as soon as school was over last Friday.

Lania is an artists' roost and a stop on the tourist trail. Every street and lane in the village seemed to have a studio or gallery, but despite the Easter preparations, the narrow lanes were very quiet and we wandered for a while. Sophia and Leo soon got fed up and went back to the house, but Zenon and I explored the playground and the cemetery ('Let's see if we can find the oldest person buried here, and the youngest!' -- we did), and found the rough and ready football pitch.

The trail-head... Not realising that there was so much snow, I had planned a hike... Oooops!

The next day I gave them a choice of driving up to Troodos or over the hills to the village of Lefkara, and they unanimously chose Troodos. I planned to walk the circular trail around Mount Olympos, but we found the trail-head under a metre of snow. “Can we hire snowboards at the club, Mum? Can we, can we!” Sophia groaned – she was wearing three-quarter shorts and hadn't brought a jacket – but when I said yes to the boys, she shrugged and grinned and said “Guess I have to get used to this snow stuff, huh?” and proved adept at jamming feet into boots and doing and undoing bindings.

Leo got the hang of snowboarding quickly.

Nobody takes snow sports seriously in Cyprus. People hit the slopes for the novelty of it without proper gear (yes, you can see women teetering along the slushy paths in stilletoes and we parked the LandRover beside a pair of elegant leather brogues either forgotten or ruined and discarded) or any idea of how to use their rented equipment, and we were no exception. Few people shared the piste with us: Cyprus has had so much snow this year that the novelty has worn off, and even a brilliant Saturday tempted few punters.

View from the top.  The slopes were empty, considering that it was Saturday.

The boys took a while to get the hang of snowboarding, but they stayed for hours with only a short break for an overpriced lunch at the cafe. We would have stayed longer but I took pity on Sophia for her barked shins and sopping feet, and we left at about four. Leo went down from the top of the slope and came to grief through no fault of his own when a skier fell in front of him, but Zenon was more cautious, and having seen the view from the top, opted for a lower starting point.

Zenon's descent from near the top.

On top of Olympos.  Sophia was not the only one unsuitably dressed for the snow.

The next day we went to Lefkara by backroads. I had printed a map from the Internet and traced the line linking the villages through which we had to pass. Handing it to Sophia, I said “Shotgun? Navigator!” and she replied after a quick look: “That's easy, turn right at Trimiklini and keep going...” I kept my own counsel, but thought it might be a bit harder than that.

Heptagonia cemetery.  We stopped here because the church roof was tiled in the old style, and I wanted a closer look, but Zenon found the grave of a very old man.

A few kilometers out of Trimiklini, we passed a turn to Kalo Horio. “Do we go there?” I asked. “No,” she replied. “We go straight.” I told her to check again. “No! We need to turn! Go back!” What looks straight forward on Google maps translates differently in the Cyprus back-country... In fits and starts, asking directions in coffee-shops and with several wrong turns, we found Lefkara two hours later. I had wanted to show my children something of the reality of their country, away from the touristic and Anglicised conformity that characterises Paphos, and the drive to Lefkara – over gravel roads and through a quarry (“How many of the machines from Giant Earthmovers can you identify there, boys?”), through villages were two cars cannot pass the roads together and where happy locals are sipping Zivania long before noon, stopping to visit a cemetery where Zenon found the grave of a 116-year-old – did that. It reassured me that the country that I had criss-crossed alone on a dirtbike twenty years ago was still very much alive in its idiosyncrases despite induction into the EU and Eurozone, and when I met Chrystalla Komodromos, the lacemaker whom I had interviewed twenty years ago in her Lefkara shop for an article in the Cyprus Airways in-flight Sunjet, I felt that a circle had somehow been closed.

Chystalla Komodromos's handmade lace and Lefkaritiko at her Alley Shop in Pano Lefkara.

The children were a little grumpy by the time we found Chrystalla. A snack had revived them, and the village's twin crafts of fine needlework and silver smithing had caught Zenon's fancy, but many of the shops and all of the metal workshops were closed and tramping the steep cobbled streets was fraying their nerves. Leo didn't let me chat to Chrystalla for long – he kept fiddling with her display – but I decided to come back for a longer visit soon, and to bring my mother's silver hairbrush for repair in a workshop there.

We were all hungry by the time that we reached Maria's restaurant on the road to Vavatsinia, and we were the only customers in the huge, airy room that could easily seat 200. Lunch was fresh, local, and delicious, served by Maria herself, and we spun it out over a leisurely hour and a half enjoying the view over the valleys and lighthearted banter with the family.

Lunch at Maria's on the way to Vavatsinia.

The road home was a little faster as we knew the way, and the boys headed to the football pitch for a kick-around after sitting for so long in the car.

The local football pitch.

I had planned a visit to Limassol for the third day: a visit to the castle and the Turkish Quarter where I used to live in a cheap hostel, a walk along the water front and the old shopping street of Agios Andreas, but Sophia and Zenon were desperate to try ice-skating at My Mall, and, once there, I could not face the battle through town traffic again. I caved and we spent two-and-a-half hours at the mall. A leotard-and-floaty-skirt-clad ten year old (“I'm here skating for hours every single day!”) took all three under her wing, dispensing instructions and admonitions with pursed lips and plenty of head-tossing, and by the time we turned in the skates and headed for lunch, Sophia had mastered turns and skating backwards, Zenon was whipping around the rink – comfortable going forwards, but not yet able to turn, and Leo was fairly proficient. All three had a liberal ration of cuts and bruises, Sophia the worst off – a skate blade had cut her leg quite badly and she had also managed to run over her own thumb.

Skating at My Mall.

This little girl, fluent in Greek and American accented English helped Sophia, Zenon, and Leo to master their skates.

By the time we went for lunch, Sophia was getting pretty good and the others were comfortable.

We weren't sorry to get home later that afternoon. The holiday had served its multiple purposes – a break from routine, a celebration of the end of school – for now, a visit to hitherto unknown parts of the country. But plants needed to be watered and Alex had reported that the dog had been depressed since we had left. Time had come to pick up the threads again and begin the run to the Easter celebrations and Zenon's twelfth birthday.

School Sports Day

Throughout last summer and into the autumn contractors and workers laboured mightily on the other side of the valley to finish the stadium that would transform the dusty gravel pitch where generations of Koukliots had played football into a sports centre. They finished some time in the winter and now the school, the local kids, and the village football team all benefit from a properly built futsal pitch and a grass football field complete with canteen, toilets, and changing rooms.

On Friday the Littles' school hosted Trimithousa and Anarita primary schools for a combined athletic event. We were blessed with sunshine and a pleasant breeze, and the gathering began at just after nine a.m with some Greek dancing that segued into track events which included the 4^th through 6^th graders competing in high jump, long jump, 75 metres running, hurdles, shot put and javelin with light balls and foam javelins. It was Leo's first chance to compete – usually the younger grades have to sit and watch, which doesn't go down well.

Both finished the day around the middle levels in terms of times and throws – my children, with the exception of Alex who held his high school record for javelin for a while, excell at sports other than track and field – but but they enjoyed themselves and got to see old friends from Trimithousa school.

The venue was a huge improvement over the asphalt and gravel where competitors and spectators baked alike in previous years, and which has been responsible for many a scraped elbow and skinned knee in the past. Of course it will have to be watered over the summer to maintain its lush, verdant appearance, and is probably liberally dosed with pesticide, fungicide, and all sorts of other goodies to keep it 'healthy'...

 ...But that's another rave for another time.

Sunday walk: Along the River to the Sea

For weeks, I have wanted to walk our river to the sea. Best Beloved and I planned it as a family outing last week but it didn't happen: this Sunday, nothing stood in my way. At just after eleven, Sophia and I loaded the two dogs and the Littles into the Land Rover and set out for the other side of the bridge.

The water level has fallen a lot since the dam overflowed two months ago, and soon only a chain of muddy pools will lead from spillway to the sea. Then those will parch under the summer sun, and the river will be just a memory for the next decade or so.

We couldn't follow the water. Mud, impenetrable thickets of weeds, and bulldozered channels and rises stood in our way, but we picked our way along a track under the motorway bridge until we found a clutch of bee hives tended by their white-suited keepers, then around the edge of a potato field, through a barnyard, deserted but for a couple of chained dogs, along an asphalt road bordered by olive and citrus groves and to an area of greenhouses where Vietnamese workers in conical hats picked peppers.

 Fly-tipped rubbish and river refuse blighted what would otherwise have been a beautiful walk, but flowers made everything bright, and the dogs dashed in and out of the fields searching for mud puddles and sniffing the exciting smells of spring countryside. Frogs serenaded us from the water below, and I wished that we could have found a way down so that I could have initiated my children into the delights of raising tadpoles.

After a burned out car and a wrecked BMW with a sloughed snakeskin on the driver's seat, the asphalt became a track that led us past other fields, the river on our left, to the sea. Neither dog had been to the beach before, and Sophia conned Lucky into swimming by tossing a rock into the waves. Once bitten, twice shy – she refused to go in again. Sputnik tried drinking it, but gave that up as a bad job with a dismayed expression on his face.

Despite not feeling well, Zenon enjoyed the walk. Normally he would have thrown himself into the spirit of our quest for a path to the sea, ranging on each side as a scout, hunting Orcs or other creatures, but a lingering cold made him more subdued. But “Can we do this again next week, Mum?” he asked as we reached the Land Rover on the way back. “I've had a really good time!”  Leo was more inclined to be negative, but I have the feeling that if I suggest another walk next Sunday, he will jump at the chance.