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.

Going Bananas

Best Beloved has a cousin who grows bananas, and last week he was kind enough to give us some.  Not a few, not a hand, a whole freakin' tree's worth...  Now I'm not knocking this:  Cypriots are truly generous, especially with what they produce.  We get tons of yoghurt, anari, peanuts, citrus, and other things from relatives, and it is very welcome.  I try and keep up in mango and plum season, and with my offerings of hand cream, etc.

But when someone gives you around 150 unripe bananas, whaddaya do???

Well, I started out putting some sugar solution in the stem 'to make them ripen evenly' according to BB (who had initially said when I had asked, open-mouthed, what do do with them 'Put them in the compost, if you want!').  For want of a better place, I put them in the Back Kitchen -- on a par with the basement for organisation -- and kept a beady eye out for the next few days.

They did, indeed, change from green to yellow.  Then, alarmingly, their skins began to split.

I knew that it was time to start using them, so I made banana bread.  I googled the recipe, used the first that showed up, and tweaked it by adding cardamon and walnuts.  That took care of nine bananas... except that, although yellow and with splitting skins, they are still a little hard.  When I put them in the Kitchen Aid and turned in to the lowest setting, bananas -- whole and parts thereof -- erupted from the bowl and whizzed around the room.  I returned them to the bowl and held a tea-towel around it, mashing this time without hazard...

Turned out tasty.  Now, what to do with the rest?  Muffins, pancakes, more bread -- for the freezer this time -- gifts for friends, and if the worst comes to the worst, the compost is always just 30 steps away!

The Gallery: My Kitchen

This week, the Gallery's prompt is 'My Kitchen'.  Please follow the link to see how other Gallery members interpreted the theme.

 

***

My friend Cleo came over one morning for some baking. She and her four children and me and my two younger ones made plain rolls, olive rolls, and some wonderful cheesy pull-aparts with a filling loosely based on the recipe from Greek-Canadian food blogger Peter Minakis – but incorporating some of my mother-in-law's jewel-like cherry tomatoes.

I love the hands-on aspect of breadmaking, the texture and feel of kneading, the smell of rising dough. For kneading technique, we freely adopted our own take from Martin Bertinet's Dough, which incorporates a lot of banging of dough onto the table.

It is one of my favourite kitchen memories, and I'm glad that I had my trusty little Lumix on hand to record it.  

Cleo and her family are leaving to return to the UK on Monday, and we will miss them.

A Day Out at Lara

Caught up in the business of living here in Cyprus I forget, often, just how wonderful a place it can be.

Yesterday we spent the day at Lara. It was Li'l Bro and the Cousins' Last Day (Bridie left to go back to work last week), and they had planned to visit Lara Bay in the afternoon, inviting Alex and Sophia to go with them.

I rarely get to Lara, the turtle nesting beach half way up the Akamas Peninsula. Getting there takes an hour, and the beach is sandy – a fine, dark sand that gets everywhere and sticks to everything – and I usually have too many other things to get through. But when Leo asked mid-morning with a winning expression “Couldn't you take us, too?”, I folded up the day's To Do list that I had just finished, and started making a picnic.

Into the coolers and dry bag went tuna salad, tzatziki, hummous, cherry tomatoes from Yiayia, fresh figs, passion fruits, pitta breads and the loaf that I had just baked, as well as the sponge cake that Zenon made yesterday. I found the old table cloths to sit on and rooted out the picnic plates, knives, and forks. Then made two litres of ice tea, got juice out of the fridge, and called the Big Ones to load the Land Rover. We were at the beach by one.

I looked at the number of cars parked around the access point, and my heart sank. 'We must be mad. It will be a zoo down there,' I thought. 'Imagine planning a trip to Lara Beach on the sixteenth of August, the high point of Cypriot summer holidays..'

Oh, Asproulla of Little Faith!

 I had forgotten how huge the beach is: an arc of at least seven hundred metres, it is also at least fifteen metres wide. The expanse of sand swallowed the hundreds of people with ease, and we found a spot at the bottom of the slope, far from our nearest neighbours and close -- but not too close -- to a marked turtle nest. All along the sand people were playing raquetball, building sand castles, enjoying the day. A fresh breeze came off the water. The Big Ones and Philipp set up the umbrellas, then dashed to the water.

“The sea's not like Petra here,” Li'l Bro reminded me. “Which has been uncomfortably fresh these last few days. Here you sweat when you swim!”

He wasn't kidding. The water was like a bath. Shallow and sandy, perfect for wallowing.  There were ripples, not waves, and I floated like a starfish and felt all sorts of tensions that I didn't know I had just drift away.

After a while, everyone settled down to eat the sandwiches that Mili had made and the picnic that I had brought, then the Big Ones and Philipp went off to jump off the seven metre rocks at the headland, Li'l Bro took off for two hours of snorkelling, and I stayed under the umbrellas watching the Littles and Timi paly out an endless sand fight.

Bliss! I read, wallowed, day-dreamed... Where did the day go? The Big Ones returned for chicken fights – no pictures of that as I participated – and before we knew it the shadows were lengthening and the time had come to pack up the gear, slog uphill through the heavy sand, and drive back to the Last Supper as Li'l Bro had dubbed the evening planned by Mili and Phil to mark their youngest son and his children's final evening.

I looked at myself in the mirror somewhat ruefully that evening: although I had never actually sunbathed, the glare from sand and water had burned me a delicate pinkish tomato colour. 'Oh well,' I thought, spraying myself thoroughly with Aloe Vera. 'I guess I'll get a tan after all this summer!'

Family Wedding -- Part II

At some point last winter or during the spring, plans for Li'l Bro and Bridie's wedding began firming up. It would be at Phil and Mili's – the civil ceremony in the formal seating area at the front and the feast on the spacious back lawn. Guests would be only immediate family and very few close friends. There would be no catering: decoration, food, and drink would all be taken care of 'in-house' – Sil would look to the tables and flowers, Mili would cook, Best Beloved was to provide champagne, and I was to make enough cheesecake for 'about thirty people'...

Every detail came under the microscope, was disected and discussed. “Do nothing without consulting us,” Li'l Bro and Bridie repeated, mantra-like. When Mili wanted to add pasticcio to the menu she was told firmly “We don't like it, we don't want it!”

Mili and Sil preparing vegetarian koupepia -- stuffed vine leaves.

“But the others...” she began.

“What others?” interrupted Lil Bro. “This is our wedding and we'll have what we want. I don't care about the others – there'll be plenty of other dishes for them to choose from.”

Ten days before the ceremony Bridie's family arrived from Belgium. Her father, mother, three sisters, and one sister's partner and child were to stay in a rented house not far from the village, and wanted to combine the wedding with a two-week holiday on the island. Five days before the ceremony we had a dinner on the lawn 'dress rehearsal' so that everyone could get acquainted before the big day. The food was wonderful, and Phil's skill at public relations ensured that nearly everyone was dancing before the evening ended. Our diverse families seemed to blend swimmingly – little Diego, Bridie's nephew, kicking a football around with Zenon and Leo and conversations in French, Spanish, Greek, and English erupting apace around the long tables on the grass.

The Day drew closer. Stress mounted. I steered pretty clear. I had my orders – cheesecake for thirty, and the photography. I stood by ready to help where needed, stocked up on Philadelphia cream cheese, checked that my camera batteries were charged, and watched the show. Although both Li'l Bro and Bridie had said that they would prefer no wedding gifts, I went by Lemba Pottery – source of all gifts for the last fifteen years – and picked out some nice stoneware for the Happy Couple.

On Tuesday, Bridie and I took ourselves off to the spa at the Columbia Beach Resort for an afternoon of relaxation, reflexology, and pedicure – a chance for some sisterly bonding and the perfect escape from last minute pre-nuptial stress. Tuesday evening I made the cheesecake, but “I had to do it in one big dish,” I told Li'l Bro and Bridie with trepidation. “People will have to scoop out their portions as I don't trust it not to fall apart, freestanding...” They assured me that scooping rather than neat separate slices would not be a problem. “It's family and best friends, Asproulla, they said. “No-one will care if the cheesecake's not in perfect slices...”

All was in place for Wednesday. Last minute spats about who was making what on the menu were smoothed over. I found smart, casual (clean and ironed!) clothes for the Little Ones, discouraged the Big Ones from wearing black, tried and rejected several sets of clothes myself – had to be smart, but not too restrictive for the photography, and arrived next door just as the first guests – lifelong friends of Li'l Bro drew up at the door.

Sil preparing the tables.

Phil preparing the souvla.

Phil greets Bridie's family.

 Right on time the ladies from the municipality arrived to conduct the ceremony. Not only were the setting and the weather perfect, but both the preamble and the vows were much more elegant than those of the old formula.

“You (names of bride and groom) know that by your simultaneous consent which is given publicly and formally in my presence and in the presence of the persons now here, accept each other as your lawful spouse and with the confirmation of that fact by your signature you contract a lawful marriage...”

After receiving a short warning against committing bigamy, Li'l Bro and Bridie repeated their vows – LB solemnly, Bridie with some humorous ripostes: “I call upon all persons here present to witness that I accept you as my lawful spouse to love and to share with you as from this day, moments of joy and sorrow, wealth and poverty, happiness and unhappiness, throughout our life until death do separate us.”

“As from this moment,” Katerina-the-official intoned. “I pronounce you man and wife. You are joined together by your free consent in matrimony, and you owe each other love, fidelity, and respect throughout your life. This marriage constitutes the fulfillment of your life and links your destinies on good and rainy days, in happiness and unhappiness, in wealth and poverty until death do separate you.

Vows exchanged...

Diego plays...

Kisses and applause...

“On the basis of equality you should face together all the problems and all the difficulties of life. Together you should shoulder all the burdens of marriage, each one according to your capabilities. You have both the right and obligation to take care of the upbringing and education of your children so that they may become useful and good citizens and free personalities.”

Their marriage was that simple, and that beautiful. Rings and kisses were exchanged, champagne corks popped, Diego played an air on his violin, and we all ajourned to feast around the beautifully appointed tables, finding our seats by the hand-lettered stones that marked each place.

I missed the speeches (can you believe it?) having chosen just that moment to run home for the cheesecake in its glass dish and the jug of raspberry sauce. But they were that pithy that by the time I returned a scant five minutes later, toasts had been drunk and the serious business of eating and drinking was well underway.

Bridie and her father.

The buffet...

The toasts...

The setting...

The feast...

The cake...

Dancing followed dessert – the bride and groom first on the 'raised dance floor' of the back patio, then a blend of boogies and Greek dances until Bridie's parents – her father is in poor health – wrapped it up and left at 11.30, and the other guests – with the drive to Nicosia before them – left as well. “I never imagined it could be done this way!” the Best Man told LB as he was taking his leave. “If only I'd have known, do you think we would have had the usual wedding?” All those miles of hand-shakes, the hours of standing could not be compared to something as simple and beautiful as this.

The dancing...

I saw no tears at this wedding – though there may have been a few shed from happiness – but the smiles? There were more than enough to spread around.

Art With Auntie

When my children hear that Auntie Ruth is due to visit, their eyes light up. A well regarded artist at home in Baltimore, Ruth also teaches workshops in art history and technique in the US and in Spain where she spends the early weeks of the summer. She always brings materials and new ideas, and both the Little Ones and the Big Ones get creative during her time with us.

Several years ago, she introduced them to making pictures with oil pastels, and this summer has added twig and ink drawing to the morning activities.

The Turning of the Seasons, the Turning of the Years

We are leaving spring behind and roaring, full throttle, into summer.

Every year the change in seasons happens this way: for the first half of April we cruise through a beautiful honeymoon spring, green grass, bright flowers, air crisp enough morning and evening to make long sleeves and a sweatshirt neccessary. The butter can stay out of the fridge in its butterdish, and retain the perfect consistency for spreading. Then around the middle of the month, the season shifts into higher gear. Overnight the grain ripens and the flowers die. Shorts and sandals come out of the closets, doors and windows stay open all day. One starts to avoid the sunshine. The butter sags into a golden pool and, if not refrigerated during the day, gets a rancid tang very quickly.

Yesterday we celebrated Zenon's birthday. He invited a crowd of friends and most of their parents joined us as well. Best Beloved did a simple meal of pork, lamb, and chicken souvla. There were hummous and grilled halloumi for the vegetarian contingent, and a massive salad. Cake and jelly followed the games, then the children dispersed to bike races, lego building, and table tennis – which the adults soon joined. Everyone left by dark, and BB and I cleaned up then sat sipping white wine on the verandah.

I guess I've been doing birthday parties – an average of two or three a year – for seventeen years now. And as I looked around the gathered well-wishers, I saw some of the same faces that appear in pictures taken more than a decade ago. Stelios is about to finish his army service now. Yioti is about to do his A-Levels. I have pictures of Yiotis's fifth birthday party, with several of the same characters gathered around his chocolate cake as were gathered around Zenon's yesterday. Maybe that's because Lisa's and my kids grew up side-by-side... But it's been a while since all her big boys were here, and as she said yesterday, as we watched them scoffing cake and jelly with the same enthusiasm that they showed twelve years ago “They don't get any smaller, and they take up So Much Space!”

Little People parties are dominated by Pass the Parcel and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Sophia's last one – when she turned fourteen (she couldn't decide what to do last year, so opted for nothing) – was a tea party, complete with crustless sandwiches, elegant cups and saucers, and trifle... and head banging rock and roll or heavy metal rumbling from the nether regions both before and after the meal. Leo's is a winter birthday, and the weather is often too bad to spend it outdoors, but Zenon's is the perfect opportunity for outdoor games. Last year we had water ballon wars with washable dye. All the invitations included the admonition to 'wear old clothes' – not a usual warning on a Cypriot invite.

Next weekend belongs to Easter, and the spate of parties and feasting that accompany the major festival of the Orthodox year. I'll shun the bangers and bonfire of Saturday night: custom is that the whole village goes for the Midnight Service, shares a light from the Paschal Candle, and witnesses the celebration of the Risen Christ. The Pagan side of me enjoys the fire and the concept of the gathering, but in practice I usually avoid it – I hate the firecrackers, and don't enjoy the religion.

The Big Ones have friends in the village now to hang out with, and will surely go. BB or his parents may take the Littles.

Then it's back to school – revising and GCSE's for Alex, end of term exams for Sophia, the Three R's for the Littles. After that? The long, glorious ten weeks of summer holidays.

Roll on!