Facebook calls it community- call it what you will.

Call it what you like - community, the gang, fellowship or just plain friends. It was a great feeling on this chilly and rainy (read rare) day in Brissie to share a lovely lunch with two good mates. I related to them the magic of the marriage of my son to his beautiful bride and they told me about their volunteering for the hairy nose wombat, camel safaris, looking after an elderly and frail dog and caring for one another.We exchanged stories of love and life, marriage and means. We come from very different backgrounds though our stories are not a million miles apart. And then we came across these on our way home. A bit like beautiful friends, bright and with a lot to offer, but individual in every sense. 

Ravaged yet again.

I have just returned from Cyprus which is my homeland. I love going back to see family and friends, eat souvlaki, spend time by the sea and catch up on all things, island wide. The island has a rich and troubled history, many conquerors, colonial masters and passing traders. Over the thousands of years and in many different ways each one has left their mark for us to witness today. Barrels and abandoned homes by the Green line, Gothic and medieval architecture in walled cities, amphitheatres by the sea and much much more.

My sister and I wandered through the old streets of Nicosia which have now found new life, with little coffee shops and restaurants sprouting out everywhere, where Armenian tradesmen once sold their cashmeres and their silks to my mother and her friends. It is wonderful to see the transformation and regeneration of these areas but equally disturbing to witness them ravaged in a new brutal and unacceptable way.  Perhaps these signs are not so obvious to those who live in Cyprus day after day but for me coming in as an outsider it was so very shocking and harsh. The whole of the old city is covered with horrible, horrible graffiti. It is not just on gates or walls, garages and fences but on old sandstone heritage buildings of considerable importance which have been vandalised and covered with painted scrawls which say nothing other than that these disrespectful scrawlers have no understanding of their culture and heritage, have no appreciation for the beautiful architecture of old  buildings and even more galling have nothing to say for themselves or to offer to us.I could not bear to take photos, it was too upsetting but I think Jill a fellow blogger https://readingthebooktravel.com/nicosia/ sums it up eloquently in this photo from her blog. 

I am appalled and saddened by the state of the city and cannot understand why more stringent measures have not been taken to prevent this disfigurement. Perhaps those in authority themselves have not set good examples of choices they have made for the city but that is a whole other (concrete/ skyscraper) matter. Suffice to say cleaning the stones is almost impossible and stopping this scourge is long overdue. 

Troodos mountain tales

There was no real destination today but it was a journey, a perambulation, through the mountains of the Troodos range, starting off with a stop at one of the best bakeries for a piping hot " halloumoti" a small crusty bread full of warm oozing halloumi and plenty of mint. We skipped breakfast on purpose and then proceeded to demolish most of it in one sitting.

Our first stop was Kalopanagiotis a mountain village which lies in the Marathasa valley where in the olden days people would go for the ambient climate and lovely spring waters which emanate from the river which flows through all the valley. 

The village has been carefully restored with some funding from the EU and the result is reason enough for us to want to be in this blessed organisation and not, like some others, arguing their way out of it. Beautifully restored village homes,  cobbled streets, vines which spread like carpets over the courtyards and small gardens bursting with hydrangeas and lavender. There is a tasteful development called Casale Panayiotis http://casalepanayiotis.com/hotel-overview.html where you find fine restaurants and spas and lovely walled gardens, while other houses in the village have been turned into sensitive agro tourism.

The area is famous for its old painted Byzantine churches - ten of them have World Culture Heritage status and we visited one of the better known ones called St John Lampadistis whose origins are thought to be from the 11th Century. Over the years and to the north of this church two further churches were added dating from the 15th and the 18th century. The frescoes are vibrant and depict the history of the times as well as the sensitivities, the last being considered a Latin church to cater for the Catholics on the island. 

We were warmly greeted by a Romanian priest and a Cypriot, who took time to tell us about the history of the church and the monastery which surrounds it exchanging news with Anna on the details.  I shall post a video of the church music separately as blogger doesn't seem to cope with them very well. We lit candles and went on our way. 

Onto Moutoullas a village famous for its sparking water - the first bottled water in Cyprus. A tiny church here, the Church of the Virgin or Panayia can be dated exactly to 1280 from an inscription in the narthex of the church. The frescoes were paid for by Ioannis Moutoullas and his wife and so it is very likely this was a private chapel. Notice the beautiful saints of St George and St Christopher. 

Aren't his strippey socks exquisite ?

In a small by street a notice for the sale of a property - Holiday home for sale. " Pain in the Arse"
Wondering how many offers he will get.

Onto Pedhoulas another mountain village where we headed to the top of the village to visit the little church of Archeangel Michael- to witness what is perhaps the only knitting Virgin Mary in History. Here she is. Wonder what the pattern was ? Was it for Jesus or Joseph ? We will never know.

The door caught my eye

The dip, if there was such a moment in the day, came when we saw the various grand hotels which had been so much part of our youth closed and derelict. The famous Berengaria (named after a Queen) now a shell of thick walls desecrated with graffiti. The beautiful Pinewood Forest in a valley, the pool empty, the windows open and flapping in the wind and last but by no means least, Forest Park Hotel. The silver lining here, if there is one, is that they say this one has been closed for renovation. We shall see. 

Descending the mountain range we follow the wine trail heading towards Limassol, so a quick visit to Trooditissa the monastery where our sister Niki was baptised. There was a rather odd statement on the door of the monastery saying tourists were not welcome, but there were many Russians in the grounds paying their respects. The village of Foini is famous for its kilns and its waterfalls and Vouni a little further for its beautiful restored houses, quaint coffee shops and wine. We stopped for cold water and the famous glyko- we chose cherries and walnuts in syrup. Yum.

We drove like Cypriots in the olden days - windows down,arms dangling out, the wind in our hair, stopping to help ourselves to plums and ripe cherries from the orchards and gardens.

We returned to Nicosia  early evening, to tomatoes in olive oil and oregano, black olives, village bread and a cold Keo.
Cheers everyone !

Tender is the night.

Our eldest son, George married his gorgeous girlfriend of several years, Melissa Morris in a very beautiful ceremony in Masseria Borgo Mortella, near Lecce in Puglia, Italy on the 2nd of June 2018. It was an unforgettable weekend with much love, many friends and a lot of good cheer. There will be many photos and countless memories but I will only post one today which to me is the most romantic and beautiful of the two of them, taken by a good friend of the bride's Sharleen Hill. 

To the two of them, health and happiness, love and understanding, caring and sharing, and the  everlasting tenderness of those fingers that touch and intertwine now and forever more. 

Gnarled beauty

I promised a blog on them and apologies for being late with it but a fabulous wedding intervened of our eldest George to the lovely Melissa in Masseria Borgo Mortella in Puglia. If there is one overwhelming emotion that pervaded the three days of celebrations it was joy and lots of love from friends and family who came to share the moments with us. We were surrounded by the most beautiful olive groves and it is about these ancient trees that I come to speak about today which will endure long after we are gone. 

The fields we walked in, the roadsides, and as far as the eye could see, were planted with them. By the looks of some of them, I suspect they are hundreds of years old. We know the oldest is approximately 2000- 3000 years old which makes us seem like saplings without too much of a future in front of us, by comparison. So I walked in amongst them and took shots of some. Each one different and more exceptional then the one next to it. The more gnarled, the older, the more beautiful, an interesting analogy for us humans, which I think we could apply wholeheartedly to our own perception of beauty.  

Olives take some years to bear fruit, and how welcome and wholesome that is for all of us in every form we come across it. The oldest reported one is nearly 3000 years old near Chania, in Crete where I celebrated a mere 60 years on this earth. Way to go.