I started the day with a nice long (and much deserved) poo. I then had some pitta, toasted with jam in the middle, NYOM. (I also had jammy pitta. This early morning lark is ok, it comes with free breadstuffs.)
Goldy and Laura had headed out quickly to get some cash and we are stirring, ready for the day’s adventure to Pafos. There is a covered market in the old town to have a quick look at and then to Kato Pafos to have a look at the Roman Villa and Fort in the harbour.
The duck-pond market on the Tombs of the Kings Road, on the way into Pafos, was slightly disappointing. It is an Ex Pat get together really where they are selling off all their (now grownup) children’s junk and toys. A quick wander round let us to seeing only one noteworthy purchase that we are going to have to go back
for next Wednesday, Gollywog mugs. (This was not strictly true for the girls – they spent about a year talking to some guy who takes pictures of dogs. I think they were going to buy a dog just to get it photographed. Also, there were some tools and stuff which were manly, and a massive curved blade thing, which the storeholder assured us we could get through customs in hold luggage. We didn’t bother.)Pafos town is set on the side of a hill overlooking the sea and it is about as busy as Hertford (traffic wise). The buildings are mostly dilapidated with fading paint and signs that have definitely seen better days with letters missing and paint flaking off them. The only really well kept part of the town is the covered market and the tourist area right next to where the coaches drop off their hoards of tourists.
The covered market was pretty much full of tat. Most of the stalls were selling local lace that was made in India or China, Toys that were cheap knock offs. Sean bought some lace from an old hag, for his old hag (har-har). (That’d be my Grandma, then. Bit rude.)
On the other side of the road from the market is an old mosque that is a leftover from the Turkish presence on the southern part of the island. The mosque, formally the Byzantine Church of Agia Sofia has remained padlocked and shut since around the mid 70’s. Surprisingly the building has not been graffiti’d on, the graves remain intact and all of the windows in the dome (which would have been target practice in the UK) have not been bricked. It was amazing, and even more so in contrast to how the churches in the north of Cyprus appear to have been treated by the occupying forces. We then went back to the car via a patch of concrete that had a picture of the Virgin Mary in it, (which we only spotted because of the graffiti on the wall. There we were, stood by a Turkish mosque, symbol of the occupying forces in the North of the island, that was left unadulterated, and even had a woman tending the graves to ensure they didn’t get overgrown (actually she worked in a florists shop just over the road and she was taking some nice foliage clippings for her arrangements, but never mind), and some Scally, obviously not taking his lead from the local youths, had spotted, at some point in the past, a spot of drying cement and decided to write Liverpool and what looked like initials in it. Honestly, you can’t trust Liverpool fans. (Although, as Liverpool are such a fantastic club, they have supporters all over the world. So it’s just as plausible that the graffiti was written by a Cypriot! So there, mean boys. Oh, and it wasn’t actually a picture of the Virgin Mary, in that it wasn’t drawn or anything, it was just that the cement had dried into a vague facsimile of her, such as you would normally find on a piece of toast on page 17 of the Sun.) and drove to Kato Pafos (the harbour area).
(As we wandered down the harbour, we were once again accosted by someone from pretty much every bar and restaurant telling us that ‘our table was ready.’ Strange, since we hadn’t asked for one.) At the end of the harbour there is a Byzantine Fort, which stands overlooking the sea. Up until a few years ago it was used as a salt store but in its hey-day it would have been used to protect Pafos and as an administrative building for the docks. The standard tariff of 1 euro 71 did not buy us much for this one, although it had a lovely view over the sea. I got told I was tall by a northerner, I replied that I knew and that I had been tall for ages, and yes, I did get it a lot, they shuffled off and left me alone from then on. (She probably wasn’t sure if your dumb Southern brain had twigged yet.). And we got to do gargoyle poses in the holes in the wall, so it wasn’t a complete loss.
Just outside the fort was a little café called ‘The Hobo’. As it reminded us of Sean’s maternal parentage, we decided to eat there. (I have no idea when this became ‘slag off Sean’s grandparents’ day. I really must remember to check my calendar more closely next year. The actual reason we went there was that it was the only place that didn’t seem bothered if we did or not. Oh, and because Andy felt at home there. Hobo.) The food was pretty nice but expensive, but what did we expect for the tourist centre of Pafos. (Goldy and I had a burger. They put little swords in the top of them instead of cocktail sticks, so it was like our dinner had been attacked by midget pirates.)
After grub, we headed off to the ruins next door of the old Roman Settlement. I believe that it is the biggest archaeological site on the island and has the best preserved mosaics. (Again, is that it? Dude, you suck. We spent ages wandering round these remarkably well preserved ruins (if that isn’t an oxymoron), and that’s all you can say? They also won’t remain well preserved if certain people kept dropping their sunglasses on them and having to step on them will they now….?
The ruins were immense, and were clearly a place of some splendour back in the day. The mosaics were, indeed, very well preserved, and were, for the most part, between 50 and 90% complete, which was wonderful to see. The walk was marred somewhat by the fact that we kept getting waylaid by tourist groups, which meant that it was sometimes a little awkward to get into see some things, as they just kept getting in the way, making asinine comments. Well, I assume they were asinine – they were all in foreign, but from what I’ve seen of English people on coach tours, you can probably assume that people the world over that take these kind of trips have as little common sense as each other.
Goldy once again bottled out of singing in an amphitheatre – this is becoming a feature of the holiday. One more and I think he gets to keep them all. Andy did get some pretty cool photos of Rich in various positions on the thing though, which he has knitted together into one panoramic photo. It’s Rich’s (wet) dream pic – just him 6 times and no-one else.
Ok, fair enough Andy, there’s not really much more to say. The fact is, one ruined settlement is pretty much like another in writing. In person, it’s quite different, but descriptive wise, it’s all pretty much of a muchness. So, if you want to know what this one was like, go re-read what we said earlier. I’ll wait here…
Back? Then let’s carry on…)
After a couple of hours of pottering round the ruins, we headed back to the house for some pool action and using Richards new torpedo,… the phallic jokes begin. (Allow me to clarify slightly. We’d got this cool underwater torpedo thing that glides, erm, underwater, like an, erm, torpedo. It’s quite cool, and I’m hoping to stun a fish with it next time we go out.)
After a quiet dinner of ‘sandwich’ (sammich), we watched a little TV, for the first time this holiday. Andy wanted to catch up on some news, which was good to do – can you believe none of us even knew that there’d been a devastating earthquake in China? (Incidentally, if you didn’t know, then, please, put down Heat and pick up a newspaper every once in a while.) While flicking through, we found two great things – firstly, a channel that would be showing the UEFA Cup final (which I caught the last 20 minutes of, not that it was overly exciting), and secondly and best, the Pentagon Channel. Straight from America’s military heart to their forces worldwide, this was the kind of propaganda you don’t want to miss. After meeting America’s military spouse of the year, we saw how mothers in Iraq were spending Mother’s Day, and got a three day weather forecast for everywhere in the world that currently has US Personnel fighting in it (that took quite some time). However, the piece de resistance arrived in the form of ‘The Grill Sergeant,’ an Army officer who showed the troops how to cook. And I use the term as loosely as possible.
We laughed when he first told us what he would be demonstrating this evening – sandwiches (sammiches). It just got better though, as he demonstrated his first delicacy. Essentially, he got a French stick, put a bit of lettuce on one side, and then proceeded to fry every other ingredient. And I do mean everything – right down to the spinach. By the time he’d finished, the two halves of the (what looked to be a foot-long) stick were separated by about four inches of fried greasy meat that even this confirmed carnivore balked at. I think they’re now standard issue instead of the somewhat passé cyanide pills – an instant heart attack in bread form. I bet it was tasty though. Oh, and that doesn’t even begin to tell you about his grilled cheese sandwich (he fried the cheese. Then buttered the outside of the bread he’d put it in, and fried that too. I think grilled must have referred to some form of questioning that occurred off camera.). If you didn’t see this, you can’t begin to understand the genius of it. Plus he also had a house band called ‘The Tastebuds’. How classy is that?!?!?!
It was to be an early start on Thursday, so everyone got off to bed before too long. Laura still had time, however, to read this magnificent opus up to its current position. She laughed long and hard, although with fine wordsmiths such as us at the helm, who could blame her? She wants to join in…we have to decide whether she could live up to the lofty standards that have preceded her…)
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