Saturday morning (24 Sept) we woke up early despite our late Friday night; but made eaiser by a breakfast of pastries stuffed with halloumi, apple phyllo, and iced coffees. We were headed to the Trudos mountains which are about 2hours from Paralimni- a small jaunt as we're experts at road tripping by this point:
It was an overcast day with spots of rain here and there, but we still caught great panaoramic views of the surrounding hills and coast.
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| Lunch break in the Trudos Mountains |
We weaved deep into the mountains on narrow, windy roads. It was certainly a test of stomach...shall we say, robustness. An early exit from the motorway meant we got an extra long tour of the mountain valleys and their quaint little villages. Aside from the occassional vineyard blanketing hillsides, the landscape of the region reminded me very much of Morocco. We stopped in the tiny village called Pelendri for a washroom break and parked in the narrow lot that was carved into the steep hillside. Across the narrow street was a tucked away cafe we had spotted. The four of us walked in; the main room had sets of white tables and chairs laid out and to the right was an open kitchen area- looking almost like that of someone's home. Sitting at one of the tables were three older men, with tall pint glasses and a large bottle of Carlsberg sitting between them. There was another, younger man sitting adjacent to the three older men- all four were talking in hushed voices, and while they certainly noticed us walk in, their conversation continued uninterrupted. The younger man looked to be in his early forties, dressed in white sneakers, tidy khaki shorts and a polo shirt.
The owner of the cafe approached our table- a man of average height but with a round belly and a mop of dark fluffy hair dressed in denim shorts, a t-shirt, and with a floppy black leather fannypack around his waist. Beyond him, standing behind the kitchen counter was a woman who looked to be his wife, with two kids milling about while she simultaneously chatted away on her mobile phone and wiped down the countertop. Costas relayed our order- two medium (sweet) Cyprus coffees and two nescafes (the standard alternative).The man sauntered over to the kitchen counter and relayed the order to the woman who quickly began scooping coffee grinds into a Cyprus coffee saucepan.
The cafe had a second floor overlooking the main open area- a small mezzanine of sorts. On the back wall of the main level were four photo portraits; a solemn photo of the founding church leader for the region, and then three young Cypriot soldier hailing from this tiny town- one died in the war against the English, the other two during the Turkish invasion in 1974. Above the double door entrance were three framed photos of the local football club, dating back to the 70s and 80s with haircuts and moustaches reflective of the era. Looking up to the second floor we could see a small glassed-in room overlooking the cafe area. In it were shelves of trophys and plaques. Costas described the place as being a local football house- where club meetings might be held, local events, and of course, where you could get a beer or coffee on a rainy Saturday afternoon.
As the man carried over the tray of four coffees, Costas asked how much they would be. To the side, an arm's reach away, was the man in his 40s sitting and watching the exchange- and he extended his arm to the owner and held out a 10 euro note. Words were mumbled in greek- Ally, Paul and I had no idea what was going on.
We quickly realised this stranger had bought us our coffee.
Costas exchanged greetings and thanked him for the gesture. We sipped our coffee and listened to the quiet murmur of conversation nearby. Costas began chatting with the generous coffee-buyer; about where he was from, hunting, world travels and football.
Ally, Paul and I were a bit shell shocked from the extent of the generosity of this culture- it was baffling. We soaked up our surroundings as the rain began to pour outside on the narrow street.
More locals began to saunter in- Ally had noticed that before the man bought our coffee, a few of the men in the shop had pulled out their mobiles and made quick phone calls. We joked, "Come quick to the football house, there are some random visitors here. A must see."
The teenage sons of the some of the men came in too- dressed in their football gear. They chatted with their dad, glancing our way every once in a while. More kids dashed into the cafe from the rain, pulling themselves up to the bar stools at the kitchen counter. Men sauntered in, scoping out the room and tearing open a bag of chips to snack on while chatting.
The coffee buyer stood up to leave after some time, following his two sons out the front door- shaking hands with Costas and waving goodbye to us three as he parted. We grinned and said hearty thank yous.
We finished our coffee and returned the serving tray to the counter, thanking the family and heading back out into the rain. We drove deeper into the mountains and stopped at a high point looking out over nearly half of the island- seeing the sea meet the flat plains which then turned into rolling hills and mountains.
We made our way to Mt Olympus, Cyprus' highest peak and walked from the car park up to the somewhat anticlimatic- but entertaining- summit:
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| Cypriot skiing on Mt Olympus! |
On our way back down through the mountains we caught the last of the daylight in a tiny winery perched on a hillside advertising free samples. We tasted five local varieties- certainly some of the more unique wines I've ever tried. The host was your typically kind and generous Cypriot and sent us off with a free bag of fresh, tasty apples in addition to the wine we had purchased.
The final stop was Omodos- a beautiful mountain town that offered perfect dusk light for snap-happy Paul and I as we strolled through the very quiet streets. I tried pastichio (or something like that)- a noodle and mince type dish with loads of cream- a hearty finish to the day.
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| Omodos by night |
Sunday was a quiet day spent at the beach where I was able to exercise my sandcastle making muscles with the help of Costas' student card:
That afternoon we were treated to yet another spectacular meal with Costas' family on their outdoor patio; homemade mousakka and tasty partridge, hunted by Costas.
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| Partridge, served with Cypriot bread |
Costas' quick stop to say hello to an old employer led to more Cypriot generosity as we enjoyed a drink on the house in a fancy steak flambee restaurant before taking in the sea and meeting more Cypriot cats.
Monday 25 September was our final full day in Cyprus- Paul and Ally flew out from Larnaca (per the original plan...with valid passports) while I would fly out from Ercan, in the Turkish-occupied land early on Tuesday morning. Ally's delayed flight meant a few hours in Larnaca- where we stopped to check out the nearby salt flats:
I was "the last mohican" and was treated to a spectacular dinner that evening with Costas and his aunt and uncle on their lovely back patio. An avid gardener, his uncle enthusiastically showed me his exotic range of cactus, plants, trees, and flowers- from passion fruits, to papaya to Jasmine to apple cactus. Dinner introduced me to two new wines and a zambouca-esque greek liquor- paired with more delicious meze followed by rose water ice. Having studied and worked in Sweden, Costas' uncle had some entertaining stories about his impressions of the Scandanavian culture- their approach to naked sauna-ing being a highlight.
With an early morning flight and packing still to do, I was sad to have to go.... but it seems my time in Cyprus has come to an end- but a memorable one at that.
I cannot say thanks enough to Costas and his family for their hospitality, and as advertised in the airport....
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