Dreaming in Kalavasos

I woke up this morning after the best sleep of the trip in an ornate four-poster brass bed draped with antique lace from a dream of a clear blue sky. It’s so interesting how simple and present my dreams have been during my travels. The reason I dreamed of blue skies is because, since I have arrived in Cyprus, the sky has been a strange and all-encompassing white color, a blinding white over everything that gives the feeling that someone forgot to finish coloring the background of the picture.

Andreas, my taxi driver told me in heavily accented English that it was the “Sahara mist” and that it would go away, but since it was already early afternoon I am not sure what that meant. Kyro, the owner of the tiny bistro where I had dinner last night confirmed this –that it is dust from the Sahara and that it happens frequently. Does that mean we are breathing sand? Or maybe it is just a huge atmospheric covering? More research is required and I would love to see the sun burn through it today. As I write this, I am seeing blue sky starting to creep from the north? South? I really don’t have my bearings yet.

For a person who gets up at the same time early time every morning at home, I am always astounded how I adapt to these time zone changes.  I managed to sleep until past 7 this morning, which would have been 9:30 in Sri Lanka. Maybe staying up all night traveling has its benefits…

My plane left Colombo at 3:15 am, which meant no sleep for the weary until take-off. Well, actually runway, usually I never make it beyond the first rumbling of the engines. But sleeping sitting up in airplane seats and being wakened to eat meals at strange times in tight quarters is hardly restful. 4 hours later we landed in Dubai, a high rise oasis in the middle of endless sandy desert. I had heard rumors about making transfers in Dubai but not until we drove (in the plane) two miles past the airport and then unloaded into buses to make the 15 minute trip back to a drop-off point and then went into the airport and got into a train to go to the proper termina,l where there was then the largest bank of windowed elevators I had ever seen to take passengers to their correct level.

For the first time in weeks I was one of many Americans and found I was able to pick out an American from miles away just by their appearance. So with all the transiting, my two and a half our layover gave me just enough time to change travelers checks into Euros (remind me never to listen to the travelers checks suggestions again) and get a coffee from the UAE Starbucks (not sure but it may have cost me $6) and before I even I had time to finish it, we were boarding for the next plane to Larnaca, Cyprus. Americans have no concept of what it means to change planes in the rest of the world – there is never just walking to your gate with your second boarding pass. There is always a long walk, then another security screening, a wait to get into the waiting room at the gate, and then in the case of Dubai, another 15 minute bus ride to a 757 or 777 waiting two miles away on the tarmac.

Four hours later, after another flight across the endless sands of Arabia under the care of Emirates Air flight attendants in their strange garb (an ill-fitting pinstriped suit and a red hat with a white scarf draping from it, many wearing wigs and make-up reminiscent of a Key West transvestite show), another omelet and more nodding off sitting up jammed into an airline seat, I made it to Cyprus.

At this time of year, Cyprus is nothing but quiet (and I am sure the bad press about the economy helps too). They did not make me fill out any immigration forms at customs, did not ask for an onward ticket (I guess I could stay forever? I might…) and there was no customs baggage check at all. Walked through the “Nothing to Declare” door and out into a small and cozy airport.

There was no traffic, even though it was an airport outside a city, and with the white sky and lack of sleep I felt a little like I had landed on the moon, being driven by an old Greek man in an equally old Mercedes Benz through the countryside to the little village of Kalavasos.

Kalavasos – I never dreamed that of all the places I have seen so far, that this quiet and quaint little place on Cyprus would be the one I want to return to. Without a car I have not been able to travel around the island and so have been forced to relax and get intimate on foot with this traditional Greek Cypriot village and its surrounding countryside.

I arrived on Easter Monday which was a holiday so nearly everything was closed all day and the woman who had I been dealing with at Stratos House, the little guesthouse where I am stayin,g was away so her elderly (probably my age!) Greek mother who speaks almost no English was taking care of the place and we could barely communicate at all. I have not been to Greece in 40 years (yes, 1973, count ‘em) and remember not a word although I have been teaching myself to read it again, much easier for a visual word and puzzle person than spoken language. She finally called her daughter on the cell phone and we spoke! Through hand motions she sent me to the mini-mart down the street where I could buy a few things, including local red wine for about $5 a bottle ( it comes much cheaper than that even) that is the best I have had in a long time – dry, light, delicious and yes, I even drink it with lunch.

As it turned out, some local cafes and tavernas opened up at dusk and I went to the Retro Restaurant where Kyro, who speaks very good English, cooked me dinner from scratch and talked to me about what it was like in 1974 when his family was forced by the Turks to leave their home in Famagusta in Northern Cyprus and emigrate to the south with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Andreas, the taxi driver told me a similar story. Famagusta, is a ghost town today, at least the Greek part of it, walled off, bombed out and decaying, no one is allowed to live there and although tourists can visit the other Turkish parts of Famagusta, Greeks are not allowed into the city.

The part of Kalavasos that I have the hardest part coping with is the male/female divide. There is a village square full of tables surrounded by a few tavernas but only men frequent them, having a great time drinking espresso or liquor, chatting and playing cards and backgammon, some just come to read the copy of the daily paper. Where are the women, I ask, since of course I am there ignoring the invisible barrier, because this is the kind of local scene I like. They are at home cooking dinner, or at the church, they wouldn’t want to come, they don’t like it. True, most of the men are gray-haired, the younger ones are probably home chatting on their iPads through Facebook, but there are a lot of them for a village with only 1000 residents.

And the food – I forgot how much I love Mediterranean food. Here it is fresh and cheap – cucumbers, tomatoes, oranges, avocados, olives, eggplants, yogurt, feta, etc. – and luckily I have a kitchen. And my own coffee – in the cafes you can either choose Cyprus coffee which is strong espresso and they refuse to give you milk with it or Nescafe which is instant. Interestingly, being just 5 miles inland means you are not at the sea and fish is not always available.

I wander the winding streets paved in paving blocks, many of which are too narrow for cars, the rest of which are one way (and you better flatten yourself against a wall when a vehicle drives by). The houses are mostly ancient stone buildings with wooden shutters and doors and bright potted flowers and a few have real gardens with beautiful plantings. Yesterday when the sky became blue for several hours I hiked out into the countryside and up to the top of a high hill for a view of the mountains and the dam at the reservoir. The silence was awesome, quieter than it is at home. In fact, when I first arrived here from Southeast Asia, the quiet was unnerving, almost deafening, just the twitter of birds and an occasional gust of wind.

Today the sky is white again and I am preparing for leaving at 5:30am to head to Santorini via Athens, where I will meet Pat in the airport. So this is my last day for a while of traveling alone. I bought laundry soap and have washed everything that was dirty, even my jeans – what a chore. There is only one thing I am tired of on this trip and that is washing clothes by hand. A few times I have had pants and shorts washed by a launderer – in Thailand it was incredibly cheap, done by a local lady who sold fruit smoothies and washed clothes, in Sri Lanka it depended on what kind of hotel we were staying in what the cost would be and then you had to check the items off on a checklist, which invariably cost more for women’s clothes than men’s and never had shorts or tee shirts listed for women, only things like frocks and nightwear, so I always ticked off the items on the men’s side.

One last thing before I get ready to post this – the cats of Cyprus – they are everywhere and they are well-fed and happy and many are long-haired. It is wonderful to see after being so many places where the cats were either mangy or non-existent. Mostly orange and white or calico but there was one black longhair that looked very much like my Ella. They play happily together in the streets, so far no howling or yowling, but I am not here on the full moon.

And the wonders of internet communication – when Genevieve messaged me in a panic because her Ithaca deposit for next year hadn’t been paid, I was able to call the financial department via Skype and straighten it out in no time. Still always seems like a miracle. And that I can use Skype to call my taxi driver here in Kalavasos to make sure he gets here before dawn in the morning!