Open Writing

My daughter, Lindsey, had moved to live in Cyprus. So when she rang and asked me to visit her for a holiday, I decided to take her up on the offer. Over the previous months, I had been under a lot of pressure, due to my sister passing away, and my twice moving home. I knew that I was in need of a rest, also that Cyprus is a wonderful and relaxing paradise island.

After telephoning my son, John, it was arranged that he and his girlfriend, Pat, along with her nephew, nine-year-old Norman, would accompany me. We flew with Cyprus Airways, the only airline with which I could book and fly at short notice.

This was Norman's first trip overseas and he was very excited. "What do I call you?" He asked as we were introduced. "Do I call you Pete?"

"You can call me Granddad," I replied laughingly as I ruffled his hair.

It was freezing the following morning as we prepared to leave. The snow filled the Yorkshire countryside. I wrapped myself up in warm clothing as the icy wind began to bite. The smell of coffee filled my nostrils as I got into the car. My wife, Kathy was looking out at me. through the kitchen window. She was preparing her breakfast. I was going to miss her. I had asked her to come with me, but she wanted to get some house renovations completed, saying she could finish off the jobs much quicker with me out of the way. "Anyway, I don't really like hot countries," she added. "You go, and I'll see you in two weeks."

I waved to her. She waved back. I knew she would still be standing at that window after I had gone, as she had done when other family members had set ou to visit places. It was a ritual. I don't know why she did this? Maybe she was hoping that we would return a few minutes later?

As we drove past the moors they were covered in a blanket of snow as far as the eye could see. I was thankful for the warmth from the car heater. Just looking at the white rolling hills in the distance made me shiver.

At Manchester Airport the Cyprus Airways staff very helpful and courteous. They made arrangements for me to have assistance in getting on the plane. We were given priority and ushered to the front of the queue. John and I were escorted to the plane by the friendly airport officials. After transferring me to a smaller wheelchair; we were taken up in a lift to board the plane. We had been allocated. Then we were off for a two-week holiday in the sun, and my intention was to do nothing other than sit and relax.

With engines screaming, the plane soared into the dark grey clouds. As the pilot levelled off, the noise of the engines became a comfortable hum, and the seatbelt light went out and everyone appeared to settle down for the flight. I have visited twentyfive countries, and it has never ceased to amaze me how the majority of my fellow passengers always appear to be tensed up on take off and landing, but as soon as the seatbelt sign goes out they immediately relax.

When a fellow passenger asked me if I could smell bacon and eggs, he didn't seem too amused when I informed him it was the angels who were cooking their breakfast outside, using the heat of the engines. However, I'm sure I saw him take a sideways glance out of the porthole to see if I was telling him the truth.

We landed in Cyprus four-and-a-half hours later. As we went through passport control into the main terminal, I heard Lindsey before I saw her, "Hi Dad," she cried. And there she was, waving her arms faster than a young chick trying to keep airborne.

It was already dark and I could hear the loud sounds of the crickets. My warm clothing had been shed. I was now in my shirtsleeves. I was a little tired, and could not be enticed to go out into town, I decided to remain in the house enjoying the peace and quiet.

After the others had gone out, I sat by the window in my room with a Cuppa in my hand, and looked across the dark open fields to the bright lights of the harbourance, enjoying the serene atmosphere and the smell of the ozone from the ocean as it wafted by my nostrils. All was quiet, save for the waves crashing gently on the shore. In the background a woman was singing. Even though I couldn't understand the words, I thought it was a beautiful song. I enjoyed it so much that I decided to sit by the window at the same time every night to see if she would return. To my delight, she did. It was the same song every time. It seemd to be coming from the ocean itself. I'm sure she4 was a mermaid. I wonder if she is still singing? I will miss her wonderful voice.

The next morning we hired a car. We set off on a trip around the local villages to see how the locals lived. Water for drinking is almost as precious as gold there. The majority of the islanders drink bottled water, so we did the same.

Eventually we headed for a village high in the mountains, where we could get a traditional and local evening meal. Soon we were over five thousand feet, and still climbing. At last we reached the village we were looking for. It was very small; so small that it would have been called a hamlet in rural England. There were perhaps seven houses, but no sign of an place that sold food and drink. This was surprising. The other villages we had passed through all had at least one eating establishment.

We decided to drive on through the village. By now it was dark, and the roads, or rather mountain tracks, were getting narrower. Percy, our driver was getting worried. There were no other lights, apart from those on our vehicle.

"Don't panic," I told him. "Only start worrying when we run out of road."

Then, out of nowhere, I heard a woman singing. It was the song that I had heard the previous evening. I told Percy to stop, and he got out and took a look. The road did in fact end a few yards ahead.. We were at the peak and couldn't turn around. Ny son, John, had to walk behind the car and slowly guide the driver backwards for approximately a hundred yards until we found a place where he could very carefully turn and go back down the mountain.

We were all relieved when we eventually came across the beginning of the road lights, and soon we were back in Paphos town, where we decided to dine on the local dish, Kleftiko. The smell this of lamb dish was mouth watering.

We had experienced a wonderful and enlightening first day, but we promised ourselves never again to visit a remote village in the dark.

As I lay my head on my pillow that night, the song from the mysterious lady was still going through my mind.

I awoke the following morning to the smell of fresh-baked bread. Very pleasing. Percy was preparing breakfast. "Hi Pops," he called out, "Would you like a couple of boiled eggs?"

Arrangements were made for us to visit Lefcosia, formerly known as Nicosia. This is on border between Turkish and Cypriot areas of Cyprus. Cypriot soldiers have been on alert there since the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974. We had been warned not to take any pictures of Cypriot or UN soldiers on duty as we could get ourselves into a lot of trouble from the authorities on both sides.

The sun was shining in the clear blue sky and the birds were singing merrily as I sat under a palm tree on the veranda, waiting for the others to get ready for the trip.

After a short drive down the motorway we decided once again to take the scenic route through the Villages in the mountains. This time we were fully equipped with maps. Normally the journey would have taken one and a half hours, but we stopped often to see the tourist attractions, one of which was a winery. To our surprise and delight, it was adapted for wheelchairs, so I had no problem in getting around.

There were no other vehicles around , so we weren't sure the winery was open. But the smiling owner came out to greet us, shaking hands. In broken English he explained that we were the first visitors of the day. He ushered us inside where tables were set out with an assortment of wines boxes of wine glasses on the other.

We were escorted to the room were the grapes were crushed and the juice extracted in giant stainless steel vats. We were given a short lecture on the different temperatures for different wines, and of how long each batch was regulated. We then went to the bottling room and learned how each bottle was sterilised, labelled and finally stored. We even got to use the machine for corking the bottles. Everywhere empty bottles were stacked high. I was a little worried about sending them all crashing, but John took control of my wheelchair, carefully guiding it through the room. After another short lecture we were taken to the place I had been looking forwards to - the wine tasting room.

The owner sat us around a large wooden table with several different bottles of wine in front of us. We were each given three glasses, then helped ourselves to the different wines. I wasn't too keen on the first batch, but when I tried the sweet red wine, I found it was perfect and immediately purchased three bottles. .

Then it was time to say farewell, but before we left the owner handed me a package. It was two more bottles of wine which he wanted us to sample. We thanked him and he was still waving to us as we drove out of the driveway onto the main road.

After driving along country roads through wine and banana plantations we entered the city of Lefcosia. We parked the car as close to the border as was permitted and went the rest of the way on foot. We didn't have far to go before two UN soldiers showed us the route that we were allowed to take.

This area was so quiet. Even the birds were silent. We went along the border,looking at abandoned property in dire need of repair or demolition, and which I thought would never be occupied again. We were told that even if the Turkish military left Cyprus the property would probably be demolished. Now there is an agreement on both sides that it should remain as it was at the time of the invasion.

Finally we had our first sighting of an armed Cypriot soldier, standing guard on the ramparts of a wall that had wide slots for viewing the other side. He looked at me as I approached. I pointed to the camera around my neck and asked if I could take a picture. He shook his head and turned away. So I decided not to do anything that would possibly upset the locals, following my family into an information bureau, where we were given literature to answer we had in mind.

The two weeks in Cyprus were the most enjoyable that I have ever spent in any country that I have visited. The people are very friendly and courteous. The country is rich in history which dates back at least six hundred years before the Roman period. Wherever you go there is someone offeringfree fresh oranges, apples and bananas. Some farmers give away fresh tomatoes. rather than let them go to waste.

I found the local food very palatable, thoughI must admit over-indulging myself a little.

We saved our last day for a trip to Troodos, high up in the mountains. We stuck to the main roads becuase there had been reports of snow. I couldn't believe that a hot country in the middle of the Mediterranean could have snow. However,as we entered the village, the same white stuff I had seen in Yorkshire was also to be seen there. It was cold enough for me to wear a jumper.

The view over the whole island was worth getting a little chilly for. .

The last day was spent buying gifts to take home to our families, and further enjoying the local hospitality and food.

That night I sat by my window, looking out on the well-lit bay, listening to the sound boats being moved about in the harbour as they were prepared for the following morning's deep sea fishing excursions. Finally all was quiet, apart from the crickets. After around half-an-hour a gentle breeze came flowing through the window. Even the crickets were now silent.

Then the mysterious woman began once again to sing. It was as if the whole island was listening to her soothing voice. The singing seemed to go on for eternity.

When I awoke I was still sitting by the window, and there was a blanket around me. When I went I tried to thank whoever it was who had kept me from getting cold I received puzzled stares.

Not one of them had been in my room They knew nothing of the blanket.

They continued to stare at me. When John finally handed me a mirror I realised the reason for their strange looks.

On my forehead was the imprint from a pair of lips.

Someone had kissed me.

Time for a Cuppa!

If you think my stories are true, then they probably are.

If you think my stories are fiction, then just relax and enjoy the tales.

mikeco158@btinternet.com

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