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The Island Of Love

Where Aphrodite rose from the sea

To dance and play bestowing her legacy of love....

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TINA'S TALES OF CYPRUS

Cyprus & hunting for treasure. The sun was still low on the horizon when we left. The shadows offering us the last delicious coolness before the heat of another August day set in.

"Four of us were driving in an open top jeep, leaving the villas and the sea behind and climbing high into the hills above Pafos - to a village named Kamares"

We were about to do a treasure hunt and this was our starting point.

Hilarity and a dozen ex pats greeted us at the door of the Kamares Club, a whitewashed building in a newly built whitewashed village, clinging to the edge of the hill.

We took our list of clues and were off.

My brother-in-law looked knowingly at the first one. 'Tala. It's got to be,' he said and eased the jeep around another knife-edge bend.

Once out of the village the land quickly became rocky and decked with low olive trees.

It was easy to imagine the gods playing in their shade.

The rocks became fields. Vines appeared. Dotted around them men, labourers who had left their construction jobs for a month or two, to harvest the grapes..

From Tala we headed higher still. The next clue was a poem. It told us to pass an orange grove and referred to gossip and letters.

We scratched our heads and let the road lead us. Up, the road wound, until we arrived at another village, this time with impossibly narrow streets, built for donkeys, not cars.

Ancient white villas clung together. Wrinkled men eyed us between puffs on their pipes.

Geraniums nodded from their window boxes. We abandoned the jeep and set off to explore. Letters. Maybe there was a post office. Seemed unlikely. Just maybe. We began to ask.

An old man pointed with the bowl of his pipe, wondering what the hell four English people were doing posting letters this far up and looking so damned anxious about it too.

He quickly settled himself back down and took a deep, relaxing puff. The day was too warm, too beautiful to worry about anything. Tomorrow. Worry can always come tomorrow in Cyprus.

Heedless of this infinitely sensible rule we scurried off, as fast as our sandals could take us and were rewarded with finding a tiny white, one-roomed building.

We peered inside and looked at each other for reassurance.

Were we about to stumble into someone's living room? We shrugged.

'You want to post a letter?' a woman in a black shawl asked. 'Go on in!' she added laughing...


story continues...

 

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