And so this is Christmas...

So here at Akrotiri, Christmas is very nearly upon us. The snow may be fake but the sentiments certainly ain’t. There has been a hive of activity in the past couple of weeks as units, schools, clubs and families prepare for the festive season. Not a day goes by without the tinny festive tunes emanating from one building or another as folk celebrate in their unique ways. Christmas in the sun always seems a little odd, especially as we are regaled daily with woeful stories of issues caused by the horrendous snow conditions back in the UK. There has certainly been an air of panic here as those due to fly back to join families in Blighty are wringing their hands and biting their lips, hoping that the planes due to spirit them home will be permitted to fly. Those remaining here have their own concerns that the postal system will not fail them and will provide the much anticipated presents and toys ordered weeks before, and that Santa will come up with the goods on the day.

It is at times like these that many parents breathe a collective sigh of relief at the lack of advertisements shown on BFBS. Not for us the heart-stopping moment when our little darlings announce at 5.25pm on Christmas Eve that they really, really, really hope that Santa remembers to bring them the must-have, sold-out-by-Halloween, going-for-a-hundred-quid-on-ebay latest toy that they just happened to glance at on a commercial break 30 seconds ago. The kind that forces you away from your mince pies and into the Baltic air to fight it out in frenzied retail establishment for a gift that you can guarantee will either be broken or discarded before the Christmas Pud has even been lit.  I am more than grateful that my offspring are content with whatever surprise that the Jolly Red Fellow bestows on them, and that the nice Mr BFPO has delivered on time. Aah, the magic of Christmas.

So much changes here at Akrotiri at this time of year, including the demographic  age profile. As the lucky few escape to loved ones in the UK, so they are replaced by visitors to Cyprus, especially the grandparents. The young, lithe childminders so frequently seen in the play areas around camp are transformed into greyer, wrinklier, slightly less mobile but no less loving and dedicated individuals. They are easily recognised, not just by the obvious signs of seniorship, but also by their dress. Vest tops, shorts and flip-flops are the order of the day unlike the locals who are now donning jeans, boots and jackets and making the customary ‘brrr’ noises as the sun beats relentlessly down.

The Cypriots do Christmas in their own inimitable loud and garish style. The streets are festooned with millions of twinkling lights and the roundabouts in the town centres adorned with tableaux and enormous decorations. One such roundabout in the centre of Limassol bears a humungous rotating Santa, not all of him but just the head, bearing a smile which I’m sure is supposed to be jolly and benign but actually corners the market in malevolence. He scares the bejaysus out of children to such an extent that many parents have been forced to make a complicated diversion to the shops to avoid major hysterics. Supermarkets sport the most enormous trees which would put Trafalgar Square to shame and PA systems blare out seasonal carols and tunes. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard the Cypriot version of Cliff Richard singing his heart out with “Kreezmazz taime, meezletoo and wayayan”.

Culturally, there, thankfully, aren’t a huge number of differences and the Cypriots have come to accommodate a great deal of UK traditions so the likes of turkey and stuffing are not too hard to find. I’ve yet to track down a pot of Brandy butter but, no doubt, there will be a little corner of expat land that will be able to oblige. Either that or a puzzled but willing local shopkeeper will be happy to douse my tub of Flora with a generous splash of Keo VSOP.

One of my favourite aspects of the run-up to Christmas is the school nativity plays. I’m sure there is many a primary teacher who has made a significant dent in the secret staff room drinks cabinet over the past few weeks who would beg to differ, but for me they are a joy. Nothing says Christmas like the annual parade of tea-towel and tinsel wearing small persons, each desperate to depict the events of the Holy Night in their own unique way. My holidays wouldn’t be complete without a glimpse of a shouty shepherd, a nose-picking angel and a sobbing donkey. It really makes my day to watch the misty-eyed, camera-clicking parents (one of whom I admit to be) jostle for position as their own little cherub stops the proceedings to wave at Grandma, theatrically nudges a word-shy school mate or , in a fidgety bored moment, lifts a silvery robe to display a distinctly un-angelic set of underwear. I take my hat off to the teachers who work hard each year, stage managing and conducting, trying to put an ever more entertaining, contemporary  and unique spin on the Greatest Story Ever Told. No matter what, each year is a triumph of sheer cuteness and heart-wrenching adorability.

So all that remains for me to do is to wrap a few remaining presents and contemplate the mammoth vegetable peeling session that awaits us on Christmas morning. Amidst all the frenzy of stockings and wrapping paper, cracker pulling and silly paper hat wearing, I hope many of you will join me in sparing a thought for the hundreds of military families for whom this traditional time of happiness is a sore reminder that there is one empty chair at the table this year. I hope we all take a moment to give thanks for the souls that are fighting for their lives, and for our freedom, as we merely struggle to leave the dining table. I remember stories of the First World War where one battlefield ground to a halt on Christmas Day and enemies called a truce to emerge from the trenches to exchange gifts and play football. I only wish that life in Afghanistan were that simple, but, sadly, I very much doubt it.

To all of you I wish a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, but to some I wish more – a peaceful and safe 2011, and to those who have lost loved ones true tidings of comfort and joy.

Here Comes The Rain Again

To the uneducated soul, Cyprus is all about the sunshine, long lazy days spent all year round on golden sands , gazing at azure skies and sapphire seas. On the whole that’s right. Although, they neglect to tell you about the rain. Yes, the rain.

When it rains in Cyprus, it rains big. Massive fat , stinging drops that pelt at monsoon proportions in solid sheets of water. It’s quite a spectacle to see, especially when accompanied by the cacophonous thunder claps and huge white zig-zags of lightning that tear across the sky. Torrents of water scream down in minutes washing away inches of dusty topsoil and flooding the streets till they resemble a crazy tangle of gurgling brown rapids. It is at times like these that we learn that the network of three-feet deep Storm Drains actually serve an architectural purpose and are not just strategically placed traps to weed out the more drunken individuals who stumble their way through short-cuts to home only to unwittingly find themselves up-ended with a face-full of dry leaves staring out a cockroach or two.  Turf-less gardens are transformed into magical, mysterious marsh-lands, and murky lakes, the enormous puddles luring children with false promises that their depths do not exceed the tops of their wellies.

Today is the day that the Cypriots were hoping for. After an unfeasibly long, hot and dry summer, the authorities were beginning to fear that an equally dry winter would result in the kind of water shortages that have crippled the island in previous summers. A couple of summers ago, the disastrous combination of a virtually rainless winter season and a typically hot summer resulted in the enforcement of water rationing across the island. Households were limited to only a few hours of running water per day and simple tasks such as laundry became a struggle. The Cyprus government appealed to neighbouring Greece for shipments of water and they even wheeled out the local Church Councillors in mass services to pray for a break in the weather. So, as you may realise, those big drops that fall from the sky are a precious and very welcome commodity indeed.

That being said, you would think that when the rain begins, the Cypriots are prepared for the torrential downpours that they have anticipated for so long. Umm, no. Somehow this entirely natural phenomenon seems to take the locals by surprise every time. Roads are closed, the already too high road traffic rate sky-rockets, I suspect because the drivers are so taken aback by the spectacle of the rain that they forgot that a dangerous and slippery road, awash with mud and silt lays treacherously before them. I have witnessed cars stopping dead in the road as the drivers screech to a halt to contemplate Nature in all her glory. You seriously need your wits about you if you take to the wheel on a day like this. In addition, electricity grids topple, television studios are fragged (probably because at the first drop of rain, the cameramen are out to record the event, which is then broadcast simultaneously on every Cypriot channel like some great terrestrial disaster).

Personally, I love the thunderstorms at night. Despite being a small island, our climate seems pretty diverse and localised. The Troodos mountains are a classic example, when the snows come, you can spend the morning skiing and sledging, then come down to the coast for a picnic on a sunny beach. Fabulous. Anyway, I have the privilege of a stunning view of the mountains from my bedroom window. Sometimes, on a perfectly dry Akrotiri night we can witness the spectacle of a lightning storm raging across the mountains and beyond. Great gashes of light that streak from east to west, impressive flashes of electric purple, a pyrotechnic show of awesome and terrible proportions. Cyprus certainly offers the whole shebang of extreme weather conditions.

Tonight the Officers’ Mess is holding its’ Christmas Draw. I do feel sorry for the poor ladies who will be attempting to negotiate the streets with newly coiffed hairdos , wearing delicate heels and gowns not likely to be of water resistant material. There is also talk of a Tornado heading our way, so keep your fingers crossed that the Weather Gods aren’t narked with us right now.

As for me, I’ll be sat with a soothing coffee watching my kids negotiate the newly-formed water park that used to be our garden. No doubt I’ll be emptying their wellies later.