Our Last Summer

The day before yesterday, the Cyprus summer officially came to an end. It’s demise was heralded by an almighty thunderclap, a violent flash of lightning and  a torrential downpour, which, although brief, yielded a substantial amount of water, enough to wash the majority of the summer dust down into the gaping storm drains. It also succeeded in soaking the hoardes of delighted children who took to the streets in awe of the strange phenomenon of water falling from the sky, which Cyprus-raised kiddies rarely experience and consequently relish. Much excitement abounded as little persons stood in sodden clothes and splashed knee-deep in flash-formed puddles.

The rain has been in the post for some time, and ‘winter’ has come late this year, as we have struggled under oppressive humidity and have anxiously cloud-watched for a few weeks now, only to witness the ominous black formations over the Troodos mountains dissipate as they reach the balminess of the Akrotiri peninsula coastline.

Now that we have had the break in the weather i can consider breaking my beloved jeans out of the mothballs again and spare my fellow residents the horrors of my dimpled thighs for the last time. I will also now have to consider exchanging the Factor 50 for the Mossie Cream as the damp weather brings with it the legions of flying, biting beasties. I secretly harbour a belief that the Salt Lake by Akrotiri is actually the HQ of a Jurassic Park style project, where the DNA of local mosquitoes has been forged with that of prehistoric pterodactyls. It is the only sane explanation of the sheer size and aggression exhibited by these winged terrorists. The mosquitoes here seem to thrive to epic proportions and are undeterred by any form of clothing short of chainmail. Denim jeans prove no challenge to them, as I have witnessed when the angry red welts start to itch unbearably under the perceived protection of my bootlegs. These guys are the ninjas of the insect world, and seem to survive the all but the onslaught of a heavy-duty volume of War and Peace applied to the area of wall to which they have momentarily settled. It is the only reason that I might regret purchasing a Kindle and consequentially donating all my paperbacks elsewhere. The application of the expensive e-reader with the required amount of force to a nearby wall would highly likely result in a less than satisfactory outcome and a frustrated return to the sales pages of Amazon.co.uk. Technology on the whole is great but does not cut the mustard in stealth execution manoeuvres against blood-sucking marauders.

The return of clouds to the clear, blue skies over Cyprus now have cause to remind me that the Lundies have just experienced our last summer on this island. And it is with a fair bit of sadness that I turn to contemplate that I have recently experienced, and will continue to notch up over the coming weeks a succession of ‘Lasts’. The perennial events and festivities that I have enjoyed and appreciated will be no longer mine to witness and so many of the amazing and exciting community activities that I have had the privilege to participate in will soon be rendered to fond reminiscence.

But what a hell of a ride it’s been! In my time here I have had so many incredible opportunities to see and do things that would normally have been way out of the scope of my average little life in the UK. I’ve ridden dodgem cars in a ballgown, strutted my stuff on a catwalk, broadcast my faltering voice across the island’s airwaves. I’ve been whisked up through the skies in a helicopter and a light aircraft, brandished automatic weapons and bayonets, camped under a sheet on the rough ground overnight, swum in the Med at midnight. I’ve danced under waterfalls, and explored abandoned hotels; I’ve even played in snow and then picknicked on the beach on the same day. I’ve witnessed baby turtles emerge from their eggs and then make their first perilous, moonlit journey to the sea. I’ve swum in balmy waters amongst shoals of silvery fishes, I’ve been pampered to within an inch of my life at spas with infinity pools that overlook the azure blue Mediterranean. I’ve seen flying fishes, met snakes and shared a home with venomous spiders and jewelled Praying Mantises. I’ve witnessed the most spectacular storms, watched hurricanes out to sea and lived through (but not felt ) at least four earthquakes. I’ve watched the most impressive Mardi-Gras style carnivals and had the privilege of thrice-daily Red Arrows displays from my own back garden, where they flew so close I could see the pilots. And I’ve had the dubious pleasure of partying till dawn with those very-same aerial acrobats. I’ve shared with my children the living history of ancient caves and Roman ruins that stand within yards of my home.

And that’s just some of the Big Stuff!!  As well as that has been the considerable pleasure of being part of a vibrant, cohesive community that value and support one another in a way that only a bunch of individuals flung together on a small island 2000 miles from home would know how. People arriving here really do hit the ground running and it is testament to their spirit and resilience that they thrive and prosper as they do.  We’ve been through some tough times, in 2007 a family was tragically wiped out by a house fire, a year later a young girl drowned in a pool in her garden and a year after that a young boy suffered horrific consequences of a similar accident, which, although he survived, have left him and his family facing difficult challenges in dealing with the disabilities that he now suffers. The close-knit sense of belonging to the community has meant that very few individuals are unaffected by such tragic occurrences and the challenge of coping with the ripple-effect of living in a place where everybody knows each other so well is a tough one. But it is a challenge that the people of Akrotiri have risen to, and met with admirable courage. The sad death of the Red Arrow pilot earlier this year also had an effect on the folks here who feel a strong connection with the Reds who visit us for six weeks each year to practise their moves before moving on to public displays Europe-wide. It is with a sense of pride that I can attest that the community here was swift to act in offering condolences to the bereaved family and friends and in providing a fitting and dignified tribute.

So that’s where I am now, still moving slowly through my list of ‘Lasts’ and still determined to enjoy life to the full, right up to the moment we board our homebound aircraft back to our ‘old life’ in December. Except it will no longer just be our old life, as the experiences we have had here, the lessons we have learned, and the amazing friends we have made during our five year stay have definitely made us into better people, hopefully able to spread as little ray of Cyprus Sunshine into the dreary winter months in England. Akrotiri, I will never forget you, and thanks for the fun!!

We Gotta Get Out of this Place

This weekend the Lundie family are due to embark on “Operation Bin It, Sell It or Pack It”. It is not an exercise I relish, in fact I suspect I have been in deep denial for some time now. However, despite my protestations, time is racing on and the calendar tells us that we have only nine precious weeks remaining on this island. And our furniture only has three!!!!

And so the hysteria begins....Already my head is starting to fill with lists and the pressure is starting to show on the family relationships. Our usual post-work marital exchange of “how are you?” or “how was your day?” has been replaced with a salvo of questions such as “did you go and see...?” “have you sorted out...?” and “why haven’t you arranged...?". Oh the joys of matrimony!

Every day I enter my house a moment of dread envelops me as I survey the reams of rubbish and mountains of tat that we have unwittingly accumulated over the past 57 months. Most daunting of all is the childrens’ bedrooms, a veritable cornucopia of tatty old bears, back-broken books, dismantled cars and foot-piercing Lego. Most shameful of all is the shocking amount of toys whose origins cannot be denied as any other than the ‘gifts’ accompanying McDonald’s Happy Meals – an embarrassing testament to my failure as a nurturing mother.

The children have already been briefed that a severe and relenteless cull of their toyboxes is due to take place, however I suspect that most of the removal of unnecessary toys will have to be done in stealth. Children not only have a remarkable talent for suddenly developing a hitherto unprecedented attachment to abandoned toy, they also have specific super-hero powers akin to x-ray vision which allows them the ability to identify the mere half-silhouette of one of their forgotten, but suddenly unforesakeable, possessions, even when double-wrapped in the dreaded bin-bag.

Therefore, I suspect that hubby and I will have to adopt SAS-style tactics, sweeping in the bedrooms under the cover of darkness eliminating the enemies whilst our  cherubs sleep on in blissful ignorance. Any later query about the whereabouts of any missing toys will then be met with the stony-faced “Cannot Confirm or Deny Policy”. It’s for their own good, you know. Honest....

Once the obvious crap has been disposed of and we are left with items which will either sail away across the Med in a big metal box, or will find themselves posted contantly on BFCBay until we’ve been beaten down to a price short of paying the purchaser to take it away, it will be time to embark on the March-Out clean. At this point I start to hyperventilate as I look around a quarter that has been occupied for nearly five years by two filth-terrorists in the guise of my own offspring. Some folks dream of a home with a self-defrosting freezer or a self-cleaning oven, I would have been content with self-flushing toilets. I won’t go into detail on the horrors of the smallest rooms in the house, but many years of abuse by little people, combined with some severely hard water and limescale issues have left the porcelain receptacles in a state less than satisfactory. I am currently Googling the best solutions, some have suggested denture tablets, others flat coca-cola, but I suspect nothing short of a courtesy call to our local Bomb-disposal squad will do the job. And even then, for their own sakes, I might suggest they send in the Remote robot device. It ain’t gonna be pretty!

So that’s where I am right now. I haven’t even touched on the other issues we have to contend with, the Bureacracy Barrier, the re-entry into Civvie Life etc, but that’s for another blog where I will, no doubt share the triumphs and horrors of going back to the UK, whether you asked for them or not!!