After an extremely disappointing organised tour, where we spent nine hours in a bus to visit one of the only non-world-heritage listed churches in the Troodos mountains, we cancelled the rest of our tours and decided to take up residence by the beach instead. Even Adrian said that he would prefer sitting by the water rather than in a bus for several hours to see a pile of old rocks.
My next few days began at 5:30 am, where I would wrap a blanket around my shoulders and sit on the balcony to watch the sun rise over the ocean. Then I would wander down to the buffet restaurant for my first breakfast of the day, perhaps some porridge with walnuts, sultanas, and golden syrup. Exhausted by all this activity, I would nap until mid-morning when I would join Adrian and John for breakfast number two, usually some eggs and baked beans, followed by waffles and fresh Cypriot oranges.
We would then amble down to the water’s edge, where I worked my way through The Exception, while the boys argued over America’s history of foreign policy or the relative merits of Obama’s healthcare bill. By lunch time we might have worked up the energy to leave the hotel and amble down the road to find a restaurant for lunch, perhaps kebaps, usually accompanied by a cute couple of kittens begging for scraps.
I would then head back to enjoy nap number two, while John would meet up with new friends and Adrian would bury his head in a newspaper or check-up on the lab back home. After a quick swim, dinner time would soon arrive, and we would again venture out to sample the local cuisine. As the day drew to a close, I would return to our room to again look out at the ocean, temporarily decorated with the twinkling lights of the Israel-bound “Pride North America” oil-rig, with Orion and Sirius standing guard overhead, and fall asleep to the sounds of the waves gentle lapping against the shore.