John’s new friend Anton offered to take us around and show us the best of South Cyprus for the day. We started with a drive up the coast to Coral Bay, past some herding ruminants, and then stopped in to see the national bird and animal park. After admiring the puzzle-solving abilities of the parrots, fearsome owls straight out of Ga’Hoole, we dropped in on the show-pony peacocks, the cute ring-tailed lemurs and the huddling little owls.

We promenaded down the Paphos Boulevard with an ice-cream in one hand, and then Anton took us to his favourite restaurant, a small place on the shore, where the chef brought out fresh fish for my approval before grilling up a delicious sea bass. On our way back, we stopped at Aphrodite’s legendary birthplace, a scene of serene blue water and shapely rocks.

Another aspect of Australia that I miss is all the birdlife. Over here all we have are pigeons, crows, and a few feral parrots.

Back in Australia, I was surrounded by the most exquisite feathered creatures. I could wake to the melodious warble of a magpie or the cacophony of one hundred shrill sulphur-crested cockatoos. Walking past some bushes, I would smile at the antics of the promiscuous fairywrens, while pairs of plovers called to each other as they watched over their young. Perhaps a Kokaburra’s echo would sound from above. I would look up from my work to find two rainbow lorikeets in the tree outside, merrily nibbling of the tender shoots at the top.

One bird that I don’t miss is the Emu. Whenever we went to a nature reserve they would run up to me with their beady eyes and sharp beaks. They would stare straight into my eye, and terrorise me until I surrendered my picnic lunch. At least that is a threat that is less common over this side of the world.

We have now crossed into Georgia, and we are spending nine days exploring this little country on the Black Sea, in between Russia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. It seems more European and more prosperous than Armenia, however a lot of the country that we drive through is full of small family farms. We spent one afternoon visiting a family of potters. The family welcomed us into their home, and the father demonstrated his technique, carefully spinning the pottery wheel with one hand while shaping bowls and flagons with the other.

After he had finished, he asked if any of us wanted to have a go. I volunteered, and constructed a terribly lopsided and unstable pot. The rest of the tour group suddenly became experts at pottery, giving unhelpful advice such as “spin it faster” and “use more water”. At the end, my pot was graded 3/10.

Adrian had a go after me, and his pot earned him 5/10, and the father was actually able to salvage it into a small bowl, to be sold in the pottery shop next week.

After our adventures in pottery, I met the baby chicks and the baby calf in the small garden outside the house. The chicks ran around with tiny cheeps, and the adorable calf greeted me with big brown eyes and a big lick from its long black tongue.

We bough a clay hedgehog piggy bank from the pottery store to celebrate the occasion. I am really enjoying the chance to get out into the countryside. Life here is such a contrast to the big city. While I am saddened by the poverty and the lack of opportunity and access that is so visible here, I am also finding it very relaxing to be able to take some time out to live a simple life surrounded by nature.

I do not like small boats. After various misadventures in the past, I have vowed never to set foot in one ever again. However, this trip promised a unique opportunity to visit an island inhabited by thousands of puffins and other birds. So I tried to be brave, and stepped into the small old boat. Our captain was 77 years old, with white hair and piercing blue eyes. We pulled out of the harbour, and I tried not to think about the arctic water that surrounded us. The boat rocked chaotically from side to side, the undulations increasing as we went further out to sea. I kept my eyes firmly on the horizon, keeping track of the increasing size of our destination. Finally we arrived, and somehow managed to clamber from boat to shore in between ocean surges.

However, the saga was not over. We were then scramble the near sheer cliffs, with only the occasional ladder placed over the dirt for assistance. About one quarter of the way up, I had had enough. I sat down and refused to go on. Adrian sat by me and comforted me until I was calm enough to appreciate our surroundings. I later learned that Rob had captured this moment of my anxiety:

We decided to slowly return to the shore. I would feel happier away from the cliffs, and Adrian would be closer to the puffins for photography. John also joined us, although he constantly lifted his eyes and scanned for the return of Jay. The island that we were standing on was formed from the magma core of a volcano 700 000 years ago, slowly eroded by the seas. As we were the only three people around, I was able to sit quietly and watch the birds in detail.

There were hundreds of kittiwakes, puffins, and guillemots roosting in the cliffs. The puffins were very skittish, as this island is used for hunting during various times during the year. They always looked worried and sad, as if they were contemplating global warming or their impending arrival on a dining table. It was very odd to see them suddenly take off into flight on their stubby little wings. They look so similar to penguins that I almost expected them to be flightless. I sat in the sun, amongst the birds, and watched them ferrying food to their new hatchlings hidden in small rock burrows. By the time the boat returned, I was so relaxed I slept all the way back to the mainland.