Old Age

Old in Cyprus can describe two things - not exclusively of course, but these are the two things im talking about.

1. A YaYa or a Papou's (thats a granny and a grandad to you): you have had umpteen children and, therefore have numerous grandchildren. You are the head of the family, you are well respected, and you're either brilliant at cooking, or a master of tavli.

2. A Building: that has had the life sucked out of it; been shot at and attacked. A building that is now a wreck of its former self, and is now sitting abandoned and just about standing.

With little money in our pockets, although Harry now has a job (assistant manager at Adidas flagship store in Nicosia) we are spending cautiously, and the sun still persisting even though it's November, we have started walking. Not just because we don't have a car, but because the streets of Cyprus are like a living, breathing history museum. The architecture is stunning; new and old, and the streets hide signs of the Cypriot culture at every turn; from the traditional men's only coffee shops, to fruit markets and carpentry studios down back streets, and long forgotten tailors, to the green line dividing the country and the evidence of war.

The old buildings are the ones that fascinate me; how they are still standing, I don't know. Surviving the weather, the war and a lifetime of use, most are now nothing more than a hollow shell. Some are without roofs and windows, and others have been cut in half - by the green line - while some are being lovely restored to their former glory. The details on each hefty wooden door mostly remain, and the date above proudly displays its age.

And while the buildings are as wrinkly and even older than granny and grandad, I don't think they are as loved.