Cyprus, Paphos and the DIY Hotel

We made it to our hotel. It’s a nice one, too—friendly staff, good food, clean room, close to the beach. And it has an interesting, and appropriate, motto: “Less like a hotel, more like home.”

I say “appropriate” because when I went to put my clothes in the bureau, the knob came off in my hand. Then I found that the shower was unusable because the metal thingy that holds the shower head in place is wonky.

WHY WE WENT ON HOLIDAY

Leaving Britain

Arriving in Paphos

My Swiss-Army knife took care of the bureau, and I was able to temporarily jerry-rig the shower head in place with pipe cleaners (I always knew smoking a pipe would come in handy some day) but to really fix it, I’m going to need some stout cord, electrician’s tape and a crescent wrench. And so, to that end, we’re heading out to explore the town.

Along the sea front, some guy was making a living by having people pay him 1 euro to have their
photo taken holding this iguana. For 2 euros, you didn't have to hold the iguana, and for a 5er,
you didn't even have to be in the picture. That's the option I bought for my wife.

We’re staying in Paphos, an agreeably smallish city that is not pronounced how you think, because the PH is sounded as F, as in PHISH. Locally, it is spelled Pafos, which makes much more sense.

Seriously, is this a big problem in Cyprus?

Paphos is in an odd sort of limbo right now. Despite the stunning blue sky, relentless sun and 80 degree warmth, it is still winter, and technically, the off-season. Therefore, we—the incomers—are wearing short-sleeved shirts and sun hats, while the locals are still in jackets and jumpers.

Another sign that we are still in the off-season is the continual, minor construction going on along the sea front and surrounding area—new sidewalks are being laid, walls are being repaired and, like anyplace in Britain where the Queen is about to appear, there is a pervasive smell of fresh paint on the breeze.

This may happen every year at this time—a spruce up before the summer crowds arrive—or it may be due to Paphos being a European Capital of Culture for 2017. I’m not sure how these honors come about. Perhaps they put everyone’s name in a hat, or something. This year, Hull is the UK capital of culture, so there you go.

Hull is home to thousands of naked Smufs, so it must have something going for it.

As I pointed out in my last post, Cyprus has a lot of history, but I previously focused on the bloodshed that happened as a result of that history. Those conquering nations, however, did do more than put the indigenous people to the sword, they built some magnificent structures, as well, and when a new conquering nation arrived to put them to the sword, they left these buildings behind. Really, the place is lousy with them.

A Roman Theatre

Another Roman Theatre

Yet another Roman Theatre -- I told you the place was lousy with them.

At the edge of town, they seemed to have randomly cordoned off a section of land (conveniently close to the tourist district) and called it an Archaeological Park. Included within the boundaries are four Roman villas, an early Christian Basilica, Greek structures, a medieval fort, a Roman theatre and lots and lots of columns—all within an area about the size of a city park.

(Okay, it wasn’t random, but it certainly was convenient, and so filled with artifacts that it is now a UESCO World Heritage Site.)

Really, you can't swing a cat without hitting something like this.

There are so many frescoes and tiled walkways that you are allowed to walk on some of them.
Not this one, though.

Found this on the wall of a Roman Lavatory. 

This was a fresco of a Roman family portrait.
Translation:  LtoR Back Vickie, Tony, Nicola, Aunt Amanda and Eric
Front: Cousin Earnie and his weird grildfriend Bertha, Uncle Jake, Bob (holidng Simon) and Sue
at Simon's first birthday party

In addition to all that, Cyprus is the birthplace of Venus – the Goddess, not the famously red planet – and this is where she sprang forth from the foaming sea.

Oops! I mean Aphrodite.Venus is the Roman equivalent.

Exciting as all this is, I still have a wonky shower back at my hotel. I managed to acquire some stout cord by purchasing a braided bracelet and unraveling it. But it proved impossible to find a souvenir crescent wrench and there are no Paphos-themed rolls of electrician’s tape on display anywhere, so I guess I’m just going to have to improvise.

Next time: The DMZ