Cyprus 2: You’re a [REDACTED] and a [REDACTED]
Well, no time like the present I suppose. Currently myself, Lucas, Theo, Dan, Jack and Babak are in an Uber travelling back from town. It’s 3.42 am and we’ve elected to stay out all night before our flight at 6.55 am. The night thus far has been fantastic; a rare successful night in town. I’ll give you the lowdown on the night, for the sake of context.
Well, we started our evening with stone baked pizzas at my house, accompanied by a few beers. Babak, as he is wont to do, arrived far later than we’d hoped. I’ve told myself I’ll be less of an asshole in my account of this trip, but in all honesty it does feel like wrangling unruly livestock. Babak’s endearing wildcard factor is very hard to work with. Nonetheless, we move. We headed to the crown in the futile hope that we’d have a chilled one. The crown was dead beyond comprehension, so we rallied and moved onto town. Our first stop was Lost Cat in the Northern Quarter. It was also fairly dead, but in the end that didn’t matter, as a girl I’d been seeing months ago saw me and invited me back to her house. You see, this girl caused me a fair bit of distress all those months ago by telling me her nan had died and then ghosting me after two quite lovely dates. As it turns out, her nan really did die, but this knowledge didn’t change the fact that the ghosting stung at the time. This offer, then, was great for mending my wounded ego, and presented me with the rare opportunity of rejecting someone who has rejected you in the past. I turned down her proposition, though I would’ve done the same to any girl because I love my boys and this trip is all about homosocial bonding. Next, we hit Behind Closed Doors, a porn themed bar that stays open late. This place was really wild. Reasonably priced drinks, great disco music but utterly adorned with images of hairy, naked women having their needs taken care of by hairier men. We had a little jig here, then moved on to Crazy Pedro’s. At this point it’s only right to commend Babak’s friend Jack, who secured our entry into both of the previously named bars. He works at Crazy Pedro’s, you see, so his name and face carry a lot of weight in Manchester. Our night then bounced from one Pedro’s to another, before Lucas ordered a final Uber home. Oh, side note, we saw a woman during the walk from one Pedro’s to another who had her tits entirely out. What a special place this city is. I’m feeling a little bummed, honestly, because I’m moving to a Hong Kong a few days after we get back from our holiday, so any joy I feel in this endeavour is limited by the bitterness of knowing this is the last time I’ll see my dear friends in a long time. I’m trying my best to enjoy it, though.
As I write this, Lucas is leaving the Uber to have a very quick shower, before re-joining us at my house to hop in the Uber I booked in advance to the airport. My god, this airport beer will hit like very few have ever hit before. I hope Lucas hurries himself as we’re in a pretty serious rush.
We made it baby boys. We’re listening to maneater by Nelly furtado in our Uber to the airport right now. I’ve got “Is this love” queued next, let’s hope the boys enjoy it.
Jack got stopped at security because he was carrying Dan’s aftershave, which wouldn’t have been an issue had a scouse teenage girl not attempted to bring the entire stock of Boots perfume and make up in her bag. Still, it wasn’t a huge issue as we’re now sat in the lounge, waiting on our airport pints and KFC. All in all, I’d call it a successful trip thus far.
Myself and Jack offered to watch everyone’s things whilst they went to get food. To kill some time, we started to crack what can only be called ‘er’ jokes. These jokes consist of locating and pointing out words that end in the schwa or ‘uh’ sound, then saying either ‘_____-er, I hardly know her,’ or ‘call me _____ the way I ______ her.’ In our half, drunk, exhausted state these were the height of comedy. My personal favourite came after the groups swapped roles and we went to get our own food. Call me zinger the way I burg her. Come on. Come on.
Babak, in his own words, is currently ‘wiping until it bleeds’ as there’s no Islamic shower in the Manchester airport toilets. We’ve made it to our flight, though we’re still waiting to board and Babak’s meticulous wiping is making boarding on time less than guaranteed.
Ryanair’s legroom is borderline criminal. I feel like I’ve been put in a stress position. I lean forward, the seat ahead is too close; I lean to my right, my rib cage makes contact with my hip bone and Babak shuffles, disturbed in his own efforts to sleep; I double over, hoping to lie my head on the tray table, and it’s so close to my knees that I simply cannot fit my body in the seat. My only option is to sit bolt upright in a seat so short that my head hangs over the headrest. I wonder if the others are having any more luck. Babak certainly seems to be.
Also, for the record, a £300, 5.5 hour flight absolutely must have in flight entertainment. This is genuinely inhuman. And we’re barely halfway through.
Well, to kill the time, I think it’d be pretty fun to offer descriptions of all of my travel partners. Now, the pictures peppered throughout this page should give you all a fair idea of their bare physical descriptions, but that’s not quite what I have in mind. You’ll already know what they look like, but I want to explain what they *look* like. It wont make sense until I start. In alphabetical order, we’ll start with Kitan Agoro. Kitan is Christiana’s boyfriend, and he always looks a little like a child that’s dropped a very unpleasant fart, and is trying to pass it off by stifling a smile. My next target is closer to home: Lucas Aquino-Petkos. Lucas tends to look quite confused and scared, or, more specifically, like a man pretending not to be confused and scared. I think that’s why Babak wants to put him a dog collar so badly. Next is Juliette Bejani. Like Kitan, Juju is yet to join the narrative, as she’s already in Cyprus with our host (who we’ll get to). Like Lucas, Juju generally looks quite confused, but always seems as though she’s happy in that confusion. The only thing that breaks this daze is a beaming smile of satisfaction whenever she makes a witty comment or sassy remark (usually accompanied by a very French hand gesture), followed by a warm giggle. Following on from Juju, we have Mr Craddock, Daniel-San. Dan has three expressions: the first, the most common, is a absent, wry smile that betrays a very strong desire to make a terrible joke and laugh at it himself. The second suggests he’s about to break into song. This song, more often than not, is an Aston Villa chant, though it might also be a TikTok song he has stuck in his head. When I saw him in London 4 months ago, he couldn’t stop singing a TikTok song that he has already sang two or three times since arriving at my house yesterday. The final expression is one of desolation; it’s as though he’s being wheeled out of the Somme missing both legs. He looks like this when he’s tired. Following on from Dan, we find ourselves looking at Jack Moore. Jack always looks like he’s chewing chewing-gum, even when he’s not. I suppose it’s a testament to his determination, determination to do everything correctly and well, and to understand everything around him. So, when Jack finds himself confused, which is often, he doesn’t shy from it like Lucas, or embrace it like Juliette, he stares it in the face and admits, in a good-humoured tone: “you know what I don’t understand…”. Christiana Papadopolou, our host with the most (and the silliest surname of us all) comes into this list in the penultimate spot. Somehow, Chris always seems to look like both the most frustrated and calm person in the room. This balancing act isn’t a total success, and often one takes over Jekyll/Hyde style. The former when people don’t clean up after themselves and the latter when we’re paid a visit by Mary Jane. My last target is Babak, my oldest friend. Babak is a man perpetually locked in, though exactly what he’s locked into varies between two poles: the desire to argue with someone about something ludicrous, or the desire to say something outlandish that’ll stimulate such an argument.
What a fun little exercise. That killed 20 minutes and 10% of my phone battery.
We have arrived in Paphos, and I’m taking my first Cypriot shit of our trip. Usually I take this time to update things, but I’ve managed to keep on top of the narrative so far, which I’m very pleased with.
Lucas is stressing us all out because he’s demanding that we open both the suitcases so he can find his toothbrush and toothpaste and brush his teeth whilst we wait for the shuttle to the car hire place. Babak has told him that he can’t be bothered watching it, and it seems to have dissuaded him. Scratch that, it just delayed him. Scratch that, the shuttle arrived.
I think this could’ve been predicted, but the bando car rental place made us (me) pay a €1000 deposit for the car, on top of the 300 ish pounds for renting it. This in and of itself wouldn’t have been an issue, but the man we dealt with was the most condescending, insufferable, fat, oaf of a man I’ve ever encountered. Everything about him made me want to hurt him. This was the general consensus among the group. We also realised that you need to have had your license for 3 years to rent a car, which meant that only myself (6 years) and Babak (3 years and 1 month) could drive it. Honestly, it’s probably for the best, because Lucas is a lunatic.
The drive to Limassol was much shorter than expected, and we spent it giddily singing along to road trip songs- your Hotel Californias, your Horse With No Names, etc. We also had a fairly lengthy discussion on our policy regarding which… words… people are allowed to say in whose company. Unfortunately, my pleading did not change the fact that the terms of use policy decided upon by the group was “liberal.”
Lucas directed me to the Airbnb without too much trouble, and we parked and managed to find our keys without a mega hassle either. The flat is really incredible. It’s 5 minutes from the beach and we have three balconies. I fear for our lives when we’re drunk, but I do believe it’s worth it.
As I type this, I’m christening the toilet whilst the boys unpack. We’re all very giddy still.
I’m back on the toilet now, which gives me time to recount the events of last night following the aforementioned shit. Around 5.30 Christiana and Juliette arrived at our place, though not without trouble. You see, the Israeli military has been scrambling the region’s GPS systems in order to disrupt Palestine and Lebanon’s military operations, and this has caused issues for Cyprus due to its proximity. That meant that when Dan shared his location with Christiana, it was in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. As such, when Chris finally arrived at our flat, she greeted me not with a friendly hello or a hug, but with a heated and mocking vitriol about my dreadful instructions for how to arrive. It took a solid 30 minutes for her to cool off, so for a good while we were being snapped at for any organisational mistake. Juliette hugged me, however. What a joy to see them both.
Chris instructed us that the first order of business was to buy a €3.50 souvlaki in the old town. The souvlaki store is one we visited last time we were here; the place that I first tried and enjoyed both tomato and tzatziki. We were all starving, so needless to say we were fairly excited. Christiana led the way in her car, and I followed, straddling the speed limit to avoid dealing with the Cypriot police, while Chris bombed it 20 over the limit. Nonetheless, we made it there and were greeted by a crowd of beautiful little kitty cats. I love the island of cats.
The souvlaki shop is so cute; everything is blue and white and vintage, including a Coca Cola dispenser from the 50s. The food is great too. Christiana ordered a bacon-wrapped chicken souvlaki, and we all felt it was best to copy her, with the added inclusion of a Keo beer.
Chris told us that Keo is the only brewery on the island because it’s so good that they simply don’t need another. However, I believe I’ve proven her wrong today. I’m sorry to skip ahead in time, but it’s relevant to this point. We went shopping early this morning, which I’ll get to later, but during that trip I found a crate of beers called Leo, which professed to be the first brewery in Cyprus and the only one that used local hops. Christiana will have to answer those claims later.
Anyway, we sat down and enjoyed our food over some VERY loose chat from Babak. Opening question: what’s everyone’s least favourite religion? Follow up: Did you know that Lucas is half Muslim, half Jewish? (See the title of this blog post). You can guess how Babak answered his first question, I imagine. We chased this conversation with another souvlaki and beer, which may have been a little over the top, but I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was around 6 at this point.
After eating, we went for a stroll around the old town to walk off our food babies, which is just as charmingly rustic as I remembered. The old mosque is particularly stunning. Ottoman or something like that, you’d think.
Gorgeous, in any case. Here, Chris began her hate campaign against the Turks. She explained that unlike the Greek Cypriots in the south, the Turkish Cypriots in the north have destroyed all of the ancient places of worship that belong to other religions. Not cool- orthodox churches fuck so hard.
The rest of our strolling conversations were less geopolitical. They were generally much needed catch-ups. Juliette has loved her time in Lebanon reconnecting with her Arabic roots and is desperate to move back above all else.
Our stroll lead us to a rooftop bar that Chris said had just opened, so we decided to check it out. The venue was up a flight of stairs adorned with all Greek books.
As we peeked our head out of the door we were greeted with the beginnings of a breathtaking, pink-orange sunset. It was absolutely the perfect place to be at that time, offering reasonably priced, delicious drinks with the view of a quasi-Moroccan sunset behind the steeple of an ancient mosque.
I ordered a mango mule, which was gin, lime and ginger beer. Chris and Jack got wine, Juliette an amaretto sour, Dan a rum and coke and Babak said he’d drink at home because I asked if he’d mind driving home. Obviously everyone liked mine the most because I’m the best boozer and bartender I know.
We entertained ourselves at the bar with a game of who’s most likely to… The rules were that one person asked a question to someone holding a lighter, and that person passed the lighter to the person they think was most likely to do that thing. More often than not the questions were tame, but a few, left a poor taste in our mouths. Overall though, the chat was nice and calm, probably because the boys were all close to passing out from heat exhaustion.
The idea of heading home after our drinks and switching to another mode was floated around and quickly accepted by the group, so we paid our bill and left, having watched the sun set entirely. Christiana abandoned us in her car, which meant we had to find our own way. The issues with the GPS made this more of a challenge than it should’ve been, but we made it back in one piece (maybe we drove in gear 5? Do you get it?).
At home we moved a sofa outside to enjoy a [REDACTED] moment on the balcony. It was at this point that Babak and I embarked on our game. The aim of the game is to offer people food whilst they’re [REDACTED] and watch them mindlessly accept it. The more people you feed, the better. No one else knows we’re playing this game, so whenever one of us hits our target, we hit the other with a subtle, satisfied grin. Jack knows we’re playing a game, but doesn’t know what it is, so we keep getting him. I even managed to hit a three person streak last night.
After the [REDACTED] we booted up the Xbox and played some FIFA. The less I say about that the better. I headed to bed, my eyes already falling shut, around midnight.
My sleep was one of the best I’ve ever had. 12 hours of air conditioned bliss spent cuddling with my baby boy Jack. The following note, taken in the morning, detracted from the blissful wake up, unfortunately.
I’ve lost my fucking voice. Do you all understand how annoying that is? No one I know loves talking more than me and I’ve lost my voice. It’s like Messi losing his left foot. I’m truly hoping this isn’t a long term deal, because, if it is, then how on earth can I drop game? It could be a fun ice breaker but beyond that I really don’t know.
Having woken up, we headed for coffee. I opted for no accompanying [REDACTED] for obvious reasons. Then we heading to a supermarket called alpha sigma. You may now laugh. We bought €90 worth of groceries and Jack and I took a baller pic in front of the sign. All in all it was a fruitful endeavour.
In the lift coming home, Babak asked Jack to press on Lucas’ bladder. That incident was one of a long sequence of attempts by Babak to get a rise out of Lucas, most of which have failed. We’ve realised that Babak’s insults are usually projections, such as his suggestion that school dinner ladies used to ask Lucas if he wanted his chicken halal- something that used to happen to Babak himself. This time, I assume Babak needed a wee himself and thought of the thing that would annoy him the most at the time and applied it to his mortal enemy.
At home, we ate, changed and packed for an afternoon at the beach. The main highlight of this was our first taste of the fish jerky we’d bought at the shop. Very very fishy but super tasty and high in protein.
A few hours later we set off for the beach, which brings us to the current moment. I’m sat on a sun lounger, waiting for my sun cream to sink in and catching up here. I can’t wait to get in the water.
I have dislocated my acromioclavicular joint. I did this whilst attempting a handstand. My plans for the week may be fucked, we shall see.
Until this incident, our day at the beach was a delight. We swam, played football, drank beer and sunbathed. Juliette, Christiana and Kitan joined us after an hour and their company was truly appreciated.
Unfortunately it was cut short by my antics. I knew as soon as I did it that something was really wrong. It didn’t hurt in the slightest, but it clicked hard and the bone is obviously out of place. At first I thought it was my shoulder, so a number of people fucked around with it in a number of ways hoping to pop it back. They were all unsuccessful, because the issue was with the tissue connecting my shoulder socket to my collarbone. Ligaments have no nerve endings, hence the lack of serious pain. I lay myself down in the sun whilst the others scrambled around calling doctors and asking for advice. In the end, we decided it’d be best for Babak to drive me to A & E.
The drive took 30 minutes and they saw me in 15 or so. The whole thing took around an hour and cost £10. Big from Cyprus. We’ve heard very conflicting opinions about what exactly I’ll need doing, but the gist appears to be that I’ll either need minor surgery or some physio, but I won’t be able to use it for a long time. I’m hoping to have it in a position to start recovering by the end of next week, because otherwise my Hong Kong dreams are in tatters. I hope you’re all on the edge of your seats.
At the minute we’re driving to the taverna to enjoy some food and live music. It’s just as well, since I’ve not even all day bar a croissant and some fish jerky.
It’s now 3 pm the next day and we’re getting ready to drive to ayia napa. We’ve spent the morning thus far plotting our outfits, eating sandwiches and dolling ourselves up, which generally involved a lot of shaving. The boys have been great at helping do all of that stuff, since my arm still isn’t working. Dan helped me shower, Lucas and Babak picked up my prescriptions, Jack dressed me and Babak made my breakfast. I feel far better having had my painkillers and anti inflammatory meds. I am hoping that the sling acts as a bit of a babe magnet, because I’m happy to big up the others’ contributions to helping me around so that they look like better people. In any case, let’s hope at least one of us gets lucky.
The car journey is an hour and 15 minutes, which should give me more than enough time to recount what we got up to last night after arriving at the Taverna. Myself, Lucas and Babak had been to the same taverna last time we visited Cyprus and I adored it just as much the second time. If you looked up rustic in a dictionary it’d have a picture of this place, and that doesn’t just go for the setting; it’s the food, the drinks, the music, the people. We were entertained throughout the whole meal by a charming live band signing Greek love songs that the natives knew all the words to.
A group of middle aged women celebrating a birthday dances in that way that only the Greeks do: the slow, purposeful turns of the arms, the winding leg movements and stomps, the twirling hands. The whole time, the waiters smashed dozens of plates at their feet for them to stomp all over. The Greek people are genuinely mad. What possesses them to smash plates like that? It doesn’t make any sense, it must be so expensive. I guess maybe it’s simply because it looks raw as fuck, which it does.
And I still haven’t mentioned the food. We had 7 or 8 rounds of preselected Cypriot delicacies. It began with bread, tzatziki and tahini, followed by a kind of beef mince, coriander, nacho and yoghurt combination of sorts. Both were delightful. Then we moved onto halloumi with lountza, chicken souvlaki, cheese croquettes, Greek salad, pork steaks, sausage, Kataifi with cheese, a pumpkin thing, thyme and salt chips and chicken thigh fillets. I cannot overstate the fact that every single thing was delicious, and we didn’t have to pick a single one of them. I love a place that doesn’t let you pick your food because they simply believe in themselves. Especially when they’re dead right to.
The conversation was limited to the two people closest to each person since the music was so loud, but that didn’t much matter. In particular, it forced a few odd couples to chat more than they would, like Jack and Juliette. Of everyone, Dan drew the short straw. He had Lucas on one side, who spent the whole dinner arguing and scrolling hinge with Babak, and me on the other. That was an issue for two reasons, both related to my attention magnet of a clavicle. First, I couldn’t use both hands to eat, so he had to help me whenever I wanted more food or beer.
Second, it began to dawn on me that my bones weren’t in the right place, and this freaked me out a lot. I tried to distract myself with conversation, but whenever I thought about it I got very quiet. It’s not good for my autistic brain. I think he unconsciously retaliated by spilling an entire glass of water on my leg, which I could not stop or avoid due to my shoulder.
In the end, I found the best cure was dance. After hours of pleading, Christiana convinced us all to hit the very small dance floor to stomp on some plates. Honestly, I thought we did ok, but the Greek customers seemed less than impressed with our moves and Christiana labelled it the worst (whatever the name of the silly Greek dance they do is) dance she’d ever seen. Oh well, we had fun.
Once we’d cleared four bottles of ouzo on top of our individual choices of drink, we decided it was time to move elsewhere. A few suggestions were thrown about, including the idea of hitting Europe’s biggest casino, with 500 rooms, which happens to be situated in Limassol, for some reason. We concluded that we, in our polos, skirts and shorts, probably weren’t dressed quite well enough for such a classy affair. Naturally, then, we landed on the classic [REDACTED], fifa, documentary meta. Unbelievably, Dan beat Kitan- a professional footballer and full time PES sweat- at FIFA, all thanks to a correct keeper dive prediction from myself. After the game, Kitan, Juju and Christiana went home, leaving us, apparently, to sleep early in preparation for our excursion. Instead, we watched Ancient Apocalypse- a show in which journalist Graham Hancock visits fascinating archaeological sites to theorise that an ancient civilisation that predates the ice-age was wiped our by a period of cataclysm called the younger dryas (the inspiration for every religious flood myth)- until 4 am while Babak labelled everything Hancock said as “bullshit” or “a reach.”
Anyway, despite suffering through a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, I feel fairly well rested as I sip my car beer on the way to the city of Brits, tits and [REDACTED]. Let’s goooooooooooo.
Most of last night is a blur, really. We got in at 6 am having left the flat at 9 pm. The night was spend bar hopping, dancing, and some other things. Absolutely zero women spoken to, just how I like it. In fact, that’s a lie. We spoke to two girls who were looking for a kettle. We invited them to our room to use our kettle on their pot noodles, got their Instagrams and never spoke to them again. Oh, also, romance sprang up amongst our ranks. It was always on the cards.
In terms of specific details, we arrived around 5 pm, grabbed some drinks at the hotel bar, then hit the beach for a swim in what was perhaps the most pleasant water I’ve ever felt. On the way to the beach we’d grabbed gyros at a bar that was televising the City v United community shield game. City won, naturally, but I mainly mention this because of the conversation it stimulated on the beach. As I floated around, Kitan engaged in his favourite pastime: making hyperbolic statements about successful footballers. Today he insisted that Haaland, the highest scorer in the history of the premier league, wasn’t even in the top ten strikers in the history of the league. I don’t know how such a good footballer can have such dead ball knowledge.
Our chilled time at the beach was interrupted by a sudden insistence from Jack that we absolutely had to dry off, get in the car and drive 20 minutes to a cliff to watch the sunset. It didn’t seem to phase him that the sun was already setting. He was a man possessed. In the end we didn’t go, and instead watched it from a mound of moon-rock like ground. The sun set like a ball of glowing hot magma as Babak had Lucas and Christiana take 100 or so pictures of him.
Once he was finally satisfied, we headed back to the hotel to shower and change. Of course, Babak was not quite finished delaying us; he decided he had to shave his legs and ass. Lucas and I changed in 20 minutes or so, then left him showering with the door open so that we could meet up with Juju, Dan and Jack to scout out the strip. Our first foray onto the main road was fairly underwhelming, as it was around 8 pm and most of the town's visitors were most likely still in bed, recovering from the night before. So, we moved onto the pre-strip, an area that Dan feels I accurately described as the pubes to the strip’s genitals. Here, it seems the impressive combination of swarming tourists, neon lights and club music stimulated all of our appetites, and we sat down in a creperie for savoury pancakes. The heat was quite killer and the were sat outside waiting for our food for what must have been half an hour, causing the buttons on the shirts of those of us smart enough to wear button-ups to gradually and sluttily come undone. Our food arrived around the same time as Babak, and we moved back to the strip as a united, satiated front.
Pit stop number one was a bar called square, where we got the perfect level of blasted whilst listening to some fun, if a little mediocre live music. Dan, Lucas and Juliette ordered caipirinhas on Lucas' advice, which seemed to go down fairly inoffensively. My choice, however, was vastly clear. Babak had mentioned a drink called the head-fucker that he'd got his head fucked drinking in Kavos. It consisted of the 5 long island boozes (vodka, rum , tequila, gin and triple sec), mixed with grenadine and energy drink. Naturally, I ordered a 1.5 Litre pitcher of the stuff.
This well and truly fucked myself, Jack and Babak, to the extent that by the end of it I was happily singing along to Wonderwall as loudly as I could and hopping up and down on a wall to get Christiana's attention when she finally came with Kitan to meet us. Now, in all honesty I'm not sure if it was entirely the booze that loosened me up like that. There's something about the energy in Ayia Napa that utterly shatters you inhibitions. It's infectious and delicious. Oh, and on the topic of Christiana and Kitan, they were staying in a different hotel and had presumably been fucking up to this point in the evening. Anyway, with the whole squad in tow, we mobilised and hit another bar, whose name I forget. Two promoters approached us and offered us a table, two bottles of sparkling wine and two bottles of diluted spirits if we all ordered a drink. It would've been rude not to, so we took them up on their offer, then proceeded to base at the table for an hour.
Here, we were greeted constantly by the DJ, who knew we were from Manchester, and hounded by women selling [REDACTED]. For 5 euros a pop, they weren't cheap, but they produced some of the best moments of the night as we giggled and danced like idiots at our table. Eventually we left our table, got up and went to dance on the dance floor, where the DJ invited us all onto a raised stage to perform for everyone in there. It really felt like we were on top of the world.
After this bar the gang briefly split up, as Babak asked me and Lucas to accompany him to take a shit in the room. We obliged, if for no other reason than to cool off for a while. After chilling in our room for a while, we were about to re-join the guys when we saw two pretty young girls in nothing but T-shirts holding a packet of instant ramen. Babak asked them what they were doing and they revealed that they were soliciting a kettle to boil their breakfast (it was around midnight at this point) before getting ready to go out. As you might expect, Lucas immediately invited them to use our kettle in our room. They followed us, boiled their noodles, guessed our ethnicities (they thought I looked the least white… Asian, apparently) then left. This was the extent of mine and Babak’s interaction with single women that night.
Afterwards we re-joined the gang at a bar called titanic, which I feel is in slightly poor taste. Then again, there was a titanic themed ride at the croccy trail, so it seems like it’s fair game. Maybe I’ll make a bar called twin towers bar. Two for one drinks. In any case, I ordered a double rum and coke for myself, Jack and Dan, and from this point, the night becomes a blur. After titanic we met up with Mac, Dee and Dennis’ pal, danced some more, lost Juju and Lucas to their nature, met the day man again, prowled the streets hopelessly looking for an open club then [REDACTED] after stumbling home at 6 am. It was unanimously agreed by the council that our night in ayia Napa was the best clubbing experience of our lives.
The next morning we woke up in a predictably horrible state. I darted around the room packing my things to the best of my ability with one arm. We packed quicker than expected, but had to wait an extra twenty minutes before leaving because Lucas and Babak had ordered food at the bar. This was a problem, as we were in a rush to get home so that we could change and drive to Paphos for a boat tour of the Blue Lagoon that Christiana had booked for us at 3.45. So, Jack, Dan and I grabbed snacks for the road and the others wolfed down their mediocre bar food, then we hopped in the car and locked in to the best of our ability.
The drive back home was fairly chilled, as we debriefed on the events of the previous night. Most notably, Babak revealed that, since only Lucas had got the instagram of the girls who wanted to borrow our kettle, he had searched through Lucas’ following and followed her at 4 am to ask if she was around. Lucas raged at this revelation, saying that Babak had nearly ruined his chances. This was an ill informed decision, because from then on, Babak threatened to like all of her photos whenever Lucas spoke out of line (I think he liked them all in the end anyway).
Once we arrived home and changed, we realised we’d actively have to make up time in order to make the boat. This didn’t inject much urgency into the boys, indicated by the fact that Lucas took the time to do a shit so stinky that he had to wash his hands in the other bathroom to escape the smell.
As such, the only way to make up the time was to speed as much as possible on the way to Paphos, so I loaded up Waze to check for cameras and police cars, and Babak floored it for an hour and a half straight. For all but one moment, in which he nearly turned us into a red paste on the side of a hill by performing a blind overtake, his driving was immaculate. So immaculate, in fact, that we arrived dead on time. We even discovered that Chris has lied to make sure we weren’t late, and the boat was actually due to leave at 4. In the end, Christiana’s car was late, which we teased her for to no end.
On their arrival, we were introduced to Juliette’s friend Alex, who we’d agreed to let crash at our house that night because he had left Lebanon due to the danger. Alex looks like this, but is in fact 24.
I tend to only make friends with hot people, so I did not give him the benefit of the doubt. He ruined some of my photos, so I gave him no chance to redeem himself. On the brighter side of things, we were reintroduced to Christiana’s friend Marina, who we’d met last time we visited. Marina is a beautiful Cypriot primary school teacher with a big smile and kind eyes. When you talk to her, she has an uncanny ability to make you very quickly lose your train of thought or stutter over your words. She’s not intimidating, don’t get me wrong, but when you speak to her you feel as if your life and honour depend on every syllable. Kitan also joined us on the boat, which was great as always.
Once we’d embarked, we grabbed drinks, applied sun cream and started to mingle. Marina and I chatted about our similar career paths and what we’d been up to in the four years since we’d seen each other. I forget what I said to the others because I was too consumed with sticking the landing with the new addition to the crew. Meanwhile, everyone else indulged in the most vain hour of the entire trip, taking as many shirtless pictures as humanly possible. I say everyone else, but this included me. I looked a tad ridiculous in my straw hat and sling, but it was a little bit cold at the same time. I loved one picture in particular, of Lucas and his big Brazilian Afro looking out to sea in the straw hat. Luffy in the flesh.
We arrived at the Blue Lagoon after around an hour and boy was it blue. Everyone stripped to their swimmies and jumped into the water (I inelegantly slipped) for a bit of a paddle. It really shouldn’t have to be said, but even with one hand I was a superior swimmer to two members of the group. If you correctly guess who they might be then you’re racist but you’re also dead right. Kitan had to wear floaties and at first refused to get in, though Christiana offered to wear them too and he conceded. What a great girlfriend she is. After half an hour or so, we took a break from swimming to take even more photos and enjoy even more drinks.
All that I distinctly remember from this break period was that Kitan suggested that I now know how it feels to be a minority since I was disabled. I don’t know about that, but I really did enjoy playing the victim in that sling.
The boat’s crew also served us our food during this break, which mainly consisted of chicken souvlaki barbecued over the most impressive spittle I’ve ever seen, stationed at the front of the boat.
I queued for my food, devoured it, devoured anyone’s left overs and then queued again, this time for an inflatable slide into the water that they’d deployed where the barbecue had been. After paddling for another twenty minutes, the boat indicated it was getting ready to leave, so we climbed aboard, dried off and readied ourselves for the sunset sail back to land. The sunset itself was one of those moments you never forget, one of those times you feel truly grateful to be alive and surrounded by good friends. Everyone felt that way, they said.
Back at the port we stopped for honey balls, I.e. pastry balls covered in honey, then split up so we could get an early night ready for the brunch we’d all agreed to the next morning. As mentioned, Alex stayed at our place. He spent the entire evening queueing random EDM songs on the TV and eating snacks. He wasn’t a bad guy, I’ll admit, but he was a vibe vampire and when Babak showed him a girls instagram he said “oh she’s from the UK.” When we asked how he knew that, he pointed to a very well hidden feature of instagram that shows when and where someone’s account was first created, suggesting to us that he had a fairly exhaustive knowledge of instagram stalking methods. Naturally, we got [REDACTED] that evening, which made it far easier for me to get the incredibly restful night’s sleep that I needed. Lucas told us that he wanted to wake up at 7 am that morning to hit the beach, and warned Babak that he’d scream if he woke him up. That made it all the more funny when, after Lucas made fun of Babak’s fifa skills, he said in the most serious of tones: “Lucas, I’m going to hold your nose in your sleep tonight.” Anyway, my sleep was one of those sleeps that reminds you how much more you need to sleep. Oh, and here’s a note I took after encountering Lucas in the kitchen:
“How many figs have you eaten?” I asked. “I don’t know, two, three,” he responded, reaching for another fig.
The following morning was as rushed as our departure from Ayia Napa due to the brunch commitments we'd made on the boat. We frantically got ready and mobilised, before arriving 30 minutes late to the quaint old mountain town of Omodos.
Once again, Christiana arrived later than us, which we mocked her for even more endlessly. She led us to a little bakery by an outdoor market, where we were taken upstairs to a balcony table with a view of a terracotta rooftops descending towards a huge green valley.
The photo opportunity was simply too great to ignore, so we took a few calm lil group shots that ended up making into many an Instagram post.
We did not pick our food, instead, like in the taverna, we were served platters of what they considered to be their best options. They were effectively colossal fruit, cheese and charcuterie boards boasting delectable halloumi, tear-able bread, a non-conservative number of conserves and the best olives I've ever eaten. That's coming from a serious olive enjoyer.
Marina, unlike anyone with decent taste, does not like olives. A Cypriot that doesn't like olives seems sacrilege, though I suppose I'm a Brit that doesn't like pies or sausage rolls so I can't say much. She insists that it's because she had olive trees in her back garden growing up, which her Dad would make her pick through an arduous process involving wearing heavy beekeeper-like suits to avoid the dust that olive trees apparently omit. She has dust allergies, she says, so the process was even more traumatic. It all sounds like balderdash and hogwash to me.
During our meal, Babak came out with two gems that I managed to record. The first was apparently unprompted:
"Lucas, I’m actually going to insert my finger inside your arsehole tonight. And I know it’s going to be tight, but you’ll definitely not clench." The second followed the funniest event of the day; Lucas had lovingly, painstakingly prepared a sandwich containing every delicious component of the platter placed in front of us. Just as he went to lay the finishing touches on his masterpiece, he slipped and knocked his coffee over, drenching his plate of food. This drove Babak to unrivalled hysterics. What's more, he drenched his leg and foot too, leading Babak to reminisce later: "honestly, you should’ve seen how brown his foot was from the coffee. It was just soaked and brown."
Following our brunch, we strolled around the ancient village and its stunning markets, stopping in a monastery created in 210 AD. That’s 700 years older than England itself. It contained the skull of one of the apostles, as well as more gold and silver than Christiana wears round her neck. More crosses, too.
Our strolls brought us to a little wine shop that offered free tastings. Naturally, I indulged, along with Juliette and Jack. I love my boozes and I love my little boozer pals. Everything we tasted was local to the valley and delicious. Most notably, the sommelier offered us a sip of a desert wine called commandaria, the oldest continually produced wine in the world, made with sundried grapes from 14 designated vineyards in the region. I thought it was only right to buy my parents a bottle of it to say thanks for the trouble they'd been going to help me sort out my shoulder problems in the time between coming home and moving to Hong Kong.
Having worked up a little buzz, we moved onto Christiana's house, which remained as gorgeous as it had been last time we visited. Predictably, we began to play tavli, and I assumed the Greeks would annihilate us all once again.
Instead, Dan beat Marina twice in a row, bringing a bit of that poisonous Cypriot rage out of her that was fascinating to see. I don't know if any of us beat Christiana, but Marina beat her and I beat Marina, which was enough for me, especially since I made her promise to join us at Guaba beach bar that night if I managed to win. Unfortunately I lost to Dan and Juju, but far more importantly, I beat Christiana's uncle who taught her to play and wiped the floor with everyone else.
Still, the most important thing that happened during our visit to Chris' house was our reintroduction to her dear mother Stella. Stella is notorious for her unfiltered way with words, and we were excited to see what she had to say about the new recruits. She did not disappoint, telling Jack that he looks Chinese, before pulling her eyes thin and saying ching chong ching chong. That she meant this without a hint of malice was clear when she told him: "I will always remember you, my Chinese friend," or when, after showing him to the bathroom, she put her hands together and bowed. Oh, and before I forget, Lucas cut his feet on the rocks at the beach at Napa, and, out of fear of infection, insisted on washing the wound constantly at Christiana's house. Babak had a field day with this, repeatedly accusing Lucas of doing Wuddu, the Muslim ritual of feet washing before prayer.
As we completed innumerable games of tavli, Christiana's entire extended family flowed into the house in waves, greeting us and hanging around, drinking beers, gossiping and smoking cigarettes. First, her aunty (famous for being the owner of the house where her mum dragged me to collect a cake last time we were here), arrived. Her auntie adores me, for some reason. She gave me and no one else a hug. I certainly didn’t mind. Then it was her uncle, the one I beat at tavli. I beat him then hugged his wife. Baller shit man. Finally, her little cousin showed up to steal the show. Her cousin is called Maria-Alexandra and is the sweetest thing on the face of the earth. She’s 5 and speaks perfect English in full sentences. She’s obsessed with dogs and wants to name one of her teddies after me. I guess Max is a bit of a dog’s name, but it’s still so so cute. I think showing her pictures of every dog in my entire camera roll probably helped win her favour. She has an impressive knowledge of dog breeds and was not shy about divulging this knowledge. Especially about wolves. I feel like I’m a bit like that, though. Christiana took myself and Jack shopping for spaghetti bolognaise ingredients, then assembled it for the gang once she got home. It went down a treat, but by the time we'd finished we had to leave to drop off the hire car because I'd fucked up when arranging the return time.
Myself, Jack, Dan and Babak are currently in the taxi home having successfully retrieved my mega deposit. The mood is a little sombre since we know it’s our last night and the trip has been such a delight. I only hope that the last blow out lives up to everything else.
Everyone arrived back at the house around 11, which was when we’d intended to arrive at the club. Sadly, Marina broke her promise, informing us that she couldn’t come, but promised to “make it up to me”. Two weeks later she has yet to do so. Liar liar. Anyway, we showered and pre-drank vodka and red wine as quickly as possible, letting the girls, Kitan and Lucas go ahead in a taxi whilst the car drop-off team and captain slowly (Dan) finished up boozing. Once they'd left, Babak played I kissed a girl by katy perry twice in a row, which got us in quite the mood for the afro-beats night we were off to attend. So too did our Bolt driver, who waxed lyrical on the quality of girls in Guaba, along with every major strip club in the city.
Guaba beach bar was as cool as I remembered and even cooler for actually having people inside this time. It's a jungle gym esque, primal delight centred on a bar and DJ booth sat atop a strange, faux rose quartz base. Strobe lights and wind machines set a loose, sexual atmosphere which is accentuated by generously mixed drinks. Admittedly, there weren’t many people, but that helped us make the place our own. As for the antics of the gang, Lucas danced with Juliette, Babak sipped his drink shyly and nearly started a fight, while myself, Dan and Jack drank nuclear doubles and cut shapes that aren’t mathematically possible. Meanwhile, Chris and Kitan mainly argued, but I figured that makes sense since they’re perfect counters for each other. His nonchalance counters her attitude explosively and sparks fly. I told them as much, then dragged them to the dance floor, my shirt flowing erotically in the wind.
I spoke to some girls that had been at the taverna a few days before. They were cute but I wasn’t really feeling it. When I’m drunk I don’t get horny, I get silly, you see. Also, like Babak, Juliette nearly started a fight. However, she achieved this not by pushing someone but by instigating an argument with a guy about Israel. He said he supported them because it’s good for the economy. I guess I can't argue with that.
The music turned off far earlier than we'd hoped, leaving us to linger outside the club and ponder our next move. Here, Dan argued with Kitan about football, and the latter kept threatening to stab the former with an invisible shank, which he would reach for whenever Dan disagreed about a Liverpool player's quality. Both of their opinions were equally ludicrous, and I took a lot of joy in agreeing with whichever of them had the worst opinion, just to see how incredulous it made the other. I did this repeatedly, all the while musing to Juliette: "I love this game."
Evidently these conversations drove Kitan over the edge, as he left with Christiana. Chris gave us a recommendation for a nearby club that might be open, and we set off to find it. It was, in fact, not open, and when we attempted to get a Bolt, we found that was going to prove challenging at 4 am on a Monday night. We decided it'd be best to walk into the city again in the hope of either connecting to a lazy bolt driver or finding a taxi rank. During this walk, we encountered the most curious creature I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. She was a fat woman from Stoke, who systematically insulted every member of our party. Her jab at me consisted of asking if my moustache made me feel grown up. I don't even know what that means but it stung a little. Her diss to Jack was simply racial abuse. She also said ching chong ching chong, but this was not in the spirit of friendship, as she followed it up by telling him to fuck off and eat some chicken fried rice (in the most offensive accent possible). He's not even Chinese. When I pulled her up on how horrible she was being, she became immediately apologetic ("I love Chinese people, I love Chicken fried rice"), but it was clear it was a case of attempting to save her fuck ugly face. I mean, she told Jack he was "very very pale for a chinky." They aren't the words of someone making a playful jab.
Eventually, we found a taxi rank and hailed two cars to bring the party home, where we [REDACTED] a terrifically fat [REDACTED] watched another episode of Ancient Apocalypse. We fell asleep at 5 am.
The next morning we woke up in even more of a rush that the previous day. A big time rush, even (call me Kendal. Actually, I see more of myself in James). I woke up at 10.30 and we had to be packed up, showered, tidied and checked out by 11. Naturally, this did not happen. Nonetheless, we made it out by 11.30, which I think is still impressive. Juju helped me fold my clothes, which was a lifesaver, so shout out to her. We all hopped in a taxi to Christiana's where we were planning to base until our flight. We smoked a little [REDACTED] and nursed our horrific hangovers with a bit of tavli and food.
“We’re going to die on the plane” Babak whispered to Jack as he ate. “I’m saying it now so it doesn’t happen," he added.
We played a very fun game called “a night in Palermo," which was a bit like werewolves or secret Hitler, if you're familiar. There's a police officer, two killers (one known by the police officer) and a whore, everyone else is a victim. You all close your eyes, the killers agree on who to kill, everyone opens their eyes and then everyone debates on who to arrest. I may have explained that poorly, but it was very fun anyway. When I was chosen as the killer I did suicide by cop admission to sow the seeds of chaos and it worked so well. This entailed telling everyone that I was the cop and accusing Babak of being the killer. The move was suicide because when it was revealed that Babak was a civilian it became extremely obvious that I'd lied, and was thus the killer. However, the play was so braindead that they argued about voting for me for 20 minutes. It was blindingly clear; a move so intentionally stupid that I hoped they’d get bluffed. Unfortunately, it did not work and we lost.
The game held our undying attention for a little too long, and Lucas’ lack of foresight nearly made him late for his flight. You see, he was moving on to Greece to meet his parents and had to take an earlier flight than us. Fortunately, a lift and a taxi recommendation from a locked in Marina saved him.
My recollection becomes vague from here, as I was on survival mode due to lack of sleep by that point (indeed, I still am- I'm writing this from my desk in Hong Kong, having had surgery on my shoulder in Manchester and moved here four days later). Anyway, by the late evening, Christiana and Kitan had to head into Limassol to run some errands, which provided us with a cue to leave. We all said our very subdued, tired good byes. If the mood of our band of brothers could be compared to a hill, I’d say it’d be melancholy hill. That was something I wrote in the taxi to the airport as Gorillaz played lightly. I don't think it's very funny or insightful.
Inshallah we see Cyprus 3.
