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It's a riot
Aug. 15th, 2011 12:01 pmSo, I'm happily situated in a (rather hot) Paphos in Cyprus. The 2.55am rise yesterday prequelled a rather gruelling journey, TBH. Only a four-and-a-bit hour flight, but probably 10 hours door-to-door.
So far I've managed to take very few pictures, although I have managed a Greek meze, a hotel breakfast, a swim and a session in the gym. The hotel looks to charge seven euros a day for internet access, so I'm putting this together in a friendly café, of which there seems to be no shortage offering free wifi access. If I desperately wanted to save money, I could pop out late at night and sit at a bus stop near to one of the restaurants to which I now have an access code.
It's hot, but it's not desperately hot. It's also humid, but not desperately humid. The hotel is somewhat individualistic. Yesterday I got quoted 2 euros an hour for use of the 'gym' (this turned out to be three cardio machines and one 'do-it-all' weight machine). And the opening hours were '10 until 6'. This morning after breakfast I went to the rooftop pool and managed about 12 lengths (not, unfortunately, in immediate seuence -- but we'll get there), and then I returned to try the gym. Locked. Went to reception, got told someone was going to unlock it and the price was two euros per half-hour. I muttered that I didn't mind about the price, but I did object to being uoted one price on Sunday and another on Monday. General shrugged silence until I asked for a receipt. uick phone call followed. Russian receptionist asked in German what the price was for the gym, "Zwei euro pro Stunde" was the answer. I win.
And then it was a walk down to another café (the people I am with seem to know people in every bar and restaurant along this strip) and then another restaurant for an on-the-house drink, and thence here.
This afternoon, probably a nap and some reading. Chillax, man.
I had thought that the south of Spain was expat country, but this is more so. Unsurprising, perhaps, given the country's colonial past, and perhaps the only difference is that the McDonald's doesn't have menus in Spanish and the focus appears to be on the Premier League in every bar, rather than Barcelona or Real Madrid.
Me, Lee and Jamie in the Black Velvet bar last night ('Mikey's') where I am typing this.
Craig and Amanda at Mikey's last night.
The Brighton sophisticate after a heavy meal and post-meze cigarette.
+++++++++
So far I've managed to take very few pictures, although I have managed a Greek meze, a hotel breakfast, a swim and a session in the gym. The hotel looks to charge seven euros a day for internet access, so I'm putting this together in a friendly café, of which there seems to be no shortage offering free wifi access. If I desperately wanted to save money, I could pop out late at night and sit at a bus stop near to one of the restaurants to which I now have an access code.
It's hot, but it's not desperately hot. It's also humid, but not desperately humid. The hotel is somewhat individualistic. Yesterday I got quoted 2 euros an hour for use of the 'gym' (this turned out to be three cardio machines and one 'do-it-all' weight machine). And the opening hours were '10 until 6'. This morning after breakfast I went to the rooftop pool and managed about 12 lengths (not, unfortunately, in immediate seuence -- but we'll get there), and then I returned to try the gym. Locked. Went to reception, got told someone was going to unlock it and the price was two euros per half-hour. I muttered that I didn't mind about the price, but I did object to being uoted one price on Sunday and another on Monday. General shrugged silence until I asked for a receipt. uick phone call followed. Russian receptionist asked in German what the price was for the gym, "Zwei euro pro Stunde" was the answer. I win.
And then it was a walk down to another café (the people I am with seem to know people in every bar and restaurant along this strip) and then another restaurant for an on-the-house drink, and thence here.
This afternoon, probably a nap and some reading. Chillax, man.
I had thought that the south of Spain was expat country, but this is more so. Unsurprising, perhaps, given the country's colonial past, and perhaps the only difference is that the McDonald's doesn't have menus in Spanish and the focus appears to be on the Premier League in every bar, rather than Barcelona or Real Madrid.
Me, Lee and Jamie in the Black Velvet bar last night ('Mikey's') where I am typing this.
Craig and Amanda at Mikey's last night.
The Brighton sophisticate after a heavy meal and post-meze cigarette.
+++++++++
