There was a tree brimming with lemons in our garden.
With mugs of the hand plucked fruit, hot water and local honey beginning our mornings, quite obviously if lemons are in easy supply, a strong and steady contingent of gin and tonics followed.
We sure made the most of that sweet old fruit tree.
That first morning was spent lying on the tiled garden floor staring up at the unknown foliage and listening to the chit chat of unfamiliar birds.
I could have left pretty darn contentedly with a good enough holiday under my belt there and then but thank the holiday Gods there was more. From our base in an old white washed Cypriot village that sat at ear popping altitude on the side of a mountain stretch we careered in to exploration mode.
Sipping on Turkish coffee and watching dervishes whirl in a ritual trance ‘for the love of God’.
Avoiding* feral cats (*or embracing them when they were handsome, despite warnings of mange).
Choosing fruit and veg from roadside stalls overflowing with the best of the local, fresh and wonky stuff and enjoying our artichoke laden hauls by candlelight in the garden.
Seeking out the orchids Cyprus is famed for and investigating city mosques, olive groves and the smattering of abandoned buildings.
Resolutely (and unavoidably British-ly) lying on beaches considered too cold to be on by locals.
Climbing rocky crevices and mountain castles to get that view.
Cyprus you sure were good to us.