I think we cycle about three hundred metres from
the airport terminal before we stop by some large bushes. How about here? We're still in the airport grounds. Waiting for a couple of buses to pass and a
taxi. Crashing through the knee-high
hedge out of the street light and into the darkness. Invisible to passing vehicles. We put the tent up and go to sleep.
Riding into Paphos town the next morning we stop
at a cafe in a village. A double
espresso and a cup of mountain tea. Is that sage? We look at the shops across the road. A swish new hairdresser and an old-fashioned
barbershop next door. As we watch, the
old barber appears, hangs a sign on his door, locks up and walks off. The local church is a sunken byzantine affair
in the main plaza. All around is modern
landscaping. The sandstone blocks of the
church are honeycombed fromage. Honeycombed cheese? No, honeycombed from age.
Our airbnb appartment isn't available until 2pm so
we ride into the old town of upper Paphos and park at the parador - a promenade
at the top of a cliff - looking over the lower town where the tourist hotels
are. As we watch, a steady stream of
Europeans emerge from the steep road up to the parador and head over to the
covered souvenir market. Fat men gather
at a cafe in their Newcastle United Away Kit - no shirts - all pot-faced and
red-bellied - supping beer and lording over the view. Two taxi drivers try to tempt tourists into
their cars. One of them greets an
English couple by name. They've been
shopping. They chat to the two drivers. "It's not like the high streets in
England" she says, "it's all changed nowadays." The taxi drivers nod knowingly. "The blacks" one of them says. She doesn't blink or skip a beat. "The
internet. Everyone buys everything on
the internet". The taxi drivers nod
knowingly. 
The old town feels empty of people, of life, of
commerce. There are streets of closed up
and dusty shops. Rusting locks on
supermarket doors. Sun-bleached
signs. Empty rooms peer out through
dirty windows. Then we find the tourist
pedestrianised streets with new shops and seats and newly planted
tree-saplings. It still looks
empty. Low-season.
In the lower town, down by the harbour are the
ruins of several Roman villas excavated from a plateau. Outlines of walls and rooms with large
swathes of mosaic floors. Along the shore
are the Tombs of the Kings - a series of cave complexes built as a necropolis
and later used for accomodation.
Paphos was recently a European Capital of
Culture. The workmen are still finishing
off the 'beautification' of the town.
New plazas, tidy public spaces. A
restored minaret on an abandoned mosque in the old town. Further up the hill is the real town where
most of the locals live. We find a Lidl
(European Capital of Supermarkets) and overfill our panniers, ready for the mountains.
