weather dependent

flag of inependence or oppression? in the last referendum 65% of Turkish Cypriots wanted to reunite.  Unfortunately 75% of Greek Cypriots didn't.

Cycling to Girne turns out to be a breeze.  And the added bonus is lots of sunshine.  The small road heading north out of Lefkosia and towards the looming mountains leads through a series of small farming villages before abruptly turning left and parallel to the mountains, around an army camp and through a narrow cleft in the range to the seaward side.  Once through the pass we have to join the main highway and we fly down the hard shoulder into the busy town.  This is where it's at - much livelier than the northern side of Lefkosia, Girne looks to have grown into the North's main town.  There are lots of Turkish tourists walking the windy promenade.

Gayle leaves me with the bikes and goes to check on the ferry times.  She returns with news from a travel agent - this evening's ferry has been postponed until tomorrow afternoon because of the weather.  There is a storm coming.  We ride east out of the centre and towards the port. We're not sure of camping options but the central hotels Gayle looked in were overpriced and grotty.  Thinking to double-check information we head down to the port for confirmation. Yes, tomorrow it will be.  But we have passed a better hotel so we dump our stuff there and go back to the old harbour area for a wander around.  Girne has a reputation for its popular casinos.  So we visit one, head for the roulette and put everything on black.  Of course we don't.

There are plenty of passengers for the ferry the next day, despite the wind and the black clouds in the sky.  It's only when we wheel our bikes onto the car deck that we realise the ferry is not as big as we are accustomed.  There are only four lanes across.  Up in the passenger lounge the paint is peeling and the seating and tables are looking a bit tired, but we don't care.  Just as long as we can survive the 9 hour crossing.  I don't mean literally survive.  Just get through it without getting seasick.  The boat is already rocking and we're still moored at the dock.

Sudoku.  Gayle produces a bag of puzzles clipped from the paper.  We lie down on two vinyl-covered benches and deicate ourselves to sudoku puzzles for the entire journey.  The sea is rough, the weather atrocious.  It rains heavily and lightning illuminates the black sky.  Various passengers stagger past, most of them heading outside for a recuperative fag - Turks noticeably smoke more. Sudoku sees us through.  We're still seeing numbers when we get off the boat in Taşucu (pronounced Tash - oojoo.  The only town I know that rhymes with Kajagoogoo).

At the immigration building we are asked by the immigration officer "Visa? Visa?"  He flicks through both our passports feverishly.  In God's name what are these idiots doing here without a visa??? How can they dare to show their faces here?  We smile meekly and play the helpless foreigner card.  "No visa."  He calls a woman over who takes our passports and leads us without fuss to a side office where we pay for our visas, as we know we can.  She is relaxed and friendly.  We return to our tormentor who stamps everything in sight vigorously, including his left hand, and then dismisses us with a curt wave.  

Customs and the x-ray scanner.  I hate these.  We always have to unload the bikes put everything on the conveyor belt, push the bikes through and then reload everything.  But no, they are waving us through with smiles and asking us to wait to one side.  At this point the zealous half-brother of Mr. Immigration arrives and asks me to open up one of my rear panniers.  My carefully strewn dirty laundry on the top does not deter this bloodhound.  He has a little rummage.  He indicates to get everything out.....on the floor.  If he thinks I'm going to do this with every bag he can think on.  I keep this to myself.  He has another rummage.  Is he acting on a tip-off?  He knows there's something in there, something suspicious, and he's gonna get it come what may.  Yes! A fleeting look of triumph.  He tugs something out from the bottom of the pannier and holds it up to my face.  A half kilo block, shrink wrapped in silver foil.  What is it? Marijuana? Cocaine? Heroin?  It's all going Midnight Exress on me and I've only just arrived.  I shrug my shoulders. Coffee, I explain.  He tuts and says we can go.  The whole arrivals process has only taken half an hour at most. Remarkable.

Outside the rain is still pouring down.  On our ride to the small harbour area we have to ride through flooded roads.  Happily we easily find a hotel. It turns out to be our home for four days and nights.