Kevin Blake's Blog

Time for one last entry before the big off. I can almost hear the sighs of relief from here My taxi is booked to leave here at 1.30am. “Can you put in a wake-up call for around then as well, please? Just in case.” I asked the receptionist. “Certainly” she replied, “is 1.15am okay?”.

“Okay” is most certainly not a word I’d associate with that time of the morning, but it will have to do. Stupid Cyprus Airways and their early morning flights. “Do you have to leave at stupid o’clock in the morning?” I’ve asked everyone I’ve met from England. “Oh no, my flight’s at 8pm”, and other such sensible times. Just me then. I swear, if I’m the only one on the plane, except for some hyena stewardesses and the pilot – I’m not going to be pleased.

Back to the point, quite unsurprisingly, I didn’t wake up this morning in time for the coach to leave for Nicosia. But that’s fine, it was a free tour, since I’d booked with them anyway, and I think I’ve seen most of what I want to see with Nicosia. The lie-in will do me much better, when it comes to catching my flight and waking up ever again.

So instead, I decided I would go and see the Amathus ruins. After all, it’s why this tourist area is called what it is, so it should be worth a look. “Little remains of Amathus”, says the guide book. And not much else, so I had little idea what it was all about, but having seen some ruins on the way back from Nicosia, I decided to head in that general direction. Thirty minutes walk from my hotel, I looked up and saw what looked like remains of a wall, on top of the highest hill in the area. “Shit”, I thought to myself, and started to climb. On my way up, I kept hearing leaves, or something in the path in front of me. Quite sure the worst it could be was a poisonous snake out to kill me, I kept going up the deserted road leading to the deserted old stones.

When I reached the top, I had some fantastic views of the Limassol bay, and there were indeed a number of ruins, in various states of excavation. Apparantly excavation only begun in 1980, although a large number of the tombs had already been looted in the 19th century, and shockingly loads of the stones have been used in the construction of the Suez Canal. “Where are you going with those stones, Steve?”. “Oh they weren’t being used, they were just in a big temple shape up on top of that hill.” “Great, I’ll go fetch the donkey’s”. Little did I know it, but so far I’d only found the Acropolis, from the 11th century B.C. Pretty old then. There was a huge pot type thing just to the side, which I did learn what it was, and have since forgotten. Something to do with cleansing the sacrifices maybe.

Peering over the edge of a sheer drop, I noticed a lot more ruins down the other side of the hill. And they looked far more interesting, with pillars rising into the sky, and other people wandering around them. “Shit”, I thought to myself again, and started to walk back down the way I came.

On the way back down, I saw two big old lizards sunning themselves in the middle of the path. THAT’s what was making those russling noises! They were kinda cute in a don’t-come-near-me-and-we’re-fine way. I took a photo of one, but they scurried off when I got too close.

At the bottom of the hill, I decided that this new set of ruins must be much more exciting, because it had an entrance fee. 75 cents. I noted that the zoo made an extra 5 cents because of the Mouflon. And paid the man.

My 75 cents must have gone towards the big colourful boards that told me what everything was. There I learnt that the bit I’d already seen was Acropolis of ancient Amathous. The sanctuary of Aphrodite. I also learnt the big thing I was heading towards was the Agora of ancient Amathous (4th century B.C.) containing the rather impressive remains of temple of Aphorodite.

Aphrodite, remember, was the goddess born from the foam of the sea. And she’s something of an important figure around these parts. Rumour has it, that she originated from an earlier fertility goddess. Though in the myths of Aphrodite, she is much much more than that, and has been referred to by a number of names. One of which, “Pandemos – the goddess of all”. That’s rather a lot to live up to. War-like, “Egcheios, the goddess with the spear”, *male* “Aphroditos”, protects sailors (since she was born from the sea), and an image of beauty and magnifience. Like I said, a goddess with character, and should appeal to all. She was first mentioned in 8 B.C., by Homer (not Simpson), who referred to her as Aphrodite, or Kypris, and by Hesiod who called her “Kyprogena”, the Cyprus-born. It was much much later though, before the people of Cyprus referred to her as Aphrodite. I guess because she already had so many other names already.

There’s a nice map at the temple, showing all the other places of Aphrodite you can go do. It’s all part of the “Cyprus Strategic Plan for Tourism to the year 2010″. I don’t really understand what strategic methodologies they’ve implemented for this – but I assume it goes along the lines of “more tourists = more money = good. We should get more tourists”. And this route they’ve created is probably an effort to do so. Presumeably by 2010, the Cypriots will have come up with a clever new plan, whereby they don’t have to keep dealing with tourists. And something else will take over. Or maybe nobody has thought about it yet.

So anyway, I look forward to seeing and/or speaking to you all when I get back

Well, it’s a short one today, since I’ve already been writing postcards and spent most of the day shopping. Yes, postcards. They are currently speeding towards England faster than you can say “have you been away somewhere? You look slightly less white”. Actually, probably not – since in the race to beat them back to England, I will probably arrive first. Oh well

But yes, I do even look a little off-white – if not “tanned”. For the mostpart, I’ve even been good, and used vast quantities of sun tan lotion (buy 1 get 1 free at boots!). Not totally though, my legs got a bit burned during the first day of rain. Bah.

So my travels into Limassol, mostly to find presents, were of mild success. I won’t write about them yet, because otherwise it will ruin the surprise. But I will say this; Ali, my trip to the underwater museum, where they had a *special* natural sea sponge exhibition was extremely valuable. Providing your present makes it back in one piece. It’s truly special. Better than a naked clay totem woman, even. I realise I’ve built this up now – but to put it bluntly, you’re not going to be dissapointed. And once you have “it”, I’ll make sure to put up some photos here – so everyone can see what I mean.

A lot of the shops I visited around Limassol are clearly geared for the tourist trade. I know this, because a lot of them have signs out fron saying “GIFTS!” or “EURO SHOP”, or “TOURIST SHOP”. It gives it away slightly… So as a result, I saw a large amount of total junk. Not just lace, but there are plenty of miniature donkey models. You know the sort, it looks like real donkey hair. Like the clver shopkeeper has not only stuffed a donkey for you to take home, but also shrunken it in the magic donkey shrinking machine, for your convenience. The Mouflon in similar style was tempting … but not at 15 pounds. I don’t care if it was real and miniaturised.

I’ve also seen a large number of Llama rugs, too. Which is odd, because I haven’t seen any mention of Llama’s here, or anywhere nearby – so I’m not sure where they’re coming from. But, they’re no cheaper than available from the Ashdown Forest Llama Park.

So, for those of you reading this, not “fortunate” enough to receive a gift from Cyprus. I think you’ll agree, it doesn’t really matter

Tomorrow will be my last full day in Cyprus, so this may be my last entry from this fantastic island (at least until next time). My flight leaves at 4.30am Friday morning, and I have yet to nail down a way of getting to Larnaca airport at that crazy time of the day – but I’m sure that hotel reception will point me in the right direction when I go down foraging for food in just a few minutes.

Tomorrow, I’ll either spend the day in Nicosia, or here in Limassol – depending on how much I feel like waking up in the morning

Bye for now

With a full stomach (of some kind of pasta related soup, pork minute steaks and other related vegetable concoctions, and a fruit salad pie type thing), it’s time for another entry. We were on the road to Lefkara. A really nice mountain village near Nicosia. I mentioned how Lace was where it’s at, in Limassol. Limassol’s love for lace just collapses under sheer weight of Lefkara’s doileys (That’s can’t be spelt right). The most famous of the lace patterns, and the most difficult – is the Leonardo Da Vinci pattern. We were told that every woman in Lefkara knew how to create it, but it is the most time-consuming. And the reason for this Da Vinci pattern, is that Leonardo Da Vinci bought some of this lace on a visit to Cyprus, and it is the same lace that is featured on his infamous painting of the Last Supper. Didn’t see that one in the Da Vinci code, did you? Well now you know, the story is probably a lot clearer.

Lefkara is divided into upper, and lower Lefkara and we only had the chance to visit the upper half. The streets were literally full of lace shops. Tablecloth’s, hangings, doiley’s, whatever you want – they’ve got it. There is also a woman out front of each one of these lace shops, to try and trick you, make you come and see her and how she is making the lace, and then lure you into the shop in order to sell you wholesale lots. At least that’s my suspicion. We settled into a comfortable routine of walking by the shops. I would nod, smile and say hello to the lace-witches, they would ask “come see what I am doing, come and buy some lace” and cackle loudly, and Sandra would say “no thank you”, while we grasped our bottles of tomato ketchup, and moved swiftly onto the next shopfront to repeat. Tomato ketchup, you see – because it’s what lace-witches fear the most – get tomato ketchup on the lace, and it’ll never come out – and they lose their power.

I’m not entirely sure there needs to be so many lace shops in Lefkara. I do have to wonder if there is any expansion in this area. Just as in China town, a young entrepreneur may walk down the street and think “i’ve got it, here is where I will build the new restaurant, and continue my fathers empire in this new land” … Do Lefkarians walk down the street and think “I know what would sell well around here ….” ?

Anyway, past all the bright lights and neon signs that the lace street quite plainly doesn’t have – we turned down a winding street, that quickly became evident it didn’t lead anywhere. Turning around to go back the other way, I spotted the Troodos couple. “I wouldn’t go that way”, I said. “We were following you! We thought you looked like you knew where you were going”. Foolish people. “Don’t do that, I keep getting people lost today!” I said, thinking back to the green line. And so they didn’t.

We finally came across a nice padded bench by the church, which looked as though it belonged to the house behind us. Quite convinced we were going to be thrown off in a matter of seconds by the very angry owners of said bench, we sat down and talked about Bosnia, and the surroundings.

I say we, Sandra did most of the talking – and I interjected with a few answers about London and England. And I’ve gotta admit, I feel ashamed about knowing absolutely nothing of the world to the east of Europe. “The Danube? Sure. Germany, goes through Hungary – right? I’m sorry, what? Goes beyond that? Surely there’s no land beyond Hungary??”

At least, that was pretty typical of the conversations we had It wasn’t any better, that Sandra knows far more about my own country, and could easily ask questions about it that weren’t so vague as “so, like, is it nice?” Okay, in an effort to defend myself… I work at a computer. All day. I type code, I write emails, and I move stuff around in my very limited little world. Sandra works for a travel agency. She also took Geography into higher education. There, I feel fully justified in knowing nothing. But strangely it doesn’t make me feel any better – so I’ve got to go on holiday to lots of different places Which is quite a nice conclusion to make really, since that’s what I intend to do anyway.

As we were sitting on our comfy cushioned bench, it started to rain (again! the tour guide says this is it now until February. It will rain). Returning to the coach, it was full of people looking a bit annoyed. “Shit, are they waiting for us again?”, I asked – “this time, you can apologise”, was the reply. Not eager to give away another apology so easily – I’m British, I only have 40 billion of them, and then that’s it – I asked if they were waiting for us again. “No”, tour lady said. And I skipped all the way down the coach back to my seat. Apparantly a lot of them had returned to the coach early, because of the rain. Hah.

One last stop, just down the road for some great views of all of Lefkara (it looks much bigger from a distance – the winding narrow streets hide it well), and down below into the mountain valley.

And that’s Lefkara. And I can’t believe it’s almost Wednesday already. I only have two more full days in Cyprus. I really need to buy some postcards. Sorry everyone! Mind you, if you’re waiting for a postcard and you ARE reading this – you’ve kind of got the idea of what’s going on anyway. If you’re not, then you didn’t get the apology for the late postcard, which makes the argument a bit academic.

Bye for now

Today’s excursion took me to Nicosia, the ony forcibly divided capital in the world.

This morning was very difficult to wake up to, so I had to skip breakfast before staggering out to the front of the usual spot in front of the Navarria supermarket for the coach pickup point … at*cough* 8.55 *cough* I’m holiday, okay? Besides, with the time difference, that’s technically 6.55am. So I feel perfectly justified in being sleepy

We left for Nicosia shortly after that, and stopped off at the Cyprus Handicraft centre on the way. All piling out of the coach, single file, along with the school trip from the coach next to us. We had 30 minutes to walk around the handicraft centre. Lots of different rooms with people making various products; lace, leather, pottery, woodwork, metal. Most important thing to note from here was the weird naked pottery totem woman. A small figure about 5 inches tall. It just looked … weird. I have a picture. Ali was almost bought one for her present from Cyprus. But I decided against it, because I didn’t want to be the type of person that brought back ugly weird crap from their holidays, that people felt obligated to remove from boxes whenever I came to visit. On the other hand, I hope to find exactly that to bring back, somewhere in Limassol tomorrow

Anyway, it was in this centre that a couple I’d met on Friday came up to me and said “you were on the Troodos tour, weren’t you?” I’m afraid I still don’t know their names, but we stood inside one of the doorways and chatted for a while about what we’d been up to over the weekend. It was nice to see some faces I’d already met before Actually, they weren’t the only ones, the same French group that could hardly speak any English from the Pafos tour was on the coach, as was the same tour guide (whom I thought was very good).

Back on the coach and off we went to the Cathedral of St John, and the Archbishopric with the statue of Makarios (remember him?). The two buildings were right next to eachother, and the statue of Makarios is huge, standing around 7 metres tall. During the 1974 invasion, the Turkish troops stormed the Presidential Palace, and the Archbishop’s Palace (where Makarios had slept), in an effort to kill Makarios and destroy everything he had. His bedroom was blown up at the Archbishops palace, and later rebuilt – but there are still a large amount of bullet holes in the walls of the palace, not restored as a reminder of the troubles past. The story given by our tour guide, was that Makarios was at the Presidential Palace when the troops invaded, and he simply walked out the back of the palace, flagged down a passing car, and was driven to safety in the Troodos Mountains. I suspect there might have been a bit more to it than that, but it’s nice to think of the President/Archbishop just strolling out with a cup of coffee in his hand, and hitchiking to Kykkos Monestary, or maybe even paying a taxi fare

A small hop and skip down the street is the Cathedral of St John. Coming from England, and my last holiday being to Prague, I imagine a cathedral to be a huge sprawling building. This one wasn’t much larger than my flat in Watford. It was possibly a bit better decorated though. The same as the rest of the churches on this trip, and covered with brightly coloured frescos, and gold *everywhere*. The chandeliers hung from the roof, and candlelights again seperated from the ceiling by an ostrich egg hanging from a long cable (totally going to to have to look that one up when I get back).

Again, the “comfortable” wooden seats lining this single aisle church. They’re more comfortable than your average pews at least. Well, the Orthodox service lasts for 3 hours. So I suppose they have to be. The “icons” also lined the wall that seperate the main church, from the alter area (where worshippers are not allowed to go, or see). The one on the far right, as is traditional, of St John who the church is dedicated to.

We saw a lot more of these icons from the 8th-19th century in the Byzantine Icon Museum just behind the cathedral. These icons are paintings all created in the same way – by preparing the wood, painting a number of layers on top, sanding, outlining the figure (as according to templates – so Jesus always looks the same in each icon, as does The Virgin Mary etc), this is then cut into with a small knife, and the picture painted with the darkest colour first, and adding lighter colours on top. The gold is added as a layer on top, usually covering the background, it’s varnished – before being blessed by a bishop, when it’s allowed to placed in the church. The idea of these icons is that they are not just pretty pictures – but they’re a doorway, or a window to heaven. By kissing, touching or conversing with the icons, the worshipper has a direct line to heaven.

They were usually donated to the church by very wealthy men, or by families wishing to make sure a loved one was remembered, or prayed for. There were a lot of icons such as these inside the museum, as well as parts of mosaics, that had been sold, and recovered from the buyer in America. Even more impressively than this, was a fresco that had been removed from the church of st Nikolas (I think – could be wrong on that). Not sure about the dates either … but the 15th century fresco was removed from the church because they discovered an older 12th century fresco underneath. Now, these frescos are paintings directly onto the plaster when it is still wet. Because of this, the colours actually seep into the plaster, and the colours stay vibrant. They are only ever cleaned, but have never been repainted in the churches and cathedrals in Cyprus. Which is why some look a little worn, but amazing when you consider it’s the original paint. Sadly no cameras allowed in these churches – you’ll have to google them yourself
So, with that in mind, somebody has managed to firstly remove the frescos from the church – complete, this was a fresco across a dome, so it wasn’t even flat. Not only that, presumeably they’ve managed to keep in tact, the fresco that was found underneath. *then* transported the fresco across to Cyprus, and created a replica structure to which they’ve reattached to it. That’s a lot of of very careful, and extremely impressive work.

Moving around the corner, we came to an area depicting the effects of the Turkish invasion. It showed photos of churches in the north completely stripped of their icons, frescos removed, and looking in total disarray. I realise that this museum probably shows the worst examples, but seeing the devestation caused by the Turkish army really brought home the complete mindless waste to it all. I don’t consider myself a hugely religious person. I don’t regularly go to church, or attend services. I do have a huge respect for churches across the world though, regardless of the religion they support. Regardless of what they stand for, religions form a huge part of our history, and reflection of a culture at any point in time. To see that reflection torn down and destroyed for any reason, is a terrible thing.

The Turkish and Christian communities lived in peace with one another for something like 500 years, before the Turkish invasion in 1974 changed it all and seperated the two groups of people. I realise I’m probably being extremely biased here, and welcome the other side of the story. I find it difficult to imagine what it must be like, if someone came to England and told a particular group they now had to live somewhere else. That they were no longer allowed to trade, or even meet with the other group. Which is exactly what has happened here in Cyprus.

Anyway, back to the tour of the city, and less of my disgust at the pointlessness of it The division is hard to avoid whilst in Nicosia, so I’m sure I’ll pick up on this later

So, after a short walk back to the coach with the couple I’d met in Troodos, we were on our way to Old Town. As we were about to get off, a young Bosnian by the name of Sandra asked if it would be okay if we explored the city together, since we were both travelling alone. “Sure” I said, being the man of many words that I am.

So off we went to see Nicosia, walking up one of the main shopping streets and out the other end, wandering around aimlessly for a little while. We also passed the Earth from Above exhibition, and I wondered if the posters and big map of the world you could walk on, were the same ones I left behind in Southbank, around the Mayor’s office – where the exhibition had also been, last I looked.

After about 20 minutes of that I asked “Where do you want to go, anyway?”. “I don’t know, The Green Line?” replied Sandra. The Green Line is the illegal border that separates the North, from the South of Cyprus. We’re talking big. It’s illegal, because the Greek-Cypriot government doesn’t recognise it as a border. The only people who do in fact, are the Turkish government. The Turkish military patrol the green line on the Turkish side, and the Greek military patrol the line on the south. In the middle is a U.N. buffer zone, where only U.N. troops are allowed. The buffer zone varies in width across the country, but in Nicosia it is just a few metres. Interestingly, on the Turkish side the guards carry armed weapons, on the Greek, empty weapons and must be ordered by an officer before filling with live ammunition.

As I was saying, the green line shouldn’t be difficult to miss. “Good idea, do you know how to get to it?”, I said. So we walked around a bit, looking for the green line. Asking a few people on the way “which way to the green line?”. Both a little scared that the reply we got might be something along the lines of “The Green Line!? Are you crazy or something??”. None of that, just a few laughs, “to look look? Or to cross?”, “oh you need to go a long way that way” one lady laughed to us, as she pointed in the direction of the way we’d come. I?d suggested following the mosque we saw in the distance, when we met her. So crossing my arms, I refused to make any more direction choices. That being said, I stopped when I saw a map of Nikosia, hoping to figure out where we were. However, with no huge flashing “you are here sign”, I figured we were pretty much lost.

And from nowhere, Sandra produces a map! A few more minutes scratching our heads, taking it in turns to stare blankly at the map, and to look around, and we had a vague idea of where we were. A couple of streets after that – we noticed that time was getting on a bit, and decided maybe we should abandon the green line idea, if it meant we wouldn’t be able to find the coach again. While we scratched our heads, and looked at the map again – we realised we’d actually travelled in a complete circle somehow. Ending up minutes away from where we started.

Stopping a person getting into their car, Sandra asked an old lady “which way to the green line?” She popped her head in the car and conversed with a younger lady for a while. Before the younger woman popped out “just there, straight down this road”. “Is it far?” “No, just here, on this corner.” All that, and it was about 3 minutes walk from the coach park!

So, the green line. The area we found looked totally derelict. Bomb-damaged buildings, and others just left abandoned. U.N. signs all over the place, and barrels and sandbag make-shift barriers blocking roads. I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to an actual militarised zone (thankfully), and while it didn’t appear active, it was still a little scary. Groups of Turkish people on top of the Venetian walls, clinging to the fence and watching out across the city. I don’t know if they were Turkish soldiers, and when one saluted to me, I waved back. Were they happy where they were? As far as the Greek government is concerned, the citizens in the north are free to travel south, across the green line – so I suspected they were.

Leaving the area, we walked back to the main shopping street and strolled down the other one we didn’t check before. Down the bottom of this street, is a crossing point for the north/south divide. Standing on a large platform is a lone Greek soldier. He had an arm around him. At the other end of the arm, was a woman smiling to the camera down below as her friend took the photo. I grinned at Sandra, “wanna get your picture taken with the soldier?” She walked up to the soldier – “could I have my picture taken with you?” That’s a yes then. I remarked that he was probably going to be doing these photo shoots all day now, and as we walked down the steps, sure enough – someone else asked the same request. Somehow, the green line had been turned into some sort of tourist attraction. I can’t say I’m surprised now though, can I? I booked the trip to Nicosia wanting to see the green line. And yet on the platform is a viewing window that shows the rubble in the U.N. zone, and all the destruction the separation has caused.

When we got back to the coach, we saw a coachload full of people, holding our heads down we mumbled our apologies as we returned to our seats. “It’s okay, you’re not the last ones” said our tour guide – and I wished I could take back the apology. Or get off the coach and go for another stroll

Damn, it’s been another long entry. So I’m going to leave my balcony now, and go down to the restaurant for some food. When I get back, I’ll probably write a bit more on Lefkara. I kinda like this writing lark. This idea of keeping a blog might stick after all, at least while I’m holiday

Remember that entry I wrote about the Flying Goat? The one on the Cyprus Airways logo? Well, it’s called the Cyprus Mouflon. Apparently it’s not even a goat, but a wild sheep (looks more like a goat to me!) – that’s native to Cyprus, and the largest native mammal on the island. A while back, The Troodos Mountains were opened up as a huge game reserve, and large numbers of the Mouflon were wiped out. The Mouflon is apparently very very fast (hence the reason for the logo), and has large horns, so presumably a fantastic sport for rich men many hundreds of years ago with something to prove. During the first year of British rule in 1878, a survey only found 20 of the animals (the survey probably wasn’t too in depth, no doubt) – but the numbers have been increasing since 1939, when the Pafos forest became a reserve, and goat grazing was banned (removing a lot of the competition for food). They estimate around 3000 of them currently on the island. The interesting fact from my Globetrotter’s guide to Cyprus – is that remains of the Mouflon have been found in Neolithic settlements dating back to 6000 BC when they might have been domesticated.

So why am I telling you this? A lot of you know about the obsession with Llama’s. They’re just cool. In a similar way, goats also have that special air of greatness about them. Especially extremely wise ones (they have those wispy beards), and mental devil ones (they have *those* eyes).

Okay, I know I said Mouflon’s are sheep – but so what – when I heard about the Mouflon, I decided I had to see one. Disappointed that I haven’t seen any walking down the street, I’d hoped to see entire herds of them strolling around the mountains, drinking local wine and sipping coffee at the coffee shops in the small villages, perhaps sharing a joke with some of their friends. None of that either. Mouflon’s are very shy animals. THAT’s why I hadn’t seen one, I’d been looking in all the right places after all…

So today I did the next best thing to seeing them in their natural habitat – and went to the Limassol Zoo.

At the bargain price of 80 cents (almost a UK £1), I walked through the gates of the zoo, turned to my left – and there were the Mouflon. All wandering around miles away at the back. Like I said, it looks a lot like a goat. Actually, in the same way a Llama is a sheep crossed with a horse, a Mouflon is a goat crossed with a small donkey (without the belly – they run really fast remember). They look like fantastic animals though, with huge curled horns (THAT parts looks like a sheep – so maybe I can believe they’re sheep after all).

The zoo also had some other fascinating animals. Including cockateils, rabbits, and guinea pigs. More exciting than that was the huge camel, that I called Clive; a big monkey thing I called Norris (sorry Norris, I don’t know what kind of monkey you are); some very sleepy leopards that might well have been dead for all I knew; a lion that wanted to eat me – as I walked past it said “growl” at me, although it might have been purring; some goats (they were all called Goaty, in true goat-tradition); some *HUGE* vultures that had some really nice looking rotting carcasses for lunch; some zebras (they still make me laugh – one was called Marco, but I didn’t name the rest); and a few others, but I won’t keep listing them.

Sadly missing from its cage was the bear. It was on the map “here be bears” – but the cage was empty. No missing bars, and no bear hiding with its arms and legs stretched out on the roof of the cage – waiting for the zoo keeper to walk in, scratch his head and walk out leaving the door open.

The zoo was rather small, so I walked around it a few times, before stopping at the gate to watch the Mouflon. Since they were really what I’d paid the 80 cents for. I’m afraid the pictures of the Mouflon I got are probably rather crap, since the only way I could get a photo over the 8ft fence (in case they run and jump) was when they were far away. We’ll see how they turn out though, and I’ll put them on-line.

For now, I dedicate this entry to the Mouflon, and their bravery in the face of near-extinction. Mouflon. We salute you!