Only in Cyprus: The Little Moments That Make Us Smile

There are moments living in Cyprus when Mark and I just look at each other, laugh and say:

“Only in Cyprus.”

They're rarely the big things.

They're not the famous beaches, archaeological sites or places you'll find on a list of the top ten things to see in Cyprus.

They're the completely unexpected little moments that happen when we're driving home, walking the dogs or simply getting on with everyday life.

A road suddenly full of goats.

Three enormous mystery animals in a field.

A dog that turns up and decides he's moving in.

A wedding procession involving rather a lot of tractors.

Or a knock at the door and an unexpected bunch of wildflowers.

They're little moments.

But strangely, they're often the ones we remember.

When the Road Belongs to the Goats

One thing you quickly learn when you start exploring the quieter roads of Cyprus is that the road doesn't necessarily belong to you.

Sometimes it belongs to the goats.

It happens all over the island. We'll be driving through a village or along a quiet country road when suddenly there they are.

Sometimes they're already crossing.

Sometimes they're standing at the side of the road apparently holding a meeting about whether they're going to cross.

And sometimes they've simply decided that walking directly up the middle of the road is the most sensible way to get wherever they're going.

There's no point being in a hurry.

You stop the car and wait as they wander past, usually accompanied by the sound of bells and a shepherd somewhere amongst them keeping everyone vaguely heading in the right direction.

Even after living here for years, it still makes us smile.

It's one Cyprus traffic jam I don't think we'll ever complain about.

“Did You See That?”

Then there was the day we were driving home.

We were just outside our village when something in a field caught both our attention.

I was driving and carried on for a few seconds before stopping the car.

I turned to Mark.

“Did you see that?”

“I think so.”

Obviously there was only one sensible thing to do.

Reverse.

So I backed the car up and there they were.

Three enormous bulls.

Or oxen.

To this day we're still not entirely sure which.

What made the whole thing slightly more concerning was that they were standing in a completely open field.

No fence.

Nothing separating them from us or the road.

They were tied up, which apparently provided Mark with enough reassurance to decide that getting out of the car to investigate was a perfectly reasonable idea.

Naturally, I stayed in the car.

Mark wandered over and started taking photographs.

Everything was going wonderfully until the biggest of the three turned towards him, made a noise and started moving in his direction.

I've rarely seen Mark make his way back towards a road quite so quickly.

I, being the supportive wife that I am, laughed.

A lot.

Mark returned safely, we got back in the car, looked at each other and said:

“Only in Cyprus.”

And drove home.

Bull? Ox? We're still not entirely sure.

The Arrival of Boy Dog

One day Lizzie and Pippa suddenly started going crazy at the front door.

We opened it and discovered a small dog outside who was equally excited about the situation.

He was very cute.

We managed to get our girls back inside and assumed he'd eventually wander off home.

We went out for a while and when we returned...

He was still there.

This time he came straight over to us, looking very pleased with himself.

Then it started raining.

And not just a little bit of rain.

There was no way we could leave him sitting outside in it, so Boy Dog came inside.

At this point he wasn't actually called Boy Dog.

We took photos, contacted people around the village and tried to find out where he'd come from.

Nobody seemed to know.

So, displaying absolutely no imagination whatsoever, we decided to call him Boy Dog.

Boy Dog spent the night.

He also made himself remarkably at home.

Lizzie and Pippa, who had initially been delighted by the arrival of their exciting new friend, became slightly less impressed when they realised he apparently had no intention of leaving.

Thankfully, the following day we managed to find his owner and Boy Dog went home.

We assumed that was the end of it.

It wasn't.

Boy Dog still appears occasionally and even joins us on our early morning walks.

Apparently once you've spent a night at our house, you're part of the walking group.

Boy Dog – unexpected overnight guest and now occasional walking companion.

A Cyprus Wedding... With Tractors

Another day we were driving through a small village when we noticed something slightly unusual.

Tractors.

Lots of tractors.

Except these weren't ordinary working tractors.

They were spotless.

And decorated with bows and ribbons.

We had absolutely no idea what was happening, but carried on with our day.

Later, we needed to drive back through the same village.

Mystery solved.

There was a wedding.

And the wedding procession consisted of around twenty tractors.

Everyone was dressed for the occasion in suits and dresses. The tractors had been cleaned until they shone and decorated with ribbons and bows.

They actually looked rather pretty.

If a tractor can look pretty.

We couldn't get out of the village for a while because the wedding procession had effectively taken over the road.

So we sat and watched.

Because sometimes in Cyprus your journey home is delayed by goats.

And sometimes it's delayed by a tractor wedding.

Unfortunately, this is one of those occasions when we were so busy wondering what on earth was happening that neither of us thought to take a photograph.

You'll just have to trust us on this one.

The Flowers at the Door

Not all of our “only in Cyprus” moments make us laugh.

Some simply make us smile.

Spring is one of my favourite times of year here.

After the winter rains, Cyprus changes. The countryside turns green and the fields come alive with wildflowers.

One spring day there was a knock at our door.

I answered it and found one of the village elders standing there holding a small bunch of freshly picked wildflowers.

“These are for Melissa,” he said.

He handed me the flowers.

I thanked him.

And he left.

That was it.

Mark and I looked at each other, completely confused.

What was that all about?

A few days later I saw him outside and asked.

He explained that he'd been doing it since the 1970s.

Every spring he picks little bunches of wildflowers and gives them to women in the village.

Why?

Simply to make them smile.

He also told me that his flower-giving had even got him into trouble once – which only made the whole story even more memorable.

And I think that little bunch of flowers probably tells you more about village life in Cyprus than I ever could.

There was no reason for it.

He wasn't expecting anything in return.

He just wanted to make somebody smile.

And he did.

Sometimes the smallest gestures stay with you the longest.

The Cyprus You Don't Find in a Guidebook

Exploring Cyprus has become a huge part of our life here.

We've visited incredible archaeological sites, walked through the mountains, discovered abandoned villages, swum in beautiful bays and eaten far more traditional food than is probably sensible.

Those are all parts of Cyprus that we love.

But they're not the whole reason this island became home.

Sometimes it's the little things.

It's sitting in the car waiting for hundreds of goats to cross the road.

It's reversing because you're both fairly certain you've just seen three enormous bulls in an unfenced field.

It's giving shelter to a lost dog who then decides he might as well become your friend.

It's discovering that tractors can, apparently, be wedding vehicles.

And it's opening your front door to find someone standing there with wildflowers simply because he thought they might make you smile.

You won't find these experiences advertised in a Cyprus holiday brochure.

You can't book them.

You can't plan them.

They just happen.

And perhaps that's exactly why we remember them.

Melissa's Reflection

When we first started exploring Cyprus, I think we were always looking for places.

A village.

A beach.

A walking trail.

Something to discover.

Over time I've realised that some of my favourite memories aren't really about the places at all. Travel has always meant far more to me than simply seeing somewhere new.

They're about the things that happened along the way.

The unexpected conversations. The people we've met. The animals that have stopped us in our tracks. The moments that made absolutely no sense at the time but gave us something to laugh about afterwards.

Maybe that's one of the reasons I've grown to love travelling slowly.

When you're rushing from one attraction to the next, it's easy to miss the little things.

And sometimes the little things turn out to be the best stories.

Although if Mark decides to investigate another enormous bull, he's still on his own.