Birkibrisli wrote:On a bright and sunny October day,my second day in Cyprus,I got into my TCB's car and headed for Istinjo,for the first time in 40 years. Andreas (humanist) and his mate Jim followed in another car driven by Kafenes.The irony did not escape me. 38 years after I left Cyprus,and 33 years after my family was forced to leave the place they called home for hundreds of years,I was returning accompanied by 2 Cypriots of GC background,One of Armenian background,and a Canadian of British background,all of who I had met yesterday for the first time...Such is life ,my friends.And such is the magic of the internet forum called the Cyprus-Forum...If anyone had read my coffee cup 3 years ago and told me this would happen I'd have thought it most fanciful...
For as long as I remember Istinjo was served by two public buses.
One was owned by Rauf Usta,the senior of the two drivers. The other was owned by Kachak Ali or Ali,the Deserter...Ali deserved his Deserter tag simply because he had deserted from the British Army in WWII. The buses left for and from Nicosia on alternate days...Mother preferred Rauf usta, because he was a good and reliable driver. He also had good manners. While Kachak Ali was a bit of a lad,and had an eye for the ladies...
The trip to and from Nicosia took over 12 hours. We'd start at 6am,still half asleep,and reach Istinjo often after 7pm. Along the way we passed through Larnaca,Limassol,and Paphos towns plus every other village in between as required by the passengers and cargo demands..Mother was always very well prepared. We had food and drinks and books and games to keep us occupied. I mostly read or spend long hours looking out the window taking in the sights of cliff hanging vineyards,mountain goats,olive and carob groves,and the pine covered mountains...
On arrival we could hardly wait to get out of the bus. After the obligatory handkissing and greeting our grandparents,we would rush to the chicken coop at the end of the backyard. Then out the front door and to Aunty's house which stood at the other end of the plum orchard surrounded by mandarin and pomegranate trees. And beyond that to the stables to greet our favorite donkeys,goats and sheep... We would sometimes get unpleasantly surprised. Someone's favourite animal was bound to be missing,having been sold or consumed in our absence...After grieving for the whole of 5 minutes,we'd pick another goat or sheep or chook to be our favourite for the holidays...
But the faithful wallnut tree was always there,waiting for us with open arms,in the middle of the orange and apple orchard. We'd quickly climb up to find the carving marks we'd made over the years...Here was a heart with an arrow through it with my name and the name of my GC sweetheart...There the name of one of our cousins who was my sister's forbidden childhood sweetheart...
The main house in Istinjo was built like a castle. It was a two storey square building made of stone,timber and mudbrick. On the second floor there were 3 huge bedrooms. The bedroom facing the road had two huge windows complete with ironbars and woodden shutters. This was Grandpa and Grandma's room. It also served as living room,and had an open fireplace in one corner...
Grandma and Grandpa's separate beds stood side by side at the other end of the room. His was a single bed with a firm mattress. Hers was an old-fashioned,high ,double-bed complete with metal poles and a mosquito net.
No one was allowed on Grandpa's bed but me. Being the only boy,I had the privilege of being allowed to go to sleep in it. Sleep time was special in Istinjo. I'd lie on Grandpa's bed looking at the 2 shotguns cross-hanging on the wall opposite. The sight of those guns and the full cartridge belt hanging beside them gave me a sense of comfort and security.And the sound of the conversation between Mother,Auntie Bahire,her elder sister,and the grandparents was my lullaby. On winter nights the crackling sound of the fire provided a most soothing special effect. Later on my Auntie Bahire's husband would come from the coffee shop to see her home in the dark. He would pick me up and carry me ,sleeping, to their house just across the garden. Auntie's only son was usually away studying in Turkey,so I was a welcome reminder of him in his bed next to Auntie's...
The following incident took place in Auntie's house. It is still a cause of hilarity amongst those who remember it... As I said I slept in a single bed next to my Auntie's bed. My Uncle,her husband,slept in his own bed on the other side of the room. The toilet was out in the garden. At night I was afraid to go out in the dark,so Auntie put a chamber pot at the foot of my bed. One night I woke up,got out of bed,and headed straight towards the chamber pot. But I did not stop there...I walked to my Uncle's bed and proceeded to empty the contents of my bladder on his shiny, bald head..By the time he woke up and called out to his wife,I was safely back in my own bed. "There must be big rats in the ceiling," said my Uncle,"look how wet I am!" Auntie helped him change his clothes and the bed clothes,but she was not convinced that this much piss could possibly come from any rat, however big it might be...So she didnt go back to sleep but lay in wait. Sure enough a few hours later I got up again and headed straight to the shiny,bald head with the same intention. She rushed and grabbed me just in time and led me to the chamber pot.
The next morning when I woke up and headed to Grandma's house for breakfast,I was puzzled to see my normally sombre Grandma break into laughter and fell off her chair at the sight of me...When Mother ,Auntie and Grandma finally recovered enough to tell me what I had done during the night,I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me...I made them promise they would never tell Uncle the real source of his discomfort that night. They kept their promise,and poor Uncle went to meet his maker believing he was set upon by some giant rat hiding in the ceiling...
(to be continued...)
:):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):) now whose falling off their sit in laughter 
