Day 13

Day 13 Monday 26th November    Kantara Castle to Platanissos (Balalan)

We are back to just the most perfect weather – the rain, hail, thunder and lightening is a bad nightmare locked away in the cellar of dark memories.

Kantara castle, framed by deep blue skies, has its stature and proud history restored this morning. Behind strong walls, it perches on it is pedestal crag, guarding moufflon on their own modern day crusade. We wave it goodbye at 9:20am and set off.

The early stage of today’s walk repeats the highlights of yesterday – astride the top of the Karpass ridge we have glorious all round views with beckoning  crags rising up in front of us, bewitching ornaments on our path. The botany lessons continue. As well as the abundant junipers, Tugberk introduces us to the masticha tree from whose resin comes that amazing ice cream which always mean Cyprus for me, as well as masticha gum – appropriate as the name of the tree comes from the Greek for gnashing teeth. Its resin gives off a powerful distinctive masticha smell which fills the air to my delight. It is found in the Mediterranean in dry and rocky places – we are certainly on the right terrain for the unassuming shrub.

Abruptly we walk into a large, what looks like abandoned quarry. The industrial scale equipment scattered here look like the skeletons of pre-historic dinosaurs, resting in the morning sun.  We pass these slumbering, superannuated reptile remains with respect, not wishing to disturb them from whatever dreams they are enjoying. Directly below us is Komi Kepir. We can just make out Asut’s guest house.

Our walking routine has become well drilled by now. From the outset we mix between walking alone, or in pairs or as a threesome. Brexit has often been the topic of debate when a threesome, but our discussions range over social, political, economic, scientific and philosophical matters of interest. Sometimes we learn from each other, other times we just want a kaffeneion style full-on discourse on whatever catches our fancy at that moment.

Len is a master of this – often starting a three-way diatribe by breaking a period of silence by throwing out a random question. Are you real? Is democracy good? What is your identity? Was Brian Clough the best football manager ever? Football is always a good subject to get all three of us going. Back home we are season tickets holders of our respective beloved clubs and share a passion for the sport if not for the same team. It is still early in the season so we can indulge in all kinds of scenarios and speculations on what fortunes lay ahead for our and each other’s team this year.

Since we crossed to the north a variant on this walking-talking protocol has been the, at times, long private discussions between Tugberk and Len. They have found a common interest in human psychology and debate it at great length. Whatever the combination of participants or the subject matter, talking is a powerful distraction from the aches and pains and monotony of a long walking challenge such as ours.

Today the distraction from the wear and tear on our body is particularly welcome – for Len and I especially.  Although we are experienced walkers and have completed a number of such challenges, we are not getting any younger. We feel the strains on our feet, our legs and our backs and need conversation (and paracetamol in my case) to get through the pain barrier. Nick is the odd one out. He has had no physical complaints since we left Paphos and never seems to tire of walking. I believe that if we had wound him up at Paphos castle and let him go he would have walked day and night until someone told him to stop at Apostolos Andreas monastery or he would fall into the sea. He is made of some tough (Watford) granite.

The Karpass ridge is now noticeably getting lower in altitude as we progress up the panhandle. A village ahead of us comes into sight, much closer than the other villages we have passed below us while up on the Karpass range. The path turns downhill and heads straight for buildings below us.

Tugberk’s friend who has been our driver the last couple of days is waiting to join in this descent. It seems he has heard about Len and Tugberk’s discussions and is himself a student of psychology. Immediately Len and he form a duo, deep in discussion. As we enter Eptagomi (Yedikonuk), we are now 5.

On the way down we get great views of the village. It is quite sizeable, supporting a large orthodox church and a large mosque or cami which face-off against each other either side of the Besparmak in the centre of the village. This juxtaposition of 2 religions on the island is visible in the south but is far more visible in the northern villages, especially here in the panhandle.

I want to see what state the church is in. I am used to seeing churches in the north abandoned, refuge only for the pigeons with their piles of guano marking their favourite resting places. This one is par for the course. Having served as a mosque while the mosque across the road was built, it was subsequently abandoned. It is not the worst example of the effects of 40 years of abandonment I’ve seen . But nor is it in good shape – a lone chair surrounded by piles of white excrement are all that we can observe of the otherwise empty interior through a broken window. Len is motivated by this scene of dereliction and takes a moving photo of the lone occupant and its surroundings.

We walk through quiet streets, the only person we see is a lady tending to her vegetable patch totally unaware of the curiosities that are passing by. Otherwise we witness the typical assortment of modest or derelict houses, and the rubble of life abandoned on the streets and fields that characterises this region of the island.

As we leave Eptagomi we pass an open coffee shop with a few locals sitting outside. We were not going to miss this opportunity to enjoy a reviving dose of caffeine. As usual Tugberk is a familiar face and so he is engrossed in conversation with the locals, no doubt sharing his thoughts on these crazy moufflons and their challenge. Although we cannot understand them, it is clear that rather than derision our mission is met with respect. I don’t know if this influences the bill when it comes – 5 coffees and 5 bottles of water for 15 Turkish Lira (3 euros). I couldn’t get a cappuccino for this price back at Aphrodite Hills.

The path heads out into the countryside again. Although less spectacular than the Karpass ridge of the last 3 days, the stillness and un-spoilt nature of the rolling countryside and its colours make this very pleasant indeed. As we come over one rise a small hidden valley opens up below us. It is so quiet and picturesque that we want to enjoy it a little longer so we stop and have our lunch of prepared sandwiches from the Asut guest house. We spread out and stretch out overlooking the serene valley, each man caught in his own thoughts. This is the calmest and most peaceful place we have had lunch at on the entire trek.

Reluctantly we tear ourselves away and head out to the village of Platanissos (Balalan) visible on the horizon like a lighthouse steering us home. This certainly feels more like we are walking on the plain than on the mountain range. In truth it is neither – more like rolling hills that say that we are nearing the tip of the island.

We walk into Platanissos and make our way to the mosque which towers over the village. I am familiar with the mosque as five years earlier the cycle route that I took to circumnavigate the island passed through Balalan and I was struck by the prominence of the cami’s calling tower, safeguarding its faithful nestled in its cradle.

It is here our walk ends at 15:20pm. Tugberk’s friend drives us back to Komi Kepir for our third night as a guest of Asut.

Day 13 stats: Distance 14.2 miles (22.9 Km), total miles 169.4  (272.7 Km)