Inside
at one end was a small desk where a middle-aged woman in a flowered dress sat
with a rubber stamp in hand.
She seemed to be enjoying a joke with a man who was
handing her a package.
At
the other end of the room was a table, just large enough to seat two old ladies
dressed in black...
Both
nursed a tiny cup of Greek coffee and every so often they threw back their heads
and laughed until finally, one of them said something so funny that the other
began to slap first the table and then her friend's plump arm.
It
dawned on us. This was not only a post office, but also the local cafe.
From
here we carried on through the mountain roads.
We found a derelict village, eerily
silent in the harsh sunlight.
The product of an earthquake perhaps or maybe a
Turkish village, abandoned after the partition of Cyprus, waiting for its inhabitants
to return.
