The other day I was talking with one of my teacher friends at school, and we were discussing my imminent departure, which seems to come up in every other conversation that I have these days. “Before,” she told me, “I thought Americans were very loud and outgoing, always talking to people. You’re different. You’re like us. Isn’t that right?” She turned to another teacher sitting next to her, someone I’ve worked with quite a bit as well. “Oh yes,” second teacher said. “You’re a lot like us.” And behind her, a third teacher friend of mind nodded. “It’s not that it’s bad, what I thought before,” the first teacher said, “but you fit in here. We’re going to miss you.”

Well, Leslie and co-choreographer Sarah created a rockin’ flash mob dance to Michael Jackson’s They Don’t Care About Us, featuring spectacular salsa moves from Julie and Gabor. We had a few rehearsals before the actual performance, but one of the coolest things was how people who were hanging around when we rehearsed joined in. The flash mob truly did become an effort from the community. (You can find me on the far left, in sunglasses and a black shirt.)

And although it wasn’t mean to be like this, this week essentially marks the last week of my first year of teaching. Not co-teaching, not assisting a teacher in the classroom, but real, worry-about-what-they-got-or-didn’t-get-from-the-lesson and go-to-department-meeting teaching. It ended up being more responsibility than I’d expected, but it’s also been more fun and more challenging than I thought it’d be.

Now, off to make some great last lessons.

There’s this show, called “Game of Thrones.” Maybe you’ve heard of it? Yeah. Supposed to be really good. Anyone watching it? I wanted to watch it, but I also wanted to read the book first. George R.R. Martin, the author, has been described as the “American Tolkien,” and personally, I’m glad he’s not more like Tolkien. (I had the hardest time getting through the first book of The Lord of the Rings.) It took a little while for me to get into Game of Thrones, but soon I was reading the book while walking around Paphos and during any down moment in school. I’d been warned that Martin gets rid of main characters without a second thought. That’s a different approach, but it keeps the reader wondering, guessing, and reevaluating the situation. I plan to start the second book soon.

I also read Imagine: How Creativity Works, which was a fascinating look at how people come up with the ideas that they do. Highly recommend it.

Currently I’m reading Middlesex, and I think it’s saying something that it’s the only book I’m reading right now. Almost always I’m reading multiple books at one time, but for now, because it’s so engrossing and beautifully written, I only want to read this one. It won the Pulitzer in 2003, so clearly I’m a little behind in getting to it, but it really is an incredible book (for the depth of characters, the tone, the language, everything). I’m also appreciating it a lot right now because it’s about a Greek-American family, and not only are the names familiar, but so are some of the traditions and history, including 1974, a monumental year for Cyprus.

There were about 60-70 people in our group, but with such open space on the beach it felt like fewer. There was a lively game of football (soccer). There was frisbee throwing in the water, on the beach, and late at night. There was a bonfire for dancing next to and jumping over (I didn’t do either, alas.) There was a sand dune for climbing and jumping down, repeatedly. There was swimming, despite plenty of joking that it was too cold for Cypriots to swim, as they don’t get in the water until mid-June. And then, of course, there was some sitting and reading, staring and contemplating.

Trying to learn peoples' names on our first morning

our "campsite"

tossing the frisbee in the water

Golden Beach

sunset at Golden Beach

an imitation of our bus driver, who entered the dining room dancing and with a glass on his head

dinnertime

D and I found the village of Klirou easily enough and parked among the other runners. There were a lot of people carpooling (yay) and a number of UN vehicles as well. (UN vehicles are always white with a large, black “UN” written on the side of the car/van, and the license plates are light blue.) The turnout was larger than I had expected, but there were also a few other races going on, by which I mean a 1km fun run for kids and a 12km bike portion on the same trail.

Despite having to register that morning for the race, I was impressed with how well organized the event was and how efficiently and smoothly everything went. There were direction indicators on the ground, markers at every km, and volunteers in reflective vests guiding runners and providing water. It made focusing on the race and enjoying the scenery that much easier. (I wish the Paphos race had been as nice as this one.)

The start of the race was set up on a small road between a church and a local coffee shop. In the coffee shop sat the old men of the village who watched as runners streamed in and around the area in their short shorts and singlets. On the other side of the road at the edge of the church yard, the old ladies sat in white plastic chairs, about 20 of them all in a row. I got such a kick out of seeing the women there. It reminded me of where I was running and what a unique race it would be. (The most unique onlooker was .25km into the race–an old woman with white hair wearing a long black skirt, a black shirt, and a gold cross around her neck. As we ran by her house, she stood at her gate, raised her arms, and cheered for us.)

As D and I were standing around waiting for the race to start I got to chat with some of the Dro.Me.A. runners that I knew. Turns out that was a really good thing, because they gave me some important information: The first 7km would be all uphill.

Uh, what? I thought I’d agreed to do a “trail run” that had some moderate ups and downs. (And I only just realized that the name of the run was “mountain running race.” Ha, whoops.)

Good thing I’d planned on enjoying this race rather than trying to finish by a certain time.

D and I started at the back of the group, letting the ambitious runners sprint ahead. I had no desire to be a part of that. I wanted to enjoy my first–and possibly only–trail run in Cyprus. We ran through the village for half a kilometer and then went onto the street leading out to the mountain. Slowly, slowly we ran on an incline. Then we turned right and started on the mountain.

The thing with running up a mountain is that you’re running on a trail, and that trail has switchbacks. I could see the people ahead of me, white shirts against the green and brown hillside. I tried not to focus on how far above me they were. I didn’t care that they were ahead of me so much as I had that much more elevation to gain.

D and I ran up the mountain for a bit, but at some point I just stopped running. I know. In a 12km race, I stopped running. I would’ve felt worse, but A) D stopped and walked with me and B) there were already other people who were walking. I think we were only a few kilometers into the race at that point, but already my calves were burning and the sun was shining brightly. I’m not a hill runner, especially these days (meaning for the last eight months), and these were some serious inclines. I’ve gone on hikes that were easier than this.

Luckily, the walking gave us time to enjoy the spectacular view. We could look down the mountain and on fields and villages, all the way to the mountains on the other side, which were several kilometers away. The air was clean, and everything around us looked sharp. It was a beautiful place to run (and walk), and focusing on that and the overall experience made it a good run.

When we hit the 7km mark, the road started to go down. And then it went really downhill. After spending the first 50 minutes or so huffing our way up the mountain, we then spent the last 26 minutes rushing down as fast we could without slipping on loose rocks (of which there were plenty) or completely killing our quads. Although I could still chat a little with D by the end (the sign that you’re not running hard enough), the last few kilometers weren’t exactly easy (or particularly slow).

We finished in 1:16:04 (that’s a 10:12 minute mile, or a 6:20 km mile) and got a medal and free t-shirt for participating. I devoured some orange slices and gulped down some water, trying to rehydrate. My black wick baseball cap showed me just how dehydrated I was, as it had a faint white line of salt on it.

Also at the finish line I got to talk to this woman who’s now beaten me in the three races that I’ve done here. She looks like she’s on the wiser side of 50, but she has got stamina and power that I envy. I’d noticed her at Paphos, and then again at Limassol, so when she finished a little bit in front of me (this was our closest race so far), I was glad to shake her hand and chat with her for a few minutes. Because one of the nice things about living in a small place is that the communities you’re in get smaller. The same runners keep showing up at the same races; strangers turn into running buddies.

After enough oranges and water, D and  I decided to head back to town. We got into the city center before noon and had to marvel at how short it all was (except that 7km of uphill). D used his Garmin watch during the race, and I can now see where we ran. Quite a bit of zigzagging.

I’d assumed that was the last of it until this morning, when D texted me that I’d taken second in my age category.

Wait, what?

Yup, turns out that I took second in my age category (scroll to the fourth page). We should’ve stuck around at the end after all! There is actually a third-place winner in that age category (I first guessed I was second out of two). Can’t say for sure that there’s a fourth place, but hey, that’s okay. I’ve now placed in a race. (Although actually, they separated the overall female winners from the age category winners. That seems unusual, but since this is working in my favor, I’ll take it.) Mark this down as something I never thought would happen, even in a small race.

Earlier this week I went to do a load of laundry, and I couldn’t. The machine just wouldn’t work. I tried readjusting the temperature and the wash setting. I turned the machine on and off; I turned the power outlet on and off. I slammed the door (which usually works) about 30 times. No luck.

I fiddled more with the door since that’s normally the problem, and hey, I finally noticed that the rubber wasn’t lying flat against the inside of the machine. The top half was flush with the interior, but the bottom was bulging. Then I pulled at the rubber.

Mistake. Little bits of black, crusty metal fell out onto the floor. I closed it again. My first thought was maybe this was our fault, and I didn’t want to have to think about paying for a replacement machine. Then I thought again. There’s no way that we could’ve caused that much damage in five months. I pulled back the rubber more to look inside. It appeared as though the metal near the bottom of the door had decayed (which shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, considering the machine normally had water in it after it finished a load).

Luckily our property management people were quick, and we had a new machine in our apartment by Thursday. They put it in while my roommate was home, but they didn’t leave the instruction manual. And unlike the last machine, this one is in French.

A French-language washing machine. Fancy.

Today I decided to give it a try. I put my stuff in (so much roomier than the last one), dumped some detergent into what I thought was the right slot, and picked lavage main. The machine said it would take 27 minutes. (Very fancy–a digital display telling me how long it’d take.)

Except when I pulled the clothes out, they didn’t look or smell much cleaner. (Of course I did the smell test.) Not wanting to waste precious sunlight hours (clothes need to dry, too), I threw in the towel and got my computer for some French-to-English translation help.

Lavage main means hand washing. Oh. No wonder my non-delicates didn’t get very clean. Other settings include: laine (wool), eclair (yum! except no, it means “flash”),and couette (duvet). For the next trial I picked a number (30) with 800 tr/min. The clothes came out slightly better, but I still don’t think that was best. Looks like Monday will include a date with the machine manual and Google translate.

This is so different from when I was doing NaNoWriMo. I was so disciplined back then. I’ve spent time on the script twice so far–Sunday and today. I planned some of it out last week, which is helping as I go along. There’s only 12 days left, however; time to start focusing. (At least this time I’m setting my work in Cyprus and can call on immediate details. Of course, screenplays use dialog rather than description, so I’m not helping myself out that much. Best to focus on the impending deadline and my dislike of not following through on things.)

This is also a feast holiday, which was quickly apparent by the number of ice cream trucks–probably six at least. Before we got to the food trucks, though, we dined with Anna’s family and ate some traditional foods, such as large chunks of chicken and pork, dolmades (grape leaves stuffed with rice, meat, and herbs), pastichio (macaroni and meat), potatoes, and bread. (I’m told the meat dishes were good.) We also met Anna’s family and learned that they know how to pour beer properly from a tap (the Americans tried and failed at this). There was an extensive spread for dessert, and we added to the sugar high with some fresh loukoumades (fried balls of dough dipped in honey). (And in a rare case of self-restraint, I skipped the ice cream. (Am clearly not as closely related to my brother as once thought.))

We hung out for a bit outside the church. I enjoyed watching people make a small donation, light a candle outside the church, and then go in. What I didn’t know until I got to this island is that Orthodox Christians kiss icons in their church as a way of showing respect. So after lighting their candles, people went in and kissed the icons. This was Easter Monday, after all.

Great food, gorgeous weather, and wonderful people. A fantastic way to celebrate a holiday.

Traffic on the way there

Village main street before everyone arrived

Lunch time! Sarah's dad, my dad, my mom, Sarah, Sarah's mom, Jordan

Outside the church

Lots of people and lots of ice cream