Been There, Done That, Got The T-Shirt

   Ok, I lied. I didn't get the t-shirt. Or a sweatshirt. Or a hat. Nothing. In every country I've been to, which currently numbers fourteen, there's been someplace that sells t-shirts, sweatshirts or hats with the country's name emblazoned on them. Not Cyprus. Not even a "I 💚 Cyprus" pair of socks. Nothing.

  Over the past month Penny and I must have been inside at least twenty souvenir-ish shops in search of typically Cypriot thingies to take home. It's been a struggle. If I wanted a knock-off Rolex or a knock-off Tommy Hilfiger jacket or a knock-off Messi jersey, no problemo. It may be that there's no demand for the kind of thing I'm looking for. Maybe no one wants to advertise they went to Cyprus. I don't know. I do know I've been wearing the same three sweatshirts for a month and one if them is disintegrating. And, before you ask, yes, they get washed. Jeez.

  We're heading to the airport tomorrow to wing our way back to Greece. They might have a shop with all things Cyprus at the airport but I'm over it. I don't think this is a thing I should have to work for. If they don't want me to advertise for them, so be it.

  I told you a few days ago that we would be playing golf at another weird place. No spectacular red canyon vistas like in Sedona. No wild animals hunting prey on the seventh hole like in Skukuza. No obnoxious American know-it-alls like in San Francisco. Just dirt. And gravel. Lots of it. Some grass too.

  We spent Friday at Vikla Golf Club, in the mountains north of Limassol. Before we left I'd done my usual exhaustive research so we'd know what we wear getting ourselves into. Their website was quite honest about the potential lack of grass. In fact, during the summer months when it's so very dry here and the grass is dead, they give you a piece of AstroTurf to carry around with you so there's something grass-like from which to launch your ball. Google reviews insisted the course was fun to play and was a, sort of, throwback to the origins of golf. Armed with that knowledge, off we went.

  It was a longish drive culminating with twenty-five kilometers of winding switchbacks climbing through the mountains and meandering through isolated villages until we arrived at the course. We checked in, got our golf cart (buggy) and our rental clubs, which looked like they'd been dragged behind the last golfer's car on the road up the mountain in 1999. With that, it was off for a glorious day of golf on a picture perfect day.

  Oh. Did I mention the lack of grass? There was lots of grass but none around the tees. Like this:

  They do supply driving range-style mats at the tees but they're set on concrete pads so no teeing up your ball here, thus the earlier pic.

  Anyway, we did manage to tee off but it was unusual, to say the least.

  By the way, Penny slipped on the gravel while getting that shot. Her first golf injury. Sort of.

  The next three hours were spent careening around the rocky hillsides, driving our buggy down drainage ditches that were supposed to be cart paths, spitting fairway gravel behind us. It was almost golf-like. There's an upscale course near where we live. We haven't played it as it's grossly expensive, like 400 Euros. No thanks. The sign pointing to that course says "Golfiana". That's not the name of the course, rather, I think it's a Cypriot term for a wonderful golf experience. Think Nirvana, but golfier. I think "golfiana" aptly describes the Vikla Golf Club. Not golf. Golfiana.

  Oh. And we got lost. You see, there's not actually eighteen holes at Vikla. There's only twelve and six are reused with different tees to make up eighteen. When we finished the seventh hole we followed the sign to #8 and the path led to the edge of a cliff. Not good. We backtracked and spent the next ten minutes driving all over the place until we found the ninth. We never did find the eighth. Maybe it's a seventeen hole course. I wouldn't be surprised. I do know there was an old guy playing behind us at the seventh tee and we never saw him again. Maybe he found the eighth. Maybe it was in another dimension. We'll never know.

  Now, I know we were armed with enough knowledge beforehand that none of this should have been a surprise but I was disappointed, just the same. I expected the sparse fairways  and driving range mats but I did not expect dangerous cart paths and bunkers totally devoid of sand. There they had grass. And rakes. No sand but rakes. Weird. For the money we paid for this joint they could have leveled the cart paths and bought some sand for the bunkers. It's not like they were spending it on rental clubs or greenskeeping.

  Was it a "throwback" to the origins of golf? Well, it did remind me of this (click here). So, we played golf, in a manner of speaking, in Cyprus. Box checked. We also managed to have a couple of good restaurant meals, mostly without chips and salad, so another win.

  Today is laundry and cleaning day as the homeowners return tonight and we're outta here in the morning. It's been an interesting month in this little country. We've done the things and seen the places. Did we ever think Cyprus would be a place we'd visit? Ever? No. We enjoyed it, mostly, and added new memories of a quirky place with no real identity of its own. It's part Greek, part Turkish and part English but they don't seem to do any of the parts really well. I suspect the owners of this little house will ask us to come back in the future, but we'll politely decline. Unless I get a t-shirt.