Replumbing the mains water

 I check our electricity usage most days. I've done so ever since we discovered that the old meter for our guest flat was faulty. But I rarely check the water. The cost of water in Cyprus seems remarkably low, given how scarce water is, and we just paid the bills, with a quick glance at the usage each time. It was typically between about 20 and 35 metric tonnes each quarter, and never more than about 70 euros, often rather less. 

But then early in February, we received a bill where the cost was a lot higher than usual. And a quick glance at the consumption bar graph showed this:

What, we wondered, could have triggered such a high water usage in the previous three months? We hadn't been watering the garden much, because it was the winter. We had previously had problems with water tanks that led to somewhat higher bills, but never this high. And we hadn't had any problems with our tanks for some time. Occasionally one of the toilets would keep flushing water through, but we usually noticed and it never lasted for long. 

We wondered if the meter was faulty. But thought we had better check first to see if we could work out what was going on. Neither the washing machine nor dishwasher was running, and none of the taps were dripping. The toilets had filled up - there should not have been any water usage. But the little dial on the meter was, albeit slowly, going around. So Richard turned the water off, and it stopped. Apparently not a faulty meter, then. 

What seemed likely was that there was a leak in the pipes running between the meter and the boiler room. Unfortunately, those pipes were underneath the driveway, impossible to access without digging it up. Not something we could do, and we didn't like to think what it might cost, let alone the potential disruption, if we could even find a plumber who might be willing to try. 

But Richard had a better idea. He had been planning to re-plumb the house either later this year, or next year anyway. For the mains water, he wanted to replace the old black plastic piping with a new type that's less flexible as it has an aluminium centre. Apparently the old style pipes are easier to join, but no longer meet European standards, as older pipes can contaminate the water with chemicals. 

So he checked Mr Bricolage, our local DIY shop, and found that it was easy to find lengths of the correct kind of pipe:

However, he had a busy few weeks ahead of him, so knew that it wasn't something he could tackle immediately. Since we didn't want to continue wasting such a volume of water, we got into a routine of switching the mains off for most of the day. It turns out to be a great blessing in this kind of situation that we still have cold water tanks as well as hot water tanks, which supply the water for the shower, sinks, toilets and appliances. The kitchen sink has a special knob to turn to get mains water for drinking.

So, every morning for about three months, after my walk or shopping, I would turn the mains water on for half an hour or so. I would then fill up water jugs with mains water for drinking, while the water tank on the roof filled up again. I also kept careful note of how much water we used each day.  

The water bill states (in Greek) that each person in a household, on average, typically uses about 11 cubic metres of water per quarter. So that would be 22 cubic metres (or metric tonnes) per quarter for two of us, and dividing that by 90 days, works out at around 244 litres, total, per day. I was pleased to find that we used between 190 and 250 litres per day, with the higher ones being days when we ran the washing machine, the dishwasher (sometimes twice, if we were entertaining), and also watered the plants.

However, on one day when I somehow forgot to turn the mains water off again until late afternoon, we used over 500 extra litres. The leak underground, if that's what it was, was getting worse. 

When our next bill arrived, a couple of weeks ago, I was pleased to see that it was around 50 euros, with a quarterly consumption of 21 cubic metres. Just under the expected 'average', despite the wastage at the start of the period, and on the day when I forgot to turn it off. I had become quite accustomed to my daily filling of jugs, but Richard decided that the time had come to replace the pipes. So he measured carefully, bought the pipes and fittings, and one of our local teenage friends came to help.

It was more complex than they had expected - as tends to happen with this kind of project - but this is just after the meter was disconnected from the old underground pipes and connected to the new ones:

I'm no good with that kind of thing, and our young friend is strong, and flexible. She is also very interested in this kind of thing, and, being considerably younger than we are, has no problem getting up and down, attaching the new pipes neatly to the wall. 

They worked for about three hours on Tuesday afternoon, and another three or four hours on Wednesday morning. There were a few glitches when one of the fittings in the boiler room wasn't quite right, but eventually all was done. It seems very strange not turning the water off each morning, and I am still checking the daily usage... but it seems to be as it should be. Richard was evidently correct in his surmise that the underground pipes were leaking.  

In the next week or two, they are going to replace the guest flat piping in the same way.

Rain... and an unexpected flood

Several people told us that there was a lot of rain on September 6th when we returned from our UK visit. But by the time we arrived back the sky was clear and the ground mostly dry.  We didn't have to water the plants for a few days, but the temperatures remained fairly high and there was almost no more rain. just the odd shower once or twice.  

The Salt Lake - our friends told us - never quite dried out this summer. As I mentioned in the last post, in mid-September, when I started walking again with my friend Sheila, there was a fair amount of water in it. 

But with the lack of any more significant rain over the next few weeks, we began to wonder if the lake might in fact dry out by the end of October.  Each week there was noticeably less water, and although we knew flamingoes had arrived in Cyprus, we didn't see any. Friends who visited early in the month saw some in Oroklini, not far away, but evidently there wasn't enough water in the local Salt Lake. 

My brother and his family were due to arrive for a visit just over a week ago. The forecast looked very grim, with rain predicted for every day of their stay, and thunderstorms over the weekend. However, experience told us that when five days of heavy rain is expected, we might get one, maybe two. And even then, the rain is usually punctuated by sunshine.  Sure enough, although it rained on Sunday morning - the day after their arrival - it cleared up and stayed fine from mid-afternoon. That was good, as we had planned an outdoor evening get-together with a few friends. 

The following day, however, it was a different story. I managed to pop out to the local shops in between a couple of rain showers, and by lunch-time the rain was pouring down. 

We could see water running down the streets, although the drains seemed to be working so that there wasn't a river in the road; we would have expected to see one a decade or so ago. I kept checking our stairs, where there's often a leak with very heavy rain, and was pleased to note that there were just a few drips. Evidently our roof tiles, finally fixed a couple of years ago, were still keeping the water out.

So we had a cold lunch, and were chatting awhile before my brother said he thought he would pop downstairs to our guest flat. The rain had slightly abated so it seemed like a good time to go down. We were still clearing the table, when he said, 'There seems to be something leaking onto the sofa...' 

We went to investigate. Sure enough, there was a wet patch on the back of the sofa in the living room, and as we watched, another drip fell from the ceiling. 

Uh-oh. 

Richard shrugged. 'It's Cyprus,' he said. Heavy rain, he explained, can cause water to get in between the floors. There was nothing much we could do other than move the sofa out of the way and place a bucket under the drip.

'I suppose we should check whether something's leaking upstairs?' I suggested, a little tentatively. Years earlier we had a drip in about that place, and it was from a slow leak at the back of the toilet. 

So he went up the stairs, and quickly came down again. There was, he said, a pool of water pretty much covering the entire upstairs floor. 

Six years ago (I'm surprised it was that long!) we had a flood in our bedroom in the night, due to a small ball blocking the overflow of our balcony. For two or three years afterwards, we checked carefully, every time there was heavy rain, not wanting it to happen again. But we had pretty much forgotten about it, and were doing other things ...so didn't think to go upstairs or see whether the balcony was draining as it should last Monday.

A photo showing the rain on our balcony really doesn't do it justice. It must have been three centimetres deep: 

Richard splashed his way out and found that the overflow was blocked by bird mess, probably washed off the roof by the earlier rain. He used the end of a broom to clear it, and water started gushing out of the overflow, slowly draining the water from the balcony.

But the upstairs floor doesn't slope down to the door, so the next problem was trying to get rid of the water that was getting everywhere. Thankfully we don't put books or papers on the floors, and there's no carpet - everywhere in this house is tiled. The furniture is mostly solid wood, so we knew it wouldn't sustain damage if we could remove the water fairly quickly. But it wasn't a simple process. And really only one of us could work at a time. 

So I began, first with a broom, sweeping as much water as I could from the bedroom towards the door. It wasn't very effective.

I next fetched our wet/dry cleaning machine, which sucks water up effectively. I decided to start in Richard's study where - thankfully - the water hadn't quite reached the wires under his desk. And, even better, there aren't many wires on the floor nowadays, because of our Roomba vacuum cleaner which has a tendency to try to eat any wires it finds.

However the Bissell cleaning machine tank doesn't have a very big capacity. Maybe a litre. And with water over most of the floor, it filled up in a couple of minutes, so I had to empty it. It's quite back-aching work using it on the floor. So by the time I had emptied it half a dozen times, with no appreciable reduction of the water level in the room, I decided to leave that idea for a while.

More sweeping in the bedroom removed a bit more water, and I then went to fetch the old-fashioned mop and bucket, which turned out to be the most effective method. The bucket holds about ten litres so it took longer to fill up, and after a couple of buckets full, the study floor was looking almost dry. The  cleaning machine then worked pretty well to get rid of the last few puddles. 

One room done, and it had taken nearly forty-five minutes.

I did some mopping in our bedroom next, but was soon too tired and achey to continue, so, fifteen minutes or so later, Richard took over.  And, with a combination of sweeping, mopping and the wet/dry Bissell machine, taking it in turns, we did eventually get rid of most of the water. A few shoes had to be dried out, but the sun came out in the late afternoon, so that didn't take long. 

A beanbag, in the room we still refer to as our younger son's, absorbed a huge amount of water and had to be dried out over the next couple of days. One bookcase looks as though part of the base has been somewhat destroyed. But everything else is now fully dried out, and - as far as we can tell - undamaged.

So we're very thankful that my brother spotted the drip when he did, and that we decided to check upstairs before it got any worse.

The following morning, not only did the Salt Lake look almost full, but the flamingoes were there. The tiny pink dots on the right-hand side of the photo (which you might see if you click to enlarge it) are flamingoes.  We have no idea how they know when there's enough water for their needs. 

Restoration of Bathroom Renovation

 In my previous blog post, I mentioned that we were having some work done upstairs, and that I would write about it when it was complete. 

To introduce it, I need to backtrack six years, when we employed a local builder to remove the old-fashioned bathroom from our house and instal a new one, with an extractor fan, better lighting, and an altogether more modern appearance. We were very pleased with the result. 

Anyone who is curious to read more about it can check the lengthy post I wrote at the time about our bathroom renovation. 

However, about a week after we had been using the new shower regularly, I realised that a couple of the tiles around the tap didn't look quite the same as the rest. I thought I was imagining it at first. Then I wondered if we had somehow bought a box of tiles in a slightly different shade but hadn't noticed at the time. This theory was disproved when a third tile started changing colour. And we found some water on the floor. It wasn't just shower water that had splashed over; this was behind the bath, where there shouldn't have been any water.

And then we noticed some of the paint starting to bubble on one of the walls. We contacted the builder - I don't recall the time-frame, but it was probably some months after the renovation. He came back, and said that the bubbly paint was possibly due to the plaster not having dried out fully before it was painted. He was more concerned about the water and the different shades on the tiles, and he managed to find a joint that wasn't quite right. 

He said he had employed a plumber who rushed his work and had made some other mistakes. So he fixed this leaky pipe joint, and said he would talk to his brother - who is a plasterer - about getting the bubbly paintwork dealt with. 

Time passed. Not months but years.  If we were away for more than about a week, we returned to find that all the tiles were the same colour, but a couple of days later, with regular shower use, the ones around the taps turned back to the different shade.  And the patches with bubbly paintwork turned into large patches of bare wall, including one in the wall outside the bathroom which seemed to be getting worse and worse. 

The builder and his brother did come and look at the bathroom a couple of times, where the walls were getting worse, and said they would come back some time. But they're very busy with other work, and it didn't happen... and we didn't know anyone else who would be able to do the work. Word of mouth is the best way to find skilled handymen here, but unfortunately most of the people we knew with experience of this kind of thing had been disappointed (or worse). The people we used were some of the best locally. 

A young friend who had done some other work for us suggested that perhaps the sealant around the bath was causing the tile problems, and added some more. It looked good, but didn't seem to make any difference to the colour of the tiles. 

More years passed, with the pandemic stopping everything from happening, and finally we talked to another young friend, whom I will refer to as L, the son of some close friends who has worked with a builder in the UK, and did some excellent plastering for us downstairs. He doesn't particularly like working inside - his passion is horticulture - but he said he thought he could fix our problems working just an hour or two per day for a couple of weeks. 

This is what the wall outside the bathroom looked like when L had removed the radiator, and chipped away the loose plaster. He said the wall was very damp, so clearly there was a problem inside the wall, one which he could only tackle from the bathroom side. 

This was what the wall inside looked like: 

And this is the wall opposite, where plaster had fallen away but it was no longer damp, and it had stopped getting worse. The problem that caused this was that the exterior wall had been sucking in water; a year or so ago L had painted the outside wall, which stopped any more damp getting in.

A couple of days later, the tiles around the taps looked like this:

In pulling away the worst of the tiles, L discovered others that almost fell off the wall. 

The timing worked well, as there were no visitors in our guest flat during May, so we were able to go downstairs to shower. Not ideal, as the guest flat stairs are outside, but we were thankful to have that option while the bathroom was unusable. 

We were also very thankful to have discovered an almost-full box of the tiles. That meant we didn't need to try to find matching tiles, or - worse! - replace all the tiles. And in feeling around the plumbing, L found a place that was wet - a joint that had never properly been made, which was the cause of the leaking. At least, he hoped that was the only cause. He managed to fix it, and then we had to wait for everything to dry out. 

All seemed to be dry a week or so later, so he started plastering. First he used the mixture commonly used in Cyprus that looks to us more like concrete:

He plastered the other walls too, and then we had to wait for those to dry out. May was a good time for this to happen; it was warm but not yet humid, and we were able to use a small upright fan to help the process. 

Over the course of the next few days, further plastering happened. Then there was a big leap forward in terms of appearance ,when L called in his brother J to help with the tiling. 

Alex, who appears sporadically in this blog, assumed that the dust sheet was put there for his comfort, and tried to persuade us to turn on the taps to give him a drink. He was rather annoyed when we refused, not wanting any excess water until everything was complete. 

The walls opposite and outside were also being plastered, and sanded, and skimmed, and looked better than they had in years.

Since we were having all this done, and since our previous shower fittings had become quite corroded, we decided to splash out (so to speak) on new fittings, which improved the appearance significantly: 

I wouldn't have minded too much if we had had to change the colour of the bathroom walls, as the orange used six years ago was rather more vivid than I had anticipated. But when we found a half-full pot of the paint, it was an easy decision to use that rather than embarking on a complete re-paint. Richard and I did the painting (mostly Richard) and at last, over a month since it was started, our bathroom was back to how it was after the first renovation six years ago:

It was very good to be able to take a shower in our bathroom again after more than three weeks of having to go down two flights of stairs (one of them outside). We know we're very blessed to have options like this, but guests were expected for our flat early in June. 

Here's the wall next to the bath:

And here's the one opposite:

The only thing remaining was for L to cut some more skirting board pieces and fit them, which he did a few days later. 

We've been using the shower for nearly four weeks now, and are delighted - and relieved - that none of the tiles is showing any indication of changing colour, nor is any of the plaster bubbling or crumbling. And, as mentioned in the previous post, our Roomba has worked hard at eliminating the last of the plaster dust. L did an excellent job tidying and sweeping every day he came, after finishing, but inevitably there was fine dust that kept falling. 

We hope that this bathroom renovation will last considerably longer than six years, and appreciate it all the more after having been unable to use it for most of May.

An Extremely Wet Winter in Cyprus

At the end of October, I wrote about the first real rain of the season in Larnaka. It's always an occasion to mark in a country where drought is fairly frequent, and where there's virtually no rain for at least five months of the year.

In the winter of 2017-18, there were very few rainy days. The weather was mostly mild, and the nights not too chilly at all. We only used our extra-thick (13 tog) duvet for a few weeks, and I didn't get out my wheat bag at all.

The past few months have been a tremendous contrast. In November, it rained regularly. It was mostly at night, with sunshine in the daytime, which seemed like quite a good arrangement.  By December 1st, the Salt Lake was looking decidedly fuller, and the flamingoes were clearly in evidence.

December was even wetter, and it started raining in the daytime too. By January we had become used to regular rain. By mid-February, the island was looking greener than I could ever recall it being - and we've lived here for more than 21 years now.

It has been colder, too. We have used our double thickness duvet for nearly two months now, and heat up our wheat bag every night. Some early mornings it's been 8-10 degrees Celsius.  A couple of days ago it was only 5 degrees.

The water in the Salt Lake was higher than it had been for years:

Here's some of the greenery we saw at the side of the trail, mid-February:

A couple of days later - on another cloudy morning - I looked over a different part of the park; it was so green that it didn't look like Cyprus at all:

This morning we walked to the Airport Road end of the trail again - we've done so more often recently - and there was very little 'beach'.  The water was higher than I can recall it ever being before.

Today I saw an article saying that the past five months have been the second wettest period since 1901 (when, I assume, they started keeping records). 620mm (62cm, or just over two feet) doesn't sound like a whole lot, but is apparently 165% of the average annual rainfall for Cyprus.

I looked up the UK annual rainfall for the sake of comparison. The UK is typically considered a very wet country. Apparently Birmingham, where we used to live, has only 680mm rain per year.  London has just 592mm.  Cyprus in the past five months has been significantly wetter.

Last Summer the Water Board sent out dire warnings about restricted use of hose pipes, and on-the-spot fines for people seen washing their cars or patios using hoses. Of course people continued doing these things, mostly early in the morning or late at night, or on Sundays, when the police would not be around to report or fine them.  And we were still encouraged to use hoses on plants.

Now the reservoirs are fuller than they have been for a long time, with some of the dams overflowing.

I don't think there will be a hose pipe restriction in Cyprus this year!

The Peculiarities of Plumbing in Cyprus

One of the comments made, now and then, by friends or relatives visiting us in Cyprus is that the skyline is somewhat spoiled by all the water tanks and solar heating panels.  We've got used to them ourselves, after nearly twenty years living on the island, but they do have a point. This, for instance, is typical:

(If the image seems too small, clicking it should lead to a bigger, clearer view). 

Whereas in cooler countries, hot water tanks are usually indoors, and insulated with warm lagged jackets, in Cyprus they are outside, on the roof, and (so long as the sun is shining) water is heated by the large solar panels.

Cold water tanks seem very old fashioned to many who don't live in Cyprus, but for many years there was a severe drought on the island. When we moved here, mains water was only switched on a couple of times per week. So it was vital to have cold water storage tanks for use in between times.

Most kitchen taps are still equipped with both mains and tank water availability, with the mains (sometimes filtered) for drinking, and the tank water, hot and cold, for washing dishes. Our dishwasher and washing machine run from the tank, as made sense during the drought years. Nowadays, with recent rainy years and the functioning desalination plants, water is on almost all the time, and some people now have their machines attached directly to the mains water inlets.

Since our house is in two parts, with a separate flat underneath the main part where we live (fairly typical in Cyprus) we have four tanks in all.  The hot ones, fed from the larger cold ones above them, are heated by the solar panels.

The trouble with tanks being on the roof is that, despite being strong and long-lasting, they are at the mercy of the elements. The sun is very hot in summer, and in recent years the winds have been extremely strong at times in the winter.

Seven-and-a-half years ago, we had to have the guest flat cold water tank (the one nearest the edge) replaced, due to a serious leak in the side. We had the pump fixed too, and various other repairs, and everything worked nicely. It was a little frustrating that the hot water never seemed to stay hot for more than an hour or two in the evening, after the sun had gone down, and Richard muttered now and again about having some extra insulation. But we have an electric water heater to supplement the solar power, so we used that when we needed hot water in the evening, or before it had warmed up sufficiently in the morning.

Now and again we noticed that drips were starting again, and we called in plumbers - I think we've used three different ones now, maybe more - who repaired problems in pipes, or outlets, or, on occasion, the ballcocks that are supposed to regulate when the tank stops filling up.  The latter seems to be a common problem; one of our neighbours has a tank that overflows for short periods regularly, as can be seen by the marks down the side of the top tank:

Last year we realised that we were seeing were yet more drips, and they weren't just sporadic. We looked at them, and sighed, and said something had to be done. But it didn't seem like a huge problem and we didn't get around to it.

Then one day towards the end of the year, we had water not just dripping onto the balcony below the tanks, but pouring down. We called our friendly local plumber, who came pretty quickly and said that there were two issues. The guest flat hot water tank had developed a serious leak in one of the seams, and was spewing water out. That one was fairly easily fixed, which is good because some of the water was also leaking inside our roof and dripping through the bathroom ceiling.

However, the other hot water tank had a hole that couldn't be fixed, and needed to be replaced completely. But we couldn't have a tank off the shelf; it's pressurised and had to be built specially. So the plumber put in an order, and hoped it would be ready to install before Christmas.

Unsurprisingly, that didn't happen and we were in the UK with the family by the time Richard had a text message to say that the tank was ready.  By the time we were back in Cyprus, the plumber had too many other jobs, then Richard went away again.  Finally a date was arranged, only to discover that the company who had built the new tank had given up waiting for it to be claimed, and sold it to someone else.

But finally, a couple of weeks ago, the plumber arrived with a couple of other guys and the new tank. It took them a couple of hours to put it in place, and everything looked good. There was some slight confusion in that it looked, from the wiring, as if it was the guest flat tank and not the main house one... apparently both the wiring and the pipework are 'interesting'. As is not atypical in this country.

However, there were no more leaks for the rest of the day, and to our delight, the new tank is much better insulated than the old one was, meaning that the water is still hot enough for a shower even four hours after the sun has gone down on a chilly day.  It wasn't cheap having this new tank, but over a few years we should save quite a bit on our electricity bill.

The night after the new tank was installed, I thought I heard a drip, and saw a bit of a puddle on the balcony after dark. But it had been a cloudy day, and I thought perhaps it had rained. The following morning the balcony was dry, and there were no more drips for nearly a week.

However, we had people staying in our guest flat for that week. The day after they departed, there were more drips, which - as far we could tell - were coming out of the guest flat cold water tank, or possibly one of the pipes nearby.  Puddles were appearing yet again on the balcony:

I thought I could temporarily stop the drips by switching off the guest flat mains water, thinking it might be an overflow problem. So I did that... but it made no difference.

So Richard called the plumber, who came to take a look. He said it was an overflow problem, and the ballcock wasn't working. So he used a little stopcock valve next to the tank to stop water going into it. He was rather surprised to discover, when up the ladder, that there was no round cover at the top of the tank, so it's open to the air... but said he could replace that too, early next week.

The dripping stopped... for a couple of hours.

By evening, it had started again. This makes no sense at all, but then I couldn't understand how the tank could still be leaking when the mains water to it is switched off.  We now think there must be some serious problem with pressure somewhere in the system, in a way that I don't begin to understand.

Life is never entirely straightforward in Cyprus. 

Flamingoes at the Cyprus Salt Lakes, as winter approaches

We've lived in Cyprus for seventeen years, now. It should no longer come as a surprise that Summer gives way to Winter in a remarkably short space of time. But, somehow, I never expect it.

We had some rain during September, but it wasn't until about a week ago that a very heavy downpour, lasting at least half an hour, left some significant water in the Salt Lake:

A couple of days later, my friend Sheila commented that she had seen flamingoes. They are migratory birds, either from somewhere in the Middle East or Africa... and they always appear (as I mention every year) almost as soon as the Salt Lake has enough water to support them.

But... how on earth do they know when it's time to come to Cyprus? It's not as if it's the same date each year.

If anyone knows, please do leave a comment!

On Tuesday we walked towards the Airport Road rather than the aqueduct, so as to get a better view of these amazing pink birds - and sure enough, there was a row of them in the distance, which can just about be seen as pink dots (possibly better if you click the image to enlarge it)

The sky was a bit hazy in the early morning, but the reflections of the hills in the water were quite stunning. Alas, my camera doesn't capture them well, but this gives a general idea:

Is it really getting cold? It seems that way to me,  although the daytime temperatures are still hovering at about 20C. In the house it's cooler; I switched from shorts to jeans about three weeks ago, and today am wearing a sweatshirt too.

I put the 'thin' duvet on our bed about two weeks ago, when the night temperatures dropped from mid-twenties (Celcius) to about 17-18. That might not sound cold, but we definitely needed some kind of cover, more than just a sheet or duvet cover.

A couple of days ago, I switched to the 'warm' duvet cover.  The kittens like the duvet very much...and so do we! 

Winter bedding plants in Cyprus

At the start of the month, I wrote about attempting to grow a cyclamen... something we've had surprising difficulty with, considering that they grow wild here in so many places.  In the course of the post, I mentioned that I was choosing a few 'bedding plants for the winter season'. 

It was not until a long-term blogging buddy, known to his public as Anvilcloud, commented on my post that I realised how much I had changed, culturally, in the past fifteen years or so. 

The comment said: "Putting in bedding plants for the winter is a mightily exotic idea."

Which, indeed, it was for me, too. In the UK, we put bedding plants out around May, and hope that they might last till the end of September... if we're lucky.  Here in Cyprus, by contrast, the summer heat is usually too extreme for bedding plants, so by the end of June or so, most of them have given up no matter how thoroughly I water them. 

So instead, as I had learned within the first few years of living here, the best time to put bedding plants out is in the Autumn or early winter. It seemed strange at first, oddly upside down and, indeed, rather exotic. Apparently I have finally got so used to the idea that it now seems normal. 

I'm not very adventurous with plants; there aren't a huge variety of bedding plants available, and I've tried some that didn't survive no matter what I did. I automatically rule out any that are daisy-shaped too... not that I dislike them in other people's gardens, but they too easily become tall and ragged here, losing some of the many petals.  I prefer more interesting shaped flowers, like petunias and antirrhinums and geraniums. 

I haven't had to buy geraniums for a while, because they self-seed and some of them survive right through the summer, but I did have to cut out a lot of withered ones this year. I placed a petunia and a pansy next to one of them:

Here's another pansy. Or maybe a viola, or even a polyanthus.... I'm not sure what the difference is. They don't do particularly well here but I've had them last a few months, and I do like the variegated shades: 

In another planter I put a couple more purple petunias, and also a small purple plant which I think is alyssum - we tried one last year and it did surprisingly well. It's quite low maintenance and mixes well with other plants: 

I watered them carefully for a couple of days, as did the visitors staying in our guest flat. God gave them a good watering too, and I somewhat forgot about them for a few days... but happily they all seem to have survived my neglect. At least, so far.

I did remove a few snails I found after the rain, and have been putting used coffee grounds around them in the hope of deterring future molluscs... but I don't know how effective it is. If it doesn't deter them, my concern is that the caffeine might make them more lively.... 

One of the petunias is looking very pretty in purple and white stripes:

And this pansy (or viola or whatever) is still flourishing:

As is this one, standing tall and stately in the sunshine: 

The planter with the probably allysum seems to be doing well too:

In fact the only things that haven't survived are a couple of antirrhinums which I put outside the front door. Perhaps they had just too much sunshine. Not that I've had much success with anything in that particular location. I wonder sometimes if the cats sit on plants there, and thus squash them.

An added bonus was to see that our bougainvillea, while never enormous, is back in bloom again, with both pink and white bracts:

Another early morning walk by the Salt Lake

I realise that people who follow this Cyprus blog regularly may be getting a little bored with my regular mention of early morning walks and sunrises. So I did hesitate awhile before deciding on today's photos and post.  Perhaps, if I had not been challenging myself to write daily, I might not have posted yet more photos on this topic. 

But early morning walks are giving me a new appreciation of the talent of the Master Artist, and it seems only fair to share a tiny fraction of the beauty as captured (a poor imitation) by my camera.  

This morning one of the ladies staying in our guest flat joined Sheila and me at 6.00, shortly after it was light; she wanted a good walk and had not yet been to the Salt Lake trail. It was almost chilly.. but not yet cool enough to add a long-sleeved top or jeans to my usual tee-shirt and shorts. 

The sky wasn't red this morning (so perhaps it won't rain today...). But there were large puddles on ground, in places which had dried up over the summer.  There was also an attractive pink to the early morning sky, although I really took this picture for the sake of the pool which - if the rain continues - will spread out and join the Salt Lake to make it seem much bigger over the winter.

Ten minutes or so later the cloud formations were a different and the sky turning to orange:

While this wasn't as awesome as the sunrise I mentioned at the end of October, but it was still rather attractive:

I do like the way that digital photos enable me to point the camera right at the sun while looking in the little viewfinder at the back, so I can take photos of this sort quite safely. 

Unpredictable Cyprus weather in January

One doesn't, of course, expect warm weather in the Northern hemisphere during January. But Cyprus is renowned for having plenty of sunshine. We wear two or three layers of clothing during the daytime, sleep under a warm duvet at night, and run our central heating morning and evening, although sometimes it doesn't even cut in because the house is already warmer than 15C. I really don't mind January at all, in general.

Just over a week ago, it was a gorgeous day. Richard was out, and my friend Sheila suggested a walk, without any children. We went to the Salt Lake trail, and saw the flamingoes looking very pink:

After the amount of rain we've had, the Salt Lake is looking quite full this year. We walked for a little over an hour, and felt distinctly warm by the time we returned. I even took my fleece off during the walk, although I had to put it on again shortly after returning home. Even after fourteen years, I still find it odd that it's often warmer outside than in.

During last week, however, the temperatures plummeted. A couple of times it got as low as 3C overnight. It was no more than 12 during the daytime, and we had to run the heating a couple of times in the middle of the day just to stop ourselves from shivering.

Cleo is very much enjoying Richard's sabbatical, and keeps warm by sitting on him any time he's home. She likes his black chair, too, which nicely camouflages her - or so she thinks:

Sophia curls up in a tight ball wherever she happens to be sleeping, which is not very photogenic, but Tessie isn't quite so used to sleeping on beanbags, and was happy to pose when the sun came out:

There has been a lot more rain, too. The reservoirs are fuller than they have been for a long time, and some of the dams are even overflowing. Most of the island's water comes from the snow (in the mountains) melting in the spring, so it's very good news that we have so much water already.

But I was glad to wake up to some sunshine this morning, even though it's still a bit cold.

Roof holes and loft insulation in Cyprus

It has been a recurring theme of this blog that, when it rains (mostly in the winter in Cyprus), the roof leaks. Not over anything that matters too much, thankfully, but a steady stream over the (uncarpeted) stairs. It had almost become a way of life - when the sky turned grey, I went to fetch a bucket and the cool box to catch the worst of it.

A little over a year ago, after some other leaks had developed, Richard and his sailing buddy Tim P (The P distinguishes him from our son Tim) went on the roof and mended some of the holes they found. They stopped the bathroom leak; but, sadly, their efforts did not fix the one problem we have had ever since moving into our house - the leak over the stairs. Tim P did comment that there was a huge amount of bird mess on the roof, and he wanted to clean it off. We could not imagine how it would help; if anything, I thought that it would help to plug holes in the tiles!

Richard has kept studying the roof, off and on, and we - like a few others who have crawled on our roof - could not understand where the hole could be. And, while there is some loft space above our bathroom, where Richard did manage to spot one of the holes a year ago, the area where the leak was happening was inaccessible.

So, early in December, Richard decided that the only way to solve the problem was to cut a hole into the loft area that he could not reach. If nothing else, he thought that perhaps he could affix some kind of membrane inside the roof, to channel the water out when the next heavy rain happened. Here's the area - beautifully panelled - above our stairs, which he decided to cut into:

He had not been sure how to do it without making a mess; but Tim P had bought a useful tool for the boat, which enables holes to be cut without first cutting into the piece to be removed. So Richard borrowed it, and set to work:

It made such a dreadful noise that there was no way I could stay and take further photos. Even Richard, who tolerates loud noises better than I do, went to fetch some ear defenders. But the eventual access hole looked like this: 

To his surprise, he found that there was already a membrane inside the roof - unusual in Cyprus, but then the guy who built our house did it very well, on the whole. That cast a whole new light on the leak problem. The hole in the roof could be anywhere - it was being channelled down to the lowest point, which was, indeed, where our leak was happening. 

Richard also noted that it was very cold up there, and thought that it might be a good opportunity to put some loft insulation in - also not common in Cyprus.

The hole remained for a week or two, then he bought some hinges and other fittings, and made a very tidy job of turning the removed panel into a door: 

A couple of weeks ago, after a few dry days, he and Tim P went back onto the roof again. They searched thoroughly, but simply could not find any holes. They talked about using some special sealant to pour over the tiles, which would plug any small leaks, but Tim said, while they were there, he wanted to clean away the awful bird mess. So they borrowed the hose from the boat, and attached it to ours, and cleaned away a vast amount of - mostly ancient - bird mess, bits of bird nests, and other gunk.

The following day, it rained torrentially. I put out the bucket to catch the leak... and there was no leak.

It rained overnight, steadily, for several hours. We were not awoken by drips on the stairs... and when I got up, they were completely dry.

Apparently, the bird mess had formed some kind of dam on the roof which was catching water that then dripped through the tiles. Getting rid of this meant that the rain simply slid off the tiles as it was supposed to, and any small cracks did not cause problems.

It was like a miracle!

So, Richard found somewhere that sold loft insulation - the pink fibreglass stuff that we've used in the UK - and last weekend, they cut and fitted it. It didn't take all that long, but left a lot of dust which I've swept away and mopped.. but at night my throat seems to get scratchy and tickly even now, a week later. It's so cold that we don't want to leave windows open... so I've suggested that they don't do any more insulation until the spring.

Has it made the house any warmer? Hard to tell, really. On a cold day, houses in Cyprus just do feel cold... I'm sitting here wearing two sweaters and a fleece, and while not as cold as I was at our old house (we do have good double glazing here, and central heating that we run for a couple of hours, at about 14-15C morning and night) I'm still not warm. 

Lots of rain in Cyprus... and lots of mosquitoes too

Every cloud, as they say, has a silver lining. And sometimes it seems as if the reverse is true. We've had one of the wettest winters I can remember in Cyprus, in the past couple of months. Oh, there has been plenty of sunshine, and the daytime temperatures haven't been TOO cold. We keep having a week or two when it's mostly dry and sunny, then out of the blue, yet more rain.

Today it came on to pour just after lunch. For about five minutes, it was absolutely torrential, and even included some hailstones:

I was glad not to be outside in it. Glad, too, that the reservoirs are filling up, and the water table doing better, and that, with the new desalination plants currently being built, water shortages in Cyprus should (probably) be a thing of the past.

So, the clouds in Cyprus do indeed have a wonderfully silver lining. But the resultant rain brings another problem, which I hinted at when I wrote about going for a walk to the Aqueduct.

Yes. All this rain, and relatively mild temperatures means that there are also more mosquitoes than I can remember at any time of year, let alone January. We don't normally expect them at this time of year at all. But for the last few nights, I've been awakened by that annoying bzzzzzzzzzzz in my ear more than once. I've been here long enough that mosquito bites no longer cause pain or even itching, but it was a bit of a shock to discover, yesterday morning, just how many bites I had on my face.

Today there were even more. I look almost as if I have chicken-pox. I even took a very unflattering photo of myself, enlarging the middle area to demonstrate my current spottiness:

And there are more on my forehead:

There are some on my arms, too. None of them itch, but they're not very pretty.

This morning I did manage to squash THREE mosquitoes that were resting on the bedroom wall, low enough for me to hit them. While I don't like destroying any living creature, I'm afraid I have no compassion for mozzies. Particularly since it was evident on their demise that they had, indeed, been biting me...