Day 397: Calypso’s Isle

01.02.10: When they say slow boat, they mean it! It was 11am before we reached port in Girne in the northern half of Cyprus. Northern half? What, like in St. Martin/Sint Maarten? Well, kind of, but in a much less hilarious fashion... Warning – history lesson alert!! You can skip this bit if you like... Back in the mists of time, Cyprus was ruled by a succession of all the usual suspects in the area – Assyria, then Egypt, Persia, Greece, Rome and eventually the Byzantines... that was up until Richard The Lionheart turned up like a great big flowery nonce and gave the island to his 'friend' Guy de Lusignan. That was good for Cyprus for a while, having a 'guy' in charge who was good with colours helped with the aesthetics no end and before long, Cyprus was enjoying a golden age. That golden…

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Day 398: Branson’s Pickle

02.02.10: Dragged my carcass off Zafer's couch a few minutes after seven, said my thank yous and goodbyes and soon enough I was down at the port clambering onto the fast ferry back to Turkey. And twist my nipples and call me Frank what a fast ferry it was. While the Calypso had taken a good eleven hours to cross the sea to Cyprus, the fast ferry took under two hours to get back. If only these hydrofoil things existed elsewhere... I could have been to Crap Verde and back within a day! The return leg from Mauritius would have taken a six days, not six weeks! The Caribbean?! Oh, if only...! Excuse me, Mr Branson, once you've quite finished fleecing the British commuter of every penny to travel on your disgustingly over-priced train 'services' (you know, the ones that actively punish the spontaneous and bereaved…

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