The Cypriotes are in general a frugal people, and when travelling, can accommodate themselves to almost every exigency. More than once during my excursions in the island I have found on entering a small village, some wealthy merchant of my acquaintance, seated cross-legged on the threshold of a hut, with a straw tray, resembling the lid of a basket, placed before him, on which were a few black olives, a hard piece of brown bread, and some sour milk, apparently enjoying his repast. It is no uncommon thing to find the muleteer seated opposite the merchant, eating from the same dish, and drinking from the same jug, a glass being in the interior of the island considered a useless luxury.
Whilst giving our readers the benefit of the above interesting particulars we cannot refrain from quoting General Cesnola’s own account of his summer residence in the interior of the island. The question of the possibility of enjoying life in our new possession is now so much discussed, that the testimony of a gentleman, who has recently resided in the island for ten years must carry much weight.
“On the occasion of a visit to Nikosia, the capital of the island, I had passed a night in the village of Dali, which is about half way between Nikosia and Larnaka, and had remarked on its outskirts, a grove of lemon and orange trees, amidst which nestled a small white cottage, connected with several outbuildings. This, I decided, might be converted into a pleasant retreat, and soon induced the proprietor to cede it to us for small remuneration, during the hot season. This he did the more readily, as the peasants live almost entirely out of doors from June to September, it rarely ever happening that a drop of dew, and almost never a drop of rain, falls during these months. The Cypriotes place their beds under the trees, making the branches of the latter do duty as clothes press and larder. They will frequently throw a handkerchief on the ground and lay their infants to sleep upon it, satisfied that neither moisture nor creeping thing will harm the child, for Dali is wonderfully free from noxious reptiles.
“This simple abode became our summer resort for several years. It was surrounded by about six acres of ground, laid out in alleys of lemon and orange trees, and the favourite caisha,[9] from the blossoms of which exhaled a delightful perfume. Two noble walnut-trees overshadowed the traditional alakah,[10] and extended their shade to our out-of-door saloon, where we sat the day long, reading, writing, and chatting with the grateful breeze, at all hours coming through the long verdant alleys, hung with luscious fruit. A small rivulet of the purest water found its way from cold sources to the feet of these walnut-trees, the broad leafy branches of which formed the ceiling of our drawing-room, and being blocked by a pile of rough stones, tumbled, cascade fashion, into a basin, scooped out to receive it, which served as our wine cooler and refrigerator. We soon adopted the housekeeping system of the peasants, and hung our plate baskets and table linen among the trees; and spreading out the thick mats of the country with a wooden settle dining-table and some rough chairs, we soon arranged a dining-hall, where our Turkish attendants served us with as much attention as if at a state dinner, though not with quite the same ceremony. A little further on a few Turkish rugs and divans formed the reception room of state for the notables of Dali, consisting of an old cadi, an illiterate Greek priest, and three wealthy Turks of Potamia, who inhabited what was once a royal palace, and the summer residence of the Lusignan queens.”