It’s the summer holidays and with no trip to the U.K. this year, empty weeks stretch ahead of us – with the risk of bored, hot, irritable children. So we decided to go to Troodos. The cool mountain air would offer a perfect respite from the stifling heat of the coast.
We decided to walk the Trooditissa nature trail that begins near the Trooditissa monastery. It would take us 3.5km to the Chantara waterfalls, where we’d have a picnic, a dip in the water, then walk 3.5km back to the car. This seemed a totally realistic plan. Except for one thing: Troodos walks never EVER go to plan when we have anything to do with them.
There was the time when we all forgot to put on proper shoes and attempted to walk the Artemis trail in flip flops. We failed and tried a ‘short cut’ back to the car up a massive ski slope. It was not short. There was the time we tried to reach the summit of Mount Tripylos and failed because Goobie wanted to talk to every lizard along the way and it took two hours to walk 1km. Then a storm swept in and we had to leg it back to the car. And then there was the time Goobie needed a mountain poo and Matt dropped his glasses in it. I could go on.
I will call these FFS events.
I warned my friend Laura about the high risk of FFS events on a walk with us in Troodos, but she and her daughters came anyway.
Things went wrong before I even reached Troodos.
FFS #1: I’d forgotten Herc’s sling. Big mistake! For hiking, the sling is ESSENTIAL. I can walk miles carrying Herc in the sling as all the weight is on my hips. But without it I’m stuffed.
Oh well, I thought, at least it will be cooler in Troodos.
FFS #2: it was bloody boiling in Troodos. I stepped out of the air-conditioned car and was smacked in the face by a wall of heat. There was a slight breeze but it felt sarcastic.
I looked along the trail ahead of me as it zigzagged down the mountainside. The view was phenomenal. Mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with trees. We breathed in the smell of pine – delicious!
Goobie and his friends ran ahead down the track. Herc tried to keep up, whooping with excitement.
Thank god, I thought. It’s all downhill. Perhaps Herc can walk all the way there.
FFS #3: Realising that what goes down must come up. I’d be walking back up this mother in a few hours’ time.
FFS #4: 50m along the track, Herc’s knackered and wants to be carried.
But at least it was downhill. My arm muscles started to burn but my legs were doing okay.
Things quickly began to feel very hot and I began to worry that I hadn’t packed enough water. But my rucksack was heavy enough and my head made up ridiculous scenarios of drinking the stream water at the waterfalls. After filtering it with a water filter I didn’t own. FFS.
I looked ahead down the mountainside. The trail snaked through a forest of tall pines. At least we’d be in the shade soon.
FFS #5: There was no shade. Due to some weird scientific phenomenon, there was hardly any shade on the trail, despite it being surrounded on all sides by bloody great trees. How is that even possible??? It isn’t. Except it was.
We were roasting.
Sweat trickled down my top, tickling my skin. But I couldn’t wipe it away because of the bloody great toddler in my arms.
It was time to take a stand. Or a sit-down, actually.
There are benches along the trail that look out over stunning view points. I put Herc down and took a seat. Ah!
While the adults rested, the children, for reasons known only to themselves, started to climb an unclimbable and crumbly rock face. But they didn’t trigger a landslide so we let them continue.
Herc discovered a game of his own. Finding rocks and lobbing them over the edge of the mountain. It was a steep drop and provided a satisfying crash some distance below.
We continued our walk and Herc walked too, distracted by his game.
FFS #6: Herc started trying to throw boulders the size of his head over the edge and nearly threw himself over as well. I got the Mummy-Wobbles and asked him to stop. He cried. And wanted to be carried.
We spotted loads of lizards along the way and intriguing burrows. Though I didn’t see any birds. I wonder why?
As we neared the Chantara waterfalls, I found an excellent strategy for getting Herc to walk. It’s called the Peppa Pig quiz. Herc loves Peppa Pig almost as much as he loves being carried. I put him down and immediately asked him a Peppa Pig question before he had time to realise that he was walking.
‘Who do you prefer? Grampy Rabbit or Suzy Sheep?’
‘Who do you want to see? Edmund Elephant or Daddy Pig?’
Who do you love? Buggery Mr Bull or Bollocky Mrs Bat?’
And thus it continued.
FFS #7: it was a riveting conversation.
But it worked.
And pretty soon the trees started to close in and we were walking through actual shade. In the distance we could hear the roar of the Chantara waterfalls.
Suddenly the sun disappeared as a small cloud moved across it. Ah, the relief! Thank you little cloud.
And then I noticed that this little cloud looked a tad . . . dirty.
‘Ha ha! Look at that!’ I said to Laura. ‘A rain cloud! It’s going to rain.’
I was, of course, joking. I’ve lived in Cyprus for five years and know that it never EVER rains in August.
FFS #8: it started to rain.
Really.
Due to some weird scientific phenomenon.
But it was only spitting and as we walked under the tree canopies surrounding Chantara waterfalls, we forgot all about it.
I’ll admit, I’ve never bothered to visit the falls before because I thought they were small and secondary to the Caledonia and Myllomeris waterfalls. How wrong I was. The Chantara waterfalls were beautiful!
The Chantara waterfalls are 8 metres tall and as impressive, in my opinion, as the others. The main waterfall falls in two streams on either side of a massive bulge of rock. I wondered what these falls looked like during the rainy season when they’d be fuller.
The children ran to them, chucked off their shoes and splashed around in the water. The pool beneath the fall on the right was deeper than the one on the left. I decided to save full submersion in the deeper pool for after our picnic but, for now, put my head under the other fall. The water was deliciously cool as it ran through my hair and down my back. Wonderful!!
We sat on boulders by the falls and ate our picnic. I felt my over-heated body begin to cool down. I looked out across the stream that ran from the falls and through the trees. It had been worth the slog to get here. It was a really pretty spot.
The children were happily playing. And I got a chance to have a proper conversation with Laura FROM BEGINNING TO END. No interrupting child, no Peppa Pig, no blazing sun.
Ah! I smiled. This is wonderful. What a fabulous idea to come here.
FFS #9: And then it started pissing with rain. And I don’t mean a dribbly last-wee-before-a-long-car-journey piss. I mean a drinking-10-pints-and-discovering-all-the-loos-are-locked-in-the-train-home piss.
It was a torrent and it was determined to soak us even through the tree canopy.
I mean, really?? In August????
But I’m used to this. I hail from the UK, Land of Summer Washouts. Plus, I hadn’t come all this way carrying a toddler in the Cyprus sun just to turn back because of a drenching.
And we had the top set of waterfalls to explore yet.
So we climbed the wet, slippery steps up the side of the main waterfalls to discover what was at the top.
With any luck there would be nothing much at the top and we could head back without any disappointment that the rain had ruined our visit.
FFS #10: it was bloody beautiful at the top.
There were two small but picturesque waterfalls that fed into a gorgeous pool. A pool that, half an hour ago, I would have loved to swim in. If anything, the raindrops on the water made it even more beautiful.
I took a gazillion photos.
SPLOSH! What was that?
FFS #11: Herc had fallen in.
He’d slipped off the rock he was standing on and managed to fully submerge himself in one-foot of water. Fully clothed.
And after our drenching, the cool stream water no longer felt refreshing. Herc wailed.
I hoiked him out and cuddled him in the pouring rain.
‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured him, ‘Mummy has a change of clothes for you.’
I rummaged through the bag.
FFS #12: Mummy had left his change of clothes at home.
But I’d remembered to pack Goobie’s change of clothes. I looked around for a place to change Herc that was dry and flat.
FFS #13: nowhere was dry.
FFS #14: and my Nikon camera was getting wet.
Wet camera? Wet child? Who to rescue first?
I stuffed my camera into the bottom of my rucksack and put it under an anorexic bush, the only one around.
I turned to Herc and started stripping off his wet clothes. Bits of wet forest stuck to his wet skin. I pulled Goobie’s t-shirt over his head and turned my attention to changing his soaked nappy. He was screaming. I frantically searched for a place to lie him down.
FFS #15: there was nowhere
FFS #16: I’d have to change him standing up
I applaud any parent who can do a stand-up nappy change. I’m rubbish at them. The nappy usually ends up tearing and the leg elastic disappearing up Herc’s bum-crack.
As the rain poured on our heads, I struggled to do up Herc’s nappy, the side tabs pinging off just as I’d got the other one fastened. Herc shrieked as his dry t-shirt got wetter and wetter.
FFS #17: My rucksack was being pummelled by rain. The bush it was under doing nothing to protect it. My Nikon!!!!
I pulled nappy elastic out of Herc’s bum-crack and one of the nappy tabs broke.
And so did I.
‘THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!!!!!’ I wailed.
Eventually I got the nappy on, prized dry over-sized shorts over wet forest-encrusted feet. I stuffed the t-shirt into the waistband and somehow the shorts stayed up. But Herc was a pathetic sight.
FFS #18: I never got to swim in that idyllic pool.
We legged it out of there. Back down the slippery steps, back across the slippery bridge and back onto the Trooditissa nature trail. My wet rucksack stuck to my back, my wet toddler stuck to my front, my wet pants stuck up my bum-crack.
FFS #19: We were all cold. In Cyprus, in August, at the hottest time of the year.
FFS #20: and we had 3.5km of uphill walking back to the car. Carrying a cold, wet, tired boy who would not be coaxed into walking with a Peppa Pig quiz.
But we retraced our steps with surprising speed. Being cold had its advantages.
FFS #21: Until the sun came out and roasted us alive.
Argh, the last couple of kilometres back to the car were horrendous. Herc refused to let Laura carry him. Soon my arm muscles gave out and I sat him on my shoulders.
I hadn’t brought enough water and my head started thumping. I was convinced that each bend in the trail was the final bend that would take us to the car. But it never was.
We walked around a squillion of these bends before I FINALLY spotted the dirty peeling grey paintwork of the Land Rover.
Never was there a finer sight.
It’s quite simple. Hire a pack-horse with a fan stuck to one ear and an umbrella stuck to the other.
Oh and never EVER attempt a Troodos hike without the bloody toddler sling (unless you’re hiking without a bloody toddler). The roasting, the drenching, the forest-stuck-to-the-body, the bum-cracks – all would have been bearable if I’d had the sling.
Despite all this, I enjoyed visiting the Chantara waterfalls. They really are beautiful. The Trooditissa nature trail is a good track and well-signposted, so don’t be put off by my tale of woe (unless you have a toddler and no toddler sling). If I go again in summer I’ll probably drive the whole way to the falls and skip the hike. I want to swim in that pool.
My Nikon survived.
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