Next morning I could not resist taking another look at Old Paphos, and accordingly made my way to the heights behind the village, in order to impress the charming landscape as deeply as possible upon my memory. The morning air was delightfully fresh, the far-reaching coast was fringed with narrow lines of foam left by the rippling water, but the sea itself lay heavy and motionless as a sheet of metal. The mountains were partially concealed by a misty veil, only the village being clearly seen surrounded by its verdant fields.

On returning I entered the little coffee-house, which on the preceding day had afforded me by no means bad accommodation. The master sat before the door smoking his chibouk. He immediately, respectfully, made room for me, and I sat a short time conversing with him by signs. On recommencing our journey, we walked for about a mile along the sea-shore, after which we turned more inland and entered a myrtle copse. The farther we advanced the more luxurious the country became. The undergrowth of bushes was interspersed with wild roses, orchids, and many luxuriant flowers, the varied colours of which enlivened the green grass over which our course lay. Here we encountered some women engaged in cutting off the heads of thistles. Hussein begged a handful of these in order to let me taste the seeds, which he shelled out from the husks. I found them rather dry but not bad to eat; in fact, almost all the vegetables in the island afford something edible. A grey-headed old woman sold us some wild artichokes, and told us to eat them raw, but they were too coarse to be palatable.[14] The old dame was dressed after the Turkish fashion, and kept her face closely veiled.

Our path now lay through a deep dell, and was covered with brushwood, while around us were cypresses, olives, and various fruit-trees, but all utterly neglected. A hundred thousand people might find ample sites here for most delightful residences. As I was walking along, I trod upon a snake. It was of a grey colour marked with black rings, about a foot and a half long, and as thick as my arm. A powerful scent of melons was perceptible here and there, and on seeking for the cause, I found it came from some yellow berries, which grew upon a, to me, strange plant. The underwood was full of game, and many birds whose names were unknown to me were flying about. One, I especially noticed, which closely resembled a jay, but was more brilliantly marked with blue and red.

According to my map we ought to have passed through three villages. Hussein, however, either knew a shorter way or participated in my love for solitude. Not a single village did we see; but we got a glimpse of Adimu at a great distance. Hussein, instead of taking me right over the heights of Old Kurion brought me again into the plain, assuring me most confidently that there was nothing to be seen there but a couple of large stones. Ross informs us that twenty years ago he saw there the remains of an ancient race-course, and the foundations, and some fragments of pillars belonging to the Temple of Apollo Hylades. Except these, my guide declared there is no longer the slightest trace of these structures left visible. I well believe it, for during the last few years all seem to have been bent upon removing the last remnants of antiquity left in Cyprus, as though anxious to make the work of destruction complete. Whenever a building is to be erected either in Syria or in Egypt, it is to Cyprus they come for stone, taken from her old walls and bridges.

Right under the rock of Kurion, and not far from Episkopi, we came again to the sea, which, during the day, had so often delighted us. As we wound round the rocks, it sometimes seemed as though its laughing blue waters, enclosed between the far extending capes, was contained in an enormous bowl.

Cesnola tells us, that, along the southern coast of the island are several guard-houses, built near the shore, on elevated ground, some of which, now dismantled and roofless, are of Turkish construction, and two or three hundred years old. Most of them appear to have been erected for the protection of the neighbouring villages against Algerine pirates, who, not more than sixty years ago, were daring enough to land and carry off wealthy inhabitants, and to detain them until the required ransom was paid.

From the heights above Episkopi one could see the long chain of mountains, looking as if they had been carefully folded one behind the other. The whole peninsula had the appearance of a great plank, both ends of which sloped off into the sea. In ancient times it was named Kurias, and belonged to a town of the same name, built upon the neighbouring sandstone rock.

The hills are situated at the beginning of the peninsula, just where the stream Lycos discharges itself into the sea, amid thickets of orange and other fruit trees, above which the slender stems of lofty palm-trees rear themselves gracefully into the air. Everywhere among the houses and gardens little brooks make their way through the fruitful plain. I could almost suppose the ancient Kurion, must have been situated here, and that the rock above us was merely its acropolis.

Hussein left us in this beautiful spot whilst he went into the town to seek a lodging; the inhabitants were of a much higher grade than at Paphos. The Turks find everything here that their hearts desire—quiet, green trees, and murmuring streams. Several little groups of veiled women passed us with dark brown eyes gleaming above the covering of their faces. I was informed that the Turks, who principally inhabited this beautiful place, finding a scarcity of women, had imported all these dark-faced beauties from Egypt.

After we had wasted some time, Hussein came back with the news that the Greek population of Episkopi were so poor that we could procure neither beds, food, nor wine. The Turkish houses were all full; nobody appeared willing to receive us, and to quarter ourselves upon them uninvited was out of the question. Notwithstanding the episcopal name of the town, so far from there being any bishop there, the Turks had driven all the Greek priests out of it, leaving only a few poor huts at the disposal of the Christian population, and even the occupants of these could not receive a stranger without permission of their Turkish neighbours.