Not Just an Ordinary Birthday

Or how Cyprus is becoming a new home

‘If you want to get to know people better, look at how they celebrate the holidays,’ I once heard someone say, though I didn’t pay it much attention at the time. People reveal themselves through their creativity and their work, I thought. Yesterday completely changed my views on this matter and made me reflect deeply on life. On life in Cyprus…

My beloved child’s birthday. How is it celebrated in Russia? I can identify three main types of celebration. The first – the simplest, dating back to Soviet times – involves the parents of the ‘newborn’ inviting their friends and laying on a spread in the style of a ‘New Year’s feast’ — 90 per cent of the effort involved in preparing the ‘event’ goes into buying food, roasting a duck, stuffing eggs and so on. Guests arrive with children of various ages, present gifts and offer their congratulations… As long as everyone is sober, everything is proper, dignified and a little stiff. The children are often sent to another room, where a table has also been laid for them – complete with the obligatory children’s champagne and the equally obligatory mind-blowing canapés served in crystal.

‘Mum, Mum, they won’t let me play hide-and-seek over there,’ a little girl tugs at her mum’s sleeve.

‘Go on, darling, have a word with them – tell them to let you join in the game, or find something else to play,’ says her mum, who’s too busy; she’s already ‘had’ a couple of glasses and can’t wait to have a bit of a flirt with her husband’s colleague sitting next to her. It’s not for nothing that she’s put on her best dress and even popped to the hairdresser’s, is it?!

The atmosphere heats up, toasts follow one after another – all in honour of the children and their parents – and finally, DANCING! The adults are having a great time, and they’ll be lucky if they even remember the children by the time dessert comes round, when it’s time to light the candles on the cake…

The second option is a high-budget affair. A hall is hired at the ‘Viking’, with professional clowns, a show featuring a python and a fire-eater, professional lighting and music; the children sit at their own table, the adults at theirs. Toasts, congratulations, photos… The children are dressed in extremely expensive suits and dresses, as are their mums; the dads modestly compare their car keys, lying on the table next to their mobiles. Important conversations take place on the sidelines – introductions, business cards, condescending glances… The show goes on; the children watch the python, the mums watch the fire-eater, the dads order whisky… I find such events stifling and depressing.

Some parents act as entertainers themselves, organising a puppet show for the children and getting the guests involved. But then the hosts are busy, the guests get bored, and the children only have fun when their parents know how to organise a party.

I never thought a birthday could be any different. Like this…

Simone – the daughter of Inna, who is Russian, and Yiannos, who is Cypriot – turned five. Her parents gathered all her daughter’s classmates, along with their parents, as well as their own family and friends, in a small Greek tavern. It was – as if on cue – the first warm, truly summery day after a week of cold and rain. The tavern is situated on the road to the upmarket district of Peia, on the outskirts of Paphos. It offers a wonderful view of the sea. There’s an outdoor children’s play area on the premises. Irina, the children’s entertainer, is already at her post. She keeps the children occupied whilst their parents look around, get to know one another and chat. Inside, at a table, sit Simona’s grandparents. They look like ordinary pensioners. I’ve seen her grandfather a few times – he sometimes picks little Simona up from school. It turns out that her grandfather was, no less, a bodyguard to Archbishop Makarios himself – the first president of Cyprus.

New guests arrive. Gifts, congratulations, jokes, laughter. Stas with his wife and daughter. We introduce ourselves and shake hands. Not a trace of awkwardness, despite my innate introversion. No one pries into your private life – what do you do, where do you live, why are you in Cyprus? Many people here have a complicated backstory – why ask unnecessary questions? Not once did I see car keys on the table or in anyone’s hands. Why would they? It’s obvious enough that people have plenty of ways to assert themselves. Cyprus isn’t that sort of place. People come here not to show off, but for peace and quiet and a cosy, understated respectability. The ladies wear minimal make-up, minimal jewellery, and no flashy outfits. What’s the point? Stas works in Naryan-Mar; he dreams of finally wrapping up his business in Russia and moving here – to Cyprus, where his wife and daughter live. We chat like old friends, even though we only met a couple of minutes ago. There are bottles of wine on the table inside, and the barman offers us beer. No crystal glasses, foie gras or delicacies. Why? It’s a party for the children! The real treat here is Irina, who does her job masterfully. The children are competing, jumping in sacks, and most importantly – they’re LAUGHING!

It’s time for dinner. The children have their own table, and at one end Irina sets up an improvised puppet theatre stage. The children eat. The food is as simple as can be: vegetables, chips, pizza, pork and chicken kebabs, and homemade burgers. The food isn’t the main thing; the main thing is the show! Irina begins her magical performance! The parents are relaxed – they can unwind and have a chat. We’re chatting with Janus and Inna – the conversation’s in Russian and English at the same time – it’s hilarious. It’s funny, fun and interesting, and there’s no need for lavish canapés, vodka or toasts. There you have it – simple, lively conversation. Unpretentious, high-quality food and, most importantly, the CHILDREN: they’re happy, their eyes are sparkling, they’re laughing.

The sun is setting, bathing the room in whimsical shades of pink. It’s time for the cake, which the owner of the place brings out with great fanfare. The music and chatter die down. Everything is ready… A couple of party poppers go off, showering everything around with glitter, and the birthday girl blows out her candle. Noise, hubbub, laughter! The owner cuts the cake – first for the children, then for the adults. And back to the games. The sun has set, it’s turned a bit chilly outside, and the games have moved indoors. The children are darting about amongst the adults, their parents’ eyes are beaming with joy. We’re tired – tired from all the joy and positive emotions. Time to go home. We swap phone numbers with our new friends – we’ll definitely meet up again – at school, or in some quiet tavern over a cup of coffee or a glass of beer. Cyprus chooses its own friends – only those remain here who have come to love the island, love it just as it is, love the local people and the local culture, respect its rich and dramatic history and… have ALREADY found their place in the world.