In the five years of living high above the melee that is Paphos and Polis we have enjoyed ourselves. From the freezing cold of the winter, when the exposed water systems on the old roofs burst their pipes, to the heat of the summer, made bearable only by the breeze that altitude brings, we have lived with the villagers and their animals. It isn’t as though there wasn’t trouble at times. How could so few inhabitants war over water, boundaries and even artichokes? Why were some more equal than others when govemment money was about to spent?