When I moved from Middlesbrough to Cyprus in 2008, I imagined this new life would be filled with sunshine, vineyards and long walks beneath cloudless skies.
For once, reality wasn't too far from the dream.
The housing market in Britain had collapsed following the financial crisis, so rather than buying immediately, I rented a house in the hills north of Paphos, in a little village called Letymbou.
The house stood on the edge of a vineyard. It was wonderfully isolated, with no close neighbours and plenty of space for my two English Springer Spaniels, Harvey and Holly, to roam.
The garden was everything you'd expect from a Mediterranean postcard. Olive trees twisted in the sunshine. An apple tree and pear tree stood beside a fig tree. Vines stretched away across the hillsides.
It was idyllic.
Then spring arrived and something very strange began happening.
One morning I noticed what looked like a small splash of red paint on the tiled floor downstairs.
I cleaned it up.
The following day there was another one.
A day later I found several more.
Sometimes they appeared downstairs. Sometimes upstairs. Occasionally they appeared on the patio outside.
At first I thought I must have spilled something.
Then I wondered whether perhaps a bottle of dye had leaked somewhere.
After several days of investigation, I was none the wiser.
The red splodges continued to appear.
And I couldn't work out where they were coming from.
The mystery deepened.
Then one afternoon I was outside brushing Holly.
As I worked through her coat, a small brown blob dropped onto the ground.
It looked exactly like a lump of dried mud.
Which was odd. The weather was warm and dry. There wasn't any mud for miles.
A few minutes later, while I continued brushing, I happened to glance down.
The blob was making a determined getaway.
Not rolling.
Walking.
Very quietly and, I thought, rather furtively.
I picked it up for closer inspection.
The blob had legs.
And a face.
It was a tick.
A very large tick.
The sort of tick that had apparently spent several days dining lavishly on Springer Spaniel blood before detaching itself in search of somewhere suitable to lay eggs.
A closer inspection of Holly revealed more.
Harvey had them too.
Quite a lot of them.
The mystery of the red splodges was solved immediately.
The fully-fed ticks were dropping off the dogs around the house.
Unfortunately the dogs and I had been wandering around barefoot. Whenever one of the bloated little vampires found itself beneath a foot, the result was a very distinctive red stain.
The "paint" was not paint.
The "dye" was not dye.
It was compressed tick.
Looking back, it probably wasn't the wildlife welcome brochure I had been expecting from Cyprus.
Most newcomers imagine they'll encounter beautiful beaches, colourful birds and perhaps the occasional gecko.
I got blood-filled parasites exploding beneath my feet.
Still, every country deserves a chance to make a first impression.
Cyprus eventually won me over. But I must admit that my introduction was memorable for all the wrong reasons.
To this day, whenever I see an unexplained stain on the floor, part of me still wonders whether it's paint.
And another part of me immediately reaches for a magnifying glass.
Copyright © Tom Kane 2026
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