Ignorance is a Miss – Cyprus
This isn’t the first time I’ve gone somewhere in complete ignorance. Sitting on an airplane in 1989 on my way to Costa Rica I couldn’t find it on the airplane magazine map - I thought it was an island (and didn’t know they spoke Spanish, nor how to find a hotel when we arrived at 10pm). I entered Soviet-era Czechoslovakia with black-market currency not knowing I’d be searched at gunpoint. Joined an all-black gospel choir in Akron Ohio with no consideration of the impact of me entering their sacred, safe space. Accepted a 3-year Habitat for Humanity placement in Tanzania just a bit confused about why the Africa department was sending me to an island off of Australia.
So when Zekiah offhandedly suggests we stop by Cyprus after our Turkey adventures, it’s no surprise that we quickly buy a ticket without really knowing where it is. And more importantly, without understanding the political context. Our first clue should have been the ticket price - a direct from Cappadocia with the Turkish “Pegasus Airline” costs $31 to the airport on the Turkish-occupied side of the island, and $900 to the other airport on the other side just 50 miles away.
The island was annexed by the Ottoman Empire (Turkey) in 1571, then given to the British in 1878 in exchange for military protection. Ongoing disputes between the Greek and Turkish populations on the island have resulted in mass displacement of both populations, and ended with a Turkish invasion in 1974 in which they captured the Northern third of the island and unilaterally declared it to be a separate Turkish Cypriot state.
No other country has acknowledged this state, but to this day the UN patrols a demilitarized zone that splits the country - and the city of Nicosia - in two. I can only wonder how it feels for Turkish or Greek Cypriots to have to navigate immigration and barbed wire and visible economic & cultural differences just to visit a friend who happens to live on the other side of the same city.
I, of course, spend the next few hours walking along the edge of the city, going up each north-bound road until it dead-ends in a barrier - wall, barrels, fence, plants, “no photography” signs. Each dead-end feels like a fissure in the earth, a wrenching apart of what should be a single unified city. Where I am able to see into the no-man’s land, it’s like a Zombie-apocalypse scene - former homes and stores and vibrant community spaces now empty and silent, crumbling and overgrown. I search for words. Wasted. Dead. Forlorn.
North Cyprus
The cheap AirBnb flophouse we chose happens to be on the occupied side, full of the Turkish foods and greetings and mosques we’ve come to love. Young people are singing in the streets, laughing at the late-night bakery cafés over massive cheesecakes. Streets are narrow, genuine “Merhaba” greetings ring out from market stalls. I don’t feel the politics, the anger, the loss here. Perhaps this is the happy amnesia of an occupying people. Or perhaps it’s the confidence and Home-fullness of a people that has been here for 450 years.
South Cyprus
The next day we flash our passports at the checkpoint to leave North Nicosia, walk through the two abandoned blocks that comprise the dead zone, then show our passports at the next checkpoint to enter South Nicosia. Suddenly we’re functioning in English and Greek, being offered souvlaki, passing beautiful Greek Orthodox churches, and strolling down a beautiful pedestrian mall with international chain stores and high end fashion. The difference is immediate and startling.
The politics and resentment is worn on the sleeve here. At the Museum of the National Struggle, I learn through powerful photos and displays about the 1955-1959 National Liberation Struggle against British Rule (from the perspective of Greek Cypriots), including Britain’s refusal to accept the overwhelming vote to become part of Greece. Tourist maps in the streets and on paper only show this half of the city, with an ominous “Area under Turkish occupation since 1974” up above the dividing line. The super-friendly volunteer at Tourist Info turns cloudy when I ask her how often I’m allowed to cross the border, answering “We do not advise supporting the invasion by crossing into the occupied territory.”
Paphos
After the 900 km Camino across traditional rural Spain and chaotic-comfortable Istanbul, it’s hard to adjust to the comforts and wide streets and western chain stores of this Greek-oriented side of Cyprus. My longstanding loathing of luxury comes back to haunt me, so that even in the oceanside tourist mecca of Paphos I feel disoriented and a bit bored (like I did in Bacalar Mexico). A swim in the Mediterranean is lovely, as are long beach walks, but a 4 hour walk through the city unveils nothing to pique my interest.
So the price of ignorance? Perhaps we would have made a more conscious decision about which side of the struggle to support with our tourist dollars. Perhaps we would have chosen a different beach than Paphos to relax at for 4 days, instead of just assuming it’s a charming movie-set of a small Greek fishing village. For sure we would have discovered the corollary National Struggle Museum in North Nicosia to learn the Turkish Cypriots’ perspective on the history of this divided island.
I’m grateful for a week of learning and relaxation in this place I knew nothing about, but this “YES To Adventure!” mentality can be even more rewarding when done in a more informed and open-eyed manner.
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Costa Rica (Monteverde) till Christmas, then Thailand (Chiang Mai), Vietnam (Hoi Ann, Feb-Mar). Please share any sites, people or ideas by email.
Thanks for sharing your observations of the clear division between Turkish and Greek Cyprus. It reminds me of the last time I was in Israel in 2018. Clear divisions between Jewish and Arabic neigbourhoods/towns/regions. It is very clear who is being supported and who is not. When I saw the wall dividing east and west Jerusalem it could not be more apparent. I pray for a time very soon when the unification of all peoples occurs. Where people re-remember the Golden Rule and treating each other with love and respect.
Much gratitude to you, Rick, for sharing your journals of discovery! Wishing you, Sarah and your family much happiness, health and prosperity in 2025!!
An educational blog and great photos. Keep them coming. All the best in ’25.