I went to Cyprus. As a tourist with an American passport, of course. I booked my trip through a travel agency. An all-inclusive package with cab rides to and from the airport. All that was left up to me was the in-between. I flew into The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, recognized only by Turkey, and, by default, a place that does not exist in the eyes of the rest of the world. I had no agenda.
I saw all of Guirne by the end of the first day, which consisted of a harbor and a castle. The next day I went to one pool and two casinos. I immediately lost 20 lira on video poker. Afterwards I took advantage of the free drinks and an overly friendly waiter who offered me cigarettes with my coke. I refused but he gave me chocolates instead. A consolation prize, I thought. First place money, second place smokes, third place sugar. At the second casino, the power went out twice over the course of a few minutes. No one moved. I imagined the legalities, and then remembered I wasn’t in the U.S. Everyone stood silent and motionless waiting for the lights to go on. I imagined the anticipation of the high rollers at the roulette wheel and craps table. Listening to the dice or that little white ball plunk on their lucky number, knowing their fate was sealed but unable to divine the outcome from darkness. We tried to go back the next day, but they wouldn’t let us in because my friend was wearing flip flops. I didn’t mind.
I figured we should cross the border into the Greek side because, well, because we could. You can’t say that about every border between contentious nations. When I looked back into Turkish Cyprus, a sign above the concrete boat reads: Northern Republic of Turkish Cyprus FOREVER. Didn’t have the same appeal as Welcome to Las Vegas or anything. I walked into Greece.
We took a shared taxi from our hotel in Guirne to Lefkosa, the border city. From there, we walked past a park, past a pile of bloody sheepskins surrounded by a halo of flies (likely slaughtered recently during Kurban Bayram - the sacrifice holiday), past deserted looking stores and down a tree lined street toward red and white striped security hatches in the distance. When the Turkish army invaded/intervened (your choice - depending which side of the fence you’re on) in 1974 during the Greek coup d’etat, their actions were justified/rationalized (again, choose your own adventure) by this statement: "each of the three guaranteeing Powers reserves the right to take action with the sole aim of re-establishing the state of affairs created by the present Treaty.” I will leave this ambiguous and open to interpretation, as did they.
We arrived at what appeared to be a ship sailing in cement. Actually, it was just a white oblong building with circular windows like portholes. As far as borders go, I was unimpressed. It wasn’t the vast militarized desert I looked upon through a fence on the Israel – Lebanon border. There was no hurry up and wait or excitement that comes with the potential nefarious activities as when heading to Tijuana. A border is a neutral zone, a no man’s land, neither here nor there. In theory. In practice, they are highly controlled and defined. Anyway, I went up to the window and displayed my passport. The woman behind the desk looked at my face, then down at my passport, then up at my face again. Stamp, stamp, stamp, and I was free run for the border.
Mythologically speaking, Cyprus is the birthplace of Aphrodite. Goddess of beauty and love. I’d like to be her, especially if I could look like Botticelli’s version. I would straddle the border and distract the military until they no longer knew what they were fighting for. These days, Goddesses get about as much respect as the tooth fairy.Just beyond the border, we passed an incongruous Ivy League looking building surrounded by a fortress style brick wall. I would’ve guessed it had some official function, not only because of the UN’s olive branch seal on the doors, but because privilege and power are always hidden behind impenetrable walls. A coil of barbed wire snaked atop the wall like an elongated notebook spiral. Heavy chains bound the doors, and through the crack I saw an armed guard. Buildings that looked as though they belonged on a southern plantation and cars with ornate hood ornaments were interspersed with charred, dilapidated houses. I wondered if it was left that way for effect.
On the Greek side I went to Starbucks and McDonalds. I went to a department store that resembled every other department store in the (first) world to the currency exchange on the top floor. I was bored and restless and intrigued. Every move I made. How disgustingly predictable, how totally pointless, how to make sense of the fact there was nothing out of the ordinary to make sense of. What was I supposed to do? Grab the microphone from the grade school choir singing Christmas carols in Greek and start interviewing people on the spot about what really happened? I drank my latte.
So throw me a bone – a time machine, a crystal ball, fluency in five or more languages, so that I can at least have the means to tell you more than you can read on Wikipedia.
I like to shop and eat, and when that is over, I like to walk around until it is time to shop and eat some more. Then I can put another pushpin on my National Geographic world map (or that silly places I’ve been Facebook application) and tell everyone about fantastic times here, there and everywhere. Or I could simply tell you this.
I saw all of Guirne by the end of the first day, which consisted of a harbor and a castle. The next day I went to one pool and two casinos. I immediately lost 20 lira on video poker. Afterwards I took advantage of the free drinks and an overly friendly waiter who offered me cigarettes with my coke. I refused but he gave me chocolates instead. A consolation prize, I thought. First place money, second place smokes, third place sugar. At the second casino, the power went out twice over the course of a few minutes. No one moved. I imagined the legalities, and then remembered I wasn’t in the U.S. Everyone stood silent and motionless waiting for the lights to go on. I imagined the anticipation of the high rollers at the roulette wheel and craps table. Listening to the dice or that little white ball plunk on their lucky number, knowing their fate was sealed but unable to divine the outcome from darkness. We tried to go back the next day, but they wouldn’t let us in because my friend was wearing flip flops. I didn’t mind.
I figured we should cross the border into the Greek side because, well, because we could. You can’t say that about every border between contentious nations. When I looked back into Turkish Cyprus, a sign above the concrete boat reads: Northern Republic of Turkish Cyprus FOREVER. Didn’t have the same appeal as Welcome to Las Vegas or anything. I walked into Greece.
We took a shared taxi from our hotel in Guirne to Lefkosa, the border city. From there, we walked past a park, past a pile of bloody sheepskins surrounded by a halo of flies (likely slaughtered recently during Kurban Bayram - the sacrifice holiday), past deserted looking stores and down a tree lined street toward red and white striped security hatches in the distance. When the Turkish army invaded/intervened (your choice - depending which side of the fence you’re on) in 1974 during the Greek coup d’etat, their actions were justified/rationalized (again, choose your own adventure) by this statement: "each of the three guaranteeing Powers reserves the right to take action with the sole aim of re-establishing the state of affairs created by the present Treaty.” I will leave this ambiguous and open to interpretation, as did they.We arrived at what appeared to be a ship sailing in cement. Actually, it was just a white oblong building with circular windows like portholes. As far as borders go, I was unimpressed. It wasn’t the vast militarized desert I looked upon through a fence on the Israel – Lebanon border. There was no hurry up and wait or excitement that comes with the potential nefarious activities as when heading to Tijuana. A border is a neutral zone, a no man’s land, neither here nor there. In theory. In practice, they are highly controlled and defined. Anyway, I went up to the window and displayed my passport. The woman behind the desk looked at my face, then down at my passport, then up at my face again. Stamp, stamp, stamp, and I was free run for the border.
Mythologically speaking, Cyprus is the birthplace of Aphrodite. Goddess of beauty and love. I’d like to be her, especially if I could look like Botticelli’s version. I would straddle the border and distract the military until they no longer knew what they were fighting for. These days, Goddesses get about as much respect as the tooth fairy.Just beyond the border, we passed an incongruous Ivy League looking building surrounded by a fortress style brick wall. I would’ve guessed it had some official function, not only because of the UN’s olive branch seal on the doors, but because privilege and power are always hidden behind impenetrable walls. A coil of barbed wire snaked atop the wall like an elongated notebook spiral. Heavy chains bound the doors, and through the crack I saw an armed guard. Buildings that looked as though they belonged on a southern plantation and cars with ornate hood ornaments were interspersed with charred, dilapidated houses. I wondered if it was left that way for effect.
On the Greek side I went to Starbucks and McDonalds. I went to a department store that resembled every other department store in the (first) world to the currency exchange on the top floor. I was bored and restless and intrigued. Every move I made. How disgustingly predictable, how totally pointless, how to make sense of the fact there was nothing out of the ordinary to make sense of. What was I supposed to do? Grab the microphone from the grade school choir singing Christmas carols in Greek and start interviewing people on the spot about what really happened? I drank my latte.
So throw me a bone – a time machine, a crystal ball, fluency in five or more languages, so that I can at least have the means to tell you more than you can read on Wikipedia.
I like to shop and eat, and when that is over, I like to walk around until it is time to shop and eat some more. Then I can put another pushpin on my National Geographic world map (or that silly places I’ve been Facebook application) and tell everyone about fantastic times here, there and everywhere. Or I could simply tell you this.
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