Crossing the Line
In and around Cyprus
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The grass is certainly not greener on the Turkish side of the line. The Euro and EU influence is left behind, but the Turkish hospitality is felt immediately. This is a good thing, because in order to cross into North Cyprus we pass by beautiful stone houses that were destroyed in the war. Shutters and curtain fragments still hang off of windows. Sandbags are still stacked on a front porch. In one shop window I saw a still life of beer bottles left behind by UN soldiers, a 1973 phone book, and a sewing pattern for bell bottoms. An old billboard encourages gapers such as me to Enjoy the Remains of our Desecrated Churches, Homes, and National Heritage.
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Yet as we wait to have a visa stamped—no one ever gets a stamp in their actual passport—Cypriot Turks who are returning to the north after a day of labor in the south tousle Chloe’s hair and ask her for hugs.
Chloe and I tagged along with Jim’s group of teachers. They were in awe of the difference that a border can create. But then we spied the first proper playground we’d seen. Swings! Climbing! A slide that looks like it was designed to train soldiers to scale walls. Speaking of soldiers…the Venetian walls of the city rose behind the playground and on top two soldiers armed with rifles patrolled. Play nicely or else! A mother with two little ones in tow came up and immediately engaged us in conversation. She wanted to know where the rest of my children where. She has ten with another on the way. When I said we were from America, she said, “oh, America!” and gave me a knowing nod. Knowing of what kind, I’m not sure.
At a restaurant later on Chloe makes more friends. A table full of Turkish women immediately start cooing “cok guzel” (how beautiful) when she walks up. One asks “what’s your name, dear?” I respond, “me or the baby?” She laughs and says, “the baby, of course.” Many hugs, kisses, and photos later we are able to sit and order our meal.
This is a striking contrast to the Greek side where Chloe doesn’t raise much interest or notice. We spent the next day on our own while Jim took the teachers to Famagusta in the north. We spent the morning at the Cyprus Museum which shows how the Egyptian art influence fades as the ancient Greek picked up which fades when the Romans come on the seen. Our favorite statue was Eros, a classic piece from Paphos. To Chloe’s eyes it was a naked boy baby. She spent a lot of time talking about naked babies, examining the pee-pee and poop bits on the big Roman statues.
Tonight the women on the trip are going to the hamam. Mama is going to get some much needed scrubbing and big person time. The little tour guide is being a trooper about all the changes in her scene, but it will be nice to have a shower or a meal to myself.
Route taken and entries by Real Traveler Mama Pajama
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1
Wrong Side of the Road
We strapped the baby in the car seat. Jim climbed in on the passenger side. I got behind the wheel on the right--or wrong side of the c... Continue reading »
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2
Music, Art, and of course, History
Mustafa and family has been treating us to some culture during our week-long invasion of his home. (Note to Brits: Americans invade lot... Continue reading »
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3
The Rescue
We've come back full circle to the Classic Hotel in Nicosia. We were feeling a little low to be back to hotel life and Jimmy had to work a lo... Continue reading »
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4
Where the Cold Is
We arrived to a blast of chilly air and rain. Ah, summer in England. Just the thing after the heat wave in Cyprus. After 2 days o... Continue reading »
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5
Storming the Castle - or not
Nancy finally had a day off and it wasn't raining, so she wanted to treat us to something very British and touristy. Warwick Castle is the ob... Continue reading »
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6
Ponies, Bunnies, and Lambs
When Oliver and Charlotte invited us for a visit we promised Chloe the chance to pet ponies, see rabbits hopping across fields, and sheep grazing.&... Continue reading »
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7
Shakespeare!
How can you go to England and not see Stratford? I love Stratford and couldn't wait to show it to Jim and Chloe. Unfortunately this was... Continue reading »
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8
La Shack!
The genius of the shack is that it is the most beautiful middle of nowhere that we could ever hope to find. The nearest village is St. Lary which... Continue reading »
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9
Please Pass the Snails
As if the adventure of shack life wasn't enough, Nancy and Phil treated us to a couple of cultural-historical sites. We went to St. Bertrand... Continue reading »
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10
Re-entry Reunion
Mark Twain wrote that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Thanks to England our blood was thick and our suitcases... Continue reading »
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