Cyprus Part Tria or North and South
So, I did it. I crossed over to the North. Yes, I understand that this was not a popular choice with those offering me housing in the South (I was made well aware of the wrongs of the Turkish government and the failings of both Turkey and the newly-emigrated Turkish settlers the morning before my departure at breakfast time), however the Northern part of Cyprus was an important part of my year in Cyprus and I had no intention of neglecting it on this memory tour. Mitros offered to give me a ride to the Ledra Palace checkpoint but, sensing the frustrations with the current political situation, I declined. I headed down to the UN Buffer Zone (the Green Line) and crossed over.
Things in the Buffer Zone have changed. On the Greek side, there used to be old widows dressed in black, holding photographs of their missing husbands and spitting at anybody who tried to cross the line. None of that exists today, perhaps because of the new freedom of movement (you must still show your passport in either direction). Those of us headed over to the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (the TRNC, as the North has called themselves since 1983) were also confronted by grizzly pictures of atrocities committed by Turks on the Greek Cypriot population of the North. These still greet anybody headed northwards, but the images are severely weathered and cracked, barely visible to anybody who hadn't seen them before. A good thing, I imagined as I strolled past the checkpoint, and a step in the right direction.
Entering the TRNC, I showed my passport and received a paper visa. "Keep this," the somewhat scruffy police officer told me. I nodded and, thinking it was very nice, but a little strange, that they didn't stamp my passport, continued to head to Old Nicosia, the Turkish-controlled side of my favorite city on the Island.
North and South Nicosia couldn't be more different. My first thought when entering the North portion was that I was now in an Arab city. The streets are lined with little, independent shops. No chains anywhere to be found. I remembered having this perception from years ago, that the North had maintained a very Middle Eastern sense. I stopped for a Turkish Coffee (the same thing as a Cyprus Coffee in the South) and watched a game of backgammon. As I had been seven years ago, I was reminded of how culturally similar the two sides really are. My backgammon-playing friends looked identical to the cabbies I had watched a day or two earlier in the South, wearing the same light clothing, drinking the same coffee and chatting about, presumably, the same things. I strolled the winding streets, camera in hand, documenting all that hadn't really changed. The buildings, maybe, are in somewhat better shape (thanks to EU grants, from what I could make out), but not much else is different.
As I headed back to the South (packed in my bag a box of the world's best, and cheapest, Turkish delights from the old Turkish Cypriot market), I passed a little boy playing hop scotch. He looked up at me and stopped. I realized he was afraid of me and decided to make friends. I tossed a stone and down the path. He followed suit. I started mirroring him. He laughed and tried more complicated movements.
"He's playing with you," a voice said from above.
I looked up and saw an older gentleman, white hair and a thin white mustache leaning off the railing of his balcony. I stopped and looked up. He asked me where I was from, sizing me up a little. I explained my history with Cyprus, hoping that we would be able to chat. He seized on my story, asking me where I lived in South Nicosia and what kind of work my parent's were doing when they were here. When I explained about their bicommunal peace-making efforts (the easiest two-second explanation I could come up with at the time), he laughed. "Do you really think they want peace?" he asked with a chuckle, pointing southwards. "When I was 14 years old, I was chased out of my village by the Greeks. They beat me, they lit my house on fire. Do you really expect me to live in peace with them?" I shrugged, unsure of how to continue. "They are afraid of the Turks," he continued. "We're safe here and things are never going to change, regardless of what they want or the British want or the Americans want!" "But don't you want to go back to your village," I pressed, "to show your children where you used to live?" "That's not my home anymore," he scoffed. "This is home and this is safe. The rest, pft, what good is it?"
We chatted a little while longer about much happier topics (I moved the subject to New York City, which he told me he loves) and then parted ways.
I made it back to South Nicosia at about 5pm and felt like I had walked onto another planet. Along Ledra Street, the main pedestrian thoroughfare, I found myself surrounded with the trappings of globalization: Starbucks cafe tables along the street next to a McDonalds. The small shops I remembered from my year on the Island had been replaced by the ultimate in cosmopolitan living. The main shopping mall on the Island, formerly owned by Woolworth, has now been taken over by a British chain (Debenhams). If North Nicosia is the Middle East, the South is Paris with a Greek flair.
"So, how was it?" asked Ursula when I returned home for another of her incredible home-cooked meals. I commented on the improved state of the buildings, hoping to put a positive spin on the day. It barely worked. Even the slightest mention of the North set off a tirade against Turkey and the Turkish Cypriot leadership. Mitros and Ursula railed against all that has gone wrong over the last 30+ years and all I could do was sit and agree. Besides, had somebody come and taken 30% of my home, regardless of the circumstances, I know I would be pissed. I don't begrudge them (or my Turkish Cypriot friend) their frustrations, I just don't fully share it.
The Cypriots have a saying about the ethnic Turks and the ethnic Greeks: "One face, one race." It's true, but it's going to take a lot of work before everyone can see this fully. I left Cyprus seven years ago convinced that a peace settlement was a long way off. (Despite my support of my parents work, I know this was not a task they could have completed). Today, after hearing both sides of the tale, I am still sure that a resolution to the "Cyprus Problem" is a long way off. Perhaps it will take a new generation of people who didn't live through the events of 1974, or perhaps it will take another full-out war. Who knows? What I do know is that the Cypriots are no closer to peace then when I left them last, and maybe a lot further away.
[For those who are feeling a little lost regarding the history of Cyprus, visit these two Wikipedia articles, this one on Cyprus and this one on the TRNC. They are probably some of the most objective sources I have found.]
Things in the Buffer Zone have changed. On the Greek side, there used to be old widows dressed in black, holding photographs of their missing husbands and spitting at anybody who tried to cross the line. None of that exists today, perhaps because of the new freedom of movement (you must still show your passport in either direction). Those of us headed over to the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (the TRNC, as the North has called themselves since 1983) were also confronted by grizzly pictures of atrocities committed by Turks on the Greek Cypriot population of the North. These still greet anybody headed northwards, but the images are severely weathered and cracked, barely visible to anybody who hadn't seen them before. A good thing, I imagined as I strolled past the checkpoint, and a step in the right direction.
Entering the TRNC, I showed my passport and received a paper visa. "Keep this," the somewhat scruffy police officer told me. I nodded and, thinking it was very nice, but a little strange, that they didn't stamp my passport, continued to head to Old Nicosia, the Turkish-controlled side of my favorite city on the Island.
North and South Nicosia couldn't be more different. My first thought when entering the North portion was that I was now in an Arab city. The streets are lined with little, independent shops. No chains anywhere to be found. I remembered having this perception from years ago, that the North had maintained a very Middle Eastern sense. I stopped for a Turkish Coffee (the same thing as a Cyprus Coffee in the South) and watched a game of backgammon. As I had been seven years ago, I was reminded of how culturally similar the two sides really are. My backgammon-playing friends looked identical to the cabbies I had watched a day or two earlier in the South, wearing the same light clothing, drinking the same coffee and chatting about, presumably, the same things. I strolled the winding streets, camera in hand, documenting all that hadn't really changed. The buildings, maybe, are in somewhat better shape (thanks to EU grants, from what I could make out), but not much else is different.
As I headed back to the South (packed in my bag a box of the world's best, and cheapest, Turkish delights from the old Turkish Cypriot market), I passed a little boy playing hop scotch. He looked up at me and stopped. I realized he was afraid of me and decided to make friends. I tossed a stone and down the path. He followed suit. I started mirroring him. He laughed and tried more complicated movements.
"He's playing with you," a voice said from above.
I looked up and saw an older gentleman, white hair and a thin white mustache leaning off the railing of his balcony. I stopped and looked up. He asked me where I was from, sizing me up a little. I explained my history with Cyprus, hoping that we would be able to chat. He seized on my story, asking me where I lived in South Nicosia and what kind of work my parent's were doing when they were here. When I explained about their bicommunal peace-making efforts (the easiest two-second explanation I could come up with at the time), he laughed. "Do you really think they want peace?" he asked with a chuckle, pointing southwards. "When I was 14 years old, I was chased out of my village by the Greeks. They beat me, they lit my house on fire. Do you really expect me to live in peace with them?" I shrugged, unsure of how to continue. "They are afraid of the Turks," he continued. "We're safe here and things are never going to change, regardless of what they want or the British want or the Americans want!" "But don't you want to go back to your village," I pressed, "to show your children where you used to live?" "That's not my home anymore," he scoffed. "This is home and this is safe. The rest, pft, what good is it?"
We chatted a little while longer about much happier topics (I moved the subject to New York City, which he told me he loves) and then parted ways.
I made it back to South Nicosia at about 5pm and felt like I had walked onto another planet. Along Ledra Street, the main pedestrian thoroughfare, I found myself surrounded with the trappings of globalization: Starbucks cafe tables along the street next to a McDonalds. The small shops I remembered from my year on the Island had been replaced by the ultimate in cosmopolitan living. The main shopping mall on the Island, formerly owned by Woolworth, has now been taken over by a British chain (Debenhams). If North Nicosia is the Middle East, the South is Paris with a Greek flair.
"So, how was it?" asked Ursula when I returned home for another of her incredible home-cooked meals. I commented on the improved state of the buildings, hoping to put a positive spin on the day. It barely worked. Even the slightest mention of the North set off a tirade against Turkey and the Turkish Cypriot leadership. Mitros and Ursula railed against all that has gone wrong over the last 30+ years and all I could do was sit and agree. Besides, had somebody come and taken 30% of my home, regardless of the circumstances, I know I would be pissed. I don't begrudge them (or my Turkish Cypriot friend) their frustrations, I just don't fully share it.
The Cypriots have a saying about the ethnic Turks and the ethnic Greeks: "One face, one race." It's true, but it's going to take a lot of work before everyone can see this fully. I left Cyprus seven years ago convinced that a peace settlement was a long way off. (Despite my support of my parents work, I know this was not a task they could have completed). Today, after hearing both sides of the tale, I am still sure that a resolution to the "Cyprus Problem" is a long way off. Perhaps it will take a new generation of people who didn't live through the events of 1974, or perhaps it will take another full-out war. Who knows? What I do know is that the Cypriots are no closer to peace then when I left them last, and maybe a lot further away.
[For those who are feeling a little lost regarding the history of Cyprus, visit these two Wikipedia articles, this one on Cyprus and this one on the TRNC. They are probably some of the most objective sources I have found.]
posted by Ethan at 8:00 AM
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