The Many Travel Misadventures of Me

I decided to leave for the airport with the rest of the Tennessee group, even though their flight departed at 3 AM and mine wasn’t until 8:15 AM.  I knew that I would wind up spending the entire night in the Larnaca airport, but this seemed like a better option than spending a lot of money on a 45-kilometer taxi ride.

When we got to the airport, Danielle and I watched as the rest of my group checked in.  Or at least tried to.  They were flying on Lufthansa and the baggage restrictions were one free checked bag that weighed no more than 23 kg and one carry-on piece that weighed no more than 8 kg.  Well, in America we are allowed two carry on pieces, one that fits in the overhead compartment and one that fits under the seat in front of you.  So after arguing, and rearranging the contents of every piece of luggage, and finally paying to have additional bags checked, Danielle and I bid farewell to the Tennessee students as they headed off through security.

Danielle, another study abroad student from America, was ironically taking the same flight as me to London since she was going to visit some of her friends who were studying there.  I was beyond grateful that I wouldn’t have to sit in the lobby of the airport by myself until I was allowed to check in at 6:15 AM.

Watching the hassle that my group went through in checking their luggage, made me nervous, so Danielle and I decided to try remedying any potential weight issues before they occurred at check-in.  Ridiculously, Aegean Airlines (which is the carrier we were flying) requires the checked bag to be 20 kg or less.  That’s almost six pounds lighter than 23 kg, which makes a BIG difference.  We got my suitcase down to 20.1 kg, but I couldn’t get my carry-on under 10 kg.  Fortunately, Aegean didn’t require me to weigh my carry-on.

So Danielle and I, having been awake for almost 24 hours by the time we finally took off, headed to London with virtually no problems along the way.  And, when we got to Heathrow, we made it through customs and retrieved our baggage with no issues. 

That’s where the “fun” began.

It was a little tricky figuring out where the Underground (Metro, tube, whichever term you prefer to use) was located from the baggage claim.  Once there, we knew that she and I had different final destinations but that we were traveling on the same trains for the majority of the time.  So I finally got an attendant to assist me in purchasing the right metro ticket (for 5 pounds). 

We got on the first tube (the Piccadilly line) with no problems.  We got off the Piccadilly at Green Park with no issues and found the Jubilee line.  This is when people started elbowing me and cutting in front of me (who was toting around two rolling pieces of luggage and a backpack), eventually making me miss the train.  As the doors were closing, I put my hand out to try prying open the door so that I might get on.

Just so you know, metro doors are not like elevator doors. Once they start closing, they are GOING to close and you are out of luck.

I only had to wait another two minutes for the next Jubilee and took it to Waterloo station.  At Waterloo I began to feel like Napoleon: defeated.

I knew I had to switch from the underground to an actual train, which would carry me to Southampton.  So I went to the ticket machine and purchased a ticket (for 34 pounds) with a final destination of Southampton Central.  I looked up at the train schedule and noticed that all trains were delayed and none of them had Southampton as a destination.

I asked an attendant which train I should take to Southampton and was promptly informed that no train actually goes from Waterloo Station to Southampton Central.  Furthermore, all trains were indefinitely delayed because someone managed to get hit by a train at Wimbledon and therefore all trains were on hold until further notice.

By this time it was almost 2 PM (4 PM Cyprus time), I’d been awake since 8 AM the previous morning, and I hadn’t eaten in over 12 hours. 

So my luggage and I bumped and jostled our way into a Burger King and had a quick bite to eat since I didn’t know what else to do.  Then, having a little more coherence thanks to some kind of nourishment, I went to information and asked how I might get to Southampton from Waterloo. 

My knight in neon armor was a lady who not only told to take any of the trains to Clapham Junction (most of them made a stop there) and then take the train from Platform 13 (I secretly hoped she’d say 9 and ¾) to Southampton, but she also took the time to write it down in case I forgot.  I must have looked like a touristy, American mess.

 Shortly after, a train rolled into the station at platform 7 and I asked the attendant next to me if that train would take me to Clapham Junction.  He said yes and I bolted for the train, determined that I wouldn’t be left.

The train arrived at Clapham Junction after about 30 minutes and, within ten more minutes; I was finally on a train heading to Southampton.

So here I was, deliriously exhausted, fading in and out of sleep on this train, trying to stay awake for fear of missing my station and trying to watch the English countryside as it rolled by my window.  After seeing numerous castles (they really ARE everywhere!) in my waking, lucid moments, the train finally rolled into the Southampton Central Station an hour and a half later. 

After a (25 pound) taxi ride, I was finally at my hotel.  I checked in, ordered room service (even though I knew it was a little pricier, I was too exhausted to wander to a restaurant where I would have to wait for service) and then passed out for the night.

The next two days were spent doing a lot of nothing.  I made a point to go to the gym and enjoy the hot tub, sauna and steam room.  But other than that, I took the time to recuperate from the insanely long travel day I’d have between Cyprus and Southampton.

Saturday couldn’t arrive fast enough.  I was ready to see Jeremy and begin my first-ever cruise, to the Norwegian Fjords!!

The Last Blog for Cyprus

The final 48 hours in Cyprus seemed to pass in slow motion and the speed of light simultaneously.

It is hard to realize that five weeks could have passed so quickly.  Who would have expected that in such a short amount of time I would have made friends from all over America, studying at the university?  Who could fathom that I would begin to feel at home in a place where I barely speak any of the language?

The only order of business on Monday was the final group dinner, during which time we viewed the rough cut edit of our final documentary. 

I have to confess that I was concerned as to how cohesive the final product would be with so many proverbial chefs in the kitchen, running camera, sound, lights, etc.  But my fears proved to be unfounded, largely thanks to the editing genius of Whit, Kim and Lance.  As a group, we watched ourselves sit down to a traditional Cypriot meze and, as the bread, cheese, kleftiko and dessert courses came out, we saw pairs of students leave the table to learn about where these courses come from.

During the course of the last five weeks, we conducted some side interviews, asking Cypriots where they were from, what a meze means to them, what a meze is, what their favorite part of a meze is, and where Cyprus is.  These mini interviews will be the lead at the beginning of the documentary, particularly the explanations as to where Cyprus is located and what a meze is, so that the viewer has a frame of reference for the documentary.  Then, before and after each pair of students learn about their course, an interview will be inserted so that the viewer can get to know some of the Cypriots that we met along our journey.

 Unfortunately, piecing so many parts of the documentary together, interweaving the meze, interviews and excursions, proved too time consuming for the limited time we were left with at the end of our trip.  So the rough-cut edit was very rough, despite Whit’s best efforts.  There just wasn’t time to insert the interviews.  But I sincerely hope that I am able to see the finished product that most of us worked so hard to create and, moreover, that it is a product I can be proud to include in a portfolio of my work.

Tuesday morning, everyone headed into the Old City one final time to finish their souvenir shopping.  Dr. Legg wanted all of us to meet at 11:30 AM at the Freedom Monument so that we could take a group picture like the ones he has taken of his groups in the past.  So that was a fun little trip.  Lindsey wanted to purchase a knock-off Burberry suitcase, so we crossed over into the TRNC one last time.  I finally found a magnet for myself (after searching every place we visited during the previous five weeks).  And then we headed back to our apartments.

The rest of the afternoon was spent packing and cleaning and letting it sink in that we were actually leaving this place that, to my genuine surprise, had begun to feel like a home. 

I could sit here and try to vocalize how much I learned during my brief time on this tiny island, but I’m not sure how successful I would be.  Hopefully, if you’ve read any of my other blogs, you’ll at least have gained some amount of insight into the profound ways that this culture, country and its citizens have impacted me. 

In our orientation, Thanos said that he hoped we would become better citizens of the planet by the end of our journey.  I suppose that might be the best way to describe how I feel.  When you are in a place for long enough, you begin to find the idiosyncrasies (a word that actually has a Greek origin) that people have in common.  There are things that bring us together and enable us to relate to one another, things that transcend any language, cultural or religious differences.

I think it’s only fitting that we left for the airport in Larnaca at 11:30 PM, under the cover of darkness.  My time in Cyprus seems like a crazy, amazing, enlightening, unforgettable dream.

I guess we all have to wake up sometime.

The Last Weekend in Cyprus: Part 2

When we finally reached the Kykkos Monastery, we realized what a big deal it is.  Kykkos is the largest monastery in Cyprus and has a museum that houses religious antiquities from all over, not just from Cyprus.  It is a fully functional monastery and, like the Mahairas Monastery, seems to be self-sustaining.

 We first toured the chapel that, again like the Mahairas Monastery, had frescoes on all walls and across the entire ceiling.  In an adjacent room, however, were countless reliquaries lining the walls in glass cases.  Inside these reliquaries were the bones of saints and important religious figures throughout the history of Christianity.  Sadly, everything was in Greek so I have no idea who the bones belonged to or why they were in this particular monastery. 

From here we visited the museum, which was worth the five-euro ticket price.  No pictures were allowed inside, however, due to the delicate nature of the antiquities inside. 

Inside, there were the most intricate woodcarvings I’ve ever seen. A cross that you could hold in your hand, or no taller than a standard candle pillar that sits on a table, but depicts scenes from both the old and new testaments.  Elaborate, hand brocaded religious apparel from the 1700s on was displayed in center casings.  Icons that were painted in the single digit centuries were in an adjacent room, able to be touched, still clearly honoring their holy images after all this time.  Handwritten religious texts that were created long before the invention of the printing press, as well as early printed religious works cased in intricate silver, gold and jeweled covers.

The time, energy and love poured into the creation of these items, these symbols of faith, these physical interpretations and representations of faith are almost unfathomable.  I can think of nothing in the modern world with which to compare these things.  And the fact that they have been preserved for all this time is a testament to the strength of the faith and beliefs that they represent and honor.

 Once we were finished in the museum, we walked around the monastery for a little while, observing the mosaics that were on every wall and around every corner and watching us from above.  Then we decided to find the tomb of Makarios. 

Makarios was possibly the most influential Archbishop in recent Cypriot history.  He was instrumental in leading Cypriots to rise against the British for their independence.  When he passed away, he wanted to be buried overlooking the Kyrenia mountain range in northern Cyprus since that is where he was born.  Due to the Turkish occupation though, it wouldn’t be wise to bury him in Kyrenia.  So he is buried on the mountain above the Kykkos Monastery. 

A massive bronze statue of Makarios was erected at the Bishopric in Nicosia to honor the deceased Archbishop to whom Cypriots owe so much.  But, as much as Cypriots revere Makarios’ memory, they saw the statue as an eyesore that wasn’t appropriate in the city.  So the statue was moved to the Kykkos Monastery and stands sentinel on top of the mountain, just below Makarios’ tomb.

While the tomb is open daily to visitors who wish to honor Makarios’ memory or get a better sense of the impact he had on the people of Cyprus, there are armed guards who stand by his grave, at attention, sworn to protect and preserve the pristine resting place of one of the greatest men known to Cypriots.

As we left Makarios’ tomb and headed back to Latchi, I knew that my view and understanding of religion would be forever altered.  So many people manifest their faith in such diverse ways, and so many others are willing to lay down their lives for what they believe.  In any religion, in any part of the world. 

That night at dinner with Dr. Legg and Thanos, Thanos gave me a history lesson on the Greek Orthodox tradition, which I will spare you here but will gladly share if you ask.

On the bus ride back to Nicosia Sunday afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about the things I’d experienced Saturday.  And the realization that I would be leaving Cyprus in just over 48 hours was finally beginning to seem like a reality.

The Last Weekend in Cyprus: Part 1

From the time we had our first meeting about the Cyprus trip up until two weeks into the trip, we tried to plan an out of country excursion for a weekend.  This trip has been done for the past four years.

We debated taking a cruise to Egypt and seeing the pyramids, but opted to avoid the conflict there.  We thought about cruising to Jerusalem to see the Holy land, but the price was out of our allocated budget.  Petra in Jordan, Istanbul in Turkey, even Italy and Greece were too expensive to plan a trip at the last minute.

 So instead we opted to see more of Cyprus.  Things we would otherwise miss, such as Salamis and Famagusta.  For our last weekend, we tagged along with the other study abroad students on a trip to Latchi (which is near Polis), a small seaside town on the southwestern side of the island past Paphos.  In all honesty, it was a weekend trip meant for leisure rather than learning.

Naturally I couldn’t go a whole weekend without at least trying to learn something in Cyprus or about Cyprus.  Blame it on my silly insatiable curiosity.

 The trip to Latchi was excruciatingly long because there are no direct roads from Nicosia to that side of the island.  As a result, you literally have to go around the outskirts of the island, around your elbow to get to your thumb, if you will.  Luckily I was seated near Chelsey and I was able to introduce her to the musical Ragtime, which is one of my favorites.

After checking into our hotel and eating a late lunch, I grabbed a chair and headed straight for the beach.  I was determined to get some sun on this last weekend since I had the makings of a killer farmer’s tan.  Then we decided to get into the sea, which was a far better experience than we had in Ayia Napa.  While there were still rocks all over the place, they were much smoother in Latchi and it was much easier to get in and out of the water.

Since Kendra, Chelsey and I had become Dr. Legg’s three musketeers by this point in the trip, we didn’t pass him up on his offer to take us to dinner with Thanos and himself.  The plan was to head to an even smaller fishing village and have dinner at a very local fish tavern.

Since I had won the twenty-euro photography prize, I asked Thanos if I could use it to cover a traditional fish meze.  He agreed and he, Dr. Legg and Kendra joined me for what would be my last meze experience in Cyprus. 

I am happy to say that, while some variations of the seafood was unexpected, it was delicious and I was able to eat everything that came to the table.  We had small crabs that you literally just popped into your mouth, legs and all, fried calamari (but I still prefer the calamari we had at Little Plates), octopus, sea bass, another large fish, some small fish, king prawns, mussels (which were far less disgusting than I’d imagined), salad (of course), the traditional tahini and tzatziki dips, and watermelon for dessert.

 I’m so glad that during my time in Cyprus I was able to experience the two traditional meat and fish mezes as well as a non-traditional meze at Little Plates.

Saturday morning, Dr. Legg took Kendra, Chelsey and I back into the Troodos Mountains.  This time, the goal was to visit the Kykkos Monastery and to, hopefully, find some Moufflons.  We had no idea how great of an adventure we were about to have on our final Saturday as temporary Cypriots.

We were informed by the hotel manager that, while Kykkos was only about 50 kilometers away, it would take us around two hours to get there because of the twisting, winding mountain roads.  Added to that was the fact that there was a road rally which was taking place that day, on the road we needed to take.

As we were winding our way around the Troodos Mountains, fearful of the occasional cars that would come racing around curves in our lane, and trying to dodge the jagged rocks that these cars were spewing onto the road when they took the turns too tightly or too wide, we saw a sign that said “hideout” with an arrow.  My dear friend, Mr. Curiosity, struck all of us and we ventured up the dirt road to see what the hideout was, unsure of what we would find.

What we did find was a tower at the very apex of the mountain that turned out to be a fire watchtower.  A gentleman sits up there all day, looking out over the mountains for fires that might start.  He informed us that the hideout we were looking for was back down the mountain and on a dirt road offshoot. 

 The hideout turned out to be a little cement bunker in the side of a mountain that was very well hidden.  A sign next to the bunker, naturally in Greek, had a date of 1957 on it.  This date seems to suggest that this hideout was in use during the Cypriot revolution against England for independence.  Perhaps the Cypriots used this location as a scout post to watch out for advancing British troops.  Another date of 2003 leads me to believe that’s when the EOKA (I don’t know what the acronym stands for, sadly) dedicated the hideout.  Overall, it was an interesting, albeit brief and somewhat interpreted Cypriot history lesson.

So, three hours later, we finally reached the Moufflon preserve.  Oh, you’ve never heard of a Moufflon?  Yeah, neither had I.

The Moufflon is actually indigenous to Cyprus and can’t be found anywhere else in the world.  It resembles both a ram and a deer and is now a protected species in Cyprus.  The Moufflon population drastically dwindled because Cypriots would hunt them for their meat, but it’s now illegal to do this.

The Moufflon Preserve only holds a few Moufflon at a time and it would seem the preserve serves as a way to help control/enhance reproduction of the species.  At first we were worried we wouldn’t see any animals but, after a somewhat exhaustive hike up 55 stairs and several steep inclines, we finally found the Moufflons hiding at the top of the preserve in a herd. 

 It was a sight that I think very few visitors to Cyprus take the time to seek out.

It's a sight that I will not soon forget.

A Monastic Escape for the Day

Upon returning from Famagusta and Salamis on Wednesday afternoon, it was time once again to do some editing on the documentary.  This editing carried through to Thursday as well but, since it was time to start piecing the documentary together as a whole, it was everyone else’s understanding that the bulk of work would now be carried out by the executive producer and the two producers.

So Dr. Legg came through for Chelsey, Kendra and I once again.  This time he offered to take us up into the Troodos Mountains to visit a monastery, since we hadn’t found the opportunity to visit one thus far in our trip.

The Troodos Mountains are an interesting feature on the island of Cyprus.  They are ultimately smaller than the Smoky Mountains in America and, like the rest of the island, are very sandy.  This means that the plant life is what you’d expect to find in any sandy climate, mostly pine trees, scrub bushes and dry grasses.  But for an island on which you can drive the entire length in five hours, the mountains are very extensive. 

 On the way up to the monastery, we stopped at a small chapel on the side of the road.  Turns out that it was the Church of Saint Onoufrios.  Saint Onoufrios was born to a barren mother in the 3^rd century and, after a divine calling, was dedicated by his father, the King of Persia, to a monastery in Egypt. 

He eventually traveled for 17 days into the desert of Thebes and became a hermit for 70 years.  It is said that an angel gave him communion every Sunday and, when Saint Pafnoutios was sent to Onoufrios the day before his death, Onoufrios ascended to heaven with Jesus in the form of a white dove.

But in this spot, in the Troodos Mountains of Cyprus, a monastery was found in 1450.  The monastery was dissolved during the Turkish rule of 1571 but abbot Parthenios rebuilt this Byzantine church in 1730.  The Monastery of Mahairas repaired it in 1818 and again in 1966.

To be perfectly honest, I’ve forgotten the name of the monastery we visited.  But, given the location of the Church of Saint Onoufrios, I believe that we actually visited the Monastery of Mahairas. 

 The monastery was peaceful, as I imagine a monastery should be.  It is located on the side of a mountain overlooking a valley and, in the distance, the small hamlet of Fjikardou.  And when we entered the chapel, the smell of polish was palpable as we witnessed monks hard at work cleaning the brass and gold candelabras, chandeliers and icons. 

The chapel had frescos painted on every wall and across the entire ceiling, but they all looked fairly new.  Dr. Legg informed us that chapels have a tendency to burn down every so often.  It may have something to do with the continued pervasive use of candles, but I think those candles help create a peaceful, reverent ambience that highly conducive to prayer, worship and fellowship.

 In Tudor England, monasteries were required to be self-sustaining in regards to income.  I’m not sure of the financial situation of the monasteries in Cyprus but I do know that every one has a shop where you can buy literature, icons, wine, and other religious regalia.  This leads me to believe that monasteries in Cyprus are also responsible for their own survival.

After the monastery, we were in dire need of sustenance.  So we traveled down the road a ways until we reached Fjikardou.  Dr. Legg had stopped at a small family owned restaurant there the previous year and wanted to share it with us.

Fortunately the venue was open, even though there are very few permanent residents of the town.  The town is busiest on weekends and holidays with tourists and locals who vacation in the small mountain town.  We ordered a dish called pastichio (the same dish we had eaten at two of our group dinners) and it was the most delicious pastichio I’d tasted so far.  It’s most comparable to a cross between baked spaghetti and lasagna.  For dessert we had “spoon sweets” which are fruit rinds that have been cured and covered in honey.

They were…. Interesting.  I couldn’t eat the fig though.  The inside of the fig gave my mouth a texture seizure.

We also stopped at a small village that is preserved and is being restored as an example of Ottoman construction.  The main focus, for now, in this town is a museum of sorts where you can walk through restored houses and see how people lived during the Ottoman period in Cyprus.

The houses are often stacked one on top of the other, rather like apartments I suppose.  If I’m not mistaken, there are actually only six permanent residents of this village.  And it didn’t seem like there were any inhabitable houses for any more than those six people.  There is definitely a lot of work ahead of the preservationists, but they are doing an incredible job.

 Again it makes me wish that America would focus more on preservation as it continually strives to advance.  After all, who would we be without our past?  And in preserving pieces of the past, we acknowledge the influence it has had on who we have become and who we hope to be.

A Day in the North: Famagusta and Salamis

Bright and early Wednesday morning we piled into one of the small buses and headed to Larnaca, where we got onto a different bus (with a tour guide) and headed to the Turkish occupied part of Cyprus.  

This trip was different than the previous two times I'd been across the Green Line into the Turkish occupied part of the country.  

Crossing into Turkish territory in the Old City of Nicosia isn’t as nerve wracking as one would think.  There are always a slew of people getting their passport slips (the Turks can’t stamp your actual passport because, if they do, you won’t be allowed back into southern Cyprus or allowed into any other country in the EU since the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus is not a recognized state).  And once you’ve crossed the border, you find yourself in a very touristy area where you can purchase an imitation of virtually any designer item you could dream of.

 As long as you stay in those first few blocks of bustling businesses, there’s nothing to be afraid of or worried about.  But, heading to Salamis and Famagusta, I had no idea what the area would be like.  I imagined something far less touristy and a little more representative of what life in the TRNC is actually like. 

Fortunately, I was wrong.

First we passed through Famagusta on our way to Salamis.  Famagusta was the main port of Cyprus until the Turkish invasion and occupation in 1974.  When the Turks came into Famagusta, the town was immediately evacuated.  Dinner was left on the table. Lights were left on. 

 Famagusta became an instant ghost town.

The UN has since taken control of a portion of Famagusta, making the area a dead zone.  No one is allowed to enter. So the ghost town of Famagusta has been eerily preserved since 1974.  But there is a portion of Famagusta that people are allowed to visit, and that is where we were headed after Salamis.

Salamis happens to be the largest, most complete ruins excavated and preserved in Cyprus. 

There is something ironic in this.  The Turks have done a remarkable job of destroying much of the areas they occupied.  They have done a fairly complete job of stripping religious houses of all icons and reliquaries; virtually gutting these historic buildings and turning them into bare-boned Mosques, stables or even garages for their cars.  Many of these churches have been completely destroyed. A shadowy shell of what they used to be.

Yet Salamis remains unscathed.  In fact, excavation and preservation continues to this day in areas around the site. 

The first part of Salamis we visited was the amphitheater.  Now, an amphitheater is an amphitheater. And they tend to look the same no matter where you see one.  But this one had a couple of interesting features that I was unfamiliar with.

Towards the front of the stage, was what looked like an altar.  We were informed that this was a sacrificial altar.  Before every performance on the stage, items were placed on the altar for Dionysus.  Now, it has always been my understanding that Dionysus was the God of wine and revelry.  I had never known that he was also the patron God of the theater.

Wine?  Theater?  Dionysus is a Greek god after my own heart!

Situated to the left and right of the stage were two headless statues standing sentinel.  We learned that these were the Muses of Comedy and Tragedy.  Again, I had no idea…

I think most people are familiar with the comedy and tragedy masks that are often used to symbolize theater and the performing arts.  I had always thought that they were simply representative of masks that were used in Greek theater to help convey an actor’s emotions.  Since amphitheaters were so big, the masks were needed to convey emotions on a larger, clearer scale.  But apparently there were Muses who also represented comedy and tragedy.

And here I thought I was well informed on most things theater related.

From here we visited an area referred to as the Gymnasium.  It was an area surrounded by columns and it never ceases to amaze me how something, like a column, can withstand thousands of years of wear and tear from the weather and man-made forces.  But, in America for example, many things fall to pieces within 50 years.

We proceeded to wander around the ruins, exploring rooms and paths.  We climbed.  I felt like a kid on the world’s greatest jungle gym or in the world’s most expansive tree or on the most elaborate mountain trail. 

When we got to Famagusta, we were given two hours to eat lunch and walk around.  I have to confess that I was nervous to eat or drink anything while I was in the northern part of Cyprus.  All I could think of were the Russians who drank vodka that was made in this same area, only to discover that it was laced with methanol, resulting in the death of several and illness of many. 

But it was hot and we’d been traveling a lot.  I needed food.  So we went to the most touristy/busiest restaurant we could find and I ordered a veggie burger (because you can’t go wrong with vegetables, right?). 

 Apparently in the TRNC, a veggie burger means a fried egg on a bun.  Strange.

After we finished eating, we wandered up to the Famagusta wall.  We took some pictures on a lion that has stood guarding the wall since the Venetian era and then we climbed to the top of the wall to overlook Famagusta and the sea. 

It really was a remarkable view.  We weren’t exceedingly high above sea level, but the wall extended really far in either direction.  And when you turned to look at the city of Famagusta, you could see the destruction and dilapidation of a once beautiful, powerful and important city.

It was enough to break a heart.  And to be grateful that, at least in my lifetime, I’ve never had to experience such horrific atrocities as a forceful and more than occasionally violent occupation.