What I’d miss about Cyprus

THE WAY THINGS ARE

A piece in The Irish Times spoke of what I miss about Ireland: the hometown of my childhood and teen years. What would I miss if I had to leave Cyprus?

Easy, the Cyprus of yesteryear. We left an autumnal September in Ireland for our new life here. Flying over Holland, rich with its own beauty, I knew I wouldn’t want to live there – it was flat! Disembarking at Nicosia airport the sight of the mountains joyfully lifted my heart as unfamiliar heat enveloped me, almost taking my breath away. Then after the unaccustomed dryness, the first welcome rain encouraging earthy scents like sighs of relief breathing a thank you, to rise from the parched soil.

I loved crossing the road at Konstantinos Paleologos into old Nicosia with its fascinating narrow streets where craftsmen of all trades sat in little shops working away. I enjoyed its old, distinctive architecture imbued with the sense of lived history, the strangeness of sights and sounds that were beguiling and intriguing. My husband Andreas encouraged me to write and I wrote mostly about the old folk I met and so admired, of their longevity and hard lives but with a work ethic as resilient and patient as the Irish people of the land. Like the old shepherd in a faded vragga sitting under a tree with a clean cloth spread to hold his simple meal of bread, cheese and olives, who said, ‘kopiaste’ share with welcome, when we asked for directions.

We went to family-friendly Halefka on Sundays and when I asked for an English tea was presented with glikanisos (aniseed) tea with a dollop of condensed milk. Picnics at Larnaca tis Lapithou surrounded by blue moths ascending from thick growth, the pull of ancient Buffavento, the magic of picturesque Kyrenia, its fragrant flowers and herbs, its beautiful beaches and the peace of its harbour. The Kefaolovrisos (Fountainhead) at Kythrea we almost backed into. The scent of blossom emanating from Morphou. Our son’s baptism in the old church of Ayios Savvas, our daughter’s at the monastery of Apostle Barnabas, performed by its famous monks. The thrilling hope of a life in Famagusta that wasn’t to be. The night we got caught in a storm on a narrow mountain path at Stavros Tis Psokas where we’d gone in search of the sight of wild mouflon.

The company, friendship and love of a wonderful husband and father. The Greek music he introduced me to. The friends of his that became friends of mine who stood near us when we needed them. I would not miss Andreas’ enlistment in the army, my first, searing July when our second child was three weeks old, and not having family to help after birth. My in-laws were out most of the day working, and I was frustratingly housebound until I got a pram for the baby. After her birth, I suffered terrible nerve pain that made walking painful and life exhausting with an energetic, boisterous little boy and an infant with colic.

I would miss our first Lancia, the freedom it gave to explore the island’s natural beauty. The fun we had on a Troodos range immersed in pristine snow, or inhaling its green fragrance on special days through the year when the aroma of souvlaki filled the warm air.

I wouldn’t miss Cyprus of today, often akin to a snake heedlessly swallowing its own tail. No psychic power is needed to see the inevitable result of feasting upon oneself, so much only goes so far for the lucky ones in our small land. And why, in the face of all logic, does the mentality of unchecked, outmoded, old ways stagnate meritocracy in many areas. We have young people in government now, will they recognise and promote talent and brains or become embedded in the meso ‘system’?

Ireland faces the same challenges as Cyprus but with a huge financial surplus to play with for housing, health and education. Immigration causes controversy as it does here. Ireland’s North/South divide unlike ours moved forward. Nelson Mandela put love of country and people first in his beautiful homeland. Nelsonas Mandelas, Cyprus, where are you?