The Karpassa Peninsula

Of ghosts and the living


Hopefully someday all the soldiers can go home, and the saying at the border “peace at home, peace in the world” can become a reality in Cyprus. And Cypriots together can mourn the losses suffered in the past.

Up until the Turkish occupation in 1974, northern Cyprus was a well-known visiting place for travellers. Lawrence Durrell came here in the early 1950s and wrote Bitter Lemons while living near Bellapais Abbey and its nearby Tree of Idleness, where he would while away the hours with the locals.
An Australian Cypriot friend asked me to find her mother’s village and former house. Thankfully her mother left in 1950 before the invasion – to begin a new life in Australia.
Her village is Rizokarparso (renamed Dipkarpaz under the occupation) and lies far to the north, along the Karpassa peninsula.
The peninsula is one of the most beautiful areas of Cyprus. The long beaches of golden sand remind me of the Great Ocean Road. It is the place of turtle sanctuaries and wild donkey reserves. It seems the greater use of cars released the donkeys from their labours for the locals many years ago. Now they roam throughout the peninsula and you can see them from the roadside.
The area is rich in history. There is the Luisgnan Castle at Kantara, built as part of three great defensive castles in the north (along with St Hilarion and Buffavento). The castle was established in 1391 by King James of Cyprus to command the whole northern peninsula and the Messaorian plain to the south.
However, one can’t drive through this area and not be aware of the Christian heritage of its inhabitants. As one drives north, the ruins of many ancient – and some not so ancient – churches are testimony to this heritage.
Only discovered in the 1950s are the remains of the Agios Trias Basilica at Aytrias (now called Sipahi). Constructed under the Byzantine Empire in the 5th century AD, little remains of what was once obviously a magnificent church. The remaining columns and walls mark out what would have been an impressive structure. But what do remain in nearly perfect glory are its impressive mosaic floors, adorned with sandal, leaf and cross motifs amongst its geometric patterns. In clear Greek writing, in front of the apse of the church, the words tell us that one Heraclius paid for the building of this part of the structure. The Basilica was destroyed during one of the Arab raids in the 7th Century.
At Gialousa (now called Yenierenkoy) is the famous Agios Thyrsos cut into the side of a rocky hill near the waterside, built in the 16th or 17th centuries to honour St Thrysos, the Bishop of Karpasia in the early Byzantine period. It looks and feels older than its years. As you enter, you notice the many bows tied to the door of the church. It is said that the waters connected to the church have healing powers. Maybe that is why the church is full of icons and offerings left by travelling pilgrims, the remains of candles surround its alcoves.
Driving further north towards Rizokarparso, there are many reminders of the Greek heritage of this area. At Agios Andronikos (Yeniskoy), you could be forgiven if you sped past this little town without noticing anything distinctive. But if you slow down, and look at some of the older houses, you will see the mark of times past. One impressive house on the main street comes into view as you turn a corner. It has Greek columns as part of its portico, topped with classical motifs. Above the door is a wrought iron pediment, dated 1931. These sorts of door designs can be found all over the old city of Nicosia.
The abandoned church in the town stands mostly intact. A large bell tower tells that this was once the church of a thriving and prosperous community. Its interior has no murals but some of its wooden structure remains. As I walk on the glazed tiles, I wonder how many weddings, baptisms and funerals have been conducted solemnly here in years past. Only the pigeons that inhabit the ceiling disturb the senses.
And so I arrive at Rizokarparso.
I have been told to find the kafenion and ask for any information of relatives. Across the street from the town’s main church, St Sinesios, stands the kafenion, with its illuminated sign in Greek making it hard to miss. As I walk inside, the sound of Greek music and conversation give me encouragement. For this town has a remaining Greek population, however diminished by the invasion and occupation.
Sure enough, talking to one of the older residents, he remembers the family I have come to enquire about. Yes, he knew her mother. And yes, some relatives remain in the village, as shepherds and working their farms – but they are out in the fields as we speak! He remembers that Eleni left for England or was it Australia many years ago … his memory is dimming. We agree to keep in touch – one of the advantages of the internet.
He tells me life is difficult for the local Greek community. Despite improvements in relations between Cyprus and the occupied zone, the locals have to survive under restrictions that seem oddly out of place in today’s Europe.
They are designated as ‘refugees’, even though this is their ancestral land. They cannot be employed by Turkish employers and therefore must find their own employment – as farmers or shopkeepers. They do receive a regular pension from Cyprus and parcels once a month, with goods and foodstuffs from the south. Their mail is sent through the Red Cross.
This is a very strange survival of what should be a by-gone era. One thinks of the refugees in Europe at the end of the Second World War. But this is 2013 and after years of talks, plans and referenda to end Cyprus’ division, surely these restrictions on these small communities should be removed. I am shocked.
Across the road, the Church of St Sinesios is impressive and functioning. Further up the hill from the main road is the equally impressive Greek school. Its front is full of classical illusions, with columns and triangular pediments, and on top the distinctive Macedonian floral cornice stands at each roof corner.
As I arrive schoolchildren play in the school grounds at the rear. The boys play soccer, the girls huddle around talking. There is a glass display case with the most recent efforts by the students, in Greek of course.
As I leave the town, there are more reminders of a larger and more diverse community. Again, a house clearly has a Hellenic past, its structure and door frame revealing those distinctive features I have noted before. And I see two more abandoned churches, small but welcoming buildings. Still standing, if empty. One of them has a tree growing through the roof. Thinking positively, I think that maybe this could be a sign of new life from a troubled past.
One cannot come to the Karpassa peninsula without venturing to the Monastery of Apostolos Andreas.
Dating from the 15th century, the monastery is the easternmost monastery in Cyprus. It venerates the story of St Andrew. On his way to Rome and martyrdom, his boat was running out of water. St Andrew said that if they made land he would find water. The story says he landed here and a spring was brought forth by the Saint. The original monastic structure was erected at the waterside, next to the water source, which still gushes water.
The monastery proper is well worth a visit. Its golden icons and woodwork are in very good condition. While an unbeliever, I light a candle for my friend’s mother who left these shores so many years ago and for the locals who try hard to remain and keep the Hellenic links of this region alive. It is no wonder that Greeks throughout the world have recreated Apostolos Andreas Churches, including in our own St Albans.
As one drives through the area, one can become annoyed by the many illegal property developments, some uglier than others. I wonder whether the mostly European newcomers are aware of its rich cultural heritage or merely find the warm water and sun a distraction from their colder lives to the north.
Durrell’s image is one of Cypriots – whether Christian or Muslim – living together in harmony. To quote Durrell’s wise Greek friend of all those years ago, intolerance had made people into “bent sticks”.
Today the locals are friendly and welcoming to the visitor. As in Nicosia, where the Turkish policeman stopped the traffic so I could pass or the Greek museum attendant who told me where I could park for free.
Hopefully someday all the soldiers can go home, and the saying at the border “peace at home, peace in the world” can become a reality in Cyprus. And Cypriots together can mourn the losses suffered in the past.
As I sit having a coffee at the Tree of Idleness in Bellapais, I can only wish this can be a reality again.