Ready for vacation, and with four currencies in my purse (Lebanese pounds, Euro, Turkish Lira and a few stray US dollars), we boarded the 25 minute flight (45 counting takeoff and landing) to Cyprus, hoping we wouldn’t need Cyprus pounds, too (we didn’t). When we had booked a hotel in North Cyprus by email they quoted the rate as “the equivalent of 100 pounds Sterling in Euros or Turkish Lira.” Ay yay yay.
We arrived Good Friday evening of Orthodox Easter, in the Greek-speaking Republic of Cyprus. The waterfront in Larnaca was jumping. Larnaca has been continually inhabited for 4,000 years. Cyprus first struck us as California, but with driving on the left. Similar climate to Lebanon but much more developed and orderly, and lots quieter.
Tom did very well with driving. It takes a little while to get the hang of, and one does keep hitting the windshield wiper instead of the blinkers. We were glad we had opted for an automatic, and didn’t have to mess with locating the gearshift, too.
The next day we headed for North Cyprus, the Turkish speaking side. Once we found the border crossing (many roads run between the two entities, but there are only four border crossings, plus one more in Nicosia for diplomats) we passed through quickly. Had to purchase separate car insurance for the days we would be there.
Famagusta is a port city in Turkish Cyprus, in the southeastern part of the island. The old part of the city, where we managed to find a hotel, is surrounded by Venetian Walls (early 1400s), about 15 meters (~50 feet) high and up to 8 meters (~25 feet) wide. Beyond them is—or was--a wide moat (see below). Tom had a run that evening on top of the city walls. (This adds to his list of historic jogging locations, which includes the hippodrome in Rome). The walls are intact around the old city, but you can’t walk all the way around as there is a military outpost on the waterfront. At one of the 
towers, Othellos’ Tower, named for the 
staging, perhaps, of Shakespeare’s play in Famagusta, lay a pile of large round balls. Not for cannons, as I think first, but for catapults.
We arrived Good Friday evening of Orthodox Easter, in the Greek-speaking Republic of Cyprus. The waterfront in Larnaca was jumping. Larnaca has been continually inhabited for 4,000 years. Cyprus first struck us as California, but with driving on the left. Similar climate to Lebanon but much more developed and orderly, and lots quieter.
Tom did very well with driving. It takes a little while to get the hang of, and one does keep hitting the windshield wiper instead of the blinkers. We were glad we had opted for an automatic, and didn’t have to mess with locating the gearshift, too.
The next day we headed for North Cyprus, the Turkish speaking side. Once we found the border crossing (many roads run between the two entities, but there are only four border crossings, plus one more in Nicosia for diplomats) we passed through quickly. Had to purchase separate car insurance for the days we would be there.
Famagusta is a port city in Turkish Cyprus, in the southeastern part of the island. The old part of the city, where we managed to find a hotel, is surrounded by Venetian Walls (early 1400s), about 15 meters (~50 feet) high and up to 8 meters (~25 feet) wide. Beyond them is—or was--a wide moat (see below). Tom had a run that evening on top of the city walls. (This adds to his list of historic jogging locations, which includes the hippodrome in Rome). The walls are intact around the old city, but you can’t walk all the way around as there is a military outpost on the waterfront. At one of the 
towers, Othellos’ Tower, named for the 
staging, perhaps, of Shakespeare’s play in Famagusta, lay a pile of large round balls. Not for cannons, as I think first, but for catapults. Not far up the
coast from Famagusta lie the ruins of the ancient port city of Salamis, which goes back to 700 BC Assyria. After being destroyed by the Persians, the Romans took over in 58 BC and built aqueducts, extensive baths, with hot and cold pools and resting rooms, and a theater for 15,000. There is also a 4th century basilica on the site, with a few bits of mosaic tile floors and decorations remaining. Did the people who made these things ever dream they would last ten centuries?? I saw on the brochure that there was a latrine that cou
ld seat 44 people and had to see it…here is a reenactment by Tom.
ld seat 44 people and had to see it…here is a reenactment by Tom.Driving along the Mediterranean coast, we made our way to Kantara castle. Wow. Incredible views from one of the three
Byzantine era castles in a line across mountain tops along the north coast of Cyprus. They used to signal each other with lights. The views of the sea and half the island are fabulous. On a clear day you are supposed to be able to see Turkey or even Syria.The next day was a three castle day…almost. We got to the third one, a well developed tourist site, too late to enter.
First was Buffavento Castle, second in the line after Kantara, on a bluff overlooking the Mediterranean. No walls needed here, because there is only one possible entrance. It is built on solid rock, and is quite a climb to reach it.
Second was Kyrenia Castle, down at the port of Kyrenia. Built by the Byzantines, and eventually taken over by King Richard the Lionhart, who captured the island in 1191 on his way to the third crusade… He then sold it to the Knights Templar, and shortly after, to his cousin, the King of Jerusalem. Apparently the Venetians later gave up the castle without a fight. Inside the castle walls there is an exhibit with a 3rd century BC shipwreck, including all the cargo of almonds, figs (only the seeds remain), clay pots of wine, and stone flour grinders, which may have been used as ballast.
St. Hilarion is the third castle in a row on top of a mountain peak. It is said to have been the inspiration for Walt Disney’s Snow White. It is terribly picturesque, and fun to explore, ruins
spread out along the peak. In the royal apartments, a stone window seat offers a magnificent view of the countryside below and the sea beyond.
We stayed two nights in Bellapais, Northern Cyprus. Lonely Planet guided us to a terrific place to stay there, called Gardens of Irini, just yards from the house where Laurence Durrell penned Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. The B&B where we stayed was populated by artists, and it shows—so tasteful--and also cats, who roam about and are happy to come into your room and sleep on the bed if you agree. Peaceful, quiet, with voluminous geraniums,
cascading bougainvillea, erupting petunias, even a small pond with blooming lilies…
To get there one must travel up and up, on narrow, donkey-width roads between lovely old buildings—after folding in the side mirrors…(see Tom navigating at right) but it’s so worth it.
We left Northern Cyprus for the south, through Nicosia, the capital, divided city. Most of the city lies in the North. All the old city lies within star-shaped Venetian walls. Over the border (which took some finding), in the Republic of Cyprus, we were struck by the differences—affluence, mainly—in the busy downtown, with high rises absent from the other side.
We didn’t stop but only passed through Nicosia on the way to the Troodos Mountains. Distances are small in Cyprus; one could easily drive the length in half a day, the width in a day.
In the Troodos, another great place to stay, a small hotel in the tiny, picturesque village of Spilia--The Marjay Inn. Incredibly quiet, with a fabulous restaurant down the street featuring traditional food on handmade plates, everything done with care and taste. We had a great hike the next day, 7.5 kilometers around Mt. Olympos—not much of a mountain, though there is a bit of skiing. The trail was almost completely flat—Tom ran and I walked. It offered two different views of the Mediterranean, to the northwest and northeast—not far. A wonderful trail!
We heartily recommend Cyprus--for those too timid to visit us in Lebanon!!—so long as you stay away from the main package tour places (which are substantial).
We made our way around the island, maps unfurled, butchering place names as we went; Kakopetria became Krakatoa, Kantara Cassanova, Trachydopolopolis was that dinosaur sounding place, and Buffavento bouffant hairdo. There are lots of Brits on the island; the natives must be used to the butchery.
The last two nights we stayed at another place we found on the agrotourism websi
te—a tavern/inn about 10 miles and light years from Pathos, city of beach umbrellas and restaurants touting English breakfasts (which, if you don’t know, involve a cholesterol kaleidoscope of sausage, eggs, toast with butter and marmalade, baked beans and ham). The Inn featured 6 foot geraniums, swallows nesting in the lobby, and goat crossing signs on the road nearby. Great food, too.
On our way across the southern part of the island to the airport the last day, at a restaurant in Limassol, a man pulls out a ladder, climbs onto the roof, disappears, and reappears five minutes later carrying a full bag of fat lemons from a nearby tree. Cyprus.
On the departures signboard at the airport, there were flights for:
Thessaloniki
Manchester
Zurich
Krasnodar
Cardiff
Heraklion
Vienna
Kuwait
Budapest
…and of course, Beirut
Second was Kyrenia Castle, down at the port of Kyrenia. Built by the Byzantines, and eventually taken over by King Richard the Lionhart, who captured the island in 1191 on his way to the third crusade… He then sold it to the Knights Templar, and shortly after, to his cousin, the King of Jerusalem. Apparently the Venetians later gave up the castle without a fight. Inside the castle walls there is an exhibit with a 3rd century BC shipwreck, including all the cargo of almonds, figs (only the seeds remain), clay pots of wine, and stone flour grinders, which may have been used as ballast.
St. Hilarion is the third castle in a row on top of a mountain peak. It is said to have been the inspiration for Walt Disney’s Snow White. It is terribly picturesque, and fun to explore, ruins
spread out along the peak. In the royal apartments, a stone window seat offers a magnificent view of the countryside below and the sea beyond.We stayed two nights in Bellapais, Northern Cyprus. Lonely Planet guided us to a terrific place to stay there, called Gardens of Irini, just yards from the house where Laurence Durrell penned Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. The B&B where we stayed was populated by artists, and it shows—so tasteful--and also cats, who roam about and are happy to come into your room and sleep on the bed if you agree. Peaceful, quiet, with voluminous geraniums,
cascading bougainvillea, erupting petunias, even a small pond with blooming lilies…To get there one must travel up and up, on narrow, donkey-width roads between lovely old buildings—after folding in the side mirrors…(see Tom navigating at right) but it’s so worth it.
We left Northern Cyprus for the south, through Nicosia, the capital, divided city. Most of the city lies in the North. All the old city lies within star-shaped Venetian walls. Over the border (which took some finding), in the Republic of Cyprus, we were struck by the differences—affluence, mainly—in the busy downtown, with high rises absent from the other side.
We didn’t stop but only passed through Nicosia on the way to the Troodos Mountains. Distances are small in Cyprus; one could easily drive the length in half a day, the width in a day.
In the Troodos, another great place to stay, a small hotel in the tiny, picturesque village of Spilia--The Marjay Inn. Incredibly quiet, with a fabulous restaurant down the street featuring traditional food on handmade plates, everything done with care and taste. We had a great hike the next day, 7.5 kilometers around Mt. Olympos—not much of a mountain, though there is a bit of skiing. The trail was almost completely flat—Tom ran and I walked. It offered two different views of the Mediterranean, to the northwest and northeast—not far. A wonderful trail!
We heartily recommend Cyprus--for those too timid to visit us in Lebanon!!—so long as you stay away from the main package tour places (which are substantial).
We made our way around the island, maps unfurled, butchering place names as we went; Kakopetria became Krakatoa, Kantara Cassanova, Trachydopolopolis was that dinosaur sounding place, and Buffavento bouffant hairdo. There are lots of Brits on the island; the natives must be used to the butchery.
The last two nights we stayed at another place we found on the agrotourism websi
te—a tavern/inn about 10 miles and light years from Pathos, city of beach umbrellas and restaurants touting English breakfasts (which, if you don’t know, involve a cholesterol kaleidoscope of sausage, eggs, toast with butter and marmalade, baked beans and ham). The Inn featured 6 foot geraniums, swallows nesting in the lobby, and goat crossing signs on the road nearby. Great food, too.On our way across the southern part of the island to the airport the last day, at a restaurant in Limassol, a man pulls out a ladder, climbs onto the roof, disappears, and reappears five minutes later carrying a full bag of fat lemons from a nearby tree. Cyprus.
On the departures signboard at the airport, there were flights for:
Thessaloniki
Manchester
Zurich
Krasnodar
Cardiff
Heraklion
Vienna
Kuwait
Budapest
…and of course, Beirut
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