Kyrenia - an ancient and modern tale

Driving north from Agia Trias in Cyprus' south eastern corner, we cross a line that divides the island in two – Greek in the south, Turkish in the north. A few formalities must be observed. Traverse barbed wire fences, cross a strip of no man’s land, get checked at border posts at either end. Show passports, stamps on a separate piece of paper, check the boot of the car – and pay for extra insurance.

The road continues flat and straight for a while, to the outskirts of the capital. The city has not one or two, but four names, Lefkosia, Nicosia, Λευκωσία, Lefkoşa and a line through the centre. As if that will solve the problem. One sign is clear and provocative, a large Turkish flag emblazoned on the hillside for the viewing pleasure of residents south of the line.

The road starts spiraling up through hills, or are they mountains? Less signs of terracing and cultivation this side of the line than in Troodos, which is further west and south of the line. Equally beautiful though, but peppered with military installations, where signs are armed and no photos permitted. Sloping back down towards the north coast, we reach our destination.

Kyrenia is one of Cyprus’ nine ancient kingdoms and has been inhabited since at least 1000 BC and probably long before. The Phoenician scattered trading posts across a presumably unified island. By 600 BC, Egypt had taken over, but lost control to Persia. Ancient history is vague. Hard evidence of later colonization remains visible today.

Arabic writing carved in stone, vast remains of roman settlements, a 2300 year old shipwreck in a 1000 plus year old castle museum. (Click the photos to view full size)

The wreck is most enchanting. A still solid timber structure, a cargo of large, narrow based ceramic wine jars and mill stones, nails and sail rings preserved since long before the births of both this island's significant holy men. An archaeologist's dream, and the genuine articles on view for a very modest entrance fee.

Pictures of a rustic harbour scene recreate the port it might have come from, and fantasize the lives of apparently peaceful traders. What world was that? Presumably not the one when the Greco-Roman fort had to be built to protect inhabitants from Arab raids. Nor the one in which Richard, ‘coeur de leon’ captured the island from a Cypriot king, sold it briefly to the Knights Templar, then on to his cousin, the King of Jerusalem.

Part of the medieval port still stands beside fortified city walls, deep enough to enclose a church, a museum, reconstructed dungeons showing punishments of a bygone age, a shady courtyard cafe and more besides.

In the current period of calm following many storms, tourists are the only invading hordes. Their presence is harmless, their intentions benign. The only form of violence is ignorance and can easily be excused. The hosts are entirely hospitable and don’t take advantage where others might try. The site knows peace at last, but that line through the city is not far away. It is guarded by force and can only be crossed with consent.

The mythical cat

Local legend says that an ancient Egyptian queen brought cats to Cyprus because she missed her feline friends when she married her Cypriot prince charming and moved from the hot dry North African desert to the relative cool of this fertile island paradise. Ok, just to set the record straight, local legend provides the bones of that story and I made up the rest!

That there is no shortage of cats is unquestionably true, and they live very different lives to the pampered pets I know in other places. I haven’t seen a fat one yet (pack your bags Minnie!) Most seem to live in extended families, two, three, even four generations domiciled around the same garbage bin or fishing harbour. Though I have also spotted a few lone operators.

Probably they live everywhere, and it’s just that I happen to have been walking on or close to beaches when I’ve seen them. Many appear to be seaside dwellers. I wonder if they catch their own fish, or just sit on rocks to meditate in the early morning sun.

The sad side of the story is that they breed so prolifically that the population is considered too large to be sustainable. Some people feed them but not everyone is so kind, even to the cutest wee ones.

The option of neutering and releasing them has not caught on to any significant extent, and a 10 euro donation only pays for one cat. Like any kind of subsistence living, only the smart and the strong will survive.