A Brief Jaunt to the Island Nation of Cyprus - Apr 10, 2009

Our Israeli tour guide, Mike, had mentioned that the nearby island nation of Cyprus was a popular tourist destination for Israelis. It’s also their eloping equivalent of Las Vegas, drawing the gay and interfaith couples that are unable to legally marry through the religious courts in Israel. After looking into a couple of other options, I decided to spend my four free days adding another stamp to my passport vs. exploring more of Eretz Israel. Either way, I thought, I’d be back shortly to celebrate Passover in the Holy Land, before making my way to Turkey to meet up with my Mom.

Cyprus, the easternmost part of Europe, is an island steeped with history and significance. Neolithic settlements there date back ten thousand years, and legend has it that it’s the birthplace of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of beauty and love. She is rumored to have walked onto the beach, taking shape out of the sea foam, and there are many places and trails named after her. Its religious significance doesn’t stop there, as Cyprus was the first country visited by the apostles Paul and Barnabas in AD 45. They converted the island to Christianity after St. Paul was flogged in public, just before converting the Roman governor. Consequently, there are a myriad of monasteries and churches across the shores and inland. It may even be the namesake of the metal, copper, which is found in abundance, and it’s been trod on by almost every clan in the area. The Mycenaean Greeks first laid their claim 3,500 years ago, followed by the Phoenicians, Assyrians, Franks, Venetians, Ottomans, and the British. Today, it has all the feeling of a Greek isle, down to the abundant blue and white flags you see everywhere. At least that was the feeling I got on the Greek side, but remember that as of July 1974 (the month I was born) Cyprus was split with the Turks, who preemptively invaded and subsequently claimed 37% of the island.

Not that I knew any of that before arriving. I left Tel Aviv early in the morning, arriving Larnaka just an hour later. It was there that a helpful tourist minister gave me a brochure that brought my attention to all this. Almost just as importantly, he pointed the way to the nicest beach on the Greek side of the island, Agia Napa. A peninsula jutting out of the southeast corner, the beachside party town was off-season and exactly what I was looking for after an intense and enlightening trip to Israel.

Before I made my way to the beach, I napped on a welcoming Starbuck’s couch and enjoyed a free traditional dance and music performance at Larnaka’s signature palm tree promenade. The concert highlighted the island’s Greek roots, and aside from singing traditional folklore and using Greek instruments, the dancers sported traditional garb. The women were in white, embroidered pants, light red jackets also with stitching, and had dark red scarves covering their heads. The men complimented them well, and appeared in loose black pants with high leather boots, each with yarn tied around the top. Their scarves were tied around their waists as belts, and over their white shirts they had beautifully embroidered red and black vests.

As if the outfits and music weren’t enough, the dancers put on a great performance, including a romantic handkerchief dance, another one where the women each carried a pot on their shoulders, and my favorite, the men’s “hoop of booze” dance (not that they call it that, I’m sure). One of the guys, and then a little boy, each took this circular drum-like item, covered only on one side with a translucent white fabric, then proceeded to spin it around on one hand. After impressing us with the basic spins, they added one, two, and eventually four glasses to the inside of the rim, each containing ice and a drink, before continuing to spin away. The little boy couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and drew a huge applause from the audience. Satisfied and ready for my bus, it was time to move on.

Unfortunately, the bus came and went, telling me and a few other tourists they had no room for us. My community organizer skills kicked right in and five of us shared a cab to Agia Napa. The ride there told me straight away that I’d be enjoying myself over the days to come. Cyprus is home to verdant, rolling hills, and to huge, open fields with many wildflowers in bloom. I recognized many of the same amenomes, lupids, and buttercups I saw in Israel, and also spotted many quaint little towns. We arrived and I hopped out at a random spot on the side of the road, wandering around for a bit before I found a cheap hotel right on the beach. It was then that I noticed I had left my favorite jacket on the plane, the signature brown corduroy one I bought in Hong Kong years back. I’m still working on tracking that down, but I thought of it as a cost of doing business and went on about enjoying myself. Heading down to the beach, I was blown away by how clear and blue the water was. Juxtaposed next to the white, powdery sand and limestone rocks, it was even more striking. Also, because the season had yet to start, the beach wasn’t nearly as crowded as I understand it gets in June and July.

I enjoyed hiking around and swimming for a bit, then partook in one of my favorite pastimes: passing out on a beach in the sun. ☺ After a few hours I was ready to head back, and I took a somewhat circuitous route, checking out various hotels and other spots on my way. I headed down to the historic harbor for a great seafood dinner, and then walked around the bar district. Most of the spots were closed, but I still got a good feeling for the town. It was indeed like Las Vegas, and each bar and restaurant was trying to outdo the themed competitor next door. There was the Flinstones bar with huge statues out front and a car you could pose in (with Dino!), “Jurassic Bar” with life-sized dinosaurs, and tons of sports pubs catering to the abundant UK tourists. Cuisine covered the globe, and I spied Indian, Polynesian, and of course, Greek. Ultimately, I wound up at Senior Frog’s, a clear rip off of the Mexican chain by a strikingly similar name, and after a couple drinks I decided to call it an early night.

As I wandered around the hundreds of bars, mainly still waiting for June to open, I came across a huge and historic monastery. Just as I was pondering how interesting it was that they’d have all these bars right next to an ancient house of worship, I caught a glimpse of two fires. One was a huge bonfire right in front of the monastery; somehow people were just burning garbage and wood in the plaza. The other was far in the distance, maybe a couple miles. As I peered over, I noted it was coming from almost exactly the same spot where I had dinner. Turns out a boat somehow caught on fire, and after spreading to three other boats, the flames reached almost as high as a neighboring six-storey hotel. I cabbed it over there to get a closer look and snap some photos before heading back to my bed for the night, feeling good about an exciting but relaxing start to the next chapter in my sabbatical adventure.

The next day, I rented a scooter and decided to check out the island a bit more. Cape Gkreko, the southeastern-most point on the island, was right nearby, so I thought I’d start there. The ride over was great, and I passed some small roadside caves and many fields of wildflowers. I relished in my scooter-enabled freedom, stopping frequently to meander and snap photos. Finally, I got to the Cape. After winding up a steep gravel road with a conspicuous, but off limits, British military training facility on the side, I arrived at the trailhead. I hiked along the seaside for a couple miles, finally reaching the summit. The view was breathtaking. You could see in all directions for miles, and the aqua blue water below sparkled above the underwater land formations. More wildflowers and some lizards appeared every now and then, and there were lovely wooden benches that you could rest on if you like. In the distance I spotted a shoreline with waves crashing violently against it, and I thought I’d take a closer look.

I walked back down the “Cavos Path,” then scooted over. Turns out the area was off limits, secured by a checkpoint and a wrap around fence, but after not seeing anyone around and spotting an opening in the fence, I ducked in. I made sure to carefully weaving my way through the barrier just in case the signs with someone getting electrocuted were more than mere scare tactics. As soon as I was on the other side, it was like being on the moon. Sharp, porous volcanic rock, dark black in color, was underfoot, starkly contrasted by the white of the crashing waves in the distance. I got closer and stared in awe as wave after wave pounded the shoreline. I braved my way in as close as I could for the sake of photos and video, eventually finding out the hard way I had gone too far. A bit wet, but none the worse for wear, I was ready to move on.

On my way out I met an Irish girl who had moved to Cyprus some years ago after meeting a nice Cypriot boy. She was now singing Abba covers at a local bar and had some local friends with her. They told me about the nearby Aphrodite Bridge, and I jumped on the bike to give it a look-see. Only a couple kilometers away, I found the natural phenomenon; a beige stone bridge with a single bush smack dab in the middle of it spanned over the rocks and waves below. It was quite a sight, and I took it in for a bit then scooted on. Turns out there is a cute little white coastal church with blue doors right down the road, and it sits on a bluff overlooking the sea. Down below, I walked to a cave that also had waves crashing against it, although now that I had learned my lesson I steered clear of getting to close to the breaks.

I rode to the next town over, stopping by a monastery with a church in front, complete with two beautiful mosaics on each side of the front door. The sun shone brightly through the clouds, making clear rays in the sky, as I continued forth. More monasteries, bell towers, religious paintings and mosaics, and seaside towns, and I was ready to head back to the beach and relax a bit. Again, I decided on an early evening, vowing to get up early and carpe the next diem on a mega scooter adventure.

As planned, I arose and started out to explore the lovely island of Cyprus. I had heard about a Neolithic settlement that I wanted to see, along with some other ruins. I knew I was a bit crazy setting off on a 100-plus mile journey over highways and through towns, but hey- I had nothing better to do, and it sounded like fun.

On my way out of town I passed the ancient Roman aqueducts, stopping to snap a few photos. It was a bit weird seeing them just alongside the highway, cars buzzing by with no regard to the thousands of years of history staring them in the face. I scooted on and had a great ride along the freeway, rocking out to my iPod and smiling at the majestic, expansive fields that lined my path. Finally, I arrived: the Neolithic village of Choirokoitia. It was once a huge village, comprised mainly of round huts with flat roofs, made of mud, twigs, and rocks from the nearby Maroni riverbed. They had reconstructed some of the huts and others were left as they were discovered, in ruins. It seems this ancient tribe had a burial custom that directly taught them the cycle of life and the inevitable end; they buried their dead in their living rooms, then went on about their business. I found it a bit gross and hard to imagine, but who am I to judge the customs of the past?

I strolled around the 9,000 year-old village, which dates back to 7,000 – 5,800 BC. It’s really gorgeous country there, and there is a nearby hillside flanked by the ancient city walls. The city eventually outgrew the walls, spilling out to the west, and as I walked I thought what their life must have been like so long ago, before technology, timecards, and television. They hadn’t even discovered pottery at the time, it was truly just the simple life.

Further to the West, I came across the temple of Aphrodite at Amathous. Founded on a coastal site originally settled in the 11th century BC by the Eteocypriots, a pre-Greek population, it was used all the way until 691 AD. It was then that Arab invaders finally destroyed it, leaving the ruins I now saw in their wake. As I walked up to the impressive remains, I couldn’t help but take a detour into a huge field of wildflowers immediately adjacent. After I had my fill of shots of the bright yellow buttercups, stumbling across a few remote pieces of the ruins, I walked into the ancient town and temple complex. They have reconstructed the general feel and layout of the complex, but aside from a couple rooms and some pillars, the site is basically in the same condition it was found. It gives one the feeling of being an explorer, cutting your way through the tall grass and coming across this brilliant find. Then, as you wind your way up the hill and through the ruins, a picture of life starts to form: The central plaza with its smooth floor. The baths with their terracotta and stone pipes. The altars and elaborately carved Corinthian columns. And flowers, lots of flowers, especially the red, fragile amenome known to be affiliated with the goddess Aphrodite.

I scooted on, making my way all the way to the port town of Lenosus. Several huge tankers were anchored off the shore, lined up and awaiting some kind of signal to make their move. On my way out of town, I drove by a huge industrial complex where the boats’ cargo holds were stored in front of an enormous factory. The large cranes made me think of my uncle’s work as an Oakland longshoreman, and of the huge Star Wars tanks inspired by their image.

More green fields at the base of even greener hills awaited me, but even they couldn’t hold off the rain. It started as a drizzle, then came down harder and harder on my helmet. My glasses, obviously lacking a wiper, were increasingly tough to keep dry, and I was getting quite cold. It was also getting dark, and it didn’t take long for me to decide to pass on the ruins of Kourion, including its famed amphitheater. I pulled a U-ey, heading back by the industrial complex and through the city of Lenosus. The weather cleared a bit, making for a beautiful sunset underneath the clouds, and thankfully I made it back to Agia Napa just before it got really dark. I had the sniffles for a few days afterwards, but in the end it was a great scooter adventure and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

My last day in Cyprus, I headed back into Larnaka a few hours before my flight out. Aside from a fruitless stop by the taxi stand to look into the whereabouts of my jacket, I took some nice shots of the promenade and the port. But most importantly, I was there to celebrate. A rabbi in Jerusalem that I had studied with years earlier had broken the news to me. I couldn’t believe it: my Mom isn’t always right! She had told me that Pesach, the Jewish holiday also known as Passover, was on the 9th, when in reality the main night to celebrate was the evening prior. I was disheartened to say the least, given that I had purposely extended my stay in Israel to live out every Jew’s dream, and the closing line at every Passover Seder: “next year in Jerusalem.” I was unable to change my flight, so I was stuck in Cyprus on that propitious night, but thankfully I’d be back the next night and the rabbi assured me he’d organize something for me, even though Israeli Jews traditionally only celebrate one night, vs. the two we honor elsewhere. After helping to settle my anxiety, Rabbi Sterne suggested I look up a local Chabad House in Cyprus and join them for Seder, which I gladly did.

Passover is the annual Jewish holiday that commemorates the Jews’ exodus from slavery in Egypt. You may have seen The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston, the story of Moses serving as a messenger of G-d and visiting ten plagues on the Egyptian Pharoh, before he finally acquiesces and vows to “let my people go.” To honor this occasion, we eat a ceremonial meal full of stories, songs, and tradition, all intended to keep the memory alive and to help us remember to cherish our freedom. The Chabad House, a Lubovich rebbe-inspired Jewish Orthodox sect, are quite devout, and it was fun to experience a more religious Seder than I was accustomed to.

We ceremoniously washed our hands and said the blessing a couple times, and the young rabbis, with their black coats and wide brimmed hats, white shirts, and beards, told jokes and tried to keep everyone’s attention over the noise. You see, they divided the 200 or so people in the hall roughly in half, into Hebrew and English, and one side or another was singing while the other would try to read, so it made for quite the humorous scene. As a public speaker, I could empathize with the rabbis, and did my best to help as they suffered through my worst nightmare. It helped that we drank our four ceremonial cups of wine, and interspersed we ate the bitter herbs dipped in saltwater to symbolize the bitterness of slavery. We ate the unleavened matzoh to recollect how quickly our ancestors had to leave Egypt, and reclined to demonstrate our freedom. We sang songs, and gave thanks. In fact, by the time I had to leave, the rabbi was standing on a chair singing and getting the crowd to join him, all inspired by the Chassidic tenant of bringing the joy back to religion, vs. simply practicing the ritualistic and duty-driven acts of faith. I said my goodbyes to my newfound friends, and made my way to my awaiting cab, heading for the airport with my to go Seder plate in tow. It was time for the real deal matzoh meal, Seder in Jerusalem!