clico.org

25 April 2010

Just hearing the word Cyprus, your ears kind of perk. Your first thoughts may include buffer zone, beaches, Greek food or the word “hot”. To be honest, I was intimidated. Not by entering a new culture, but by the amount of work that had to be done.As the plane approached its landing on Saturday afternoon, the drought problems were prominent. It was April; the end of the rainy season, the land looked like a collage of brown paint swatches. It reminded me of Texas in August.

To the contrary, however, flowers lined the highways on the drive from the airport in Larnaka to Nicosia. P and I exchanged jokes about the mal use of water. It’s different to arrive in a place with a mission, especially when that mission is entirely visible. You feel like you know something extra about that place, despite your actual knowledge.  Arriving in Nicosia was another story, however. Although I had my preconceived ideas of the city from what I was taught in 8^th grade social studies class, what filled my eyes was something of a different story, initially.  

The house keeper Muhammad was waiting for us as the taxi driver found his way through the winding narrow streets that lead to our final destination. Upon our arrival, we understood our luck. Our hostel was actually an old masque type building that had been turned into a small but spacious living quarters for academics. There were trees growing out of the small quart yard in the center, flowers taking over its corners and a small well was in one corner inhabited by a statue. There were small birds flying in and out of the arches that defined the rooms of open-air living spaces and the winding staircases and tall ceilings only added to the awe.

Its impressive when you come upon places like this. Or perhaps better said, being an American and despite my travel experience, finding something at happenstance that isn’t touristy, but provides everything that a tourist wishes to fall upon is something of a jaw dropper. It was ancient, it was safe, it was natural, it held a comfort and it was entirely beautiful. This is where we were to spend long hours going through notes and excels while in Cyprus. We were lucky.

On day two, understanding what Sunday means in Europe concluded that capitalism was outweighed and nothing would be open. After a tea and coffee P and I decided to wander the city to get a feel for it. This is where my preconceived notions were partially realized. The town was dead. The “old town” had absolutely nothing going on. No cars, no walkers, no movement, there were only feral cats. We walked around and looked at graffiti and tried to avoid the sun. The number of empty buildings was strikingly strange and confirmed some of my preconceptions.

“At one time, the Greeks and the Turks lived amongst each other within the city walls of Nicosia. When the division became concrete, the Greeks agreed that they would not move into Turkish homes, in so, making a point that it was not right to do so on the other side of the buffer zone,” P explained.

Not here to make a political statement but instead one about water, I wonder what it would take to build a community that would work side by side. Yes, there is much that can be done in the Greek side of Cyprus alone, but the island is what is suffering from drought, not just the Greek side.

Our walk was leading to stranger and stranger areas.  Suddenly we came upon what P had described to me about the Cypriot culture some time ago. Shopping. As if suddenly stepping into Miami, we turned one corner and the streets were no longer dead and Iyves Roche, Guess, Deisel, McDonalds Starbucks and Nescafe were saturated with the people from the missing streets and we fought the tides as we searched for a quieter spot for a beer.

This was the contradiction that was so hardily visible upon our walk. Our understanding of the place was at first very romantic, then a bit haunted and dilapidated, and then so fashion forward that it was hard to find any thoughts.

Cypriot culture appeared to have many contrasts. The people here understand the contrast between their culture and the Turkish culture. Just like everyone understands the difference between themselves and the person next to them. However, the more interesting and probably most important question to my understanding is what it would take for these communities to work together. The answer lies in a project that is something like CLICO. A hopeful motivation through the poignant delineation of details that is properly explained to the public as well as policy makers alike. 

Despite this hopeful motivation, it is only honest to admit that it can be intimidating, and perhaps partially defeating. Looking at the mobs of shoppers when having just seen so many dilapidating buildings prompts many thoughts. The old town is left to grow older and the part of town that is sought includes large houses, big blooming lawns and pools. Its only natural to question the amount of effort it will take to address the problems of such lifestyles, when the alternatives seem so out of fashion.