September 2021: We barely made it to Cyprus! Paula lost her phone in the Athens airport during our connection from Santorini, but by some miracle, it was recovered by airport staff and waiting for us at the lost and found counter in the baggage area. From Athens, we took a red-eye flight to Larnaca, the capital of the Republic of Cyprus, arriving at 2 a.m.
With only one day in Cyprus before our evening flight to Egypt, we decided to make the most of our time. As with every place I visit, I like to learn as much as I can about its history, and a lesson on Cyprus isn’t complete without understanding the division that occurred in the mid-1970s. The island split into the Republic of Cyprus (RC) and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC): RC is primarily inhabited by Greek Cypriots and is recognized by the U.N., while the TRNC, home to Turkish Cypriots, is recognized only by Turkey.
After just five hours of sleep, we set out to explore as much as possible, hoping to visit Famagusta and its southern closed-off section of Varosha. I knew it was a long shot to get into the TRNC due to their strict and frequently changing Covid requirements. If we couldn’t enter the TRNC to see Varosha, our backup plan was to visit the demilitarized zone for a view from there—the next best option. This area, where RC and TRNC military forces face off, marks the border that divides the island to this day.
History of Famagusta
Famagusta is a town with an incredibly layered history, dating back thousands of years. It was once a thriving Venetian trading center, and remnants of its Venetian walls still stand today. Later, the Ottomans invaded, incorporating Famagusta into their empire. In the colonial era, the British took control, only to leave following a guerilla war in the 1950s.
After British rule, Cyprus was home to both Greek and Turkish Cypriots, but tensions were simmering. In the 1970s, Turkey invaded. Greek Cypriots claim that both communities lived in relative peace and view the invasion as an unjustified land grab. Meanwhile, Turkish Cypriots and Turkey argue that the invasion was necessary to protect Turkish Cypriots, who they claim were being mistreated by the Greek Cypriot majority. Like most political issues, it’s deeply complex.
At the time of Turkey’s military invasion, Varosha—a resort area in Famagusta—was home to around 50,000 mostly Greek Cypriots and was a popular beach destination even for Hollywood stars. As Turkey advanced, the city was bombed by military planes, leading to casualties that included tourists. In the chaos, Greek Cypriots fled, leaving behind homes that had been in their families for generations. Within two days, Turkey had taken control of the town.
A U.N.-brokered agreement led to a decision to leave Varosha unoccupied as a “ghost town” until a settlement could be reached. But a resolution never came, and Varosha remained sealed off for decades—frozen in time on the other side of the DMZ—until 2020, when Turkey decided to open parts of it to visitors. This move has outraged Greek Cypriots, many of whom are now refugees in the Republic of Cyprus and still see Varosha as their rightful home.
Where is Famagusta
Map of Cyprus
In the morning, I arranged for a taxi, and as it turned out, our driver was a refugee from Famagusta, just like the driver from the night before. In fact, every taxi driver we encountered had similar stories of fleeing their homes as children during the Turkish military invasion. Many of these refugees, despite being allowed to cross the border, refuse to do so—both out of principle and the emotional toll. One driver shared how he had once crossed over to see his childhood home, only to be refused entry by the Turkish family now living there.
Our driver recommended we take rapid COVID tests, which he said were required for crossing the border. Our plan was to enter the Turkish-controlled area for the day and return in time to catch our evening flight. We completed the rapid tests for 5 euros, received our results within ten minutes, and set off for the border.
As we neared the border, we noticed rows of half-built hotels and homes, seemingly part of a rush to develop the region to assert territorial claims. Upon arrival, the area was littered with abandoned buildings and derelict vehicles. Our driver dropped us off at the checkpoint, wished us luck, and we exchanged numbers in case we ran into trouble.
At the border, we found nothing but confusion. After being misdirected a few times, we finally reached a booth where a Turkish health official was reviewing documents. One border official said we needed to be in Cyprus for 14 days before crossing; another mentioned we needed a PCR test instead of the rapid test. We tried pleading our case, and Paula attempted her best “puppy dog” look, which even led the official to try helping us. However, his supervisor refused to grant us entry. He warned us that even if we did pass his checkpoint, the military officer at the next booth would likely turn us away—and that we might end up quarantined in the Turkish area for 14 days.
With so much conflicting information and no clear path forward, we decided it was best to head to the DMZ to view Varosha from an overlook instead.
Mosque on the Turkish side of the Border of RC and TRNC
One of many abandoned cars strewn across the DMZ
Since our plan to cross the border didn’t work out, we returned to the Republic of Cyprus. Unfortunately, our first taxi driver was already gone, so we called for a new one. To our surprise, he, too, was a refugee from Famagusta. He agreed to take us to the DMZ and also suggested we visit Cape Greco National Park, a stunning stretch of wild sea cliffs and caves along the way.
As we drove through the park, the rugged beauty of the coastline captivated us, with turquoise waters crashing against jagged cliffs. It was a peaceful contrast to the political tensions we’d just encountered at the border. We spent some time exploring the park’s natural wonders, and although we couldn’t get as close to Varosha as we’d hoped, the breathtaking views made for a memorable experience nonetheless.
Cape Greco
Cape Greco
Paula at Cape Greco
Sea cave, Cape Greco
Cape Greco was a bit too crowded for my taste, with a large number of Russian tourists filling the area. The heat was also intense, adding to the discomfort. We explored a few of the sea caves, enjoyed some ice cream to cool off, and then set off for the DMZ. However, we had a bit of an embarrassing situation while at Cape Greco—I’ll explain in the next photo caption.
Our taxi driver, a middle-aged man, took a photo of Paula and me at Cape Greco (pictured above) with his phone. Later, while driving, he offered the photo to us and handed Paula his phone, saying, “Just go ahead and text the photo to yourself.” Paula clicked on the photo but accidentally scrolled one back, revealing a close-up shot of his very stimulated private parts. Paula did a great job pretending not to see this and handed the phone back as though nothing had happened. How awkward!
De-Militarized Zone
As we neared the DMZ, the militarized line of barbed wire and soldier watch towers dividing the border between the Republic of Cyprus (R.C.) and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC), the atmosphere changed. Anti-Turkey propaganda—slogans, graffiti, and monuments—became more prominent, visible on walls and throughout parks. The town faded away as we entered a stretch of empty scrublands, and soon we reached the border. Signs were posted everywhere, warning of no entry, no photographs, and the watchful presence of U.N. vehicles patrolling the area. In the distance, we could see empty, decrepit buildings lining the coastline. This was Varosha, frozen in time on the other side of the border.
Propaganda Against Turkish Invasion
We walked to the end of the path, as far as we could go, where a barbed wire fence marked the boundary. Our driver had warned us not to cross, explaining that doing so could lead to arrest. He said the Turkish military was very aggressive, and they would likely detain us for days, seizing all our possessions before eventually releasing us. As we approached the fence, a U.N. jeep appeared in the distance. I half-expected the driver to challenge us, so we quickly turned around and began walking back to our car. Fortunately, the U.N. vehicle passed without incident, and we continued on our way, relieved.
Border of DMZ that we could not pass
U.N vehicle patrolling the DMZ to keep the peace. In the background is the ghost town of Varosha.
No Mans Land Sign
Anti-Turkey Signs at the Varosha Overlook Building on the DMZ
We climbed a tower at the DMZ to get a better view of Varosha. As we stood there, a couple of teenage kids joined us, gazing out over the ruins of the city with solemn expressions. I struck up a conversation with them and asked where they were from. They told me they were from Cyprus, and when I asked how they felt looking out over Varosha, they shared that it was heartbreaking for them. I asked if they would ever visit, and without hesitation, they said no. For them, it would be too painful to see the city, now occupied by invaders, and to witness others living in what they considered their homeland.
Cypriot Military Watchtower
Larnaca
No matter how complex the situation or the differing perspectives, it was profoundly sad to stand there with Greek Cypriots, looking out over their lost homeland. The pain and sorrow were palpable. After leaving the DMZ area, we made our way back to Larnaca. There, we took some time to explore the city and enjoy a final meal before our evening flight to Egypt. It was a bittersweet ending to our brief but eye-opening time in Cyprus.
Old City of Larnaca
Paula inside a small orthodox roadside temple