Movement

Cyprus is a country infused with many if not all aspects of Mediterranean culture. The staples of a society I’ve been raised in are noticeable everywhere. I can’t help but feel uplifted since I’m constantly being drug in and out of a familiarity that I hold dearly. Watching the Cypriot people in their element has been the main fundamental in my truly enjoyable month study here. They radiate a vibrancy that can’t help but be noticed.

As a group, we have been exposed to so many incredible experiences throughout our journey here. Many of them have had a more serious tone, so, it was rather enjoyable to have some light -hearted experiences as well. The opportunity arose when we were given the occasion to learn how to Greek dance at a restaurant in old Nicosia.

Xephotos, is a restaurant bustling with life. Traditional, hand woven crafts litter the wall along with bright tapestries and lanterns. The owner of the place prepared a huge meze (traditional Cypriot meal) and made us eat it before he allowed us to partake in the dancing that we were so earnest to begin. The meze felt like it stretched on forever; All of us playing musical chairs with our bowls around the table.

After our dinner, we started to hear music being played. As we peered around the corner, we laid eyes on three young Cypriots, who were about the same age as us, dancing to traditional Greek music. They were so carefree in the way they moved. There were no routines or choreography since every step was improved, twirled and snapped to the beat of the music. The laughter reverberated throughout the restaurant as four of our group members stood up to try and imitate the Cypriot dancing. I can’t say that it was exactly their forte.

The Cypriot dancing is an exotic blend of many different cultures mashed together to form the modern movements of today. As the restaurant owner began to fiddle in his seat, I realized that he was dying to get out of his chair. As he stood up and proceeded to dance, I couldn’t help but laugh. Cypriots don’t have an age limit on who can or can’t dance. The sixty nine year old owner of the restaurant was dancing just as fast paced, if not faster then the Cypriots who were our age. It was evident that to simply be joyful and passionate was all that mattered. The music was to be felt, not structured. The worst crime one could commit would be to not flow with the rhythm.

Cyprus is a place with many stagnant lines that have created a lot of hard feelings. These feelings are evident on all the people that live on this small yet vibrant island. The problem with lines, though, is that they are unmoving. It is these walls that with time become permanent divisons between people that don’t falter or wave. What I do hope for the people of this beautiful place is movement; movement towards forgiveness, fresh starts, and the erasing of those harsh lines.

Stagnant Sands

One major aspect of Cyprus that made it such a priority to ancient conquerors was the fact that she is at the center or a cultural crossroads. Lying between 3 important areas, Europe, the Fertile Crescent, and Africa, Cyprus became a bridge, connecting major areas of the world. To put this to the test to see how easy it is to travel to other places from Cyprus, our group decided to take a boat trip to Egypt.

It was an adventure of sorts. How many people get to sail across the ocean from an island? For me, I was looking forward to it's comfort since everyone would be speaking Arabic, which is a nice change from the Greek that I can’t understand. It took us all night sailing on the blue waters of the Mediterranean for us to land in Egypt. Egypt is one of those far away places that I always hear about but never thought I’d have the opportunity to travel to. When you actually approach it's shores, you can’t help but be overwhelmed by a surreal feeling of not actually seeing what is in front of you.

The instant that we at first landed in Port Said, we stepped into a bustling world with a mind of it's own. It takes about a 2 ½ hour drive to get to Cairo, so, we had a long time leading up to it to take everything in. In between Port Said and Cairo is a mixture of green to desert and back to green again. Vendors line the streets with melons, carts, and trinkets. Clotheslines litter the horizon for miles and miles on end set up upon a background of desert.

I could tell we were getting closer to Cairo because the traffic was becoming an intricate maze. I couldn’t help but laugh because it reminded me so much of Beirut. There is only one road rule, which is that there are no road rules. A lot of my classmates were overwhelmed by the taxis competing with our tour bus to get ahead. For me, it was a return to normalcy. I love how the traffic pushes you to where it wants you to go instead of the driver getting to choose.

Cairo is an explosion of frenetic energy that is hard to ignore because the city has a way of making you watch it’s every move. So much is going on, yet at the same time nothing new is happening. When watching the people, I realized that the lifestyle is one of tradition. As I have learned from my Arab family, tradition is your core. Your roots define you. The vendors on the street have been doing that for centuries. The boaters on the Nile have always been there. One guarantee about this city is that you could leave and come back 30 years later only to experience the people right where you left them. From a westerner’s point of view, I think a lot of people would look down upon it, but, for me, it is one of the things that I love the most about Middle Eastern culture.; the Arab security net.

One aspect about my life that I find extremely important is the emphasis on the people that surround you. People define and make up whatever space you inhabit. Their actions and attitudes are what define a country. I feel like to truly immerse myself; I have to pay attention to the people because they are the truest reflection of the region. One little Egyptian boy that I met really stuck close to my heart and he showed the harsher reality that a majority of people in the west are shielded from.

While in front of the Sphinx, in a swarm of aggressive vendors, I noticed a little boy falling behind his fellow sellers. Since he was so little, I’d say he was about six, he was failing to communicate with the tourists to make his sell. After a short while, he approached my group and asked if we wanted to buy some postcards. In Arabic I asked him “why are you out here selling trinkets in this heat?” He answered me with “I need the money but I’m tired and no one is listening to me”. Then I told him that I would give him one American dollar but that I didn’t want anything in return. I also told him that that he would have to promise me he would keep it for himself and not give it to anyone because he deserves money for his hard work. He just stared at me while I grabbed my wallet and handed him a five-dollar bill. His eyes grew wide and he said “you’d do that for me?” Afterwards he was beaming, and told me he was so tired and appreciated it and then ran off. Five minutes later he came up and gave me some postcards and happily posed for a picture. Children are innocent everywhere and I find that innocence to be very inspiring. It saddens me to know that people use and abuse them for their own benefit.

(the one below is Annie's picture!)

Egypt's vibrancy and diversity definitely left it's mark on me. I promised myself I would go back as soon as possible. There is so much more there to see and experience. For me, the bus ride back to our boat was one of reflection. My trip to Egypt has given me gratitude. Gratitude for a life filled with opportunities that a lot of other people don't have. I hope that I can use this gratitude to give myself the inspiration and ability to help the people who need it most. I think by doing that, I can feel truly fulfilled.

A Divided Backyard

In a country with a rich history spanning over 8000 years, Cyprus overflows with cultural depth and beauty from every corner of her Aphrodite striken shores. After the invasion of Turkey in 1974, Cyprus became a country of division and tension. The northern half of the island transformed into an occupied territory (by the invading Turks), while the south established itself as the official Republic of Cyprus. Many people were displaced, blocked from their side of the island, and repressed because of these hostile conditions. This chaotic political movement launched an issue that is now deeply ingrained and evident in the people of this beautiful island. The concept that Cyprus is in fact a small island (spanning only 3572 miles), that is divided in half, tends to spark curiosity in a foreigner to Cypriot culture and politics. The division line has only been open for people to pass through at free will since 2004. The question of "who is right?" nags the mind when traveling between the two sides.

This political turmoil was one of the first things I noticed when landing on Cyprus. It is almost like a suppressed secret that everyone is dying to divulge. Since I am going to school and living in Nicosia for the next month (the only divided capital left in the world), one tends to pick up on these underlying tensions. My apartment is located on a more quite, residential, and Greek side of Nicosia. The morning drives the locals awake for work and school, while the night brings out our personal night musicians that play in the little store underneath our apartments. There is life here. A full, average, life that everyone lives out day to day. While this side of Nicosia is alive and well, the other half is a world unto itself.

To get to the Turkish half of Nicosia, me and my classmates walked through the older downtown area. The Greek side of downtown is covered with kiosks full of huge varieties of souvenirs and traditional art. Every building in the old city has a different door, and range in age from more modern, to the 11-15th centuries. It is a touristic heaven of sorts.

After walking down the center of downtown Nicosia, you get to a checkpoint. This checkpoint marks the beginning of the green line, patrolled by Greek soldiers that allow you to walk through. A green line represents a line of UN patrol to establish peace between two warring sides. Greek soldiers are on one side, the UN patrols the middle, and Turkish soldiers patrol the other side. After we walked through the Turkish checkpoint, a literal green divide with screens and abandoned, crumbling, buildings lined the walkway. When getting to the Turkish checkpoint, we had to not only show our passports, but also get a visa signed and stamped by the official.

Arriving in the Turkish section of Nicosia filled me with awe and slight distress. A night and day effect had set in with me and my classmates. I realized that I had left the beautiful Nicosia that has been my home for the last 5 days, and have landed in a foreign land with it's own set of rules. An area of shops were set up not to far from the checkpoints, but, with a closer look, one noticed that some of the shops just didn't quite make sense. One sign read "no name shop", the others were overflowing with fake purses, 7-up signs that were slightly askew littered the floor. Since the Turkish side of Cyprus is an occupied territory, they can't get licensed to have any sort of product. Anything you see (such as a McDonalds...and so on) is completely fake.

One of our professors had befriended a restaurant owner named Mustapha (one of the Turkish invaders from 1974) the previous year he had been in Cyprus, so we paid him a visit on our way in. Mustapha was definitely a character to remember. His thick accent and hand gestures signaled us to take our seats and prepare to inhale some delicious Turkish-Cypriot food. While he was bustling about our table, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat awkwardly placed tattoo on his forearm. A wolf-like animal reaching towards a Turkish crescent and star symbol covered nearly most of his arm. After I paid, I decided to ask him what exactly that represented. "I was in the army! 35 years! 1974!" he exclaimed. I still wasn't quite sure what that had to do with his tattoo, but, regardless, I went with it.

Later on while walking, I noticed it, his tattoo. Glimmering gold in the sunlight. It hit me all at once. That was the symbol for the Turkish army. Mustapha wasn't afraid to state who he was since that was who he was, a Turkish invader. However now, after 35 years of turmoil had come and gone, Mustapha had come to terms with his Cypriot life. "It is better now that everyone has their sides", Mustapha told my classmate.

As I delved deeper into the heart of Turkish Nicosia, I noticed an eerie feeling of emptiness. The streets were bare, houses vacant and locked up, and way fewer tourists lined the alley ways. It would take almost 8-9 rundown houses before finding one with people in it. I also found two apartments with clothes hanging out front, with the green line literally slicing through their backyards. A harsh reality of political turmoil and sadness rushed me in a huge wave. The bitterness of both sides was physically reflected in the bare remains of their communities.

What I find the most interesting is how this issue of division is reflected through the people in Cyprus. After only being here 5 days, I have already heard a range of opinions. One younger Cypriot I met rang out the familiar words "Don't you forget! It is an OCCUPIED territory!". Another, older Cypriot mentioned that positivity it has created in keeping different people separated. Others, like a protest we saw in the Old Grecian Nicosia, chanted the hope of unity and "one street" mentality.

A divided backyard is what Cyprus has ended up living through. Though it is something that I find sad and heartbreaking, I have noticed that the Cypriots have slowly but surely started to work towards the hardest step, forgiveness.