A Sunday in the Villages of Troodos Mountains



I  am enjoying this trip to Cyprus at the invitation of my friend and colleague, Michalinos Zembylas.  We each earned our Ph.D. at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, meeting in one of the first classes and establishing a strong and lasting relationship from the first day. That relationship was  built around a shared love of coffee and of lengthy discussions on what we were learning; it has grown over the past 7 years on collaborative research and writing projects.   I credit much of my success at tenure to Michalinos' brilliant and prolific writing, both of which pushed me to be and do more than I imagined possible. Coming to Cyprus and working on our current project, an exploration of forgiveness pedagogy with Cypriot teachers, is a delight for me.  Meeting his wife, Galatia, and their two children, Orestes (5) and Mariza (3) is equally a delight! 

Michalinos, Orestes, and Mariza



Galatia and children, playing with the toys I brought for them--toys all made in China!



Orestes (AKA Superman) looks just like Michalinos, Mariza looks just like Galatia!



My second Sunday in Cyprus, which happened to be my birthday, I went with my Michalinos and his family to the villages in the Troodos Mountains where they grew up.  Galata, Michalinos' village, is about a 45 minute drive from Nicosia, and Galatia's village is six miles away.  Galata is nestled among the Troodos m ountains, with two ancient churches that are kept locked.  Despite calls to the current key-keeper, we weren't able to see inside them. Higher up the mountain, however, is a modern replica built on the site of an ancient church.  This one is also kept locked, but the key is visibly located in a not so secret cache in the church wall.  There was no electricity, so Michalinos and his 14 year old nephew Solomou, lit tall tapers and we toured the inside by candle light.  The icons were ghostly and mysterious in the flickering light, a much more enjoyable tour than one illumined by electric light bulbs! Unfortunately, my camera was back at his parents' house. 

Village of Galata, Cyprus

The villages are shrinking as young people move to urban areas.  Michalinos' mother, Maro, who is involved in village politics, said (with Michalinos tranlating for me), that the village leaders are trying to close the local school.  When Michalinos attended in the late 1970s-80s, there were 150 students. Now there are 20.   Maro is fighting to keep the school open, as losing it will further diminish the life of the village and the possibility of luring young people back.

 Mara prepared an amazing Cypriot Sunday family meal, including dolmasi (meat and rice wrapped in cabbage leaves), wild mushrooms (that Michalinos' father, Andreas, found on the mountains), souvlas (grilled lamb, chicken, and potatoes), a vegetable that I think was pickled caper plant, the ever present yoghurt, lemons, and olives, and village salata with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and feta cheese. This was followed by enormous strawberries, the best I've ever tasted, a cream dessert of some sort, and a pistachio ice cream cake, served in honor of my birthday!

After dinner I sat with Andreas and looked a book filled called "Morphou--A Cry of Anguish".  It was filled with poetry and pictures of Morphou, the city wher he and his family lived until the Turkish invasion of the north in 1974. At that time they fled as refugees to Galata (Michalinos was 5), leaving their homes, churches, lands, memories to others, just as Turkish Cypriots were forced to abandon theirs in the south and relocate in the north of Cyprus.  The country remains partitioned, with Nicosia one of the last divided cities in the world.  Andreas showed me pictures of their home and church, included in this book, and when I asked if he wanted to go back to Morphou, located only about 30 minutes from Galata, he sad, no, it would be too sad.

I left the senior Zembylas home, laden with dessert, halloumi cheese (one of the few cheesees that can be grilled and still hold its shape and rapidly becoming my favorite food), and oranges from Michalinos' uncles orchard--again, probably the best I have eaten in my life!

Galatia, Michalinos, Maro and Andreas Zembylas

 We then went to Galatia's village where her parents were eager to see their grandchildren (and happy enough to meet me, but I wasn't even a close second!) We sat on the balcony of their home, overlooking the orchards they maintain, and enjoyed Greek coffee and pound cake and glyka--fruit preserved in sugar syrup.  Glyka can be anything from apricots to citron to green walnuts. This glyka was grapefruit peel and it was very good, though sweet enough to make a few small bites sufficient. Galatia's parents speak no English, though her father speaks both Greek and Turkish, since he was raised in the north with Turkish neighbors.  Their attention was rivited on their grandchildren, with him playing ball with them and her feeding them spoonfuls of avgolemona soup.  Galatia said that her children refuse to eat much, unless it comes from their grandmother's hand!



Michalinos looking out at his in-laws' orchards


As we prepared to leave, Galatia's mother filled a small clay dish with leaves, lit them, and waved the smoke towards me, her daughter and son-in-law, and her grandchildren, making the sign of the cross.  A blessing on us all.  In addition to this blessing, I left their home with the very tangible blessings of olives and marmalade, both made by Galatia's mother, and fresh eggs from their chickens. 

Sun setting on Troodos Mountains, viewed from Galatia's parents' balcony



 With the sun dipping behind the Troodos Mountains, we drove back to Nicosia in nearly bumper to bumper traffic. The people in the city spend their Sundays and often the entire week-end in the village with their parents and extended families.  Very few stores are open on Sundays. Family time is supreme and the Sabbath is honored.  It was a very good birthday for me.

 

More Pictures, Fewer Words!

I think I need more pictures and fewer words on this blog.  The trick is how to do that, but I am learning.   This posting is an experiment in adding more pictures with concise descriptions.   Bear with me, please, as I enter more fully into the technology of the day....

I passed this site on the way to the open air market on Saturday morning.  The excavation of antiquities appears to be happening with little fanfare.  No signs marked the activity, so I am assuming it is some sort of archeological exploration.  The Department of Antiquities regulates construction on any sites where ancient remains, archeological and human, are located.  And in Nicosia, that is almost everywhere.  Yesterday, I heard a young man working with an NGP called Peace Players describe their goal of building a basketball court in the moat area around the wall, and of being thwarted by the Department of Antiquities.  The tall building in the background captures the dilemma of this city---ancient and modern, even postmodern, living side-by-side.  As one Cypriot said, "Cyprus moved from pre-modern to post-modern with very little in between."  The constast is startling and is evident in more than just sites like this.

Another interesting view, walking along the wall of the Old City.  This structure appears to be quite old, but nothing marks it or describes what it is.  The Cypriot-American driving the car as we passed said, "Someday I'm going to find out what that is.  I thought maybe aquaduct, but when I climbed on top, nothing was there."  He is clearly more agile and adventurous than I, but I wanted to climb on top to see what it is, too! A walking tour of the old city is available, and next Thursday, I will join it to see what I can learn.  Expect more pictures and informed documentary to come!

This is the outside of the grocery nearest my house.  The stonework in the lower part shows the beginning of the renovation being done.   I'll take a picture later to show the finished product.  This gives a good sense of the atmosphere in the Old City.  Pockets of renovation interspersed among a lot of older structures in need of repair. Inside, the store occupies five small rooms, with most everything you need for food and basic survival.  My first Cypriot shopping excursion.  This is in sharp contrast to the "Alpha and Omega" store in Engomi, a nearby surburb of Nicosia, where a Wallmart atmosphere offers whatever you want, as the name suggests.  I didn't take a picture of that, since it would look like any other big store I would find in America.

This is a picture of St. Anthony's Church and the sign for the church. It represents an exciting movment for me in Nicosia.  I was walking through the Old City, simply exploring, and when I saw this sign, I was able to read it.   "Agiou" means Saint and "Anthoniou" is pretty clear, once you know the letters.  I then realized that I could also read "Eklesia" and remembered it from Bible studies from long ago--

The Church--and from Spanish Iglesia.  My office is on Agiou Anthoniou Street---St. Anthony Street--in another part of town which made this connection possible!

The next few pictures are from the interior of the church nearest my hostel, Chrysalliniotissa Church, built in 1200 AD.  I think I have the facts straight on this.  Hopefully the walking tour will fix any errors.  More about the Chrysalliniotissa neighborhood, my neighborhood, later.  Notice the solemn icons (paintings of saints) positioned on ornate iconostatis (for holding the icons).  The use of gold and intricate carvings captures the belief in spaces as sacred.  The contrast between inside the church and outside the church is thought-provoking.   

And finally, the endpoint of my explorations: The Market on Saturday.

This picture captures about 1/5 of the size of the market.

The vendors shout the prices of their goods in loud voices.  I wasn't sure exactly what was going on and asked a young woman standing next to me what one man was saying.  We were standing in front of a bin of Clementine oranges, .60 Euro for one kilo. She looked at me with a funny expression and said, "He is saying that these cost .60 Euro."   I bought 4 tomatoes, 4 zuccini, and several Clementines--and paid 1.5 Euro---about 2 dollars American.  The single banana I wanted was thrown in for free.  Enough to keep me eating well till next market day!

Home Away From Home

Living in the University of Cyprus Hostel for visiting professors and graduate students in the Old Walled City of Nicosia is quite a rich experience.   The building was built at the turn of the century and has the look of the colonial period.  Inside, they are doing serious renovation---replastering walls, repainting, repairing windows, etc.  Consequently, lots of dust, ladders, scaffolding, and chattering workmen at 7:30 in the morning.  Gustas and Stephan are two of the younger workers. Gustas speaks English, Stephan just smiles.  And I now can say "Kalimera" for Good Morning, "Doxsi" for OK, and "Efcharisto" for Thank You. (All you Greek scholars, note the root "Charis" in that--for gift/grace--and then it makes sense as Thank You.  Those connections let me remember the words. Like the main street going to my office is "Kallipoleos" which means Good City.  Polis for city.  See?  It's not so hard---Ha!  The phrase, "It's Greek to me" has taken on a much richer meaning for me.   But I digress.



Arches and curving stairways in hostel

                                             

Stairs leading to my room



The building inside is filled with arches and curving stairways and ornate tile floors.  I love the inside.  The very center of the building has an interior courtyard enclosed by windows, so when I sit in the kitchen, eating my Greek yoghurt and almonds for breakfast, I look out at the couryard.  Unfortunately, the courtyard is filled with scaffolding, ladders, and workmen, too, as the renovations include the exterior walls.   I hope that the place is finished by the time I leave Nicosia, so I get to see it as a thing of beauty, not just a work in progress!



Interior courtyard being renovated

 The kitchen has those courtyard windows and one of the beautiful arches, but it also has an electric stove, a small washing machine, two big refrigerators, a microwave, and Palmolive dish soap.  Laundry is dried in a back courtyard, draped on drying racks. Well equipped and comfortable, especially when cooking for one.


Hostel Kitchen, modern and with its own archway

 



Back of hostel, where laundry dries



My room is...well, think "convent" if you've ever been in one of those.  Deep yellow walls, tile floors (ceramic but quite simple, not beautiful replicas of mosiacs like down stairs).   I have a desk and chair, a bed, a side chair that isn't very comfortable, a cupboard with shelves, drawers, and a place to hang clothes, and an electric space heater, which I use every day!  The thick stone walls of the building definitely hold the cold and damp. Best of all, I have external doors with windows that open out onto a tiny balcony, overlooking a tall palm tree and a vivid magenta bougainvillea spilling over the top of the house across the way. Those windows let in lots of light during the day and the sound of the Turkish call to prayer and the workmen's jackhammers at 7:30 in the morning. I've added a video of the call to prayer, interrupted by jackhammers.  We'll see if that works.

Floor of my tiny balcony

 

View from my balcony

Bougainvillea outside my balcony

I have made my room my own---with a swatch of sheer fabric draped over the window as a "window treatment," with a three Euro rag rug to put my feet on in the mornings, with pictures I stole from downstairs (where the workmen had piled them while they painted), with assorted pictures of my husband, kids, and mom attached to blue paper (blue for Greek), and with a small cyclamen plant, purchased at the open air market and gracing my desk.  It isn't much, but at the end of the day, it feels good to come home to my room, especially now that I have an internet cable and can SKYPE with my husband, my mom, my family.    

Doors leading to balcony, with my "window treatment"

My desk with INTERNET CONNECTION!



 Being here has given me a taste of an older culture and surrounded me with friendly, interesting companions for those conversational moments at breakfast and the end of the day. It has also made me grateful for simple things--a swatch of sheer fabric, a small rag rug, my own mug to take to my room with tea at night. I'm glad I'm living here for my time in Cyprus.

One Week Cyprus

I’ve been here one week today, 2-09-2011.  So some verbal snapshots of the first seven days, as seen by one who has never before been in a place so different, without friends or family to support me.  If my self-centered cultural perspective shows through, so be it.  This trip is for that very purpose—to expand that narrow vision that has grown from only living in one culture my entire life.

Amazing how overwhelming the newness is here—overwhelming and disorienting.

Sounds.  The regular call to prayer from the Turkish sector, broadcast with scratchy amplification, five times a day.  Children laughing and shouting---that sounds familiar, at least. The workmen on the street, jackhammers exploding at 7:30 six days a week (thank you, God, for Sunday, in more ways than one.) The sounds of the market on Saturday and Wednesday, sellers hawking their goods in a language that has nothing familiar for me.   Wild cats prowling the street, looking for food in the garbage, yowling in the hunt. I’ve called to them, “Kitty, Kitty,” hoping to pet one, but they look at me as if I am speaking a foreign language (go figure!) and turn eyes that look more feral than the felines reigning as kings and queens in the home of the USA. Dogs seem to enjoy a more elevated, pampered pet status than cats, though I’m still not sure they are allowed to share people’s homes.  (My Cypriot friend thinks that Americans are somewhat barbarian to allow animals to have free reign in their homes.)  The sound of honking cars and gunning engines as people zoom through narrow streets, virtually ignoring all pedestrians.  Walk at your own risk.  Cars park on the sidewalks, some of which are only about 18 inches wide, at times almost blocking roads.

And always the cacophony of language.  Greek itself is so foreign to my ears.  But there is also a wide variety of Asian languages, some African languages, and English spoken with accents ranging from Cypriot to British to American to all the Europeans here who speak English as their common language.   Sometimes the languages are music. Sometimes they are a headache of sensory overload.

1200 AD Church near my hostel



Street in Old Walled City, Nicosia,
with car parked on "sidewalk"



Sights.  Nicosia is not a very pretty city, at least not in the winter.  The Old Walled City is filled with winding narrow streets, no trees, no grass, few flowers, except for the brave homemaker with a green thumb who puts her (or his?) handiwork on display on the narrow sidewalks.  Many of the buildings are very old and in varying degrees of disrepair.  Of course, the age is part of the charm.  What feels like a layer of yellow dust covers much of everything, but it may just be the color of the stones that form the buildings. Cream City brick, Nicosia style.   An orthodox church from 1200 AD sits about 300 meters from my hostel.  The same dusty yellow stone outside, glittering art, ornate carvings, and solemn icons inside.  While some buildings have been (or are being) restored and look quite nice, there are crumbling structures interspersed throughout. As I walk along the “Green Line,”—the edge of the buffer zone separating Greek southern Nicosia/Cyprus from Turkish northern Cyprus (named after the crayon mark drawn by a British officer on the map in the 1960s, I can see even more deterioration, very likely buildings that were bombed in the 1974 conflict. Looking to the North, it is obvious that poverty holds harsh sway in the lives of the citizens of the Turkish Republic of Cyprus, recognized by no country but Turkey.

Crumbling building and graffiti in Old Walled City



Restaurant directly across from crumbling building in Old Walled City



Looking to the Turkish occupied area in the north, about 10 meters from my hostel,
no photographs allowed close up.

As I move to the more “urban” section of the Old City, betting shops and nightclubs and many  immigrants, also in poverty surround me.  In the City Centre, however, is Laiki Getonia, a pedestrian shopping area running the north and south, filled with restaurants (from Armenian/Syrian/Greek/Cypriot to one enclave where McDonalds/Starbucks/Cinnabon cluster together, in a sort of expatriot solidarity) and shops and stores of all sorts.  This area is filled with people, Cypriots and immigrants and tourists, like me.  Happy to see Starbucks, especially with the WIFI connection and a cup of familiar coffee, still eager to taste the foods and experiences of a different world.

All this is in walled Old Nicosia.  Beyond the wall with its 11 bastions and three gates, Paphos, Famagusta, Kyrenia, all named for the cities the roads led to how many centuries ago, lies the urban area of Nicosia, with all the typical feel of an urban center, including too many cars and careless drivers, and cars parked any which way, blocking sidewalks, some almost blocking intersections.  As the tourist guidebook said, with apparent accuracy, no self-respecting Cypriot would be caught dead riding the few city busses or walking.  Cars are all types, though none compare to the size of American cars. Further out, still, is the suburban area of Nicosia with attractive homes, many appearing to be townhouses or apartment buildings rather than free standing homes on the typical big lots of American suburbs.  Large coffee shops and a Cypriot-style Walmart called “Alpha and Omega” are in these areas, an IKEA and Mall of Cyprus even further out.

Front door of my hostel, 11 Axiotheos Street

My impression is that the suburban areas, and perhaps the rest of newer Nicosia are not too different from other cities in Europe, maybe even the United States. But the areas of the Old City, including the 11 Axiotheos Street where my hostel is located, are very different.

But more than anything I am filled with images of people.  Maria, the woman who runs the snack shop/quick store near my hostel and who studied marriage and family counseling in Boston and leaves her shop in the hands of others to do counseling from 2:00 on; she was very guarded at first, but as we talked and I told her that my husband was also a counselor, she gave me her name and phone number in case I need anything.  Ida, the Philippino woman who works as the housekeeper in the hostel; we talk and drink coffee and tea during her breaks. Yunni, the young woman from Spain who teaches Spanish at the university.  Sarah, a young German woman teaching German there. Woody, an American man from Sheybogan, WI, who just graduated from the U of Minnesota and is spending a year here studying architectural restoration; he stayed up all night to watch the Packers win the Super Bowl and greeted me with high fives the next day.  All of them are very friendly and willing to talk and offer help in my adjustment.  I am extremely grateful to be living here with them.  I would be very lonely without their companionship at odd moments in the kitchen. Sarah and Yunni and I have already gone to a documentary and the four of us are going to go to dinner one night soon. Friday night, there is live jazz at a small bar just down from my hostel;  perhaps one of them will want to go with me to that. Doukas, the Greek philosophy professor who I seem to run into on all my excursions into the city.  Martin, the German professor whose family was visiting when I first came and whose wife and teen-age daughter were delightfully warm and friendly.  He has graciously offered to give me rides to the university occasionally.  Another Maria who makes Cypriot ceramics in the Old City and gave me her card and said to come by and have coffee with her someday. The older gentleman who invited me to go into the 1200 AD church near my hostel.  The gentleman at the Alpha and Omega grocery store who laughed when I apologized for going in front of him to buy olives and said, “You are new to Cyprus?”

And the electrical engineer, Andreas, who rescued me my second day in Cyprus.  I was exhausted with about six hours sleep in two nights, it was raining, my knee was killing me, and I was lost, trying to find my office at the Open University. I had no phone, no internet, and I had couldn’t find the paper where the address was written down.  I stopped in a bank to ask for help and I must have appeared so pathetic that the guard, a much older man, was very kind, and the man with him, Andreas, put me in his car, drove me to the office (thank God he knew the place I was talking about!) and gave me his name and phone number, saying to call if I needed any more help.  Are all Cypriots so gracious?  Probably not, but I have met hospitality and kindness that is has been a life saver for me! Kindness and a welcoming attitude, a helping hand, are like gold to the visitor to a new culture.  I won’t forget this lesson.