“It always seems impossible until it’s done”

The above quote is from Nelson Mandela. I’ve been trying to keep it fresh in my mind as I realize how many layers of healing that Cyprus needs to go through in order to shed its dysfunction. 

In preparation for Hands Across the Divide’s 10th anniversary, I’ve been reading up on more of Maria’s work in gender studies in conflict. She chronicled the experiences of people in Cyprus crossing the line for the first time to visit their old homes and villages, and often people would mention how their photographs and albums were still there being kept by the new residents:

If I could only meet you one day,
I’d be so happy, ever so happy

I’m keeping all your photographs, little girl:
Here is your birthday
Under the mandarin tree, the cake with three candles
you, in the sea with Donald Duck
you, waving from the car – your parents smiling at you
and now you are smiling at me

I’ll give these pictures back to you, little girl,
But from time to time
All this weighs heavily on me. I’m anguished
What, if they killed you during that war?

                (Mehment Yashin, 2000) (Hadjipavlou 187).

I can’t imagine what it would be like to confront the people who live in your old house that you had to flee, or to confront the people who are coming to visit their old house which is also the only home you’ve ever known. Many of the stories in Maria’s book mentioned how visitors were greeted with a cup of coffee and invited in, which is difficult for both parties. Some people had kept photo albums of the old inhabitants and were ready to give them back when the checkpoints opened up. I chose to share the above poem with you because I can’t get over the concept of the weight a person might feel to always see photographs of a family you never knew, but who once lived in your house. To remember constantly what circumstances brought you to your new home. I was also surprised to hear how often this seemed to occur and how many people had preserved the photographs of the “other”.

In the Turkish Cypriot community, the authorities have granted deeds to houses which once belonged to Greek Cypriots. Therefore, there are two deeds to the same house floating around, bringing up the question of who would own it or live there if reunification was achieved. Here’s an excerpt from one of the stories from a Greek Cypriot who crossed the line once the checkpoints were open:

“We lost everything in Kyrenia in 1974. I have nothing on this side. I went with my daughter and saw my house. A Turkish Cypriot couple from Limassol lives there now. They were very nice to me. I introduced myself as the owner of the house. They offered us coffee. They [had] changed the house, they [had] made it into two and it did not look like my house any more. They had the titles that the house belonged to them so they turned it in to [sic] two houses because they have two daughters… Now that I have seen the house I felt it doesn’t belong to me any more. The Turkish Cypriots cannot live in their house in Limassol; it became a factory. I sometimes wonder why the politicians kept telling us for so many years that they would not accept a solution without the return of all refugees to their homes. I was saying to myself, how could this be? We have to see the reality now’” (191-2).

Many interviewed in Maria’s book would accept compensation for their properties if there was reunification, but the subject of repatriation remains a very large piece of the puzzle in the peace negotiation process.

There are also many people from both sides who refuse to cross the line due to the politics implied. Then there are those who cross for work. It’s amazing how the human condition allows us to create survival mechanisms to accept psychological hardships or to just survive in the world we’ve messed up. I was thinking about this as I read a friend’s blog, who is working in an orphanage in Tanzania. She mentioned that now that she’s been living there for some time and built up some sort of psychological defense, she’s developed a hardness for sights and sounds. Many Americans would be appalled at living conditions there, but for others its just ordinary life, getting by as we must do. For as fragile as I sometimes think we are, we are also very equipped to survive by any means necessary. (I’ve also been reading a lot of political theory lately, and currently have been fixated on realism, Hobbes, Machiavelli, and the concept of self-preservation as it applies to society, the state, and human nature, so this could be one reason why I’m currently thinking this way. Get excited,  because next in  my line of thinkers are Marx and Wallerstein.)  Something similar has happened in Cyprus, where the Green Line is sometimes just another part of your day. Even I don’t flinch as I walk by the armed guards hanging out behind a house as I go on my way to the grocery store.  It brings up interesting questions about how ingrained the Green Line has become in public consciousness. And, on a slightly different note, I know that most of the foreign women in certain parts of the city are part of the prostitution biz, and that many of them were brought to Cyprus with the promise of high wages and a better life. But do I do anything about it? No, I just accept what should be unacceptable like everyone else on the street. In this aspect, I sometimes feel like an accessory to a crime.

A Greek Cypriot woman interviewed in Maria’s book said of her experiences: “The second time I went with relatives near Varosha and I saw the bombed ghost city I almost fainted. I don’t understand how people can swim nearby and look at those bombed buildings” (195). Varosha was the Greek Cypriot part of Famagusta, and was a large resort town before the conflict put an end to it. Now, Famagusta lies in the Turkish Cypriot side and still brings in tourists who must be able to see Varosha from the beach. It lies within the buffer zone now. Here’s a link to a blog post I saw about it – I’m not interested so much in what he has to say but in what the pictures show. This link here gives a good summary of the events that lead to Varosha’s current status. I’m hoping to check it out myself once I head up to Famagusta.

Anyway, hopefully I’ll be able to talk some of this stuff out when I do my interviews with the women involved in bi-communal groups. As you can tell my thinking is still a bit all-over the place. So far I’ve just been doing my own readings and my own research, so I’m dying to be able to talk it all out and have a real discussion.

Overheard in Cyprus:

“You never expect it when the arm falls off” – Laiki Gitonia, Nicosia.

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A Thousand Views!

A is For Adventure has officially hit over 1,000 views! I have no how that could have possibly happened, but thank you, readers!  

I’ve decided to reward you by regaling you with a ton of stories but also with worthwhile photographs that I actually appear in: 

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English School Game vs Actual English School, Downsend

Apparently the housemasters of the Cypriot English School would not allow the girls to come to the GAME that we SCHEDULED with a completely different school which FLEW IN from ENGLAND and instead made them finish with other “exercise and games”. Thank God Petros invited the girls from the Hockey Association to join or we wouldn’t have fielded a team. About 6 girls did end up escaping their housemasters, and with the association girls we somehow made it. Of course, no one showed up on time on our end, so the school that actually flew in from England, Downsend, was somewhat irritated. Then I had to tell the head coach that my girls had to leave at 3:30, giving us 45 minutes so she couldn’t have separate varsity and junior varsity games. Terribly awkward, since I had no information to give to her since the head guy at the English School seems to be a dud. She was not too happy, and got on the phone to yell at someone when she realized it would do no good to yell at me (confused apologetic face, check.) But as it turns out the girls from the association were brilliant! We put up a good fight and lost 2-0, mostly because no one knew who was supposed to be on post on the defense. But! I’m excited to start working with them –  and they mentioned they had heard about me. I’m not sure if that is good or bad yet. 

More Hash Virgins

Leslie tried the hash last week! Meghan and I wooed her by emphasizing that you can in fact walk it, and by the fact that there is a giant dinner and beer after. Except we absolutely forgot to warn her about initiation, and the hash turned out to be really hard to follow that night since there was a deluge of rain that morning, so all the markers were washed away. She and the other newcomer got separated from the group and then lost, and by the time she finally made it back to the circle (and just before we sent out a search party), she was not too happy with us.  By the time dinner was over I think she was less mad at us, and she did admit that it was a nice group of people, but she noted that she is not just ready to forgive us for bringing her to the longest and scariest hash so far. Which I can understand. As a result she volunteered me to set the next hash alongside the hashmaster  and Religious Advisor Dingbat, but I’m down.

Liz in Nicosia – My first stint as tour guide in Cyprus

I met Liz and her friend Sebastian at the crossing on Wednesday and we spent the day strolling around the walled city, north and south. We basically did the walking tour of Lefkosia that I took one of the first days I was here – or at least what I could remember it. I again turned morphed into Tour-Guide-Sarah and showed off my uncanny ability to remember random historical facts. Luckily Liz and Sebastian are pretty chill travelers and didn’t mind.  We had an awesome lunch, and then we headed across the line to Lefkoşa, where I showed them the mosque, the Buyuk Han, and the best place in town for Turkish Delights. Important stops. We had spent just a little too much time getting lost in Lefkosia before lunch, so then I had to leave to catch my bus to go to class, but all in all it was a lovely day! 

My class continues to be very engaging, although I am one of two people in class who reads the texts. Truly. Which is a shame because we’re talking about the Peloponnesian war and its frighteningly relevant in today’s international relations policies and theories. It’s also making me want to visit Athens… so I really hope they figure something out and get their planes up in the air again before I leave so I can continue my wanderlusting ways. (I also hope they get it together so they don’t help to cause a huge global depression and cause panic in the EU, but that’s a topic for another post.)

Sarah, Ali & Simone as failed UN Diplomats

Simone and Ali came in after my field hockey practice Thursday (which was pretty awesome – 16 first year boys who were pretty hilarious and wanted to learn/play so we actually scrimmaged) and we headed up to Kyrenia/Girne, where Liz and Sebastian were staying – Kyrenia is the Greek name, Girne is the Turkish name. In a very non-PC way, I use them both at the same time or switch them up depending on what my mouth feels like pronouncing at the time. Per usual to adventures in Cyprus, things got just a bit weird once got in the car.  We took Ali’s car, so I was pretty pumped we didn’t have to take a dolmus out of Nicosia. Except that as we pulled up to the crossing at Ledra Palace, we noticed that all the guards were giving us strange looks. We realized we were in the wrong place when finally someone approached the car and said “UN or diplomatic IDs?” We all hesitated for half a second while trying to figure out if we could pull that off, but we correctly decided against it. We sheepishly turned the car around and it took us about a half hour to find the crossing for regular vehicles. When we got there we created a minor fiasco while we held up about 15 cars trying to cross. One needs Turkish Cypriot car insurance to bring a car over to the north. Who knew? Anyway, we got that squared away and by dusk we were on our way. There were flags EVERYWHERE. And not just any old flags – enormous ones. They weren’t kidding when they mentioned the aggressive nationalism in the movie we saw a few weeks back. I got to play the role of Tour-Guide-Sarah again as I explained my understanding of the divide and Turkish Cypriot culture and the giant flag on the mountain. Though it should be a straight shot, I think, we got lost again once we got closer to Kyrenia because we took a turn by mistake instead of staying straight. We stopped and asked a friendly looking host at street-side restaurant  to see where we were on our map, and as he took it back to the lights of the restaurant, another man knocked on Ali’s driver-side window and pointed out the street sign. He was confirming our question that he must have heard us ask to see if we were on Caddesi street. Helpful. Then he came over to the other side of the car, leaned into my open window, looked us up and down, and said something in Turkish. Our reactions  were picture-perfect. Ali started moving the car up the street, but we couldn’t completely drive away since the restaurant guy still had our map. I just shook my head and started to repeat “No. Nope. No. Uh-uh” and slowly rolled up the window. It was great. The man slinked away and the restaurant man walked over, noticing nothing, and said “Oh yes! You are very close! Also, you are staying for a few night? You’ll come back and have dinner here, right?”

Kyrenia/Girne

So, eventually we made it to our awesome hotel right on the harbor, and we were not headed back to that restaurant for dinner. Turns out, our room was next door to Liz and Sebastian’s! We all headed down to eat at one of the cafes on the water. Sebastian and I got two types of grilled fish, and Simone told us that the brain was a delicacy in Greek cooking. I was excited to have finished without choking on a bone, so digging around the fish head was not just not in the cards for me. Sebastian is not a big wine drinker (he’s from Frankfurt, come on!), so Liz was happy to have some other people to share a bottle of wine with. I always aim to please! Then we went to another charming cafe on the water just outside our hotel for drinks and narghile (hookah/shisha/whathaveyou), while a soccer game played on the big screen. A great time, and once again, I felt lucky to be surrounded by such cool people.

In the morning Ali had to get back for school, and Simone wasn’t feeling well, so the three of us went to breakfast in the hotel and then they drove back . Shortly after, I sat down to breakfast again with Sebastian and Liz, and the hotel staff didn’t look too happy that I was taking a second round until it was clear I was just having tea. We set off to explore Kyrenia a bit more, this time with Liz and Sebastian as the local tour guides. First we went to the Kyrenia/Girne castle on the harbor, which was basically four walls surrounding a central courtyard. There was a tiny information guide at the entrance that explained the different rulers (King of England, Lusignans, Venetians, Ottomans, etc), but that was about it. The view was spectacular though. The Five-Finger mountains were on one side, and the sea on the other. Fun fact from Tour-Guide-Sarah: They are called the Five-Finger mountains because according to legend a Byzantine hero had jumped from Asia Minor to Cyprus to stop an Arab invasion. The mountains show his hand print where he landed to steady himself (long jump). He also then threw a rock from the range down to Paphos to stop the ships – it happens to have landed at the place where Aphrodite rose from the surf.  Pretty cool, right? I love mythology.

After the castle we wandered through the streets of Kyrenia/Girne, and we were all impressed by the amount of knock-off designers in stores up and down the main shopping street. SO many Burberry stores! I could have spent all day there, and I wished I had time to go to nearby St. Hilaron Castle, which is said to be the inspiration for the castle in Snow White, but unfortunately I had to leave to go to hockey practice. Liz and Sebastian walked me down to where the dolmus picked up at the town square, and I eagerly waited in anticipation to see this much-talked-about dolmus. The public transportation system is open to interpretation – no schedule, no information, no real meeting spot – they just waited until they had enough people who wanted to go to Nicosia at that time and then set off. For me, it took about a half hour. The dolmus rolled up, which I had assumed was going to be a mini-bus. But no – it was a sweet 1970s pimped-out sedan, fitted for 7 passengers! I can’t wait to get the pictures from Liz – Sebastian got a great picture of me standing next to it while we all waited for a 7th person to show up so we could leave. I paid 5 lira (about 2 euros) for the half hour journey back to Nicosia, and all in all it wasn’t too bad. There were a few times were I felt that the car was shaking a bit more than necessary, but we got there in one piece, with just enough time for me to cross the line, run back to my apartment, and be on time for hockey practice. So, Liz and Sebastian, thank you for visiting! You guys are great company!

Academy

Saturday morning was my first day at Academy. The Cyprus Hockey Association puts on a practice for anyone interested in hockey, ages “6 to 66”. I asked Petros if he was the cut off but I don’t think he really got it. Anyway, three of my MVPs from the game on Tuesday against the English team were there so I was happy to get some time to talk with them – Eleni, Elena, and Christina.  There were probably around 10 other boys there, from a group of 6 year olds to Andreas, who was probably around 16? I can’t tell. Anyway I showed up so that I might be able to learn something to use in my practices, though as expected, when I arrived Petros and usual coach, Demetrios, were plotting on how to get me to take over practice. We agreed that I’d lead the warm-up and stretches and that they’d help me with drills and such, and all turned out well. The kids were great. The atmosphere was really relaxed, but they all were there for the love of the sport. We ended up playing a game – girls v boys. Since there were only 4 of us girls, Petros and Demetrios played with us/stood in goal for us. But the boy’s side was a bit more inexperienced, and we won 2-0. It was a lot of fun – and I absolutely LOVED one of the boys’ goalies. Yiorgios is probably 6, and every time he stopped the ball or was able to push it away from someone, he threw his arms in the air, yelled, and did a little dance. It was awesome. It reminded me of my little cousin Sebastian, because whenever he does something great, (like riding his bike) he says to himself, “Good job, Rookie!”

And now for something completely different: Chipli & Simeon

Saturday night, hashers Chipli & Simeon called me up and asked if I wanted to try a rock bar. I had not-so-subtlely told them at the hash that they were going to be my ambassadors to the non-club scene in Nicosia, and I was really happy that they actually took me up on it. I had about 15 minutes to get ready and google the bar (because that’s what I do) and here is the first line that came up in the search: “If head-banging along to ear-splittingly loud rock music in the company of a gaggle of grungy, long-haired men knocking back tequila shots is your cup of tea…”

Sounded like it could be a great addition to a great post, so I had to do it for your sake, dear readers. The bar turned out to be half open-air, and its grunge-factor was enhanced by the fact that it is right across the street from the crumbling buildings and hap-hazard fences of the divide. Though I had mentally prepared for some heavy metal, I was happy to hear that it wasn’t as hardcore as it could have been – Led Zeppelin, Kasabian, Kings of Leon – so there was no head-banging necessary. Which was good because I was told that the head banging they had experienced on Friday night had caused a bit of soreness in their necks. Another hasher showed up to hang out for a bit, though I couldn’t remember her name. We then went to Svoura, which was a type of club/bar where they had grass turf and door handles framed on the walls and played some weird 80’s inspired techno. Chipli seemed to know everyone so we lost him for a while to his social duties, but it was a really great change of scene from the other  clubby-clubs. Since Chipli informed us that he was a phenomenal dancer, we took to the floor and showed off some awesome robotic moves. He has a degree in mechanical engineering, so he was telling us all about kitchen robotics earlier in the night. Simeon then had to counter: “You know, I’m a catch too. I cook, and I like cleaning bathrooms.” Ha ha. So now I am happy to report that I’ve also scored an invite to dinner at their house, complete with cooking lesson. And they’ll even clean beforehand. Dare I say I’ve made new friends? All of this took place in the old city, which was great. And so, the night ended and they walked me home. Thanks to my earplugs, as known as the best thing I could have packed, I happily fell asleep to the muted sounds of a drum-circle in the parking lot outside my apartment.

Since I’m still feeling a little rock, I will leave you with this tune: The Sheepdogs – I Don’t Know

I will try to make the next posts shorter and more manageable!

Groundhog’s Day

I’ve figured it out.

Until I can successfully teach 30 kids how to play field hockey in 45 minutes, or at least create a practice plan that will not only prevent serious injury and provide nothing to complain about, I will experience a group of new kids every single time and my nightmare will continue much like Bill Murray’s in Groundhog’s Day.  Truly, I’ve already experienced the denial, confusion, and have even gone into the “devil-may-care-stage“. Last week when the girls didn’t want to even stand up I very passive-aggressively suggested that they get off my field and do something, anything else.  Followed by a moment of panic when I realized that it was entirely possible everyone would leave, but I guess not everyone heard… but as a direct result the rest of the practice was lovely!

I had been complaining too much about 13-year-olds though, so the vengeful field hockey gods sent me first year boys: 11 year olds. Oh my. It was almost comical, because they didn’t seem like they were maniacal little things as they swung their hockey sticks up around their ears, they seemed like they simply couldn’t help it. I would stand directly in front of one of them and say: “DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT lift the stick above your head and swing it around after you hit the ball.” Then I would stand to the side and let them do their thing. Guess what? Still almost took out the eye of the kid behind him. At first I thought it was a language problem. And they STILL complained about how I told them they weren’t ready to scrimmage, even after one of them came up to me during keep-away and said “Miss, I don’t know how to get the ball.”

But! On Friday, I was granted the pleasure of coaching the 11 year old girls. They were SO obedient and seemed as though, shockingly, they wanted to learn the game. I even let them scrimmage! It was very much like U9 soccer where 99% of the players were within 5 feet of each other, but at least there wasn’t room for a fatal backswing! It looked like they might have even been having fun! Tomorrow is our girl’s game against a visiting English team, so we shall see how they respond to this type of play. Hopefully I have been talking it up enough that we will have enough girls to field a team.

Nicosia at Night

Finally, FINALLY, I can tell you what a night out in Nicosia looks like! For some reason I got to take on the role of party liaison (which may be why the night turned out as it did), but it was really nice to be able to hang out with all the girls and get to know them better. Simone was taking the GRE on Saturday, Meghan went for a hike on the north side with some of her fellow teachers, and Jordan, Ali and I were attending a conference in the buffer zone, so after all of that we all met up to go out to eat in the old town of Nicosia. I can’t get over the fact that it is still nice enough to eat outside all night – I feel so lucky! Anyway we stopped back at my tiny studio apartment so Simone could change and so we could all try a little ouzo before we headed out for the night. It’s like liquid licorice, by the way. Though I’d definitely rather sip on it than take a shot of it. Although I bet it cleaned out the beginning of that sore throat I was getting.

So we all shared some stories and listened to music and generally had a good time, as evidenced by the several emails about noise that my neighbors sent to my landlord yesterday. (While embarrassing, I have agreed that any and all parties will now be held elsewhere, and have even left little apologies under the doors of the offended parties. Who knew the tolerance for noise was so low in a place where you can hear Filipino karaoke – specifically a version of Killing Me Softly – every night?)

Around midnight we decided that it was time to try the famed Nicosia clubs. We started off by going to Zoo, supposedly the most bumpin club around. Strut over, out of the old city into the new city and actually find the place, check. Confidently approach doorman, check. Get rejected immediately, ouch. I wasn’t too upset since it seemed like he really was rejecting everyone who didn’t come up with a name, and they were playing Mambo Number 5. Really? The best club in Nicosia is playing Mambo Number 5? (Plus, Would you want to hang out with these guys? I’m looking at you, picture #35a) So, we moved on to Mo’s, which was another recommendation we received.

Waiting in line at Mo’s was straight-up weird. The entrance was on the side of a building and was completely silent. We walked right up to the women at the door who seemed to be in charge. Her earpiece-wearing posse silently opened and closed the little red rope providing entrance to the club. Everyone waiting to get in was standing, without speaking, in a single-file line. I turned around and said “Uh… guys, do we really want to go here? Anyone else think this is kind of creepy?” It was really great because when we got to the front of the line, the woman just stared us down in silence. WAY too intense for me and I think I further blew our chances of getting in by trying to stifle a sudden attack of the giggles. For the past month I had been hearing about  how Nicosia was so much more expensive than the rest of Cyprus because the people were so much more pretentious, but I was a little unprepared for this. When they let in a big group of guys instead of “us pretty girls”, I was happy to call it quits for the moment. Ali seemed truly offended: “What do they think this is, Manhattan?!” She’s determined to find a promoter for all of our clubbing needs.

Instead we went back to a place I had found earlier called Oktana in the old city – which I’ve decided I love and if you come to visit you will be seeing it. It is where I had coffee with my mentor Yianna the other day, and I knew that in the basement it turned into a bar at night, so I did win some points for moral boosting once we sat down and ordered drinks (and a lovely, smooth, apple hookah). They also brought out popcorn for snacks! I was sold. We stayed there for a long time continuing our conversation, until Savvas showed up to pull a few strings and get us into a club after all! He stopped by with perfect timing just as Oktana was closing, and we headed out again to try again. And where does Savvas have the in? Mo’s.

As it turns out, it was creepy-quiet because the club is on the 5th floor of the building and you can’t hear it from the street. Why the door-people were so creepy I have yet to discover. Savvas walked up to the front of the line, said something in Greek, and we were in. I’d give the music a 7, but it was acceptable. A pretty good mix of Euro-dance music, American top 40 and Greek stuff. Simone and I even took a lap around the central bar area once or twice and I was reminded of the good ol’ Grape in Fairfield! Drinks are expensive, as usual, but I think everyone had a pretty good time. I’m still looking more for live-music bars or less snobby (expensive?) establishments though.

My first Visitor

One of my friends from college was vacationing in Turkey and is stopping by this week for a Cyprus-stop before she heads back to the US, so I have a feeling I will not only have a lot more pictures to share later this week, but also some good adventuring stories, since I’m going to head up to Kyrenia(Greek)/Girne(Turkish) in the north for a stay at a swanky boutique hotel. Of course, I have to figure out how to say “Where’s the bus?” in Turkish first…

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Frisebee, Potluck, and the Giant White Bull in the living room

The Cypriot National Ultimate Frisbee Team

Luckily, I have just discovered that golf is not the only networking sport to rely on career-wise. Thank goodness. I like golf, but when I say that I mean I really like Caddyshack and enjoying the clubhouse meals. In the past two weeks, hashing and frisbee have turned up more friends and colleagues  than in all of my pitiful attempts at networking during my college years combined.

 No matter that technically I shouldn’t really run too much! No matter that I attempt to catch a frisbee as though I am slapping my hands together to kill a mosquito! I have been wholeheartedly accepted by both groups. Since I’ve already supplied a scant summary of hashing, I’ll fill you in on frisbee. I met Leslie for around 2 minutes at the Fulbright board meeting a few weeks ago, and in that short amount of time discovered that other than being a Fulbright Scholar and teaching at several universities here, she is an avid ultimate frisbee player. I informed her that Meghan is also missing out on her team’s season in the US, and voila, two weeks later the three of us were tossing around a frisbee outside the Venetian walls! It was clear from the start that my addition to the team would be enthusiasm and maybe blocking a throw, since I didn’t know the rules of ultimate frisbee and let’s just say I’m not too consistent with my catching and throwing skills. Leslie and Meghan gave me a run-down of the game, and we even attempted a few drills. I kept throwing to Meghan in the rotation, which meant she got a really good work out. I fell into a hole in the ‘field’ and narrowly missed breaking an ankle. But Leslie takes the cake. While running to catch a pass from Meghan, she ran right up to the tiny moat that still surrounds the walls, teetered for a second while Meghan and I slow-mo screamed “NOOOOOOOO”, and then she fell directly into the ankle-deep dirty trash water. It was really gross looking down there, but luckily, traveling gives you perspective. It was nothing compared to the toxic-looking sludge that cousin Sean stepped into while we were exploring an underground tomb in Alexandria! That stuff looked like it could have been fermenting for millenia.  

 

True to form, Leslie recovered within seconds and we spent the rest of practice planning our recruitment of players. It actually may turn out better than my bi-communal field hockey attempts – the idea of which is still laughable to any Cypriot who knows what the game even is.

Flanked by the founders of the Bufferz, the Cypriot National Ultimate Frisbee Team (Meghan and Leslie)

Later that night we were invited to a pot-luck dinner at Nadia’s house with the other Fulbright scholars living in Nicosia. (They’re coming out of the woodwork these scholars) Nadia is another scholar teaching and researching about American studies and with an interest in classical music. I believe that she plays cello. We met her husband Matthew and their son Cairo once we arrived. Leslie brought the halloumi to grill and a vegetarian bean salad, Savva brought all the meats, and Meghan, Jordan and I provided the Turkish delights that we bought on the north side. (Earlier that day we were stopped at the border to fill out a survey which I’m sure we skewed: “How long were you on the Turkish side?” “About ten minutes.” “Why were you over there?” “Candy search.”) I became Cairo’s best bud and we played with Feisty the Tiger and a lot of legos (a whole suitcase full, I’m told) while the big kids talked Fulbright at the table. Dinner was delicious and the conversation was excellent. I think we have a few converts to hashing, and already Leslie had accumulated enough prospects to stage 5 v 5 games of ultimate frisbee. I recongized one of the names she mentioned and realized that he is the author of one of the books I am reading on the conflict. Double Score! Since we are ambitious Fulbrighters, we also have plans to recruit on the weekly embassy newsletter and at the UN crossings, and get as many people interested from both sides as possible.

The Giant White Bull

After dinner we said goodnight to Nadia and Matt and headed over to Savvas’ friends house, where he was dog-sitting. Upon entering, I knew the house must belong to an artist or graphic designer. It was beautiful. Not to mention there was a giant mesh dome across from his driveway, which was a snail farm. It looked like a sort of biodome. (No one got my reference) And I’m talking enormous, foot long snails. Talk about intrigue. Anyway, once you walked into the door the living room was minimalist, but standing on the left hand side was an enormous statue of a giant white bull. Like this, but white. Exactly like the ones found painted around cities in the U.S. Is it donkeys in Wilkes Barre? I can’t remember. Anyway, apparently Savvas’ friend is the mastermind behind this idea in Nicosia. What an homage. No one seemed the least bit surprised by this, and so we retreated to the back porch, where there was a backyard patio lounge surrounded by grass. There is no grass in Nicosia right now because it has all been scorched by the sun, so this guy must be pretty financially stable to be able to afford to water his grass during drought season. We were treated again to some really interesting conversation, wine, and tango music in the background. This is how I found out about Salsa nights at the Havana club near my house. Done.

Yianna and Oktana

Fulbright coordinator Anna set me up with a ‘mentor’ to help with the transition to moving to Cyprus. Unsurprisingly, I finally was introduced to my mentor after living here for about a month, but its cool. Her name is Yianna and she is a marine biologist at the University of Cyprus. We had smoothies at an amazing cafe called Oktana in the old city. She knows where its at. Within a two block radius, she pointed out the “gem” of the city, a burger place, a cafe, and a nightclub that are all worth a visit. Even better, she is up for doing day trips around Nicosia during the weekends! Next weekend we may take her daughter Chrissa Thespina, who is 18 months, and head up to the mountains. We had a really nice chat and she told me all about her work, as well as all the places I should make sure to check out. The only downfall is that during our meeting, I missed a flash mob on Ledra street – apparently they all brought pillows and were hitting each other before they had to freeze. Ah, city life.  

Fulbright US University Fair

Yesterday we were asked to help out at the Fulbright Center’s University fair for Cypriot high school students. Ali came down from Kyperounta to visit and help out, so we got to hang out a little before it started, which was nice. I had signed up to be a photographer, and Anna wanted us around to talk to people a bit about the Fulbright program. We got there a bit early, so we were meandering around until Anna frantically came up to us, explained that several representatives were stuck in Athens because of the strikes going on right now, and suddenly, I was the representative from Embry-Riddle Aeuronautical University and Ali was representing BU! The other Fulbrighters arrived and Meghan got to represent Fairleigh-Dickinson and sat next to Georgetown, who came prepared with an enormous box of dates, and Jordan became bffs with her virtual rep from RIT. What a day. For four hours we tried to skype the real representatives from their hotels in Athens in order to answer the kids’ questions. I kept thinking of my friend Shawn, who actually graduated from Embry-Riddle and would probably be horrified at how I was attempting to represent his school. He’s a pilot, so I didn’t even realize that the school had other programs until I was showing students a list of majors.  I looked a wee bit unprofessional as I kept trying to put my ear up against my computer to hear Jim, my rep stuck in Athens. He wasn’t a fan of typing out questions, and no one could hear him, so it turned into a little translation process through skype. (I did find out he’s originally from Scranton though!)

Savvas stopped by my booth to point out that though I was sitting at a technical school booth, I didn’t look like someone who could do math and instead looked “artsy”. I told him that this comment was both sexist and offensive, and I demanded to know what that type of comment is supposed to mean. “Is it because I have curly hair?!” Obviously I then had to concede that yes, math is not my strongpoint, and yes, I do enjoy painting, and yes, maybe I was looking a little boho. Doesn’t change the fact that I would love to build a rocket. Not sure who won that one.

A few of the other Fulbright scholars were there, either representing their universities or just sampling the filtered coffee and cookies. (Fulbright and Embassy functions always have real coffee, which I can appreciate much more now that I drink Nescafe every day). Leslie’s UNC display was definitely the most eye-appealing. She even had a t-shirt there, which is for some reason a huge pull among the college-set. Truly, if you need to get kids to an event, give out free t-shirts. Meanwhile, the Columbia rep at the booth next to me had absolutely nothing at his booth except a brochure, and he had the longest lines the whole time. I got to chat with him a little about the grad programs, but again I told him I don’t actually know if I want to go to grad school or in what subject. He told me that it was good to be flexible and not to know, and that eventually, “You’ll know”. Which is definitely not true in my case. I still can’t figure out which undergrad university would be best for me, and I’ve already graduated. I’m pretty sure that the more I learn, the less certain I am of just about anything. (Quite possibly because I seem to be interested in intractable situations, like oh, the Cyprus problem.)

Until next time,

Two households, both alike in dignity: Truths (and Trivia)

I really dislike the story of Romeo and Juliet. Usually my reaction to their deaths is around the lines of “Really, dramatic much? Weren’t you just in love with Rosaline?” But I do like the poetics. It is Shakespeare, after all. I keep connecting the first few lines of the prologue to my fleeting impressions of the divide. It’s been thought-provoking for me in light of this new post. Read on

Two households, both alike in dignity, 
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Caution: Confusing political debate ahead

A few days ago I went to a movie screening to see “Sharing an Island.” Check out the trailer by clicking here. It’s a movie about three Greek Cypriots (GC) and Turkish Cypriots (TC) spending five days together and visiting different parts of divided Cyprus. Stephanie, Bahire, Sertunc, Yiorgios, Despina, and Ilke. It recorded their reactions to one another, comparisons of seperate histories, understanding where the other side came from. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Stuff I can’t get out of my head:

Truth: Stephanie mentioned that there isn’t necessarily misunderstanding when it comes to the Cyprus problem – instead it’s a case of two truths. She said something along the lines of:  “I believe us, I believe them, I think we are right, I think they are right, I think we are wrong, I think they are wrong.” One of the best parts of the film was when they realized that they had been taught conflicting histories.

Aesthetics: The architecture is almost the same on both sides. Mosques and churches are on both sides, either maintained or repurposed.

Nationalism: The presence of flags is something you can’t ignore. For Yiorgios, on the north side it represented aggression and violence. Ilke mentioned that it was the reaction of an unrecognized state in the north, but there are also many Greek flags (and a few Cypriot) flying or graffitied on walls on the south as well.

View from Shacolas tower in south Nicosia, looking north. Yes, that's a giant Turkish Cypriot (TRNC) flag on mountain outside of Nicosia. The writing next to it is a quote from Kemal Ataturk, founder of modern Turkey - "How fortunate is the person who can say I'm a Turk"

Cultural differences in north: Something was brought up that I haven’t mentioned here in the blog before – the issue of Turkish settlers in the north. Sertunc spoke about how the TC are minorities in the north and south, because Turkish are moving to Cyprus and taking the lower-paying civil servant jobs that TC don’t want. This creates more pro-Turkish sentiment among politics because Turkey sends in people and then ensures that they get jobs by keeping the wage too low for TC. Sertunc thought that the problem is that the migration is unnatural and politically motivated, and the more time passes, the harder it will be to come to an agreement because the south believes they are dealing with only the TC in the north. TC and GC share more similarities than TC and Turkish people – for instance TC are generally not as religious as the Turkish people coming in from Anatolia. Sertunc’s possible solution was that only TC should be allowed to participate in the political process, and not Turkish. But Bahire brought up a good point. Her father is TC and her mother is Turkish, so some of her friends don’t consider her “fully” TC. Where does the cut off start? How do you decide how long you have to live in Cyprus to be a Cypriot? And down the rabbit hole we go.

Economics: Stephanie mentioned that in the south it’s not as good as it seems economically, because you must know someone in order to get a job.  Apparently ff you are not in finance or law (or if you don’t know someone), you are in trouble. Which is interesting. Maybe its more serious in Cyprus, especially since its so small and expensive to live here, but isn’t that the case worldwide? Secondly, is finance still going to be a stable career choice if the system governing financial institutions is broken? It also brought up another text I’m reading about non-volition in divided communities – meaning that economics can bring together communities unvoluntarily because it benefits both sides, sans politics. If money rules, can this be a satisfactory way to go about it?

Security: I think about security issues often. As a super-geek, its the first thing I thought of when Jordan told me yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving. (Which also reminded me of that time when we all talked about the major events that changed the world in the last 50 years at a Borton-family Xmas dinner, and I cited the 1979 Iranian Revolution. Boy did I get some weird looks). In the US, we absolutely take security for granted. But most of the participants in the film said that the number one thing they want is freedom and security. In another short film I saw, one woman spoke about how she was scared that a GC would someday come to her house and demand that she leave, after 40 years of living in the house. With reunification, is this a possibility? It could be. So for now people live in a  state of flux and uncertainty. And does an army provide security or make a population feel less secure? I can’t even begin to debate that here.

Nicosia, for me: Flowers and sun, with a coating of dust and garbage

“Your aura is purple”

People are sometimes surprised with my ability to go with the flow and by my lack of suitable reaction to things that would make a normal person  take pause. Very ineloquent way to write it, but I think you know what I mean. I’m a bit sloppy about it sometimes, but  I like to think of it as a type of survival mechanism, given my need to get myself into strange situations. Take my conflict analysis class, for example. I attended the first of its kind last Wednesday, and found myself in a class full of people working toward their masters or doctorates. I had emailed the professor and asked to sit-in the class for the semester and explained my project, and I must have given off an aura of maturity, because he seemed to think that I was an expert of sorts. He introduced me to the class as a visiting scholar who may deign to visit his class when I have nothing better to do on a Wednesday night. During a break he came up to me to ask what I thought and told me to “intervene” in any part of his lecture to add my thoughts. Meanwhile, I was frantically trying to re-start my brain after about a year of data-entry and coasting. And not to be a stickler, but I can’t help but think that maybe it would have been a good idea to offer a class on basic international relations theory in the Fairfield IR curriculum…Thank God for my political theory and cultural anthropology classes at least.

Regardless, the class sounds like its going to be very beneficial for me, even if I don’t decide to pursue a graduate degree. It’s exciting to use my brain again! Not so sure I’ll be writing the term paper, but then again the topics are damn interesting. (Pause for nerd joke. It’s okay, I thought about cutting this out, but it’s true. I’d love to read everyone else’s answers to the prompts…)  I’m already going to be busy with writing in November, as it is National Novel Writing Month and along with Meghan and Jordan, I think I’m going to give it a go. 50,000 words, one month. Go big or go home, right? Now I just need a focused idea (HA)

In other, “life is one cosmic joke” news,  Meghan, Jordan and I went to a trivia night on Friday. I had heard about it in passing during last week’s hash, so we decided to try it out. It was much quieter than any pub trivia night I’ve been to in the states, and we all had dinner and a drink. We ended being on a team with Gabor, a Hungarian hasher, and Philip, a Swedish kid who lived around the block and is a regular. Philip told us the types of questions they usually asked, and we disappointed by telling him our areas of expertise: field hockey/sports (I clarified to say that I actually know very little about sports teams and anything other than soccer or hockey, but what can you do), creative writing (Meghan), history and Ireland (Gabor), and Canada, (Jordan, who is a Canadian citizen). He told us he’d take care of the music and movie questions, but that we were basically screwed since they didnt really ask questions that he thought we’d know. And so we started, as “The Unusual Suspects”. Philip picked this name out to piss off the group of old-timers next to us who have been playing for years under the moniker The Usual Suspects”, thus ensuring our place as most obnoxious team. And so, the planets aligned and the first three questions were: What was the ice hockey team in the recent plane crash, what is the meaning of the word ‘Canada’, and which piece of sports equipment has a face, head, toe and heel. (Lokomotiv Yaroslavl, village, and golf club)

We really outdid ourselves though and managed to come in last place after 8 rounds. As we were all newcomers to Cyprus, there was only so many Nicosia drinking establishments that Philip could recognize on the map during the special round. Though he did figure out a disconcerting 4 of 10… Anyway it was much fun, especially with Gabor who provided running commentary. I thought maybe I’d come back again someday, but it didn’t necessarily need to be a go-to destination – until they pulled names out of a hat and announced that The Unusual Suspects would be picking the questions next time. As I realized that in fact trivia was going to become a part of my routine, Gabor laughed maniacally about revenge for our epic loss, while Philip sat in disbelief. It was the first time that a random team showed up at trivia and were picked to host the next night. Annnd so be it!

I will leave you for now with an Overheard in Cyprus, and will be updating again mid-week to try to keep up with the many new things to tell!

Overheard in Cyprus

Andreas, Taxi Man: “In Cyprus, we do not have autumn or spring. Just summer or winter.”
Me: “Ah, is it winter now then?”
Andreas, Taxi Man: “Ehh no, no, now is in between. In between summer/winter”

An actual conversation I just had on the street

Pakistani Man Whose Name Starts With An ‘M’: “Hello, do you know where blank street is?”
Me: “No, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve heard of it”
Pakistani Man Whose Name Starts With An ‘M’: “Are you married?”

Independence Day Weekend

I’m in love. Tall, dark…. and green suede. Yes, I have found the most beautiful pair of shoes in the universe. Similar to my time spent in Granada, I find myself once again with a shoe store at the top of my street which I pass every day. Coincidence? Fate?  Unfortunately, they are currently listed at 120 euro. Ah, unrequited love.

Speaking of relationships, this past weekend has seen some breakthroughs in my own personal PR and friend-making skills:

Trials and tribulations of hockey practice

Every Thursday and Friday, I coach the English Schools’ second-year boys and girls hockey. This Thursday was the first time I worked with the boys, and I found myself changing my goal from helping to create interest in the sport and getting some of them to attend our Academy on Saturdays to keeping them from killing each other. Seriously, who gives a 13-year old boy a stick? They had some trouble with listening skills (or English language?) and let’s face it, field hockey is hard. I was surprised that they were such whiners though – it was like they never played any sports! Even when we were playing a competitive game that pitted two sides against each other, they kept crying that I was throwing the ball to one side or the other, favoring a team. My reaction was “uh, run faster,” but it’s clear that these are still kids and not determined athletes. Let’s just say I have a bit of learning to do on the coaching front.

Friday’s practice with the girls was a little better. They actually learned three different passes, but again I think there may be a bit of a language barrier. It’s hard to speak slowly, avoid athletic jargon, and keep interest. For instance, I tried to set them up in a passing drill so that there are five lines at the top of the 25 yard line, and when I blow the whistle, the first player in each line goes to cage and practices passing with one another. I set them up, explained, and when I blew the whistle, ANARCHY. Everyone standing at the top of the 25 ran in. The five lines disappeared. Some girls were inexplicably playing defense. Others sat down. What?

By the end of practice with the girls, the guys from the U21 team had arrived to start their own practice, (only one field in Nicosia) and I think its safe to say they were amused by my exasperation in coaching. Then, something unthinkable happened: the captain invited me to stay for practice.  I ended up playing with them for 45 MINUTES! Take that, L5 S1. I was tired, I was out of shape, I broke my favorite wings necklace in half, my legs (okay, my butt) ache three days later, I missed three (yes, three) easy shots as the ball flew across the cage, and generally I was the weakest link, but I threw down a block tackle and actually got the ball. They even said “bravo” a few times! So, after spending several years in retirement, my first time back on the field was at a practice for a national team. An underfunded young team of teenagers, but still, the humor is not lost on me. And for all of you who are worried about my back, I’ve been doing my exercises and I’m still pulling myself out after I get too tight. Huzzah!

Leontios, cafe-man extraordinaire

Saturday was Independence Day. There was to be a parade in Nicosia, so I got up early and wandered around the city searching for it in vain. I must have been in the completely wrong section of town because I couldn’t even hear other people. No one walks in Nicosia, but I had assumed that I would at least hear the sound of a dozen tanks and hundreds of people parading through the streets. The city is small and I thought I was in the general area, but apparently not. Other than the fact that I now have no pictures of tanks to share, I felt okay about missing it. There’ll be other tanks, I’m sure.

I decided that I really needed to finish Maria’s book, so I attempted to find a cafe to sip on a frappe and read. I obviously decided to wander into the one cafe that was not open during the day, but instead of walking right back out, I somehow ended up with a new friend, a new book, and a two-hour Greek lesson.

First, the venue. This cafe (The Weaving Mill) is unique in that it is indoors, and as it turns out, wasn’t planned as a cafe. The original idea was to screen films and use the building as a cultural center. Coffee and beer came later to help fund it. It’s got a pool table,  the books lining the walls are avaliable to borrow, and generally it gives off a good vibe. Click here for a review I found after googling it. So, I walked in and saw that there was only one older man sitting in a corner on a computer. He didn’t hear me come in, so I went up to ask if the place was open. He told me they opened at 6, but within ten minutes he had introduced himself as Leontios, or Leon, he had sent me an article on bi-communal relations via email, and I was sitting with a Cypriot coffee and water, chatting it up. He was very interested in what I was doing in Cyprus, although he did ask me the dreaded “What is your project’s aim/Why are you doing this” question. Luckily at this exact moment a group of graphic designers wandered in and from what I can understand were asking Leontios for advice on jobs. Another former waitress came in and harassed Leontios about when they were going to play chess. He seems to be quite the ladies’ man. When everyone had left, we got back to business and he taught me the Greek alphabet, how to count to ten, and how to pronounce words. I’d say I learned how to read, but though I can now sound out words, I still have no idea what they mean. Before I had to leave, he showed me the section of the library where I could find books on the Cyprus problem, and I signed out my first book. Now I have a go-to cafe, library, and Greek tutor, all in one convenient location!

Mesoria plain somewhere between Limassol and Nicosia

Simone vs the cockroaches

I had to leave the Weaving Mill to catch a bus to Limassol because I was finally going to check out the nightlife with Simone and Ali.(Refresher – both are Fulbrighters, Simone teaches in Limassol, Ali teaches in mountain village of Kiporounda). I guess Polonos was right about my usage of the Limassol bus, but he was not the driver this time. Now, Simone has been having some trouble with housing, because her first apartment was a basement studio, and it just happened to be infested with cockroaches. She had found another apartment, and Ali and I were helping her to move in with Ali’s car. Within minutes of moving her in to the new place, we found two cockroaches. And then another. And you know what? I didn’t know that’s what they looked like. So that extremely fast gross-looking mutant ant that I saw in my own apartment? You guessed it. A cockroach. I had just gotten over my phobia of “hormigas” by rationalizing that I am in a foreign country, in a city with a warm climate, and that there was bound to be some sort of issue. ( “Hormigas” means  “ants” in Spanish, for all of you who were not privy to the Battle of Sarah vs The Hormigas in Spain. I will someday commemorate that incident with an epic poem). I have been killing them one by one as I see them, but cockroaches? Not okay. So poor Simone is now back to the drawing board on apartments.We  tried to brainstorm on the best scenario and if she should move out again or try to get it fumagated and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I was constructing a plan about where to buy cockroach spray and spray my entire apartment once I got back to Nicosia…

Breeze Nightclub

We couldn’t do anything about the bugs at that moment, so we popped open a bottle of wine, got dressed, and headed to the beach clubs. Since the Fulbrighters in Nicosia don’t seem to be interested in going out at night too much and I’m a bit short of  friends, this was to be my first experience in the Cypriot nightlife scene. And what a scene it was!

We pulled up to Breeze, which was a posh-looking club right on the water. Apparently there was a 150 euro entrance fee since it was the last weekend that the beach clubs would be open before the winter season, but somehow we caught the attention of a young bouncer who showed us how to sneak through the lounge area entrance to go around the back to get into the club.

Watching the concert at Breeze, with the sea at our backs

Adventure? We’ll take it. Inside was a pretty lavish and outrageous crowd. It was clear that these people actually did pay the huge fee just to attend the closing party, and MAN do they dress to impress. Good thing we were foreign and exotic Americans. I impressed several suitors with my ability to count to ten in Greek. Simone then proceeded to show me up by actually knowing how to speak Greek, and Ali was flitting around like a social butterfly. It was a lot of European disco music, but did we all lose it when Empire State of Mind started playing? Absolutely. We ended up meeting quite a few groups of people, and were even treated to a private concert by a Bulgarian who was definitely not wearing pants. That’s what I asked everyone within a two foot radius: “Who is she? Is she wearing any pants?”

Got home by six, a solid night by any standard. As we left the club through the real white-tunnel entrace, we were graciously thanked for our attendance and given complimentary shot glasses and whiskey bottles. No, thank you! We learned that Nicosia is the place to be during the winter, so I’m looking out for an air-mattress to host the ladies (and any guests from America), and we’re also planning to visit Ali in Kiporounda sometime. Yay for more friends!