Cyprus

Varosha, a ghost town

The last time I saw the sad fate of this city, it was behind the barbed wire that separated the accessible part of the beach, with the ghost town. Ignoring the whistle of the soldiers, at the outpost a few meters away, I had taken some photos of the city that is left at the mercy of nature’s elements. On September 2021, arriving in southern Famagusta, I see a gate with revolving bars and some uniformed men that control the passports of those entering, in the now open part of Varosha. In view of my bulky camera, the question I am being asked is about my purpose … to answer honestly and boldly: tourism.

View of the fenced town in 2021 and 2018

A little further the municipality of Famagusta rents bicycles for 15tl (€ 1.5) for 2 hours, with a passport required as a guarantee. Most visitors are Turkish Cypriots or Turks, with a small number of other nationalities such as Russians. The distance to the edge of the opened city is over 3km as crow flies and the intense heat in combination with the circular route that we finally made, makes the bike a necessity. However, the image is surreal, with carefree visitors cycling and taking selfies in this shocking piece of history and human tragedy.

The roads that were handed over to the public have acquired new asphalt paving and traffic lines, while on the sidewalks wooden rods have been placed with a rope, as a railing that prohibits access to the buildings.

Going down to the beach, I reach the point I had seen in the past behind the barbed wire. A woman with a swimming ring enjoys the idyllic turquoise waters while behind her rise the lifeless, ruined buildings. The creepy silence is interrupted by the croaking of birds, which nest inside buildings, where once children laughs used to echo, moments of joy and family warmth, words of love, companionship, dreams …

Wandering in the uninhabited city, where everything collapses without human care… Nature rightfully claims its space back, plants invade houses spreading their roots and climbing the walls, metals rust, windows are broken, wooden railings and shutters rot. The special architecture of the time and the area, with the curved wall corner is reflected in many houses. Many buildings are unfinished, the war did not allow their completion. The modern apartment buildings of the time are in better condition, resisting the passage of half a century. But everything seems empty and looted. A ground floor bar still has a few stools waiting in vain for the next customer. I test the tolerance limits by crossing the rope and approaching, but from a car I hear a horn warning. I feel challenged to cross the ropes and enter a house, but the signs remind that the area is monitored by cameras, as well as patrols. In many buildings there are visible holes from ammunition, one is completely demolished … and these are just what we are allowed to see. The images of sadness they evoke remind me of another ghost town I had seen, the demolished Mosul in Iraq, although in Varosha the smell of the corpses does not prevail. Under an apartment building, two UN personnel are killing time. I take a photo of them, they warn me that it is forbidden. There are more places where photography is banned, like the Turkish army unit hiding behind a plastic plant fence.

A uniformed man and a barrier mark the end of the route and here is another access point to the beach. A snack bar, plastic sun loungers and parasols are offered to the few bathers. I confess that the thin, blonde sand and the crystal clear waters of the idyllic coast, in combination with the subtropical heat, are temptations that make you forget for a while the sadness of the surrounding and your respect to history. If one day the city comes back to life and the inhabitants return to their possessions, I may finally enjoy a dip in these waters. In those deserted beaches, sea turtles find safe haven to lay their eggs.

Returning from a parallel road and while capturing this space that has been frozen in 1974 time, two uniformed cyclists are heading towards me. One is furious, tells me that I am photographing a forbidden area and asks for a passport. I boldly answer that I left my passport for renting a bicycle, but I my fear was that if he discovered my nationality I would probably have unexpected entanglements. He asks me to see the photos I took, while I protest angrily that I did not see any signs anywhere (the truth is that I saw them). I continue aggressively saying that if the crossing is forbidden, they should fence the area! Eventually he forces me with characteristic rudeness, to delete 3-4 photos.

In the buildings of the city, most of the inscriptions in Greek language have been removed or covered. So typical Turkish practice of altering history! The classical architecture building of the Lyceum of Greek Women is one of them, the same happens in the building directly opposite, the “Greek Gymnasium” which has also been covered with two oversized flags of Turkey and the Pseudo-State. However, the inscription of the small building of the Olympic Airlines remains. The small Municipal garden with the fountain is quite neat, completing the invalid tourist effort. A city that is a sad reminder of the consequences of the war and any kind of rivalry that does not come from citizens, but from the nationalist rulers. May the Greek Cypriots return to Varosha soon and give life to the place again, living together with their neighbors. As long as there is Varosha and division … I do not forget!