A Profound Day

Sunday was a packed day. After dinner on Saturday night, the MBA group sat around the guys’ apartment and talked until 1:00 am, since we were still jet lagged and not yet tired. We did not go to sleep until 2:00 am, yet ambitiously set our alarms for 7:15 am for “group exercise.” I needed to run 6 miles for marathon training and, luckily, all three of my apartment mates and two guys decided to exercise early as well. My roommate Dana and I woke up on our own at 6:30 am before our alarms went off. We both rolled over and said, "why are we awake right now after four hours of sleep?" The Cyprus sun seems to be a bit brighter during those early hours.

We walked over to a nearby running trail and each did our own workouts. I (painfully) completed the 6 miles. By 8:00 am, the Mediterranean sun was already beating down on me as I ran. It is arid here, and my mouth was so parched and dry. I wanted to stop many times, but I noticed a few motivating pieces of graffiti on the wall that lined the running path. One of the writings said, “always smile, no matter.” Of course, I immediately thought of Natalie. Another part of the wall displayed a picture of a stick figure holding a balloon. After the run, I went into the nearby mall to purchase a beach towel and saw a picture of a hot air balloon. I then checked my Cyprus phone (used to call the other MBA students locally). The numbers are recycled and there are old contact names in the phones. I scrolled down the list and saw a lot of names that were clearly nicknames or meant to be a joke. Suddenly, one name at the end of the contact list caught my eye: Natalie.

We got on a bus at 10:00 am and headed to Fig Tree Bay, a beautiful beach on the Mediterranean sea. I have come to terms with the fact that 10 minutes of my days here will be dedicated to slathering SPF 50 sun block on myself. This day was definitely not an exception. We spent five hours at the beach, swimming and snorkeling. I finally got a chance to swim my "laps for Nat" in honor of Natalie. A day late, but still with all of my heart. I swam in the clear, blue Mediterranean sea among schools of fish with my UR swim cap on. I haven't been in the water much in the past five weeks, but it felt familiar and comforting. It was a truly beautiful day. I took a break from the sun for a while to rest under a fig tree, gazing up at the cloudless, blue sky just thinking.

After the beach, we had the rare opportunity to take a van to the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. As we approached the border, we were greeted by the unfriendly faces of the Turkish border police. Even though we were still technically in Cyprus, it was extremely apparent that we were, more or less, passing into a completely different country. The change in atmosphere was palpable and slightly unsettling. Our professor is from Famagusta in Northern Cyprus, so he was able to explain to them that we were merely a group of students traveling north for a few hours to explore and learn. At first, they said they would not let a group of 12 of us (9 students, 3 staff) pass over the border without a Turkish guide. I honestly did not think they would let us pass. Eventually, one of the policemen ran our request up the chain and we were able to pass. After they checked our passports, we were given a small slip of white paper that contained our name, passport number and nationality. Once we were told we could go through, the Turkish policeman’s disposition transformed from unfriendly into genial and almost personable, like we were long lost friends and he suddenly remembered. The female policewoman’s disposition did not change. She was an extremely thin woman with tanned skin and a lot of makeup. She still looked at us skeptically, with a hint of contempt. I saw a Turkish gentleman pass through the border behind us, and she greeted him with a warm, familiar smile.

As we drove through Turkish occupied Cyprus, I forgot we were actually still in Cyprus. We might as well have been in Turkey. The architecture changed completely, and Turkish flags decorated the area. The standards of living were clearly a lot lower, and poverty was evident. We got out and walked around to look at some of the beautiful structures. We visited a church that was originally called St. Nicholas's Cathedral, which was transformed into the Lala Mustafa Pasha Mosque in 1571 after the Ottoman Empire captured the city of Famagusta. It remains a mosque to this day and is the largest medieval building in Famagusta. It was an immense, stately, beautiful structure. We removed our shoes before entering. I felt so overwhelmingly awestruck, yet calm, in the church and said a few special prayers.

Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus

The Mosque

After exploring, we headed to the old city of Famagusta, which means “covered in sand” in Greek. Our professor is originally from Famagusta, but he had to flee in 1974 when it was invaded.  Famagusta is an incredibly unique city. Before 1974, it was a thriving area filled with businesses, tourism, and life. After the Turks invaded, Famagusta’s residents, like the people in all other areas of Northern Cyprus, were forced to flee south for their lives. The Turks did not live in or occupy Famagusta in hopes that it could be used as a bargaining tool with southern Cyprus at some point (if we give you Famagusta, you give us…). Amazingly, this never happened. As a result, Famagusta became a complete ghost town, frozen in time for forty years. We were not actually allowed to enter the old city of Famagusta, as it is cordoned off by what appeared to be hastily made barriers of barbed wire, wood, and any scraps that could be used to build a fence. Every fifty or so feet along the barriers, there were red signs that featured the black shadow of a military man holding an AK-47. It warned against trespassing beyond the borders and taking pictures or video. As a result, I do not have pictures of the city, and can only provide what I found online, but even photographs on the Internet are scarce. I was standing at the gate in the photographs below at sunset. The materials of the barrier now are different, but this provides a general idea. 

At sunset, we walked on the most beautiful beach that bordered this ghost city. The paradox between beach life in the foreground and the crumbling city in the background was immensely moving in a way I have not been moved before. From the beach, I looked out at the sea at sunset and saw Turkish children and their families swimming and enjoying the day. I then turned around and saw a dilapidated building on the beach, on top of which stood an armed guard and his dog. Beyond the barriers that surrounded the beach, I could see a series of high-rise hotel buildings. I could tell they were beautiful forty years ago when life breathed through the city. In a way, they were still beautiful in that moment, just more painfully so now. As the sun was setting, it turned the sides of the buildings along the shore a beautiful, golden color. 

Today, the buildings are graffiti-covered and crumbling as the cruelty of time slowly chips away at them. The residents of Famagusta fled thinking they would be back in a matter of days. They had to leave so quickly that they left everything: pots and pans on the counter, photographs, memories. I thought about the residents of Famagusta and how frightened they must have been when they had to flee. The worst shock must have been the heavy realization that they would never return to their homes. Many are still - understandably - bitter. Even time does not completely heal all wounds. I thought about how their physical lives have continued in southern Cyprus, but a large part of their hearts and memories will forever be frozen in Famagusta in 1974. 

My entire MBA class was visibly moved by what we saw that day. The combination of sadness and amazement was evident among us. I stood at the barrier staring at the crumbling, abandoned city for a long time, trying to burn it into my memory. I am not from Famagusta and cannot begin to relate, but I will not forget what I saw for the sake of the poor souls who were unfairly displaced forty years ago.

We drove back mostly in silence. Passing back over the border into southern Cyprus was seamless compared to the reverse. All nine of us were acutely aware that we experienced something unique that day that we would never forget, nor adequately explain in words.

Beach near the old city of Famagusta