April 9, 2008 6:50 AM

A long time coming....

Over the past few days, an event of great significance has taken place, one that’s (understandably) attracted little attention in this country, but one that holds great significance for me. In downtown Nicosia, Cyprus, the Ledra Street crossing was re-opened. For those of you unfamiliar with Cypriot history (and there’s really no pressing reason why you should be familiar with it), the country has been divided since the 1974 Turkish invasion. The Turks hold the northern part of the island (the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, recognized only by Turkey), while the Greek majority hold the more prosperous south.

I taught for a year in Nicosia, so I developed an affinity for (in my humble opinion) one of the world’s most beautiful place, as well as a strong interest in the political situation. Technically, it was still a war zone, though thankfully things were quiet during my time there. During my time in Cyprus, I frequently tooks walks along the Green Line dividing the Greek and Turkish halves of Nicosia. Turkish soldiers would ask me for cigarettes (I don’t smoke), and one almost shot me. It made for some interesting times.

While the Turkish and Greek sides of the island were still officially at war, there existed a strange symbiosis between the sides. Greek Cypriots depended on Turkish Cypriots for fresh water, while conversely, the Turks depended on the Greeks for electricity- at least what little they could afford. Can’t live with ‘em…can’t live without ‘em….

Ledra Street is one of the few crossing points in Nicosia where once can transit between Turkish Cyprus and Greek Cyprus. Cypriot natives were prohibited from crossing the Green Line during my time there, and even crossing over as a foreign national was tricky. The first time I went, I was escorted by a friend who worked at the US Embassy. He dropped me in northern Nicosia with the warning that, should anything happen to me, there was no way to contact the Embassy, and I’d probably end up on the Turkish mainland. I needn’t have worried, because most of the people I ran into were glad to see me…because I had dollars. Yeah, they loved me…as long as I bought stuff from them. Hard currency was a commodity in short supply on the Turkish side of the island, so anyone with dollars became very popular very quickly.

The second time I crossed, I went by myself. At the time, it was a venture not without some risk, but I was young and stupid…and I though an American passport was the magic bullet. In may case, it seemed that being young and stupid was the magic bullet,

To get from the Greek side to the Turkish side meant taking a taxi to the southern entrance to Ledra Street. From there, you walked north up Ledra, framed on both sides of the streets by minefields and barbed wire. I passed through a Cypriot Army checkpoint, where I was greeted with the indifference typical of Cypriot conscripts doing their required service. I could have been wearing a Turkish flag as diaper while wearing an explosive vest, and I wouldn’t have attracted attention. Shortly after that, I walked in front of the Ledra Hotel, once the crown jewel of Nicosia (and British imperialism), and now the headquarters of UNFICYP, the UN peacekeeping forces that patrols the Green Line across the island.

Then the landscape began to change. I strolled past shops whose doors were still padlocked and boobytrapped, and whose showrooms still displayed appliances and other goods that had been for sale in 1974. The explosives in the boobytraps were so unstable that not even UN combat engineers dared mess with them.

The northern part of Ledra Street began to take on a much dustier, Middle Eastern feel once you reached the Turkish Army checkpoint. Much of the Turkish force on the island at that time were professionals, and I at least knew to avoid doing or saying anything stupid. I was asked several questions about my trip to Northern Cyprus, I answered them succinctly, and, when I was deemed not to be a threat (or when they realized I had American dollars to spend) I was allowed to pass.

It was about noon when I arrived in Turkish Nicosia, just in time for the call of the muezzin, a sound I’ve always loved. As I listened to the call to prayer and looked around me, I couldn’t help be struck that just about 400 meters south was a very different world. It looked like rural Turkey or Syria.

If you’ve ever seen a satellite photo of the Korean peninsula at night (the North is dark, while the South is glowing ), you can appreciate the difference between Turkish Cyprus and Greek Cyprus. The Greek south is very prosperous and always flush with revenue generated from European tourists (oddly enough, very few Americans go to Cyprus). The Turkish north is like most other middle eastern nations- dusty, poor, and tied together by a constant cacophony of unique noises and smells. Most people focus on the dirt and the cacophony; I love the sounds and the smells, because, if I close my eyes, there is nothing even remotely redolent of home.

Twenty years later, and 34 years after the Turkish invasion, the time has once again come for the hopes of Cypriots to be raised. This has happened countless times over the years. In the end, whether through arrogance, incompetence, mistrust, or combinations of the former, talks would inevitably break down and both sides would retreat behind nationalist rhetoric. I hope this time will be different, but I’ve learned over the years not to get my hopes up. I often think of the friends I made there, and it saddens me that so many of them had grown up in what’s now the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus and hadn’t been able to go home since 1974. Perhaps this time will be different; most likely, intransigence, mistrust, and recrimination will reign supreme, as the have for the past 34 years.

I miss Cyprus. Someday, I’d like to return so I could see for myself how things have changed over the years. Part of me would like to retire there. At the very least, I hope that, by the time I return for a visit, Cyprus will once again be united, however uneasily. It would be nice to return to an island where common sense and common interest finally have the upper hand. Pardon me if I’m not holding my breath on that one, though.

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This page contains a single entry by Jack Cluth published on April 9, 2008 6:50 AM.

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