Back to the Mediterranean: Trip Down Memory Lane.

Saturday was the big day: the day to go back to my roots.

Following the map and my memory, I drove out of Nicosia, the capital city, on a new, two lane highway towards the foothills and my old home. (Yes, I have come from the foothills in Cyprus to the foothills of California. Not such a far journey, really!) I recognized many landmarks and deviated from the main road often to revisit the little villages that we used to have to pass through on the long way into town. Had I traveled the new highway exclusively, I would have reached my goal (Kakopetria) in about forty five minutes. As it was, I probably took two or three times as long, savoring the journey, not focusing only on the destination.

Peristerona

I stopped in a little town called Astromeritis to purchase some fruits and vegetables at a little market. This used to be a place to find watermelon stands when they were in season. In the old days, the farmers slept out in the fields to guard their precious produce. We would see their iron beds out in the middle of the fields as if they had sprouted there during the night, right along side the watermelons. I understand the farmers still do that, but they now have their houses very close by. I did not see either beds in the fields, or watermelon stands. I think the farmers probably sell their harvest directly to the stores. Nowhere did I see the solid, round, dark green variety that we loved so much. The one I bought previously, in Larnaca, was striped and "seedless". Pity! The seeded ones are always better.

Church in Astromeritis

I made the turn towards the mountains and headed past our home-area to a small town where we used to go for souvlakia called Kakopetria.

Kakopetria

It is the closest town that would have adequate lodging. Unfortunately, the hotel where I had hoped to stay, The Mill (Mylos), was fully booked, so I went in search of an alternate. I saw a sign for a little inn that I had remembered reading about on the internet: The Linos Inn. So I stopped in to see if they had a room. Turns out they did. This little hotel is comprised of many smaller, private homes that had been renovated and joined up to make a more modern accomodation. Though the room was very small, it was more than adequate for me. It had a private bath, and that was my main need. They even had a hair-dryer to loan guests. Very uptown!

Room at the Linos Inn (Upstairs)

After a quick souvlakia in the town, I jumped in my rental car and headed down the hill on the old road towards home. Right away, I saw a gas station that had been owned by a man who worked in my father's office for over 30 years. His name was Lefkos Economides. I pulled into the station and asked the attendant if he knew Lefkos (in the best Greek I could muster after only three days!). Well, sure, right next door, pointed the man. I walked in through the creaky gate and knocked at the door. From down in the garden below a voice asked what I wanted. Again in my best Greek, I asked if Lefkos was in. After some gesturing and talking, I deduced that Lefkos was (very wisely) taking a siesta. I should come back later.

Back in the car I went, down the hill, through the various little villages we passed through a million times in my young years. It all seemed much faster this time, even though I drove slowly. Time compresses as you age, I think. The copper mine loomed ever larger as I approached.

First View of Skouriotissa Mine

Finally, after turning the wide corner to the right and passing through the canopy of olive trees, the sign for Skouriotissa appeared, almost hidden in the bushes to my left. I had to get out and take a picture before proceeding, making the moment last before seeing our old house for the first time.

Skouriotissa Sign

Slowly, I turned the corner around the slag from the old, Roman copper mine. There, in front of me, past a small field of weeds that used to be my mother's vegetable garden, was our house.

It was in pretty good shape as it is now inhabited by the Colonel of an Argentinian UN force based in our small "village". The rest of the homes in our area did not look so good. Paint was peeling, doors hung askew. Because of the invasion by Turkey, and this area being so close to the green line (the UN-controlled, "no-man's land" demarkation between the Turkish side and the Greek side), no-one is available to keep up the place. Perhaps things will change if and when reunification takes place.

Our House.

Our house had green shades on some of the windows to keep it cool inside. The paint was relatively fresh: white for the walls and red for the trim. The yard was nicely mowed and the oleander bushes along side the fence were trimmed. I'm glad it was well taken care of. I went up to the front door, but no one answered my knock. Perhaps sleeping like Lefkos.

I left my car parked under the Cypress trees, as we used to in days gone by, and strolled down the street towards our old school house. The school yard was encircled by loops of barbed wire because the school itself is now the officers club for the UN.