Experiencing the Remnants of a War Zone

Experiencing the Remnants of a War Zone

It is a Sunday early afternoon and we have finally arrived! After our one and a half hour hitch-hiking adventure from Kyrenia, a harbour city in the North of Cyprus, to Famagusta, located in the east of the island, Jocelyn and I were reunited with our friends Andrea and Angie at The Palm Tree House restaurant at the coast. Surrounded by tropical plants on the open white-painted veranda, we share our stories about the hospitality and peculiarities of our drivers over some iced and overly sugary drinks. We soon realise that we have been chatting way too long and have no more than two and a half hours left to explore this city before our bus heads to the capital, Nicosia, and ultimately, to Paphos, in order to be back in time for Monday morning class. And so, it is time to get going and see what we came here for: The Ghost Town of Marash-Varosha.

Marash-Varosha was the once prosperous quarter on the eastern coast of Famagusta. Prior to the Turkish invasion on the 20^th of July 1974, it is claimed to be the number one tourist destination in Cyprus, even one of the most popular ones in the world. However, in fear of a massacre, approximately 40.000 inhabitants, mainly Greek Cypriots, fled the area and sought refuge in the South. Thinking they would return to their homes within days, they left behind everything. Up to today, the area remains fenced off to visitors and previous property owners; it is part of a buffer zone where only Turkish troops and personnel of the United Nations are allowed entrance. Turkey has since used the reopening of Varosha as a “bargaining chip” in the bi-communal settlement negotiations in Cyprus.                                                                                                                                            That’s where we are heading; one of the most political sites of a war fought 43 years ago, but of which peoples’ grievances remain to this day. To my surprise, we walk around the corner or the fancy restaurant and see nothing but a rough landscape of rocks and tide pools, which here and there have dried up in spots of pure salt. But although the area around us looks dead, dry, and forgotten, the remnants of life are everywhere; mostly in the forms of forgotten or broken plastic bags and pieces of broken bottles of beer. It was quite an unusual contrast to our just experienced luxury and even a bigger contrast to what was waiting for us around the corner.

      

We again walk around a corner, this time passing the grand Palm Hotel. But we were not prepared for what was coming. On my left side, two old ladies in flower-printed bikinis casually walk from a small pier in the direction of what is on my other side. There, I see what seems like hundreds of white and blue striped beach parasols providing shadow to the even larger number of locals and (sun-burned) westerners. In the background, we see empty, damaged, and abandoned hotels and residential buildings standing behind a what seemed to be an improvised fence of metal, cloth, and any kind of materials that were found; indeed, modern life was happening at the feet of the remnants of a war zone - what a strange sight it was!

Struggling to push away the heavy sand under my feet at what felt the hottest moment of the day, we walked along the wired fence to the end, where the wall disappears a couple of meters further into the sea, thereby completely cutting off the pleasant summer vibes from the devastating area. Several signs along the fence remind us to not take any pictures of the Ghost Town. I knew there would be consequences if you'd get caught snapping photos by Turkish troops - my aunt luckily was able to tell the tale after she had taken some photos of the buffer zone a couple of years ago, which ended up in extensive, unpleasant talks with Turkish military officials. And so, thus far I felt I was doing pretty good in following this one-sided agreement; not taking pictures although I was tempted to do so. That changed, of course, after I met what appeared a sweet, old lady clothed in pink. She was holding a camera in her hands, ready to take her first shot. I quickly told her to be careful as I had observed a Turkish guard in the watchtower behind the fence. "Is there somebody?" she said, I confirmed. "Is he looking?" she asked now, "No, nobody is looking". Before I realised it I was keeping her watch and she had taken three, four, five shots of the abandoned district at the far end corner of the accessible beach. "If this old lady can do it, I can do it too", I thought. I now have around 30 memorable pictures of the abandoned district on my phone.

                                                                                                

           Apparently, the Ghost Town reaches as far as the furthest visible building on the picture above; covering more than 7 miles. As I am peeking through the broken parts of the fence, an aged Scottish man is moving next to me whilst saying “You can still see the chairs; they are still on the veranda”. I observe a little closer and, indeed, there are still pieces of furniture left on a nice old beach bar not too far away from us. As if time just stood still for more than forty years. A Greek-Cypriot woman joins us, she explains how she had never been here before, but did not expect the sight of Varosha to have such a big impact on her. My observations, however, led me to conclude that people do not seem to experience the area as solely a negative place; there are hundreds of people relaxing on the beach, there are children making sand castles; teenagers in the water; there are even women making use of the fence as a coat rack for their towels and groups of young men using the shadow of the fence to hide from the burning sun. Fortunately, the Greek Cypriot lady reminds me that “For the Greek Cypriots, this is a very sad place”. The Scottish men's son, who is in his mid-twenties, also commented that he still has Greek Cypriot friends for whom "it is just too emotional to come here. Friends who have lost their houses and their businesses and have never been able to return to them”. This truly makes this place a unique site; in how many places in the world is the enjoyment of mass tourism only meters away from the grievances of a war zone?