Varosha: a beach with a view

I am standing with my feet in the warm water of the Mediterranean Sea. The crystal clear, turquoise water and white sand beach of Famagusta has drawn all kinds of people together. Row, next to row, next to row are umbrellas lining up and hundreds of people are tanning on their deck chairs. Next to me, a little girl is building a sandcastle and a little bit further a group of young boys has constructed a little ramp and is practicing their backflip skills.

It is the kind of scene which one imagines to find on any nice Mediterranean beach town- at least looking in the direction of the sea…. Turning land inwards, however, presents a completely different picture: Big high-rises project into the sky; their color has long worn-out, the windows are shattered and bits and pieces of the constructions are falling off. I detect a swimming pool filled with leaves instead of water and behind it, I recognize the shape of a Hamman-building that has lost its luxury. These sights tell the story of a town which for more than forty years has been untouched. 

Varosha in the 1960s

I find myself in front of Famagusta’s district Varosha, or “the ghost town” as it is commonly referred to. Rumor has it that this area was once the most beautiful beach town of the Mediterranean Sea where stars such as Elizabeth Taylor and Brigitte Bardot enjoyed their summer holidays. Starting with the construction in the mid-1950s, the district grew to become the center of mass-tourism over the following two decades. In its best times, Varosha made up for more than half of Cyprus’ tourism income.

When the Turkish army invaded Cyprus in response to the Greek Junta’s military coup in 1974, Famagusta was in the crossfire of the advancing Greek and Turkish armies. Its inhabitants left their houses and belongings in panic, fearing a massacre to happen on their streets. Quickly, Turkish forces gained control and prohibited admittance to anyone but Turkish military and United Nations personal to the district, which had until then housed around 39 000 Greek-Cypriots. Although the international community urged - and still is urging - the self declared ‘Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus’ to hand over the administration to the United Nations, they keep the area as a bargaining chip in a peace-settlement ever since.

Thus, we find an about two-meter-high fence in front of the abandoned buildings which stretches along the entire beach area. The simple metal construction is covered with green tarp to protect the view from the curious gazes of visitors. However, forty years since the events took place have not only left their mark on the buildings but also the fence. There are many parts where the tarp ripped and some corrugated sheets were placed in an improvised manner to serve as a camouflage. Big red signs from the Turkish military remind us that this is a “forbidden zone” which we are not supposed to enter or take pictures of. Yet, no one seems to bother much of me taking out my camera. The guard house, which looks like it has been constructed on an old beach club, is empty.

It appears, that most people - not even the Turkish military which is stationed there - seem to care much about us gazing into the abandoned ghost town. Rather, we get some amused and astonished looks when we appear not wearing a bikini to dive into the blue water, but with a notebook and camera in our hands to document our observations. We are puzzled: What makes people come to this place? Do they not mind the gray shadows of the past towering in the sky behind them? Do they realize that the political importance of this district behind their sun-umbrellas and beach snack bars? We try to collect some stories in the little time we have to make more sense of the situation.

Right at the very end of the beach, the point where we cannot go any further, we get to talk to a Turkish-Cypriot family from Famagusta. One of the daughters, who is currently learning to become a nurse, shares with us how normal this sight is for her. Being in her early twenties she had never grown up in a different situation.

This is different for the Greek-Cypriot lady who is just getting out of the water when we arrive: “Mhhh, I thought one could kind of swim around it.” For her, it was the first time coming to see Varosha and she did not realize that such a wide part of the land and beach was cut off from public access.

To Dimitros, a Greek-Cypriot living in the Greek-Cypriot part of the island, this view is not new. He comes to this beach every weekend since he finds it more pleasant and beautiful than the ones in the South. The sun helps him with his back problems. “Turkey should have never taken this. But now it’s done and we should move on” he explains to me. He appears tired of the sight in his back and would like to see an agreement between the two parties.

A bit later at a snack bar, I get to chat with a group of British pensioners, who had been coming to Cyprus for more than two decades and emigrated to the Southern part of the island about three years ago. For two of the four of them, this is the first time ever that they had come to the North. They are on a weekend-trip for which they decided to visit Varosha as well. “You know, you were not born yet, but we still remember how all of this happened. And this is a frightening and a sad reminder,” they tell me.

The more time I spent at the beach, the more I realize the diversity of people who spend their time there: Greek-Cypriots, Turkish-Cypriots, Turkish people, but also many tourists! But there appears to be not only a diversity of people but also a diversity of reactions to the sight. While for some it is frightening and they specifically come to visit this historically and politically important side, many others simply come to enjoy their time at the beach. The kind of relaxed holiday atmosphere the latter group portrays makes the situation on the one hand extremely paradoxical, on the other hand, it takes away some of the threat which the gray abandoned buildings emit for me. What I notice is how people, although not being allowed to enter Varosha, are reusing the spaces that separate the ghost town from the beach. I discover young boys using the shade of the fence to protect themselves from the burning sun. I see the Greek-Cypriot lady, who explored the sight from the water, using the barbed wire to hold her towels while going for a swim. And I read that Wikipedia’s references to “current history” of the district highlight the nesting of sea turtles on the remote beaches. 

While bizarre at first, the longer I think about it, the contrast between the abandoned district and vibrant beach life makes Varosha appear a little less helpless to me. Animals, both human and non-human, are reappropriating the space little by little. Maybe at some point, let’s hope that they will be able to do so on a larger scale by finding an agreement.

The vibrant beach life has remained at Varosha, the town however has changed its face.

The view on the ghost town of Varosha. Improvised corrugated sheets were used to protect the view and a guard point was constructed on an old beach club.

Reappropriating space I: a couple has hung their towels on the fence in order for them to not get dirty.

Reappropriating space II: Us as well, we make use of the shadow that the fence has to offer