In 1983, the Turks sailed across the
Mediterranean Sea and seized Northern Cyprus and the current residents were
left to flee to the safety of the south. After Turkey had proclaimed this
destitute land, it was left untreated and uncared for many decades with few
complex’s being built; however the ones that were, were alluring. In 2012, my
family and I were travelling through the same deficient place in hopes of
reaching the charming and radiant villa we had booked earlier that year.
Once we had departed the airport and
attained our small, sleek silver hire car, we made our journey through the
wilderness. Tumbleweeds drove along beside us, but anxiety grew inside as we
realised we had gone astray. Colossal grey fences bordered the dry roads as we
arrived at the United Nations Peacekeeping Force; gun warnings plastered the
fences and the mood dropped like an apple from a tree as we attempted to
re-route ourselves.
Shockingly, we managed to drive straight
through the border crossing into the north. Immigration officials shouted at us
and signalled to us with much haste. Nothing a simple U-turn couldn’t fix. Our
passports were checked and we were given our 90 day visas. Before we could
blink, we had reached the wasteland. Dotted around the broad, flat landscape
were microscopic buildings, houses possibly? The worn wooden shacks presented
no windows or homely-touches such as plants or flowers, just emptiness. We
continued our journey through the north.
Time was endless and the scorching sun made
me debate whether the denim Levi shorts I was wearing were appropriate for
enduring the heat. Then we all had that feeling again, the anxious panic that
had occurred previously. However this time we had ventured even further from
the security of the south. But wait. As we came to a halt, in front of us lay a
small Mexican-style village. The houses were poorly built however much better
in comparison to the foregoing abandoned ones. The buildings stood adjacent to
each other and through the space of sandy coloured rock that separated them
came a tribe of speeding goats rushing to their trough. Any authentic
Mexican-style town has an elderly lady with grey lengthy hair tied into a loose
mounded bun sat on a small wooden chair outside her family home knitting her
own clothes. This is precisely what we saw. After calling the owner of the
villa we were staying at for directions, we were back on the right track. Soon
we were zooming through luscious green mountains travelling to the crystal
clear coast that we could see off in the distance.
At last. We had finally “reached our
destination” just as the sun drew in for the night. We pulled into the drive of
an exquisite villa surrounded with impressive, blossoming shrubberies in all
areas and then made our way through the newly-renovated interior of the
entrance and kitchen and into the spectacular outdoor grounds where a
glistening pool performed as the centre piece of the garden. Surrounding the
swimming pool were beautifully laid out deck chairs as well as a bright
yellow hammock swinging in the sunshine. The mountains peered down onto a picturesque
set of table and chairs, shaded by a quaint wooden gazebo. The diversity of the
rocks and plants perfected the astounding views and I couldn’t help but think
the four hour drive was worth encountering for the week I was going to spend
here.
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