The Cyprus story is certainly more than the Green line and the north. There is plenty of beauty here on the Southern shores, where the cliffs show the glint off the Mediterranean. We started the day visiting the Temple of Apollo, on a windy bluff off the highway. This country has had so many invaders, even the ruins and temples were renovated by succeeding emperors, Augustus renovated after the Greeks and later the Ottomans tried turning every cathedral into a minareted mosque.
We drove along the coastal road until we reached a fish restaurant perched high on a hill, overlooking a large rocky mound with two sequentially smaller islands in front. This was the ‘birthplace of Aphrodite,’ who was borne of the sea foam. For us it meant fish meze, a dazzling array of groaning plates of octopus, sardines, broiled fish, calamari, and all sprayed with the ubiquitous Cypriot lemon. Like every meal here, this one came with tahini, and salads, yogurt, fresh beets, and fried potatoes. Potatoes are the #2 export here, right after vino. Later we had the Cyprus coffee with all those grounds in the bottom. Someone at the table said she could read the drips leftover in the cup, to see my fortune. “Roads,” she said, “I see roads coming down the side…and people..you must like people.”
We are staying in Pafos, a beach town with blaring neon signs directing the mostly UK travelers to come ‘taste the finest fish and chips in Cyprus,’ or ‘Enjoy the real Chinese flavors here.’ I saw a trio of sad looking restauranteurs peering out the window, hoping I was a customer, but their fireplaces flickered and no customers have yet shown up.
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