Northern Cyprus

I decided to travel to Northern Cyprus, (officially the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus or TRNC) via Larnaca, in the Republic of Cyprus, as Ercan International Airport, in the north, is globally unrecognised. As far as the rest of Cyprus is concerned, if you land here, you've landed illegally. And Ercan is only served by Turkish Airlines, which is considerably more expensive than EasyJet. Northern Cyprus is a de facto state which comprises the north-eastern portion of the island of Cyprus. It is recognised only by Türkiye/Turkey, and its territory is considered by all other states to be part of the Republic of Cyprus.

Hiring cars from companies who will allow you over the border is fraught. Most won't permit it and, if they do, then you need to buy extra insurance at the border. And that’s only third party. What’s more, if you damage the car you’re stuck, as you can't leave without it. That sounds like mega hassle to me. So, I've arranged a taxi and then car hire, when I'm in the TRNC, with a very friendly company in Kyrenia. (Well, they are friendly to begin with.)

From Larnaca to Kyrenia

Aircky, the taxi driver, meets me at Larnaca and delivers a monologue, as he drives north to Nicosia and the border. He lives on his own, with 13 cats. He is divorced, as his wife cheated on him. And he’s just 30.

Nicosia is the only divided capital in the world. And there’s a marked difference between the two sides. It's all two line highways supermarkets and a lot of traffic up to the immigration booths. The ladies in those aren’t very interested in me. But it’s very clear, from the off, who controls this territory, once we’ve dispensed with formalities. There’s a giant reverse colour Turkish flag ( with a couple of extra stripes). etched into the mountainside. That’s the flag of the TRNC. It’s the size of four football pitches, made of white stones. Special teams from Türkiye regularly bring in red and white dyes to maintain the massive flag. Next to it, a slogan from Kemal Ataturk: ‘How happy is he who calls himself a Turk!’

Once into the decidedly more chaotic driving of the north Aircky launches into a political diatribe. The Turkish drivers are awful and, not only that, they’re awful people too. They drink, are rude and selfish and take drugs. Ah, I think. Surely he wouldn’t rather return to Greek rule. He’s Turkish Cypriot. But no, he then diverts his attack to the Greeks, who are equally bad. He wishes fervently there had never been a war. The Cypriots are much better left to their own devices. Do I know any nice peaceful places to live ? Welcome to Cyprus!

Kyrenia is only half an hour’s drive north of Nicosia. We climb up and onto a pass, into the dramatic mountain chain which the backbone of Northern Cyprus. Through the gap, and Kyrenia is spread before us, on the coastal plain.

The Kemerli Konak Hotel

My hotel, on the edge of Kyrenia, is lovely, nestled below the mountains. It’s called Kemerli Konak (Boutique). That literally means belted mansion. There are two main buildings ,joined by a bridge, crossing a chasm, which has been transformed into a pretty garden. The bridge is the location of choice for the youth of the area to take selfies. This is definitely one of the towns happening places.

Friendly staff, huge rooms. Woven Ottoman style patterned cushions and ironwork galore. Waiters in ‘traditional garb’, in the labyrinthine upmarket restaurant. It even has a resident parrot (rainbow macaw). Lamb chops come with a dozen mezze dishes alongside, as well as fries, salad and vegetables. It’s a veritable banquet. And each meal is more enormous than the last. Sadly, it’s more quantity than quality. The 'jumbo' prawns are tiny and like leather. There’s a smallish pool with a sign. ‘No diving at the shallow end.’ I suspect you would hit your head on the far side, whatever end you began that endeavour.

Wonderful views of the peaks. It's much greener here, than in the south, and what's more they have crusader castles in their mountains. St Hilarion Castle is looking down on me.

I’m the solitary sunbather on the pool loungers. That doesn’t mean it’s peaceful. There are a row of workshops cum covered parking areas along the road outside and a series of squawks emerge at regular intervals . I’m not sure if it’s machinery or the parrot. They’re revarnishing most of the furniture by the looks of it. The sanding machine intermittently confirms this.

Northern Cyprus - Facts and Factoids

• Due to its global lack of recognition, Northern Cyprus is heavily dependent on Türkiye for economic, political and military support.
• Attempts to reach a solution to the Cyprus dispute have been unsuccessful. The Turkish Army maintains a large force in Northern Cyprus with the support and approval of the TRNC government, while the Republic of Cyprus, the European Union as a whole, and the international community regard it as an occupation force.
• Today, Northern Cyprus is a semi-presidential, democratic republic with a mixed cultural heritage and a growing economy that is dominated by the services sector. However, development is held back by an international embargo due to the official closure of the ports in Northern Cyprus by the Republic of Cyprus.
• Despite joining the EU, as a de facto divided island, the whole of Cyprus is regarded as EU territory. EU law is suspended in areas where, 'the Government of the Republic does not exercise effective control.'
• The official language is Turkish, with a distinct local dialect being spoken.
• The vast majority of the population are Sunni Muslims
• Cyprus is geographically in West Asia, but culturally and geopolitically South-east European.
• North Cyprus advertises that it has 20+ sandy beaches, over 300 days of sunshine a year, 2000+ years of history, magnificent mountains, friendly people and that it's cheaper than Euro zone countries by around 30%! The currency is the Turkish Lira.

Organising my Turkish Explorations

Things get more difficult when it comes to delivering my hire car. It’s supposed to arrive the following morning but I’m told it’s arrived when I’m eating my dinner. Elbow deep in mezze. I’m astonished and obviously look annoyed. So the waiter tells them via his phone to come back tomorrow, as arranged. I’m duly punished, as they don’t arrive until 11.30 the next day.’ We were busy’. It’s a Toyota Yaris, with the navigation disabled. And of course I’ve left my Canadian phone mount at home.

To be honest, I’m not desperately upset at my delayed start. I’ve been foolish enough to have a Covid vaccination booster the day before departure and I’m feeling decidedly worse for wear, hot and nauseous. But, I eventually gird my loins and set off into the city. The phone, with my navigation, hurtles off the dashboard and so, I lose my way. Déjà vu. The streets narrow, as I head for the Old Town, and reversing after each of my many wrong turnings isn’t easy. I squeak into the car park by the castle, narrowly missing a police car, as I manoeuvre again.

Then, an ATM has to be sought. I don’t have any Turkish lira and the car park at least, wants cash. Things are cheap here, but sadly, not free. The cash machine is a strange affair. It’s set deep into a wall and you have to lean right into it. And a lady speaks to you. But it gives me money.

Kyrenia

Kyrenia is billed as the tourism capital of Northern Cyprus: numerous hotels, nightlife and a port. It’s also a cultural hub, home to three universities. This is an ancient settlement, probably predating even the Greek built city. According to Greek mythology, Kyrenia was founded by the Achaeans, Cepheus and Praxandrus, who ended up there, after the Trojan War. (1300 BC). The heroes gave to the new city the name of their home city (located in Achaia, Greece.) Nowadays, it’s Girne to the Turks and on most of the signposts. Many of the towns here have more than one name.

The castle looms above the entrance to the harbour. It was first founded by the Romans, in the first century AD and was a useful aid in securing Kyrenia’s increasing importance over the centuries. It was rebuilt by the Lusignan dynasty, in Crusader style, modified by the Venetians, in the fifteenth century, and eventually surrendered to the Ottomans, in 1571.

As usual, the views are more interesting than the castle itself. I teeter round the top of the walls. It’s the sort of place which would be closed down instantly by health and safety in the UK. Pole fencing above the sheer drops. Metal planks over gaps in the walls. And no paths to speak of. You just totter over the uneven stone work.

Within its walls lies a twelfth-century chapel with re-used late Roman capitals; there are ancient tombs inside. There’s even a museum built around a shipwreck, which dates back to 300 BC.

The old harbour, in front, is really quaint, an ancient lighthouse and pretty stone walls. There's also a Venetian chain tower. An iron chain was stretched across the entrance, between two towers, the other being the old Customs House, at the town entrance to the port, to defend the city against hostile shipping. The harbour is stuffed with wooden gulets and larger galleon style ships. And, naturally, it’s lined with fish restaurants and bars on balconies. Some, as you would expect are very touristy, but I have an amazingly good meal at up market Nima, just round the corner, on the promenade. The best frozen daiquiris ever and really tasty seafood, beautifully presented.

Bellapais

My Friendly Car Hire has provided a one week itinerary to cover Northern Cyprus. The problem is, it’s now a challenge to cover it all. I’ve already set about today in the wrong order. First stop was supposed to be Bellapais – a village set above Kyrenia, in the foothills. Google still isn’t fully compliant and refuses to give voice directions, whilst the phone still throws itself off its perch at every opportunity. The Turkish are indeed poor drivers, blocking roads and lunging out whenever they see the slightest gap. The streets are increasingly narrow.

I’ve aimed for Bellapais Car Park. And, after lurching up numerous worryingly narrow thoroughfares and rerouting, I finally do find myself in a car park, in total solitude. It’s the cemetery. It does have a glorious view, of Kyrenia and the coast. But Google tells me it’s 20 minutes’ walk to the village and the sun is beating down.

So, I manage to locate another car park on Google. More terrifying roadside drops. And then, I know I’m in the right place. The road is suddenly full of people again. A bus load of tourists decanting onto the cobblestones. Quaint bars, sleepy cafes and souvenir shops.

But the draw here is Bellapais Abbey. The monastery was founded by the Lusignans, for the Canons Regular of St. Augustine, in the thirteenth century They were a community of Catholic priests. The ruins are impressive, stark against the blue sky, and the abbey commands the best view yet of Kyrenia. As well as offering a café and a museum.

The Abbey gave its name to the village. The Venetians corrupted Abbey de la Paix into Bellapaix. Lawrence Durrell explains all of this in his book Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. It’s an account of his time living here, during the 1950s Enosis movement for freedom of the island from British colonial rule. A very different era to now. He waxes lyrical about the scenery, the orange and almond blossom, tangerines and lemons. And also refers constantly to the Tree of Idleness (tongue in cheek). If you sit under it you and drink coffee you become very lethargic. As do most of the locals, apparently. The village was the home for some years of Lawrence Durrell, who wrote about life in Cyprus in his book Bitter Lemons. There are two places which lay claim to being the famous spot. His book doesn't not identify it clearly , and two separate café/restaurants profit from the name.

Today, his house is also called Bitter Lemons and finding it leaves a bitter taste too. Google excels itself here with wrong directions. (Her Turkish pronunciation is even worse than her French ) and I keep ending up a dead end alley, with a large canine barking furiously, to reinforce the point that I’m in the wrong place.

Eventually, a lady from a beauty salon helps me out. There are painted blue feet to follow, up a parallel, very steep street. I’m not sure it’s worth it. It's boxy, with, as Durrell describes, 'great doors'. There’s a lemon coloured plaque, for identification. But I’m out of breath and there’s no sign of any arrangement for going inside. The selling point, for Durrell, seems to have been the view from up top. I'll have to take his word for it.

Ghastly Google

And now Google really has outdone itself. It tells me it’s eighteen minutes’ drive back to my hotel. Half an hour later, after insistently trying to send me up dead ends, or gravel tracks, I’m stuck in traffic, on the outskirts of Kyrenia, with Google still telling me I’m 18 minutes away.

It’s even worse when I decide it might be safer to walk into Kyrenia centre, on my second visit. It’s a mile and half from the hotel. First, I have to survive the barely visible zebra crossings. The local drivers act as if they aren’t there and you just have to grit your teeth and step out. The cars squeal to a halt, two inches away. For some reason, the Google arrow is pointing backwards on the map. The directions are correct; it’s very disconcerting.

So, I reboot both app and phone. Now, the arrow is pointing at ninety degrees to the correct route. I soldier on. Which turns out to be the right attitude, as I’ve landed smack in the middle of a military zone; the army have commandeered a whole section of the sea front. And I have to retrace my steps, after being gesticulated at firmly by men in berets. That’s another 15 minutes wasted.

Time to download maps.me. At least they have a setting to avoid unpaved roads.

A Brief History of Northern Cyprus

• Cyprus has been inhabited since at least the tenth millennium BC. The location of Cyprus is a strategic one, close to Asia (Syria and Turkey) and relatively close to Africa, So historically, it was an in demand territory. After Cyprus was settled by Mycenaean Greek,s in two distinct waves, in the second millennium BC, it was successively ruled by the Assyrians, Egyptians, and Persians, before Alexander the Great seized it, in 333 BC.
• Cyprus subsequently formed part of the Ptolemaic Kingdom, until it was annexed by Rome, in 58 BC. (Mark Anthony gave Cyprus to Cleopatra, briefly.) It was settled by Mycenaean Greeks and later occupied, in turn, by the Assyrian, Egyptian, Persian, Macedonian, Ptolemaic Egyptian, and Classical and Eastern Roman Empires. The  Arab caliphates followed, then  the French Lusignan dynasty, then the Venetians and the Ottomans. So there's plenty of history to indulge in.
• Following the break up of the Ottoman Empire, Cyprus was secretly placed under the UK's administration and then formally annexed by the UK, in 1914. Tensions between the Greek Cypriots (77% of population)  and the Turkish Cypriots (18%), with some calls for union with Greece, led to demands for partition and eventually resulted in independence. Great Britain retained about 3% of the island, at Аkrotiri, now the southernmost point of the European Union.
• A coup d'état in 1974, performed as part of an attempt to annex the island to Greece, prompted the Turkish invasion of Cyprus. This resulted in the eviction of much of the north's Greek Cypriot population, the flight of Turkish Cypriots from the south, and the partitioning of the island, leading to a unilateral declaration of independence by the north in 1983.
• After further tensions, a separate Turkish Cypriot state in the north, the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, was established by unilateral declaration in 1983.
• The city of Nicosia, lies in both, the only divided capital in the world shared by two nations. It is separated by ‘The Green Line’, also known as the UN buffer zone, as the resulting political situation is a matter of a continuing dispute.

Cockroach Chaos

I’m exhausted, after all my adventures, so I head to bed early and am asleep by not long after nine. But there’s a rude awakening, just after midnight, with banging and crashing, on the landing outside my room. That goes on for a while. Then there’s screaming. And it’s prolonged. Eventually, I wind my bedsheets round me and go to knock on the offending door. A family have arrived taking up abode in several rooms up here. And the daughter (with baby) has discovered a cockroach in her room. They have finally managed to capture it, in a glass. I’m not impressed. Surely one scream would suffice? It takes a long time to go back to sleep again.

Driving in Northern Cyprus

Getting to the Famagusta area is less eventful than driving the previous day. Though the Toyota is showing its true colours, now I’m on two lane highways. Like the Camry, in Newfoundland, it beeps like crazy, each time I overtake, or the loose steering wobbles as the road camber alters. Again, it's really annoying. I find myself telling it to 'F*** off ' every five minutes. Have I gone mad? I’m making a mental note. Never hire a Toyota again.

The roads are still challenging. Most of the markings are faded (perhaps it’s all that sun) and I’m struggling to work out where the lanes are, or pick out speed bumps. The latter are especially trying when the phone goes flying off the dashboard. Then of course Google thoughtfully resets itself. The air is blue.

The gantries are bristling with speed cameras and the speed limits seem to change alarmingly, often, especially at junctions and roundabouts, where there are signs. But the rest of the time I haven’t a clue. There’s nothing. I take my cue from the other drivers, which isn’t always helpful.

Drivers are divided into two types. Slow and doddery or manic and aggressive. I’m trying to avoid both. Coaches and dolmus taxis fly out of slip roads and thunder past. I expect they know where all the cameras are.

Famagusta

Famagusta’s original Greek (third century) name was Ammochostos or ‘Hidden in Sand’, in Latin, Fama Augusta. Its informal modern Turkish name Mağusa came from the same source. But, since 1974, it has been known as Gazimağusa, which translates to ‘Famagusta, the war hero’.

St Barnabas Monastery

The road east from Kyrenia (and Nicosia) stays parallel with the mountains and the land gradually flattens out. On reaching the coast (almost), at Famagusta, I turn onto quieter lanes and am congratulating myself on the peace and quiet, when I arrive at St Barnabas Monastery. It’s heaving. Where did all these tour buses come from? The pomegranate squeezing man is carrying out a roaring trade. I’m trying in my turn to squeeze past and am attacked by a huge cactus. I have to pick the spikes out of my arm before proceeding.

St Barnabas is the patron saint of Cyprus, venerated for founding the church here. He was an apostle of St Paul, who returned to his homeland. The monastery looks suitably picturesque, stone domes against a blue sky, curved arches in the cloisters. They’ve turned the interior into an icon museum. Many of these are enticingly glitzy and there are some fascinatingly macabre frescoes on the walls. The saint is said to be buried under a small chapel, alongside the main monastery. There’s a crypt underneath it and a tomb. Well, it does have his picture on it.

Most of the sites here are cheap enough to enter. Fifty Turkish lira ( (TL) about a pound. But you still have to pay extra for the toilet. They’re run as a separate business. That’s priced in euros-50 cents. Half the cost of entry.

Salamis

Salamis was an ancient Greek city-state, by the sea, at the mouth of the river Pedieos, six kilometres north of modern Famagusta. Like Kyrenia, it is said to date back to the Trojan War Legend says it was founded by Teucer, son of Telamon, King of the Greek island of Salamis, who could not return home after the Trojan War, because he had failed to avenge his brother Ajax.

Salamis was the capital of Cyprus up to the Hellenistic period, when it was replaced by Paphos. But it still held its own as an important town and was particularly favoured by the Roman emperors Trajan and Hadrian, who restored and established its public buildings.

Today, Salamis is touted as the best preserved ancient site in Cyprus and the ruins, on land, are also heaving. Most of them are underwater. And the sea today is tempestuous. The beachside restaurant men are desperately trying to rescue their cabanas and thatched umbrellas.

But, it’s still a huge site. The main attractions here are the columned gymnasium, though the naughty Christians have moved the columns about a bit, and the stone theatre. There’s also an amphitheatre and baths and villas with some lovely arches. As usual, the paths are treacherous and, despite extensive slipping and sliding, I can’t track down the elusive (but signposted) mosaic room, hidden somewhere amidst the ruins.

Famagusta Old Town

Then, into Famagusta itself, the traffic moving at a crawl, in the northern suburbs. I squash into a parking space, in the walled city ,after having bravely driven through the one way Land Gate. Surprisingly, both toilets and parking are free here. The obvious thing to do first, is clamber up the ramp, to the top of the city walls, for the view across the Old Town. The walls must be really dangerous here, as they’re totally blocked off and you can only access the viewpoint.

There are also small stretches of wall you can get onto, on the ocean side of town. The view here isn’t the most scenic. Cargo ships in the port. (Famagusta has the deepest harbour in Cyprus and during the Middle Ages was the island's most important port city). But there are turrets and the Othello Castle too. Shakespeare’s play is set here.

The town is a pleasant wander, with its narrow streets and upmarket tourist shops and jewellers. And it’s sprinkled with splendid ruins. There’s a huge Venetian palace, St Nicholas Cathedral ( now partially transformed into a mosque, with the addition of a minaret) and several other churches. The Old Town has been nicknamed ‘The City of 365 Churches’, as, at its peak, it was said to boast a church for every day of the year. An old domed hammam, now metamorphosed into a bar. There’s plenty of alcohol in Turkish Cyprus I notice. Counterbalanced by some huge new mosques.

The Famagusta Ghost Town

Last stop today is Varosha, Famagusta’s Ghost Town. When Turkey invaded, the inhabitants of Famagusta’s upmarket beach area fled, some just walking out and leaving all their possessions. The Turkish army fenced off the area immediately and it was declared a ‘No Go Zone’, until the Turkish Republic of North Cyprus ( TRNC) was recognised. It’s been a long wait and the buildings have crumbled, whilst the newspapers and bread stayed in situ. UN Security Council resolution 550 (1984) ‘considers any attempts to settle any part of Famagusta by people other than its inhabitants as inadmissible and unjust and calls for the transfer of this area to the administration of the UN.’

Three years ago, Turkish President Erdoğan finally relented and decided that this was a tourist opportunity. But it will take billions to restore the area to its former glory. For the moment, this is dark tourism, controlled by the army. You can get in free, through the manned gateway, hire bikes and scooters, stroll along the beach and peer at the devastated buildings, festooned with red signs saying they are dangerous and should not be approached.

I’m driving home very happy with my accomplishments today. I’ve only got lost a couple of times, once when maps.me was determined to take me back to my starting point, for some reason..And, I’ve covered two days in one. My car hire guide suggested two trips to Famagusta.

Nicosia

Another day, another walled town. Nicosia, (Latin name) also known as Lefkosia[Greek) and Lefkoşa, (Turkish) is the capital and largest city of Cyprus. and the southernmost of all the EU member states' capital cities. Nicosia really does lay claim to being ancient. It has been continuously inhabited for over 4,500 years and has been the capital of Cyprus since the tenth century.

This is the last divided capital in Europe. (The Cypriots say in the world, but I think Jerusalem might have something to say about that.) Nicosia's Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot communities segregated into its south and north respectively in 1964 after a bloody conflict. The divide was cemented by Turkey’s invasion, ten years later. Nicosia is the legislative and administrative base for both nations and the island's financial capital and main international business centre.

The suburbs on both sides are modern, with wide boulevards and flowerbeds, reflecting the city’s role in business and administration. I’ve managed to find my way to the Kyrenia Gate, in the Old Town and parked with some trepidation. The sign says the spaces are for the presidential cars. But everyone else is using the spaces. Hopefully, he doesn’t work on Saturdays.

My rental car guide says the north walled city is quiet and authentic. And it is. Well, fairly quiet. The bazaars are bustling, especially the Büyük Han ( Great Inn) a converted Ottoman caravanserai, that’s now an indoor market and giant coffee shop. There’s a smaller version too, the Kumarcilar Han (Gambler’s Inn). Also, a whirling dervish museum, Ottoman houses both refurbished and converted into hotels, or crumbling quietly, domed hammams, mosques of varying ages and churches converted into mosques. The giant Selimiye Mosque is being reconstructed. St Nicholas Church has become the bedestan or covered market. It’s closed on Saturday. Lokum (Turkish delight) stalls, a plethora of pavement cafes.. And the Lusignan House Museum. Google warns me it will close in an hour, but those in charge of the building have pre-empted the warning by quite a long time, judging by the closely barred doors.

I’ve enjoyed my exploration of North Nicosia, but feel I should sample the sights of the south and the Republic. I set off, with my passport, to the on foot crossing point, on Ledra Street. I almost change my mind when I see the line waiting to travel back north. But I’m checked through now. The border which separates this contentious division is policed by the United Nations and called The Green Line. Sadly, there’s no green paint

To be honest, the south of the city is disappointing. Grey and dirty with copious graffiti. Ledra Street has chain shops, set unusually in Ottoman houses. And the Shacolas Tower, once the tallest building in Cyprus, is now home to H and M.
I wander for 15 minutes, to find one of eastern Europe’s best examples of Venetian walls (they rebuilt the original city walls) and the Liberty Monument. The brand new St Barnabas Cathedral and the adjacent neo byzantine Archbishop’s Palace (twentieth century) are vast. Next door, is the old seventeenth century palace and St John’s Cathedral. Barnabas was the founder of the church of Cyprus, after all. Back to my Turkish Delight.

Google isn’t playing ball when I try to navigate out of the city. There’s a phone signal everywhere in North Cyprus, except for central Nicosia.

St Hilarion Castle

St Hilarion Castle is beckoning to me as I peek up from my bedroom window. And I have to navigate several alarming hairpin bends and an (another ) Army Base checkpoint to get here. Really quiet and off the beaten track I'm thinking. Only to find half a dozen tourist coaches parked up outside. Aargh.

These are definitely old ruins, dating back to Byzantine times, and built to commanding the pass, which I've driven over. It’s the best kept of three North Cyprus mountain castles and this one really is up in the crags. They’re called the Five Finger Mountains (or Pentadaktylos Mountains) here, giving their name to the whole 100 mile long range. It’s also known as the Kyrenia Range. And indeed, they plummet to Kyrenia and my hotel below. It defintely is a stunning view.

This is not the St. Hilarion, active in Palestine and Cyprus in the fourth century (though I hadn't heard of him either). The castle was named after an obscure saint, who is traditionally held to have fled to Cyprus, after the Arab conquest of the Holy Land and retired to this hilltop to found a hermitage. Legend has it that there's a monastery here, under the castle; sadly, evidence does not.

The fortification takes up several levels, with two thousand steps between them, according to one German tourist. I think he might have exaggerated, but it certainly feels like zwei tausend. Especially as it’s very windy today and I’m buffeted the whole way, whilst battling vertigo. It really is a very steep drop…

The cafe here offers a St Hilarion mocktail, a bit like a St Clements, made with orange and lemon juice. Hilarious.

West Northern Cyprus

West along the coast road. It’s not very interesting for the most part, until just before the extreme end of Northern Cyprus, when there’s a pretty beach with more foaming waves.

Mavi Kosk

Up into the mountains again, past a large dam and turquoise reservoir. Next stop is Mavi Kosk. I’ve no idea what this is, but it’s on all the tourist itineraries. It turns out to be a house, in the middle of yet another army base. I have to show my passport before I’m allowed to take the wiggling road inside. Mavi Kosk means Blue House and it’s the preserved 1950s/1960s home of Pavlides, said to be a Greek gun runner, supplying EOKAS, the guerilla movement trying to force Enosis.

Th house is manned by some very serious young men in dark suits, who tell me that I must join a tour, if I want to visit. The next English one isn’t for some time,so I tag, onto a Turkish group. I don’t understand one word the guide says but there are a few signs that purport to explain in English.

The furniture is very much of the era, with curved upholstery and wooden cupboards. And much of it is indeed blue, except for the red, green and yellow rooms. The bathrooms are avocado ( of course) or lemon yellow, with patterned tiles and rusting bidets. Cocktail cabinets and mosaics replicating scenes from Greek mythology, with half naked ladies feature heavily. Several items of furniture are said to be gifts from Archbishop Makarios who is thought to have stayed here for lengthy periods.

The villa is opulent enough, with a superb position and beautiful views down the valley and across the reservoir, but I’m not allowed to take photos inside, so you’ll have to take my word for that part. Just as I’ve read that nothing I’ve been told here is proven. This is very much a propaganda tour about Greek perfidy and oppression of the Turks at that time.

Koruçam

Next up is Korucam. It’s a Maronite village, unusual as a Greek Orthodox area, in Northern Cyprus. There’s a huge church, but it’s an exceptionally sleepy place. Only a black dog looking hopeful at my approach. It’s just as well as the streets are extremely narrow.

Güzelyurt, the Fourth City of Northern Cyprus

Last stop today is North Cyprus’s fourth city, Güzelyurt. Great name.(Morphou in Greek and this is very much a Greek area.) There’s a monastery here, dedicated to St Mamas, the patron saint of tax avoidance. Apparently. Who thought that one up.? It’s also very quiet and the rotund church is locked up behind railings. The Internet tells me I can maybe get someone from the nearby museum to let me in, but that the interior is very modest.

I decide to move on, taking the inland route back to Kyrenia. It’s more pleasant than the shoreline was, a winding two lane road, which crosses the plain, shadowing the yellow flat topped foothills of the Troodos mountains in Cyprus, to my right and then the peaks of the Kyrenia Range, to my left. Olive groves, flocks of goats and cacti.

The Karpas Peninsula

I’ve even got a really strong 4G signal on Golden Beach, at the tip of the Karpas Peninsula. The peninsula is the unicorn’s horn, or panhandle, or spit, of eastern Cyprus, tapering into the Mediterranean. It’s also increasingly wild, as the mountains disappear into the sea.

I am congratulating myself on a relatively relaxing, quiet day on the roads. Lovely scenery, gorgeous coastal views, rock formations and surf worthy waves. A rural idyll, with olives being harvested. They use long rakes to persuade the fruit into draped bags, pick-ups angled beneath the silvery trees. Pot holes only for the last stretch of road north. Then, two policemen appear out of nowhere and book me for speeding.

'There are no speed limit signs.'

‘But it's 50 kilometres per hour, in every village in Cyprus.’

No sign of a village either. It’s a.£90 ticket. Tourist trap.

Sipahi and Ayias Trias

I’ve tried to call in at the ancient basilica ruins of Ayias Trias, near Sipahi village, on the way. The village (the name means cavalry in Turkish) is supposedly famous for being a place where Turkish Cypriots and Greeks live alongside, in harmony. Well that’s definitely true. There’s not a sign of life in any of the houses. And the site is closed. I sneak pictures through the gate. It doesn’t improve my temper.

St Andreas Monastery and Golden Beach

The peninsula is famous for its wild donkeys, though I'm seeing the not so wild donkeys. It's like an obstacle course, trying to avoid them, because of all the idiots, who feed them on the road. The local vendors amplify the aggravation by selling ‘donkey food’. The donkeys stand their ground, obstinately refusing to move, so I weave round them. They only move their muzzles the smallest possible amount, when the wing mirror nudges them. I have to keep my windows shut, to stop them leaning right into the car.

I reach St Andreas Monastery uneventfully otherwise. It’s where the road more or less ends, but it’s not especially scenic. just souvenir and sweet stalls. And donkey food. Then, back down to Golden Beach. Now, this is stunning. It has to be the best beach in Cyprus, even more attractive, as there are only a handful of folk on it. It’s a really wide sweep of yes, golden sand, backed by green flecked dunes. And the water here is sheltered too.

A conflab here, with Ros and Ian from South Cyprus, who have also been stung today by the same pair of policemen. We commiserate together. Ian was a policeman in the Met and is even more annoyed than me. And it’s a small world. They’ve seen me on TV.

Dipkarpaz and a Fine Time

Trying to find the police station, to pay the fine, on the way back, is like solving The Crystal Maze. Google is useless on this too, resolutely taking me to the town hall, in the village of Dipkarpaz. In the end, a small boy is deployed to guide me. He leads me confidently to a cafe, which is closed. But that’s ok, he climbs in through a window and opens the door. ‘Police’, I cry, thinking that I don’t really want them to see me at this moment. The boy grabs my phone and opens Google Translate.

‘Is this a game?’ he types.

I groan and write ‘police’

'Oh the police’. And we turn and go in the other direction. It’s the same two policemen who booked me, ready with their card machine.

Bagaz

Time to go back to Kyrenia, via the fishing village of Bagaz. It’s another pretty harbour, overtaken by tourism. It’s surrounded by restaurants.

Ramping it Up

I’m now on the highways, but it’s a painful drive. I’m heading west, squinting into the sun. I’ve got a headache and my eyes are watering. Then, my sunscreen leaks into them and the watering gets worse. I can’t see my phone screen, because of the glare. And I take the wrong turning.

I’m hurtling down the highway with no sign of escape. But no, Google instructs me to turn off, in a couple of miles. It's a dirt track that winds for some time and then turns under the main road. I’m not feeling very confident, but I’m tired and desperate. So I carry on, until I see my route leading back onto the motorway. It’s up a very steep mud ramp. And I can’t see if any traffic is coming either. But.as I said I’m tired and desperate. And not really thinking straight. So, up I go. And I survive. Although there’s a nasty thumping sound.

I shake all the way back to the hotel. Inspection reveals some scraping, round the rear wheel arch. The car didn’t survive then. Fortunately, I paid for insurance with full excess, so the man who picks it up, eventually, goes off smiling.

Time to Leave Northern Cyprus

I spend my last morning by the pool, relaxing to the sound of tables being blasted. Aircky comes to pick me up, to return me to Larnaca Airport. He resumes his onslaught on the Turks. They are terrible drivers and they use their mobile phones all the time. He pounds along the motorway, speaking into the phone he is holding in his hand, in-between rants. Then he moves onto women. They take twice as long as men to do everything, they have to use all these special creams and potions to wash their hair and they always say twice as much as they need to. No straight simple answers. I’m lost for words. It’s probably the safest option.

Larnaca Airport is glitzy and modern. Nevertheless, the queue for security is one of the longest I’ve seen, and I get shoved through immigration without an exit stamp. I think that means I need to keep my boarding pass to wave next time I come to Europe. Or it might look as if I’ve overstayed my 90 day visa.

We fly back over Northern Cyprus. The TRNC flag is illuminated, clearly visible from way up here, taunting the Greek Cypriots, as it flashes on and off.