Crossing the Threshold

The journey began with a drive to the northern part of the island, a place where the past and present collide in a haunting dance. As we crossed the border, the air seemed to thicken with stories untold, whispers of ancient times that lingered in the breeze. The road to Salamis was lined with the ghosts of history, each mile a step back in time.

Salamis, founded by Teucer in 1180 BC, unfolded before me like a forgotten dream. The theater, the spa, the gym – each structure stood as a testament to a civilization long gone, yet still echoing with life. Here, where St. Barnabas was born and met his end, I felt the weight of history pressing down, a reminder of the transient nature of human endeavor.

The ruins spoke in a language of decay, their crumbling facades a canvas for the stories of those who once walked these paths. I wandered through the remnants, my footsteps tracing the lines of a forgotten map, each step a journey into the past.

Famagusta’s Silent Sentinels

Leaving Salamis behind, we ventured into the medieval city of Famagusta, a place where the mighty walls stood as silent sentinels, guarding the secrets of a bygone era. The city’s glory was etched into every stone, a reminder of its need to defend against the relentless march of time and enemies.

The Cathedral of St. Nicholas, now the mosque of Lala Mustafa Pasha, loomed large, its history woven into the very fabric of the city. Here, where rulers of Cyprus and Jerusalem were once crowned, I felt the echoes of power and faith, a tapestry of human ambition and belief.

As I wandered through the narrow streets, the citadel and the tower of Othello stood as reminders of a time when stories were carved into stone, each corner a chapter in the city’s rich history. The air was thick with the scent of the past, a perfume of nostalgia and longing.

The Ghosts of Varosha

Our final destination was Varosha, the Ghost Town, a place frozen in time since the conflict of 1974. Walking through its deserted streets, I felt the weight of abandonment, a city left to the mercy of time and nature.

The buildings stood like silent witnesses, their windows dark and empty, a reflection of dreams unfulfilled. The silence was deafening, a reminder of the lives once lived here, now only shadows in the sun.

In Varosha, the past and present coexisted in a delicate balance, a dance of decay and memory. It was a place where history was not just seen but felt, a haunting reminder of the fragility of human existence.

This journey through Famagusta and Salamis was more than a trip through time; it was a pilgrimage to the heart of history, a reminder of the stories that shape us and the places that hold them. Famagusta & Salamis