Same As, Different Than

View from the Church of Saints Peter and Paul to the Sea

Yesterday was a study in contrasts. I drove from Nicosia/Lefkosha through the checkpoint on the Green Zone into the northern portion of Cyprus (the occupied, unrecognized territory--OR the TRNC, The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, depending upon who is labeling the area).

As I drove the motorway, I saw flatlands that reminded me of Illinois fields and the verdant Valley of California. Mountains off in the distance had crags like the Catskills in New York. The climate was Southern California, the scarcity of traffic like western Kansas. The checkpoint, however, with its concrete blockades, the barbed wire, the bureaucracy twice over-- where I had to get out of the car, show my passport, be registered for the day, show the Turkish insurance (not the Greek policy) that I have on the car, and where I was even more unknowing of the language--was not just disconcerting, but a reminder of how truly divided Cyprus is.

My visit to Eastern Mediterranean University or DAU (Dogu Akdeniz Universitesi) on the last day before classes are to begin was so familiar-feeling. The Facilities Office had decided to put new carpet down in the administrative offices of the Department Chairs and Staff—so everything was upended as last-minute students were panicking to register, faculty (like me) were demanding the details of their course assignments, and typical glitches were occurring in all procedures. My chair, Dr. Mehmet Erginel was gracious through all. The whole experience reminded me of my first trip to Fullerton College in the 80s—lots of apprehension about the freeways to get there, confusion about parking lots and buildings, and a positive reception as a “new” faculty person from all --welcome aboard!

My art history Fulbright friend Justine who traveled with me yesterday and I, along with her colleague, the chair of the Art History Department, Michael Walsch from Ireland, took a tour of old Famagusta/Gamagusta. We had access (thanks to keys Michael picked up at the Mayor’s Office) to a gothic church (not really called a cathedral), built in the mid-1300s. What an experience. Although the inside had been stripped (once converted to a mosque), the empty sanctuary devoid of any ornamentation was still flooded with holy light from the open windows. We climbed the narrow circular steps to the top level and walked out for a view of city--and another church in the distance, the sea (see photo), and the incredible layers of history of the Old City with its almost intact Venetian walls and the ghost city of Varosha (left as it was, deserted in the 1970s and inaccessible now, aged—but not changed—in over thirty years) still haunting the cityscape.

On our return to Nicosia, I was stopped by the Turkish police, flagged down on the motorway, actually. Nervous, I knew I had not been speeding, but had no clue why I had to stop. The policeman, who spoke no English except “driver’s license” checked my California card. He hesitated. Then handed it back with a wave of his hand. Justine said she thought he asked me if I were Swedish. I’ve been mistaken for German and for Dutch so far. All I know, I was glad I passed the test of privilege to drive!

Last evening, I attended the Cyprus Symphony Orchestra concert at the grand hall in Strovolos (Nicosia). The program was early Romantics: Mendelssohn’s Die Schone Melusin Overture, Op.32 and Violin Concerto, Op.64 in E minor, and Carl Von Weber, Symphony 1. My reaction to classical music, live, is always the same—my eyes well up and I sigh deeply, deeply, somewhere into the first movement. Filled with joy at the beauty of composition and performance, I am moved by the universal language of violins, oboes, tympanis, cellos, flutes, and brass. Quite different than most concerts I’ve attended, however, was the fact that this one concert also featured one of Nicosia’s own young composers (born in 1983), Andrias Skordis, and premiered his “Piece for Orchestra.” The symphony conductor (who wore elegant, gray long tails (with the jacket and tails lined in shocking pink) announced to the audience in English that the piece was a “challenge to play and a challenge to listen to.” He then asked the young composer (in jeans and a t-shirt) to explain what he was thinking when he wrote the piece. He did, but he did so in Greek. All I can say is that the music was nothing like Mendelssohn. And, how fortunate for this young man to be listed with the others on the program! I was impressed as well, that the community is so supportive of its own talent.

Tomorrow is the “Fancy Dress Party” with friends at an apartment in Town Centre Nicosia. I thought the invitation meant cocktail clothes, but no—it’s not the same. . .I’m headed to a Carnivale Costume Party. Do I dare post a picture of THAT?