Da 9 Morphou

It was a hell of a day. We woke to the patter of rain on the roof, so welcome as Cyprus had been experiencing a drought. It was full on proper rain that lasted throughout the day in various intensities. but rain is just part of the show when you're on holiday and it made no difference to us. 

It was a quick breakfast as Marianna was picking us up at 7.30 outside the church. We were Morphou bound. It was a snug fit in the back seat of the little Toyota for the 3 of us and we were soon heading in the Nicosia direction, It was great travelling with Toulla and Marianna. Toulla provided a running commentary on the links between the landscape, villages and our family history and relatives. Marianna was a font of knowledge regarding the history, and politics of the country. We marvelled at her knowledge and quite frankly, the balanced way she presented information on even divisive issues. 

The road to Morphou did its normal twists and turns like a cut snake. We had passports and ID cards for checking at the Greek side crossing point into the green line. Car insurance also had to be purchased as the Greek Cyprus insurance doesn't cover on the Turkish side. Then there was another passport control on the Turkish side. It was all pretty quick and seemed more like a formality than a genuine check. 

Our first stop was the church. The Turks turned most of the churches into mosques by adding minarets and other details, but they spared the big church. Once a year, they allow a Greek Orthodox palm Sunday service and the Greek inhabitants of Morphou make the pilgrimage back to worship and see the properties they lost. It must be heart-breaking. Outside the church a posse of Turkish police lounged about trying to look intimidating, but mostly they looked bored and redundant. I guess they were trying to make some point.

The church was packed but we squeezed in and it was quite emotional to stand in there with the stone vaults soaring above us, the psaltis singing and the air infused with incense. Of course Toulla and Marianna saw many relatives in the crowd. Suddenly before us was a familiar face. It was Eftihoulla, Panagiota's daughter. She was the image of her mother. She was shocked to see us there and invited us to her house but we had come on a mission to see certain things and could not spare the time.

From here we went to a local coffee shop for coffee and cake. The place was full of patrons, both locals and Greek Cyprians leaving the church service. We also saw the imposing colonial building that in the past was the residence of the Greek Orthodox bishop. 

All the buildings of course now housed Turkish facilities, We stopped for Toulla to buy several boxes of what was considered a very excellent baklava. Little did I know that one of them was for us to take home.

We saw a church that had been converted to Muslim worship but above the two side doors, the Greek lettering chiselled into the stone remained. Toulla remembered her father bringing the load of wood for the Easter bonfire that was lit next to the church.

The Morphou region looked lush and fertile. We passed kilometres of citrus groves and saw the fields my dad had bought, planted, irrigated and was preparing to harvest when the Turkish invasion swallowed everything up. We walked through the unkempt grove that was continuing to bear a lot of fruit and snaffled a bag full of his oranges for taking to Portugal. We felt good abut stealing back something that was ours. We noticed that the surrounding suburb was encroaching on this area, and could imagine that soon, this area would totally lose the grove and housing would cover it. Already, the makeshift house that had been built nearby has been demolished. People from the town would come to such places in the groves to sleep out the hot oppressive summer nights. A short distance away was the gleaming new shopping mall the Turks had built.

Britt will try to plant the orange seeds and hopefully grow some orange trees from the same stock that her grandpa harry planted all those years ago. 

We toured the streets and came across one of the largest buildings in the town. Now a supermarket, it was Toulla's father's irrigation business. He ran it with Uncle Nick and it was a highly prosperous business. Just before the Turks overran the area, they had just received 100,000 pounds worth of pipe. It was all taken by the invaders. Toulla is on good terms with the current shop owner and brings him a supply of flaoones whenever she visits. It was a very friendly encounter.

Every street was rendolent with memories for Toulla who could name every family that lived in each building and every business premises they operated from. We found Toulla's house, built for her by her father, my uncle, Nick. His house was next door. We stopped to take a photo and the current resident asked what we were doing. He seemed distinctly cold when Toulla told him she was visiting HER house. We saw Aunty Pola's house and Dimitri's family home. It was sad to see how the buildings were suffering from inadequate upkeep.

Outside Aunty Pola's house, a couple in a white car hailed us down. They had followed us from the church and were great friends of Aunty Nikki in Melbourne. They had lived in Melbourne for 17 years but returned to Cyprus when the husband suffered health issues. It is said that we are all linked by six degrees of separation. In Cyprus, I think it's only two.

On the way to lunch we dove down to the coastline of Morphou bay. Toulla remembered that as a child she was often taken there by Uncle Nick. The Turks had built many new buildings along there and it looked like it was being developed as a seaside resort.

We took the opportunity to visit the Silo Basilica, some roman ruins and mosaics that Marianna, an archaeologist, had studied years earlier. As well as a huge byzantine basilica, there was a vast amphitheatre that could seat 4000 people. This had been built over an earlier wooden Greek theatre. A Tomb site, archaeologists had discovered a series of tombs going back to neolithic times, with the latest tombs from the early Christian period closest to the surface.

In Morphou Bay we also founds the remnants of the copper export ship loader that a British company built to exploit the rich copper deposits in the area

We drove on to Kalopetro (I think) where Marianna treated us to a fantastic lunch. This was again a feast of dips, salads, kleftiko and souvla. Johnny had a typically huge and tasty omelette. Yes there was wine and beer. The place was packed by Sunday diners who were enjoying the experience as much as we were. There were restaurants everywhere in this beautiful village and tinkling Greek music was being piped through the streets. It really looked beautiful. It was funny watching Britt and Toulla battle it out at the register to see who would pay. For once we won. Our souvla had been cooked on an amazing contraption rigged up by the the gentleman who owned the business. He told us he had been to trade school as a young man and had rigged up a waterwheel and recirculating pump to turn the meat. a solar cell supplied the power for the pump. Genius! 

After an early rise, a big day of touring and a delightful lunch, we were all a bit sleepy so our conversation back to Trimiklini was less than sparking. Of course Toulla could not leave with out thrusting a bag of presents into my hand.. a shirt for Brittany, a pair of pyjamas for me and a collection of soujouko! There was no point in protesting! We said goodbye on the Trimiklini main road and it felt quite sad leaving these two wonderful people. I'm sure we will be seeing them again quite soon.. here, in Portugal or in Melbourne. They will always be welcome at our houses. 

When we returned to the house and reflected on the day, I felt myself feeling quite emotional. Mum's and Dad's portrait looked at me from the fireplace and I remembered just how much I missed them.