construction zone

So cab drivers are tricky business here. Apparently there is a code to which all taxi drivers adhere. I have not had the honor of physically seeing this clandestine cabby constitution, but I am assuming it includes the following statutes:

1. honk at least every 25 seconds lest someone forget you are one of 30 other taxis around
2. shout "taxi!", "taxi!" at anyone that looks remotely foreign and follow the poor soul along the curb until she ducks into a store
3. look a nice American woman like she shot your mother when she offers you the LEGAL rate of 2,000 lira for her ride and not the 15,000 you are demanding
4. suddenly forget you know all english if in a precarious situation... or one you simply don't like

Exempli gratia:

It was our second day here and I wanted to walk along the shoreline where my professors are working with Steven Holl on a marina project being built at the very head of the city. I kindly asked the taxi driver to take us to the port, something which apparently was not clear because he kept pulling over asking unsuspecting passers-by what I meant by "port" or "marina". This should have been a warning, but instead of reading the omen, I simply got more and more annoyed. (My typical response with any inefficiency or confusion.) We finally made it to the downtown area and were driving along the coast when I saw the construction site.

-- Here, Sir. You can just drop us here. 

-- Here? This is nothing.

-- We want to see that building there. We are going to take pictures.

-- This building? (pointing)

-- Yes.

-- This building? (pointing again)

-- Yes. Just drop us here and we'll photograph it and then walk into the city. Thank you.

-- This building? (Are you freaking kidding me?!)

Ignoring our constant reassurances that yes, this was the building we wanted to see, he slowed momentarily at a red traffic light, spun around the traffic barrier and into the construction site. The new building was close to the water and we were still a good 150 meters from it. He pulled next to a small gate house (for lack of better word) and started shouting and pointing in Arabic. The other guy shouted and pointed back. We drove into the construction workers' "parking lot" (which by the way, was filled with only Mercedes and BMWs- very strange cars to see parked along side of bulldozers for sure) and navigated through the tight spaces left by the nice, though dusty, cars.

Got through the car maze. Darn. Blockade at the end of the lot.

Back we went, this time faster-- our guy was getting mad since clearly the guard had told him the way was unobscured. Drove by the guard. More shouting. More waving.

--Sir! This is fine! Drop us here!

-- This building? (pointing to the SAME and ONLY building in sight!)

-- YES!!!!

-- This building?

Through more traffic lights. More U-turns. Hit another guard post. This time it was actual security guards with uniforms and official looking badges. More Arabic and rapid hand waving transpired. This time he kept pointing to us then to the building then to us again. Somewhere between the high-speed driving, heated discussions in a language that always sounds like someone is pissed and Mom, who was still trying to tell our guy that we were better on the street taking pictures, I decided to stop trying to translate and see how this one played out. On we went in the direction of the confused guard's gestures. That is, until we hit another barrier.

Have no fear! We just drove around the barrier! Off the paved road, into the dust. Bouncing up and down in our "off-road" BMW getting closer and closer to the construction site. Piles of rocky sand? No trouble! We'll just go over them! Ramps of dirt meant only for construction trucks? No worries! Our tiny car will undoubtedly make it down their slippery slopes! Construction workers hollering at a small car with cab light driving through their construction zone? Forget it! Surely they can't mean us!

you want hard hat?

If there was a soundtrack to our trip it would be some sort of arabic circus music that ended with an abrupt high note allowing the whooshing sound of the dust settling after our spin-out to be heard. We came to a stop literally 20' in front of the building and I'm pretty sure that the only reason we didn't drive into the building was because there were piles of construction material in the way. We got out at which point confused workers came out of the woodwork and our lovely cabby invoked rules 3 and 4 of the previously stated code. More money. No English. Apparently he thought he had done an excellent job at getting us where we wanted to go. I mean, I guess I can't argue with him... I did get great pictures.

After attempting to "talk" with a few construction workers, being taken into a trailer and being offered hard hats and then taken to another trailer to meet the construction manager, we were finally able to explain that our presence was a mistake and confusing even to us! We began the long trek back to the street, back up the dirt ramps, through the cut stone, waving as huge trucks stopped for us to pass in front of them. I mean, seriously?! Were we really in the middle of a Lebanese construction in our open-toe sandals, sporting large purses and cameras?! Needless to say, we were pretty much peeing our pants from laughing in disbelief the whole way back (either that or gagging from the dust that was flying everywhere around us!). Good lord...

our view from construction zone... this building?!

After such an eventful morning the afternoon seems a bit dull. We walked and walked and walked while I took picture after picture after picture. The construction downtown was swift and immediate. The developers took down every last building that was destroyed by the war and put up brand new ones in their place. As we got further down the old Green Line things were not quite as cut and dry.

Before the war Beirut's downtown was owned by many people of different religions and demographics. After the war the country was left trying to piece itself back together, dealing with remnants of things established in the 70s and with a financial system that no longer existed. Therefore new construction can be as tricky as dealing with cab drivers. If a tenant signed a 50 year lease in 1974 (before the war) for 700 lira a month (about $350), that lease still would be upheld. However, the troubling thing was that now 1,500 lira = $1, meaning that if the tenant had stayed throughout the war and wanted to continue living there, they now only owed $0.50 a month. Needless to say, there were lots of Lebanese who liked paying nothing to live downtown.

Since the building owners were making no money on their land and they couldn't break their contract, they either stopped maintaining their buildings or began sabotaging them themselves, trying to convince the inhabitants to leave (our tour guide from yesterday had a story where his building owner threw dead animal carcasses on all the balconies until people left. Apparently he had watched The Godfather earlier that week). The property owners are waiting for their contracts to expire before they start fixing their buildings and the State has no ability to buy the property of people that abandoned their land during the war; therefore, it is very often that one sees a brand new building sharing space with one that is completely derelict.

The city is literally a construction zone throughout. Everywhere new buildings are being erected; cranes dominate the skyline. On one hand it is extremely exciting that a country as a whole can be so ready to move on, but on the other hand, the presence of these run-down older homes makes it hard to forget that while all this "moving on" is happening, no one is really dealing with the heart of the situation: rules and regulations set up and unchanged since the 1930s, money coming in surreptitiously from outside the country and politics that do not include everyone, nor solve all the country's problems. Big name architects have arrived on the scene to give Beirut a facelift, but will all these construction zones really fix a broken social system?

If not, can they at least be made more easily accessible by cab?

finally, beirut.

Arrived in Beirut yesterday morning. The most expensive flight of the whole trip and only 35 minutes long. That just seems wrong. My professors had said there was a ferry from Cyprus to Beirut but I guess it was discontinued a few years ago because of issues with "security". Who knows. I am getting the feeling that is how Lebanon typically roles-- decisions made without much of a legitimate explanation.

We left Cyprus (and our ridiculous hotel never mentioned because it makes my blood boil just thinking about how stupid the experience was. Good lord, don't get me started...) around 7.15 am after getting up at 4.30 am (only to sit at the airport for 2 hours. Again, don't get me started on the stupid hotel managers!), and arrived in Beirut at 7.45 am.

We grabbed a cab to the city center, which was an adventure in itself. Apparently around here one must bargain for a cab. Drivers tell the unseasoned visitor there is a set fare. Little does she know that everyone will lower his after trying to rip off the stupid American women who look totally dazed and about to cry. Let's just say that in the first five minutes of our time in Beirut we were baffled by the ATM which only dispensed US dollars, swindled by a cabby who was going to charge $45 to take us to the hotel, watched a fight break out over who would take us-- a fight which included one cabby grabbing another's throat (still haven't figured out if that was a joking gesture or not), and another cabby walking away with our luggage and putting it in his car. Welcome to Lebanon.

The hotel is lovely and right in the center of the Hamra district, the neighborhood that contains American University of Beirut as well as all the old coffee shops and studios where the political debates fueling the civil war took place, inciting the students to take action and join the fight. It is still a young demographic and even though the country is celebrating Ramadan, the night life is bustling.

We had randomly (and fortunately!) found a walking tour online that would be offered later that night. We wandered the area and visited the University while waiting for the tour, getting associated with the neighborhood and enjoying the luxuries of the hotel (clean sheets, AC, constant electricity and fabulous shower!). The first thing we found, of course, was the most wonderful bakery that had counters full of honey soaked delicacies and nutty treats. What a great opportunity for research! Of course we have to taste the local cuisine!

downtown construction- cranes dominate the skyli

The walking tour is the only tour that Beirut has. It was started by a AUB student who couldn't look any more hippy or have a more peculiar temperament if he tried. But, boy, could he tell some stories! The four hour tour took us all over the city, explaining a plethora of conditions from why American dollars are used throughout Lebanon without an exchange rate changing in twenty years to land use zoning issues and the political history of the recent war. He was fantastic. Truly captivating. It was the fastest four hours of my life and I still didn't want it to end.

the holiday inn, center piece of the civil war

Beirut's downtown was center stage of the fighting, its Green Line running from its port all the way past the city's edge. The Line was established in 1975 and wasn't abolished until 1990. With the exception of the Israeli bombing of 2006 that destroyed the southern suburbs, the further destruction of the city has been on a lesser scale. However, as one can see in the news, Lebanese life is never completely peaceful and tumultuous situations can arise spontaneously, and most often do. Lebanon can't seem to find a way to maintain a status quo. There is always something worth fighting for, or so it would seem.

The downtown was completely demolished in the fifteen years of fighting and is now under such extreme renovation that one can barely recognize the old city, a fact that has many Beirutis up in arms, protesting against the major developers and arguing over what to do with the missing blocks in the city center. Over 1 billion dollars has been pumped into new projects so far and real estate values continue to skyrocket. It was surreal walking through the city and seeing ramshackle buildings, bullet-ridden and falling apart, next to brand new construction in front of which billboards boasted star-itects' names in bold letters, hoping to entice the richest and most cultured of clientele to buy.

 our Lebanese Mags

We finished the tour a little after 9 pm (thank goodness it was an evening tour! The heat has followed us throughout this trip) and we started back towards Hamra. There was a young reporter on the tour with us doing an article on our tour guide for a local paper. Bubbly, well-traveled, knowledgeable and fully of personality, she quickly became our "Lebanese Maggie Clay"and allowed us to kidnap her a bit longer so we could bounce off questions about Lebanese customs and exchange war stories of past travel. She taught us how to navigate any future taxi debacles, answered our questions on Lebanese dos and don'ts and though a complete disaster, gave suggestions of where to eat (love her, but she's no foodie...). I think we must attract awesome people from the inherent awesomeness that we ourselves posses. It is like a magnet!

We headed back to the hotel, still in awe of all that we had learned that evening, and hit the sack. A 4.30 am alarm clocks on top of four hour tours sure make a gal tired!


Tomorrow it's back downtown, documenting how this massive growth is affecting the city. We'll be visiting projects that my professors have designed and mapping the route the destruction took during the war. So far so good. I'm definitely loving it!

greek side

Back to the Greek side. Back to rebuilding, renovating and ... Starbucks. Ahhh. (Didn't drink any-- are you kidding me?!-- but it is funny how the 'Bucks seems to be the mark of "civilization" these days...)

Grabbed an electricity-less siesta and some much needed water and hit the streets again. Armed with three types of writing utensils and the map of the south side of Nicosia we began walking the Greek side of the Line, mapping out what streets were destroyed during the fighting, which ones are still vacant and which have started renovations. The thickness of the buffer zone is marked on all maps of the city, but when one includes the dilapidated streets in that calculation, the Line takes on another size entirely.

It is sad how many streets have been deserted since the war, but when compared to the Turkish side, there's a stark contrast. It takes roughly four blocks from the Line before the Greek side starts getting life again. Whether it is better funding, citizens more bent towards entrepreneurship or determination to reclaim their city, the Greek side has moved towards the contemporary regrowth with substantially more speed.

one block from green line

The areas that are still in ruins are either completely abandoned or are sparsely occupied, mostly by automobile workshops and architectural studios (oh, aren't we the ballsy ones!... Either that or the poorest, willing to set up shop anywhere. Hmmm.) It is clear that everyone wants these particular streets to be active once again, but so far it has only been a few brave (or monetarily challenged!) individuals who have actually begun reclaiming the area.

student coffee shop

After mapping and diagramming in the sizzling, sweltering sun for three hours (definitely got many strange looks as I used the buildings as a vertical writing surface and even had a few passers-by pull over to ask if I needed directions--- "ah, Miss! You have beautiful eyes!"-- sheesh), we grabbed some water and lemonade at the Cyprus University student hang out that we had discovered the day before. This area is near the Line but come 6 o'clock and it is packed with students drinking frappes and enjoying cigarettes, discussing politics, fashion and other such things. A busy hub like this, just a few blocks from the Line, only reinforces the striking distinction between the north and south sides of the city.

We finished our lemonades and made our way back to our beautifully air conditioned hotel to peel off our soggy clothes, saturated in afternoon grim and sweat. Delicious.

We are finally on the Cyprus schedule (the last day we're here!):


10 am: coffee and yogurt
2 pm: siesta starts/ electricity out
4 pm: siesta ends/ electricity on
5 pm: espresso and/or ice cream
9.30+ pm: dinner

view of Greek growth outside ancient walls

In the spirit of late night carousing, we waited until almost 10 pm before finding a place to eat. Oh, we are so with the times! Having had a Greek salad every day since arriving in Rhodes mid July, we opted for some pasta and found ourselves eating an Italian salad and roasted veggies pasta. A full bottle of wine and good bread and we were right back in Italy there on the streets of Greek Nicosia. Gotta love globalization.

Grabbed a Turkish coffee after dinner. Now, just for the record, Turkish coffee could be the best thing in the world. Layered with cardamon and the lightest amount of sugar, its thick texture coats the throat as it ambles down making a girl feel like she might just downright have to dance a jig with joy. Hot smooth liquid that is relished up to the point where the sipper must stop! suddenly lest she suck down the viscid dregs that occupy the entire bottom half of the tiny espresso cup. It is well worth the risk of getting the gritty dregs in the mouth. Well worth it. It's heaven. Simply heaven. Being around the Green Line makes one have a distaste for these Turks, but if they could come up with a drink this amazing, well, I might have to reconsider...

street starting housing renovations

Tomorrow it's an early flight to Beirut where I am hoping to do a similar mapping exercise. The Lebanese Green Line was taken down in 1990 at the end of the Civil War and has become a hot spot for flashy architects and millions of dollars of developmental investments. Nicosia is struggling to deal with its Green Line, to come to a political agreement or a way to move forward. Beirut has had 21 years of slow progress and has recently attacked the idea of reclamation with a fervor unmatched in any other war-torn city.



Goodbye Greek salads. Hello labneh and modern architecture.

turkish side

This morning we crossed the Line.

After touring the monuments and historic sites of the Greek side of the city yesterday I wanted to go across the divide and document the Turkish side of the Green Line, possibly seeing if they had another view on the events of the 1974 Turkish Invasion. If they were anything like the Greeks, they would have justifying opinions on why the invasion took place and why they had the right to the land.

The Turkish Republic in Cyprus is not recognized by any other country in the world (with the existence of this fact, why they are still allowed to occupy the island is beyond my understanding...) and therefore crossing into their "province"requires some political juggling. There are still passport checkpoints and you still get a stamp, but they are not allowed to stamp your official passport. Therefore they copy your passport number, have you fill out a form, and then stamp your form as if it was an authenticated document. This is seriously a 8.5"x11" piece of paper that they have ripped into quarters. That is our "passport" during our time on the Turkish side.

buffer zone entrance

It is strange spending two days on the Greek side of the city, crossing over a ditch, getting a fake passport and suddenly being thrown into a different culture. Different language, different way of life, different money (very annoying the money thing! What are we supposed to do with this change after we buy some water?! Argh. Guess it's going in my sketchbook...). Immediately one can feel the difference. Even though it is the continuation of the pedestrian street from the Greek side, the street feels smaller and more crowded. We went from a modern city street advertising fancy make up, shoes and a T.G.I. Friday's restaurant to a more market street, complete with kitschy souvenirs and crowded kiosks.

If one walks one block of the main pedestrian thoroughfare immediately she is thrown into dilapidated buildings, dirt streets and old cars lining the side of the road. On the Greek side there two or three streets running along the Green Line are in this condition, but once one passes a bit further into the city, the contemporary city takes shape again. Here this ramshackle state consumes the whole area. I am not sure if it is poverty, the lack of an official governmental funds, or just that this side was hit harder in the fighting, but it feels much more like a "war zone", one that is still active, even though there hasn't been a killing since the late 1990s.

view of line: turkish flags and greek sandbags

The Green Line is well documented in modern day charts and even the city maps they give tourists. It shows the thickness of the zone that only the UN soldiers can access. My intention for this research was in part to document how broad the Green Line becomes when you include the streets and other areas that have been deserted because of the Line. How thick does that zone become? While on the Turkish side it was very evident that most of this side of the city can be included in that "zone", the Greek side has a clear end to the physicality of the Line.

The Turkish people are very concerned with their image. I'm not sure if it is that they recognize that the rest of the world doesn't approve of their actions, or if they are embarrassed by the fact that the Green Line even exists, either way they do not like any photographs taken of anything other than historic monuments or mosques. I was caught a few times snapping a picture of the Line and was shouted at by regular civilians who did not appreciate my attention to the zone of contention.

When we first passed through the "passport checkpoint" we were told by a Turkish soldier to stay on the blue line that was painted on the roads, marking the way that tourists can go throughout the area. This "blue line" was more of a hidden brown line of street paint, covered in dirt and missing in most places; however, here again the citizens of the area insisted that you stay directly on it. We were told several times to get back on the line or had someone frantically come up and point emphatically at the line if we stepped off of it. Being 5 million degrees outside we were walking on the shaded side of the street (as any normal person would do) but had a store owner run out to us, cross the street and forcefully point down at the line that was right across the road. Literally 3 meters away. Until that point we couldn't decide if people were just trying to be helpful in identifying the blue line or if they were offended that we take a single step off of it. That pretty much blew away our optimistic outlook of their helpfulness...

commercial street

The Turkish north side of Nicosia does have a commercial street running through it. It is busy with cars and trucks going to the center part of the city (of course stopped by the pedestrian street and then the Green Line), but it again is only one street wide. If one ventures of a block over on either side, she is immediately back on a street of crumbling buildings, dusty roads and homes with out common amenities.  The commercial street is not new and would be considered shabby on most standards, but it does sport stores for cell phones, insurance and contemporary coffee shops. We stopped in for an iced tea (thankful to finally be off the stupid blue street line!) and ended up spending 10 euros ($15!!!) on drinks just because we couldn't use the cash they handed back to us. I hate spending extra money. Seriously. I might be the cheapest traveler ever. Grrrr!

We headed back over to the Greek side, thankful to see clean streets, signs in English and a generally optimistic outlook on reclaiming and renovating the city. I'm not sure how the transition would go if the Green Line were ever to be taken down. The two sides are in such a different state (seemingly such a different time period as well!) that the integration would be difficult to say the least. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone has to worry about that any time in the near future.

Tomorrow it's mapping and diagraming the Greek side and then off to Lebanon. I can't believe how quickly this part of the trip is going. We've definitely had to embrace the afternoon siesta, both because of the severe heat and also the store closings with lack of afternoon electricity and internet, but I still feel like I'm getting a lot done. It's nice to finally be able to see what I've been researching for so long. I love feeling productive!

three hour tour

A free breakfast is a great thing. Honestly. Every hotel should do it. It is a brilliant idea! I must say, this whole being in a hotel thing has it's perks. New towels everyday. Instant coffee in your room (yuuum....) and this great free breakfast. Of course, in order to spare my budget which perished days ago, I booked our room as a single instead of a double (over 100 euros difference!). Mom therefore is locked away upstairs while I caaaas-u-ally walk into the dining room, smiling, fill my plate, and slip back up the stairway to feed my illegal roommate who has been busy hiding from the maids. Still, breakfast is delicious.

We tiptoed out the stairwell and met a tour guide a few twisting streets away. Nicosia has several free tours throughout the week as well as numerous free museums, memorials and cultural centers. As I said yesterday, they are working hard to revitalize what they can of their split city and each building they renovate seems to be turned into another monument.

It was a three hour tour (insert Gilligan musical ditty here) and let me one again reiterate that it is hot here. Hot! We were promised a coffee break at some point but construction hindered the plan and it was three continuous hours in the sun for these two ladies! We were joined by two Russian couples who I am hoping were on their honeymoon (together?!) because if the one pair touch each other that much normally... good lord. I wanted to smack the gushy duo on behalf of myself and all other anti-PDA-ers or people in general who want to puke when a couple put their heads together whenever they stand still as if they were two swans posing for some trite postcard, but I was too hot to want to touch either of them. My hand might have literally gotten stuck to their skin. Seriously. We were all sticky to say the least.

The tour took us all over the Greek side of the city. Lydras street, which bustles with shoppers ambling in and out of contemporary stores and restaurants, to the ancient churches and mosques left over from the 3rd and 4th centuries and then, of course since it runs the length of the city, along the Green Line. It is surreal to see the Starbucks, a armed UN soldier and barbed wire surrounding dilapidated buildings all in the same view.

Life around here pretty similar to that of an American city. The old city contains the history and small shopping and cultural districts while the outer portion has the high-rises, industry and business centers. Most of the time you wouldn't even know the Green Line was there, which I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.

The Line has been around for so long that everyone is relatively unbothered by it as they go about their daily routine; however, it is a very sore subject with all residences as one can imagine. Historic churches that once were a major players in the Greek Orthodox Church have now been turned into mosques, sporting Turkish flags and beckoning worshipers with the call to prayer, literally sitting only meters from the Greek side of the Line. The most lively part of the city was literally extinguished during the 1974 Turkish Invasion and while they have done a valiant job at recently reviving the area, there is still a large scar running through the city, abruptly stopping each perpendicular street and devaluing the surrounding real estate.

As an architecture students we study city planning as well as architectural history. We look at how to resuscitate failing parts of a city, discuss what makes a successful and pleasant urban street, and study the relationship between traffic patterns, pedestrian movement and the needs of commerce. However, in a situation like this, the only sustaining resolution is going to be politically based. The UN and other organizations can renovate buildings and preserve historic sites and will most likely be able to bring commercial business back to the city center, but until diplomatic compromises are made, no matter the monetary contributions, the research, the reconstruction, there will be a indignant blemish stopping the city from becoming what it could have been. It's a heavy thing to realize and and even harder thing to see.

We finished the tour and found a cafe for some much needed water. Electricity goes out here from 2-4 every day so the goal is to find someplace in the shade to survive the time without lights, AC or internet. We made it through the afternoon, took a shower and headed back out to find some great Cypriot food. We found a place that serves meze, an assortment of small plates, each featuring a traditional dish. We were brought about seven plates to start with. Then came the second round of another seven plates. Then the third. We were stuffed. Then the fourth!? Are you kidding? (We pushed most of the food from these plates underneath the others we had finished or gave it to the cats that were swarming under our table.) We were about to puke when they brought out the dessert: delicious doughnuts drenched in honey, followed by watermelon. We were lucky to find room to fit those in (I think the extra room can still be seen around our waist lines. Seems to be where we are storing most food these days...).

Back to the hotel. Back into the shower. Back into bed.

We are exploring the Turkish side of the line tomorrow. I wonder if I'll be able to be diplomatic in my diagraming. 

turmoil at last

Finally. Cyprus. Goodbye mellow moped meandering and succulent supper savoring. Hello to a contemporary city with political turmoil remnants from the 1960s.

We arrived in Nicosia, the capital and only inland city of Cyprus. Since the island was at one point owned by the British, all the cars drive on the wrong side of the road and traces of an English accent are common. We are actually staying in a hotel for the rest of the trip since the airbnb options were looking a little sketchy... let's just say their locations would not be on my family's "safe" list. We are staying in the old part of the city, walled in by the Venetians back when they owned the place. The Green Line cuts not only through the fortified part of the city, but through the entire island itself!

Here is a short history of the Green Line (also included in graphic form below):

• late 1800s: Brits gain control of the island
• 1955: Cypriots start wanting their own country
• 1960: Cyprus becomes a nation
• 1963: Green Line established when Turkey started wanting Cyprus to be divided into two countries
• 1974: Turkish Invasion (they captured 30% of the island) and UN controls the buffer zone

The Green Line is still up today despite efforts of the UN to get each side to come to a compromise. This Line is a physical division with a "no man's land" in between, accessible only by UN soldiers. Sometimes it is as little as 30 meters wide, at other points it is over 14 km. The barriers range from barbed wire and concrete blocks to sandbags covered in green material and hidden by plantation (literally making it a green line...groan. Sorry, couldn't resist).

The Green Line runs through the very heart of Nicosia, which used to be the center of commerce, each street lined with shops and studios and customers occupying the area throughout the day. With the fighting in 1974 and the physical presence of the boundary, the streets running along side of the division are now destroyed, dilapidated and void of any pedestrians. For almost thirty years no one was allowed to cross the Line; now there are seven checkpoints at which citizens or visitors can access the other side, each station run by UN soldiers. Today we explored the Greek side. Tomorrow it's the Turks' turn to host us. Lucky them.

It is crazy the tension one can feel when talking to the residents. The line has been up since the 60s so they are accustomed to its presence, but each local we spoke to felt that it is an invasion of their land (which, of course, it is) and are bitter that no resolution has been reached. Greek flags are on top of each building on this side, sand bags are painted in blue and white, and graffiti calling for the removal of Turkish inhabitants from the northern part of the city are everywhere. When looking out from our second story room, it is very common to see a Greek flag with a Turkish one flying in opposition across the Line, only meters away.

Thanks to my lovely Mother, we stumbled upon a rickety trailer of sorts that housed a display of the Nicosia Master Plan Project just near the Line. The city is tirelessly trying to renovate the historic buildings within the wall and start to restore some of the houses close to the Line in a valiant effort to bring people back to the area. It is, for the most part, unsuccessful. The buildings they have renovated are lovely and are definitely a point of pride for the city; however, in terms of bringing life back to the center of the city, it has not had an overwhelming effect. To be fair, it is hard to convince a restaurant to set up shop next to a ditch lined with barbed wire, spray paint and large signs warning not to get to close (and no photographs! That means you, you visiting architecture student who constantly disregards the obvious signs!)

We had a glass of wine on the roof of one of the national museums and were shocked to see the outline of a Turkish flag flashing on the northern mountains just outside the city, just flashing away as if it was sweetly waving at the Greek Cypriots, knowing it was safe from their desired reproach.

Dinner was a quick stop at an Armenian deli-stand of sorts (Mom figured out for the first time that Armenian food comes from Armenia! Yes, Mother. That is a country...). Sadly it was not quite at the same caliber as our last meal in Athens (I know, I know. We've been spoiled), but it was only 4 euros so can't complain too much. We walked back to our hotel room, past the Starbucks, Cinnabon and McDonalds, past the fancy shops sitting only blocks away from barricades guarded by armed troops, past the crowd of men sitting outside shouting at the local football match, placing bets at one of the many, many gambling bars, and past the disputing Turkish and Greek flags, standing in protest of the other's presence, waving intrepidly and refusing to back down.

I know it's no spectacular beach with views of never ending shades of blue, nor is it the cuisine mecca of the Middle Eastern world, but I'm excited to be here. Real research at last!

getting high

Today was the last day in Greece. Last day of the half of the trip that in no way is "war torn". So now the e-mails berating my oh-so-hard trip can stop. From now on it will be different. But that just means that we had to savor today all the more.

As previously mentioned, the first day in Athens resulted in my purchase of a bus tour to Delphi (yes, I know. I thought it was cheesy while I was doing it as well...), a trip of about a three hour drive, an afternoon spent at the historic site and the drive home. Mom and I enjoyed our dining experience so much last night (and the maitre-de enjoyed us so much!) that we accepted his invite for reservations on Kuzina's rooftop terrace for a second dinner.  So, if this tour was a bust, at least we had dinner to save the day!

Athenian treasury

We left the apartment by 7.15 (what a feat!) to head into the city and catch the KeyTour bus to which we were assigned. Of course finding the office for once was simple and we arrived 45 minutes early. Oh well, at least we were able to sit in AC!

We loaded onto the bus, instantly identifying who was the "Annoying American", "Drunk Aussie", "Question Lady" and "Spoiled Spanish Child". We fought back sleep as we drove through the Greek countryside listening to our tour guide deftly exhibit her vast knowledge of Greek mythology and national history. It was very impressive.

temple of Apollo

We drove up, up and up some more. From the agricultural fields into the mountains that advertise the skiing season and winter resorts. Our ears started popping before we were even halfway up and yet we continued driving up those rocky mountains.

We finally reached Delphi, a religious site thousands of years old, originally devoted to Mother Earth and then later to Apollo, god of light and the sun, truth and prophecy, medicine, music, poetry and the arts. Needless to say, he was pretty hard core. Delphi was home of the main oracle in Greek mythology who would speak directly to Apollo, relay his messages to her priests who in turn would tell any pilgrim who made the long journey up the mountain in search for answers to his questions. (It was discovered in the 80s that the Oracle was actually sitting on part of the mountain where hallucinogenic gas seeped through so I'm sure her babbling songs were a joy to hear and most informative.)

The site contained the Temple of Apollo, treasuries for each Greek city-state housing offerings of thanks for the Oracle when she correctly predicted military exploits, a theater, stadium, an altar, Roman agora and a multitude of commemorative statues. Most of these things were preserved and held in the museum next to the site. It was all pretty astounding. The fact that it was all perched on a mountain so steep that most visitors (probably all the Americans!) didn't even hike to the top just made it that much more sensational.

valley of 3 million olive trees... no joke

The bus ride home was lively thanks to the Jersey woman and her husband who started yelling at the tour guide for not delivering the lunch experience they were expecting. Mom and I sunk down in our seats, ready to denounce our American citizenship if it meant being associated with Bitchy up there and nodding in agreement with our fellow passengers as they all traded the "Are you kidding me?!" incredulously widened eyes. I wanted to smack her as a sign of protest for all polite tourists, but I was pretty sure she could kill me.


(Came to find out later that she was friends with the Dean's son. Hmmm, that seems to fit...)

The ride held another shocking event as we discovered the mother and son sitting directly in front of us were not only from the East Coast, not only from Virginia, not only from Fauquier County, but from Hume, a stone's throw away from my parents house. So there we are, discussing the menu of the Orlean Market and the new location of Warrenton gas stations as we drive through millions of olive trees perched on the mountain side of ancient Greece for gracious sakes. Oh, small, small world.

mom racing in the stadium. i think she won

We disembarked the bus (quickly so Jersey wouldn't follow us and hope for a nice American dinner together) and headed back Kuzina where, as promised, we had a roof top table waiting. Now this is no ordinary roof top terrace. This has the most perfect view of the Acropolis and as we ate another perfect meal, we got to watch as the temples were lit up in all their glory. Pictures don't do it justice. It was truly amazing.

octopus

Dinner was finger-licking as expected. Tonight's menu featured grilled and cured octopus with fennel shavings drizzled with amazing-ness followed by bread-- oh! the bread!-- with olive oil-- oh! the olive oil!-- and olives. All of this was followed by more risotto than four people could eat on top of which sat a lobster that didn't even need melted butter lest one not be able to taste every minuscule flavor screaming out "pure enjoyment! pure pleasure!".

risotto and lobster

In full fatty fashion, we ordered the same delectable dessert from last night: walnut wafers with custard and apricots. A full bottle of wine completed our slip into gluttony. Holding the camera up to take pictures of the illuminated Pantheon seemed suddenly strenuous thanks to our gorged stomachs.


We came home to no electricity in the apartment (oh the horror of no AC!) and stumbled around in the dark attempting to pack our bags and find computer cords. Luckily the power came back on as we slipped into bed and the air conditioning was revived.

Four hours sleep and then it's off to the airport where the adventures in war torn cities will truly commence. Great last day: high mountains (with high Oracles), high roof top dinners and high hopes for research in Cyprus. Bring on the post-traumatic!

acropolis at night