Today’s bus ride from Limassol to Famagusta felt less like a commute and more like a crash course in Cyprus’ turbulent history, thanks to tour guide Georgia. She painted a vivid picture of the events that have shaped this divided island—from the early tensions in 1963, when the Turkish Cypriot rebellion began after the vice president proposed altering the Constitution, to the full-scale Turkish military invasion in July 1974. That invasion led to a third of the island’s population being displaced, and things only worsened after Turkey walked away from peace talks in Geneva and launched a second wave of attacks in August. Georgia explained how the northern part of Cyprus, which includes the once-glamorous Famagusta, is now largely occupied by Turkish mainland settlers—an unrecognized state propped up solely by Turkey. What stuck with me most was how religion had never been a source of conflict between Greek and Turkish Cypriots, yet over 500 churches in the north were destroyed, a brutal reminder of who really suffered. Even today, 40,000 Turkish troops remain in the north, and the scars of that division are everywhere.

It was now time to explore today’s two historical destinations. Walking around Varosi felt like entering a lost world—beautiful and devastating at the same time. The area used to house residents and 5-star beachside resorts, the kind of place you’d see in old postcards or vacation ads, and now it’s eerily silent, trapped in the past. Crumbling buildings with faded signs still bear the names of shops and businesses—there was even a photo studio for license pictures, a boutique called Jet where locals once bought trendy clothes, and an underground disco club called The Parrot, where students would risk being expelled if they got caught sneaking in to dance. Everything had a story, and all of it is just… frozen. I couldn’t stop imagining the lives that were lived here—the families, the routines, the laughter. The beach is stunning, but it’s empty. So much valuable land just wasting away behind fences and barbed wire. Then we made our way into Famagusta proper, and the vibe totally shifted. The city center of Famagusta reminded me of the old city in Nicosia, with winding cobblestone streets, charming cafes, and little stores tucked away in corners—some of them selling very questionable “designer” bags. It was surreal how normal it all felt after what we had just seen. The highlight? A live band was playing in one of the squares, and people were dancing and singing like it was a festival. For a moment, it felt like the heart of Famagusta was still beating, defying everything that’s tried to silence it.