The Dark Underbelly of Cyprus: Beyond the Cocktails and Karaoke
Ah, Cyprus. The land of perfect Instagram shots where the beach meets your cocktail, and the vibe is perpetually somewhere between "holiday escapism" and "I swear I'm Hemingway reincarnated, pass the gin." Most folks hear Cyprus and conjure images of sun-drenched sands, boat trips, and enough bar-hopping to make your liver file a restraining order. It's a mosaic of confusion and euphoria, an intoxicating blend we all get hooked on. No shame in that. Let's be honest, it's a big reason why so many return, year after year, all aglow in their burnt sienna glory.
But, and here's the kicker, there's more. More grit. More soul. More Cyprus. I've unearthed the deeper layers of this island, peeling back the gaudy tourist veneer to reveal the raw, beating heart of this place. Welcome to 'Secret Cyprus.'
You see, after multiple trips, I was entranced by the people. The Mediterranean cadence of life here feels like the slow, melodic tap-tap-tap of rain on an old tin roof. Comforting and unnerving in equal measure. I wasn't just enamored—I was bewitched. The kind that makes you toss and turn at night, dreaming of a life bathed in Mediterranean light. So, I made a pact with myself. My next jaunt wouldn't be about coastal glitz and glamour. I was going to unearth the true essence of this 'Island of Love' on my next Paphos pilgrimage.
Landing in mid-March, I was greeted by a Mediterranean warmth that slapped me in the face harder than any grim British winter. Suddenly, color exploded everywhere—lush fields and bursting banana plantations, a stark contrast to the smog-choked urban wasteland I fled from. It was a respite for the soul.
Determined to dig deeper, I ditched the coastal traps and zeroed in on villages like Kathikas, Anarita, Tsada, and Episkopi. These places had one crucial selling point: traditional village squares. The kind that might give you a real taste of Cypriot life, untainted by the sickly-sweet aroma of suncream and margaritas.
The transition from coastal carnival to deep Cyprus was jarring. Gone were the endless karaoke bars and schizophrenic shops hawking everything from Cyprus lace to tacky tees grandma would pretend to love. Instead, here were villages alive with authenticity, where local life trudged on, blissfully unaware of the carnival just a 20-minute drive away.
Episkopi and Kathikas were eye-openers. Ancient rhythms pulsed through these places—people eking out a living, unbothered by the tourism machine grinding away at the coast. They welcomed day-trippers and their wallets with homegrown produce, sweet Cyprus wine (Commandaria, if you must know), and hand-stitched lace, but never lost their essence in the process.
I shacked up in Kathikas; a village halfway between Coral Bay and Latchi's quaint fishing port. A spot where senses overtook spending. Cooler summer climes were just the start. Village life orbited around a central church square. Roads told tales of yesteryears, where donkeys still carried oranges—a fleeting snapshot of simplicity blinking at you like a sepia-toned old photograph.
And then there was the Sterna Winery. I arrived with the curiosity of a cat and left with the warmth of a well-fed kitten. This family-run joint welcomed me with open arms, a tasting platter, and tales that could fill an epic poem. Time slowed there, much like it does everywhere when fermented grapes are involved.
Episkopi captivated me. A steep rock face entrance, a traditional backbone, and narrow winding roads that seemed to whisper secrets. Citrus fruits painted the landscape—grapes, almonds, limes. Donkeys transitioned from cliché to poetry. Their sight brought an odd comfort, and that's the thing about comfort, isn't it? It often lies in the simplest, rawest experiences.
Anarita and Tsada were similarly rooted yet easily tethered back to a beach or a golf club for those moments when city-born restlessness took over. Step into a taverna, and the Cypriot spirit dragged you to the table, offering Cyprus Meze—that array of local specialties—and the warmth of the local community spirited you away.
Ever watch old men in a village square playing cards or backgammon, perhaps arguing over the world's decay? I loved seeing that. It's human. It's raw. I've yet to pass through any village in Cyprus without spotting these weathered souls, sharing tales, laughter, and perhaps a dash of existential dread.
But returning to the coastal bubble? It felt...wrong. Familiarity shackled my spirit. It's easy to park ourselves where it feels safe, surrounded by echoes of the life we momentarily fled. But if that's where we stay, why travel at all? Expose yourself to the raw underbelly. Challenge your senses in 'Secret Cyprus' and unearth the real treasure in its villages.
There's irony in searching for authenticity in tourism. You find it not in the manicured corners but in the grit, the wrinkles of the landscape, the aged faces, the lingering stories in the sun-parched air. Next time you land in this so-called 'Island of Love,' dodge the predictability. Plunge into the heart of it. Discover communities where spirit outruns spectacle, where the sand in your toes is replaced by earth under your nails.
The silent moments in these villages—they're loud if you listen. There's a certain darkness when you realize you've been missing out. But there's humor too, the crude joke that you've always sought home while blindfolded. I took the plunge, and Cyprus opened its soul reluctantly yet wholeheartedly.
Trading sunburn for soul burn, I found that the 'Island of Love' has a heart that beats not to the rhythm of the crashing waves, but to the steady, enduring pulse of village life.
Tags
Destinations