I had heard rumours of the infamous Cypriot ghost city of Famagusta and I naturally couldn’t resist. I had to see it.

The city of Famagusta was once a famed tourist destination and important Cypriot port but during the war, anticipating the arrival of the Turkish Army, the city’s Greek Cypriot inhabitants fled south taking only what they could carry. Postwar, and under the supervision of the UN, the city’s residents were allowed to return, however, one district remained off limits, Varosha, Famagusta’s affluent tourist hub was fenced off with barb wire and never re-opened. Today journalists are banned and the people who once lived there still cannot return to their homes. It sits now as a time capsule of the 1970’s that encompasses an enormous area of once luxury beachfront hotels, resorts, and apartment buildings that now crumble into disrepair, free of human activity.

We plugged the city into google maps and the first thing I noticed was the confusing approximation of borders and lack of clarity on whether the city was on the north side or the south side. Kind of important. Regardless, Bobby Bossman was convinced he could take us there in his Sportage but if not, I was hoping to at least get close enough for a look. Feeling adventurous, we decided to set off on a route that appeared to follow a narrow corridor between the two borders on a direct line to Famagusta and if correct, it would take us all the way there without needing to pass through a checkpoint.

With lively enthusiasm, we saw the highway turn rural, and in the blink of an eye, we were in no man’s land, the road acting as a DMZ under UN control. Oh dear…

We could clearly see Turkish troops on one side and Cypriot troops on the other both manning fortifications with us caught in a crossfire…still, we powered on, nervously chuckling at the road signs that hung upside down and passing destitute UN guard houses of peeling blue paint. The road too began to fray at the edges, the white lines on the bitumen began to disappear and painted merge arrows seemed to point traffic in wrong directions. We were beginning to feel like we’d unwittingly wandered into a live fire range and in typical Bossman   fashion, he suggested that “They” were coming to get us which lightened the mood…

 

Then, we saw something on the horizon. A dead town centred on a hill. It looked once home to thousands but now, nothing stirred there aside from the black birds above. I was mesmerized by the town that I found out later was called Achna and that it’s just one of the many abandoned places in Cyprus. A quick google search told me that the people who lived in Achna fled in the 70’s due to the proximity of the Turkish Army. One account says that upon hearing sounds of Turkish tanks, mothers grabbed their children and one item of clothing and ran. Achna is now a tourist destination but it is deserted and positively apocalyptic.

 

 

Achna remarkably appears intact. The glassless windows of the buildings were black as if plucked eyeballs and the sun reflected a haunting glimmer off of the domed belltower just begging me to go and get my Indiana Jones on. Having seen how grand and beautiful the orthodox churches were on the island I can only imagine what was lost in Achna, but there is little doubt the town would have been well and truly looted. The whole area would be bloody terrifying at night and I didn’t want to be here after the sun went down. Bad ju-ju. I’d have loved to do a private tour with a guide just to get a better sense of the area and its history but…next time.

We did find an access road that snaked off the main drag, overgrown and almost forgotten. Following it in we were stopped by barricades on the outskirts.

 

 

We were still half a kilometre from the town but with this being smack in the middle of a war zone and without a local guide, we could have driven into a minefield, so best to look from a safe distance. Also…as this was on the north side of the road we were technically standing on Turkey so we couldn’t hang around without a good reason.

 

 

Continuing on, we found so many cool abandoned structures and overgrown roads that now lead nowhere. The drive is worth it just to see the dystopian features of this part of Cyprus. Eventually the road returned to the pristine bitumen we’d seen in the south until we hit an enormous British military base that surprisingly anyone can just drive through, however, there is no photography and armed Brits scrutinize your every move. There was an entire community here, we saw English families and personnel walking from a playground to a “Fish & Chip” shop (how positively British!), and while you could only drive the main drag of the base it was odd to get so much access. I got the impression the Brits are there to react quickly to any cross-border shenanigans that might flare up, and although their role with the UN peacekeepers was unclear I was told patrols happen regularly along the border.

Then, our hopes of reaching Famagusta were finally dashed. At the end of the military base, we came to a checkpoint that did not appear on the map and was passable only by vehicles authorized to pass into Turkey. Not only would we have needed passports but also a car with special permissions. So, being in a Sportage with none of the said permissions, we turned around and headed back to Limassol for some Frappe good times.

 

In hindsight, if we wanted to see Famagusta we ought to have done our due diligence and booked a day tour which sorts all the issues associated with crossing the border, but instead, on the road to Famagusta we found Achna and explored a lesser-known part of the island. I couldn’t have been more pleased how it turned out.

Signing off.