008 CYCLE TOURING CYPRUS

 

8 CYPRUS

120 Km – 8 Days

14 September – 22 September 2007

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8 Cyprus

120 Kilometres – 8 Days

14 September – 22 September 2007

 

14 September – Girne

Vidmantas kindly offered me his house while he was away. I accepted immediately — after weeks of camping, a real bed feels like winning the lottery.

Cyprus is the third‑largest island in the Mediterranean and politically complicated. The Republic controls the south and west; the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus controls the north; and a UN buffer zone slices through the middle. I stayed in the north because visas are a thing.

 

15 September – Girne (Kyrenia)

I attempted to get a Syrian visa, but the embassy was in the Greek-controlled south, which I couldn’t enter. After exhausting all options, I got a leg wax and pedicure instead. Sometimes diplomacy requires self-care.

 

16–17 September – Girne

I explored the coast by bicycle. Cyprus was mountainous, arid, and beautiful, though new developments were threatening turtle nesting sites. I spent another day trying to contact the Syrian Embassy. No luck. I decided to try my luck at the border instead.

 

18 September – Girne – Kaplica – 60 kilometres

I thanked Vidmantas and headed toward Famagusta. By late afternoon, I found a beach bar with a restaurant and decided it was perfect for camping. September meant only a few tourists remained — mostly pale Brits in Union Jack swimsuits. A cultural experience.

 

19 September – Kaplica – Famagusta – 60 kilometres

I cycled over a mountain first thing in the morning — an aggressive way to start the day. I chose a hotel near the harbour for convenience, as the ferry to Turkey supposedly left at 8:30 a.m.

Famagusta was fascinating, with Venetian walls and ancient ruins. I wandered for hours and collected mosquito bites like souvenirs.

 

20 September – Famagusta – Mersin – By Ferry

I arrived at the harbour early, only to learn the ferry left at 8:30 p.m., not a.m. Classic.

I spent the day exploring the Salamis Ruins, dating back to the 11th century BC. Later, I met two Nepali cyclists who were travelling the world. I suspected they used public transport more than bicycles, but kept this observation to myself.

 

21 September – Mersin – Atakia – By Bus

The ferry was a rust bucket, but it floated, which was all I required. A man fell overboard during the night, but the crew rescued him impressively quickly. I slept lightly after that.

The Nepali guys and I took a bus to Atakia. We stayed at Sister Barbara’s. During the night, one of the Nepali men fondled my breast. I yelled, grabbed my things, and moved to a locked dormitory. The little bastard.

The next morning, I packed up and cycled to the Syrian border, grateful not to see them again.

 

22 September – Atakia, Turkey – Aleppo, Syria – 110 kilometres

At the border, I met four British motorbike riders heading to South Africa. They introduced me to Ahmed, a tour guide who helped them get Syrian visas. He guided me through the paperwork and disappeared. Three hours later, I had a visa. Miracles happen.

Cycling into Syria felt like entering another world — conservative, ancient, desert-scape, and culturally rich. Archaeological finds date habitation back to 700,000 years.

The road passed through cotton fields and typical Syrian communities with mosques, markets, and courtyard homes that looked modest on the outside but luxurious inside. I fell in love with the architecture and vowed to build a courtyard home one day.