Larnaca

This feeling of exceptionality is further increased when I sit in the rented car for the first time and notice there is no steering wheel. A bit embarrassed and alarmed I slide over to the other side and within a relatively short time get used to not opening the window when changing gears and firmly sticking to the side where at home a policeman would ban me from driving. When I reach the hotel and slump in an armchair the strained muscles in my shoulders relax and it is only then that I realise how hard I was clinging to the wheel. But that signals the end of my trials. After all, this is Cyprus, the island of Aphrodite, love and eternal spring, and why worry about how I managed to cover the last 30 kilometres. I happily lean back and think "Yes, I've resolved that, too. The holiday may begin."

In the morning as I draw the curtains the sun is shining brightly, making the already snow-white houses look even whiter. Cities, of course, are like cities anywhere - cars, traffic and familiar shops. Yet in Cyprus they have retained much of their past. In the capital, Nicosia, for example, public transport does not quite work. Buses run, only not too regularly, but in return the fares are reasonable. However, there are no trams or underground trains and rumour has it that it will remain so for a while. Perhaps this is how it should be - a 9000-year-old city does not succumb easily. In front of the stores of world famous brands in the busy shopping street an elderly woman with a headscarf is offering her produce: tomatoes, nuts and fruits. I manage to learn about one sort only that it is "very nice" (it truly is) and when I open the bag of oranges they still come with little branches and leaves. This spectacle is what makes people who come from the far north smile to themselves.

By noon it is boiling hot and the streets suddenly empty. Only tourists wander around persistently, sometimes pulling out a water bottle while trying to match the street names with those on their maps. In the midday quiet the city reveals itself even more. It is not shrouded by people. Now it has the leading role, taking us back into another century. No doubt, these houses have been here for a long time, standing exactly as they do now. Despite the absence of people, they do not seem dead, rather as if they were preparing for the evening. Indeed, when it cools down the city fills with life. Everyone is out in the streets. People occupy the benches as well as the bonnets of parked cars, while those in the know have their own chairs in front of their houses. Small children play tag as if it was not 10 at night - they deserve a bit of evening fun.

When I get in the car again, a little bit more daringly, and leave the cities behind I suddenly find myself surrounded by picture postcard scenes. By the roadside there are oleanders and cypresses. Small churches greet me at every turn and there are countless monasteries on top of the hills and mountains. Has anyone ever counted how many monasteries there are in Cyprus? Surely they have. The arrows showing the direction for the Stavrovouni monastery suddenly point at a bridleway, so with a bold movement I turn onto the small road between the trees. The curving way reaches a steep rise and the car gets obstinate. In no way can she go up. I show mercy, get out and continue on foot. Mountains surround me, the silence becomes palpable and the expression "not a soul in sight" receives a new meaning. As an over-civilised urban person I am almost embarrassed. I have not seen such beauty for a long time.

As I continue on my way in the car, the picture postcard scenes follow one another -  a tiny church in the middle of nowhere, in front a priest is sitting with a woman, head bowed listening under an olive tree. By the road there is Father Kallinikis's icon studio where, as the notice says, even women may enter. In the small sleepy village two old men are sitting in the shade. One has an enormous key in his hand and he proudly shows that it opens the door to the local 15^th-century chapel. Everywhere, everyone has a kind word for the visitor.

The cities also have their fair share of remarkable churches. In Larnaca, not far from the seaside, we can find the Church of St. Lazarus, which is also the resting place of its patron saint. This was the Lazarus raised by Jesus from the dead, who later fled to Cyprus to escape the persecutions of Christians. The church was built 1200 years ago, according to the leaflet so that it could be the second and also the final resting place for Lazarus. It is so impressive I am almost afraid of stepping in. However, I don one of the shoulder covering gowns hanging at the entrance and venture in on tiptoe. I decipher the Greek letters and look at the saints with raised fingers until a noisy French group floods in. Then I quickly nip out.

About Larnaca itself, the town, which has developed from a small sleepy place into a confident seaside resort, definitely deserves more time. This sudden boost is primarily due to the fact that since the division of the island Nicosia airport has not been operating and therefore the rather large volume of international traffic has been taken over by Larnaca. It has made the town itself international. Larnaca's promenade can compete with that of any elegant seaside resort. The long sandy beach is impressive and the water is already nicely warm even before the high season. In the streets churches and mosques comfortably rub shoulders.

On the way to the airport I observe a clumsy driver in front of me with a sympathetic smile and overtake on the right with a decisive movement. With my left hand I drop back into fourth. I will miss this small car. And I will also miss Cyprus.

Anna Nagy