By Heidi Trautmann
Berna Altunsoy and her
husband Şevket Öznur invited us to join family and friends to celebrate the
reopening of their hotel in one of the charming old lanes of the Old City of
Famagusta. We had used the opportunity to visit an old friend Baki Bogaç,
sculptor and….philosopher of life and humanity, as we don’t often come to
Famagusta these days anymore, but about him and our visit I will tell you in a
separate report.
Thus we had already smelt
and felt again the very special atmosphere of this old acquaintance of ours,
the Old City of Famagusta, and I must
say not much has changed here, I still feel the presence of the old souls I met
on the occasion of a visit in 2005, the text of which was published in Cyprus
Times, in Cyprus Today and is included in my book ‘North Cyprus My Way’. I place the text here to give the reader an
idea of the atmosphere eleven years ago and will then continue with the
presence.
The Ghosts of an Old City Famagusta, the Beautiful
There I was in Famagusta but the person to be interviewed wasn’t. We had
time in our hands, plenty of time, to spend in this beautiful place, so we
stayed overnight in the old city, my husband and I. I thought, why not have an
interview with this fascinating old city, address the corners and lanes
directly and ask them about their lives, their inhabitants including those of
long ago. We booked a room in a small hotel in one of these small lanes within
the walled city where only the mosques and religious ruins point towards
heaven, among them high palm trees, the royal palms. It was the middle of the
day; we had a glass of water in Baki Bogaç’s studio, which he restored himself
and is part of the old Venetian Palace. He sees Famagusta with the eyes of both
an artist and an architect and with the love of a Cypriot. He certainly knows
the old city ghosts: “I keep telling the Department of Antiquity to plan for
people to live here, to restore what we have, buildings with modern interiors
with their antique exteriors left intact, to keep the character intact, and not
to restrict the use to restaurants and cafes. A city without people loses its
soul. A city waiting for people to come from the outside is a museum.” We see
it through his eyes as we saunter along the old Venetian Royal Palace, let
buildings grow where people can make their lives, where the shadows of the old
ghosts can walk among laughing people and playing children. But what we see
instead, between the stone ruins rejecting the vision of continuity, are the
all too real pieces of broken plastic and rubbish with the smell of urine from
behind the voluminous blooming bushes of oleander. Still, it does not prevent
the beauty of it all from reigning over the place, the charm from embracing our
minds. Beauty in decay, touching the heart, enhanced by the vital contrast of
nature in early summer, giving the nearly petrified wooden door lintels and the
squared rotting sandstone an appearance of finality, showing the futility of
existence. People of long ago, what were your dreams, your hopes and
disillusionments? Are you walking alongside us, are you trying to tell us
something? Here is the old Hamam; today a bar. How I would have liked to have
seen its visitors in times past… old men sitting in front of the building on
squat chairs drinking tea from small glasses reposing from a long life, vendors
praising their goods to make other people’s day easier. These trees hanging
over crumbling walls might have seen it all; the daily life of our ancestors.
They might have heard the sorrows lamented under their branches, the lovers’
vows exchanged by young couples at their feet. We join the people on one of the
benches under the broad embracing arms of this tree, this ageless tree, with
the stories of times past hanging like trinkets amongst its foliage. We listen
to the humming of voices, absorbed into the serenity of the place in front of
the big mosque/cathedral, a one-god-house. The paved square resounds with the
cries of children playing ball, their mothers clad in long dresses and shawls
sitting around on low walls or benches, young pretty women in mini skirts and
super short string tops giggling alongside. A woman squats at a water tap with
her baby boy in her lap washing him, he is squealing. People wander across the
square, criss-crossing it as if drawn by an invisible string in a geometric
pattern. We continue along the Old Bazaar, empty today, unused. They have plans
for this place. Not to bring back shopkeepers or farmers selling their
products, no! They are planning yet another place of entertainment, I have
heard. Behind the facades of the old warehouses are shops and boutiques, now
locked up, with beautiful huge wooden shutters and iron bars. Here and along
all the roads opposite the harbour, these long warehouses, in the old days
stored goods from all over the world: spices from India, silk from China, linen
and cotton from England, earthenware, silver and the many luxury items desired
by the people of the Court, of the many churches and the bourgeoisie. The
cities on the coast of this island were once very wealthy and Famagusta was the
gem of the Levantine. A menu board on this road invites us into the restaurant
garden where behind glass, fresh looking dishes of meze and meat rouse our
appetite. Under an awning of grapes we enjoy a delightful meal and while we
drink our Turkish coffee we watch a workman knocking the plaster from an
antique stone house to reveal the old wall. Could this be an appreciation of
the past? On our way back to the hotel, we follow narrow roads twisting across
the old city, roads where bougainvillaea grows out of cracks in antique walls
which are part of private houses, weeds cover the edges of ruins, rubbish the
ground, cacti with huge yellow blossoms fill gaps creating a fascinating
contrast with the surrounding decay, the royal palm trees hovering over the
tiled roofs against a pale blue lilac evening sky. The air is sweet and full of
birdsong, birds nesting in the ruins. People go home with their shopping bags;
on some balconies, old men wait. On the business road, the shops lock their
iron bar gates over the windows. A certain tiredness creeps through the
streets. On the entrance door of our hotel we read an announcement “Tonight
Tango Dance” and for a long time, I lie in bed awake with the music coming
through the balcony door inviting my arms and legs to dance the tango, while
the muezzin calls out that Allah is great. Next morning I leave the hotel early
to greet the old city in the first light, the sun’s rays give a special clear
note, a freshness. An old gentleman comes from a side street and joins me; he
is from London but comes home every two years. For a while we talk, have
something in common for some minutes, sharing a love for this place, and then
he goes on with the light of the morning around his bent body, disappearing in
it, and I think, it will not be long before he too will join the shadows of
this place, be yet another ghost of the city.
Heidi Trautmann
(First published in Cyprus Times, June 22, 2005)
There
is still this ‘out-of-this-world- feeling’ that overcomes one when strolling
through the old lanes around the old city centre but things have changed; the
place is meticulously clean in all old corners, open air cafés melt into the
scenery of the past, old houses are renovated with the love of the past, trees
planted and plants in big pots eveywhere. It is a pleasure again to walk here
and dream a dream.
And
so we joined the friends and invited guests sitting in front of the hotel ‘Altun
Tabya’in the small lane close to the western wall where the old hotel that was
built in 1973 by the father of Berna who died some years ago. The hotel was
then closed for three years. Berna and Şevket have then decided to open it
again and make it available to visitors who want to experience this incredibly
beautiful Old City by day and by night; to study its history and perhaps also
meet the same ghosts that said hello to me.
We
were introduced to the hotel’s co-workers, there was another Heidi, a young and
pretty German world traveller, and a lovely Ukrainian young woman who just seem
to love their work for the new hotel enterprise.
HE
Mustafa Akıncı and his wife Meral came at 7 o’clock and they were seated among
us and were offered a glass of water and Cypriot pastries. A true Cypriot family atmosphere. I did not know the other officials but they
all seemed to belong to the inner friends’ circle.
We
were shown around and I was surprised to see that the character of the 70s was
kept, the old writing desk representing the reception, the lounge with
old-fashioned furniture – I had the feeling to be part of an old film with Ingrid
Bergmann – the kitchen just given a good polish, but as cosy as in the old days.
I
think, it was a most sensible thing to do and I congratulate the new owner and
director and the entire family who have obviously done their part to it. Ceiling ventilators, an old sewing machine, the
sanitary rooms just as old fashioned in design.
In
the backyard, a small house has been established to serve as a small museum
with Cypriot everyday utensils of times past.
In
their logo they carry the Venetian Lion an obligation to keep up with the
tradition and we wish them luck. Travellers who come here to learn a bit more
than is said in the tour books will find a lot of inspiration when staying here
and get in touch with its people. The project is also a deep concern to Şevket Öznur, Berna’s husband who
is a dedicated researcher in cultural heritage matters and many of his papers
and articles have been published in national and international academic
journals. Şevket Öznur is also the author and/or co-author of sixteen books on
the subject of Turkish Cypriot Folklore and Literature.
We
promised that we would soon come again.
Address:
7, Kizilkule Sokak, Famagusta;
Tel:
0090 392 366 2585 or....
366 5363
Fax:
0090 392 366 3404
Mobile:
0090 548 881 3753
Email:
Altuntabyahotel@hotmail.com
They
are working on a website