At a shady cafe, outside the old market in Limassol, an elderly gentleman offered me an explanation for the mountain villages of Cyprus. For centuries the island has been invaded, not only serious invasions like the Crusaders, but casual traders looking to steal goods and take slaves. So people moved away from the fertile coastline and up into the mountains, from where they could see trouble coming and hide before it reached them. It seems a good theory as many of the village families still own farmland near the coast. Imagine making the journey from the coast, up the miles of steep winding tracks to the mountains, bare foot, or by donkey cart. This was normal practice up until the time, in the not too distant past, when each village acquired a wooden framed bus.
My Dad has always had a reputation for messing with people's minds, teasing, winding us up and stretching the truth. I therefore didn't believe him when he said he was thinking of buying a home in a rural Cypriot village and my mother was also very skeptical. At the time he was working in Moscow and wanted to find a quiet retreat and, like a number of the native Muscovites, the warmth of Cyprus attracted him. However, unlike the normal ex-pats who gravitate to the coastal cities, he concentrated his search on rural mountain villages.
A Greek Cypriot acquaintance took him for a day out on a haphazard route from Larnaca towards the Troodos mountain range. They made a diversion through a small village, and he instantly loved it. As there was no time to stop he rented a car a week later and tried to retrace the route, however he failed to find it as he did not remember the village name and the road maps do not show unregistered roads even though some are paved.
Some months later he was on a flight from Moscow when, breaking the habit of a lifetime, he browsed through the in-flight magazine, and his luck changed. He read an article describing a place called Akapnou with its church of miracles and walls painted with ancient icons. A bridge built by the Venetians and a grotto where the earth was used to cure skin ailments. He was soon driving back up the mountain, and months after his first visit rediscovered the village.
It was also lucky that a widower in Akapnou had property to sell, as in a culture which still has a dowry system, there are few old houses available for sale. Tradition requires parents to provide their girls with a house when they marry. As both his daughters were provided for he was happy to sell. The house was in a wonderful location in the very heart of the village and the sale included the ruins of an adjoining coffee shop. Foreigners were looked at with suspicion but my father's luck stuck with him, he was liked by the owner and so a deal was struck.
Although now living in Akapnou, the previous owner was not a local man. His own village is on a hill nearby, only the skeletons of houses remain. Life in these communities was tough and after the Second World War most families moved abroad. We walked around his old village and went to the church which is still well maintained. The only other sign of life was a solitary phone box, which has since been removed as no calls were ever made. The view from the old school building was wonderful, and it seemed so random that this place should have turned into a ghost town, while others of lesser character had not.
If I remember correctly, when Dad first took my mother to see the village they met some Cypriot city dwellers in the coffee shop. "Don't let him bring you to this dreadful place" the woman wailed " it's so quiet you could die here and nobody would ever know - he wants to kill you." Mama wasn't put off. She saw potential in the house which had for a long time housed nothing but donkeys and goats and quickly realised there was more to the village than met the eye.
There are three churches in Akapnou. Perhaps the most famous is Panayia tou Kambou literally meaning Virgin Mary of the Plain and often referred to as "the church of miracles". It is claimed this hallowed place can solve fertility problems and affect other miraculous cures. Over the years pilgrims have left wax models of limbs around the icons in the church. It also boasts sixteenth and seventeenth century frescoes.
Then there is Ayious Georgious. This is the main church in the heart of the village and across the road from my parents house. The bell wakes the village and resounds through the house every Sunday morning from seven o'clock.
The word Akapnou means a "place without smoke". The original village was sited around the area of the Church of Miracles but, after a major fire about three hundred years ago, the existing village was created on the hilltop half a mile away. The name seems to bode well as they have not been seriously endangered by the wild fires of recent years.
The third church located on the village outskirts, is very small, smaller than a garden shed. The Church of St Andrew was built by the great grandfather of Theoris, the charcoal burner. The story goes that on St Andrews Day instead of attending Church he went to work in his berivolis (small fields). Walking down the hill in sunshine he was struck blind. Full of remorse, he promised God to build a Church in the name of St. Andrew if his sight was restored - and it was. So he kept his promise. Now some people believe the temporary blindness was brought about by entering an area of deep shade after facing bright sunlight. Whatever the reason, it's always a surprise to stumble upon this tiny church at the side of a steep, rough track.
Past that church and two miles up the hill is Vikla Golf Club which was established some ten years ago. A great source of pleasure to my father. As yet he has not blamed temporary blindness for lapses in his game. Just below the church is the charcoal burner's yard. It is the only non agricultural activity in the village.
Along a path on the north side of the village there is a stone bridge spanning the river - wide enough for a small donkey cart. It was built in the sixteenth century during the era of Venetian rule. Apparently it was part of the route linking Paphos with Nicosia but now it doesn't really lead anywhere. Local legend has it that a Venetian lord built a palace nearby and that treasure was buried in the palace garden. Although there have been some enthusiastic diggers, neither the palace nor the treasure has yet been unearthed. In addition to hiding his gold, this cunning lord supposedly had his horse shod back to front to confuse the invading Turks.
Then there is the grotto with its soil that cures ailments especially skin problems. A villager told me that teenagers with acne would mix the dirt with water and rub it on their skin. There can't have been anything discreet about this treatment as the dirt is coppery and leaves an orange stain. I know this for sure, because, of course, I tried it on some mosquito bites. Father Seraphim described how he'd had a rash as a child and his grandmother had applied a paste of Holy Oil and the mineral rich earth, and when his skin was cleared, a few days later, she took one of his shirts and left it there, as an offering in gratitude. There are still items of clothing left at the grotto and so it seems that people still use this remedy.
Years ago I bought a copy of "The Rough Guide to Cyprus' in which there was reference to "the obvious poverty of this village". Back then the village streets were dirt tracks and most properties were in serious need of repair. A local law stipulated that unsafe houses must either be fixed or demolished which accounts for gaps in the street scene. In recent years the village roads have been paved and some old properties have been renovated. Stavroula, who is on the village committee, is a powerhouse of energy and organises the planting and watering of floral displays. I imagine "the Rough Guide" has updated its opinions.
The old houses are constructed with local materials. Large stones from the riverbed create a solid foundation and form the ground floor walls. Earth bricks were used for the second level and the floor and roof supports were hewn from eucalyptus trees. A web of bamboo was placed on the eucalyptus and this was topped with earth and leaves. The thick walls provide insulation from the hot summer sun and hold in the heat generated by log fires in winter. Red clay tiles were then placed on top to ward off the rain and they provide homes for the sparrows and a hiding place for their snake predators. My parents' home is a great example of this building style.
The traditional houses tend to be a warren of small interconnecting rooms. In times of danger the householders could run from house to house through a series of doors and passageways before making an escape to the hills. The door frames are low, ensuring that men on horseback had to dismount.
There is more to Akapnou than charming buildings. Out of a population of four hundred during the first half of the twentieth century, only twenty two full time residents remain. The others moved away to the cities, to Britain, South Africa, Australia and America. These hard working and often very successful immigrants have raised families and made their fortunes. A handful of them recently returned to Akapnou and so it is even possible to find an English speaker, if the need arises. On weekends and school holidays the numbers are boosted, as the sons and daughters who moved to the cities return with their young families. All the villagers exude love and pride for their family roots and traditions. On Sunday evening the weekenders drive away with gallons of the crystal clear water that comes from the nearby hillside. The rich soil of Akapnou also ensures a plentiful supply of fruit and vegetables for the extended families.
Although like many Mediterranean villages the permanent residents are mainly elderly, it would be wrong to imagine that they are simple peasant folk. However, tradition demands that they go to their berivolis early and return before the heat of the midday sun. The early afternoon is for sleeping followed by a gossip and a card game in the coffee shop. Agricultural matters are the normal topics of conversation. Raised voices indicate that either football or the "Cyprus Problem" is creating some disagreement. The men sit and drink small cups of extremely strong black coffee in the shade of bougainvillea next to pillars of basil plants, or go indoors to play cards. Their enthusiasm for cards is obvious but if they play for money then it is kept off the table.
Costas and his wife Thesbina run the Kafenio which also serves as the village post office. In addition to coffee and stamps, Costas can supply fresh mint tea, beer, lollipops, crisps, nuts and the occasional zivania (the Cypriot hooch) which is recommended for everything from cleaning windows to curing rheumatism. He also sells pots of delicious local honey. Perhaps they provide other things as well, but I've never seen a menu, or witnessed anything else being consumed.
Another building which was once vital to the community houses the olive press. People from surrounding villages would wait in line for their olives to be processed by a huge, black, whirring, grinding machine, and then turned into golden green olive oil. The old diesel engine, imported from Sheffield, England, still works but has been replaced by a modern olive press which has recently been opened in a neighbouring village. Some of the villagers would like to see the building renovated and reopened as a site of historical interest.
Normal life in the village is regulated by the seasons. January and February are normally cold and the stone floors, that make the house so cool in Summer, chill your bones. However, everyone is overjoyed when there's a good rainfall and flock down to watch the river in flood, as it is dry for most of the year. During the Winter and Spring there is a wonderful variety of citrus fruit and much to my fathers delight the local lemons for his gin and tonic are available for ten months of the year.
Easter is the high point of the religious and social calendar. My mother joins the village women decorating the Epitafios with flowers, and works almost all night baking koulouria and flaounes in the outdoor clay ovens. The village is alive with the sound of children playing and the bell seems to be rung all day. Easter eve there is a bonfire and at the stroke of midnight all the men take turns to vigorously tug at the rope. Last Easter the bell housing broke and there was an unnatural silence for several weeks.
Every village has a festival, but because of the church of miracles, and because of the grotto and other attractions, the Akapnou festival is disproportionate to the size of the village. When everyone is finally exhausted from the dancing and singing the festivities come to an end well after midnight. On August 15th each year several coach loads of visitors arrive and attend the service given by Father Seraphim the village priest at Panayia tou Kambou (the church of miracles).
Summer brings daily offerings of fresh produce from neighbours who have grown more than they can consume. Autumn is olive harvest time and a visit to the olive press. The village food is good. In addition to growing a wonderful variety of produce, there's a strong tradition of finding what nature provides. Stavroula is the sharp-eyed mushroom queen, and often takes my mother on hikes to gather buckets full of wild fungi which are fried in olive oil. I remember walking around the village with Marulla and her plucking some insignificant looking twigs, which turned out to be capers. Last summer my daughter in the company of other village grandchildren proudly displayed a prickly pear they had picked. In the words of a village father to his young daughter; "However hungry you are after walking in the hills you should not come home with an empty stomach."
Autumn and winter also brings the hunters and the surrounding countryside is dotted with orange baseball caps sitting on top of camouflage uniforms. Every Wednesday and Sunday in the season, excited dogs scurry between the trees and bushes and the silence is punctuated with the sound of shotguns. The prize - long legged hares, which are considered a great delicacy.
Over the centuries pretty much every prevailing empire has invaded Cyprus; Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Crusaders, Venetians, until finally the British took over the island from Turkey. The Cypriots won independence in the 50's but in 1974 the northern part of the island was again invaded by the Turks. As a result Northern Cyprus has been isolated by the international community. The Greek South has continued to develop and tourism is the main source of income. Since the collapse of communism there has been a wave of wealthy Russian migrants. British retirees have also descended in large numbers. It's an attractive location for many; adrift between Europe and the Middle East. Recently there has been an influx of other immigrants from the Eastern Block and Asian countries seeking employment.
It has been this way for centuries, a little village, on a small island, in a corner of the world that has always had invaders. This August my family and I will make another visit, and my children, the most recent invasion, will perhaps ring the church bell. The bell should only be rung for church purposes, to announce a death, or to alert of dangers such as a wildfire. Despite that, with my Father's encouragement, they rang the bell last Summer. My eldest daughter does remember that her Yaya (grandmother) scolded him for disturbing the village and breaking with tradition. Of course she remembers more about the naughty, noisy joy of ringing the bell.
I'd like to thank my parents for all their help with this article, but that doesn't seem sufficient. So it's better to thank them, and the other residents of Akapnou for having provided my family and I with the chance to experience all the warmth and kindness that a Greek Cypriot village can offer.