Cyprus 2000 Peace Project

The Last Divided City 

The Cyprus Initiative -The Diary of 

Dominic Ryan and the Peace Project 

27th of October until 3rd of December 2000

M I N U T E S T O WA R : The Last Divided City 

Contents 

Introduction to Cyprus 2000 

Synopsis: Israel, the Gaza Strip and 

the Checkpoint Charlie of the Middle 

East, 1997 

The historical background to 

Cyprus 2000 

Cast of Characters: Cyprus 2000 

The Diary of Cyprus - 

27th of October until 3rd of 

December 2000


Introduction to Cyprus 2000 

I had returned from Kosovo and the Albanian 

concert in May 1999, shell shocked, traumatised but 

in one piece. After returning there was an invisible 

filth that seemed to cover my entire psyche that 

I could not wash off. Others could not see it but 

I could definitely feel it. The cure for this feeling 

was to recapitulate the experiences of the journey 

by editing a film about the Peace Project. Whether 

the film succeeded after its completion or not, it 

was a tool to both heal myself while becoming and 

a mode of communication for others. It eased the 

horror of that experience. When I have encountered 

difficult or traumatic experiences in life, 

documentation is a way of consciously returning 

to those moments and then liberating me from the 

pain of their memory. 

I returned in 1999 and then decided to plan the 

2000 campaign. With a group of volunteers we sent 

out many requests for sponsorship and support. 

A booklet was printed which promoted a tour of 

Israel, the Middle-East, Cyprus and finally Belfast. 

As it turned out no money or sponsorship 

was achieved and I was left yet again looking for 

finance for the journey. There are many facets to 

this process of conflict resolution which deserve 

documenting. There is the in-the-field event where 

the peace project is bringing people together who 

are in a war zone. There is the inspirational story. 

There is the diplomatic bridge building and there 

is the social bridge building. Finally there is the 

message which comes through the media and the 

event itself. 

But this time there were no finances 

forthcoming from others to help me and nobody 

seemed interested. They were more interested in 

their mortgages or what was happening in Australia. 

I had to resign myself once more with putting my 

own money into the project. Since my finances were 

becoming tight, I could not afford to take Firouz 

as much as his dedication and passion showed in 

Albania. Nonetheless I believe the last episode 

had tested both our patience. I had to make an 

executive decision. 

It was with great sadness that I told Firouz that 

I could not take him. I wrote to inform him after 

I had left for Cyprus, knowing that he would be 

disappointed by my decision. 

My replacement was Rebecca Prole—a film 

student who was strong, brave and perfect for the 

task. She was brash, funky, down to earth, with a 

double chin, beautiful crystal grey eyes who chain 

smoked. We became like brother and sister.


Cyprus, the Dead Zone and Nicosia, 

the Last Divided City - 2000 

In which the artist Dominic Ryan and The Peace Project visit Cyprus with a plan 

to erect a message in the Dead Zone. With support from the UN military and 

Civil Affairs they invite the two sides including the two mayors of the Divided City 

into the dead zone. After two months of protracted negotiation one side rejects 

the offer unless new political conditions are fulfilled. Instead Dominic Ryan brings 

students in the place of reluctant politicians into the dead zone at Pyle.


Historical Background to Cyprus 2000 

Prior to 1974, Cyprus experienced a long period of inter-communal strife between its Greek Cypriot and 

Turkish Cypriot communities. In response the United Nations Force in Cyprus (UNFICYP) began peacekeeping 

operations in March 1964. 

The island has been divided since the Turkish military intervention of 1974, following a coup d’etat directed 

from Greece. Since 1974 the southern part of the island has been under the control of the Government of the 

Republic of Cyprus. The northern part is ruled by a Turkish Cypriot administration. In 1983 that administration 

proclaimed itself the ‘Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus’ (TRNC). The TRNC is not recognised by the United 

States or any other country except Turkey. The two parts of the island are separated by a buffer zone patrolled 

by the UNFICYP. A substantial number of Turkish troops remain on the island. In both the Government of the 

Republic of Cyprus controlled areas and in the Turkish Cypriot community democratic principles generally 

are respected. Glafcos Clerides was re-elected President of the Republic of Cyprus in 1998; in April 2000 Rauf 

Denktash was declared ‘President’ after ‘Prime Minister’ Dervish Eroglu withdrew following the first round of 

Turkish Cypriot elections. The judiciary is independent in both communities. 

Police in the Government of the Republic of Cyprus controlled (government-controlled) area and in the 

Turkish Cypriot community are responsible for law enforcement. Police forces operating in the governmentcontrolled 

area are under civilian control, while military authorities direct Turkish Cypriot police forces. In 

general the police forces of both sides respect the rule of law, but instances of police abuse of power continued. 

Both Cypriot economies operate on the basis of free market principles, although in each community there 

are significant administrative controls. The government-controlled part of the island has a robust, serviceoriented 

economy, with a declining manufacturing base and a small agricultural sector. 

Tourism and trade generate 22% of gross domestic product and employ 29% of the labour force. In 2000 

per capita income was approximately $12,902, inflation was 4.5 %, and unemployment was 3.5 %. Growth was 

4.8 %, compared with 4.5 % in 1999. The Turkish Cypriot economy is handicapped by restrictions imposed 

by the Government of the Republic of Cyprus and other international institutions. In addition it relies heavily 

on subsidies from Turkey and is burdened by an overly large public sector. It too is basically service-oriented, 

but has a smaller tourism and trade base—accounting for 14 percent of gross domestic product employing 10 

percent of the workforce—and a larger agricultural sector. During the year, per capita income in the north was 

approximately $5,263, and inflation was 60%. Growth in the north was 5.3% in 2000, compared with 4.9% in 

1999. 

The Government of the Republic of Cyprus generally respected human rights, however instances of police 

brutality continued to be a problem. 

The Turkish Cypriot authorities generally respected human rights, however police abuse of suspects’ and 

detainees’ rights continued. The authorities also continued to restrict freedom of movement. 

Since December 1997, the Turkish Cypriot authorities have banned most bi-communal contacts between 

Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots, including previously frequent meetings in Nicosia’s buffer zone. They 

sometimes attempted to prevent Turkish Cypriots from travelling to bi-communal meetings off the island as 

well. In May of 1998 Turkish Cypriot officials lowered the ‘visa’ fees for crossing the buffer zone. The Turkish 

Cypriot authorities have taken some steps to improve the conditions of Greek Cypriots and Maronites living in 

the territory under their control, but the treatment of these groups still falls short of Turkish Cypriot obligations 

under the Vienna III Agreement of 1975.


Cast of Characters: 


REBECCA PROLE cameraperson on Peace Project campaign 2000-2001 

SIOBHAN RYAN 

MARTIN CANTOR 

PAUL HOLLEMAN 

SAMANTHA GATTON 

MICHELLE WILLIAMS 

DAPHNIS PANAGIDES 

MADELINE GARLICK 

MIRAN GARLICK 

ROB 

ALMA SAHBAZ 

SEMI BORA 

sculptor, artist and sister of Dominic Ryan, resident 

in Melbourne Australia 

Australian photographer, gallery director and at the time of Cyprus 

photographed The Tear of Joy mural for insertion as billboard 

friend, supporter and major collaborator of Peace Project 

friend of Ryan and Michelle Williams. Lives in Queensland 

girlfriend of Dominic Ryan who in 1994-5 who accompanied Ryan to 

Moscow and stayed with him for 7 months 

Christian International Peace Service Adviser (gave Ryan details about 

Nikos Anastasios) 

Civil Affairs Political Officer United Nations Peace Keeping Forces in 

Cyprus. Met through Alma Sahbaz (See Sarajevo journal) 

husband of Madeline, Serbian who worked for the UN on reconstruction 

in North Nicosia 

an Australian friend of the Garlicks 

friend and Co Director of Exile in Sarajevo (See Sarajevo journal) 

Mayor of Nicosia in North Cyprus or The Turkish Representative 

of Nicosia. President of the Organisations of Turkish municipalities 

of Cyprus 

NATASHA JOURAVLEVA girlfriend of Dominic Ryan, 2000–2001, resident in Novosibirsk in 2001. 

Subsequently moved to London 

KATIA 

SOPHIE 

VAN IS VANG 

SARAH RUSSELL 

NIKOS ANASTASIOS 

HARRIS ANASTASIOS 

IRENE Q 

RAKO 

MADEMOISELLE 

ANITA THOMAS 

VLODAK CIBOR 

Cultural and Public Relations Officer for Town Clerk at the Town Hall in 

Nicosia Greek Cyprus 

another secretary to the Mayor Of Nicosia 

Vietnamese mobile phone agent who sold me and made the contract in 

Clarendon Streeet Melbourne for the Nokia 

Spokesperson, Head Quarters United Nations FICYP 

Teacher and Director of Seeds of Peace, South Cyprus 

brother of Nikos Anastasios 

speaker about the Cyprus question 

Japanese tourist on a Lonely Planet tour we meet 

at Ledra Palace Checkpoint 

Rebecca Prole 

Civil Affairs Assistant to Garlick 

UN senior advisor United Nations FICYP


ALEXANDER BRATERSKI 

BULLANT KANOL 

MICHAEL BLUNDEN 

MUSTAFA EREULGEN 

LELOS DIMITRIADES 

AMELIA PARFIDES 

ANTOINE SALOME 

DONNA COLEMAN 

ANTONIOS 

(PAUL) AS IN PAUL HOLLEMAN 

ANDREAS ANDRIADES 

PROFESSOR MARIA HAJIPAVLO 

MARIOS KOULOVAC 

FATHER MICHAEL KELLY 

MIRIAM PERYCLAYOS 

TASHE 

ANDREOS POUYOUROS 

DAYA, MICHAELA, LITHA 

LUDA 

MONTY 

SUSANNA 

student at the Faculty of Journalism Later became the Washington 

correspondent for RTR. Assisted with the Millennium exhibition in 1994 

and was Peace Project volunteer (See Moscow journal) 

Undersecretary Ministry of State and Prime Ministry Turkish Republic of 

North Cyprus 

Director of Big Fish Event Workshop in Melbourne. The Director was 

responsible for Ryan using the workshop to paint Millennium in the 

early 1990s 

Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus Ministry of Foreign Affairs and 

Defence Information and Press Officer 

Mayor of Greek Nicosia 

Direct Secretary and Personal assistant to Mayor Lelos Dimitriades 

Lebanese Journalist who wrote political essays for French Figaro and 

numerous Egyptian, Lebanese and Parisian magazines. Currently reads 

on SBS the political reports in Australia 

Victorian College of the Arts Music administrator 

Representative of Eco organisation Friends of the Earth. Met with 

Daphnis Panagides in Limassol. 

friend, supporter and major collaborator of Peace Project 

Secretary General The Town Hall Nicosia (South Cyprus) 

poet, Greek Academic, Professor of Peace and Reconciliation Studies at 

Cyprus University 

Concierge at the Excelsior Hotel Apartments 11–25th of March 

Street Nicosia 

Director of Catholic Communications, who was responsible for giving 

Ryan and Prole journalist accreditation. Subsequently became Director 

of the Dominic Ryan Peace Foundation 

colleague at United Nations Peace Keeping Forces in Cyprus 

Poet and Turkish refugee wanted in Northern Cyprus for sedition. 

Friend of Maria Hajipavlos 

Mayor in absentia of Famagusta 

three Greek Cypriot women Rebecca and Ryan met at a night club 

Friend of Dominic Ryan, girlfriend of Hamish Appleby 

(See Moscow journals) 

Monty was storing Millennium sculptures in Warehouse in Fitzroy 

at the time 

Australian girl friend


Cast of Characters: 


OLGA 

(NATASHA) JOURAVLEVA 

(MAX) MAX EDIE WILCOCKS 

RANIA 

REV. DEMONSTHMONUS 

MELISSA RUSH 

MR TASHIN ERTUGRULOGLU 

MR SABATINI EGELI 

ANDREA 

TOGALU 

TOM GANNON 

GALIA AND TANYA 

Australian friend 

girlfriend of Dominic Ryan, 2000–early 2002, resident in Novosibirsk in 

2001. Subsequently moved to London 

Graphic designer, musician, girlfriend in London. Singer in the band 

World Party in 1989 

Publlic Information Officer, Greek Nicosa 

Holy Archbishop Porik of Cyprus 

ran Rushdown Travel and was at this time my travel agent. 

The Minister of Foreign Affairs TRNC 

Acting Director Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Defence, Public 

Information Office Turkish Republic of North Cyprus 

girl at Alpha Graphics in Nicosia 

the Minister of Foreign Affairs (not correct spelling) 

Entrepreneur who operates homewares shop in Brunswick Street, 

Fitzroy Australia 

two Bulgarian champagne Bar Girls in Greek Cyprus 

Rebecca Orole abnd Mustafa Ereulgen and Semi Bora


The Diary of Cyprus, the Dead Zone 

Nicosia, the Last Divided City – 2000 

27th of October until 3rd of December 2000 

Friday 27th October, 2000, 

Larnacca, Cyprus 

This is the Cyprus/Jerusalem journey and it is 

a spoken record of the journey which was begun 

by Dominic Ryan and Rebecca Prole on the day 

the 27th October in the year 2000, a Friday. Our 

departure was a frenetic and excessive affair, as 

I was exhausted, consumed by each minor detail 

which had to be attended to. In the lead up to our 

departure there was the added speculation of what 

might happen on the journey and what we would 

need. I had 

only two hours 

sleep every 

night up until 

our departure 

on the 26th. 

My state was 

a walking 

somnambulist. 

But I was even 

surprised at 

how much 

stamina I had 

so that I could remain focused before our departure. 

The billboard was a tragic comedy of errors. We 

had engaged a friend of my sister, Martin Cantor, 

to photograph the painting, The Tear of Joy which 

would soon to be transformed into a 42 feet by 16 

billboard with 35 different translations of ‘peace on 

earth’ including Greek, Turkish, Arabic and Hebrew. 

Because of the urgency, Martin had photographed 

the painting in two halves. After getting drunk the 

Thursday night he photographed the mural, he had 

fallen over and broken his collar bone. Therefore 

he had been unable to scan the photographs. It was 

not until the following Monday that the scans had 

arrived. Viewing them on the computer through 

Photoshop I saw, much to my disappointment, that 

the three Byzantine women on the left side of the 

painting and the ribboned man on the right were 

engulfed in a white flare. Nevertheless after the 

billboard had been manufactured, the problem 

of the flaring seemed to retreat. Hopefully our 

attention to detail in the initial preparatory period 

has paid off. 

The comedy of errors proceeded as we realised 

that the computer could not read the disk with 

Martin’s image on it. We sent in a disk for printing 

at Colour Graphics and the disk could not read the 

‘peace on earth’ image, whereas it could read the 

war image. Colour Graphics rang two days before 

our departure to say that their printing machine 

had ceased operation. It would not be able to print 

the billboard. We therefore could not leave Australia 

with the two 35 kg sacks which Arab Emirates had 

graciously granted us a sponsorship deal to assist in. 

Paul Holleman, the graphic designer, colleague, 

and close mentor and friend took up the slack. 

He would be a human rubber band springing 

backwards and forwards helping us to get the 

project underway. So with this offset printing 

postponed by Colour Graphics, we prepared to 

leave at five o’clock in the morning for a departure 

at seven o’clock at the airport on Arab Emirates 

flight EK69 on 26th October 2000. 

Samantha Gatton, my girl friend’s best friend 

and Rebecca Prole’s boyfriend accompanied us 

to the airport. Once through customs it was a 

long, arduous night in a cabin which resembled a 

soup can, with huddled figures, television screens 

gloaming in the dark and passengers shuffling 

backwards and forwards in their Adidas tracksuits. 

I could hear the odd snuffle and cough. As I stared 

out the cabin porthole I saw small fairy lights 

dotting a geography I could barely see. 

The Patriot film flickered on tiny quartz crystal 

screens and it 

repeated from 

Singapore to 

Dubai and 

then Dubai 

to Larnacca. 

We saw 

The Patriot 

repeated with 

Mel Gibson 

looking musty 

in a whole 

vaguery of 

poses—angst, vengeance and embrace. It was as if 

I was trapped in a memory feedback loop. I was a 

character in The Patriot and this was my hell, while 

simultaneously trapped in an aeroplane, 25,000 feet 

above the world, having to relive the moments of 

death in the film. Reliving moments of great pain 

and angst as people killed each other, and saw their 

wives or children massacred. That moment kept on 

repeating. At every chapter or leg of our journey I 

would flick the channel but it would return to that 

film.


As we were driving we gazed across at this razorback of mountains which runs 

right across the island like a welt or scar. The driver was pointing to the mountains: 

‘There is the fl ag’. 

Our arrival occurred at 11am on Friday 27th 

October 2000 in Larnacca, Cyprus , a small 

provincial town on the coast where all international 

flights touch down. From the ovoid window the 

island appeared like a dagger pointing to Turkey 

and the Middle East. I could see small white washed 

houses on the rim of the coastline. Gingerbread 

houses with icing sugar appeared and grew in size as 

the aeroplane began its slow and efficient descent. 

There was a feeling of something impending, 

something about to happen, as the aeroplane lazily 

descended. Comparing the Kosovo experience a 

year ago I felt little trepidation or foreboding. Here 

it is one of optimism and faith that whatever will 

happen is meant to be. This journey is predestined 

and I must be steadfast, without flinching or veering 

to one side or the other. I must put the blinkers on 

trust, even though all the signs indicate negativity. 

Everything will repair itself at the final moment. 

I will be jumping out of an aeroplane without a 

parachute, knowing that the parachute will be there 

to prevent my imminent death. In placing my head 

inside a furnace, the furnace will be turned off. It 

is important to have a faith that is inhuman, a faith 

that will vibrate so that anything which surrounds 

me cannot touch me. From this core everything else 

will respond. 

At Larnacca airport with Rebecca expectant and 

happy we are soon pushing our baggage trolleys 

across the tarmac under a bright fearless sun with 

the Cypriot wind on our cheeks. We are going on a 

rollercoaster which is pulling us up to the top of the 

track. We have not yet descended. We are just going 

click, click, clack, click. I can hear the clicking as the 

rollercoaster is being pulled up on the tracks to the 

summit when soon it will begin its rapid descent. 

The taxi which picks us up is a chauffeur-driven, 

tinted window cream Mercedes with the three 

rows of seats. We negotiated a price of 14 pounds 

with the driver and drive from Larnacca to the 

Excelsior hotel. The drive was a 45 minute trip, 

through olive groves and white washed houses. 

We passed by crumbling Spanish style villas with 

arches, manicured plaster, masonry and very small 

cultivated gardens. 

There seems to be a redolence of cultivated 

wealth peppered by diminutive buildings. Here 

there is no poverty or chaos. Our entrance into 

the southern suburbs of Nicosia was without 

incident. The city grew on us slowly but surely. As 

we were driving we gazed across at this razorback 

of mountains which runs right across the island 

like a welt or scar. The driver was pointing to the 

mountains: 

‘There is the flag’. 

But I could not see any flag. I was not even aware 

of what such a flag meant. But apparently the flag 

was the Turkish flag, or the Turkish Cypriot flag, 

which had been painted with coloured rocks on to 

the side of the mountains across on the other side of 

the divided island, an island divided by war in 1974. 

Whenever the Greek Cypriots would gaze towards 

this mountain range they could see a white washed 

image of a star, the crescent, and two straight lines. 

The mountain range is called the Kyrenia Range. 

From the Greek perspective the area beginning 

with the mountains is inaccessible because of the 

Turkish occupation. In the north we could see the


When every opinion tells me not to 

continue, I persevere. 

Wandering through boutique-filled 

Kennedy Avenue up towards the centre, 

the city appears to be a gamut of 

designer shops, perfumeries, fashion 

boutiques—a combination of Jean Paul 

Gaultier, Ralph Lauren, Yves St. Laurent, 

Yamaguchi and Dior labels. 

...another 

conscript from 

the same 

Frederico 

Fellini movie. 

the concierge, Marius was looking like an obese character out of 

a Frederico Fellini movie. 

villages of Kunicipos, Platani, Mandras, Cichari, Vouno, Kato, Krini, Kontemenos. The taxi driver’s conversation 

was garbled; punctuated with points of curiosity and then followed by moments of anger about the ‘Cyprus 

question’ as he called it. 

This was to be the beginning of something new. We would discern the truth of this island as the weeks 

passed. 

It is preferable not knowing the future. If we were to fully know the future and its consequences we would 

not have the courage to step into that future. Had I known what was to be, I would not have had the courage or 

foolishness to proceed. Therefore not knowing what will be can sometimes help us to take the necessary steps 

towards our future. One of my strengths is the stamina to continue when my journey is wasted and everything 

is lost. When every opinion tells me not to continue, I persevere. 

As we arrive at the Excelsior Apartments, the name of the street is ‘25th of March!’ It veers off the Kennedy 

Avenue area. Next to the hotel is a derelict furnishings factory. After passing a few signs we enter the hotel 

foyer where the concierge, Marius was looking like an obese character out of a Frederico Fellini movie. But he 

is oh so sweet and generous. I felt a great empathy for him. Our room on the sixth floor of the Hotel Excelsior 

was room 601 with a panoramic view. We heaved our bags and walked out into the mid day sun like mad 

Englishmen. Wandering through boutique filled Kennedy Avenue up towards the centre, the city appears to be 

a gamut of designer shops, perfumeries, fashion boutiques—a combination of Jean Paul Gaultier, Ralph Lauren,


Madeline appeared at the foyer of the Excelsior 

looking dapper with inquisitive eyes, long dark 

hair in a bob and an animated expression. 

Yves St. Laurent, Yamaguchi and Dior labels. We 

walked in towards the old city and had a pizza at 

a parlour where there was a woman who was yet 

another conscript from the same Frederico Fellini 

movie. She had long blonde hair, vermillion lipstick 

and raven black mascara. The lip line of her lipstick 

delineated a mouth that was four times the size 

of her actual mouth. Squinting from a distance 

there was extreme beauty or sexual attraction. 

She looked like a blown up kewpie doll with sweet 

eyes and a gawky, lollipop demeanour. We greedily 

guzzled our pizza and walked to the old city. As 

we walked through the centre the buildings grew 

increasingly older and more antique, almost as if 

like the rings on a tree we could see the trees age as 

we journeyed towards its centre. Here we filmed a 

63 year old man with a trolley, who told us that he 

had been selling fruit there, on this corner, for the 

last 50 years. Exhausted and slightly disconsolate 

we returned home to, how do you say, our not-sowelcoming 

apartment. 

28th October, Saturday, 2000, Greek 

Nicosia, Cyprus 

Madeline Garlick who met us today, is a negotiator with the 

United Nations team facilitating in Geneva the recent talks 

throughout October 2000 ... 

And so to recount the day’s events—Madeline 

Garlick who met us today, is a negotiator with the 

United Nations team facilitating in Geneva the 

recent talks throughout October 2000 about a 

two-state, one-country plan for the divided island 

of Cyprus. She is the Assistant Director for Civil 

Affairs for both sides. She was also a friend of Alma 

Sahbaz, the woman who had made the film Exile in 

Sarajevo, whom I had encountered in Sarajevo. I 

had befriended Alma when she had separated from 

her partner Tamir Gambis, two years ago. 

Madeline appeared at the foyer of the Excelsior 

looking dapper with inquisitive eyes, long dark 

hair in a bob and an animated expression. She 

continually darted from topic to topic, dressed in an 

aqua blue pant suit—and drove us from the south


and the other one that says 

‘We Have All Suffered 

Enough - War and Violence 

Cannot Solve the Problems of 

Humanity’. 

One says ‘Let 

There be Peace 

on Earth’ 

of the island across to the north. We first travelled 

through the Ledra Palace Checkpoint which separates 

the two sides. The Turkish side in the north and the 

south side which is Greek are divided by what is called 

a Green line. This is a no man’s land/demilitarised 

zone which the UN have created as a buffer between 

the two sides in the case of continued or re-ignited 

conflict. 

The reason for this journey and my diary is that I 

and the Peace Project have created two billboards to 

erect in the no man’s land. One says ‘Let There be 

Peace on Earth’ and the other one that says ‘We 

Have All Suffered Enough - War and Violence 

Cannot Solve the Problems of Humanity’. One 

is an image of optimism, the other an image of the 

darkness and the shadow of war. My mission is to bring 

those two billboards from Australia into the no man’s 

land to exhibit them. My task is to engage the two 

mayors of the divided city to enter the no man’s land 

with the billboards and symbolically tell the world that 

war and violence cannot solve our problems. Lelos 

Dimitriades is the Mayor of the Greek city of Nicosia. 

Mr. Semi Bora is the mayor of the Turkish side to the 

divided city in Turkish Cyprus, the Republic of North 

Cyprus. The idea is to place the two billboards and 

have this message of peace, erected in the dead zone 

and then to ask the two mayors to enter into the no 

man’s land and have a ceremony acknowledging that 

war and violence cannot solve our problems. This 

would be a small fragile step towards reconciliation 

and is the purpose and nature of the trip that I have 

embarked upon. 

As we cross over through the checkpoint, the 

raw energy and frequency of this dividing land, is 

not a heavy frequency of fear. It is not as difficult 

as the Israeli checkpoint of the Erez Crossing. 

Nonetheless, in Nicosia, there is a quotient of 

fear, and as we pass through, the area seemed 

a miniature world that has been trapped in the 

period of the 1970s. Since the Turkish invasion or 

liberation, depending upon the point of view, the 

partition of the island and of Nicosia, nothing has 

been touched in the mile wide no man’s land. All the 

buildings in the dead zone are frozen and untouched 

since the invasion of 1974. We crossed the no man’s 

land through the checkpoint to witness haggard 

and disembowelled buildings a with two fluttering 

flags, Turkish flags and Greek Cypriot flags flying 

either side. As we ambled through, I could see a 

zone where the old wall turns at a ninety degree 

angle adjacent to a small football field. My thoughts 

suggest here could be an appropriate place to hang 

the billboard if the two mayors accept my invitation. 

Rebecca was quiet, even pensive in the crossing, 

absorbing the experience. Travelling through 

the holiday landscape of vulgar cement Greek 

architecture, we crossed over to the Turkish side 

where we were confronted by a poorer, laboured 

and sadder buildings. The Turkish bazaar and 

broken bitumen on the streets seemed to replace 

fast food signs and sprite umbrellas…The people 

here dressed casually in jeans and coloured T-shirts.


During the drive Madeline gave us a of a history lesson, giving us some background to the division of the island in 1974: 

We had coffee in the centre of town, where we were met by Madeline’s husband Miran, a Serb-Croat, 

responsible for civic works on the north side, and Rob who was one of the assistants to De Soto, a negotiator for 

the United Nations. De Soto is Kofi Annan’s diplomatic emissary here on the island. Rob, is due to leave with 

Madeline the following Tuesday for negotiations with the two sides in Geneva. We drove to the three star hotel 

which was called the Saray Hotel. We climbed up to the top a balcony and then from that vantage we could see 

the city from the Turkish side across to the Greek. Since the city, has been divided like Berlin since 1974 over 

the dead zone of the Geeen line I looked across towards the south to see an eruption of new building whilst 

here everything remains in decay. 

From the Saray Hotel we walked through to various regions of the old city and saw a UN sponsored 

renovation—an old kahn, which means stables that the Turkish Cypriots had been restoring. 

The protocol from the south administration for transiting foreigners is that tall foreign nationals must be 

returned by 5 o’clock in the evening to the south Greek side. Since we were with UN, this day we returned at 

11 at night. 

Once across the border without her husband or Rob, Madeline Garlick drove us to the north. We drove 

across the mountains to Kyrenia and then from Kyrenia, we went to an old crusader or Venetian abbey at 

Belapais. During the drive Madeline gave us a of a history lesson, giving us some background to the division of 

the island in 1974: 

Dominic:...It is the back of some spine where the vertebrae meet. 

Madeline: A dinosaur.


The violence, the real problem started in ‘63, three years after the island had independence. 

Madeline:...You probably want to turn the camera off here 

because there’s going to be a military area a further up here. 

Dominic: Checkpoints. 

Madeline: Not checkpoints, but just camps. 

Dominic: I must admit I find the mountain scape absolutely beautiful in the way it is. It is the back of some 

spine where the vertebrae meet. 

Madeline: A dinosaur. 

Dominic: And this building on our left here coming up, these look like? 

Madeline: This is all housing, it’s all quite new. 

Dominic: It’s like little fairy villages for pixies. 

Madeline: It’s all quite newly built over here. I should tell you. The violence, the real problem started in 

‘63, three years after the island had independence. The island existed independently without problems for 

three years. And that began in December ‘63 when some of the Greek nationalist groups, they saw the destiny 

of Cyprus as being union with Greeks and they were forming militias that were attacking and perpetrating 

violence on a number of the Turkish Cypriot villages in both north and south. And that was the first time the 

Security Council authorised a peace keeping force to come in and that’s when the UN first arrived.


Dominic: And that was in ‘65? 

Madeline: That was ‘63. And that was about the time also when it fell apart politically. The constitution 

guaranteed that there was going to be 30% of the civil service appointed as Turkish Cypriots, 30% of police 

were going to be Turkish Cypriots, guaranteed seats in the house and sort of weighted voting rights in the 

parliament just to ensure that their rights were going to be recognised. A lot of the problems began when 

something like three quarters of those Turkish Cypriots received redundancy notices from the civil service. 

Dominic: And that sense of injustice seemed to boil on to the fire. 

Madeline: Absolutely. At one point tax measures were going to be voted which were going to impose heavier 

taxes on to the people and these would be central taxes. The Turkish Cypriots were concerned then because 

they were worried that their municipal administrations, which they were using to fund their mosques and their 

schools etc., would not have the same scope for taxing the people. So they voted against that Bill. And that was 

a veto measure, which in the end caused the government to collapse. So then the place fell apart politically as 

well. You probably want to turn the camera off here because there’s going to be a military area a further up 

here. 

Dominic: Checkpoints. 

Madeline: Not checkpoints, but just camps. In fact as we go over this range it’s best to put the camera back 

in the bag and leave it there. Yeah, but anyway, what I was getting around to, that road there, the UN used to. 

Dominic: Which road here? 

Madeline: Yeah this one we’re on here, just crossing the middle of the plain. The UN ended up having to 

conduct escorts on that road for people to come from Kyrenia down to Nicosia because in the ‘63 to ‘74 period 

both groups of people ended up putting together their- 

Dominic: Little militias. 

Madeline: That’s right. And it was dangerous for everyone in the area that was majority by the other. So for 

Greek Cypriots it was dangerous on the road from here, from Kyrenia where we’re going down to Nicosia, so 

the UN formed escorted convoys. So things were ill at ease for a long time even before the events of 1974, no 

doubt about that. …See it’s a lot more greener here, a lot more moist. 

Dominic: Why is it more greener here then? 

Madeline: This is the wet area, because when the clouds hit the mountains they tend to release the water. 

Dominic: Ok, beautiful. And is this side, although it’s very thin it obviously looks much lusher. 

Madeline: Yes it is definitely. So that sort of area to the south of the plain is pretty dry. 

Dominic: Perhaps the clouds come here and the rain goes on this side rather than on the other. 

Madeline: Exactly. Yeah it’s clouds coming from the north over the mountain. I started telling the history 

lesson, I might as well finish it, up to ‘74. So the violence started in ‘63 and that was when they first also 

divided the city. It wasn’t just actually ‘63, I think it might have been the late 60s. But there was so many 

attacks and small incidents going on. Grenades being thrown through car windows and shootings. Basically 

the UN in the end drew what is called the Green line, which is the line that divided the city and they patrolled 

that. And they enforced a curfew so that people were not allowed to go into the other sector, the other part 

inhabited by the other community after a certain hour at night because that was when the militias used to 

make trouble. Here we go, this is it, great view and there’s the sea. And if you strain your eye 40 miles in that 

direction is Turkey.


...that the Turks couldn’t possibly have amassed a force and the resources to invade at such short notice. 

To this day the argument is put that they attacked or they 

intervened after the coup in order to protect the Turkish 

Cypriot minority because they had reached the not 

unreasonable conclusion that if a military government 

took over in Cyprus that had the support of the 

nationalist movement...they would be exposed to danger 

greater than that with which they lived in for ten years... 

Dominic: Can you see Turkey? Perhaps because 

of the haze we can’t see it now, but on a clear day is 

it possible to see it? 

Madeline: Yes absolutely, you can see a mountain 

range. You can see a mass, but you can’t make it out 

very well. 

Dominic: I can see different shades to…wow. 

Madeline: So that’s Kyrenia. So Nicosia was first 

divided way back then. In the early 70s Greece, the 

government in Greece was taken over by a military 

coup. The colonels moved in and staged effectively a 

coup d’etat. And some of those forces were naturally 

sympathetic to the nationalist movements that had 

been causing trouble in Cyprus. In fact it got to a 

point in 1973 where a group of the nationalists with 

support of the Greek colonels with the Greek military 

government and the mainland sought to stage a 

coup here. That was what happened in July 1974. 

Archbishop Makarios was the president at the time, 

obviously a Greek Orthodox cleric. They arrived at 

his presidential palace, they came to take him and 

murder him basically but he escaped out the back door. 

As soon as the news of the coup reached the outside 

world Turkey almost immediately moved to launch 

an attack. To this day the argument is put that they 

attacked or they intervened after the coup in order 

to protect the Turkish Cypriot minority because they 

had reached the not unreasonable conclusion that if a 

military government took over in Cyprus that had the 

support of the nationalist movement and there would 

be no hope for the Turkish Cypriot population. They 

would be exposed to danger greater than that with 

which they lived in for ten years already and so they 

intervened. And we will go past later the beach where 

the troops first landed on the north of the island here. 

That’s one version of the story. There are others 

that say, and it seems within reason, that the Turks 

couldn’t possibly have amassed a force and the 

resources to invade at such short notice. And the 

argument is that they were just actually waiting for an 

excuse, which they had been planning all along. And 

so there is two versions of history on that one. In either 

case, here we are. The troops attacked at Kyrenia on 

the north and took one part of the island and three 

days later they came around and attacked another 

side out into the west of the island. That was a time 

where there was alleged a large number of atrocities 

committed on that second landing against Turkish 

Cypriots, a reprisal move. In any case the fighting 

lasted 12 days. The Turkish troops moved fast. From 

having nothing on day one, by day 12 they captured 

37% of the island. 

Dominic: By day 12? 

Madeline: Yes. 

Dominic: Was there much resistance? Were the 

Greek Cypriots or the Greek government prepared 

for this or was it completely unexpected?


...by that time the UN was able to broker a ceasefire and that was what led to the definition of the ceasefire 

lines as they are now and the buffer zones and the points between them. 

Madeline: No it wasn’t. Well you see of course 

the Greek government was in disarray since, there 

had been a coup. The president was in hiding. The 

coupists had come there prepared to take over 

the government, they had not come there to fight 

another nation’s invading force. The militias which 

had been operating were not very well organised 

and certainly not as well equipped as a Turkish 

army at its full strength. 

Dominic: It could be argued that they did 

considerably well to retain as much as they did of 

the island under those circumstances. 

The figures from that 

time suggest that we are 

talking about 165,000 

Greek Cypriots that 

moved from the north to 

the south. 45,000 Turkish 

Cypriots were displaced 

the other way, from south 

to north. All of them 

of course leave their 

property, their businesses, 

their connections, their 

livelihoods behind. 

Madeline: Yeah, I don’t know, that’s for the 

military analysts to comment on I guess, probably 

true. Anyway, by that time the UN was able to 

broker a ceasefire and that was what led to the 

definition of the ceasefire lines as they are now 

and the buffer zones and the points between them. 

Over the course of that 12 days and in fact in the 

period leading up to it as well there had been 

huge population movements. Turkish Cypriots had 

started moving from mixed villages in the south to 

Turkish Cypriot villages in the south or to Turkish 

Cypriot areas in the north and they started that way 

back in 63. Naturally when the events of ‘74 took 

place Greek Cypriots were displaced in massive 

numbers. The figures from that time suggest that 

we are talking about 165,000 Greek Cypriots that 

moved from the north to the south. 45,000 Turkish 

Cypriots were displaced the other way, from south 

to north. All of them of course leave their property, 

their businesses, their connections, their livelihoods 

behind. So that is one of the sensitive and difficult 

issues for the settlement now to date. How are 

those losses now going to be either restored or 

compensated for? A very different view is put 

forward by the two parties on that question. 

Dominic: Would that be the most sensitive and 

difficult issue, the repatriation of the Greek and


Turkish Cypriot refugees? 

Madeline: Arguably yes I believe so. 

Dominic: And that’s obviously your speciality as 

well or your area. 

Madeline: And it’s interesting because, if you 

compare it to a situation like in Bosnia, it’s both 

easier and harder to solve than Bosnia. In Bosnia 

you’re talking about a much, much larger number 

of people. There are two million displaced refugees 

from their homes. The conflict then was a massive 

scale by 

comparison, 

with years 

of war and 

unspeakable 

brutality. It 

did not exist 

in the same 

way here. 

All of that 

of course 

has a huge 

impact and 

makes it a more difficult and intricate problem to 

solve. But on the other hand one thing that arguably 

makes Cyprus harder is the passage of time. 

Because here there has been an entire generation 

now that has grown up not knowing what it is like 

going to live with, go to school with, work with 

those people on the other side. At least in Bosnia 

people remembered what things were like in the 

good old deep days five years ago and those who 

have goodwill to live together again can see it as 

a realistic prospect. Here there is a lot of people 

who have either totally forgotten or have never 

known what it is like to co-exist. So the resentment, 

the fear, the mistrust or the idea of going back or 

allowing them freely to circulate amongst us is much 

greater. So that definitely complicates things. On 

the property front of course the other things that 

complicates that is that the passage of time had 

lead to huge development, change in the physical 

nature of the place. There has been a lot of building, 

sometimes on areas and land that was owned by 

the other community. There has also been a lot of 

deterioration, so places that once were very valuable 

and desirable may not be that way. And you have 

also had the normal process occur of urbanisation 

where rural folks have moved to the towns. A lot of 

those people who were the children of olive farmers 

and goat herds on the Greek Cypriot side in the early 

1970s are today university educated stock brokers 

in an urban dwelling. So the idea of whether it’s 

just then to evict a Turkish Cypriot farmer from the 

farmland that belonged to that family in order to 

provide a nice holiday house for the stockbroker to 

go to on weekends is a difficult one. 

Dominic: I notice here that the houses, would 

these mostly be holiday houses for Turkish people or 

are these people who are resident on the island? 

Madeline: No, this is residents on the island. 

There are quite a few expatriates here however. 

There’s quite a lot of British and German people 

who come here to retire. British in particular 

because there are a lot of Brits who worked and 

lived here during the colonial administration time 

and have strong 

So the idea of whether it’s 

just then to evict a Turkish 

Cypriot farmer from the 

farmland that belonged 

to that family in order to 

provide a nice holiday 

house for the stockbroker 

to go to on weekends is a 

difficult one. 

sentimental 

attachments to 

it. The Turkish 

people and the 

settlers, are also 

up here. There 

is a lot of them 

in those quarters 

in the centre 

of Nicosia that 

you saw. There 

is a lot of them 

in the farming areas, the less desirable farmland 

that we drove through before. And also some of 

the more remote areas on the coast. The desirable 

areas like this tend to be for the elite or military up 

here. I would keep the microphone down right now 

because they are watching us. The Turkish Cypriot 

elite would be here inhabiting some of these more 

desirable and beautiful places. 

Dominic: It’s not the French Riviera, but it’s 

certainly not industrial wasteland either. 

Madeline: It’s very picturesque, and peaceful. 

Dominic: The view is stunning It is a very 

beautiful area and it is appropriate that you have 

houses to accommodate. 

Madeline: This is a village where Lawrence 

Durrell lived, who was this British author who wrote 

Bitter Lemons, about Cyprus of course. 

Dominic: My father was a great lover of Lawrence 

Durrrell. He met both him and Robert Graves. 

Madeline: Yes of course. 

Dominic: I’ve actually not read any of his books. 

The Tree of Idleness, we’re here. 

Madeline: Yes that’s the Faniente L.P And this is 

L.P, that’s the monastery that’s portrayed on your


He replied ‘yes!’ And she said ‘Would you like medium, soft or hard?’. He 

said, ‘Well what is a hard one?’ And her reply was, ‘It is terrorist!’. 

hotel host’s wall. 

Dominic:Ah it is sad that we are going there and 

they are not. 

Madeline: And they probably must have lived here 

and they are probably very attached to it. 

Dominic: And there’s nothing worse than rubbing 

salt into someone’s nostalgia—perhaps it was their 

home. 

Madeline: Well it depends, wait till you get to know 

them a bit better. They might love to hear about it. 

They might love to ask what it looks like now and see 

your photos or whatever, but don’t rush into it. They 

might also be angry and bitter and say how dare you go 

up there and eat food that those traitors are selling to 

you. 

At the abbey we lunched under what is referred to 

as The Tree of Idleness in one of the Lawrence Durrell 

novels. Durrell refers to the tree as the place where 

one could linger and never wish to return, a moment of 

distilled tranquillity. It possessed an energy and power, 

that allowed people to focus on the ‘not doing’ of their 

lives. 

We went to the Aqua Hotel from Belapais through 

to Karavas, which lies to the west, on the northern 

coast, with Rob and Miran, who had met up with 

us again. So including Madeline and Rebecca it was 

decided to visit a ‘hamam’. There a Romanian woman 

who was providing the services, asked Rob, whether 

he would like a massage? He replied ‘yes!’ And she said 

‘Would you like medium, soft or hard?’. He said, ‘Well 

what is a hard one?’ And her reply was, ‘It is terrorist!’. 

After the massage and hamman we went to the 

port of Kyrenia which was implacably beautiful, 

picturesque, and formidable in ways that could 

perhaps be explained best by visits to Portofino on 

the Italian Riviera. There is sadness to think that the 

Greek people, who had once lived here and had to 

flee, cannot visit their home—to know that their loved 

homeland 

cannot be 

returned to. 

The port 

was bespeckled 

by 

miniature 

candles 

like fairy 

lights which 

glimmered in 

the night air. 

Wandering 

through the port was impregnated by this magical and 

ethereal aspect. Taken up we felt its presence. But 

simultaneously there was a sense that we experiencing 

something that other people could not 

On our return in the night, we were blinded 

by glazed lights refracting in rear vision mirrors. 

Rebecca lay asleep in the back. But I had this sense 

of relief from the ‘hammam’ and then home to bed. 

Madeline said goodbye, and that she would see us 

on the 13th or 14th when she returns from Geneva. 

I believe it’s a form of synchronicity that I have come 

at this point, during these political talks. Maybe it’s 

only coincidence, but I believe events always seem 

to dovetail in ways that we least expect. Points of 

departure are integrally connected.


And when I say the steadycam is ‘cool’, he says ‘no, it’s not cool, it’s hot.’ And then there is laughter. 

Sunday, 29th October, 2000, Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

This Sunday was a quiet empty day in the downtown when all the shops here in Greek Nicosia are shut. We 

wander through empty streets and filmed with our steadycam in the old part of south Nicosia. We find a cheap 

place to eat right at the wall between the two sides. The security guard says ‘No’ to us filming. 

And when I say the steadycam is ‘cool’, he says ‘no, it’s not cool, it’s hot.’ And then there is laughter. 

We then went looking for an internet bar and find something called the ‘Mad Bar’. Bulgarian and Sri Lankan 

women have been imported for use as cleaners, laundry attendants and labourers. A social gathering of this 

people is occurring outside a church. We are not certain what the purpose of their gathering was, but they were 

all women, who possessed a coyness and sweetness. We returned home realising that there was actually a time 

change in the day, and that it was an hour earlier than what it originally had been. Here there has been a time 

change as a result of day light saving. 

In the evening we bought some Chinese take-away food and returned to the hotel. After eating the Chinese 

food I put it in the refrigerator and the next day I went to open it and there was the most suppurating, 

nauseous smell exuding from the refrigerator. Rather than keeping everything cold the refrigerator had failed 

to operate. When I opened the door of the refrigerator, the whole refrigerator was like a furnace. From these 

styrofoam packets hot steaming rotten Chinese food shed vapours. It was absolutely disgusting. 

When I opened the door of the refrigerator, the whole refrigerator was like a furnace. From these styrofoam 

packets hot steaming rotten Chinese food shed vapours.


But the secretary at the other desk seems totally 

disinterested and with a disconsolate flick of her wrist 

and a weary nod of her head, acknowledges my paltry 

existence and then returns happily to her Xerox copied 

document 36A 

‘Dominic, it’s because you are 

an artist that I embrace your 

work. It is because you are what 

you are that I wish to help you, 

but I cannot help you in the sense 

of referring you to anybody.’ 

Monday, 30th October, 2000, Greek 


We arise early, while Rebecca my loyal faithful 

and beautiful assistant races out the door urgently 

looking for an apartment. We searching different 

options because the Hotel Excelsior is expensive. 

If we remain at the price we will be paying we will 

end up being frugal and uneconomic. Rebecca rings 

numerous real estate agents. But we soon discover 

that by contacting the owner of the hotel we can 

negotiate a price both comfortable for our pockets 

over an extended period we wish to remain. 

Meanwhile I walk to the old city where I 

have pre-ordained, rendezvous with Katia who 

is the Cultural Relations Representative at the 

Municipality of Nicosia, (the southern Nicosia) or 

as it is referred to The Republic of Cyprus. Katia 

opened the door and stared at me. There was a 

brief 20 seconds of mute staring, looking at me as 

if she has seen a ghost. When I introduced myself 

she realises at last that I am the person that she 

has communicated from afar through emails, and 

correspondence these last three months. 

And she indicates, pointing, to her colleagues 

as she walks in with me, ‘this is the Dominic Ryan, 

do you remember him? He is here, in person, after 

all of our correspondence’. But the secretary at the 

other desk seems totally disinterested and with a 

disconsolate flick of her wrist and a weary nod of 

her head, acknowledges my paltry existence and 

then returns happily to her Xerox copied document 

36A, while I return to Katia. Katia explains bluntly, 

without blinking that the exhibition has been 

rejected by the authorities here, the Municipal 

Council. End of story. 

The Peace Project 2000, booklet and submission 

for a joint mayoral meeting which I had sent to her 

four months ago, had been referred to the Cultural 

Committee. 

One of her letters went: 

‘Thank you for your recent letter 

concerning for your proposal for the peace 

project 2000. I would like to inform you 

that the matter has been forwarded to the 

Cultural Committee for discussion and we 

will revert in due course. Yours sincerely, 

Katia, Cultural and Public Relations Officer 

for Town Clerk.’ 

That was on the 1st of March 2000. Well, finally 

the information came through that the Cultural 

Committee had decided that my project was 

financially inoperable, even though we had provided 

them a budget and suggested that money need not 

to be paid by the Nicosia Municipality. Either they 

used that as a pretext by saying that it was too 

expensive, or they misunderstood. 

The only thing I can do is neither take it 

personally, nor presume that the municipality has 

said no, but to find another way of doing this.


I then attempted to telephone Bullant Kanol from one of the telephone booths in the town square. He was 

the Undersecretary to the Deputy Prime Minister of the alleged government of the alleged country, or quasicountry, 

North Cyprus or the Republic of North Cyprus. But the telephone did not work. 

I spoke to Katia: ‘So what do we do?’ 

She replied: ‘Dominic, it’s because you are 

an artist that I embrace your work. It is because 

you are what you are that I wish to help you, but 

I cannot help you in the sense of referring you to 

anybody. Do it yourself and I suggest you speak to 

the mayor himself, Mr. Lelos Dimitriades. You must 

make the submission yourself alone and take it from 

there.’ 

Which is exactly what I did. I crossed the 

hall with firm and even strides down two empty 

parquet corridors and finally encountered one of 

the secretaries responsible for the Mayor Lelos 

Demitriades. Her name was Sophie, and she was 

a diminutive Greek woman who sits like a moving 

statue at a brown formica desk with a bobbed 

haircut and mascared eyes. She does not know 

who I am or what I am. Not that I am important, 

I am literally unimportant. I explain in a few 

short sentences my request. She understands and 

perseveres and we get the fax number to send one 

message. My feeling was, and is, that the only way 

I can do such an event is to put on my blinkers and 

plough through heedless of what others say. 

I then attempted to telephone Bullant Kanol 

from one of the telephone booths in the town 

square. He was the Undersecretary to the Deputy 

Prime Minister of the alleged government of the 

alleged country, or quasi-country, North Cyprus or 

the Republic of North Cyprus. But the telephone 

did not work. All I could hear after dialling the 

international and then city code was a white 

noise of static—then everything went quiet. The 

international dialling did not allow us to telephone 

across 600 metres from Greek Nicosia to Turkish 

Nicosia. The computers were programmed to not 

permit this transfer. Yet again I took out my Nokia 

mobile, the one that they used for the film The 

Matrix, with a flip and click opening a large screen, 

but it remains not working. 

Monday, 30th October, 2000, Greek 


Meanwhile back to Monday the 30th. I am having 

irritating technical problems with the mobile, 

because the pin number does not come through. 

The telephone has seized up. I have to telephone 

Van—the Vietnamese mobile phone dealer from 

Clarendon Street. in South Melbourne—on his 

mobile at three o’clock in the morning to clear this 

up—Australia time. I then telephone Antonios, who 

is Spanish and who works for the Friends of the 

Earth in Larnacca. It is possible that he may be of 

assistance in erecting the billboard. Rebecca was 

probably right, while I was initially dismissive of his 

help. Then I realised that he is just what we need. 

Telephone agenda: I telephone the spokesperson 

for the United Nations UNIFCYP, Sarah Russell, 

who coordinates press and public relations, and 

then Nikos Anastasios. Anastasios is one of the


“The United Nations resolutions which are endorsed by 

the European Union provide for the establishment of a 

bi-zonal, bi-communal federation. That is within one 

single sovereign and independent state where human 

rights will be respected.” 

“...the greatest challenge for Turkey now is to learn to become 

an ally of the west, not only on the military level, but also on 

the level of civil society and democratisation.” 

major coordinators of peace and reconciliation in the Pyle region, a buffer zone and Paphos region. He has done 

a lot to assist and establish many forms of reconciliation in the area. One of the emails that Rebecca sent me 

indicated information about Nikos, including Harris Anastasios, who is Nikos’s brother, a Harvard graduate. 

‘Well’, Harris Anastasios says, ‘well of course this is everybody’s hope that (reconciliation) indeed, this will 

take place. Of course one must remember that this area has a historical background to the Turkish style of 

politics. Of course we know that Turkey for many years, since the cold war has been a strong military ally to 

the west. Of course since the collapse of the Eastern block the rules have now been redefined. I think that the 

greatest challenge for Turkey now is to learn to become an ally of the west, not only on the military level, but 

also on the level of civil society and democratisation.’ 

And then this woman Irene Q responds. ‘Now with regards to Cyprus in particular, the main bone of 

contention is that the United Nations resolutions which are endorsed by the European Union provide for the 

establishment of a bi-zonal, bi-communal federation. That is within one single sovereign and independent


One has to understand that historically these two positions reflect that on the one hand the Greek claim that 

the island is a unitary island and it makes no sense to divide an island so small into two states and on the 

other hand the Turkish position was based on security issues. 

Their position was that the best way to resolve security issues was to actually partition the island. 

state where human rights will be respected. Turkey 

on the other hand is insisting on a confederation 

of two separate states. Now the Cyprus House of 

Representatives have stressed very recently that it 

would reject any proposals and any ideas containing 

the seeds, as to put it, of confederation for the 

establishment of two states.’ 

What’s the rationale behind these two very 

different visions and are they so different? 

Harris Anastasios : ‘It’s really a perennial 

problem of stressing state sovereignty on the one 

hand which aligns more with the Greek Cypriot 

position over against self-determination which aligns 

more with the Turkish Cypriot position. One has 

to understand that historically these two positions 

reflect that on the one hand the Greek claim that 

the island is a unitary island and it makes no sense 

to divide an island so small into two states and on 

the other hand the Turkish position was based 

on security issues. Their position was that the 

best way to resolve security issues was to actually 

partition the island. However one has to molest it 

further and place this dilemma in the European 

context. Because I think by placing this dilemma 

of federation on the one hand and confederation 

on the other in the European context, I think that 

paralysation eases off. It eases off because first of 

all the European position, which is aligned with the 

United States position makes it very clear that they 

will only accept Cyprus as a single state. However 

with that, and again they’re looking at the European 

models, federation with considerable autonomy to 

the respective states which make up federations, 

has been increasing in the European Union. We 

have seen the devolution of state or power. We have 

seen it with Wales and Scotland, we have seen it 

also in Spain. There is also a process whereby in a 

centralised state, state power loosens up, de-evolves. 

And there is also a fair bit of lateralisation in the 

power of central states vis a vis the European Union 

which is essentially a trans-national, trans-state 

system. 

And then it goes on. But there is also another 

dimension that has to do with the changing 

environment of the Cyprus problem, namely that 

Greece, Turkey and Cyprus are now within the 

European orbit. As you very well know Greece is 

now a member of the European Union. Cyprus 

and Turkey are both candidate members. This 

means that they are all travelling on the same road. 

Of course this does not show up directly in the 

negotiations, but it is a background factor.’ Then it 

goes on to Nikos Anastasios. 

‘My first response is that it comes from my 

family. She’s asking where this sort of sense of the 

divided homeland and wanting to bring it together 

came from. We grew up in a family environment 

where reconciliation and a peaceful way of resolving 

conflict was a way of life for us. So as we grew 

up and became members of a society which was 

suffering from so much conflict I suppose it was a 

natural continuation of our way of life. Nikos says 

that he works on a grass roots level trying to bring 

people together on an island that is divided:


“And the only place where we can meet these 

days is the very small village which is in the 

buffer zone called Pyle where it is under UN 

control....There seems to be an increasing 

awareness of this deep need for the people to 

get together and discuss and understand each 

other’s fears and try to work out what on earth 

happened on this island where so many innocent 

people have suffered so unnecessarily.” 

‘I work with the younger people, I work with the older people and I feel that no matter what the politicians 

may decide, no matter how good or bad the solution may look on paper; unless on the grass roots level there 

is trust between the ordinary people, that there’s no possibility for a workable solution for something that 

would last for years to come. I would like to say that it is easier and more difficult at the same time, just given 

with just like the older generation there is a spectrum of people in each community, people who are heavily or 

violently—I might even say (a nationalistic) community. People who are in favour of this re-approchement as we 

save the two communities. So the spectrum can be found amongst the younger people also. What is relatively 

new in the sense of what people have expected in the Cypriot society is that these young people, the ones that 

are interested and come to the meeting and meet the enemy as it were for the first time; these encounters are 

dramatic experiences. They involve a shift and a transformation. And suddenly the enemy has a face. It is not 

just the image of the *, but rather it is a person with whom they have a lot more in common than they would 

have expected. 

‘It’s interesting. Now you are talking about meetings and encounters. How difficult is it to bring this about in 

the present climate? Well as you know the island of Cyprus is geographically divided with the Turkish Cypriots 

living in the north and the Greek Cypriots living in the south. And the only place where we can meet these days 

is the very small village which is in the buffer zone called Pyle where it is under UN control. Now under certain 

conditions people can enter in and out of that area. There seems to be an increasing awareness of this deep 

need for the people to get together and discuss and understand each other’s fears and try to work out what 

on earth happened on this island where so many innocent people have suffered so unnecessarily. It seems the 

meetings which started with a relatively small number of people are gathering momentum. They are becoming 

much larger in number. The media are no longer suspicious as they used to be at the beginning. There is a 

shift from being outright negative to being supportive and promoting the bi-communal effort and this is very 

encouraging for us. And he goes on to talk about his projects. I might continue that later. No it’s not too bad, 

it’s not that long. 

‘As you know the island of Cyprus is divided with the Turkish Cypriots in the north and the Greek Cypriots 

in the south. Well I can mention the immediate next event that we are planning. We are concentrating on 

one district in the south where at the moment mainly Greek Cypriots live, the district of Paphos, which was 

a district before the war in ‘74 and the separation of the population. It was an area where there were many 

mixed villages and the Greek and Turkish Cypriots used to live together. All of these people, the majority of 

which have good relationships with each other were good friends, very good neighbours and have not seen 

each other for 26 years. So we formed a group of teenagers, Greek Cypriots whose parents came from Paphos 

and Turkish Cypriots whose parents originally came from Paphos. And we met for a couple of days at the buffer 

zone in Pyle. And this group decided that it was the most important they could undertake in an effort to bring 

together all these parents of theirs and their friends and all these people from the district. So at the moment we 

are in the middle of a campaign where the young people are spearheading efforts to hold hands together and 

take the older people by the hand and bring them together and meet for the first time after 26 years. We are


“There is an over-emphasis of the violence in the past and there 

is an under-emphasis or even ignorance of the good times that 

the majority of people had together.” 

preparing the ground for these meetings by going to villages and asking people, who are your friends that you 

would like to meet again, give us their names and we’ll send a message and ask them to come along. 

Irene says: ‘That sounds fantastic, but what extent of approval would you say that your project meets with 

in the general population?’ 

‘I would say that in the general Cypriot community the approval rates are going up very, very positively. 

People are realising that the majority of people do not want war. They do not want our island to be partitioned 

in the north. Things are more different because of the official position of the Turkish Cypriot authorities that 

we must be separated, we cannot live together. There is an over-emphasis of the violence in the past and there 

is an under-emphasis or even ignorance of the good times that the majority of people had together. So in that 

sense the Turkish Cypriot peace builder is working in a more difficult environment compared with the Greek 

Cypriot. Having said that we are breaking new ground and more and more Turkish Cypriots are coming to these 

meetings. In fact and it is interesting to note that in most of the big galleries, the majority of the people who 

now come along are the Turkish Cypriots. 

Tuesday 31st October, 2000, Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

I awoke with my eyelids glued shut but managed to wash the debris out at approximately 7.30am. After 

coffee I raced to the bank to change money from travellers cheques. In the capital Nicosia. We arrived by taxi 

at the Ledra Palace Checkpoint by 10.30, crossed it onto the Turkish side of Nicosia, where we encountered a 

barrage of rusted barb wire, twisted metal kind crosses, and the remaining dead zone appeared as if it was a 

village sucked into the past calcified into the 1960s. 

We cross walking without appearing as if we are attempting to photograph the area. Here there are soldiers 

from both sides as well as a UN monitoring crew who monitor the passages through the dead zone—a no man’s 

land between the two sides. 

It is a 500 metre (half a kilometre) gauntlet where the zone froze after the ‘74 invasion/intervention by the 

Turks. Buildings, which are slow crumbling and shelled retain the period style of the1960s and 70s. Everything 

is frozen at that particular moment when the invasion/liberation occurred. The closer I approach the dead zone, 

the more the area decelerates and acclimatises to the 1970s.


Still in Turkish Nicosia, we hail a taxi and travel to see the Undersecretary of the Deputy Prime Minister Bullant 

Kanol of Turkish Cyprus—the republic of North Cyprus, who is not there. 

There is a tenseness at the checkpoint crossings, 

and I anticipate we will encounter ministers and 

mayors who may be frightened of being publicly 

ridiculed for this humanitarian initiative. 

... a cast of odd and snooping 

characters, from fat concierges with 

Cheshire cat grins, to lost itinerant 

journalists, who have never settled down 

to a domestic lifestyle, to refrigerators that 

microwave your food instead of freeze 

it, to massacre sites made to seem like 

tourist attractions, to flatulent tourists from 

Germany and England who have not a 

clue of where they are. 

Those affected as refugees from both sides also 

seem psychically trapped at that moment in time. 

They had abandoned a part of themselves and have 

since been unable to make the transition to crawl 

out of that time. Even if it has not occurred for all 

people, since one third of the Greek Cypriots were 

rendered homeless, it has formed a volatile and 

unhealing scar. 

Now there is no inherent danger for us in this 

region. There is only the psychological torture 

of dealing with both sides and the belief that 

both sides may exploit our project for their own 

purposes. There is a tenseness at the checkpoint 

crossings, and I anticipate we will encounter 

ministers and mayors who may be frightened of 

being publicly ridiculed for this humanitarian 

initiative. Another trap is the unholy regard 

ministers have for their correct titles or references. 

I also must be always prepared for others to misuse 

the project for their own purposes. 

As we journey through this land we are privy 

to a cast of odd and snooping characters, from fat 

concierges with Cheshire cat grins, to lost itinerant 

journalists, who have never settled down to a 

domestic lifestyle, to refrigerators that microwave 

your food instead of freeze it, to massacre sites 

made to seem like tourist attractions, to flatulent 

tourists from Germany and England who have 

not a clue of where they are. It is a homogenised 

international zone of KFC, McDonald’s and Holiday 

Inn, Ombre Solaire and sunscreens. 

So I have to keep my cool over events since 

circumstances evolve or change by the minute. For 

example a government official who says ‘no’ may 

mean ‘no’, but I can always see the next official. 

It is a complex chess game. If I am caught in this 

web of officials I can navigate through them. By 

always trusting the innate goodness of all people 

and giving each the benefit of the doubt, even when 

I am confronted by evil all alone, I remain able to 

operate.


We then met this woman, Reiko, who was 

doing a Lonely Planet guide of the world as she was 

also crossing to North Cyprus. Meeting her at the 

checkpoint, she was a frightened, needing to stick with 

us. We hail her a taxi and escort her half way through 

into the zone of no man’s land, past the billboards 

of horror and suffering, political images of blood and 

damaged 

bones, the 

softness 

of flesh 

rendered 

inviolable. 

Still in 

Turkish 

Nicosia, we 

hail a taxi 

and travel 

to see the 

Undersecretary of the Deputy Prime Minister Bullant 

Kanol of Turkish Cyprus—the republic of North 

Cyprus, who is not there. I scrawl a s message with 

his secretary and then I go to see the mayor, Semi 

Bora. As it so happens we walk straight into his office. 

Mademoiselle Rebecca is filming and all of a sudden 

he appears. We don’t even realise that he is there. His 

secretary briskly goes in and he sticks his head out like 

a jack in the box: 

‘Do you have an appointment with me?’ 

“No, we just appeared’, we say. 

He’s very polite, urbane—a little shy. We make 

a new appointment for the next couple of days and 

before we know it we are out in the street, outside 

the mayory thinking, well yes. A little bit of luck, since 

normally such interviews are strained, postponed 

and juggled. But in this instance it is not the case. We 

then travel directly to the public information office, to 

present our journalistic credential and papers. 

The document from Catholic Telecommunications 

is necessary for the Press Office and says: 

‘To whom it may concern, 26th of October 

2000, Letter of Accreditation. 

This letter is to confirm that Catholic 

Telecommunications is commissioning Dominic 

Ryan and Rebecca Prole, both Australian citizens 

and Amar Sabar, a citizen of Bosnia to report 

for our media organization, both on the cultural 

peace initiatives in Cyprus and Israel and on 

the cultural life of the two countries in general 

for a series of articles with accompanying 

photographs. 

Yours sincerely, Reverend Michael Kelly, SJ, 

Executive Director.’ 

So we are finally introduced to one of the 

gentlemen there. His name is Mustafa Ereulgen, 

(TRNC Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Defence 

Information and Press Officer). I gaze at his benign 

face. He stands 5ft, 9 inches tall, with colloidal 

scarring on his face, dressed in and a sheer 

pinstriped suit, polka-dot red tie. They are very 

small dots because they are pink dotes set against 

a red background. His English is impeccable, and 

he indicates that he will contact us through Sarah 

Russell because it is not possible to actually ring us 

from the other side. He will meet us tomorrow at 

the Turkish side to the Ledra Palace Checkpoint. At 

this point we realise he will become our guide and 

we then have lunch in the centre at a cafe where 

Rebecca films. 

By chance I glance at my watch realising that 

it is already fifteen minutes to five o’clock. The 

Checkpoint closes at 5. If we are late it will take us 

a week to return via Istanbul and then Athens to 

Nicosia. We are racing to get back across the Green 

line to Greek Nicosia by five o’clock—on foot. In 

other words if a tourist fails to cross that border 

after 5 o’clock, even though it is a mere 200 metre 

walk, they must fly to Istanbul, then Athens, then 

Larnacca and then by taxi to Nicosia. Nonetheless 

we seem to make 

the deadline and 

The Checkpoint 

closes at 5. If we 

are late it will 

take us a week to 

return via Istanbul 

and then Athens 

to Nicosia. 

we cross at four 

minutes to five. 

We have a brief 

Turkish…oops 

Greek coffee in 

the Greek sector 

of the city, in one 

of the fashion 

coffee boutiques 

on Macarius street 

and then I leave 

Mademoiselle Rebecca and return home alone. 

She leaves for the internet and I find myself 

wandering disoriented, lost on the way home. As 

a result I stumble on a second floor gallery called 

Arcamidis Stafolini Gallery, and the exhibition ‘Youth 

dreams and fairies’ by the artist Polys Peslikas who 

studied at the EB France. The gallery director 

is called Miss Pavlina and immediately it strikes 

me, the idea that it would be really beautiful to 

film me talking about my exhibition here. The 

paintings remind me of both Gustav Klimt and 

Fernard Khnopff—baubles iconic and florescent. 

Upon returning that evening there is a meeting 

downstairs—in the hotel foyer. 

I pay the majority of the rent for the next 

month. There is a meeting of Kyrenia people who 

were originally residents of Kyrenia which was the


I explained how we wanted it erected in the centre of this No-Man’s-Land. Studying him intently, he appears open 

and refrains from negating the idea. 

The exact title is Mayor, Semi Bora, President 

of the Organisation of Turkish Municipalities of 

Cyprus, Turkish Municipality of Nicosia. 

In this conservative, plastic flowered, 

dead-beat, middle-of-the-road hotel for 

lost journalists the motor cycle clan meets, 

clinks glasses, smoke dark black hand rolled 

tobacco, loud cacophony of Greek voices, 

and a milling mist. 

northern town, which was where we went to the 

port that day we went to Belapais. 

Then a motley motorcycle group appear as if 

out of nowhere at the bar of the Hotel Excelsior. 

Kyros the manager was also a motorcycle aficionado 

which is why he permits them. But why is there 

a connection with these long-haired, pony-tailed, 

not exactly leather-clad hells angels, but softer 

teddy bear versions. In this conservative, plastic 

flowered, dead-beat, middle-of-the-road hotel for 

lost journalists the motor cycle clan meets, clinks 

glasses, smoke dark black hand rolled tobacco, loud 

cacophony of Greek voices, and a milling mist. 

So I am sitting in the middle of a motorcycle 

reunion night, with wafting vapours of hashish 

smoke and stale Heineken beer thinking of the 

curious and odd vignettes that have occurred here 

in the forgotten world of the Excelsior. There is 

the refrigerator that heats up in the hotel which 

is trapped thirty years ago in a time-warp, and the 

Moscovite lady with her elderly husband who is 

always complaining about her child—a hebefrenic 

who suffers from Tourette’s syndrome, and is always 

running around like a child who has eaten too much 

sugar. I speak to the Moscovite lady later and she 

says 

‘Thank God I am going home. This child is doing 

my head in. At least when I return to Russia, my 

Babushka, grandmother can look after her and I will 

have my freedom.’ 

So what else? There are the cleaning lady and 

Marius the concierge, an 18-year-old computer geek 

with moles, like a shotgun pepper spray all over his 

face who is semi-obese. Marius is not overweight, 

but rather portly and actually older than his years. 

He has style, intelligence and is much more mature 

than his real age. 

Wednesday, 5th November, 2000, 

Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

Today we have visited Mr. Semi Bora, the Turkish 

Mayor in Turkish/north Nicosia with Mustafa, our 

erstwhile bodyguard, minder and Public Information 

Officer from the TRNC. We passed the checkpoint 

from the Greek side to the North but we were five 

minutes late. Mustafa was waiting for us and then 

from the checkpoint drove us directly to see Mr. 

Semi Bora. 

The exact title is Mayor, Semi Bora, President of 

the Organisation of Turkish Municipalities of Cyprus, 

Turkish Municipality of Nicosia. The meeting was 

at 11 o’clock on Wednesday the 5th of November. 

Mustafa was there again in his pin striped suit, 

his Brillcream-ed hair, a trace of lemon deodorant, 

or it could be citron after shave, I am not certain. 

Everyone is beatific and friendly on this side and we 

are treated with civil cordiality. 

We are served rich sweet Turkish coffee which 

is thick like mud afterwards in his office. I recount 

the story of God and the devil on the mountain top 

to the Mayor and there is the introduction of the


billboard texts, our intentions and the purpose of the 

meeting betwen the two mayors is fully explained. 

I explained how we wanted it erected in the 

centre of this No-Man’s-Land. Studying him intently, 

he appears open and refrains from negating the 

idea. He simply says that we will need to wait until 

the next meeting. I presume by his position that 

he actually doesn’t want to say no, he likes the 

idea, but he is careful about saying yes. Diplomatic 

speak, for maybe he cannot say yes! As he reclines 

across the vast landscape, indeed sovereignty of his 

desk. I walk over and invade his space, as Rebecca 

says, by stepping over onto the other side of the 

desk. One moment I am crouching down, the next 

one I am standing up, the next one I am crouching 

down, and whether he is interested or not, he seems 

friendly and open 

to these eccentric 

proceedings. 

We have coffee 

and we leave. 

Mustafa takes us to 

Barbarlik Muzest, 

(The Museum of 

Barbarism) No. 2 

*Irfan Bey Sokak, 

Kumsal, which is 

the neighbourhood. 

It is a museum 

which honours, or at least is a memorial to the 

massacre of a Turkish family by Greek Terrorists. 

The documents in the building along with graphic 

photographs illustrate the atrocities which were 

committed there. 

‘On Christmas Eve 24th December, 1963 over 

150 armed Greeks descended on the Turkish 

suburb of Kumsal, north west of the old city 

walls of Nicosia. One of the first doors smashed 

down was the front door of the house belonging 

to Major Dr. Nihat Ilhan, the chief medical officer 

of a contingent of the mainland Turkish army. 

The major was away on duty that night with 

his unit. While he was away, his wife Murlivett 

and his three children were brutally murdered 

in their bathtub by EOK terrorists. Mr. Usif 

Hasan Goodam, the elderly Turkish Cypriot 

landlord was himself wounded in the bathroom. 

In his own words: “on the night of the 24th of 

December 1963 my wife Feride Hasan and I 

were paying a visit to the family of Major Dr. 

Nihat Ilhan. Neighbours Mrs. Ayse of Mora, her 

daughter Isin and Mrs. Ayse’s sister, Novber also 

with us. We were sitting having supper. 

“All of a sudden bullets from the direction 

of the Perieos River started to riddle the house, 

sounding like heavy rain. Thinking the dining 

room where we were sitting was dangerous we 

fled to the bathroom and toilet which we thought 

would be safer. Altogether we were nine persons. 

We all hid in the bathroom except for my wife 

who took refuge in the toilet. We waited in fear. 

Mrs. Ilhan the wife of the major doctor was 

standing in the bath with her three children 

Murat, Kutzi and Hakan in her arms. Suddenly 

with a great noise we heard the front door burst 

open. Greeks had 

come in spraying 

every corner of the 

house with their 

machinegun bullets. 

During these moments 

I heard voices saying 

in Greek, ‘you want 

to take from us 

partition A’ and then 

bullets started flying 

in the bathroom. 

Mrs. Ilhan and her 

three children fell into the bath. They were 

shot. At this moment the Greeks who broke into 

the bathroom emptied their guns on us again. 

I heard one of the major’s children moan and 

then I fainted. When I came to myself, two or 

three hours later, I saw Mrs. Ilhan and her 

three children lying dead in the bath. I and the 

rest of the neighbours in the bathroom were all 

seriously wounded. But what had happened to 

my wife? Then I remembered and immediately 

ran to the toilet where, in the doorway, I saw 

her body. She had been brutally murdered. 

“In the street in the midst sounds of shots I 

heard voices crying ‘help, help, is there no one 

to save us?’ I became terrified. I thought that 

if the Greeks came again and found that I was 

not dead, they would kill me. So I ran to the 

bedroom and hid myself under the double bed. 

And hour passed by. In the distance I could still 

hear shots. My mouth was dry, so I came out 

from under the bed and drank some water and 

I put my sweets in my pocket and went back 

to the bathroom which was exactly as I left it 

an hour before. There I offered sweets to Mrs. 

Ayse, her daughter, and Mrs. Novber who were 

all wounded. We waited in the bathroom until 

five o’clock in the morning. I thought morning 

would never come. We were all wounded and 

needed to be taken to the hospital. Finally, as 

we could walk, Mrs. Novber went out into the 

street hoping to find help and walked as far as 

Cos. There we met some people who took us to 

hospital where we were operated on. When I 

regained consciousness I said that there were 

more wounded in the house and they went and 

brought Mrs. Ayse and her daughter to the 

hospital. After three days in hospital I was 

sent by plane to Ankara for further treatment. 

There I had four months’ treatment but I still 

cannot use my arm. On my return to Cyprus, 

Greeks arrested me at the airport. All that I 

have related above I told the Greeks during my 

detention. They then released me.“


“All of a sudden bullets from the 

direction of the Perieos River started 

to riddle the house, sounding like 

heavy rain. Thinking the dining room 

where we were sitting was dangerous 

we fl ed to the bathroom and toilet 

which we thought would be safer.” 

“I heard voices crying ‘help, help, is there no one to save us?’ 

I became terrified. I thought that if the Greeks came again 

and found that I was not dead, they would kill me.” 

“Mrs. Ilhan and her 

three children fell into 

the bath. They were 

shot. At this moment the 

Greeks who broke into 

the bathroom emptied 

their guns on us again. I 

heard one of the major’s 

children moan and then 

I fainted.” 

“...I saw in a bathroom the bodies of a mother and three children murdered because 

their father was a Turkish officer...”


So I stood still and in the house which had become a shrine to injustice. It was deeply moving, yet a searing 

sadness seemed to swamp me. In spite of my understanding of the illegitimacy of such acts of murder and 

injustice I sensed it was also propaganda and part of their Disneyland fair of massacres. But nonetheless it was 

upsetting and touching. Upon entering the museum, I saw that the building at the point of the murders had 

been retained. I could see that the bathroom is still intact. Everything is a time capsule from that particular 

day. I know that and the events which occurred within the house on that fateful day are used for purposes 

of propaganda. It is also a valid tool to show the brutality of the Greek Cypriots. I am also sure that there 

are equally sad images on the Greek side of Turkish brutality. It is all a form of points gaining. Whatever the 

propaganda, that building was haunted and that bathroom had a deep ingrained unmoveable stain. Such 

sadness is difficult to erase. Perhaps it was erased, but the souls of those people are still lingering when I 

entered the bathroom. I saw under the glass, the matted dried bloodstains and the broken pale cream dirty tiles 

and the lime green walls. I felt the sadness, that I could understand and taste a morsel of what was drunk here. 

And what was drunk was death, what was drunk was sadness. 

From there, the house of the innocents in the Museum of Barbarism we drove to a village up in the 

mountains called Tashkent. Out of a scene from the Win Wender’s movie, Paris, Texas we drove through dry 

willow-parched landscapes in this Diplomatic TRNC Mercedes, four door with the mute driver, with wraparound 

tinted glasses and the PIO (Public Information Officer) aficionado Mustafa holding forth on the nature 

of ‘the Cyprus question’. As the village nestled on a hillside came into view, we realised that this was a village 

which had originally existed in the south where 73 men had been killed so that every wife, bar one, had lost a 

husband. It was called ‘the Village of the Widows’ and after the massacre in 1974, the remaining villagers were 

relocated, and this village had been relocated here. 

The only male who lived in the village to have survived was now the grocery store keeper. As we wove 

through mangy barking dogs and crumbling whitewashed houses with gnarled olive groves, we finally arrived at 

a nondescript, vine covered house like any other, and lazily parked the car under a hot dry sun. 

The driver waited out the front as we went in. We were soon introduced to an old slightly crumpled woman 

in her late 60s. She appeared wizened, and confirmed my thoughts by explaining that she had rheumatoid 

arthritis. Mustafa explained that she was one of the widows. Hung evenly almost symmetrically around the 

walls was a series of twelve sepia and faded colour photographs of her deceased family who had been lost, 

murdered in the massacre. Not only had she lost her husband, but all of her children. Mustafa explained 

proudly, standing a few meters with his legs confidently apart from all of us: 

‘She is a martyr to our country’. 

It could be argued that she was the icon of TRNC propaganda, the trump card that is always pulled out 

for hungry foreign journalists to salivate over or the press to depict the sufferings of a specific human being. 

Nonetheless there was something devastatingly sorrowful about this state of affairs. It was genuine beneath 

the theatre! She was a mother and wife who lived as a victim to the iniquities of the past. But the saddest 

ingredient was that she remained imprisoned by this past. She was a captive of the past, and it was difficult for 

her to step out of it. Nor did she wish to. 

Sometimes when an event has scarred us, we become frozen in the time of its occurrence and are incapable 

of stepping outside its milieu. When a person is so traumatised, a part of their soul is lost. It is a question 

of soul retrieval; that she must return to the south where her village once existed or to her memories and 

disengage. But for one so old such a task is impossible. I believe and these are but my mere opinions that 

she lost so much of her self that she would have to return to retrieve that lost portion in order to be healed. 

She finished our meeting by describing the events which had happened, and the moment that she did she 

immediately stepped back into that time. In doing so the massive hurt of the past was alive and there were 

tears in her eyes. Twenty-six years ago is yesterday. 

Rebecca was crying. Rebecca asked me, and it was something that I was probably about to do, I went over 

and put my arm around her and held her and then I started to philosophise about the nature of suffering, silly 

ridiculous Dom. There is a mystery to suffering and why people suffer. 

At this point while there was cascading tears, genuine compassion, and genuine misunderstanding, the widow’s 

son came in. There was one son who survived it now appeared. I think the only one who had survived. She then gave 

us boiled figs in a pink rose syrup to eat. The figs had nuts in them and we ate each one and sipped politely a glass of 

slightly brackish water. We thanked her and then went our different ways, to drive back silently without discussing 

our recapitulation—past the guards, the surly lights, the barbedwire checkpoint into the brassy wealth of Greek 

Nicosia. We went into the Holiday Inn on the side of the city near Lefcosha Square. I smashed my hand in one of 

the glass doors, but there was little blood, looking for Reiko the Japanese Lonely Planet girl and after not finding her 

with that we forlornly home to our two star Excelsior Apartments Hotel.


Out of a scene from the Win Wender’s movie, Paris, Texas we drove through dry willow-parched landscapes 

in this Diplomatic TRNC Mercedes, four door with the mute driver, with wrap-around tinted glasses and the 

PIO (Public Information Officer) aficionado Mustafa holding forth on the nature of ‘the Cyprus question’. 

Hung evenly almost symmetrically around the 

walls was a series of twelve sepia and faded 

colour photographs of her deceased family who 

had been lost, murdered in the massacre. 

‘She is a martyr to our country’. 

...this was a village which 

had originally existed in the 

south where 73 men had 

been killed so that every 

wife, bar one, had lost a 

husband. It was called ‘the 

Village of the Widows’ and 

after the massacre in 1974, 

the remaining villagers were 

relocated, and this village had 

been relocated here.


Thursday, 2nd November, 2000, 


Today was an anti-climax 

to the climax of the 

spectacular events which 

had accosted us yesterday. 

Natasha Jouravleva, my girlfriend or rather long 

distance girlfriend had always said to me is, ‘if 

you have a good day one day then you will have 

a less good day the next.’ It was her superstition. 

So it was a question of first nirvana, then the 

laundry, but with the heat, the benzine, the wait, 

the grumpiness, nothing really being resolved, but 

carrying plastic bags like reticent clochards and 

by George, it seemed to us that the odyssey was 

no longer becoming idyllic but elongated. 

I was saying to Rebecca the day before, 

something that Natasha Jouravleva, my girlfriend 

or rather long distance girlfriend had always said 

to me is, ‘if you have a good day one day then 

you will have a less good day the next.’ It was her 

superstition. But it occurred this day. Today was an 

anti-climax to the climax of the spectacular events 

which had accosted us yesterday. It was a day of 

ridiculous trivial events. We arrived at the mayory in 

the south of Nicosia and there was no Mayor Lelos 

Dimitriades. The woman said that he was going to 

be leaving in a couple of days and that perhaps we 

should put our submission in writing. 

Then we had coffee with Antoine Salome who is 

a Lebanese journalist for Le Figaro and also writes 

for a couple of Egyptian daily newspapers. Now 

staying also at the Excelsior Apartments he is tall 

but stooping, passive, maybe 5ft, 10 inches, wears 

suits rolled at their cuffs and is very articulate and 

generous. He told us, or rather than telling, such is 

Antoine’s manner, instructed us that we should seek 

out a laundromat. Unfortunately the laundromat is 

no where to be found. We ended up by carrying two 

baskets of laundry all the way from the outskirts of 

the city down to the old city. So it was a question 

of first nirvana, then the laundry, but with the heat, 

the benzine, the wait, the grumpiness, nothing 

really being resolved, but carrying plastic bags like 

reticent clochards and by George, it seemed to us 

that the odyssey was no longer becoming idyllic but 

elongated. 

Finally we found ourselves walking up 

Kennedy Avenue in pursuit of the un-pursuable, I 

surrendered to having dirty laundry for a week. So 

I rather selfishly told Rebecca to go in search out 

a laundry without carrying the clothes any further. 

At 1 o’clock that afternoon I had a meeting with 

Miss Pavlina at the gallery which I had spoken 

about earlier. It was the Arcamidis Staffolini Gallery. 

Basilicus’s first solo exhibition, ‘Youth, Dreams and 

Fairies’. I explained the situation of our mission 

to Cyprus and Miss Pavlina, pert and officious


immediately went into fear mode. I could see that 

she was totally frightened as her pupils enlarged, 

her features seemed to freeze in mid-sentence. I was 

requesting to film in front of her exhibition, with 

Dominic discussing the possibilities of doing the 

Peace Initiative in the Dead Zone. She believed that 

I talking in front of the paintings would compromise 

her exhibition. She felt that the art could be seen 

or misconstrued as being part of a sinister political 

statement. All I could reply was that this was not 

the case, that we were actually attempting to give a 

message of compassion and peace, which is nonpolitical. 

Her position was firm, even implacable, 

She would not respond positively. I walked away 

feeling disappointed. I said to her: ‘Even if you have 

a shadow of a doubt 

that my position 

is political and 

the filming would 

compromise you, I 

will not film. I do not 

a wish to give people 

fear, and I am here 

to create peace, not 

to create distrust. If 

there is one shadow 

of a doubt then I 

walk away. Even if 

...as her pupils 

enlarged, her 

features seemed 

to freeze in midsentence. 

you wish to reconsider, I do not wish to be involved.’ 

So it was not a question of my pain about 

the situation, it was certainly not a question of a 

problem, but it certainly was a question of disdain 

on her behalf—not disdain, let me correct that. It 

was just her fear, and if someone steps into their 

fear, what can I do to convince them otherwise? 

What can I do to respond? Generally nothing. I 

must give them the support, even if that support is 

something which means I walk away. 

Right now I am sitting on this window sill at the 

Excelsior Hotel, looking out at Nicosia and it is a 

rich dark chocolate night. I can see people at their 

small lilliputian windows, figures and silhouettes 

in the ten-story buildings surrounding us. People 

engaging in their own lives. People performing 

domestic rituals. I walked away feeling disappointed. 

It reminded me when I had travelled in 1994 to 

Geneva to approached the UN Palais de Nations 

about the Millenium exhibition which included a 

human rights declaration. The curator had rejected 

the exhibition on the grounds of the Declaration. 

”You have a declaration for Human Rights and it may 

conflict with ours”. It was such a small insignificant 

rejection, but it is sometimes the small things which 

multiply . And when small effects add up, they 

undermine a person’s will like water on a rock. I do 

not despair completely because if I had I would have 

surrendered many centuries ago, many lifetimes ago, 

many universes ago, but nonetheless it makes me 

feel that the way is hard. The greater the challenge, 

the more spectacular and more interesting the 

experience is in surmounting it. 

The final document has been sent to Sarah 

Russell, spokesperson UN, it is dated 31st of 

October 2000. 

‘Dear Ms. Russell, 

enclosed with this note is a letter of 

accreditation from Catholic Telecommunications. 

We will be visiting the North of Cyprus and 

after discussions with your colleague, Madeline 

Garlick, and a telephone call to you, I am 

addressing this in writing to you. We are hoping 

to visit most parts of the north, but my work will 

be concentrated in meetings in the central area 

of the city of Nicosia. Passport numbers, both 

Australian, of the two of us are Dominic Ryan ---- 

. Rebecca Prole ---. I am also requesting a tour of 

the buffer zone for Tuesday, a week’s time. 

Thank you and sincerely Dominic Ryan, 

Excelsior apartments. 

The afternoon was a sultry with a south east mistral 

wind when Antoine, Rebecca and I, at about three 

o’clock, decided to drive off for lunch. We drove up into 

the outskirts of the city, in a taxi Antoine had selected 

into one of the 

suburbs searching for 

Japanese restaurant 

called “Montmatre” 

of all things, which, 

as Antoine effused 

had a spectacular 

view. As we drove up 

some guests were 

leaving who told 

us the restaurant 

was closed at three 

o’clock, so we 

drove back towards the old part of the city. We found 

on a very very small street close to Leforos Square a 

restaurant near the mayory on Aristokyprou where 

Antoine pulled out a bottle of Palomino, a bottle of 

dry white wine. And we engaged in a sort of long and 

extended afternoon where Antoine discussed the 

people that he had met, name dropping as he went. 

Whether it was Alain Delon, or Yasser Arafat, or Barak. 

The thing I liked most about what he said was when I 

asked him what a politician was and he said: 

‘A politician is a man that has many masks. Each 

mask shows a different face. On the one hand there is 

the face which he wears when he visits his family, the 

other hand the face when he visits his constituency, 

then the face he shows when he deals with his peers, 

and beneath all these masks, there is the mask of 

expediency and of predatory ambition.’


Bone dry road, bouncing 

up and down with Mustafa 

in the back pontificating 

about the TRNC (Turkish 

republic of North Cyprus) 

and the political climate 

and the state of the 

country: ‘No, we are 

effectively not recognised 

by the rest of the world, 

but we are here.’ 

Friday, 3rd November, 2000, Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

At 6.30 we awoke. It is early morning, dusk and a few trill birds are babbling at our window. There are 

problems with the batteries with the cameras since they did not seem to be able to be charged. This is for the 

two Sony VX100 cameras. We are suffering technical problems. We departed the hotel and went directly to the 

Sony shop where the technicians were very, very helpful and suggested they would assist in any possible Way. 

Financial remuneration is involved. 

I had also fears and nagging doubts about the Mayor, Mr. Dimitriades, as to whether he will reneg on our 

invitation. We met Mustafa, the TRNC guide, again at the checkpoint at 9.30, 15 minutes late by virtue of the 

batteries. We drove to Muraga which was on the road to Famagusta, and it was here that we wandered about, 

towards the village of ‘Trachoni’ and from there we went straight up to Digeni and then Kyados. 

And then from there we went back down to the town of Agostina and from Agostina to Famagusta. Again 

the road trip was reminiscent of Paris, Texas. Bone dry road, bouncing up and down with Mustafa in the back 

pontificating about the TRNC (Turkish republic of North Cyprus) and the political climate and the state of the 

country: ‘No, we are effectively not recognised by the rest of the world, but we are here.’ Sometimes he would 

turn to the camera and he would say: ‘we are here even though you do not see us.’ I liked his referrals and 

humour.


I bought the book Karanlik, which contained the family photos and the gardener 

showed us one photograph of a tortured rotting body in the book and said almost 

matter of factly in a dead pan voice: ‘that is my wife’. 

“A politician is a man that has many 

masks. Each mask shows a different 

face. On the one hand there is the 

face which he wears when he visits his 

family, the other hand the face when 

he visits his constituency, then the face 

he shows when he deals with his peers, 

and beneath all these masks, there is the 

mask of expediency and of predatory 

ambition.”


As we pass along the Cypriot countryside, 

a gradual transition from one world to another 

occurs, from the spoilt wealth of the South to the 

economically deprived and embargoed North. Here 

is a dust bowl, of denuded trees, where everything 

is sadder or belittled. The car jolts as it passes 

over dry dead animals spread like pizza on the 

bitumen—road kill. A less wealthy Turkish culture 

has been transposed over the Greek. The past has 

been removed, to be replaced by a new present. 

I cannot speculate if it is justified or not. Soon we 

were passing emerald green and then fallow fields. 

After the sunshine and the rain, the grass has begun 

to sprout. 

We came to what looked like a park. There 

was a stone and cement monument with cracked 

plaster casts of people which had a semi-socialistic 

aesthetic. Beside the monument were two halfbuilt 

fountains, a few cypresses and a gardener who 

drove up in an old battered Mercedes from the other 

direction of the road. We parked, and as we got out, 

Mustafa indicated 

to us that this man, 

the gardener who 

was operating the 

sprinklers and 

just quietly being 

by himself, had 

lost his wife and 

all four children 

to the events of 

1974. We sat under 

the awnings to 

interviewed him. He 

I had also fears 

and nagging 

doubts about 

the Mayor, Mr. 

Dimitriades, as 

to whether he 

will reneg on our 

invitation. 

explained that he had now remarried with children 

from the second marriage. But it took him 15 years 

to be able to recover the loss, and the events which 

happened to him. 

From the Muratoga village we interviewed this 

man called Kunvil Meric, who had lost his four 

children and wife in one of the massacres of 1974. 

Mustafa was translating our questions and his 

answers and I was asking what happened. 

’What is his hope for the future?’ 

There were images on the memorial stone and 

inscriptions explaining where 89 people who had 

died here at Muratoga, with their names, their 

ages of the people. It all could be found in the 

book Karanlik. A bee was silently making threedimensional 

flips and figures of eight beside the 

photos. I bought the book Karanlik, which contained 

the family photos and the gardener showed us one 

photograph of a tortured rotting body in the book 

and said almost matter of factly in a dead pan voice: 

‘that is my wife’. 

My god, my god, what can you do? What can you 

say? Nothing really, nothing at all. 

We then went to the site of this mass grave 

which was perhaps one hundred metres from the 

memorial, with a sign which said ‘massacre grave’. 

This is where the Greek Cypriots had buried all the 

people of that village who had been murdered by 

them. Mustafa explained: ‘The Greeks put them in 

this hole to hide them.’ 

There was an eerie sadness to witnesses from 

these events. A stillness where time had stopped, 

where the moment was frozen and that man Kunvil 

Meric, again was frozen in the past. As he explained, 

he tended the garden in an attempt to heal, to 

absolve, to remember all that had been. He did 

not wish to be in this time, but to return to those 

events. When we are happiest and the happiness is 

taken away from us, then we no longer inhabit the 

body that we live in, but we chose instead to live in 

another time that has ceased to exist, except in our 

minds. 

The book was called Karanlik Dunyam. There 

was an eerieness about that afternoon as we drove 

off leaving the gardener and the bees and the 

monument with the dust streaming behind us. 

And again we felt the silence in a reserve of our 

own thoughts, memories, and experiences. But for 

Mustafa, it was a normal and customary procedure 

to show people—almost like a merry go round, 

the journalist, the 

specific places 

which were on the 

massacre merry-goround. 

From there we 

drove to Famagusta, 

the old port, which 

was enclosed by 

a very impressive 

and well preserved 

Venetian wall. We 

could see the victory monument, which is a huge 

black monstrosity depicting soldiers in battle. 

From Famagusta we were able to see St. Nicholas’s 

Cathedral which was now the Mustafa Pasha Mosque 

which really was the finest example to my mind of 

Cypriot gothic architecture. Rather incongruously 

a small minaret was perched on top of one of its 

ruined towers. 

There was also a chateau called Othello’s Castle 

which was part of the city wall embattlements and 

had been built by the Lusignans in the thirteenth 

century. According to the legend it was here that 

Christopher Moro the Venetian governor of Cyprus 

from 1506-1508 killed his wife Desdemona in a fit of 

jealous rage. It is said that Shakespeare confusing 

Moro’s surname with his race (Moor), based his 

Othello tragedy on this tower. There are good views 

from the ramparts and it is open daily. We stopped


Antoine said: ‘Dominic we are two poets, but she is a pragmatist’. 

When we are happiest and the happiness is taken away from us, then we no longer inhabit the body that we 

live in, but we chose instead to live in another time that has ceased to exist, except in our minds. 

There was an eerie sadness to 

witnesses from these events. 

A stillness where time had 

stopped, where the moment 

was frozen and that man 

Kunvil Meric, again was frozen 

in the past. 

There were images on the memorial stone and 

inscriptions explaining where 89 people who had died 

here at Muratoga, with their names, their ages of the 

people. It all could be found in the book Karanlik.


...a vision of Mustafa’s fiancee, 

mother, father and granddaughter, 

who was absolutely beautiful in 

their small but frugal living room. 

The five-year-old granddaughter 

has the second lot of teeth 

coming through. And she would 

absentmindedly put her finger on 

one of the loose milk teeth and 

move it backwards and forwards. 

in Famagusta and were introduced to Mustafa’s fiancee’s family which we taped onto one of the DAT tapes, the 

interviews of what happened and what occurred when they became refugees twice, first in 1963 and then the 

second time in 1974. 

In my minds eye I can see the family as vividly as I saw them then—a vision of Mustafa’s fiancee, mother, 

father and granddaughter, who was absolutely beautiful in their small but frugal living room. The five-year-old 

granddaughter has the second lot of teeth coming through. And she would absentmindedly put her finger on 

one of the loose milk teeth and move it backwards and forwards. Almost hypnotically pressing on the nerves. 

She came into the house with tears in her eyes, maybe she had failed an exam—but there was an irony that 

she had failed an exam while they were talking about years of irresolute pain from homelessness and losing 

everything. 

From there we went to the university to interviews Mustafa’s fiancee’s brother who worked there. There 

was a ‘no comment’ on the Cyprus situation. 

On the way home we stopped in the Turkish side of Nicosia to visit Ivan Levant—the father of my friend 

Alexander Braterski’s wife. 

Sasha Alexander was a graduate of Moscow State University and a close friend, someone I love dearly. His 

wife’s father was the editor of Europa, a socialist newspaper in the TRNC. Apparently it is the second largest 

selling newspaper in Turkish Nicosia. We had sweet black Turkish coffee with him and I spoke in Russian about 

the current issues of Moscow, the Soviet Union, his daughter, of Sasha, the Cyprus question, his philosophies 

and views of what could be. He was embrasive and positive. 

After returning to the Greek side across the Ledra Palace Checkpoint by 5 o’clock that evening we went to 

the bar ‘Romulus’ in the city with Antoine in south Nicosia. There Rebecca and I met the bar lady Tina. Antoine 

said: ‘Dominic we are two poets, but she is a pragmatist’. From there we went to ‘Bar One’ where there were 

dancing women. It appeared to be a bordello, in fact. There was one dancer called Marie who I though was 

either inept, or curiously disembodied, not there; disenfranchised by marijuana, who knows? And the girls 

would stand on stools and people would surreptitiously place money in their vests. It was quite upsetting 

because the bar was congested with old, old men. As Antoine said: ‘I go there because the people are so sad 

and I feel happy because I am better off then them.’ I did not really think that that was the appropriate position 

to be in, but sadness has its place. 

Saturday, 4th November, 2000, Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

So this Saturday morning we promenaded along the Nicosia shops in the south where smooth, smart dudes 

hang out here displaying their cod piece wares and smoked Sobrani cigarettes and played abstractly with their 

gold chains. Here are striking images of Greek café society. We went to the Sony shop and left the batteries 

with the technicians. Antoine came for dinner at our apartment where Rebecca cooked beautiful pasta. In the 

evening we wandered through Maraco Street. There were people in the cafés with Benetton signs.


The aim and purpose of the erection in the DMZ 

would be both a humanitarian gesture by the 

two parties of Nicosia to the world, that war and 

violence cannot solve our problems. The problems 

of humanity, whatever the political situation, can 

or cannot be obtained accordingly. 

Sunday, 5th November, 2000, Greek 


I wrote a quick letter to the mayor of Greek 

Nicosia, Lelos Dimitriades. It is my an assessment 

of all possible options which are available to us. It 

went like this: 

‘Mr. Lelos Dimitriades, the Mayor of Nicosia, 

6th of the 11th, 00, I have enclosed a booklet with 

outlines the history of past projects, a mission 

statement and current projects including Cyprus. 

Number (1) the cost of the project will not be 

carried by either side, two colour billboards and 

air freight from Australia on Emirates $5,200 

already paid for, billboard size 14 feet by 42 feet. 

Other individual costs could be a public address 

system and invitations and could be carried by 

the artist. It is possible the PA system could be 

provided by the United Nations. The site of the 

outdoor ceremony is still being negotiated. Erection 

of the billboard would be for one to two weeks on 

the city walls/moat diagonally opposite the Ledra 

Palace Hotel next to the soccer field. Small cleaning 

of the area could be required. The buffer zone 

Green line is being controlled by the UN United 

Nations military and it would give them something 

to do. The aim and purpose of the erection in the 

DMZ would be both a humanitarian gesture by the 

two parties of Nicosia to the world, that war and 

violence cannot solve our problems. The problems 

of humanity, whatever the political situation, can 

or cannot be obtained accordingly. By bringing 

Mr. Dimitriades and Mr. Semi Bora into the DMZ 

will create a very powerful media event globally 

whose message is clear yet careful. I believe it is 

a symbolic act which can provide a positive step 

to the process of peace. The road to peace is made 

by taking many small steps on many fronts. This 

exhibition will be one of them. All the points must 

be agreed upon and are subject to change and 

discussion. 

‘Parties involved. Mr. Semi Bora from the 

Turkish area of Nicosia has been informed of 

the project and I and my assistant Rebecca have 

visited his office last week. We are due to meet 

tomorrow to inform him of what has occurred. 

Madeline Garlick, Assistant Director Civil Affairs 

of the political area of the UN who is currently in 

Geneva has supported the project and has referred 

me to the senior advisor Vlodak Cibor. The 

position taken by the UN is that if both parties are 

sympathetic to the project, the UN will provide and 

facilitate the event. Both parties interested seem 

cautious but open to proceed at this stage.’ 

So it is 12 am, and I have spent the day dictating 

my journal, dribbling into the tape recorder just 

like I am now. 3 pm Rebecca interviewed one of the 

refugees whose name was Sotris Hadji Kyron who 

owned the ‘Orama Kiosk’, which means vision, on 

Kennedy Avenue in Nicosia. We then interviewed 

Antoine Salome in a beautiful area of garden and 

mosque about his thoughts of the situation in the 

Middle-East, the three faces of politicians again, 

how the middle east can be solved, it’s parallels with 

Cyprus, etc. The name of the hotel is Philoxenia.


It is taxi hell. He insults the driver: ’Quelle horrible, you awful voleur!!’, because he presumes that the driver is 

taking us on the long way 

By bringing Mr. Dimitriades and Mr. 

Semi Bora into the DMZ will create a 

very powerful media event globally 

whose message is clear yet careful. I 

believe it is a symbolic act which can 

provide a positive step to the process 

of peace. 

We are due to meet tomorrow to inform him of 

what has occurred. Madeline Garlick, Assistant 

Director Civil Affairs of the political area of the 

UN who is currently in Geneva has supported the 

project and has referred me to the senior advisor 

Vlodak Cibor. 

On the way home Antoine loses it with the taxi driver. It is taxi hell. He insults the driver: 

’Quelle horrible, you awful voleur!!’, because he presumes that the driver is taking us on the long way 

around the labyrinth of Noicosia’s backstreets. Antoine starts abusing the driver, shouting that there will not 

be any further payment. The poor driver is gentle, timid and passively states, ‘I’ll just take whatever money you 

want to give me’. He was capable of rolling with the situation. 

Monday 6th, November, 2000, Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

The moon is beginning to slip out of its fullness and evolve into a crescent. I can hear the roar of 

accelerating Ducatti motorcycles in the near distance. The night air is cool. It’s cool, and there is a lightness 

about everything. I am thinking about this apartment block and the people who live here and what they do. It is 

a bizarre hotel, like Fawlty Towers because everything breaks down. There is the refrigerator that is disguised 

as a microwave oven when we put in the chop souy or the take-away Chinese; the marble steps that are always 

broken, or the workmen that are always repairing things that never seem to operate, or the lights that don’t 

turn on. There is the toilet bowl that refuses to flush and the lift that freezes half-way. And all the furniture, is 

frozen in the 60s or 70s décor at the point when the Green line was created in 1974. A division just fell on this 

town, like a blanket or shutter. And at a particular points in this city it became one ghosted moment. 

The beginning of the day was begun by visiting Amelia Parfides who is the personal secretary of the Mayor, 

Lelos Dimitriades. Dimitriades is interested in our submission but requires further texts. He wants to know


And all the furniture, is frozen in the 60s or 70s décor at the point when the 

Green line was created in 1974. A division just fell on this town, like a blanket or 

shutter. And at a particular points in this city it became one ghosted moment. 

how much, who is involved in the costings, what 

is involved, who will be sponsoring the project—a 

whole series of questions have been forwarded. This 

is good news. Dimitriades also asked whether Semi 

Bora, the other mayor is interested. Dimitriades 

wants a description of the project, and he wants it 

now, so we race off into the darkened streets on a 

sunny day in search of the unsearchable. 

We need a word processor, and we need a 

printer. We start compiling the letter. We do that in 

a betting shop, but it does not have a printer, so I go 

off in search of a couple of discs. The betting shop 

is run by a couple of peroxided-hair Russian women 

who a very disgruntled and affronted frown, but are 

soft and genial inside. Finally I discovered a small 

newsagent and for two pounds I was able to locate 

the disks. From there we went to the Sony shop 

to see if the batteries had to be bought. I acquired 

a battery charger, which although it was an extra 

$200 basically has saved us any further problems. 

And at 2.30 we luckily delivered the letter. We 

could not print so we gave it to Amelia and she 

has printed it from the disks. We were no longer 

impotent. 

We then went to the ‘Paris Crepery’ to eat where 

there was this huge semi-sculptural image of the 

Eiffel Tower but decided instead to go to dinner 

at this Indian restaurant and then home. It was a 

beautiful night with Mademoiselle Rebecca. She told 

me about her first loves as we witnessed a poor man 

having an altercation at the bar. Costs and mistaken 

judgements about who paid what, where, and how. 

Tuesday, 7th November, 2000, Greek 


Ok, It is Tuesday the 7th of November. Another 

day another list, another ‘to-do’ list unfulfilled. 

The day began by travelling by taxi to the border 

from the Excelsior. Our money is running out, the 

politicians are saying that they do not know, because 

everybody is running scared. 

Today was the day that I suggested to Rebecca 

that she keep the camera on all the time. So right 

at the beginning of the checkpoint into the TRNC 

in the taxi with Mustafa. Mustafa was saying: ‘I 

am here, I exist, but you may not see me’. It was 

because of the fact that TRNC is not recognised as 

a country by any other country except for I think 

Turkey and Bangladesh in the United Nations. 

I meet with Semi Bora the mayor and tell him 

that the other mayor is interested. We say to him 

that positive steps have been initiated. This meeting 

with Semi Bora also appears quite positive. 

We talk with the Mayor Mr Semi Bora, about the 

notion of inschala, and about philosophy. The Mayor 

renders his philosophy as ‘service in relationship to 

his job’ which gives him great satisfaction. We then 

discuss religion, the state and how they should not 

be mixed. Then I discuss the nature of God, religion, 

and tell the story about God and the devil. 

The building he is housed in is nondescript, 

even small, and could be confused for the next 

door neighbour’s outdoor villa, or could be my


Our money is running out, 

the politicians are saying that 

they do not know, because 

everybody is running scared. 

... in the taxi with Mustafa. Mustafa was saying: 

‘I am here, I exist, but you may not see me’. 

It was because of the fact that TRNC is not 

recognised as a country by any other country 

except for I think Turkey and Bagladesh.... 

grandmother’s garden glass house. It could be someone’s holiday house, with its fading stucco. There is strange 

ivy hanging on the exterior wall of the mayory which is painted a salmon yellow. A rather pretty secretary who 

is always smiling beatifically at everybody leads us inside. The Mayor continues to talk about his philosophies— 

providing people with services gives them something. When you give something to them it makes people happy 

and they will appreciate it in time. The meeting seemed to be positive though Rebecca is insistent that I did 

not give the Mayor the option to say anything because I had done all the talking. From my perspective he did 

not seem to want to say anything. He did not want to say that he was not interested in the Initiative. It seems 

that he wants to wait for Mayor Dimitriades. He does not wish to pre-empt the situation. He has not said ‘No’. 

Rebecca had said that if he was not interested he would have said no. 

Then we make our taxi ride through the streets of TRNC. It was stated by our friend Mustafa that the 

mayor was a lecturer in business. We then go to meet the Undersecretary to the Deputy Prime Minister, Bullant 

Kanol, but he was not there. Mustafa talks about the 15th of November celebrations, then gives an explanation 

analysing the meeting with the Mayor, to Rebecca. Just as I explain that ‘no one is going to say no’, then one of 

Mustafa’s entourage quips rather aptly, ‘No one is going to say yes, as well’. 

We take the taxi at great cost through to the hills to see the Castle of St. Helarian which looks on towards 

Mersin. There are shots from up there, and as we’re driving up Mustafa says: ‘Drop the camera.’ And then we 

come through this massive group of paratroopers, and anti-personnel carriers. All the soldiers had blue caps 

and Mustafa very proudly says: ‘These are our commandos.’ But I thought it was very strange that commandos 

should have blue hats similar to the UN opposed to other colours. But anyhow it’s not my business to 

conjecture on such things.


It seems that he wants to wait for Mayor Dimitriades. He does not 

wish to pre-empt the situation. He has not said ‘No’. Rebecca had 

said that if he was not interested he would have said no. 

Just as I explain that ‘no one 

is going to say no’, then one 

of Mustafa’s entourage quips 

rather aptly, ‘No one is going 

to say yes, as well’.


...that the parties share a common desire to bring about, through negotiations in 

which each represents its side and no one else, as the political equal of the other... 

The Secretary General stresses equal status of parties in Cyprus proximity talks. Following is the text of the 

statement of the Secretary General Kofi Annan read today to the participants in the Cyprus proximity talks: 

’The Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot parties have been participating, since December 

1999, in proximity talks to prepare the ground for meaningful negotiations leading to a 

comprehensive settlement. I believe the time has now come to move ahead. In the course 

of these talks I have ascertained that the parties share a common desire to bring about, 

through negotiations in which each represents its side and no one else, as the political equal 

of the other, a comprehensive settlement enshrining a new partnership in which to build a 

better future in peace, security and prosperity on a united island. In this spirit and with the 

purpose of expediting negotiations in good faith and without preconditions on all issues before 

them, I have concluded that the equal status of the parties must and should be recognised 

explicitly in the comprehensive settlement, which will embody the results of the detailed 

negotiations required to translate this concept into clear and practical provisions.’


Two hours later we 

have returned to the 

city to see Bullant 

Kanol. He has a 

faceless office, in 

a faceless building 

but he is actually 

very, very sweet 

and says: ‘You 

Dominic, must be 

a very courageous 

and brave man to 

do what you are 

doing.’ 

Anyhow there it was, the statement, and then we were climbing the hill to look at the most beautiful view 

from this fairy tale embattlements, crumbling masonry, green hills, strange misty scenery It is a beautiful, Castle 

St. Helarian with this view on high. 

We then drive to ‘the tree of idleness’ and I discussed the project in relationship to Catholic 

Telecommunications. Mustafa is defending the TRNC: ‘both of us, Turks and Greeks, have suffered during 

the war’. Then we interview the owner of ‘the tree of idleness’ who is a refugee, and then we interviewed 

another man whose son had died, and he speaks again about the Cyprus question. All the men are sitting down. 

The whole problem of 1974…it seems to go on and on! The Greek treatment. A gentleman talks about what 

happened to him and his treatment by the Greeks as he was in prison. 

In the corner there is this beautiful old London red telephone booth and I kept thinking of Dr. Who and the 

Tardis and wondering if Dr. Who was going to leap out at any moment or if we were going to step back into the 

Tardis and return back to 1974. 

We then go to Girne which is a small fishing village close to Kyrenia and wander through the fishing boats. 

English tourists, old and gentrified are just sitting back oblivious of any political repercussions, mere tourists 

idly frolicking, people kicking their legs, swimming, waiters like sharks patrolling backwards and forwards. 

Scuba diving Cyprus tourists, dogs on the boat, the reflection, the boats in the water. Dominic and Mustafa just 

hanging out, discussing the Berlin Wall, and always discussing the Cyprus question. 

Two hours later we have returned to the city to see Bullant Kanol. He has a faceless office, in a faceless 

building but he is actually very, very sweet and says: ‘You Dominic, must be a very courageous and brave man to 

do what you are doing.’ Rebecca films us shaking hands and we decide to make another meeting for the 17th of 

this month. He gives us presents before we leave, on the way back across the checkpoint.


In the corner there is this beautiful old London 

red telephone booth and I kept thinking of 

Dr. Who and the Tardis and wondering if Dr. 

Who was going to leap out at any moment or 

if we were going to step back into the Tardis 

and return back to 1974. 



Then that afternoon we trooped to an 

amphitheatre in South Nicosia for an interview 

with Dominic. 

There is a business man opposite, who every 

evening works late. Rebecca and I conjecture 

whether he’s Mafia or whether this is the time that 

Americans are working so he is operating the fax 

machine. 

What happens on a Wednesday that does not 

happen on a Monday? Another day. My list says a 

million things—the list is executed, but the deeds 

are never done in the way I aspire to have them 

done. It’s just a list isn’t it?—not to be fulfilled. 

I needed to ring Natasha at seven. I must 

complete the tape journal as well. I need to contact 

the mayor Lelos Dimitriades or Amelia Parfides and 

I have to ring Sarah Russell’s spokesperson for the 

UN, who was in the oldest used airport, as regards 

the discs. So the majority of those deeds were 

fulfilled. And of course I am emailing Natasha and 

Samantha. 

Then that afternoon we trooped to an 

amphitheatre in South Nicosia for an interview 

with Dominic. It was the classic Grecian outdoor 

amphitheatre, which was close to the centre of 

the city of Leoforos Akropoleos. It was called the 

Macario Athletic Centre. I was in a white suit, 

holding forth on the ideas of the current situation 

and the two mayors’ responses while brass bells 

rang. While reciting this into the microphone, the 

moon is orange resembling a semi-sphere, close 

to the horizon, just spindling through. I am gazing 

across at all the houses and flats here. Occasionally 

a light will appear and like a Jacques Tati movie 

figures shuffle across window frames en route to 

fry a chop or make a bed. People, not trapped, 

but exercising the routes of their daily lives. From 

where I am perched on my balcony at the Excelsior 

you can hear a motorcycle in the distance. I can 

see a Chinese woman at the stove bending over a 

wok wearing a white T-shirt and a man strolling, 

whistling. There is a business man opposite, who 

every evening works late. Rebecca and I conjecture


whether he’s Mafia or whether this is the time that 

Americans are working so he is operating the fax 

machine. He gesticulates and is always bent over 

the computer. From where we are maybe it’s not the 

computer, maybe the computer is three feet in front 

of him. It is difficult 

to say because of the 

reduced perspective. 

He is not obese, but 

overweight with a 

blue cotton shirt. His 

apartment or office 

is half a kilometre, 

a quarter of a 

kilometre’s distance 

from our balcony. 

At the same height 

there is a bookshelf. 

He is on the one, two, three, fourth floor apartment. 

It’s an opulent office. Occasionally he’s gone on the 

telephone. Like Rear Window with James Stewart, 

the Alfred Hitchcock film the witness is able to step 

into, but not exactly know what each person’s lives 

is about. 

Thursday, 9th November, 2000, 


I telephone Emirates airfreight with the 

consignment number for the billboard package. I 

also tried to ring Anastasious, the Friends of The 

Earth person and Antonios. Also I must contact 

Paul Holleman in relation to doing the invitations. 

I attempt to locate find Bullant Kanol the Under 

Secretary in TRNC but I cannot, the telephones 

here do not allow me to phone to North Cyprus. 

We begin the day by having a meeting with 

the Secretary General of the Municipality of South 

Nicosia, his name is Andreas Andriades, in an 

attempt to meet the mayor Lelos Dimitriades, but 

he is yet to appear. While waiting outside the office 

suddenly a somewhat stooped, bald headed and 

bespectacled bureaucrat invites us to enter in a 

sing-song voice. It is Andreas. 

Then we catch a taxi to the travel airline 

Emirates where I present I show my passport. The 

customs building is near the Famagusta hotel. The 

building is Heliopolis street, number 17 near left 

area square. There is an Australian couple sitting 

waiting, maybe for tickets. You can hear them by 

their discordant strident accent. One of the parents 

is originally Greek or Greek Cypriot. Tanned and 

comfortable, with little Nike shoes and carry-ons 

with ticks on the backs of them. 

While walking to the perimeter of the old 

city, we seize a taxi. The driver is called Michael 

sporting faded tattoos on his upper arms. With 

Michael we drive to the customs house which is 

near the old disused airport in the buffer zone. As 

he drive he explains his life story: After a tour of 

duty with the French Foreign Legion In 1964, he 

discusses his Cockney wife and the joys of marriage, 

how even though he has grown fat and she has 

become mature he sees her differently. ‘When I 

look at her now I still see an eighteen-year-old year 

old nymphet. And that’s a beautiful thing.’ He is 

wearing a T-shirt which he pulls open to indicate 

a stencilled photograph of himself as a determined 

teenager. It almost appears like a gangster with a 

well quaffed moustache. ‘Deep down that’s what I 

still am.’ 

On our arrival at the Customs house, Mr. Harris, 

the customs admin and logistics officer, who seems 

very un-English, tells us that we have to return 

tomorrow because, even though the documents 

have arrived, the parcel of the two billboards is 

yet to. So it is close, not yet here. It has landed on 

Cypriot soil, but that’s about it. 

We drive back, with Michael who takes us back 

to the city. We have lunch in one of the tourist 

restaurants close to the wall, and then we take a 

long, long, long wander through the dappled streets 

filming close to the Green line. 

We are 

He is wearing a T-shirt 

which he pulls open 

to indicate a stencilled 

photograph of himself as 

a determined teenager. 

It almost appears like 

a gangster with a well 

quaffed moustache. 

introduced to 

an old man in a 

cosmetic shop 

with putrified face 

and grey stubble 

as if he has been 

mummified. In the 

window are rows 

of glass jars of 

revivifying placenta 

cream which are 

supposed to relieve 

customers of wrinkles. Her appears as a flesh-like 

prune in the centre of 1950s apothecary vases. 

As I have repeated before, the closer we 

approach the Green line, the more the people 

become frozen at that particular period, in 1974 

when the island was divided. He is a really beautiful 

man who discusses his friendship with the Turks. 

‘Turks can be like a dog, your best friend.’ I did not 

think that was quite appropriate analogy, but he 

meant it in the nicest of way. 

We wander inside his shop. He likes the English 

and the Italians and afterwards we steer ourselves 

out of the shop to wander deeper towards the 

centre and closer to the Green line. All people 

close to the Green line seem trapped here, while 

nothing has changed. Time has frozen. We walk 

past men playing backgammon, past dilapidated,


As I have repeated before, the closer we approach the 

Green line, the more the people become frozen at that 

particular period, in 1974 when the island was divided. 

After a tour of duty with the French Foreign Legion In 1964, he discusses 

his Cockney wife and the joys of marriage, how even though he has 

grown fat and she has become mature he sees her differently. 

We are introduced to an 

old man in a cosmetic shop 

with putrified face and grey 

stubble as if he has been 

mummified.


The trip begins with Antoine explaining that he does not wish to be with the Sri Lankans in the service taxi. 

carcinogenic, cancerous masonry, barbed wire, and 

soldiers who continuously say: ‘don’t photograph 

here, photograph there’ As we continue we see 

an old man making straw chairs. That night I 

succumbed to the joys of the journal and I then fell 

quietly, genteelly heavily into the…embrace of sleep. 

Friday, 10th November, 2000, Greek 


Joyfully driving out to the customs, we used 

Michael again to pick up the billboards. One man 

there appears paradoxically brutish, but benign and 

benevolent—a gentle giant who has been moving 

boxes all of his life. But there is an acceptance 

and surrender which gives him his kindness and 

helpfulness. Generally customs bureaucrats resent 

the work they have to endure, although some 

minority ones find acceptance and flow with it. He 

was one such person. At the end of our meeting 

when I shook his hand and then he then turned 

happily to Rebecca and tried to shake Rebecca’s but 

she turned and walked away. It was just a sad event 

that happened. 

We had to open the package of the billboards for 

Mr. Harris and to explain with one of the booklets, 

“Peace Project 2000” showing him what it was. 

With the appropriate documents, and a statement I 

explained that it was my personal property. 

After convincing Mr. Harris of its integrity and 

as my personal possession we returned in the hot 

car through the sultry countryside. Afterwards we 

went out for lunch with Antoine who took u to 

a restaurant off Macarius Avenue. And I had sun 

stroke because I had been out that morning to pick 

up one of the telecards/phonecard and walked in the 

sun with insufficient water. 

Saturday, 11 November, 2000, Greek 


At three minutes to 11 as the evening quietens 

two bare bulbs flicker in a room without flowers. 

There are white walls that are scuffed surrounding 

us and a decision has been made to travel with 

Antoine Salamis, the Lebanese journalist to 

Limassol, the resort town on the Cyprus coast for a 

weekend holiday. The next day we depart with bags 

packed. 

Antoine Salamis is his name—journalist, poet, 

satirical correspondent is his occupation. He has 

written in numerous journals for Figaro, Paris 

journals, while he has also been confidante of 

Sophia Loren and Alain Delon. An itinerant traveller 

in his mid 60s, he is gaunt, handsome, stooped, 

with a cataract in one eye. I would describe 

him as debonair and often sports a cravat. He 

is simultaneously a Frenchman displaced in the 

Middle-East and a Middle Easterner displaced in 

France. He seems happier caught between countries


There are no young here. There 

are just middle-aged German 

tourists, who are fat. 

She is a beautiful human being 

despite her deluded belief that 

eating junk food and a triple 

chin makes her ugly. 

in this no man’s land. Someone who has been living in hotels for the last 25 years as a foreign correspondent 

and, like an addict, he cannot escape his errant bachelor life, whose stain of sadness never seems to evaporate. 

The trip begins with Antoine explaining that he does not wish to be with the Sri Lankans in the service taxi. 

Rebecca says to me: ‘Dominic, I really don’t want to sit in the back with this man.’ 

We order another taxi and drive to Limassol, arriving at a derelict hotel called Geo/Tanya—a run down 

English bed and breakfast, circa 60s, on the outskirts of Limassol. Faux leather furnishings, crisp walls in flash


Antoine sat sulking and irritated, tapping his 

little finger wanting to take us to a martini-clad 

lounge-lizard emporium where a balding Elton 

John look-alike on a white ebony piano would be 

languidly playing at two o’clock in the morning. 

They had a strange love-hate relationship which always 

corresponded with physical assaults on each other. 

Something like the ‘Treble Clef’. I kept on feeling 

that Aristotle Onassis or David Niven would be 

exhumed from their graves. 

white stucco, with a cracked kidney shaped pool with twenty-three fat bodies lying in the noon day sun baking 

themselves crisp like someone’s birthday cake where all the candles had fallen over. 

We go upstairs to unpack and decide to wander down from Geo/Tanya to the Appalonia Hotel. On the other 

side of the street it looks like the whole strip is vulgar, criss-crossed by street lights and lamps. Fat German 

tourists are waddling hither and there are people lackadaisically wandering and gawking. I hear the festooning 

of English accents. It does not even seem like it is Cyprus. It could be Costa Brava or it could be Brighton. A 

collision of English signs saying: Chips, Bed and Breakfast, & Cold Beer in Pounds, Shillings and Pence. 

It is sleepy hollow until the evening while I sit with Antoine and Rebecca goes swimming. He is a sweet 

man who is somehow lost in his own world. I do love our friendship which was begun with a melange of Arabic, 

English and smatterings of French. 

The Geo/Tanya hotel used to be called the Flora/Mara Hotel, just after the Taj Mahal restaurant up past 

Palonia. Sitting beside the lapping water of the swimming pool there is apart of me that refuses to relax but 

instead desires to work. To succumb to creative exploration, rather than solar crisping. 

There are no young here. There are just middle-aged German tourists, who are fat. But they are in their 

50s or 60s or even 40s, and even though they may have gone to seed, at least they wear their nakedness with 

candour. While squinting my eyes beside the water, all I can see a dancing grid of scintillating golden light that 

shoots out towards me. It was beautiful. Rebecca is a porpoise the way that she dives, careering into the sea, 

splashing. She is a beautiful human being despite her deluded belief that eating junk food and a triple chin 

makes her ugly. Earlier that evening I had met Davnes who was a beautiful, beautiful old man in his 60s and 

Antonios from the leftist organisation, Friends of The Earth. They gave me the telephone number of Maria 

Hajipavlo. She was Professor of Peace and Reconciliation Studies at Cyprus University. From this trip, from the 

perspective of the project, that piece of information was jettisoned into my lap. 

That evening we jump in a taxi to go off to the Old Harbour Ladas where there is the Ladas Fish Tavern. 

Here I pick up the bill because Antoine has been continually generous towards us, shouting us many a meal. 

This was certainly a meal to be remembered because it ended as $260 Australian for three people. We had


The old guard was returning to sleep, to collect their Swiss visas, as Firouz would say. 

I sat with him. It’s a kind of 

boredom, it’s like he would 

just go from hotel to hotel. I 

call it the Salamis Syndrome. 

It’s just this person who’s 

locked into hotels, and can 

only address people as if they 

are waiters. 

We went to the Four Seasons; we went to 

the Meridian, we went to about 20 places. 

He took me on a kind of a guided tour of the 

hotels of Limassol and was able to explain to 

me which was the very best, which was the 

very worst, which was the cheapest, which 

was the most expensive, which had silver 

service, which had white tablecloths, which 

would be good and which he never stayed in. 

salad, dips, fresh calamari, octopus, prawns and 

red mullet. Plus a bottle of wine, a couple of 

cappuccinos and an espresso and that was it! And a 

groper, and that was not the waiter. So after reeling 

from the shock we veered off into the night like an 

odyssey of misjudged and misguided events through 

club after club. 

By this stage Rebecca and Antoine were locking 

horns. They had a strange love-hate relationship 

which always corresponded with physical assaults 

on each other. Gentle smacks. Whether it was him 

trying to make a pass at her, or her trying to deflect 

his passes, it was a curious combination. And then 

came a blurred tour through clubs, and bars, all of 

which were unsatisfactory. 

We finally found a club, although the music 

was loud, where there were young people. Antoine 

sat sulking and irritated, tapping his little finger 

wanting to take us to a martini-clad lounge-lizard 

emporium where a balding Elton John look-alike 

on a white ebony piano would be languidly playing 

at two o’clock in the morning. Something like the 

‘Treble Clef’. I kept on feeling that Aristotle Onassis 

or David Niven would be exhumed from their 

graves. Sorry, Antoine wrong era…rewind twentyfive 

years…this was not the French Riviera where 

Carey Grant would grace through the Monte Carlo 

Casino in a tuxedo in To Catch a Thief…here was 

overweight euro-trash AWOL from the Betty Ford 

clinic…Binge eating at Maccas! But no one was to 

be laid to rest or exhumed, and we finally walked 

up to the square at the top of Limassol. It was full 

of strip bars which is where he wanted to take us. 

Again we desisted, declined, and Rebecca drove 

home alone, and then I went with his Excellency (as 

we so called him), to what used to be the Churchill 

Hotel.


He showed me where he stayed for three months; he showed 

me where he stayed for six months; he showed me where he 

stayed for two years. 

He had been there five years before. He kept on talking about David Hurst, the journalist. And of course the 

hotel had been renovated. It was now the Holiday Inn, and he enquired after the barman from that period. The 

bar had been cut back, the old barman had died, and the man who ran the cabaret had died. Everyone around 

him was passing away. The old guard was returning to sleep, to collect their Swiss visas, as Firouz would say. 

When we got home there were splashes in the pool that night, and people were diving into the swimming 

pool. I slept through it all. 

Sunday, 12th November, 2000, Greek Nicosia, Cyprus 

A strange day in Limassol again. By that stage, unbeknownst to me, Rebecca was beginning to get her 

period. Over the next three days she stepped into a distant fleshed-out, stressed-out ‘I’ll-kill-you-so-much-asyou-look-at-me’ 

state of mind. But nonetheless Rebecca your beauty shone through, I can assure you. 

So it was a strange day of writing the journal, evading Antoine, engrossing myself in the environment of 

Limassol. I went off to a creperie to write and Antoine sauntered up the street and caught me, 

‘I need you just for one minute’. 

He was so alone and the only way he would connect with people was with his tentacles extended out: 

‘And we’ll just go up to the street here’, and we went to the Lada Hotel, and I sat with him. It’s a kind of 

boredom, it’s like he would just go from hotel to hotel. I call it the Salamis Syndrome. It’s just this person who’s 

locked into hotels, and can only address people as if they are waiters. 

From there we took a taxi up to another one. He wanted to find a friend who was not there. It was closed. 

We went to the Four Seasons; we went to the Meridian, we went to about 20 places. He took me on a kind of 

a guided tour of the hotels of Limassol and was able to explain to me which was the very best, which was the


very worst, which was the cheapest, which was the 

most expensive, which had silver service, which had 

white tablecloths, which would be good and which 

he never stayed in. 

He showed me where he stayed for three 

months; he showed me where he stayed for six 

months; he showed me where he stayed for two 

years. It was a trip down the nostalgia of his past. 

So they are all expatriates here. It is the expatriate 

express here with Burger Kings. Everybody is 

either portly or antiquated. They are either British, 

German or maybe French if you’re lucky. So after 

our tours of hotels in search of the unsearchable, 

we are actually trying to find some kind of money 

exchange for him. He wanted to leave for Amman 

to interview Barach, who is Prime Minister of Israel. 

He had refused to interview Arafat because he said, 

they hated each other so much. 

Outside the Four Seasons this woman in a 

bus smiles, waves at me, beautiful girl in her mid 

20s— It is strange how one look and one smile, 

can lift your heart or lift your day. At last after a 

suitable length of time I managed to make my, how 

do you say, exit and with that I disappear off and go 

to a coffee shop where I sit and have a half-eaten 

crepe. Watch the men on their Harley-Davidsons 

cruise at 97 miles an hour, up and down the street 

like testosteroned 

chickens. 

I do not think 

that much was 

done, it was a 

slightly constipated, 

distracted and 

disrupted day. We 

finally leave at five 

to return to Nicosia 

or so and Antoine 

gives Rebecca a 

white plastic horse 

as a gift. Strange because in that moment, that time 

which we had spent together, I truly believed we 

touched him and he touched us. It was something 

that leapt across cultures, age brackets and just 

seem to impress us. On this trip, rather than 

encountering the young, we have encountered old 

people. Whereas when I was with Firouz it was 

always the young people that I would seek out and 

find. 

So we pay for our accommodation at the hotel 

that night. A shuttle taxi is waiting. I sit beside two 

Filipina women. The night surrounds us as the flash 

and flare of traffic careers past us. Nicosia emerges 

slowly, blearily after 45 minutes. Two English girls 

get in with dreadlock hair complaining about the 

size of their mobile phones. They are talking about 

their boyfriends and staying overnight from college 

at stranger’s houses. They were wearing khakis 

and they had that spoilt bratiness that comes from 

not really understanding the ways of the world, but 

understanding it enough. A chic bravado. 

Monday, 13th, November, 2000, 


Madeline Garlick is supposed to return this 

Monday from Switzerland. We passed a slow 

day where we did filming on the phone. There 

were pickups of recordings on the DAT to the 

Australian embassy. We are just attempting to get 

information. I was also talking to the assistant Mayor 

of Famagusta, leaving a message. We arranged 

some meetings for the UN with Madeleine, while 

waiting their response. I have also been speaking 

to Mr. Marios, and talking about the peace project 

initiative. The funniest part of the day were frappes 

which arrived at the hotel suite. 

Tuesday, 14th November, 2000, 


The list is gargantuan, but scrawled out as usual. 

There is a series of conditions that we have to 

accommodate. But first I ring the Public Information 

officer there. 

Sarah Russell: Hello. 

Dominic:: Hello Sarah Russell it’s Dominic Ryan 

speaking. 

Sarah Russell: Yes, hi. 

Dominic:: I remember you said that you 

had some things on disc on the Green line. I was 

wondering whether we could access that. 

Sarah Russell: What you want some? 

Dominic: Photographs. 

Sarah Russell: Right well the best thing is 

if you come up and talk to my colleague Miriam 

Peryclayos, she’s got everything on CD. 

Dominic: Ok, Miriam Peryclayos. 

Sarah Russell: Yep.


Upon arriving in Larnacca we film a church and a man sitting in chair at car park. A whole retinue of images 

cascade in front of our eyes: decrepit facades, old tired men with dilapidated trolleys pushing them as they 

clack, clack down the street; pimply boys lingering outside old neon signs, while old senile Greek men sit 

clacking beads outside of shop windows. 

Dominic: And you are at the airport? 

Sarah Russell: That’s right yeah. 

Dominic: So what should we do? We’ve got our 

guest passes. 

Sarah Russell: Right. Well if you come up. Have 

you got a hire car? 

Dominic: No we can just come by taxi. 

Sarah Russell: Right, well if you come by taxi. 

If you were able to come. Miriam, oh good, I’ve 

got someone who wants to come and view some of 

Paul’s pictures. What time would suit you? Right if 

you wanted to come today that would be fine. 

Dominic: Today would be better than tomorrow 

correct? 

Sarah Russell: Either is fine. 

Dominic: Let’s just say that we came in the 

afternoon, what time would be appropriate? 

Sarah Russell: If you came at 2. 

Dominic: 2 o’clock. 

Sarah Russell: And then you come through. 

Have you been to the headquarters yet? 

Dominic: No the closest I’ve got is to the 

customs place and I saw the airport on the hill. 

Sarah Russell: Right, OK well tell the taxi that 

you want to come up at the old airport. You come up 

Foxtrot gate where you will have to show your pass, 

but say you’re coming to the public information 

office to see me. And then the taxi follows the sign 

posts to the headquarters. 

Dominic: OK past Foxtrot gate, public 

information office to see Sarah Russell and the taxi 

follows the signs. OK. 

Sarah Russell: And you turn left, there’s a sign 

post that goes left after the military police unit. You 

then have to go straight over a round about and 

then you come up to a T-junction at the top and 

you turn right at the T-junction. Then you’ll see 

some flags on your left and our office is immediately 

opposite the flags. 

Dominic: Is the PI? 

Sarah Russell: It’s signposted, there’s a sign 

outside. 

Dominic: With the PIO. 

We are now scheduled to go to the public 

information office in the old disused airport in 

the Green line which is now used by the United 

Nations. Sarah Russell, who is the spokesperson, 

has very generously allowed us to digitally copy a 

series of photographs, pictures of the Argentinean, 

Australian, Hungarian or British soldiers in the 

Green line. The photos have an ordinary quality to 

them, but by downloading them we may collect up 

information that may be of use to us. Like collecting


colours for a palate or finding torn magazine scraps, 

we can then amalgamate into a large fabricated 

collage. 

At the Public information Office at the UN, 

a stressed female keeps coming in every three 

minutes saying: ‘Have you finished; have you 

finished; are you alright?’ 

I just did not want to be there. From one 

perspective since this is a UN area, there is a 

lightness about the area and it is a higher frequency 

energy than the war area. Nonetheless I felt 

irritated. It was difficult to put my finger on why. 

After downloading all the images we emailed them 

to ourselves at Rebecca’s address. 

Returning to the Excelsior apartments Marius, 

the concierge, 

telephoned for a 

serviced taxi to take 

us to Larnacca. Upon 

arriving in Larnacca 

we film a church and 

a man sitting in chair 

at car park. A whole 

retinue of images 

cascade in front of 

our eyes: decrepit 

facades, old tired 

men with dilapidated 

Why there has 

been so many 

problems is 

because there 

is so much at 

stake. 

trolleys pushing them as they clack, clack down 

the street; pimply boys lingering outside old neon 

signs, while old senile Greek men sit clacking beads 

outside of shop windows. Finally in a restaurant 

on the sea we are introduced to a genteel English 

couple, Jack and Marie. Jack Harding was his name, 

80 years of age who had lived on the island since 

the 1930s. Silver-haired Jack possessed a tranquil 

“I don’t give a fuck” fragility which 80-year-olds 

have. Because his peers had never really listened 

to him there was the desire to tell us his life story. 

In his shy retirement there was a bruised ego. Jack 

and Martie were dating as a couple. Two 80 year 

olds who dated. It was so cool. They met every six 

months. A fairly long-winded courtship but when 

you are eighty years of age…time has a different 

dynamic and who cares really…it seemed a perfect 

relationship… They were from different parts of the 

island and were going to go over to meet each other 

next St. Valentines Day. They had both lost their 

wives and husbands over the last twelve months. 

They discussed the history of their families. Jack 

whose wife had died, had lived with her for 70 

years. Maria discussed travelling to Africa, Turkey, 

Kuwait, and the antiques that she collected. They 

returned to the island to find, after the invasion, all 

the things which they had left were gone. Then Jack 

talked about his memoirs and invited us to Paphos. 

Meanwhile we stared out on to the ocean. 



Today I must travel to see Vlodak Cibor, the 

UN senior advisor of the United Nations FICYP 

for delivery of documents. There is also a festival 

in the north, Sarah was calling Mustafa to tell 

him we could not come, and Mayor Dimitriades is 

supposed to return soon and therefore we must 

schedule a brief meeting with him. I must also ring 

the secretary of Kate Klerrides (she is the Prime 

Minister’s daughter) today. 

Where does it begin? At 9 o’clock we had 

a meeting with Vlodak Cibor from the United 

Nation’s Civil Affairs Bureau. We walk along 

labyrinthine corridors, through wire meshed doors 

painted white in the UN enclave at the disused 

aerodrome. Madeline Garlick was responsible for 

our introduction. 

Finally we have the meeting with this Vlodak 

Cibor and Madeline Garlick who is his assistant 

at Civil Affairs. He seems a very appropriate and 

auspicious person. In his mid 40s Vlodak has a 

smooth, how do you say, American accent, even 

urbane. There were two military commanders who 

sat in on the meeting. One woman, the military 

commander of 

Sector Two, which 

They were very 

supportive, open 

and prepared to 

permit the event to 

occur, providing 

the two sides 

agree. 

was the Ledra 

Palace zone, and 

one other person 

who was the 

commander general 

of that particular 

area, both of whose 

names I did not 

catch. One of them 

spoke about having 

a bi-communal 

soccer match in that area, which I thought was 

pretty crazy and cool at the same time. Maybe that 

is one way of settling their differences. Ironically as 

I read into the Dictaphone I am watching a soccer 

match between I think Liverpool and Cyprus. 

The meeting with Madeleine and Vlodak went 

according to plan. They were very supportive, open 

and prepared to permit the event to occur, providing 

the two sides agree. I presented to them all the 

necessary bound documents. The cost of binding at 

Alpha Graphics is excessive but necessary. They said 

that if the two mayors, or the two representatives 

of the two sides, Mr. Semi Bora and Mr. Lelos 

Demitriades were prepared to follow suit and come 

into the checkpoint for the ceremony then they 

would support the project wholeheartedly. 

My opinion is that if Semi Bora and Lelos 

Demitriades are to come into the no man‘s land,


...we should respect there are both Greek Cypriots and 

Turkish Cypriots on this island and that we are both 

Cypriots. 

That night we had an appointment for Lelos 

Dimitriades, the Mayor of Nicosia at 6.30. 

Someone else with a tattoo of a butterfly is 

dancing in the streets, and then a fight erupts 

with the Che Guevara-type men. I witness the taut 

backs of police. The sound of the whistle... 

and this is something that I was unaware of until 

just recently, that even if those people will say that 

they will come, the ramifications of their entry 

into that zone are immense and far reaching—that 

it is possible that they will be seen as a symbol 

of reconciliation. As a result everybody is going 

to want a piece of the action. Everybody is going 

to want a piece of the pie. Why there has been 

so many problems is because there is so much at 

stake. 

At the PIO I can’t even stand in the building, I 

have to walk out because the neurosis. Miriam is 

there and the women are talking about the most 

ridiculous breakages and pointing blunt fingers in 

bespeckled blame. After having been at the PIO at 

the UN we ring from the Green line Michael, the 

taxi driver. 

Michael, our loyal taxi driver soon pulls up to 

collect us. We then walk to the demonstration that 

is happening at the Ledra Place gates. Because it is 

the 15th of the month this is a ‘celebration’ of the 

founding of the Turkish Republic of North Cyprus. 

There is a concert with loud speakers—a cacophany 

of gutteral voices, chaos of fluttering flags waving 

in the clear cloudless sky. There are singers, while 

the girls stand there, and the men holding are 

holding flags. There is one young 18-year-old man 

with a black mascarad moustache looking like a 

cross between Telly Sevalis, Rod Steiger and Marlon 

Brando. He begins by describing his fading tattoos, 

and then explains how he was in the catering 

industry. 

So after this demonstration at the Ledra 

Gateway, the remembrance of the Turkish invasion/ 

intervention. The concert was held by the Greek 

Cyprus side of course. We interview some of the 

kids. 

One man says ‘we are here because the Turks 

took our houses, we will kill them all, because I am 

a Greek’. 

There’s a woman with a yellow flag, and the 

insignia of Che Guevara, torn but clear, is on the


There’s a woman with a yellow flag, and the insignia 

of Che Guevara, torn but clear, is on the back of 

somebody’s bag. 

People chanting that they want to 

be returned to their homes. Denim 

jackets, women in pink, flashing 

something saying: ‘We shouldn’t say 

we are Turkish or Greeks, we are 

Cypriots’ and sticking a sticker on the 

camera and explaining. 

One man says ‘we are here because the Turks 

took our houses, we will kill them all, because I 

am a Greek’. 

We then walk to the demonstration that is happening 

at the Ledra Place gates. Because it is the 15th of the 

month this is a ‘celebration’ of the founding of the 

Turkish Republic of North Cyprus.


He gives Rebecca some brandy and 

he says: ‘Yes, I will do everything that 

you require.’ He decides that he will 

support the project. We are absolutely 

relieved, beautific and happy. 

Dimitriades Lelos, who is waiting for us, is a man 

in his late 60s, 68 precisely. He says he has been 

the town mayor since he was 40. 2 years longer 

than Rebecca has been on this earth. 

He gives us a little ‘Nicosia 2000’ medallion and says with a wink to 

Rebecca, ‘Of course the women get all the presents, not the men’. 

back of somebody’s bag. People chanting that they want to be returned to their homes. Denim jackets, women 

in pink, flashing something saying: ‘We shouldn’t say we are Turkish or Greeks, we are Cypriots’ and sticking a 

sticker on the camera and explaining. I ask her a few questions and she replies: 

’It’s been 15 years I think when the other side declared a Democratic Republic of Northern Cyprus and we 

just wanted to say that we’re not, we don’t agree with that and we want to fight so that Cyprus can be together 

united and that both Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots can live together. I don’t agree with those bringing 

Greek flags because we’re Cyprus and they don’t see that we’re Cyprus. They think we are Greeks and they are 

taking that into account. They’re taking the flag politically, I disagree with that. I think we should fight for the 

own good of Cyprus not the good of Greeks and we should respect there are both Greek Cypriots and Turkish 

Cypriots on this island and that we are both Cypriots. We shouldn’t say Turkish or Greek Cypriots and we can 

live together; it’s proven we can live together. We should seek a solution for us both.’ 

Someone else with a tattoo of a butterfly is dancing in the streets, and then a fight erupts with the Che 

Guevara-type men. I witness the taut backs of police. The sound of the whistle, which I could hear suspiciously 

felt like a brain scrambler and then the demonstration ends, people disperse and walk away. 

Thursday, 16th November, 2000, Nicosia, Cyprus 

The itinerary for the day: 9.45am we check with Sarah Russell at the Ledra Palace roundabout, into the 

barracks, into the island briefing room. It was to be a two hour walking tour. I took a few notes. That night 

we had an appointment for Lelos Dimitriades, the Mayor of Nicosia at 6.30. We also had an appointment with 

Marios, our Concierge, who was also a refugee, but unfortunately because we had doubled up, I rang Marios 

and he cancelled his appointment. Lelos is not more important but more significant. 

That lazy, sun-filled afternoon we stumbled upon ‘Arte’ which is a privately funded music hall where the 

British Council and Trinity College of Music are giving violin lessons for students. Here we meet a woman called


So far to date Lelos Dimitriades, and the United Nations have accepted the 

project. Semi Bora is the last and most important piece of the puzzle. But 

Semi Bora is the wild card in the pack. 

I remember Michael the taxi driver saying, ‘Ah yes, Lelos, he 

is a franchise’. And we’re very happy that he had accepted. 

Patricia. Her full name is Patricia Davies. So we 

decided to return that night. 

We return home, shower and then reappear 

where Rebecca films. I race to the cyber cafe 

that has become our dilapidated office for grubby 

printouts. I am becoming more adept at using the 

software and Philip who is a South African Cypriot, 

assists in any problems that I have. There’s a boy 

called Georgios who’s playing the viola, was it or 

violin. 

The letter is put together adequately and we 

meet at 6.25pm on the front steps of the Mayory. 

Dimitriades Lelos, who is waiting for us, is a 

man in his late 60s, 68 precisely. He says he has 

been the town mayor since he was 40. 2 years 

longer than Rebecca has been on this earth. He 

appears charming, erudite, ingratiating and slightly 

endearing. He gives us a little ‘Nicosia 2000’ 

medallion and says with a wink to Rebecca, ‘Of 

course the women get all the presents, not the 

men’. And we sit and talk with him. 

He gives Rebecca some brandy and he says: ‘Yes, 

I will do everything that you require.’ He decides 

that he will support the project. We are absolutely 

relieved, beautific and happy. However he says 

there are two conditions. One is that we visit the 

Municipality Museum that he has put together. The 

second thing is that we visit the Famagusta gate and 

the moving pictures and the power house. 

He then talks about his relationship with 

Lyuzhkov, the mayor of Moscow. Nicosia and 

Moscow are sister cities. On the way to see 

Lyuzhkov in Moscow in 1998, he asked the taxi 

driver, why Lyuzhkov is such a good mayor and 

loved by his people. The taxi driver explains: ‘After 

the Mafia gives Lyuzhkov all the money in bribes, he 

gives it to the people.’ 

Demitriades talks about the only time he has 

rest is when he is able to sit with his grandchildren, 

as opposed to his children. The grandchildren are 

the ones he has the most time for. He decides to 

give us a lift home en route to his office, in his black 

chauffeured limousine. We arrive at his second 

office where he works as a lawyer and ascend to 

the top floor in a private soundless lift. We stand on 

the balcony with the mayor and view the sparkling 

lights of the city. He says to us, ‘Do you believe in 

the supernatural? Because really I like you both, I 

don’t know why. There is something about you that


We have met with Mr. Dimitriades on Thursday 

the 16th of November and he has expressed 

both careful interest and the desire to attend the 

ceremony. 

We have met both the military commander 

of sector two which controls the Ledra Palace 

and the area surrounding it and the senior 

advisor of civil affairs Mr. Vlodak Cibor. Both 

have expressed support for the project and 

will proceed with all details addressed below, 

provided the two parties attend. 

induces the sense of joy. Induces a sense that I feel 

that you and Rebecca are good people and I just 

want to be with you’. 

Rebecca, as is her wont, sits near the balcony. 

And both of us, Lelos and I get vertigo. Rebecca 

and Lelos are sharing cigarettes as we descend 

the stairs. I am waiting outside as he hits the lift, 

pressing all these special buttons for the codes to 

lock the lift and his offices. I gaze at the polished 

brass plaques on the doors. All the family are 

lawyers and share the same office block (it is like a 

geological chart), and then there are all the trading 

companies. I remember Michael the taxi driver 

saying, ‘Ah yes, Lelos, he is a franchise’. And we’re 

very happy that he had accepted. 

So far to date Lelos Dimitriades, and the United 

Nations have accepted the project. Semi Bora is the 

last and most important piece of the puzzle. But 

Semi Bora is the wild card in the pack. Part of the 

letter that I sent Mayor Semi Bora, from Turkish 

Nicosia goes like this: 

‘Dear Sir, 

I am writing in regards to the peace project 

2000. You will find that I’ve enclosed the Peace 

Project 2000 booklet, which outlines the history 

of past peace projects achieved, current projects 

and the mission statement, including Cyprus. 

Also included are two colour copies of each 

billboard. 

The purpose of the project is to erect two 

billboards in the DMZ as a humanitarian 

message to the world sent by the two parties 

of Nicosia. Through this symbol the people 

attending the event in Nicosia are expressing 

the understanding that war and violence cannot 

solve the problems of humanity. The idea is that 

Mr. Semi Bora and Mr. Lelos Dimitriades would 

meet in the Green line under the billboards as 

a symbol of the values inherent signified on the 

billboards. 

My assistant Ms. Rebecca Prole and I have 

attended three meetings with Mr. Semi Bora 

who we believe has expressed cautious but 

careful interest in the project. The peace project


has been submitted to Mr. Bullant Kanol, the 

Undersecretary of the Deputy Prime Minister. He 

has been aware of the project for a year and has 

corresponded with me on two occasions. We have 

met and two of our meetings have been recorded 

last week. The minutes were sent to the Deputy 

Prime Minister Mr. Akungi and support of the 

project and wishes for it to continue. 

We have also attended a meeting with Mr. 

Andreatous, 

the Secretary 

General of the 

South Nicosia 

municipality. He 

has spoken for 

Mr. Dimitriades 

who is also 

interested in 

participating in 

the project. We 

have met with 

Mr. Dimitriades 

on Thursday the 16th of November and he 

has expressed both careful interest and the 

desire to attend the ceremony. We have met 

both the military commander of sector two 

which controls the Ledra Palace and the area 

surrounding it and the senior advisor of civil 

affairs Mr. Vlodak Cibor. Both have expressed 

support for the project and will proceed with all 

details addressed below, provided the two parties 

attend. 

‘Following is an outline of the information for the 

peace project ceremony. 

‘A. Funds. 

The cost of the project is privately funded 

and through sponsorship, therefore neither side 

is responsible for any costs. The following has 

been financed in order to create this message of 

peace. Two colour billboards, return flights from 

Australia, accommodation expenses totalling 

$6,200, there may be incidental costs such as 

a public address system, billboards. I am the 

artist of these two billboards and the size of each 

billboard is 14 by 42 feet long. The total length 

of wall space required will be 82 feet. Items to 

be imported into the Green line, two billboard 

prints, one public address system, chairs, one 

podium, one small wooden dias. The suggested 

site of the erection of these two billboards for 

two weeks is on the city wall of the buffer zone, 

Green line in Nicosia diagonally opposite Ledra 

Palace Hotel, next to the old disused soccer field. 

It would be more presentable if some cleaning, 

ie: mowing of the lawns of this area is carried 

out. The wall is sufficient height and would be 

perfect for the display of these billboards.’ 

‘B.Date and time of the event. 

‘Between the days of the 26th of November to 

the 7th of December in the afternoon for a period 

of two hours, at the discretion of the parties 

involved, the number of people who will attend 

shall be confirmed and agreed by both sides. 

Maximum of 100 people would be suitable. The 

billboard would be taken down one or two days 

after the ceremony. 

I would like to invite 

both you and Mr. Semi 

Bora to the small peace 

ceremony which will be 

held towards the end 

of November, early 

December 2000, located 

in the buffer zone Green 

line, adjacent to the Ledra 

Palace Hotel. 

The ceremony will 

be conducted in 

the area specified 

above, provided all 

security measures 

are fulfilled. For 

security purposes 

a small elect group 

of VIPs would 

be invited from 

either side. Press 

and foreign media 

would be allowed. 

I’ve enclosed copies 

of letters proposed to the two parties. I’ve invited 

Mr. Dimitriades and Mr. Semi Bora to attend the 

ceremony, because I believe it will create a very 

powerful and important message to the people in 

Nicosia and the people of the world through the 

media globally. I believe it is a symbolic act and 

a positive steps towards the process of peace. 

The road to peace is made by taking many steps 

in different ways. This ceremony is but one of 

those. I understand that the points within this 

letter must be agreed upon by all parties, three 

parties involved, and are subject to change through 

further discussions, thank you. 

Sincerely, Dominic Ryan, Peace Project 

Director 2000’. 

Then I’m including a letter I wrote to Lelos and 

we are following that up with points of discussion. 

Mr. Lelos Dimitriades, the mayor of Nicosia, 

Cyprus. 14th of November: 

‘Dear Mr. Dimitriades, I felt that it is important 

to provide in writing documents of both our 

meetings, the nature of our project. The previous 

peace project booklet provides further information 

pertaining to the project. As you are aware I would 

like to invite both you and Mr. Semi Bora to the 

small peace ceremony which will be held towards 

the end of November, early December 2000, 

located in the buffer zone Green line, adjacent to 

the Ledra Palace Hotel. I have met with Mr. Semi 

Bora and he has expressed interest in attending. 

I shall look forward to your comments and your 

resolve to be a part of this very important and 

significant event. 

Kind regards, Dominic Ryan, 

Director Peace Project.’


There seem to be odd circumstances afoot. 

‘This event can be a serious affirmation 

that dialogue can only continue with the 

understanding that war and violence will not solve 

the problems inherent within any international, 

national or individual situation.’ 

OK this is a separate page which is points of 

discussions. 

His interest is in the sharing of the message of 

human rights and that there is the respect for 

all forms of life and the care of all peoples, 

regardless of race, nation, creed or sex. 

‘Certain points have been raised in relation 

to gentle criticisms to the peace project. I will 

address them in point form. The points of 

criticism are: the second billboard ‘We Have All 

Suffered Enough’ may be deemed to be offensive 

to Muslim and Islam sensibilities because 

there is some small Christian iconography. 

The billboard was exhibited three times in 

Muslim areas, once to ethnic Albanians, 

second to Bosnians and thirdly to Palestinians 

and the Gaza Strip. The Palestinian people 

are predominantly fundamentalists. This did 

not present as a problem to the Palestinian 

authority. Any reference to newspaper articles 

can be found in my archives in Australia. This 

could take one week.

M I N U T E S T O WA R :The Last Divided City 

First there’s the weather talk, then there’s the 

drought talk, then there’s the water system talk, 

then there’s the update on the meeting. 

We have set the date for 27th of November and if not possible, that can be changed. Semi thinks, holding his 

left hand to his chin and then a shadow of doubt crosses his face: 

‘Yes, your idea is good, but the thing is the outcome. The last round of talks in Geneva, what was seen from 

the outside was not what was happening on the inside. And we have to be very cautious. I do not know. I must 

give it much time to think. I do not think it’s the right time, it’ll only be when positivity on their side exists, but I 

don’t want to be pessimistic and turn it down.’ 

The second billboard ‘Peace On Earth’ will be the focus for attention for the ceremony. Because the 

billboards are written in 30 languages, the message is granted a universal tone, therefore it is not 

only for a French, Tibetan, Christian or a Greek Cypriot audience. The message is for the world. That 

the event could be exploited for purposes of propaganda and national betterment, any event under 

circumstances of this nature can be misused. But when the representatives are asked to refrain from 

political speeches, there will be no issue or problem. The correct terminology and protocol as conducted 

in Geneva at the United Nations will be adhered to in reference to all parties. The speech by the director 

of the peace project is available for inspection. 

‘The artist Dominic Ryan as a director has neither political nor national interest in any country, 

state, province or area or zone. The artist is aware that both sides will reflect their own perspectives 

on the peace ceremony through their respective medias. The international media will present a very 

powerful image of two sides standing under the banners that war and violence cannot solve the 

problems of humanity. This image is what the people of the world will see. There will be the views 

of the smaller media on the island and there will be the international media with the images of 

reaffirmation. 

‘This event can be a serious affirmation that dialogue can only continue with the understanding that 

war and violence will not solve the problems inherent within any international, national or individual 

situation. My experience has shown that ironically it is mostly the military arms of countries which 

appreciate this truth the most. That event is premature because the event has a symbolic nature that 

sharing of a universal message can only act as a positive addition to the process of peace. If dialogue 

between the parties has been misunderstood or slow, in Geneva an affirmation of peaceful dialogue as 

a means of solving disputes will assist in the implementation of all levels of conduct. A reaffirmation 

that war and violence cannot solve the problems of humanity, can only act as a benefit for both parties. 

The audience through the media of the world can only affirm the seriousness of intent of both parties 

to solve a very difficult problem which has remained because of the scar of events and their aftermath. 

That the artist is mpt serving any interest or lobby group. The artist comes from Australia where he 

lives. He carries an Australian passport. His country is far from the turmoil of the rest of the world. 

His country offers residency to both Greek and Turkish Cypriots. As such he’s a neutral facilitator. 

He has no interest in the political agendas of any side. His interest is in the sharing of the message


of human rights and that there is the respect 

for all forms of life and the care of all peoples, 

regardless of race, nation, creed or sex. If 

required the artist will provide the declaration of 

rights, which he read to Mr. Semi Bora.’ 

After the meeting with Lelos we returned home 

to number 11 Nickitis Avenue, from 25 March 

Street, where we decided to celebrate. We walked 

to an Indian restaurant where Rebecca and I had 

beautiful savoury Indian food. It is certainly a rather 

appropriate place to celebrate, but as it turned out, 

that celebration was most premature. There seem to 

be odd circumstances afoot. 

Friday, 17th, November, 2000, 


I’m going to send an email message to Madeline 

Garlick very early in the morning, effectively saying 

the project is on track and everything is going very 

well. Then we travel across the checkpoint at 10am 

and we meet with 

Mustafa Ereulgen, 

our guide from the 

TRNC. Rebecca has 

bought him some 

chocolate biscuits. Of 

course they are from 

the south. And then 

we drive straight to 

our meeting with 

Mr. Semi Bora. And 

it actually turns 

into quite a heavy 

‘But they’re 

tricking us from 

all corners. 

They show us 

up at every 

opportunity.’ 

thing. First there’s the weather talk, then there’s 

the drought talk, then there’s the water system talk, 

then there’s the update on the meeting. We tell him 

that Lelos has said ‘yes’ as of yesterday and that the 

UN military have met and are supportive. 

We have set the date for 27th of November and 

if not possible, that can be changed. Semi thinks, 

holding his left hand to his chin and then a shadow 

of doubt crosses his face: 

‘Yes, your idea is good, but the thing is the 

outcome. The last round of talks in Geneva, what 

was seen from the outside was not what was 

happening on the inside. And we have to be very 

cautious. I do not know. I must give it much time to 

think. I do not think it’s the right time, it’ll only be 

when positivity on their side exists, but I don’t want 

to be pessimistic and turn it down.’ 

And then it’s my turn. I try to convince him that 

it is a public relations exercise. ‘The outside world 

will see two people standing together as equals. 

A step for the peace media. It’s a very climactic 

moment and attention is very important. We feel 

that.’ 

Bora fidgets with a plastic icon on his desk. He 

says: 

‘But they’re tricking us from all corners. They 

show us up at every opportunity.’ 

Dom replies: ‘We and you can use this to 

recognise, utilise the forces of acknowledgement.’ 

Then he looks into his Semi diary, blah, blah, 

blah, maybe, showing us his schedules and says: 

‘Maybe, I’m not going away between the 24th and 

the 28th.’ We talked about the 15th of November 

celebrations. We also arrange a meeting to see 

Bullant Kanol next week, to have lunch on the 23rd 

at 1pm. He wants to take us for lunch and then we 

leave saying: ‘Well maybe that is a possible option.’ 

Then he offers us drinks. 

One day it is positive and then next it is not. It is 

a rollercoaster and I roll with it rather than bail out. 

Understanding the process, this is the way it goes. It 

is something I can adjust to, and not fear when they 

say ‘no’, because it is the process. It is all part of the 

plan. And the plan is to step inside the centre; step 

inside the cyclone 

of fear while having 

I try to convince him 

that it is a public 

relations exercise. 

‘The outside world 

will see two people 

standing together as 

equals. A step for the 

peace media....We 

feel that.’ 

the faith that it will 

happen. We will 

plant the seed of 

peace in the centre 

of a zone of war. 

Then I show 

Semi Bora some of 

the posters. The 

drinks are served. I 

say: ‘Your mind has 

a thousand different 

boxes.’ Semi says: ‘Exactly.’ I talk about my family, 

the governor general and Turkey. 

After having been to see Mayor Semi Bora we 

stop en route for a meeting with the journalist, 

Miss Asic, who is an editor from the North Kypros 

newspaper. I explain the project. She enquires why 

is it that it is mayors and not two presidents? ‘What 

are the billboards like?’ She writes down the names 

of the billboards. She is officious and interested. 

We view flag on the hillside, the one with ghosts, 

through the barb wire. We then drive to Tashkent, 

to see the old lady at Tashkent, Falim Sultan, who 

we had interviewed before. On the way we can see 

the flags on the hill near Tashkent village, and then 

we have the meeting with the old lady. We stop and 

talk and she gives us a pomegranate to eat while 

asking us questions whether she would be on TV in 

Australia. We say goodbye to her and the mountain 

with flags, as the car hurtles past. There is the 

Tashkent sign and that’s it. 

During our farcical trip to Limassol in search of 

a mummified Aristotle Onassis I had been given the


“How can I feel that I belong to only one side of this 

Cyprus? How can I identify with one half of what is 

actually a whole?” 

Andreos Pouyourous has been the mayor of Famagusta or the ‘shadow mayor’ since it has been occupied by 

TRNC or Turkish troops since 1974. 

contact number of Maria Hajipavlo who is a poet, 

and Professor of Peace and Reconciliation Studies at 

Cyprus University. I left a message on her cell phone. 

“Good morning, kalimera, Professor 

Hajipavlo, my name is Dominic Ryan. Mr. Davne 

Spanigides suggested that I telephone you. Now 

I’m at the Excelsior apartments at 317400 is the 

telephone number, room 601. I am interested in 

doing a peace project here and I have contacted 

both the mayors Mr. Dimitriades and Mr. 

Semi Bora who are very keen to participate in 

something inside the Green line opposite Ledra 

Palace. We’re looking at some time towards the 

end of this month. And Davne said that you had 

much experience in this area of bi-communal 

activities and would be an interesting person to 

speak to and it would be a pleasure to meet you. 

So I look forward to speaking to you and I may 

try and ring you later on this afternoon. Take 

care, bye.” 

She returned the call and that evening I meet 

with Maria Hajipavlo, the academic. Maria and I just 

go up into the mountains to a place called Skala, on 

a rocky enclave on the perimeter of Nicosia. It is a 

beautiful evening as she drives in her car to pick up 

a woman called Tashe, also involved in bi-communal 

peace issues. We sit at the restaurant while Maria 

and Tashe discuss the art on the walls. 

The restaurant named Scala is perched on 

a craggy sandstone cliff where caves with glass 

window bays have been dug out to accommodate 

the restaurant. Here is also an amphitheatre that 

overlooks the city and the Karpasian Mountains. 

Each of us spent the evening discussing our aims are 

in life. Maria tells me about her life as a PIO person. 

The dilemmas she experienced of both crossing 

over to the other side, and being a party to both. 

Tashe reminisces about her child in Ankara; how the 

secret service expelled her from Northern Cyprus; 

how she was arrested for 19 hours for harbouring a 

conscientious objector in the north. She came to the 

south and wrote a very famous pop song which asks 

the question:


“My name is Andreos Pouyouros. I am the mayor of the town of Famagusta. I was first elected as the mayor 

in 1953 and I was continually re-elected and was mayor of this town until 1974, even after the Turkish 

invasion. And then in 1978 I was appointed by the Ministerial Council as Ambassador of Cyprus to the United 

Nations.” 

‘How can I feel that I belong to only one side of 

this Cyprus? How can I identify with one half of 

what is actually a whole?’ 

She said that at the time when she was 18 it 

was a very famous song. She had strange eyes which 

seemed to pop out. Here in this world everybody 

seems to have a malignant cast in their eyes. 

Perhaps it has to do with an absence of thiamin 

in the water, or whether it is because of people’s 

inability to focus in their lives. Tashe talked about 

her poetry. She is a poet and now her poetry has 

become semi-erotic, semi-political. She has just 

recently had her dark hair cut, and is although a frail 

woman, is only in her mid 30s, maybe even as much 

as 40. Beautiful in a fragile manner. 

Saturday, 18th November, 2000, 

Kyrenia- Famagusta and Nicosia 

Cyprus 

I’m sitting in an Egyptian cafe in the Lamos 

square. I can hear the music, while people 

are walking around me sucking on cigarettes, 

gesticulating. The merchant with the fruit barrow 

is sitting waiting for someone to buy and orange 

while the UN personnel at the checkpoint are 

kicking stones. Today we had a meeting with the 

mayor of Famagusta at 1 o’clock near the border 

at the cultural centre in Derenyi which is on the 

buffer zone which overlooks Famagusta. It has been 

occupied or liberated by the Turks in 1974. 

He is the ‘ghost mayor’ or the ‘shadow mayor’ 

of the city which from the South’s perspective has 

been occupied. So we took a service taxi to the old 

city of Larnacca and from Larnacca we caught a bus 

through the sovereign bases areas, occupied by the 

British military (the last enclave of land ceded to the 

British in the 70s in the south up to a small village, 

Derenyi with one traffic light). Andreos Pouyourous 

has been the mayor of Famagusta or the ‘shadow 

mayor’ since it has been occupied by TRNC or 

Turkish troops since 1974. 

Upon our arrival there we wander down to a 

very large strip of green pasture, denuded by sods 

of earth. We can see across to the Turkish TRNC 

outpost. Here between us from this observation 

deck in Derenyi which is the Cultural Centre and 

the outpost is the no man’s land. The Centre has 

a lift, beautiful binoculars while the children were 

running around with as if they are ochre eagles with 

deep encrusted plastic wings. We interviewed the 

mayor from the outlook observstion post of Cultural 

Centre and we could look out onto the areas which 

the Turkish has either intervened or occupied; from 

whatever perspective or side you were on. 

We interview Mayor Pouyourous at his desk. Half 

way through the first three minutes of the interview, 

his butler comes in and he gets disconsolate, even 

surprised and agitated and sends his butler out and 

says, ‘No I didn’t ask you to do that then, I said before’.


“Unfortunately 26 years has passed and we have not been allowed by the Turkish army to go back to our 

town, although we come here and see our town...” 

“We left with only our shirt and trousers, no 

belongings at all. We left with a hope that within 

two days or when the bombing had stopped, we 

would return to our homes and properties.” 

Rather than as a mayor, but 

as a human being. If you 

feel strong enough can you 

recount the tale of this drama. 

So he discussed the history of Famagusta, 

the 1974 intervention. The mayor is a man in his 

80s I think. He lives in Limassol and he has come 

especially for this interview. I think some Israeli 

journalists had just previously been interviewing 

him. He has been the Mayor uncontested for the 

last 26 years. It is something so surreal and strange 

about a mayor without a city, who has been the 

mayor for that time. Realistically I don’t think he 

will ever return to that city. 

There were flecks of dandruff on his suit which 

was shabby, and composed of a pale blue. He had 

been the UN representative for Cyprus for the 

municipalities here and he spoke with great passion 

and movement. His face was potato shaped, in a 

handsome manner—such a contradiction could 

actually occur. 

The interview with Andreos 

Pouyouros, Mayor in Absentia of 

Famagusta. 

Andreos: My name is Andreos Pouyouros. I am 

the mayor of the town of Famagusta. I was first 

elected as the mayor in 1953 and I was continually 

re-elected and was mayor of this town until 1974, 

even after the Turkish invasion. And then in 1978 

I was appointed by the Ministerial Council as 

Ambassador of Cyprus to the United Nations in 

Geneva and the United Nations in Vienna. And then 

I was Ambassador in Strasburg for another four 

years. 

And then I came back to Cyprus and when 

the first elections were held regarding the towns 

of Cyprus I was a candidate and I was re-elected 

by my core citizens. I was supported by all the 

parliamentary parties and I got 85% of the vote. And 

ever since then I have continued to be the mayor of 

this town. 

Before the Turkish invasion Famagusta was one 

of the most progressive towns of Cyprus. In 1974 

it was at it’s peak of development. We had the


orange plantations and we were exporting citrus 

fruit to all countries in the world. We were even 

exporting citrus fruit to New Zealand because at 

the time we had oranges, no other part of the world 

were there oranges, on the account of our climate 

and the sandy soil we have here in Famagusta. So 

a lot of wealth was being brought into Famagusta 

and Famagusta had the biggest port in Cyprus. 

85% of the import/export trade of Cyprus was 

done through the port of Famagusta. And then we 

started just after the second world war the touristic 

development which began after I was elected the 

mayor of Famagusta. 

Our core citizens started building those beautiful 

and luxurious hotels that you can see along our 

sandy beach, which 

is one of the nicest 

sandy beaches in 

the world. And we 

had the 75% of the 

tourist dynamic of 

Cyprus was here in 

Famagusta because 

of the climate, 

because of the very 

clean seas that we 

have, because of the 

fine, very fine sand 

that we have here and because of the Venetian walls 

and churches that we have; the Othello Tower and 

the ancient * which is the route of our civilisation 

and as you know during the time Famagusta was 

one of the most important Hellenistic kingdoms 

in the world. Well we were very happy until 1974 

when unfortunately Turkey invaded Cyprus. 

It first invaded Kyrenia. That was the first phase 

of invasion, but even during the first phase of 

invasion we received intensive bombing of the town 

of Famagusta—a defenceless town. We had neither 

soldiers nor arms to defend it. And the aeroplanes 

were throwing their bombs indiscriminately and 

machine gunning the town. So the townsmen had 

to leave our town to return to neighbouring villages 

to save themselves. When the bombing stopped 

and there was a truce, we returned to our town. 

As you know that was the second artillery invasion. 

And then again the same thing happened. Again 

there was very indiscriminate bombing of our town, 

machine gunning of our people and when there 

was a stop then we tried to leave so we can save 

ourselves from the bombing. We left with only our 

shirt and trousers, no belongings at all. We left with 

a hope that within two days or when the bombing 

had stopped, we would return to our homes and 

properties. 

Unfortunately 26 years has passed and we have 

not been allowed by the Turkish army to go back to 

our town, although we come here and see our town. 

If we stretch our hand we can touch our homes, 

yet we are unable to go back. We are not allowed 

to even go and kindle a candle on the graves of our 

fathers and forefathers in Famagusta. 

Dominic: Can you actually tell me, Andreos, 

about the personal events which happened to you at 

the time of the invasion over the period of that ten 

days. Rather than as a mayor, but as a human being. 

If you feel strong enough can you recount the tale of 

this drama? 

Andreos: It’s one of the tragic moments of our 

lives, not only for myself and my families, but for the 

whole town and the whole people who have suffered 

as we suffered. You can imagine a good housekeeper 

with his wife and children staying in his house 

and working normally and doing what he can for 

himself and his family and his town. And then all of 

a sudden to have these aeroplanes flying even above 

our houses. They were flying so low and throwing 

their bombs while machine gunning our town. 

I was in my kitchen and I saw a big bullet that 

came on top of our heads and went through the 

wall of our kitchen. We were very happy not to have 

been killed, any 

one of us. And in 

this pandemonium 

you can understand 

how difficult it was 

that we cannot 

even find words 

to describe such 

barbarian acts 

against peaceful 

people, against 

peaceful men like 

ourselves. We got 

our car with no belongings and began taking the 

road outside our town and leaving our town and 

coming to a nearby village to save ourselves. 

We never thought that we would not return the 

next two or three days. But when we realised it was 

impossible for us to return, you can imagine this was 

the worst moments in our lives. 

Dominic: Yes, absolutely. 

Andreos: And I can say, many correspondents 

ask me how worse it is. I can only say that the worst 

thing in life is to die, so the one step before death is 

to become a refugee like we have become ourselves. 

That is the unfortunate situation which happened 

to us. 

Dominic: What are your feelings now after all 

these years? Do you still hold hope that you can 

return?


“I was in my kitchen and I saw a big 

bullet that came on top of our heads 

and went through the wall of our 

kitchen.” 

“I can only say that the worst thing in 

life is to die, so the one step before 

death is to become a refugee like we 

have become ourselves.” 

“...then we ask ourselves, where is 

justice, where is truth, where are the 

human rights...” 

“We never thought that we would not return the next two or three days. But when we realised it was impossible 

for us to return, you can imagine this was the worst moments in our lives.”


“So that means that when they intervened the first thing they 

should have done was to reinstate the constitutional order.” 

to isolate a place or a 

political entity, sometimes 

makes the entity stronger 

rather than weaker. 

Andreos: Well we never lost hope and we shall 

never lose hope to return because we cannot 

understand that being on the steps of the 21st 

century and after having two world wars and after 

having such havoc and destruction that happened 

in the past and after the formation of the United 

Nations and the charter of the United Nations and 

the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the 

statements of all the leaders of the world, that we 

shall not allow to be any other war again. 

We shall not allow people to be killed 

indiscriminately like it happened in the Second 

World War. And yet when we see these facts 

happening to ourselves then we ask ourselves, 

where is justice, where is truth, where are the 

human rights, where are our liberties and where are 

what we were taught to believe. I mean I studied 

in England and I was taught to believe the ideals of 

freedom and democracy and human rights. Well I 

am deprived of all of these. I have nothing of these 

and I am not allowed to exercise these. 

So in our memoranda which we sent to the 

various leaders of the world we ask them and we 

say you have a responsibility towards Cyprus. You 

have a responsibility because if you don’t exercise 

your duties as members of the United Nations and if 

you do not force Turkey to withdraw her troops and 

settlers from Cyprus so that Cyprus can be reunited 

and that people can go back to their homes, 

whether they’re Greek Cypriots or Turkish Cypriots 

or whatever denomination. When this is not done 

and when the human rights are not respected then 

I believe that terror and injustice will reign in the 

world and not peace and order. 

Dominic: Tell me I know that economic sanctions 

were one of the means that the UN has attempted 

to levy against northern Cyprus, but why were not 

economic sanctions levied against Turkey itself? 

Andreos: Yes that is the question that we often 

put to the United Nations. 

Dominic: And what was their response? 

Andreos: They say we are trying to find the 

solution. But this is not enough for us. This is 

not enough to hear that we are trying to find the 

solution. They have been trying for the last 26 years 

and not a single refugee has been able to return to 

his homes. So where is this solution, what kind of 

solution is it? 

They talk about the just and viable solution of 

the Cyprus problem but then it means that we are 

interpolating the word justice. Where is justice for 

us? In order that there shall be justice, the only 

thing that they can do is to tell Turkey that this is 

not the epoch of colonising people. This is not the 

epoch that one country, because it is stronger to find 

a weaker country and invade it and make it a colony. 

That’s what Turkey has done. 

Dominic: But the Turkish perspective is that 

they intervened to protect their people which were


“the settlers, the Turkish settlers who were brought in from Turkey; if they leave I can tell you that that in 

24 hours in 48 hours we can find the solution and we can live together with the Turkish Cypriots provided 

of course that the elements which are recognised by the European Union, the human rights, the right of 

movement, the right of property and the civil liberties of every citizen of Cyprus are recognised, then there will 

be no difficulty at all.” 

a minority because they saw that there were human rights abuses that were being perpetrated against them. 

Now it can be argued that that was an excuse rather than a reason; a pretext rather than a truce. And I don’t 

wish to state one or the other. 

But at the same time they felt that there were human rights abuses that were being perpetrated. Kofi Annan 

has stated in one of his last statements that the two entities should be regarded as politically equal, but he has 

said that within that process there must be resettlement and exchange. And it seems that the north has had 

some reluctance to accept that. Do you feel that there will be headways or that it is a stalemate with these 

proximity talks? 

Andreos: Firstly I will say this. In 1974 Turkey did not intervene as she alleges that she intervened to save 

the Turkish Cypriot population and their human rights, because they said at the time that we intervened so as 

to reinstate the constitutional order. So that means that when they intervened the first thing they should have 

done was to reinstate the constitutional order. To bring back the president of the Cyprus republic, Archbishop 

Makarios and the vice-president and to bring back things to their normal, as it used to be before ‘74 so that 

people could live again in accordance with the Zurich and London agreements and the same constitution. 

But what have they done, they have themselves destroyed the principles of the Zurich London Agreements 

and the constitution, because as soon as they invaded they killed people, they raped women, they forced the 

Greek Cypriots to leave their homes and properties in all the Greek Cypriot villages and towns of the northern 

part of Cyprus and they reinstated Turkish settlers from Turkey.


“...one man escaped the United Nations who were there and he ran 

through the barbed wire and went on the other side where Turks were 

waiting for him.” 

“And he said I want to go back to my town, it’s 

not your town.” 

So is that true, therefore that they came here 

to protect the human rights of the Turkish Cypriot 

minority who was only 18% of the population. What 

have they done is that they have done the worst 

ethnic cleansing which is an international crime. 

They continue to prevent the Greek Cypriots to go 

back to their homes. So where is the intervention 

they have done in accordance with the Zurich 

agreements? They have done exactly the contrary 

and they violated the provisions of the constitution, 

the provisions of the London agreements, their 

obligations which they signed themselves. So they 

have done exactly the contrary and they have 

colonised that part of Cyprus and they consider 

it as their colony. Well this is something that is 

unacceptable. It should be unacceptable to all the 

civilised countries of the world, because if we accept 

this situation and such an erroneous justification 

then it means that we go back to the middle ages. 

Who is the stronger survives and the weaker dies. 

Dominic: I have one point and it’s a very 

interesting dilemma—to isolate a place or a political 

entity, sometimes makes the entity stronger rather 

than weaker. Do you believe in some form of 

dialogue or some form of communication with the 

other side or do you feel that there should be no 

dialogue and the rest of the world should pressure 

them into leaving? 

Andreos: Well I believe that if the United 

Nations have done their duty in accordance with 

the resolutions of the United Nations and of the 

Security Council which says that clearly the Turkish 

army must leave Cyprus and the foreign elements, 

the settlers, the Turkish settlers who were brought 

in from Turkey; if they leave I can tell you that that 

in 24 hours in 48 hours we can find the solution 

and we can live together with the Turkish Cypriots 

provided of course that the elements which are 

recognised by the European Union, the human 

rights, the right of movement, the right of property 

and the civil liberties of every citizen of Cyprus are 

recognised, then there will be no difficulty at all. 

And I’m sure that we have many Turkish Cypriot 

friends, the Turkish Cypriots have many Greek 

Cypriot friends will begin working together to build 

a better Cyprus and a peaceful Cyprus. But with the 

presence of the Turkish army and the continued 

statements of the prime minister of Turkey saying 

that we came here and this is the land which we 

won by force, by sacrifice of our soldiers and we’re 

not going to leave then you live nowhere. 

Dominic: Yes I understand. There is one further 

question which is we could discuss the problems 

of the buffer zone. What we were looking at before 

which was the Famagusta, the area where we can 

see the Turkish flags and how two of your people 

crossed over and what happened to them. 

Andreos: As you have seen, there is a short 

buffer zone from where we are, the free part of 

Famagusta and a place there which Turkey has


...there are only one set of traffic lights at Kyrenia, 

and we were at them. 

I can see in wide arc of three or perhaps eight 

kilometres a dishevelled ghost town of buildings 

that cannot be entered, that are detached and 

uninhabited... 

said, this is the demarcation line that separates the 

northern part of Cyprus from the southern part of 

Cyprus. Now in between this is called the buffer 

zone which is under the control of the United 

Nations. 

Of course in this buffer zone you cannot go 

unless you have the permission of the United 

Nations and I can tell you that about four years ago 

when there was a small gathering here of young 

men, one man escaped the United Nations who 

were there and he ran through the barbed wire and 

went on the other side where Turks were waiting 

for him. And he said I want to go back to my town, 

it’s not your town. And then he was brutally killed 

by stones and sticks. This was one of the worst 

crimes which was seen on television by the whole 

world. 

Dominic: Is this the image exhibited when 

we cross over the Ledra Palace crossing at the 

checkpoint. Is that the one of the soldiers and the 

policeman with a shield beating somebody? 

So often when I gaze out into the city streets of 

Nicosia , I witness a culture inundated by Sri 

Lankans, Singalese or Indian. 

Andreos: Well there are photographs, there are 

many such photographs; policemen beating the 

man. But the place is here. 

Dominic: It is here yes. 

As the interview ends, we shake hands, depart, 

return to the lift and go upstairs to film from the 

balcony out across this no man’s land. I can see 

in wide arc of three or perhaps eight kilometres 

a dishevelled ghost town of buildings that cannot 

be entered, that are detached and uninhabited, 

controlled by the United Nations. 

We wander aimlessly down to a cafeteria 

adjacent to the observation deck to have lunch. 

The chef pulls out a list of photographs of the ghost 

city. Then a gaggle of laughing six year old children 

in the restaurant enter to have a birthday party 

outside and we were told we cannot stay. Then as 

suddenly as we were being dismissed they turn to


invite us. Rebecca who had never wished to partake 

of any food of a fattening nature (I remember John, 

her boyfriend, saying that her one vice is junk food) 

has this massive plate of sweets presented like the 

head of John the Baptist and the next moment she is 

consuming like in the film La Grande Bouef where 

people decide to eat themselves to death—pastries 

and chocolate bonbons, and bouchies, and slivers of 

weird caramel meringue. 

So often when I gaze out into the city streets 

of Nicosia, I witness a culture inundated by Sri 

Lankans, Singalese 

or Indian. There are 

some Pakistanis, but 

mostly Sri Lankans 

or Filipinos. The 

Cypriots use them 

for all menial labour. 

That induces in 

me great sadness, 

because there is 

not egalitarian 

structure—these 

are their imported 

slaves. This is what saddens me. 

From the Singhalese perspective, it is a good way 

to make money. From someone who comes from a 

very egalitarian country, it certainly is distasteful. 

These people are lucky, but on the other hand I do 

not think they are. From the country’s point it is 

not a just or recondite way of providing services for 

small wages. 

Meanwhile back at Famagusta, or Kyrenia I 

should say, we decide to exit. In spite of the fact that 

Rebecca is absolutely stonkered, a full stomach, we 

decide to trudge up one long street to the one set of 

traffic lights at the corner. The rosary clacking locals 

are staring at trudging silhouettes in the landscape 

as if we are a separate Darwinian species or pork 

chops at a Bahmitzva. 

We ring for a taxi and the taxi driver asks where 

shall we be and somebody says, ‘just say you are at 

the traffic lights at Kyrenia’, i.e. there are only one 

set of traffic lights at Kyrenia, and we were at them. 

So this man in a limousine, a three compartment 

Mercedes, picks us up and charges us an exorbitant 

amount to get to Larnacca. We decide instead to 

have the trip cut short by travelling directly into 

Nicosia. The taxi is streaming into the fading day— 

just passing endless Green line as we slide along this 

border in the divided city. 

It is late in the afternoon but the events of the 

last twenty four hours must be recorded. Maybe, as 

a result of past lives, I gravitate to curious Arabic 

environments. I can also smell thick fresh sewerage 

in my nostrils, but at least the coffee is good here. 

We arrive home, dress to go go to the ‘Gallery 

Bar’. I can hear Arabic in the background as I dictate 

this into the dictaphone. At the ‘Gallery Bar’ we 

listen to sort of wailing of sea shanty music of the 

Greek Cypriots. It is fascinating and very bohemian 

as we ended up being befriended by three lesbians: 

Daya, Michaela and Litha. Beautiful, funny, erudite, 

ironic women. Meanwhile back at the ‘Gallery Bar’ 

the girls are knocking back gin and tonics. There 

is the wailing, unrequited music of the passionate 

Cypriots. It was a beautiful evening and Daya looks 

at me and says, ‘You must be Irish’. 

She smiles, and is slightly plump and reminded 

me of Catherine, an old friend of my sister’s. 

This was the first time for many months that I 

had met someone with whom I had a connection. 

Our conversation darted backwards and forwards. 

We talked of irrelevant topics and wandered as if 

we were drunken sailors zigzagging over unknown 

nameless topics for ten minutes. Then the next 

jiffy she abruptly turns her back on me, talking 

to someone else. Alone, I just stare at the blue 

lighted vodka bottles which look like traffic lights 

for drunks, thinking this night club etiquette is not 

my scene. As Rebecca would say, ‘Is that rudeness?’ 

Or: ‘People are 

imperfect and 

relatively unevolved 

beings up to a 

point.’ As I stared 

around the room 

embarrassed but 

independent I 

soon noticed other 

aspects of the 

meshed gyrating 

mass of disco 

bunnies. There 

was one woman, an old gymnast who was dancing. 

She was with another man who appeared to be a 

womaniser. I presumed they had been lovers and 

there still remained a thread or a spark. Perhaps 

they had been lovers 15 or even 20 years ago. But 

there remained like a lingering whiff, a lingering 

memory. Now in their late 40s, she would poke her 

tongue out at him while she was dancing on the floor 

while he sat at the bar, grey-haired, silver stubble 

on his chin. There was this strange relationship that 

seemed to be going on. 

We then jumped into Litha’s car and drove off to 

her night club and we went to ‘Club Red’ which had 

these wild lights that went up the walls. It was an 

old renovated barn converted old stables that had 

been converted into a factory, and from a factory 

it had been converted again into something more 

interesting. Here I would conclude the evening by


...he suggests I should contact Muhitt(dd)in 

Ikidereli. He was the Director of Consular Affairs 

and Minority Activities. If anything is to go into 

the Green line buffer zone it was to be under his 

auspice and with his permission. 

Marios Koulovac’s family are refugees, and his father is 

a missing person not known to be either dead nor alive. 

He has been missing for the last 26 years. 

I drop into Bullant Kanol’s office and his secretary says a letter has 

been sent to the Deputy Prime Minister Akungi pertaining to the idea. 

talking with Litha into the small hours at the ‘Club 

Red’ , on the border of the Green line. There is 

actually a big glass wall in the club through which I 

could see a factory that extends into the Dead Zone. 

On the other side is the Green line buffer zone. the 

‘Club Red’ thereby juts into the Dead Zone to the 

Turkish side. ‘Club Red’ has a big red neon sign 

out the front. I talked to Daya that night about the 

paranormal, about life after death. It was beautiful 

what she said. She said two things. One was: ‘I do 

not feel that my words are worth recording’ and 

‘I do not have anything intelligent to say. What is 

intelligent has already be.’ 

Sunday, 19th November, 2000, 


It was a late night, ending up at two or three in 

the morning crawling down dark alleys. Somehow 

we find our way home with Litha’s car. We sleep 

all the next day, Sunday the 19th. It is just a day 

of zilch, totally. I cannot even remember this day 

shall we say. I crawl out that morning into the city 

and find a coffee shop on Macarius Street where I 

correct my book. That is the way that the day was 

spent, just as an editorial. We do a TV press release 

to Reuters, BBC, CNN, WTN, Australian ABC, 

SBS, CNN, BC America, list of Amelia’s invitees 50 

people from one side, and 50 people from the other, 

Semi Bora’s invitees. A list of requirements for 

the ceremony are written down—invitees, chairs, 

podiums, press release and musicians. The UN has 

to do PR, provide PA system, wooden structure, 

erect a billboard on the wall, clear the area, invites 

to the Australian High Commission. 

Monday, 20th November, 2000, 

Nicosia Cyprus 

There are series of meetings in the north, across 

the checkpoint. It is possible that we had to film 

the Green line, but we have to confirm with Rania. 

We telephone Amelia about the departure dates, 

and call for the cost of the ferry to Israel only 

to discover that the ferries have been cancelled 

because of the problems happening in Israel. The 

ferry company has shut everything down. 10 am the 

Holy Archbishop in Cyprus has scheduled a meeting 

with Rebecca, relating to iconography history. We 

then buy some screws for the plate for the VX1000 

Sony camera. 

I had to fax and deliver Semi Bora’s letter and 

see Bullant Kanol and to get military permission, 

confirming with Sarah Russell about the military 

tour. Also there is a more trivial a hair appointment 

for me. That evening outside the Excelsior 

apartments we travel to Marios Koulovac who is a 

Greek Cypriot refugee to his home with his family. 

Thus this morning, Rebecca goes to film 

the Holy Archbishop of Cyprus, the Reverend


We then saw the Minister for Consular Affairs, a stooping man with grey hair and a cast in his eye. I showed 

him the documents and he says: 

‘Are you a rich man to be able to do this? Who supports your activities?’ 

‘We’re a small country and we must fight for justice.’ I say to them ‘that even though there may not be justice 

in this life, there is justice in the next.’ 

Demonsthmonus to discuss religion and the meaning of iconography and history. He is a restoration artist and 

he shows some of his icons. And they visit the Agios Dmitrios Church and they document the paintings. I have 

discovered that the cappuccinos here are little packet cappuccinos, but nonetheless the Egyptian music is just 

pumping in a mellifluous and undulating way. It is a contradiction of terms is it not—pumping and mellifluous 

and undulating way? 

It’s the 20th of November and I continue on with my tour into the north. My list for the day has to be 

provided. I have a couple of letters which I hand in first thing that Monday morning to Bullant Kanol. He is 

given a formal document which ascertains that the schedule is solid. So that letter has a list of statements, the 

legal invitation and stipulation of what the project constitutes. As a document it establishes that the event, is 

also reinforced through video documentation. 

I drop into Bullant Kanol’s office and his secretary says a letter has been sent to the Deputy Prime Minister 

Akungi pertaining to the idea. 

‘OK, that’s good. Is it good?’ I say. 

And she says she thought it might be good. She did not know. 

And then I return and look for a military representative of the TRNC, and so I go back to the checkpoint 

and an old man in an old coat appears. I sit with him in an office and he suggests I should contact Muhitt(dd)in 

Ikidereli. He was the Director of Consular Affairs and Minority Activities. If anything is to go into the Green line 

buffer zone it was to be under his auspice and with his permission. After being given his number I leave and 

return across the Green Line to the Excelsior Hotel apartments in Greek Nicosia where we prepared for the 

meeting with Marios that evening. 

Marios Koulovac’s family are refugees, and his father is a missing person not known to be either dead nor 

alive. He has been missing for the last 26 years. Marios with a slight disfigurement in his eye picks us up in 

his Jeep. He is a receptionist at a major hospital but the physical has not impaired his ability to work at the 

hospital. He is a beautiful and retiring soul. Picking us up he drove to his home, a faux refugee camp when they 

had been resettled indicating in the house major cracks. The woman on the other side, in North Cyprus, has


We go to see Semi Bora very 

quickly and he effectively 

says; ‘Dominic I’ll do what 

I can do. I feel that it will 

be okay, but I just need 

permission.’ 

cracks in her wall as well. They wish to justify their 

situation by saying to the government that they 

require recompense, rather than saying: 

‘Well I’ll just fill the cracks in.’ Maybe it will 

crack again, but is it a victim mentality? This does 

not deny the events which have beleaguered them, 

but there seems to be a victim mentality here. 

We interviewed Marios and his family at home 

as refugees. After having lived in north Cyprus they 

were resettled in Nicosia. The mother and the sister 

discuss the memory of the time and their hope 

of the future, going through family photographic 

albums. 

‘We’re a small country and we must fight for 

justice.’ I say to them ‘that even though there may 

not be justice in this life, there is justice in the 

next.’ They show photographs of their missing 

father and/or husband. I then speak with Flora the 

sister. She had been a doctor in Russia. We talk 

about Natasha’s illness, a Siberian variant of liver 

fluke worm. 

That night I go and type up another letter to 

the Director of the Ministry of Consular Affairs 

because that was to be delivered to him the next 

day. As it turned out it was to be a week of massive 

bureaucratic bungling. 

Rebecca accompanies me over to the other side 

to Turkish Nicosia. As it turns out we deliver the 

documents to the Minister for Consular Affairs 

and we see Bullant Kanol’s secretary in relation to 

our next Thursday appointment. 

Tuesday, 21st November, Greek 


Rebecca accompanies me over to the other side 

to Turkish Nicosia. As it turns out we deliver the 

documents to the Minister for Consular Affairs and 

we see Bullant Kanol’s secretary in relation to our 

next Thursday appointment. 

As we cross over the Ledra Palace Checkpoint 

back to the Greek side. I say to the UN soldiers: ‘I 

hope it is not too boring for you.’ 

And they say: ‘Ah well, we get used to kicking 

the stones and making friends with the stray cats.’


...We travelled 

across to the north, 

to try to deliver the 

documents again 

to the Minister of 

Foreign Affairs who 

was again nowhere 

to be found. 

...but simultaneously a sense of purging, and fulfilling the 

steps. We have to then cross over to the TRNC and go 

through the checkpoints past the dead zone and then to the 

Turkish side. 

But they did not say which names they had for which alley cats. 

We had this meeting with an aide of Acting Director of the Ministry of Defence. There was a man there 

who took us up there. Two days later he appears as one of the people in the passport office. It was an 

odd coincidence that they have the people who are in the Ministry of Defence suddenly appearing at the 

checkpoint. 

We then saw the Minister for Consular Affairs, a stooping man with grey hair and a cast in his eye. I showed 

him the documents and he says: 

‘Are you a rich man to be able to do this? Who supports your activities?’ 

And I say to him, ‘Well I’m not exactly a poor person.’ 

And he smiles and says, ‘Yeah well.’ 

Then he says, ‘Look I can’t say anything about this, I’ll just pass it on to the authorities.’ 

As we’re leaving he smiles and says that he found the Australian Federal Police have seven of their people 

stationed here in the Green line. He went out to lunch with one of them and they provided him with Australian 

beef and Australian wine. It was obviously a high point in his time. He gets a woman to see us to the front door, 

which was very sweet of him and we leave. 

We go to see Semi Bora very quickly and he effectively says; 

‘Dominic I’ll do what I can do. I feel that it will be okay, but I just need permission.’ 

So my gut feeling was right. His caution and fear was not that he did not want to do it. But rather that he 

needs the people above him, the high authorities, to say yes. 

Slowly bit by bit the pieces fall into their respective place and the pattern becomes clear. We can see which 

politicians have power and control, and which do not, who are the puppets and who pay lip service. All of this 

to erect a simple billboard. It is a crazy time, is it not? But still… 

We then go to see some people outside who are singing. It’s just a family in the backyard; a woman 

introduces herself: ‘My name is Chikra,’ We meet the family. We then go off into the night.


...we must wait there, in the middle of no man‘s 

land. We are not even allowed to pass through 

until someone from the PIO appears to take us 

and Rebecca looks at me as if this is something a 

little bit strange. 

It is not as if we are 

prisoners, but our 

movements are being 

curtailed. 

...eventually a woman in a small battle-grey 

Peugeot drives up and very politely takes us to the 

TRNC Ministry of Defence and Information where 

we have a meeting with the Acting Director of 

Public Relations Mr. Sabatini Egeli. 

Wednesday, 22nd November, 2000, Turkish Republic of North Cyprus 

The next day was Wednesday the 22nd at 10 am, Rebecca had a United Nations conference of both sides. It 

was a meeting of the leaders of the political parties in Cyprus organised by the embassy of the Slovak Republic, 

November 22nd, 2000 Ledra Palace, Nicosia. The list of participants I won’t mention them all, but there was 

Mr. Serder Denctash, he was the son of the president in the North and Mrs. Keti Cleridou who was the daughter 

of the president of the south. 

We travelled across to the north, to try to deliver the documents again to the Minister of Foreign Affairs who 

was again nowhere to be found. I presented myself at the front office and a woman, Fatima, from the Press and 

Information Office came out. I sat with her for an hour and she seemed understandably very reluctant to show 

me to the office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, or even to his secretary. 

She telephoned the Director of the Press and Information Office and apparently everybody was at the 

parliament, to do with budget agendas. So I waited. She said he would be back in half an hour. I sat and flicked 

through the newspapers in the office where flocks of Turkish women or Turkish Cypriot women were chatting 

like magpies perched on stools or on top of their desks. 

The Minister of Foreign Affairs was Mr. Tashin Ertugruloglu. So Fatima would come in, go out, read a book, 

make a phone call, disappear, and then after an hour and a half of waiting she returned finally and said: 

‘No nobody is coming back until the end of the day and the director is not coming.’ 

Then she said: ‘Will you give me the documents?’ 

I hesitated and thought, no, if I give them the documents they will get lost. This was the important 

submission and the letter to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Therefore I said: ‘Let’s make a compromise. If you 

photocopy them, then I will leap into the unknown of tomorrow with them and you can put them on his desk. 

Is that fair enough?’ And she said, ‘Yes.’ And with that I was out into the taxi and back across the checkpoint to 

Greek Cyprus.


So it smacked me like a tonne of bessa bricks coming down 

from 15 stories. I was stunned and speechless for the first 

thirteen seconds. 

“...he thinks that the Greek Cypriot side should demonstrate some goodwill by responding to our step (we 

replaced all the billboards on our side by peaceful posters) at the Ledra Palace before we can take any further 

action on this matter.” 

Thursday, 23rd November, 2000, Nicosia, Cyprus 

And it is a Thursday with bright skies. My first stop is Alpha Graphics. Andrea does her booklets for me, 

little printed fiascos with the clear plastic covers. It seems a ritual, a sacrament that we do every second day, 

the ritual of printing and binding documents. Something that at times has a boredom but simultaneously 

a sense of purging, and fulfilling the steps. We have to then cross over to the TRNC and go through the 

checkpoints past the dead zone and then to the Turkish side. 

This day is a strange one because when we arrived there was a confusion when we put in our papers 

and documents at the immigration office, because at that stage our documents are about to expire. On the 

computer it states there is information that the PIO (Public Information Office) has to escort us, and we must 

wait there, in the middle of no man‘s land. We are not even allowed to pass through until someone from the 

PIO appears to take us and Rebecca looks at me as if this is something a little bit strange. 

It is not as if we are prisoners, but our movements are being curtailed. Rather than seeing it in the light 

of conspiracy theory which I am sure it is not, it is just the way the computer has programmed our crossing, 

and the guards have to follow what is displayed on the computer. Come what may, we wait , and eventually a 

woman in a small battle-grey Peugeot drives up and very politely takes us to the TRNC Ministry of Defence and 

Information where we have a meeting with the Acting Director of Public Relations Mr. Sabatini Egeli. 

Mr. Egeli has a cast in his eye, and a beneficent smile. He asks for the documents which he says he will pass 

on to Ertugruloglu who is the Minister of Foreign Affairs. This is the letter that I have written as a submission 

to Mr. Tashin Ertugruloglu. From that point on we sit down in the customary position of dealing with public 

dignitaries: where the desk that the director sits behind is always 7cm higher than the couches that sit 

perpendicular to this large official desk. Coffees—the ubiquitous Turkish coffee—are placed before us and the 

minister then proceeds to tell us his story about his near-death experience, or out of the body OOB experience 

he had upon dying. He had open heart surgery and he said his heart was taken out of his body and placed in 

some sort of strange vat which sat at -30 centigrade. And for four hours he was, if not dead, then in this sort of 

bizarre comatose state. During that time he experienced the whole, almost cliche-ridden, gamut of experiences 

of passing through the tunnel. And he explained that he then found himself in a field where everyone was 

wearing purple gowns and they were a a brown/purple colour. 

In this bizarre green field the congregating group was comprised of only men. Mr Egeli believed it strange 

that they were only men and even more curious nobody there was a recognisable friend. But he explained he 

would have remained had he known somebody. Precisely because he did not know anybody he chose to return. 

He stressed he would have remained there had they been people he knew. Upon returning to his body in this


world, he recounted the experience to the doctors. 

He now no longer fears anything. 

From there we drove to the next door building 

which is the offices for Bullant Kanol who has a 

letter for me from the deputy Prime Minister or in 

reference to the project. It was waiting on the desk 

with the secretary but without Bullant Kanol being 

present. 

The letter went: 

‘Turkish Department of Northern Cyprus, 

Ministry of State and Deputy Prime Ministry. 

(23rd November 2000 which was the very day 

that I had picked it up.) Reference DB75/94/7- 

1153 

Subject, Dominic Ryan, Peace Project Director 

2000. 

‘Dear Dominic, 

Thank you for your letter of 17 November. 

I have informed my minister about your 

project. As I expressed to you in our meeting, 

he thinks that the Greek Cypriot side should 

demonstrate some goodwill by responding to our 

step (we replaced all the billboards on our side 

by peaceful posters) at the Ledra Palace before 

we can take any further action on this matter. 

Thank you for your interest and good luck with 

your peace building activities. 

Yours sincerely, (Turkish scribble), 

B Kanol, Undersecretary. 32392/2289629. 

So it smacked me like a tonne of bessa bricks 

coming down from 15 stories. I was stunned and 

speechless for the first thirteen seconds. I asked his 

secretary: ‘Is there anything I can do? Can I see him 

? Can we respond physically?’ But she replied with 

a perplexed yet apologetic smile as if she wanted 

to help but could do nothing, indeed had perhaps 

been instructed to keep us at a benign distance: 

‘Unfortunately Mr. 

Kanol is very busy 

now. He has many 

meetings. He cannot 

see you today, since 

he is going to be 

busy for the next 

two weeks.’ 

And that was 

that! So immediately 

we were sucked 

into the whole 

bureaucratic war 

“Unfortunately Mr. 

Kanol is very busy 

now. He has many 

meetings. He cannot 

see you today, since 

he is going to be 

busy for the next two 

weeks.” 

which had been set up. A letter of rejection is given 

and the person who receives the letter is no longer 

allowed to physically or humanly intercede or meet 

with the official. Once the letter has been delivered 

all physical and human contact are avoided. 

And so there were images on the other side, the 

Greek side. The letter from B Kanol said that all 

images of violence had to be pulled down or we had 

to bail out. I either bail out or go to Israel or Pila. I 

suppose we row with it. 

I am still digesting the news as we move on into 

the rest of the day…We go to a restaurant in the 

old part of the Turkish sector of the city. There is 

an old Bulgarian 

A letter of rejection is 

given and the person 

who receives the letter 

is no longer allowed to 

physically or humanly 

intercede or meet with 

the official. Once the 

letter has been delivered 

all physical and human 

contact are avoided. 

Turk who is in the 

Lonely Planet called 

Hassan. He shows 

us his Australian 

flag and he has 

been here for a 

number of years 

and the restaurant 

is called ‘The 

European Cafe’. His 

wife was the cook. 

We then wander 

up to one of the 

jewellery shops where the Dutch soldiers were 

buying gold chains. One of the Dutch soldiers was 

choosing one for his girlfriend. He talked about his 

time here in the United Nations. 

We then simply walk the streets of the old city 

dodging grubby children and kids in chairs out the 

front past the Police building, walking past Turkish 

baths, facades, mosques, walking through the 

streets. 

That night the jazz bar we are at, after crossing 

into Greek Nicosia, the ‘Blue Bar’. Lina the singer, 

the club, its smoke, crowded, the clink of glasses, 

distance, people are hiding inside themselves, 

people are looking for something, people finding 

something, people finding nothing, query less. 

Smoke filled. Lonely, blessed, embracing, darkish. 

That night I go to the internet cafe at Philip’s place 

and I write the letter for the people in the TRNC, 

the Minister of Foreign Affairs and for Bullant 

Kanol—which I am to take tomorrow and give to 

them. 

This is the letter, this is how I wrote it: 

‘B Kanol, Undersecretary, Ministry of State 

and Department, Deputy Prime Minister’s Office 

Thursday, 23rd November, 2000. 

Dear Mr. Kanol, I have received your letter 

dated 23rd November – it was with some 

surprise and disappointment that you are unable 

to co-operate in the peace project ceremony 

which I had outlined in my letter dated 

November 23rd. I may have misunderstood 

this letter, but my reading of it is that until the 

Greek Cypriot side undertakes further steps


Therefore I see this as an opportunity for the peace ceremony to occur as such 

a request for the removal of the poster can be diplomatically voiced at the 

ceremony. 

A message of peace should be voiced precisely because of 

the senses of injustice which have arisen. 

...but my reading of it is that until the Greek Cypriot 

side undertakes further steps towards implementing 

measures of peace and reconciliation, you will not 

participate in attending the erection and ceremony 

that ‘violence and war cannot solve the problems of 

humanity’ in the DMZ near Ledra Palace. 

A message of peace, especially if 

the message is war and violence, 

cannot solve the problems of humanity 

should be affirmed and allowed 

to occur between two parties in a 

neutral demilitarised zone without 

preconditions of specific acts of 

political goodwill from either side. 

towards implementing measures of peace and 

reconciliation, you will not participate in attending 

the erection and ceremony that ‘violence and war 

cannot solve the problems of humanity’ in the 

DMZ near Ledra Palace. 

‘Mr. Kanol I support and understand 

your concern in this matter. I agree that the 

propagation of the images of blood and violence 

at the Ledra Palace checkpoint can only continue 

to leave the wound of suffering open. Therefore I 

see this as an opportunity for the peace ceremony 

to occur as such a request for the removal of 

the poster can be diplomatically voiced at the 

ceremony. Secondly when Tzvi Tzilker the mayor 

of Ashdot entered the no man’s land between the 

Palestinian authority and Israel in 1997 to meet 

the mayor of Gaza he created the opportunity of 

an opening to use his port facilities to ferry goods 

to Gaza. This event was a spark of good news in 

an otherwise blank climate. Two hundred and 

fifty million people saw it on television around 

the world. A message of peace should be voiced 

precisely because of the senses of injustice which 

have arisen. The only way to heal the past is to 

affirm a message in the present for the future. 

This often takes courage. If a message of peace 

cannot be affirmed by both parties in the neutral 

zone because one side has not exercised as a 

precondition, goodwill by a specific act, then 

there can be little hope for peace in the future. (I 

changed that to) A message of peace, especially 

if the message is war and violence, cannot solve 

the problems of humanity should be affirmed and 

allowed to occur between two parties in a neutral 

demilitarised zone without preconditions of specific 

acts of political goodwill from either side.


If we wait for a specific act of goodwill to occur before 

embracing a universal truth there would be no way the 

peace ceremony can occur. Peaceful intent must come 

before political implementation. 

(Then I went on to say, we are bringing a humanitarian message that peace can only be realised through 

the human heart before it can come politically.) 

‘If politicians are seen to espouse this message it can only be of benefit for all parties, because of the 

media exposure it would bring from the truth which they share. Public relations benefits of the TRNC and 

the other side attending this message are both positive and will become global. If we wait for a specific act of 

goodwill to occur before embracing a universal truth there would be no way the peace ceremony can occur. 

Peaceful intent must come before political implementation. I am left with no other position than to believe 

that your Minister does not wish an image of peace in a neutral area for a brief period of five days because 

one side has kept an image of violence up on the other. It is like saying we do not wish a white flag to fly in 

the no mans land because there is already a flag of blood flying on the other side. This is the first time that 

a government or mayor or body has rejected this image of peace that I have brought to a country. I respect 

and honour the law of all countries and will respect and will abide by the wishes of your government. So 

I will return to Australia with the documentary film about my failed attempts to erect a message of peace 

at the Ledra Palace DMC. I have submitted the previous letter dated the 17th of November to both the 

Minister of Foreign Affairs and also to the Director of Consular Activities. I hope your Minister reconsiders. 

In the event that he does not my words above hold fast and I stand by them. Again I repeat I hope that 

you reconsider your position. I respect your minister’s position even if I do not agree that it is grounded 

on my perception of logic. I thank you for the time that we spent together Mr. Kanol and I appreciate your 

sentiments that I am a brave man.’ 

So it was done and good to have written the letter, to have released any angst or frustration.


Friday, 24th November, 2000, Greek 


We then went to see very 

briefly Mustafa who said 

to us that it was probably 

incorrect of us to have 

submitted that letter to B 

Kanol... 

This morning I went to Alpha Graphics, had the 

letter printed and put into the little plastic binder. I 

don’t think Angela was there, I think someone else. 

Then we went to Bullant Kanol again on the north 

side. Rebecca also ended up getting food poisoning. 

We delivered the letter to B Kanol’s office. The 

secretary offered us some white chocolate. 

We then went to see very briefly Mustafa who 

said to us that it was probably incorrect of us to 

have submitted that letter to B Kanol, and perhaps 

in hindsight that may have been the case. I do not 

know. Had it not gone that way, then who knows. 

And then we filmed us wandering through the 

streets. Then we returned to the other side. 

We went to ‘Galactica’ and ‘Bar One’ to find out 

whether I could find one of the Russian women 

or Bulgarian women bars and get documentary 

statements about their situation here. There it is 

like bellydancers in Casablanca Morocco where 

these women perform spinning oriental dances, and 

old silver-haired men with frustrated sexual lives 

watched them. The women were paid immense 

amounts of money to talk to them. And that was it. 

I then went to Bar One and spoke to this woman 

called Galia who was from Bulgaria, and then spoke 

with a beautiful 24-year-old Bulgaria girl called 

Tanya, who I liked, although under the blue light 

the retinas of her eyes went milk white. And she 

had around her neck in gold, the word ‘Tanya’ in 

sloping calligraphic writing. I rang Natasha as well. 

Saturday, 25th November, 2000, 


We have coffee at the strange cafe on Kennedy 

Avenue. It was only a shawami or souvlaki place 

downstairs opposite the telephone booth in 

Kennedy Avenue. The man in his mid 60s, with 

silver receding hairline, stubble, bored, with that 

sense of total disdain, reluctance, unenthusiastic for 

the life that they lead serves us. He is are unhappy 

doing what he does and therefore incapable of 

sharing with us any joy. 

I asked for a Nescafe with milk and he 

proceeded to give me one, but filled by stress, 

angst and existential dissatisfaction of his own life. 

I end up drinking not only his coffee, but his life 

problems. 

I rang Nikos last night, Nikos Anastasios 

(Teacher and Director of Seeds of Peace, South 

Cyprus) who has these youth groups where bicommunal, 

people from both sides, congregate in


If we could not do the ceremony in Ledra Palace to 

bring the politicians to make a humanitarian gesture 

then we could do it in Pyle as a bridge with students. 

If we could not get two politicians into the checkpoint, 

then we will bring two girls to say what the politicians 

could not say. 

Pyle is an 

isthmus which 

connects the two 

sides because it 

is connected via 

the sovereign 

bases controlled 

by the British. 

Nikos aims to bring into the 

peace process young people 

who have not attended such 

meetings before. 

the buffer zone, in the sovereign bases area on the 

Green line between Pyle and a Turkish town called 

Pergamus. 

Some of Nikos’s projects occur with students 

from both sides of the buffer zone in Pyle: one of 

them is a communal marathon which is a cycling 

and running marathon that raises funds for victims 

of leukemia. In communal drama groups, teenagers 

from both communities work together to write 

and perform their own plays following specific 

methodology,


Nikos arrives and proceeds to show us using the objects 

on the table, the salt, the pepper, a couple of plates, the 

geography of the Pyle Isthmus and Buffer Zone. 

In the afternoon we pull out the billboards in the 

Excelsior Hotel, moving all the pieces of laminated 

furniture in the Hotel dining room to roll the billboards 

out, measure them to see they are appropriate. 

Nikos aims to bring into the peace process 

young people who have not attended such meetings 

before. A bi-communal band is a group of young 

musicians who are looking to form a communal rock 

band. 

It is suggested that we rendezvous in the town 

which is the second buffer zone between the two 

areas. We wait in Pyle. Pyle is an isthmus which 

connects the two sides because it is connected via 

the sovereign bases controlled by the British. There 

is an isthmus, a small pier of land which connects 

the two sides. It is possible Nikos explains for the 

people from the north to enter into this bottleneck 

area. They cannot go beyond Pyle just as the people 

in Pyle or from the south can enter this strange area 

but also cannot go beyond it. 

Nikos is a man in his 40s, with a slightly salt and 

pepper goatee, receding hairline, glasses, and bright 

blue azure eyes which are crystal clear for someone 

with such dark pigmentation. It’s a beautiful 

combination. A clean gentle aura of beneficence, 

just a cool beautiful state of being. He has an aura of 

purity about him and an aura of enthusiasm. As his 

wife says ‘If he does not do this, no one else would’. 

As such he has become the catalyst of enthusiasm to 

drive other people to be together. 

If we could not do the ceremony in Ledra Palace 

to bring the politicians to make a humanitarian 

gesture then we could do it in Pyle as a bridge with 

students. If we could not get two politicians into the 

checkpoint, then we will bring two girls to say what 

the politicians could not say. 

In Pyle there are two coffee shops, one is Greek, 

the other one is Turkish. We sit in the Greek one 

and as we begin the patron comes out and gives us 

this a squid to taste. We are having a marine lunch 

when Nikos arrives and proceeds to show us using 

the objects on the table, the salt, the pepper, a 

couple of plates, the geography of the Pyle Isthmus 

and Buffer Zone. 

We return to his house that night to canvas 

possible scenarios of how the event could be staged. 

We have a hasty black coffee which has cracked 

almonds in it. We then meet his three children, 

Mariana, Natasha, Stefanidis and his wife Sue who 

is beautiful Malaysian. We finally call a taxi to the 

urban sprawl Nicosia and return that night, tired 

but ultimately optimistic. 

Sunday, 26th November, 2000, 


Rebecca still has food poisoning. She is still 

dealing with the effects of her experiences on 

Friday in the north, where she had eaten something 

toxic. That is where it began. Just a quiet day 

recuperating, Dominic is doing his journal and going 

to the internet cafe. Madeline has emailed me her 

condolences about the failed initiative.


We are just doing everything on automatic 

pilot, fulfilling, trying to pick up the pieces of the 

project, realising that we have been here a month 

and it has just hit this heartless brick wall. 

...there are no ferries leaving to Israel because of 

the conflict, the intifada which has been going on 

since September…. 

Dear Dominic, 

I am crestfallen at the news, and sorry 

for you both after all of your efforts. You 

really did do a great job in the most trying of 

circumstances, however, and I congratulate you 

on your persistence and thoroughness. Let’s 

focus on Pyle and see what we can do. As for 

the scaffolding: maybe one possibility would still 

be to go back to your friend Lelos. Clearly he 

supports the idea. I know that his municipality 

has resources, and they may have something 

like scaffolding which could be loaned. Transport 

would need to be arranged, but ways could 

presumably be found. If finances (for hiring 

of scaffold or trucks or whatever) was the 

problem, Dinos Lordos might be a possibility. 

You could speak to Nikos Anastasios in case he 

has other ideas. 

On the press release: I looked at the 

draft you sent last week and it looks good. 

Presumably you would need a revised one for 

a Pyle venue. In preparing it, I would suggest 

simply that you or Rebecca speak again to Sarah 

before sending it out. You should check with her 

if she is able to act as the inquiry point for the 

journos; and to give her the late update/briefing 

so she is prepared to answer their queries. 

In that case, I would also suggest you put one 

name only for journalists’ queries in order not 

to confuse the matter (i.e. ensure that the one 

person is putting out one set of details only). 

Anita could be named on the invitations for 

VIPs to receive their replies 

(RSVPs). In that case she should also have a 

full list of those invited in order to be prepared 

for their calls. You must be out of the hotel for 

now; feel free to call me later if you need to. I 

am back in the country now and on the mobile 

for at least a few days! 

Cheers, M


We are actually playing a waiting game. 

The rain in Nicosia 

engulfs us. It’s kind 

of postvery, very, 

very, postmodern, 

post-industrialised, 

global warming, 

El Nino rain. It is 

a call-it-what-youwant, 

end-of-theworld 

rain or the 

beginning of the 

21st century rain or, 

“my the climate is 

changing” rain. 

I received a call from Mustafa, Sarah Russell has put him through 

from the north, it is impossible to actually ring directly. He is 

reiterating what Bullant Kanol and the Minister of State have said 

and that is that the other side have no option but to conform and 

replace the image of violence for the humanitarian ceremony to 

occur. They feel that they are incapable of doing anything but 

replying with the letter that I read.


But the mere presence of two people acknowledging and affirming 

vows of non-violence and of peaceful co-existence was too much. 

I realise now that the writing 

is on the wall and that the little 

hope that we had held out for 

the two mayors to meet in the 

centre of a divided city has 

now disappeared. 

Monday, 27th November, 2000, Nicosia, Cyprus 

In the afternoon we pull out the billboards in the Excelsior Hotel, moving all the pieces of laminated 

furniture in the Hotel dining room to roll the billboards out, measure them to see they are appropriate. Faroud 

and Tony who was the other concierge, remark on these huge massive images. I explain to Faroud the meaning 

of them and talk about the peace idea. 

The days are becoming list days now. We are just doing everything on automatic pilot, fulfilling, trying to 

pick up the pieces of the project, realising that we have been here a month and it has just hit this heartless 

brick wall. I am not certain what I can do. I am again in a strange shock of dealing with the events, taking one 

day at a time. I do not think that I can lay blame, I do not think that I can respond in any way, but respond to 

each event as it arrives. 

This afternoon I fax documents to Mr. Dimitriades, another Dimitriades who is the district supervisor of the 

Pyle region of the sovereign bases area. I spoke to him and I faxed them through. 

This evening I go again to Alpha Graphics and Rebecca and I see the film Any Given Sunday by Oliver 

Stone, which actually seems relevant. 

Afterwards with Rebecca we go to the cabaret. It’s raining, absolutely pouring now. It’s this mad experience 

of seeing oneself outside oneself jumping through the streets walking from puddle to puddle. I feel drenched. 

I feel like this wet engulfed drowned possum or rat. My coat is drenched and I get to ‘Bar One’ to see the two 

girls, Galia and Tanya. I have the tape recorder in order to document one of our conversations.


Sometimes like an ant crawling through a maze the 

ant is unaware that a maze has a design and route 

that is above and beyond the mere meanderings 

of this ant. So too it is with us and the destiny of 

our journey. We are trying to fulfil a design that is 

greater than the time and the days presume. 

He speaks with his arms crossed in his plain 

hounds tooth suit with black poker dot tie, clean 

shaven face, colloidal scaring, sweet beautific 

grin, a very, very sweet and benign human being 

who must voice the policies of his government as 

much as his own opinions. 

27th November, 2000, 


We called to find out the cost of a ferry to Israel, 

but it transpires there are no ferries leaving to Israel 

because of the conflict, the intifada which has been 

going on since September…Rebecca calls to find 

out about Amelia, Lelos secretary, to check whether 

Lelos is about and what his movements are. So it is 

still an option for us, we are still hanging in. There is 

still hope, especially after what we have spoken with 

Mustafa and the others. 10 am Rebecca has to see 

the Holy Archbishop of Cyprus to film the history 

segment and at 3.30 in the afternoon we have a hair 

appointment. But we then change it to Tuesday. 

Rebecca has to go to the Sony dealer to get the 

screws of the bottom plate of the VX100 repaired 

and we have to go to the other side, in North Cyprus 

to try to get military permission. 

Tuesday, 28th November, 2000, 

Nicosia Cyprus 

The rain in Nicosia engulfs us. It’s kind of postvery, 

very, very, postmodern, post-industrialised, 

global warming, El Nino rain. It is a call-it-what-youwant, 

end of the world rain or the beginning of the 

21st century rain or, “my the climate is changing” 

rain. It used to be one way and now it is another 

end of the drought rain, crying rain, purging rain. 

Nonetheless we just film Dominic in Alpha Graphics 

walking the streets, meeting the mayor, dropping 

in the brochures, get a list of VIPs from Amelia. We 

buy my ticket to Israel as a one way and both of us 

get a haircut. We travel to Scali which is closed, we 

go to see Farmagusta at the gate for dinner. 

Wednesday, 29th November, 2000 

It is still raining and there seems little for us 

to do. We are actually playing a waiting game. I 

received a call from Mustafa, Sarah Russell has 

put him through from the north, it is impossible 

to actually ring directly. He is reiterating what 

Bullant Kanol and the Minister of State have said 

and that is that the other side have no option but to 

conform and replace the image of violence for the 

humanitarian ceremony to occur. They feel that they 

are incapable of doing anything but replying with 

the letter that I read. 

I realise now that the writing is on the wall 

and that the little hope that we had held out for 

the two mayors to meet in the centre of a divided 

city has now disappeared. It would’ve been such 

a magnificent and amazing event. A humanitarian 

event; But the mere presence of two people 

acknowledging and affirming vows of non-violence 

and of peaceful co-existence was too much. As a 

politician is not the words. As I said I respected 

their positions.


I know it is always important to trust, 

even when that trust runs the chance 

of being aborted, then to trust again. 

But somehow there is like a big plate glass, bullet 

proof laminated screen that has just fallen in front 

of us. It is that in spite of the truth, in spite of the 

sadness, in spite of everything I wonder 

I may have misunderstood this letter, but my 

reading of it is that until the Greek Cyrpriot side 

undertakes further steps towards implementing 

measures of peace and reconciliation, you will 

not be participating and attending direction and 

ceremony that “violence and war cannot solve 

the problems of humanity” in the DMZ near Ledra 

Palace controlled by the UN. 

So Mustafa has to be supportive. These are 

his employers; this is his government. He is a 

public relations representative, he is in the Public 

Information Office and his loyalty lies with them, 

not with us. He speaks with his arms crossed in his 

plain hounds tooth suit with black poker dot tie, 

clean shaven face, colloidal scaring, sweet beautific 

grin, a very, very sweet and benign human being 

who must voice the policies of his government as 

much as his own opinions. 

As I said it is now apparent we have no other 

recourse but to see what we can do and in the light 

of what is happening—perhaps a new way will 

be found. Perhaps we will plot a different course. 

Sometimes like an ant crawling through a maze the 

ant is unaware that a maze has a design and route 

that is above and beyond the mere meanderings 

of this ant. So too it is with us and the destiny of 

our journey. We are trying to fulfil a design that is 

greater than the time and the days presume. 

We took a taxi and returned from the north 

across the checkpoint to the south. It is raining 

and sleeting. There are cars hurrying to and fro. 

We drive to a Sony store to buy more digital video 

cassettes. A taxi driver picks us up on the way back. 

The taxi driver then deposits us on a corner when 

he says he’s not going our way. He leaves us on a 

corner where there is a large kiosk and amusement 

cars. And a whole series of strange amusement 

machines all made out of fibreglass painted 

fluorescent and gangrenous gaudy colours—a jumbo 

elephant for five year olds or adult five year olds or 

prematurely ageing five year olds shall we say. 

I leap into one of them. Of course I can’t fit into


another. My mind, it’s sort of at one of those points 

where you look at the event or thing and say ‘no I 

can’t do this’ and then you realise that it is not as 

difficult as it seems or sounds or feels. The next 

moment the money is being deposited into the 

slot and I am clutching the wheel of an exploded 

roadster that looks like it is made out of chewing 

gum or molasses. It begins to roll and I am trapped 

in a cartoon movie. 

That night I traipse through the sleet and almost 

tropical rain, to ‘Bar One’ to invite the Bulgarian 

women to come and see Rebecca and I over the 

weekend: for them to visit us socially rather than 

under the auspices of a deep red neon glow or blue 

light, as women hitched up to a bar with their leg like 

a coat hanger, hanging 

over some man’s 

ribcage. 

I wonder whether 

these people are 

programmed to 

present us with a 

victim mentality 

or whether their 

sadness is a gambit, 

or stratagem to elicit 

sympathy. Maybe it 

began as one motive 

and then stepped into another. It is always difficult 

to find the essence of a person’s sadness. To discern 

whether it is the illegitimacy of a sadness that becomes 

an enslavement. So these women who step into this 

prostitution for reasons, of economy or greed, end up 

by convincing themselves of the truth of being part of 

this. Then it becomes a trap. 

But within the bigger picture, is it so bad that they 

actually do this? Is it so bad that they can become 

something beyond what they are? They try to escape 

from poverty in their own country. Granted they 

are exploited and exploit...This provides them with 

income—here they might make $100, $200 a week, 

$300 perhaps. But the problem is that like everything, 

when you give someone a little bit, they crave for more 

and more. And that growth initiates a thirst, a hunger 

which cannot be appeased. 

Two of the women from the other night I 

recognise, I see Galia briefly and then speak to 

Tanya. There is something artificially beautiful 

about her. She tells me that her hair has recently 

been coloured. Like a piece of mahogany which has 

been varnished, it has a reddish brown tint. I can 

see again the inscription Tanya, in sloping italicised 

calligraphic script, on a chain across her neck in 

gold. I give her the cards with our address—The 

Peace Project and I ask her for us to rendezvous 

tomorrow at Laba in Macarius Avenue at four 

o’clock. I am wondering whether she will come 

and I’m wondering whether I should invite her, her 

friends Lina and Galia to the exhibition. 

Tanya tells me about her child, Gloria who is now 

four and currently being looked after by her mother. 

She says that her greatest happiness would be able 

to spend Christmas with her child—to share time by 

being with her daughter. My heart goes out to her. 

But somehow there is like a big plate glass, bullet 

proof laminated screen that has just fallen in front 

of us. It is that in spite of the truth, in spite of the 

sadness, in spite of everything I wonder whether 

she is genuine or whether it is a stratagem. I know 

it is always important to trust, even when that trust 

runs the chance of being aborted, then to trust 

again. Tanya puts on a cheap white stole; I remark 

that I can only stay another five minutes and then 

I’m gone into the night. 

Thursday, 30th November, 2000, 

Macarius Avenue, Nicosia 

The rendezvous scheduled for three with Rebecca 

and I waiting. We wait at three o’clock the next 

afternoon, in Macarius Avenue at an outside cafeteria 

bar. I turn to Rebecca as she sucks on her perennial 

Stuyvescent cigarette and I say: 

’I don’t think they will come.’ 

’They will come. You have to be patient.’ 

’It’s not that we’re bad people, it’s just that a 

card with an address and phone number in a bar late 

at night, is like a drink in the bar late at night. It is 

finished and then there is always another drink. And 

after that drink another. These are easily forgotten 

invitations.’ 

Meeting people the circumstances upon which we 

meet people are important. A club or bar never elicits 

strong commitment. 

I was not entirely disappointed when after the third 

Margarita nobody came, I thought that it would have 

been good to have continued to see them. Maybe I 

will visit when I return from Cyprus. But it would have 

been good to have interviewed them, whether for the 

film or a sense of friendship, to have come to know 

these people with greater depth and sad intensity. 

Because they spoke Russian I felt that there was level 

of trust which could be built. 

Friday, 1st December, 2000, Red Bar, 

Green Line, Cyprus 

That night we go to one of the night clubs where 

we have been to before called the ‘Red Bar’. There 

is a big red glowing neon sign. The club is on the 

Green line, (not only is it very close, it is directly


Yanis shows us the back area 

which is frozen in time. It sits 

at 1975. All the machinery 

is still untouched from that 

particular period. There was 

a big glass screen which 

separates the night club from 

the area which the public are 

not allowed to enter and this 

is effectively the boundary of 

the Green line. 

We spent the afternoon in the village with Nikos running 

through schedules and agenda for the ceremony in Pyle.


Yanis the cinematographer/journalist/bouncer from ‘Red Bar’, said that he often went across accompanying 

other journalists. He explained it was peculiar and frustrating to stand in front of his own house, ‘what had 

been his own house’, now occupied by other people—strangers—to hear laughter, children’s voices and the 

clink of glasses. 

Everyone asked me what it was like to be on the 

north side. My explanation was always the same, 

it’s like another world. 

sandwiched on the Green line) on Dionysus Street (very apt) in mid “the dead zone“. It is operated by a Greek 

Cypriot, called Pavlos who is 40ish, entrepreneurial, pert, focused, attractive, perhaps a little machiavellian and 

wears jeans. Has that kind of swaggering bravado that you would find in Tel Aviv. He allows us to film and as 

guests we film the nightclub. The lights are low, they are pointed up so that they go up the walls in a speckled 

fashion, very attractive as it lights the whole bar. Yanis, pigtailed camera man who is the bouncer at the front 

door initiates and plays host to us about ten o’clock as the thronging crowd begins to mass in the place. 

Kypruos the director of the hotel we are staying is there with his wife looking more relaxed and less officious, 

less distance. All of the sudden we are meeting on the same side of the counter rather than different sides of 

the counter. He has a nice smile and there is a little island on the top of his head; looks like it’s by a few more 

hairs. Yanis shows us the back area which is frozen in time. It sits at 1975. All the machinery is still untouched 

from that particular period. There was a big glass screen which separates the night club from the area which 

the public are not allowed to enter and this is effectively the boundary of the Green line. 

We walk outside to the UN boundary line where there is barbed wire. Yanis is discussing the perimeter and 

we then return to the crowd, the bar and Rebecca using the steady cam just follows us through. 

Saturday, 2nd December, 2000, Larnacca, Cyprus 

Today, Saturday, we pick up a rent-a-car. There are two white scratches on it, and it’s an Opal. We drive 

to a small village close to Larnacca airport, a coastal town where Nikos and his wife are. The village is called 

Arabdipoo and never could you forget such a curious and quizzical name. All you have to think of is an Arab 

which did a pooh. And Sue, Nikos’s wife laughing said it was a very strange query less event precisely because 

when they were studying in Birmingham at university (and that was when Nikos 30 years ago met his wife), 

they got hold of a Greek Cypriot tourist book and looked up “Arabdipoo“. There were only two lines about the 

village, one was that it was fashionable and reputable for nothing, and secondly that the one smell that you 

could smell was the animal faeces from a mule. 

We spent the afternoon in the village with Nikos running through schedules and agenda for the ceremony 

in Pyle. We discuss the scaffolding. Sue is bringing in the tea and coffee. We are discussing organising whether 

Kate Clerides is going to come. Then there are some dumplings which we eat. Sue then talks about the 

destruction of the ozone forests. 

At one point Nikos attempts to phone through to his friend on the Turkish side of Cyprus, Ulus Irkad. He 

is the mirror teacher of Nikos in the Turkish Zone. The TRNC government has allegedly confiscated a part of 

his house. Whether that is as a result of his bi-communal activities or not, I am not clear. The family of Sue and


Dear Mr. Dimitriades, 

the northern side has declined to accept our offer of a peace ceremony. They have used the matter of the 

Ledra Palace checkpoint billboards as an issue for declination. I enclose both my letters to the Minister of 

Foreign Affairs in the north and their letter. 

Nikos seems to feel that this is a way of making his 

activities untenable for Ulus to live in the country. 

We return home exhausted through the nightscape 

to Nicosia. Rebecca is quiet, while each of us lapse 

into our own thoughts. When we travel together 

there is a simultaneous yet individual depth that we 

each individually experience. We live apart but we 

live together. It has been a good relationship. In some 

ways deeper and stronger than that. But at the same 

time each of our relationships have different qualities 

and quantities, and like different circles touching 

at different points they create eclipses. A rich and 

invigorating experience. Although it’s a funny, funny 

thing because I do not believe we have had many 

arguments, we have had nothing. It has been a very 

placid and generous experience. So the night was 

cool and cold and the wind in our faces as we drove 

into Nicosia, got some take-away and watched some 

television and went to bed. 

Sunday, 3rd December, 2000, 

Ayanapa, Cyprus 

We drove to Ayanapa, a coastal town famous for it’s 

dance parties during the summer season on the east 

of the island. A famed holiday resort, now with the 

tourist season finished, people are lapsing into their 

burrows and the place struck us as a vulgar ghost town 

of empty tourist hotels and the occasional European 

Union tourist striding alone down the street. 

Rebecca worked out that there would be 

perhaps one to two tourists to every restaurant. 

Perhaps 3000 restaurants. We found one place 

where there were a few people. A small bay harbour. 

I spoke to a couple of people who were Greek 

Cypriot residents. Everyone asked me what it was 

like to be on the north side. My explanation was 

always the same, it’s like another world. 

So often I finish up by defending the other 

side. From the north I defend the south, from the 

south I defend the north. I take a neutral position 

as if it is possible, as if it is realistic. One boy with 

dark glasses and a five o’clock shadow wearing a 

T-shirt that says “let me be free”, explained that he 

travelled over two years ago to the north as part of a 

peace mission and that he hated it because he was 

treated like a tourist. 

Yanis the cinematographer/journalist/bouncer 

from ‘Red Bar’, said that he often went across 

accompanying other journalists. He explained it 

was peculiar and frustrating to stand in front of his 

own house, ‘what had been his own house’, now 

occupied by other people—strangers—to hear 

laughter, children’s voices and the clink of glasses. 

That evening back in the city we drove to a 

poetry reading to the house of our friend Maria 

Hajipavlo. Apparently the name Haji means that the 

person has visited Jerusalem. It is like they have 

made the haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca (it’s actually 

an Islamic term). We listen to a series of poems by 

various people.


Each person introduces themselves in the 

evening. There is a New York boy who is gay, who 

talks about the death of friends from AIDS. And 

Andreas, a wizened octogenerian with a beautiful 

demeanour, suffering 

from Parkinson’s 

disease. I think 

someone must have 

read his poem, 

which is called ‘The 

Dream’, because he 

is to ill to read it. An 

English lady reads a 

poem called ‘Tragic 

Images’ and then 

‘Jerusalem’. And 

then another poem 

I feel like I 

am running a 

marathon and 

having to start 

again. 

says poem of Charambolidies Shopping Street. And 

then Dominic reads his poem ‘I Believe’. Then Lisa 

reads her own poem. 

I spent the evening also talking to Maria’s son. 

She is a professor who teaches reconciliation at the 

Greek Cypriot university with Nashe, her colleague, 

who also reads a poem. 

Monday, 4th December, 2000, 


Is the peace ceremony a possibility? I must send 

a new letters to Lelos Dimitriades. I need to print 

out press release and also ring the other Dimitriades, 

the police constable in the morning. This is the 

Dimitriades who I have to send a statement of what, 

where, how and when. The letter I write to Mr. Lelos 

Dimitriades Mayor of Nicosia lies in the paragraph 

below: 

‘Mr. Lelos Dimitriades, Mayor of Nikosia, 

Cyprus, 30th of November 2000, Nikosia. 

Dear Mr. Dimitriades, 

the northern side has declined to accept our 

offer of a peace ceremony. They have used the 

matter of the Ledra Palace checkpoint billboards 

as an issue for declination. I enclose both my 

letters to the Minister of Foreign Affairs in 

the north and their letter. This was reiterated 

by their Minister of Foreign Affairs. Mr. Semi 

Bora the Mayor of Turkish Nicosia, or as is also 

referred the Turkish representative could not 

act unless they had given him permission, it 

seems. I was disappointed but it has revealed at 

least the issue that I must come prepared with in 

future. 

A message of peace cannot be compromised 

in the future by either side’s political tit for 

tat. As I said, a message of peace between two 

parties should be affirmed and allowed to occur 

in a neutral zone without preconditions by 

specific acts of political goodwill from either side, 

especially if the message is that war and violence 

cannot solve the problems of humanity. We hope 

to be able to see you again. I have one small 

favour; a small interview for the film. We are 

hoping to do the peace event at the Pergamus at 

the SBAA on the 10th of December. Many, many 

thanks for your support and help. 

Sincerely, Dominic Ryan and Rebecca Prole. 

My list indicates that I must see Phillip about 

a public address system. I ask Nikos if we can 

telephone. I must contact Kate Claridis and Contact 

Nashe to read poem 318941 – that’s her phone 

number. I must ask Maria Hajipavlo for addresses 

of people I can contact. Ring Doxia re a press list. 

Peace ceremony is 

still a possibility. 

I then send letter 

to the Australian 

embassy with 

passport. It was a 

day of typing up 

letters. 

We travel to 

Romamour where 

Rebecca films me. 

It is cafe off Nickitis 

Avenue. I am 

talking how I am really over this ridiculous series of 

rejections. I feel like I am running a marathon and 

having to start again. We discuss the other side’s 

response. In Pyle we do not have a choir; we do not 

have a public address system, only a billboard. For 

the press it is not really any massive event. I want 

something to be there for the people. I want to go 

across and talk to Channal Lavant, my friend Alvan‘s 

father who operates the socialist newspaper in the 

Turkish zone. 

Wednesday, 6th December, 2000, 

Pyle Buffer Zone 

The invitation goes: 

‘You are invited to attend the peace project 

ceremony 2000 presented by the Australian 

artist Dominic Ryan, Pergamus Park near Pyle. 

Date, Sunday the 10th of December. Time, 1pm. 

Imagine you are driving towards the Pergamus 

Park and from the distance you see two massive 

paintings for peace 15 feet high and 84 feet long 

erected in the park. These paintings are images 

of peace and condemnations of violence. 

Their titles are ‘We have all Suffered Enough’ 

and ‘Peace on Earth’. The vital message is that

M I N U T E S T O WA R :The Last Divided City 

‘Art is the opposite of war.’ 

Pyle...is on the Green line maybe 125 kilometres away from the Ledra Palace checkpoint. It is within the buffer 

zone but because it is connected to the British sovereign bases area which is legally under international law, 

British soil and the three areas rub cheek to cheek, it allows for Greek Cypriots to enter up into it’s territory and 

for Turkish Cypriots to descend down also. As a result it is the one place in the area where Greeks and Turks 

can, congregate and relate. 

war and violence cannot solve the problems of humanity. Dominic Ryan’s work has been exhibited in 

areas of conflict around the world including Sarajevo, Kosovo and the Gaza Strip.’ 

I have sent press releases to Dafnes and asked him to forward to various people the invitations of the 

exhibition. I must ring Madelaine and Lita who is helping with the scaffolding and thank god for that. I must 

also ring Anita. In the morning I need to send letters to embassies, find musicians from the other side. I also 

must inform media in north Cyprus. 

My first interview is with Tina at DNA, which is an artists restaurant close to the old city run by an Israeli 

at 10 o’clock. She’s a little bit late and she rings to say that her automobile is coming out of the automobile 

hospital and could we meet soon. At which she does. We saunter down to the area just below and at DNA 

where Aleni and her boyfriend are we conduct the interview. I show her the booklet about the paintings with 

my philosophy. I like the statement by a friend of mine, David Thomas: 

‘Art is the opposite of war.’ 

We saw Mustafa on the day of the Paris, Texas drive and we said goodbye to him There was something soft, 

gentle and sad about our farewell. He was seeing our departure as a loss of a friend even though there were 

question marks. When I went to see Channal Lavant he would say: ‘Oh you don’t really want to see him, he’s 

busy now, theyare printing the press.’ 

The meeting at the British police force with Superintendent Guy goes well. We require their cooperation 

since the Pyle Pergamus Park is part of the buffer zone which they technically control and officiate, rather than 

the UN. There are a few problems. I should begin first by explaining Pyle, as I said, is on the Green line maybe 

125 kilometres away from the Ledra Palace checkpoint. It is within the buffer zone but because it is connected 

to the British sovereign bases area which is legally under international law, British soil and the three areas rub 

cheek to cheek, it allows for Greek Cypriots to enter up into it’s territory and for Turkish Cypriots to descend


The rain is weeping, the rain is engulfing us ... 

down also. It is a little bottle neck from both ends. As a result it is the one place in the area where Greeks and Turks 

can, congregate and relate. 

The Turkish TRNC policy is not to encourage bi-communal events. Mustafa’s position was that he could not 

actively encourage, once his government had rejected the message of peace, that he could not really step any further 

towards us or our camp. 

Meanwhile back in Pyla, Superintendent Guy was saying to Mr Dominic Ryan: ‘There had been certain very, very 

strange events which had occurred in the region.’ There are two coffee shops, one is Turkish, one is Greek which 

sit opposite one another in the city square and the Pergamus Park is much closer in the dead zone to the Green line. 

Now one of the members of the Turkish coffee shop had been arrested with one and a half kilos of heroin and a 

threat had been sent from the embassy, not the embassy, because there was no diplomatic relations between the two 

zones. Between the Department of Foreign Affairs a representative saying if he was not returned to Turkish soil they 

could not guarantee the safety of any Greek Cypriots in the Pyle area. We were about to have a peace event while 

there were threats of kidnappings, and threats that people would be arrested. We believed that this was one reason 

why the event was going to be cancelled. Parents whose children might attend were going to be frightened away.


So Superintendent Guy rang Madeline Garlick, 

the Civil Affairs Officer for the UN. Madeline said 

that her intelligence reports suggested that the 

area had settled down; people on both sides were 

more comfortable and relaxed. Superintendent 

Guy said that because they had both Turkish and 

Greek employed as police they would send out their 

intelligence sources to find out whether this was 

the case. If so, then they would allow the event to 

happen and if it was confirmed there would be no 

further postponement. 

Lita, our friend had already organised someone 

to help erect the scaffolding and we were now on 

track. So Superintendent Guy indicates he will ring 

me on Saturday morning to confirm whether their 

sources had been correct. And if it was affirmative 

it could go ahead and if it was not he could not tell 

us not to, but he would discourage us by generating 

his own opinion for the United Nations. He said 

it would not be in the interest of the safety of all 

persons concerned, if the intelligence had shown 

the area was volatile. 

Friday, 8th December, 2000, 


I went to the ‘European’, a coffee shop in the 

north, and Hussein, a restaurateur had decided to 

escort me to the available media stations. We went 

to a couple of television stations, Cyprus television, 

and to some journalist stations with press releases, 

in preparation for the Sunday event. 

The city and it’s populace were in the middle of 

a strike. The inner-city was congested with traffic, 

funerals, and people waving banners, hand-painted 

on sheets of white linen in the city. We went from 

newspaper to media station in the confusion of this 

throng to give my grubby press releases to the press 

here. I gave Hussein 30 pounds which was probably 

significant, about $100 to pay for some musicians, 

but I did not feel that the musicians were going to 

come. In fact they didn’t and I never saw the money 

or the musicians or Hussein ever again.


“We have an amazing opportunity here with a man called Dominic Ryan, this person from Australia, who has 

brought a message of peace. He wanted two politicians to enter a checkpoint and hold their hands for peace 

and what happens is that one of the politicians could not do it. And then what happened is the artist found 

two girls who could do what two politicians could not do.” 

Saturday, 9th December, 2000, 

Nicosia and Pyle 

Today is a day where it just pours and pours. 

The rain is weeping, the rain is engulfing us with a 

thousand million droplets. It is difficult to see the 

roads and Lita picks me up in the morning at ten 

o’clock. I start to measure the billboards. It seems 

to me a ridiculous experience that we are going 

to erect this billboard in this torrential rain, but I 

guess that is one thing I have to do. I have to take 

just one step at a time. 

We put the billboards into the back of Lita’s 

car. I have actually christened her dog Sabachka 

and we drive down to Pyle from the Excelsior 

Hotel apartments. Marius is being sardonic and 

attempting a crude Cypriot humour, and he has 

dubbed Rebecca Madame Lucifer. And he shouts 

out her new name we are off to Pyle and Pergamus 

Park. 

My list for the day says bring billboard to the 

area and erect scaffolding at nine o’clock in the 

morning. The boys from Nikos’s Seeds of Peace 

were there and we managed to drive to the area 

where the scaffolding is to be erected. The car 

actually has to wade through sections of the road 

which are three feet under water. The water passes 

over as a torrential river. I do not know what it is 

going to be like for tomorrow. I think and pray and 

hope that all will be resolved. 

We go to a coffee shop in Pyle in the middle 

of the erection and Lita shows me this card trick 

which I perform against Stelios, the man who has 

the scaffolding firm. 

It was a really beautiful day driving down with 

Lita and I ask her if there is anything I can do to 

repay her and she says there is one thing you can 

put into your film at the very end. A memorial to a 

friend of mine. He was charged with embezzlement


Of course the SBAA police arrive and of course there is the Turkish Mocrabrat (secret police) who arrive in 

plain clothes and want to know what is happening. 

It was just amazing to erect the poster. The wind was blowing so hard, I just did not really think it was going to 

work. It was so, so, so crazy ...


At least it was up, at least 

something had been done. 

Turkish police in their red Peugeot appeared and then 

disappeared, appearing and disappearing. Like a 

vaudevillian keystone cops that would appear and disappear 

throughout a play.


Then two students, one from North Cyprus and the other from South Cyprus in an island which has been 

divided by war where refugees have been unable to return to their homes hold hands on an isthmus in a no 

mans land in front of a billboard which says we have all suffered enough in front of the billboard.


Peace is a human right for every man, 

woman and child on this planet. And peace


can only come first through the human 

heart before it can come politically.


before the courts, found guilty, went to prison, his 

wife left him. He was a mechanic, and finally after 

years of trying he managed to clear his name, he 

went to the press and he said to them: ‘I was front 

page when I was guilty, but when I’m innocent I’m 

not even the back page’; and two years later he 

committed suicide. 

It is raining and Lita drops me at Friendship 

House near Pyle. The children here are from both 

sides, and there is the Turkish Cypriots, Greek 

Cypriots and a bi-communal workshop which is 

called Friendship House in Pyle. 

There were students of creative writing reading 

each other’s stories, girls reading Greek Cypriot 

writing and Turkish Cypriots confiding in their 

dreams, their deepest secrets—that they realise 

there was nothing dividing them because ‘we really 

are people that are willing to fight for peace in our 

country non-violently. There was a great monster 

which is propaganda, we must fight against it’. 

They would say things like, ‘I start to believe we 

can live together after this camp. The symbol of 

peace means a lot to us. Everyone talks about being 

strange and different and learn to live together 

we must love each other despite the differences. 

The teacher was telling them that was bad, it was 

OK to murder others’. And she said ‘piano lessons 

helps me escape the problems of the real world. 

I realise my family is there, my father, my mother, 

it is the most beautiful thing. I am trying to think 

what my life would be without them, nothing. This 

part would be much better if all the children of the 

world are taught that we are all one. I travelled to 

the Atlantic and I got to know people that were 

different to me’. Nashe is talking about erotic stories 

next door. 

Nikos explains: ‘We have an amazing opportunity 

here with a man called Dominic Ryan, this person 

from Australia, who has brought a message of peace. 

He wanted two politicians to enter a checkpoint 

and hold their hands for peace and what happens is 

that one of the politicians could not do it. And then 

what happened is the artist found two girls who 

could do what two politicians could not do.’ 

We drove home having rented a car for two days, 

exhausted, drained, branched, numb, and mildly 

semi-conscious. 

Sunday, 10th December, 2000, 

Pyle, Cyprus 

The next day is the peace ceremony at Pergamus 

Park in Pyle. I do not know what to think. I’m 

am frightened it is going to be a non-event. The 

scaffolding guys are there and we arrive. The 

strangest thing was waking up at three o’clock in 

the morning and looking out the window after all 

that rain and sleet and hail and there were stars in 

the sky. I knew that another miracle had happened 

and the day was going to be fine. 

Dominic, and Marius laid out the posters. We 

then pull them out of the plastic bag, the scaffolding 

is there and we tie it all together. A tribute to 

American Beauty. Of course the SBAA police arrive 

and of course there is the Turkish Mocrabrat (secret 

police) who arrive in plain clothes and want to 

know what is happening. They want to know how 

many people and I say we do not expect many if any 

because of the rain. 

It was just amazing to erect the poster. The wind 

was blowing so hard, I just did not really think it 

was going to work. It was so, so, so crazy and I knew 

that once we had tied it down, it would act as a 

sail to push the scaffolding tower down across the 

people. I got Kosta, a gentle giant, with his Pajero 

and we drove off to the United Nations command 

post, stopped the car and raced out. There was 

a Austrian soldier who could barely string three 

syllables together and we asked if he had any rope. 

We need it to tie the scaffolding to the trees so it 

would not blow over. And he was saying ‘oh I don’t 

think we have’ and then he rang the base and they 

did not have any rope either. 

Then we drove 

down to a medley 

of green grocers 

and supermarket 

shops and bought 

the most pathetic 

pieces of plastic 

that would not even 

be used for hanging 

washing. As long 

as we did not lose 

trust, lose faith in 

the situation. We 

drove around in search of a hardware store, but 

everything was locked. There was a man standing 

on the road whom I went straight up to and Kosta 

came out of the car following me. Mid-50s grey hair, 

stubble on his face, red face from presumably hung 

over from drinking the night before. And he was 

the proprietor, and the next moment we are in the 

shop buying the thickest rope for 20 pounds, $60, 

we were able to use that to tie the scaffolding to the 

trees. The ceremony started at one o’clock and we 

had 40, 30, 15 minutes to do it, and we screeched 

back, raced back, tied the ropes, and tied the 

images. 

There was one gust of wind and it blew out and 

the eyelet buttons burst along one eighth of one 

billboard. It was 80% there. At which the guests and 

people from Friendship House arrived and the event 

began.


It was an ad hoc event and the thought which 

kept on running through my head was, at least we 

put it up. It did not matter that so few had come. At 

least it was up, at least something had been done. 

Turkish police in their red Peugeot appeared and 

then disappeared, appearing and disappearing. Like 

a vaudevillian keystone cops that would appear and 

disappear throughout a play. 

The painting just sailed up and down in the wind 

like a sail on a ship that just refused to be held in 

as a jive . Everyone from the bi-communal sections 

arrived. And there was no PA. Nikos arrived, 

brilliant to switch off the generator. 

And then there is the events as they transpire. 

Then two girls, one from North Cyprus and the 

other from South Cyprus in an island which has 

been divided by war where refugees have been 

unable to return to their homes hold hands on an 

isthmus in a no mans land in front of a billboard 

which says we have all suffered enough in front of 

the billboard. And one of the girls says: 

‘It’s beautiful that people from far away have got 

to show us something about peace, that we’ve been 

living apart from for so long. We are here to bring 

more teenagers together. Some people can be so 

blind. Youth is our hope.’ 

I read my speech now: 

‘Peace is a human right for every man, 

woman and child on this planet. And peace 

can only come first through the human heart 

before it can come politically. I know others 

believe otherwise, but if governments wish to 

truly serve their people, then what they must 

serve is the source of humanity and that is 

peace and the right to peace. But still wars will 

continue to exist through the establishment 

of nation states. Wars of succession are often 

serviced by true and perceived injustices by 

both parties. When each side becomes the enemy 

and perpetrators of evil acts of barbarism, then 

the chain of suffering continues. The scars of 

each people from war and injustice carry a pain 

which cannot be erased easily with time. To lose 

sons and daughters, often innocent victims of 

events beyond their control and understanding 

leaves a stain on a nation’s psyche which is 

difficult to heal. But the removal of this stain 

must come through forgiveness as well as justice 

or not at all. The road to peace is a two way 

street and this peace can only be established 

through compromise which will be perceived by 

both sides as unfavourable, but to reach some 

degree of political consensus between deeply 

unreconciled political perspectives, there must be 

a will to sacrifice small pieces for a greater gain. 

Two cars driving in different directions, although 

they may be on the same road, perceive entirely 

different backgrounds. It is the same road 

nonetheless. This is not only a metaphor but 

the reality of a perspective of two different


individuals or masses. The representatives from 

both side must try and see that they must make 

deep, brave and difficult compromises if they 

are to live socially and economically together on 

one very small island. There must be the will 

to forgive, to learn to live together, to learn to 

heal the past and the will to build a new future 

together. That future may not be an easy one, 

but the seeds of peace can now be planted in the 

hearts of both people. If these people who have 

come here, both to affirm and acknowledge a 

simple message, why not the politicians? Was it 

so difficult to stand in the middle of a checkpoint 

and affirm that war and violence cannot solve 

our problems? I respect their reasons, but I 

disagree. Perhaps the children who are our 

future can show us a better way, that a simple 

way is now and here. I believe a politician 

is a human being and I honour them all and 

all I asked of them was to enter that zone as 

human beings. A nobility of sentiment would 

not have disgraced them before the world. Life 

is both precious and sacred and to affirm this 

between two enemies is a brave and noble act. 

To affirm a message that war and violence will 

not solve our problems is good. Peace on earth 

will come when we forgive each other. There 

is a new world where there are no boundaries, 

nor frontiers. Peace on earth will come when 

we experience unity of our brotherhood, of 

humanity, above the divisions of nationality, 

religion, ideology, sex, colour and religion. For 

someone to divide us is to separate us from the 

peace. Peace on earth will come when in our 

hearts we feel we are all one people. Peace on 

earth will come when we know that one other’s 

pain is our pain. Then there is true compassion 

and when there is true compassion there is true 

justice. With true justice there can be peace on 

earth.’ 

are part of a world tour of conflict hot spots 

carrying the message that war and violence 

cannot solve the problems of humanity. Ryan’s 

work has already been exhibited in Sarajevo, 

Kosovo and the Gaza Strip and after the Cyprus 

event, Jerusalem will be the next stop, followed 

by northern Ireland. The Greek Cypriot coordinator 

of the event Nikos Anastasios told the 

Sunday Mail that a heroic effort was underway 

in Pegamus to erect the giant paintings under 

this downpour. Under these circumstances it’s 

very difficult he said. Today’s event, weather 

permitting, will start at 1pm and involves 

young people from both sides of the Green 

line. Anastasios said politicians from the two 

sides had also been invited to the event, but 

organisers had not received a response yet. He 

added that the north is undergoing a serious 

upheaval at the moment because of the general 

strike which began last Monday. 

‘No matter how many people come we want 

to make a statement’, Anastasios said. ‘In 

parallel with the exhibition a group of Greeks 

and Turkish Cypriots who have never met will 

spend a week in Pyle as part of the ongoing bicommunal 

event to bring young people together 

from both sides. This will be the sixth group to 

take part in the program’ said Anastasios who 

describes himself as being passionate on the 

concept of citizen peace keeping. 

In today’s exhibition one of the images shows 

the futility of war and it’s inability to solve the 

problems of humanity. The second represents 

harmony. Erecting these billboards in no 

man’s land within disputed frontiers promotes 

tolerance and encourages new dialogue between 

countries, the organisers say. The exhibition 

does not excel any ideology over another, but 

request the understanding of the worth of 

humanity above divisions. 

That is followed by Nikos’s speech. He talks 

about one drop of peace and another drop and it 

still doesn’t change and then another drop and 

then finally there is a complete change. And this 

is something that happens in chemistry. It is a 

reality. ‘Thank you Dominic Ryan for coming from 

Australia.’ 

And it is strange the more I look back on this 

event the more beautiful it is, the more kind of 

special, more magical, the whole thing was and is. 

We received this article on the 12th. 

This was written in the local paper: 

‘Peace Group Battles the Weather for Pyle 

Rally. Two giant paintings were being erected 

by De Jean Christou . Two giant paintings were 

being erected at Pegamus Park in Pyle yesterday 

as part of the ceremony for peace to be held 

there today. The 7.6 by 25.6 metre paintings 

by Australian artist Dominic Ryan titled ‘We 

Have All Suffered Enough’ and ‘Peace on Earth’


It is finished and because it is finished there is 

the relief of completion, a relief, a sense that what 

we did, we succeeded against all odds. On some 

level, a small historical event took place even though 

few people came. In looking to the future I hope 

that we are able to manifest something that would 

be beautiful. We can only step towards the future 

and embrace it with open arms, with trust and 

hope. 

These is the final we words we shared: 

Rebecca: What did we do? 

Dominic: When I look back on it, it feels better, 

more successful now. Even when we had the event 

in Gaza it took us a while to realise the success. 

Rebecca: The impact. 

Dominic: Because when we are inside it and 

we can cannot see what is happening. It is only 

afterwards that it takes on a different emphasis. 

Rebecca: It was great fun. We met some 

interesting people. The place at Pyle was odd. We 

were a bit hesitant at first because it was windy and 

then it came through. It was one of the clearest days 

on the last three days before it was raining. But for 

me it was like a little London. But crossing over to 

the other side was the most interesting part. Like 

being in Jerusalem. Very different, but that kind of 

adventure. Mustafa was the coolest guy I have met 

in a long time. But we hung around the hotel a lot 

kind of waiting, waiting, waiting. Dominic typing, 

typing, typing with one finger. However he achieved 

it. We ate loads, we had the most amazing foods. I 

am giving you the abstract non-political stuff. And 

we met two sexy mayors who were very charming. 

Dominic: The two sexy mayors. Maybe we have 

an inter cut between the cabaret women and the 

two sexy mayors. Maybe we could have them doing 

their little sort of husky voice on the telephone. 

Rebecca: It was cool. What else did we do there? 

It felt like we were there for three months in some 

ways and then when we left it was, like, have I done 

much here? We shot about 45 hours of filming so we 

must have done something. But the camera became 

attached to me like it was just there all the time, so I 

didn’t really notice it.


Minutes to War 

The Diary of a Gonzo Diplomat 

1. Moscow 1994 

2. Sarajevo 1995 

3. Israel-Palestine 1997 

4. Kosovo-Albania 1999 

5. Cyprus 2000 

6. Qaliya 2001 - Jerusalem 2002 

7. The Peace Project 

Seven Diaries by Dominic Ryan 

Edited by Christopher Race 

Graphic Design by Walter Ochoa - 

Leigh Woodburgess - Pat 

Photographs by Dominic Ryan - Daniel Rosenthal - 

Tycho Sierra - Deaudeaux - Firouz Malekzadeh 

-UN forces Cyprus & Madeline Garlick–Tahir Gambis 

© Dominic Ryan 2005 

This is an inhouse publication for private purposes only. 

The Peace Project

Cyprus 2000 Peace Project

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