Editor’s Note: This week, the blog has been tagging along with fellow Cheapo Alex Christodoulides as she visits family in Cyprus.

NEW YORK—For the first 17 years of my life, my panorama of Cyprus was the inside of my relatives’ homes. We would arrive “apo Ameriki” and immediately begin a whirl of lunches and dinners with different relatives, and there’s a “welcome” round of invitations as well as a “farewell” one.

To an extent this is still the case — this visit, my mom drew up a calendar and listed each day’s invitations (and, afterward, what we ate, and then she and I transcribed the recipes we’d requested for the various dishes because we both love cooking) even though much of the socializing was in restaurants, as our relatives lose interest in spending days in the kitchen and hours washing up.

Now that I’m back in the U.S. I find myself wishing I’d brought home more than photos and recipes. My relatives are such charming, smart, interesting people, and trying to recreate dishes we ate at shared meals just makes me wish they were with me more often.

Besides the food, one other thing in Cyprus is inevitable: political discussions. In Cyprus politics isn’t just background, it’s life.

The Cyprus problem, as it’s called, is that since 1974 the island has been divided between the predominantly Greek-Cypriot Republic and the Turkish and Turkish-Cypriot north after Turkish troops invaded in response to a Greek-Cypriot coup (the Museum of the National Struggle in Nicosia explains some of this in greater detail, but makes no claim to objectivity). The Green Line that marks the partition is still patrolled by United Nations troops.

Since then, diplomacy has failed to truly resolve the situation, and just about every time I visit Cyprus there’s another round of talks between the Greek-Cypriot and Turkish-Cypriot leaders. I don’t notice tension between the two sides in everyday life, but talks always get people emotional and this time was no exception.

Just before the Republic of Cyprus joined the European Union in 2003 the Green Line was made a porous border, where at certain checkpoints you can enter the north. A passport is required, and for this reason many of my relatives refuse to visit — they say they shouldn’t have to show a passport to cross a false border (Turkey’s is the only government to recognize the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus) — but I’ve gone to my dad’s village on a previous trip to Cyprus and found the north sort of like a trip back in time. It was a fascinating look at how the two sides live, and interesting to see where I could have grown up.

But politics is only part of life in Cyprus, where there are beaches to lay on, food to enjoy, art to examine, shopping and nightlife to sample, and strong coffee to power us through all of it. It’s a small country with a big appetite to enjoy life.

Speaking of coffee, when my relative read our fortunes (see photo), she predicted for my mom “a social gathering at a table, which will be a very pleasant and joyous event.” Which is just like every visit to Cyprus, for us — followed by food coma and a nap, then dinner, sleep it off again and repeat.

This is why I visit every couple of years — that’s how long it takes to fit into my clothes again because, unlike New Yorkers, Cypriots don’t walk. We drive even the shortest distances, and would maneuver our cars through the supermarket aisles like a giant drive-thru if we could.

And then, peering into my mom’s coffee cup, she directed my dad to bring us back every year.

About the author: Alex Christodoulides is one of those push-me-pull-you creatures known as a dual citizen. When not at home in New York City (where she is a freelance writer) or in Cyprus (where she is a freeloader taking advantage of her relatives’ hospitality), she is probably dreaming of a trip to someplace where vaccinations are required and Fodor’s fears to tread.

Popularity: 17% [?]

A rooftop view of Nicosia, Cyprus. Photo by Alex Christodoulides.

Editor’s Note: This week, the blog will be tagging along with fellow Cheapo Alex Christodoulides as she visits family in Cyprus.

NICOSIA, Cyprus—Nicosia has about a dozen churches of various styles and ages scattered through the walled part of the city, ranging from the Byzantine Chrysaliniotissa Church near the Green Line and the Famagusta Gate to the airy 19th-century Phaneromeni Church. Ayios Ioannis cathedral sounds larger than it is and has been through more change than its simple name suggests. Some, like Stavros tou Missirikou Church, have survived so many masters of Cyprus that their outward appearance would seem to indicate an identity crisis.

Chrysaliniotissa Church

Chrysaliniotissa Church keeps a low profile, literally, with its solid, reliable barrel vaults. Although it’s on a street that bears its name, it’s pretty unobtrusive if you arrive there from a back road – no sky-high bell tower makes it easy to spot miles away.

Inside is a respite from the heat and glare, thanks to thick stone walls. The iconostasis here is unusually wide, making for a shallow but broad seating area. Take a look at the Virgin Mary and Christ icons, where worshippers often leave offerings in silver or wax to symbolize requests or thanks for prayers answered.

Ayios Ioannis cathedral

The oft-reinvented Ayios Ioannis sits inside a complex that includes the Archbishopric and the Byzantine Museum and Art Galleries. So small it seems you could stretch your arms and almost touch both walls, the church was built in 1662 on the site of a 14th-century Benedictine chapel dedicated to St. John the Evangelist which subsequently became a Greek Orthodox church honoring St. John the Theologian.

The single-aisle building’s lavishly painted walls and ceiling depict scenes from the Bible and the major saints of the Orthodox Church, with the throng of faces clearing for a huge Pantokrator above the elaborate iconostasis. Shooting photos and video is not allowed inside the church, and a sign at the door says tour groups get five minutes to take it all in, but on quiet days the caretaker will let you take a seat to admire as long as you like.

Stavros tou Missirikou Church

Stavros tou Missirikou Church was built in the 16th century as a medieval Orthodox house of worship, but was converted into a mosque in 1571 when the Ottomans took over the island. The church has some Byzantine, Gothic and Italian Renaissance architectural elements, and a minaret added to one side of the building documents its time as a mosque, which is a lot to cram into a building that seats maybe 30 people. No longer used for ecclesiastical services, the church often houses exhibits.

Phaneromeni Church

Nearby is Phaneromeni Church, the largest in the walled city. Its tall, unadorned white walls seem to direct the worshippers’ gaze to the massive icons near the entrances and the intricately carved, painted and gilded iconostasis.

Phaneromeni Church is another where the faithful have left a collection of wax items hooked on the iconostasis rail to symbolize prayers made or answered. A constant trickle of worshippers drops by to kiss the icons of favorite saints or offer a quick prayer for an urgent request as a benevolent-looking Pantokrator gazes down on them from on high.

About the author: Alex Christodoulides is one of those push-me-pull-you creatures known as a dual citizen. When not at home in New York City (where she is a freelance writer) or in Cyprus (where she is a freeloader taking advantage of her relatives’ hospitality), she is probably dreaming of a trip to someplace where vaccinations are required and Fodor’s fears to tread.

Popularity: 16% [?]