There is a wrong way to live in Northern Cyprus.
Wake up. Drive to work. Complain about traffic. Work. Drive home. Order food. Netflix. Sleep. Repeat.
Do this long enough and you can successfully turn a Mediterranean island into Milton Keynes.
Congratulations.
The alternative requires a little more imagination.
Because Northern Cyprus is not particularly good at entertaining you.
It doesn’t constantly knock on your door asking whether you would like to attend something.
You have to become curious.
You have to know where to turn off the main road.
You have to make friends.
You have to occasionally say yes before you’ve worked out the logistics.
And once you understand that, something interesting happens.
Your life starts developing texture.
A Wednesday can contain a swim.
A Friday night can begin with Argentine tango in old Nicosia.
A Saturday can start somewhere in the mountains and finish around your dining table with twelve people, three languages, too much food and somebody insisting they have found the perfect song.
Sunday?
Disappear.
That’s the Northern Cyprus I love.
Here are a few ways to find it.
01 — Go Somewhere Old Enough to Make Your Problems Look Ridiculous
Go to St Hilarion Castle early.
Not midday.
Not after a giant breakfast.
Early.
Bring water and proper shoes and start climbing.
The higher you go, the more modern life seems to disappear beneath you.
Stone stairs. Tiny passages. Ruined chambers. Wind.
Then suddenly the northern coastline opens below.
Most people reach that point and immediately do the same thing.
Phone out. Photo. Next.
Don’t.
Sit down.
Find a quiet corner among those walls and give the place ten minutes without trying to capture it.
Imagine those stones at night nine hundred years ago.
No Kyrenia glowing beneath you.
No highway.
No electricity.
Just firelight inside the castle.
Horses somewhere below.
Guards watching the coastline.
Someone cooking.
Someone falling in love.
Someone plotting against somebody.
Someone probably complaining about work.
Entire human lives happened inside those walls.
They disappeared.
The mountain stayed.
It’s difficult to take your unread emails seriously after that.
That’s the hack.
Don’t visit old places merely to see them.
Let them rearrange your sense of importance.
02 — Learn to Dance With Someone You’ve Never Met
One evening, drive to Nicosia.
But don’t go shopping.
Go to San Telmo.
Find an Argentine Tango night.
Tango is interesting because you can’t really bullshit your way through it.
You can talk confidently about many things in life without knowing what you’re doing.
Tango exposes you immediately.
Someone stands centimetres away from you.
You have to lead without forcing.
Follow without becoming passive.
Listen without talking.
And for the duration of a song, two strangers have to agree on something without discussing it.
That’s beautiful.
Then go back another night.
But this time, forget the tango.
Salsa. Bachata. Latin music.
The room changes.
So should you.
Dance with different people. Make mistakes. Laugh. Sweat. Stay longer than you planned.
There is something healthy about occasionally entering a room where nobody cares what you do for a living.
Nobody cares about your job title, your car or how productive your week has been.
They only care whether you can find the beat.
And maybe that’s why I like places like San Telmo.
One night teaches you to slow down enough to feel another person’s movement.
Another teaches you to stop thinking and simply move.
Same room. Different medicine.
03 — Never Trust Someone Who Says “There’s Nothing to Do Here”
They are usually saying:
“Nobody organised my life for me.”
Northern Cyprus rewards people who create their own entertainment.
Try this.
Four friends.
A padel court.
One simple rule:
Losers buy dinner.
Suddenly everybody thinks they’re playing the final at Wimbledon.
Or take your partner horse riding instead of having another conversation beginning with:
“Where should we eat tonight?”
And every now and then, wake up early and play a round at Korineum.
There’s something wonderfully absurd about chasing a tiny white ball through pine and olive trees while the Mediterranean sits quietly in the background.
Play badly.
Laugh about it.
Stay for coffee afterwards.
The coffee afterwards is important.
Never optimise the enjoyable parts of life.
04 — Let the Wind Humiliate You
Learn kitesurfing.
Seriously.
Head towards the west of the island, around Yedidalga and Morphou Bay, where the wind creates a completely different Cyprus from the polished coastal-resort version.
Your first sessions will probably not look cool.
Good.
Adults don’t spend enough time being beginners.
You’ll misunderstand the wind.
You’ll fall.
You’ll swallow Mediterranean water.
You’ll watch someone experienced fly effortlessly past you while you’re having an argument with a kite.
Then, eventually, you get it.
For a few seconds the board releases.
The kite pulls.
You move across the water.
And something clicks.
That’s when you understand why people become obsessed.
There are very few thoughts available to your brain while wind is pulling your body across the sea.
Which makes kitesurfing an excellent form of meditation for people who hate meditation.
05 — Go to Gönyeli Hungry. Leave Four Hours Later.
If you want to understand Cyprus, stop eating exclusively in places designed for Instagram.
Go to Gönyeli.
Try Bizim Meyhane.
Another evening, Eskikonak.
Another, Ömerli Meyhane.
And please don’t ask:
“What’s the best dish?”
You’re still thinking like a tourist.
The point is the table.
Cold meze arrives.
Then something hot.
Then something else you didn’t order but apparently need to try.
Someone pours another glass.
The conversation moves from football to property to someone’s divorce to politics to a story involving a cousin you’ve never met.
Nobody can remember how the original conversation started.
Perfect.
Now you’re doing it correctly.
A meyhane is dinner with no interest in efficiency.
That’s why I love it.
Modern life is obsessed with saving time.
Meyhane culture asks a much better question:
What exactly are you saving it for?
06 — Make Cypriot Friends or You’ll Miss Half the Island
This may be the most valuable thing in this entire article.
Don’t build an expat bubble.
Make local friends.
Real ones.
Not the guy whose telephone number you saved because he can fix your air conditioner.
People whose homes you visit.
People whose mothers feed you.
People you can call without making an appointment.
Because Cyprus has two maps.
There’s the map on Google.
Then there’s the other one.
The beach somebody’s uncle knows.
The restaurant with no marketing.
The mechanic everyone trusts.
The village festival you wouldn’t have heard about.
The place to buy meat.
The person to call.
The table you suddenly have a seat at.
You cannot download that map.
Someone has to give it to you.
And they usually give it slowly.
Cyprus has two maps.
There’s the one you can search.
And the one someone has to show you.
07 — Learn the Most Important Cypriot Unit of Time
“Şimdi.”
Technically:
Now.
Practically?
This is where your cultural education begins.
Cyprus teaches you that time occasionally has personality.
Coffee may take longer.
A quick conversation may become an hour.
Plans change.
Someone you bumped into becomes lunch.
At first, if you’re coming from a highly scheduled culture, this can drive you insane.
Eventually you learn something.
Not everything that interrupts your schedule is wasting your time.
Sometimes the interruption was your life happening.
You still need boundaries.
You still need standards.
You still need to get things done.
But learning when to stop fighting the rhythm of the island will dramatically improve your relationship with it.
08 — Have More Than One Beach
Asking me for the “best beach” is like asking for the best song.
For what mood?
Want music, people and a more social day?
Go to Hilltown Beach Club.
Want greenery, a little more calm and a polished escape?
Korineum.
Heading west?
Spend the day at Denizkızı in Alsancak.
But every so often, abandon the beach-club version of Cyprus entirely.
Drive to Karpaz.
Golden Beach.
Or Ayfilon.
Take water.
Fruit.
A book.
Someone whose silence you enjoy.
That’s an underrated quality in a person, by the way.
Don’t schedule the return journey too aggressively.
The whole point was escaping your schedule.
09 — Spend One Night Where Darkness Is Actually Dark
Stay in Karpaz.
Not every visit.
Just occasionally.
Find somewhere appropriate to stay or camp legally and respectfully.
Bring dinner.
Bring something to drink.
Bring a speaker.
Then eventually do something radical:
turn the speaker off.
Let your eyes adjust.
Look up.
Talk about things you normally don’t have time to talk about.
Your childhood.
What you actually want.
The person you used to be.
Whether you’re happy.
Aliens.
Whatever.
Then stop talking altogether.
You learn quite a lot about someone when silence together isn’t uncomfortable.
And if it’s somebody you love?
Even better.
10 — Become Slightly Suspicious of Perfect Saturdays
I don’t want every Saturday to involve a reservation.
Sometimes I want this:
17:03 — WhatsApp group.
“My place tonight?”
17:05 — three yeses.
18:00 — somebody buys meat.
18:30 — somebody else gets ice.
19:00 — music starts.
20:00 — eight people.
22:00 — twelve people.
23:47 — nobody knows who invited the last three.
00:30 — somebody who claimed they “don’t dance” has changed their position on the matter.
That’s a good night.
Northern Cyprus is perfect for intimate house parties because so much life happens outdoors.
Terrace.
Garden.
Pool.
Barbecue.
Warm air.
Doors open.
Music moving between inside and outside.
But here’s the real hack:
Don’t invite more people. Invite better combinations of people.
One hilarious person.
One good storyteller.
Someone who loves cooking.
Someone with excellent music taste.
Someone new.
Old friends.
Different nationalities.
People who are curious about each other.
That’s enough.
A great party isn’t crowd management.
It’s chemistry.
11 — Have a Beautiful Day Before You Have a Beautiful Night
If you’re having people over Saturday evening, don’t spend Saturday waiting for the party.
Go to the sea first.
Meet a couple of friends.
Swim.
Lie in the sun.
Eat something.
Go home salty.
Shower.
Put music on while you’re getting ready.
Pour the first drink before anybody arrives.
Now by the time the doorbell rings, you’ve already had a fantastic day.
This is one of my favourite Northern Cyprus hacks:
stack experiences.
Morning hike.
Afternoon swim.
Night out.
Golf then lunch.
Padel then meyhane.
Tango then late-night food in Nicosia.
Your geography allows it.
Use it.
12 — Keep a Bag in Your Car That Makes Bad Decisions Easier
Towel.
Swimwear.
Trainers.
Flip-flops.
Sunscreen.
Fresh T-shirt.
Power bank.
Water.
Small blanket.
Why?
Because at some point somebody will say:
“Let’s go to the beach.”
And you will be tempted to answer:
“I’ll just go home first.”
Never go home first.
Home has sofas.
Sofas destroy adventures.
13 — Occasionally Do Absolutely Nothing
Some Sunday mornings, make coffee.
Sit outside.
No plan.
No productivity podcast.
No attempt at becoming a superior human being.
Watch the sea.
Let the morning waste itself.
A life in which every minute must be useful is another kind of poverty.
The Real Hack
Northern Cyprus gives you an unusual amount of contrast within a very small world.
Use it.
Climb St Hilarion until your problems become tiny.
Dance Argentine Tango close enough to a stranger to hear them breathe.
Let the wind throw you into the Mediterranean.
Spend four hours around a meyhane table.
Make Cypriot friends until the island begins revealing the places that don’t appear in guides.
Play golf badly.
Swim often.
Go to Karpaz.
Look at the stars.
Fall in love with someone whose silence you enjoy.
Throw house parties with people who make you forget where your phone is.
And every now and then, disappear into the mountains.
I think that’s the secret.
I don’t want serenity every day.
Too much peace becomes boredom.
I don’t want excitement every day either.
Too much stimulation becomes noise.
I want to know how to move between the two.
Silence and music.
Discipline and pleasure.
Solitude and friendship.
Mountains and dance floors.
A sunrise swim and a 2 a.m. kitchen conversation.
Maybe that’s what Mediterranean living really is.
Not permanent vacation.
Not luxury.
Not escaping real life.
It’s learning how to make real life feel more alive.
And if you’re going to live in Northern Cyprus…
please don’t turn it into Milton Keynes.
— Özbil Akbil