These days, Cyprus is clearly segregated between a Turkish Cypriot north and Greek Cypriot south. Though many wrongly assume this was always the case (and only reinforced by the presence of Turkish troops in the north since 1974), it is not so. The Greek Cypriots used to live all over the island, and the Turkish Cypriots tended to be clustered around Paphos, Larnaca, and Limassol, as well as in the north of Nicosia. In the early 1960s, immediately following Cyprus’ independence from Britain, intercommunal violence drove the Turkish Cypriots to consolidate into fewer villages. Everything came to a head in 1974, when the Greek government sponsored a coup against the Greek Cypriot President, and Turkey responded by sending troops to the island. A population exchange ensued with Greek Cypriots fleeing south and Turkish Cypriots fleeing north toward the areas under Turkish control, and voila, you have the de facto separation of ethnicities between north and south.
The only evidence these days of Cyprus’ mixed heritage is that you can still see cute, village-size mosques in the south, often right next door to the Greek Orthodox church. You can also see Greek Orthodox churches throughout the north, sadly in various states of disrepair. The Greek Cypriots were prevented from visiting their churches until the checkpoints opened in 2003, which allowed many to go north and see what they were forced to leave behind for the first time in 30 years. Over the last decade, various donors have paid to restore some of the churches, though many of the precious icons and antiquities were looted during the war and sold on the black market.
Ayios Thryssos is one such church in the north, and given its location tucked into a small cliff on the seaside, it would have been easy to miss. The internet does not offer a clear answer on when the church was built, but the few places I’ve seen a date mentioned seem to associate it with the 14th or 15th century.
In the back of the church, there was a low-ceiling doorway which led to several rock-hewn steps into what appeared to be a well. Considering we were right up against the ocean, we didn’t venture too deeply. Now, upon further research, it sounds like the well became well-known for its healing properties, particularly for healing skin ailments. Pilgrims would apply holy water, then bathe in the sea, and be cured.
Nowadays, the church still receives pilgrims who have left a variety of icons and other offerings:
At street-level, there is a more modern (I’m told 18th century) church, which has a proper iconostasis:
It’s hard to appreciate from far away, but the iconostasis is made of intricately carved wood:
Greek graffiti– Severin offered the loose translation “Kouppa Limassol” (we think Kouppa is a name, Limassol is a city in the south), “I never forget but I am anguished.”
We were also driving down the road and saw a random church on the hill with a dirt road leading to it, and absolutely nothing else nearby. Because I have FOMO on anything that could be interesting, and because I had control of the vehicle, I turned off so I could explore. The church is not listed on any map I’ve founded, so I can’t even figure out a name in order to locate any history for you:
Inside, the church was in pretty bad shape. Old frescoes were only visible (barely) in one spot:
Ic0ns– including my favorite, St. George on horseback slaying the dragon:
Interestingly, visitors had painted the Virgin in several locations on the wall. I haven’t seen this kind of religious graffiti in other churches (and while I feel like I’ve visited a lot, there are many more to see); I’m not sure if it’s something specific about this church that motivates it or maybe it’s just a thing.
All in all it was a peaceful sanctuary and I’m glad I stopped to check it out. Here is exasperated husband, waiting in the car (“Not another one!!!!!” he sighs)…he is so patient/tolerant:
