I found myself in the far-from-the-beaten-path country of Cyprus for a conference. The organizers decided that a three-hop flight from my small town and to a place devoid of Uber, Doordash, or my favorite shows on Amazon Prime was worth it to experience the beauty of the pristine Mediterranean beaches. And they were right for the most part.
We land in Paphos, Cyprus hoping, despite myself, to find it to be hot and humid because that is what Mediterranean places are supposed to be like. And as a gentle preparation for my trip to India later on in summer (yes I like to inflict climactic misery on me because it is good for the soul). The heat was high but nothing oppressive and the humidity was high but nothing that would have a touch on what Kolkata is like at this time of the year. Once we land at the airport, we are told proudly and multiple times that Paphos is the capital of smart tourism in Europe. The one logical thing that smart tourism includes is sustainability, though I would be hard pressed to say that seeing the preponderance of plastic water bottles throughout the conference and the restaurants at our resort and the lack of water filling stations.
From Paphos to Pegeia
Then there was the matter of getting from the airport to the resort where our conference was being held. Little did we ignorant Americans know that the conference is not even in the city of Paphos but in an adjacent city called Pegeia about 40 minutes away. So like the savvy business traveler that I am, I took out my phone to book a Bolt taxi cab. You must be thinking how savvy I am that I knew, as of 1 hour back on the incoming flight, that Uber does not operate in Cyprus. You must be thinking I am savvier that Bolt is the European counterpart to Uber. And you are right to think that. Except that Bolt is not available in Paphos. So we venture out with circumspection to the taxi stand right outside the airport, with all the wariness of foreign tourists who have read of foreign tourists being scammed by taxi cab drivers.
We see about four nonchalant elderly men sitting outside and chatting among themselves next to cars that we assumed are taxi cabs though they had no medallion on them to put us at ease. Since these men showed no interest in approaching us for giving us a ride, we had to approach them. And that was the start of my feeling that I wish I had learned a little bit of Greek. Though I have written my fair share of Greek alphabets in mathematically oriented papers, I cannot put together one complete sentence in Greek. Paphos gets a fair number of tourists from English-speaking places (by far the most frequent being England) and so many people in the service industry have a passable knowledge of English. What added a twist in the tale for us is that we do not look like stereotypical English-speaking westerners. In fact, we look closer to the Greeks, or perhaps Greek Cypriots. So people start talking to us fluently in Greek till our gesticulations would point them to their folly.
Anyway, after seeing the huge amount of luggage that we were carrying, these four men gave a collective gesture of exasperation. Then we communicated through frantic gesticulation that we really would like to get to Pegeia rather than go back home, having seen so little of Cyprus. This must have appealed to the nationalistic fervor of these men, as phlegmatic as they appeared to be. So one of them went off, in search of what was not immediately clear to us. After standing there for only about ten minutes in anticipation of a large enough cab magically materializing, but what seems distinctively longer under the Mediterranean sun, there comes a large van, roughly the size to fit the entire Bombardier flight that we had come on. Then we were told that the cab runs on fixed fare and I had done my homework to know that it is 40 Euros from the airport to Pegeia. So when the driver said it is 70 Euros, I meekly accepted, mentally putting that surcharge into my trip’s “stupid tourist top up fund”. For those who would like all their international trips to be happy and contented, this is a savvy tourist tip. Mentally allocate some money, say 15% of your total expenses into a “stupid tourist top up fund”, the amount that you know you are being ripped off because you look and act like a foreign tourist. But you are fine with it, because of the international culture immersion that you are getting for it.
Of serpentine roads and pristine beaches
What resulted was a 45-minute cab ride where I sat in the front on my best behavior and had family sit at the back in relative comfort. I had done the tourist gaffe of climbing into the driver seat first and buckling myself in, before being told in clear terms by the driver that I was exceeding my welcome by wanting to drive his car. I told him that it was all an honest mistake because in Cyprus they believe in driving on the wrong side of the road, while in God’s own country of the US we drive on the right side of the road. But I don’t think he believed me, partly because he had never heard of the country of the US. I found in general people in Cyprus —- and yes, I will be generalizing wildly from my 4-day trip about an entire country and its people —- were quite unaware of the going ons outside of their country or Europe at a stretch.
During the 45-minute drive, we were greeted with picture postcard-like scenes of pristine beaches dotted along the sides of a winding road, climbing up and down through gently rolling hills. There were enough people in shorts and flip-flops and straw hats, crossing the street while looking the other side, to tell me that this is a tourist town. A factoid is that the services sector contributed almost 60% to the economic output of the country. And it is not as if you have to drive far for a beach. The place seemed like a continuous string of beaches, sunny, pristine, sparsely filled with people, and in general all that the stereotype of a Mediterranean beach town conjures up for you.
Many stereotypes are true
The resort itself was what you would expect. It had everything to appeal to a tourist. It had its own private beach and there were three pools next to the buildings for people who like their swimming experience to be more well controlled. Each had about as many people as there are in my small town of West Lafayette plus double the number of children. The other standard feature of a resort was also there. Overly attentive attendants who are ready to spring out of the bushes to do what they think you are about to try to do. For example, if you are approaching a double door, then they will think you are too frail to open that and will jump out in front of you when you are three paces away from the door. And not just one, but two, since of course it is a double door.
Because I was there for a conference, I did not become a total tourist and instead dutifully attended the conference sessions, at least most of them, well at least some of them, if you are being picky. The 4 days of the conference went by in a pleasant whirlwind. There were all the usual delights of a conference — good conversation, good talks, long lunches, and distinct from the staid conferences one attends, there was live music for most of the dinners and dancing with them. All of us conference attendees jumped into the dancing. With enough Greek opa, one fancies oneself to be a dashing dancer. And actually gets half way there.
Antio sas Paphos
And then it was time to fly back home. The only question was for the Paphos airport, how long before the flight we should arrive. With local guidance, we got that figured out. The immigration counter rarely had a line of more than 5 and it felt a nice departure from the serpentine lines we were sure to face when we landed at O’ Hare.
To sum, if you want to stray off the beaten path, and are partial to beaches, but not very crowded beaches, and like a dash of seldom-told history with it, Paphos is the place for you. If you can find a conference happening there, even merrier.
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