By: Arthur Pino

Today, July 7, 2025, marks the last Monday I will be spending in Cyprus. The day’s agenda included a field trip to a small village that I cannot name, as well as another village called Lefkara. It was quite the experience and included many things I did not expect.

            We arrived at a small village that offered a unique experience, featuring demonstrations of both cheese-making and basket weaving. The host was very welcoming and proud of his establishment and practice. He informed us that in the previous weeks, the Dutch Crown had visited them, and I was delighted to be informed we were getting the same experience as royalty. First, he showed us the process of basket making in detail, describing the materials used, the fact that they are locally sourced (minus the dye), and the method. These baskets he made also played a role in the cheese-making process, which he demonstrated for us next.

            The process of making two different kinds of cheese was an interesting experience. He had explained to us how to make halloumi and another ricotta-like cheese, anari. Both used his goat’s milk to make, as well as a protein derived from vegetables. Others, he explained, used a product obtained from non-vegetarian sources. Still, he used this specific one so that his cheese could be enjoyed by those with dietary restrictions, religious or otherwise. While we were unable to see the entire process due to the time required, he did explain the steps of the days-long lengthy process. My favorite part was sampling these cheeses, accompanied by a spread of other foods, including salamis, vegetables, and bread. The halloumi, seasoned with salt and both dried and fresh mint, was amazing and obviously extremely fresh. It paired well with all the foods, tomatoes, cucumbers, and olives. My favorite item we were able to taste was the anari cheese. Served as a dessert with honey and cinnamon sprinkled on it, it tasted very similar to horchata or Mexican sweet rice, which I grew up eating. After the light brunch, we left and headed to Lefkara.

            Once we arrived in the village, I came across a small shop selling silver and lace, the specialties of the village. What attracted me to this shop were these silver donkey statues. Once inside, I was greeted by a woman who spoke perfect English; due. Due to her accent, I inquired about her origins, and she informed me that she was half-Cypriot and half-English and had been operating this business for thirty years. An old picture in the cases confirmed this. To be honest, this comforted me in making the purchase from her. I informed her that I was looking for a necklace with a cross. She had helped me find one and even offered to find a longer necklace that would fit me, which took some time, but we did find one. She assisted me in trying them on, which I appreciated. I concluded the interaction by asking her for directions to the church, which Prof. Mel had informed me was in the town. I had not known of the important relic this church held, but nonetheless, I wanted to go to see if a priest was available to bless my new necklace.

On the walk, I felt a little lost, and I asked the men standing outside a business for some assistance. “Donde esta es iglesia?” I don’t know why I asked in Spanish. Even more surprisingly, they responded in Spanish and pointed me in the right direction. Once I arrived, since I was wearing shorts, I grabbed one of the skirts available to visitors who were not dressed appropriately. There was no staff present except for an old woman near the front who did not speak a lick of English. However, I was familiar with the process due to my visits to Agios Lazaros in Larnaca. Similarly, this church had amazing icons on display. I approached each, bent my knee, performed the cross, and, as Orthodox Christians do, I lightly kissed each icon. It felt appropriate and genuinely endearing to the people depicted in these images. At the back wall, there was a small room, distinct from the rest of the wall. As I got closer, I saw it was a cross icon depicting Jesus in the center; I repeated what I had done with the other icons. As I exited the church, I saw a sign to the left of the entrance that provided tourists with a description of the church and its contents. I was extremely pleased to discover, however unlikely it may be, that the cross at the back of the church had contained a piece of what was said to be a tile that Jesus himself had stepped on, in addition to a piece of the Holy Cross. Despite everything, such as the idiom that there are enough claimed pieces of the cross to have made it in multitudes, it was amazing to think of the possibilities. I was happy I had gone in unaware of this and had paid respects regardless. It was now time to begin walking back to the bus, although I didn’t really want to. I could no longer stand the heat and just wanted to be as close as possible when the time came.

On my way back, I got a little lost, but I was able to enjoy the scenic route through this beautiful village, something I had only seen in movies. I wondered to myself what it was like to live in such a place. As I contemplated, I stopped in a small shop and had one of the most delicious lemonades in my life. I had a conversation with the owner, who happened to be half-South African and also spoke perfect English. He was happy to hear I was from America and wanted to discuss US politics, which was interesting but enjoyable. This conversation had caused me to lose track of time and had taken up the time allotted; it was 1:39 PM. Time to go; I finished my lemonade, thanked him, took the card he offered me, and made my way to the bus.