Well-behaved dogs, well-maintained roads, and drivers who use their indicators!
According to an article, these are the things that Germans living abroad miss most about their homeland.
Similar surveys have looked at overseas Brits (who yearn for day-drinking in the pub, and ubiquitous ‘thank yous’), Australians (who miss the easy humour and sports talk), and Greeks (who pine for a cold frappé and a good game of tavli).
The things former residents miss the most clearly say a great deal about a country: Germany is a model of precision; Britain cherishes tradition and civility; Australia is relaxed and communal; and Greece is a country with a deep-seated appreciation for life’s simple, sunny pleasures.
So what about Cyprus? What do those of us who have lived on and loved the island miss the most when we’re no longer here? And what does this tell us about our island’s unique character?
Tourist websites and social media paint Cyprus as a triptych of sun, sea and food. But that’s not the whole story. Behind these obvious generalisations are a host of less visible, more personal longings that paint a much truer national picture. The simple yearnings that, taken together, mean ‘Cyprus is my home’…
“Of course I miss the weather!” says 42-year-old Nico Economou, who relocated to Australia in 2009. “But the memories that bring a tear to my eye are things like getting two-pound souvlakia with my pappou, and then sharing it on the bench outside the souvlajis.
“Even though pappou is gone, and food costs a lot more now, to me this is the essence of Cyprus: family and food and quiet moments of shared happiness as the sun sets over Ayios Omologites.”
Family get more than one mention. Cyprus is a nation of extended kin and constant gatherings – according to the European Social Survey, over 65 per cent of the island meet socially with friends, relatives or colleagues several times a month.
Yet it’s not the massive weddings or lively get-togethers that are constantly referenced. Instead, it’s the personal, intimate, wholly Cypriot moments that leave a mark on the memory…
For 39-year-old Yiota Marangos, who grew up in Ayia Varvara and now lives in Toronto, Cyprus is a place of unique experiences.
“Video games at the Luna Park with my dad, and then Papafilipou pistachio ice cream as a treat. I miss my grandma’s koupepia, eaten in her courtyard underneath the vines. And I miss how safe it was: you never had to lock your house or your car.
“But it’s not all things from my childhood,” she adds. “I’ve been back to Cyprus several times, and now I have new things to miss: my aunt’s glyko coffee so thick and sweet you can almost stand a spoon in it, and my kids’ excitement at visiting Jumbo – we don’t have anything like that here!”
For 37-year-old Loukas Morfakis, whose family moved to London 20 years ago, it’s a Cyprus that’s “caught in one long, never-ending summer.
“Everyone knows how hot the island is, obviously it’s a huge selling point for tourists. But they don’t know what it’s like to really live the heat: to spend the whole of August in nothing but swim trunks, buying triantafilo ice cream from the man on the beach while a chorus of cicadas follows you round the island!
“I didn’t leave until I was 17, so I do remember the winters,” he adds. “But what I actually miss is those endless summers: swimming at Mackenzie; sleeping on the balcony wrapped in nothing but a sheet; waking with the sun to go fishing on my uncle’s boat. Those are the moments that make my heart ache.”
Missing Cyprus isn’t, of course, the prerogative of Cypriots. Plenty of expats once called the island home, and still pine for its unique charms.
For Elisabeth Bauer, Cyprus is a botanical paradise: a place of plants and peace.
“I miss Cyprus all the time,” says the 73-year-old Austrian. “I lived there for 23 years, and return each spring for a dose of wildflowers: carpets of golden oxalis and scarlet red poppies; the highways lined with pink hollyhocks and fuchsia oleanders!
“I miss the mountain vistas,” she adds. “I used to ski in Cyprus, and you could stand on Troodos and see all the way from the coastline of Limassol to the mountains of Turkey. I miss the smell of the first rain after summer. And I miss the Akamas peninsula – it’s much busier now, but it still has a peace I’ve found nowhere else in the world.”
Like Elisabeth, 66-year-old Cheshire native William Storner lived in Cyprus for many years, but still returns on occasion. For him, the island is a place of history.
“When I first arrived in 1981, Cyprus was very different. Limassol was a sleepy port; Nicosia a small and dusty capital in the middle of a vast open plain. We bought a house in Ayios Nikolaos,” he recalls. “And to this day, I dream about the village.
“I miss having a KEO with the old boys in the kafeneion, hearing their eye-opening stories of the war. I miss the ancient stone houses hidden on the hillsides and scattered through the valleys. And I miss the silver olive groves that have stood for millennia.
“There’s an immense sense of history to Cyprus. I don’t think that’s something that a tourist can understand; you have to have lived there, spoken with the people, absorbed the way of life. Cyprus is a land where the past is still very present.”
Family, wildlife, history – these are among the island’s most-missed aspects; the things we yearn for when we’ve left. Together, they paint a nuanced picture that transcends the stereotypes. And perhaps they prompt all of us who have ever lived here to ask ourselves the very same question: what do I miss most about Cyprus?
