On a blisteringly hot afternoon in the middle of July, some five weeks after arriving in Nicosia, I drove across Cyprus to visit the Tomb of the Kings and Kato Paphos Archaeological Park.
Now, there are probably a thousand interesting things to learn about these wonders of antiquity. But I could tell you maybe three or four of them.
I realised this right after my first trip to Paphos. All weekend I had been troubled by a vague sense of something being missing, and then it occurred to me what it was. There were very few signs. As stunning as Cyprus’ archaeology sites may be – as unique as the columns and mosaics and atriums really are – it’s hard to learn much about them due to the dismal state of the signage, a problem of both quality and quantity.
Which brings us to the famed “Tomb of the Kings.” The name certainly sounds grand and inviting, and the site lives up to its reputation. It covers a large, sunny hill perched right on the coast, with a sandy turf and low bushes that slope down to the sea. The tombs are regal, large rooms carved right out of the sandstone. It is truly a fine and handsome place.
It’s also a massive place. There are eight tombs in total hewn into the hillside, as well as a number of other excavated structures scattered about the park. Shortly after entering the site through a small cabin, you’re greeted by a lone signpost offering a snippet of background information. However, this is the only introductory sign – and it barely scratches the surface of the site’s layout. Just as you realise that you have seen the full extent of the introduction, the signs disappear and you are swept off into an expanse of ruins, like a cork on a fast river.
QR codes, I must point out in fairness, accompany most of the main tombs. They link to audio recordings with three or four-minute tours of each area. This came as a brief and chimeric moment of relief. But after pressing play on “Historical Background”, I only felt more clueless as I walked in and out of tombs. It was an odd effect: the more I listened, the less I felt that I knew.
This goes back to an essential problem with archaeological signage. Blurbs typically rely on a number of technical, academic words – a gravy of jargon and odd syntax – that tends to obscure even simple pieces of context. You get very little idea of what life was like for the people who lived there, or who those people were, or why they went to the effort of cleaving stone from a hill. You get very little idea of how the tombs were actually constructed. It all feels a bit flat.
Since they’ve taken the trouble to record these blurbs, however, I felt that the least I could do was attempt to listen. So I found myself trying to admire the “peristyle” and “stepped dromos” and “entablature” of Tomb No 4 as a British narrator pointedly directed my path. But once you have looked into 23 tombs carved in the rock without a clue what they mean, you find yourself approaching the next with a certain weariness, and all this diligent research seems a bit beside the point.
In a forlorn moment I attempted to bring up Wikipedia on my phone. But I was met with the warning, “IPHONE NEEDS TO COOL DOWN BEFORE YOU CAN USE IT.” By this point, my brain was saying the same. So I plodded wearily to the bus stop, feeling none the wiser.
After another few weeks in Cyprus, I’ve realised that this problem is not unique to the Tomb of Kings. In fact, Cyprus has a national problem with installing effective signs at archaeological sites.
Many of the public sites managed by the Department of Antiquities are most guilty. These places are visually stunning and culturally significant – some even boast the coveted Unesco designation – but you’d hardly know it. The historical context is often so well-hidden that the average visitor could stroll through without grasping the full weight of what they’re seeing.
Describing Ancient Kourion, one of my friends quipped that “every other word is an archaeological term”. The breath-taking mosaics in Kato Paphos have a pile-on of signs, but they focus so much on the details that they fail to place the artwork in any broader context. Even several museums, including the Cyprus Museum, often fail to explain why their artefacts matter, other than noting that they are very old and occasionally beautiful. The big idea always seems just out of reach.
And what a shame it is. Especially when you consider that the Tomb of the Kings and Kato Paphos Archaeological Park are among the most renowned attractions in Cyprus, attracting thousands of visitors every year. After all, people come to the island looking for all those romantic things of the ancient Mediterranean – civilisations, art styles, gods, myths. It goes without saying that Cypriots, most of all, should be able to connect with their cultural heritage.
Yet the story-telling falls short, leaving history frustratingly out of reach. A thousand lessons of archaeology stuck somewhere between a rock and a hard place. And frankly, we’re right there with them.
