Away from the touristy coastal areas, beaches and English pubs lie the Troodos Mountains. Wild mountain passes, ghost villages and not a metre of tarmac: this is definitely not the Cyprus you know from airbrushed travel brochures.
It is eight in the morning when Tasos puts a shot glass of zivania in front of us. He worriedly looks outside, past the six cats snuggled together on the windowsill, and pokes up the fire in the stove once more. Lightning flashes across the village, hail balls the size of marbles crackle on the roof. “Sure you guys are going for a walk today?” he asks. We nod. Tasos sighs, sits down and turns his attention back to the TV, where a young Pamela Anderson is parading up and down the beach in a red swimming costume. You can see him thinking: those fools could sure use a lick of zivania for breakfast – the local brandy as fuel.
Tasos is one of six inhabitants of Mylikouri, a village in the Troodos Mountains. Luckily for us, he operates a kafeneio there. In any village in Cyprus, however small, the kafeneio functions as the hub of society, a coffee house where (mostly) older men discuss the news headlines around small cups of Turkish coffee. Although they call it Cypriot coffee here. In Mylikouri’s café, however, where snapshots of the local clergy hang next to family photos, we are the only customers. The village emptied out years ago.
It says something about the regions we cross on foot for three days. Far away from the mass tourism of the coasts lie dormant hamlets, forgotten by all and sundry. Hiking in the Troodos Mountains reveals a Cyprus of another time, of seniors in flat caps who only leave their homes in their Sunday trousers. A Cyrus where no local passes a church without kissing all the religious icons inside. And above all, a region where you can hike a whole day without seeing a human being.
Copper or cypress?
A day earlier, we leave under a steel blue sky. We follow an ancient pilgrimage route linking Paphos, on the coast, with the monastery of Kykkos, in the mountains. The trails, recently reconstructed based on an 1882 map, lead right through Paphos Forest, a 700-square-kilometre woodland. “Nature has been given free rein here since the 1930s”, says Savvas Iezekiel of the Forestry Department, who accompanies us for a day. “That’s when we moved all the shepherds with their sheep to the edges of the area, so the trees could grow freely.”
Those trees willingly answered that call. The greenery stretches as far as our eyes can see. What a contrast to the arid lowlands. We wander along winding paths through seemingly endless forests – deeply carved valleys full of Turkish and black pines, Lebanese cedars and golden oaks, named after the undersides of their leaves that shine like a jewellery box. On a mountainside, a Cypriot mouflon sprints away, a wild sheep that was once almost extinct. Only 15 animals remained. Thanks to protection and a successful breeding programme, 3000 mouflons are once again grazing in the wild. The Cypriots are so proud of it that they put the animal on their euro coins.
The only signs of civilisation are the ancient copper mines that Savvas occasionally points out. The Romans were already mining here. Possibly Cyprus even owes its name to the Latin name of copper, cuprum, although it may also stem from the cypress trees that are so numerous here. The lack of people, by the way, does not mean that these paths have never been crowded. They are among the oldest on the island. We already mentioned pilgrims. Donkey herders frequented the routes just as much – some bare tree roots still show wear from the animals’ horseshoes. So did sheepherders and traders. And in the 1950s, Greek Cypriot guerrillas hid deep in the forest, struggling with British colonial power. Some dressed up as monks to set up their ambushes undetected.
Savvas points to the sagging branches of a group of pine trees. “Cyprus used to have at least 70,000 donkeys. Under these trees, villagers would leave dead animals. So many griffon vultures gathered that they made the trees curve.” The hill turned black with vultures, Savvas recalls. Improved sanitation and veterinary laws put an end to the practice, giving the vultures a hard time. Now his department feeds the survivors.
Elderly trees
By a rippling stream, where shepherds once gathered, a hut serves as a picnic spot for hikers. Nearby, two ancient olive trees attract our attention. “At least 500 years old, possibly even 800”, Savvas says. The trees look like sturdy elderly people – somewhat huddled, weighed down by the heaviness of their own long lives and with deep grooves like wrinkles in their bark, but also stubbornly refusing that final one-way ticket to the retirement home. “Olives still grow on them. In the past, before the Paphos Forest was protected, the trees belonged to the villagers. Though we still turn a blind eye if they come to pick olives.”
He is less tolerant of the hotel owners – “fools”, he calls them – who occasionally cut down one of these trees to brighten up the lounge of their lodging. We can understand that sentiment. If, as a tree, you’ve survived the Crusades, the Ottoman and British colonial eras, the struggle for independence and the Turkish, it is indeed rather silly to finally end up as a decoration.
Savvas opens plastic bags of homemade raisins and dried figs. Ideal energy for a long-term enterprise like ours. “Every Cypriot family used to produce fruit, cheese, eggs and meat for their own consumption. Unfortunately, that knowledge was lost when people moved to the city”, he repines. Cyprus is a veritable garden of Eden for those with green fingers. “From the sea to the highest peaks of Troodos, everything grows – from citrus fruits over bananas, mangoes and pineapples to apples and cherries. Over a distance of ten kilometres, you find a whole host of microclimates and habitats. That’s why the biodiversity is so rich here.”
Whereupon he lists a range of endemic plants and animals, species found only on this island. Cyprus owes that richness to its location, a hinge between three continents, Europe, Africa and Asia. The island was pushed up an eternity ago by a collision of Earth’s plates – heavy oceanic crust sliding over lighter continental crust. A rare occurrence, Cyprus is one of the few places on Earth where scientists can study that oceanic crust without descending under the sea surface. It does feel special to walk on the bottom of the ocean, 1,000 metres above sea level.
You’ll not find a flat metre whilst hiking in the Troodos Mountains. After a long, steady climb, we reach a mountain peak. At an altitude of 1150 metres, a sign reads: “Doxa si o Theos.” Thanks, god, from here it’s only downhill. To the left, the path leads to the Kykkos monastery, but we turn right. All the way to Mylikouri, where Tasos awaits with a cold beer, “a treat from the village chairman”, a plate of steaming halloumi soup, garlic fries and a carafe of homemade wine. Based on his physique, we guess that Tasos has not hiked up a mountain since Mylikouri was a thriving community, but the man knows damn well what hikers need after an exhausting day on the trail.
Over the rainbow
In a meadow full of wildflowers, a beekeeper beckons us. He has spotted our hiking boots. Every year, he himself walks the route apostles Paul, Mark and Barnabas took through the mountains to baptise Herakleidios, the man who later spread Christianity in Cyprus. “We set out with the whole village”, says the beekeeper. Another proof of how deeply religious this island is. In the Troodos Mountains, this manifests itself in churches that don’t look particularly special from the outside – but are filled with treasures inside. At the monastery of Saint John Lampadistis in Kalopanagiotis, our mouths drop open in amazement, so impressive are the frescoes. Not a surprise UNESCO rated it a World Heritage.
In a valley resembling the Ardennes, we wade through the same river about ten times. (Who ever claimed you can’t step into the same river twice?) We never expected Cyprus to be so green and humid. We walk through a graveyard of vines and past exuberantly blossoming almond trees. The locals use their fruit, among other things, in their confectionery, soutzoukous – almonds strung on a string and dipped 17 times in a thick boil of grape juice. Dried soutzoukous look like brown sausages, though they taste yummier than that description sounds.
On top of a ridge, all hell breaks loose again. OK, with this article we want to show that Cyprus is more than sun and sea, but it didn’t have to be so literal. “It rains bloody ten days a year”, curses photographer Pantelis.
But only after the rain do we appreciate the sunshine. The sky clears and the surroundings treat us for showing courage and perseverance. Mountain vistas reveal themselves 360 degrees around us. Behind us, we see snow on the highest peaks of Troodos – tiny tufts that make the mountains seem almost transparent, as if someone has draped a piece of cloth lace over them. On the horizon lies the bay of Morfou, in Turkish-occupied Cyprus. On a clear day, one can see the snow-capped peaks of mainland Turkey. To complete the picture, a rainbow appears below us. Yep, below. Wow! The next morning, we wake up in Kalopanagiotis to a carpet of snow. Cyprus more than sun and sea? QED.
Hiking in the Troodos Mountains: practical information
We walked from Panagia to Myllikouri (23,5 km) and onwards to Kalopanagiotis (20 km). Message us for the gpx tracks of the hikes. Find short and long hiking options in Cyprus, Troodos Mountains and Marathas, the region in which we hiked. At the time of our visit, Cyprus’ tourist board was working on a long-distance route through the mountains and an app collecting all the trails.
>> Where to sleep whilst hiking in the Troodos Mountains?
Agrotourism is popular in rural Cyprus – sleeping in historical or traditional houses that have been converted into small-scale hotels or flats. We slept, for example, in the charming Maison Elena in Kalopanagiotis. Check this website for more addresses.
>> What to taste whilst hiking in the Troodos Mountains?
The mild climate of the lower-lying parts of the Troodos Mountains lends itself well to viticulture. The tradition has deep roots – for instance, the region boasts the oldest labelled wine, Commandaria, which King Richard Lionheart called “the wine of kings and the king of wines” at his wedding in the 12th century. You can still find tasty wine for next to nothing almost everywhere. In Kalopanagiotis, sit next to the fireplace in KafeOinos. If Amélie Poulain loved Guns N’ Roses and started a wine bar in Cyprus, it would look like this.
>> Public transport in the Troodos Mountains
Our trip was organised by the tourism board of Cyprus. Public transport is limited, it is, unfortunately, impossible to do our hike in the Troodos Mountains using only local buses.
It is possible to get to the start of the hike. This would mean taking a bus from Paphos to Panagia (bus 637 from Karavella station, Monday-Friday: 06:10, 09:00, 11:50, 15:40, Saturday: 09:00, 12:00, 14:30, no buses on Sunday). From the last stop, it’s a 2.5-km walk to the Monashilaka picnic area, where we started walking).
From the endpoint of our hiking exploration in the Troodos Mountains, Kalopanagiotis, no buses are going anywhere. You could either try to hitchhike or extend the hike towards Troodos (village) or Platres – the nearest villages with bus service to Limassol. Another option would be to take a taxi from Kalopanagiotis to Troodos (30 minutes) and continue by bus from there, but we’re unaware of how much that would cost.
>> Onwards from Troodos Mountains
- Paphos: lazy harbour town with ancient ruins and mosaics.
- Limassol: the Miami of Cyprus.
- Larnaca: beach life, an old Turkish district, museums, and flamingos.
- Nicosia: the capital of Cyprus is the last divided city of Europe.
This article first appeared in Dutch in De Morgen Magazine. All pictures are taken by Pantelis Ignatiou.