The host family I am staying with on this adventure into Turkish Cyprus lives in a rural village right on the coast and just past the border. Home to around 400 people, this is a community of farmers. Let me show you what I see on this amazing visit to the remote village of Yesilirmak in North Cyprus.
Farming
Known especially for the strawberries, there is so much food production here, I find it quite amazing. Fields and fields of hilled berry plants lay dormant this time of year. Some are covered to protect them from cold and frost while others lay exposed to the bright winter sunshine.
Walking down small roads, it is the citrus trees that next make their presence known. Large bushy trees absolutely loaded with oranges, lemons and grapefruits fill every yard and many small plots of land. The farmer takes me out one day and into his fields. Here I am given mandarins to taste, picked fresh from the tree. When I say these might just be the best ones I have every tasted, I do not exaggerate.
Almonds (tasted straight from the tree!), pomegranates, persimmons, bananas, the biggest avocado trees I have ever seen. And olives, trees that are 1,000 years old have just been pruned, the centres removed to promote growth and let the sunshine into the tree and fruit.
Houses
Originally the village of Yesilirmak was located up and over, on the other side of the hill. When the conflicts arose in the 1960’s, that region was claimed as part of the No Mans Land, so the people had to relocate into this new area. Hence, most of the houses I see have been constructed within the last 60 years. My hosts beautiful modern home is one of these. Built in the local style using concrete, the houses are scattered and connected to the owners’ fields. Small paved roads connect most of these to the main road passing through town.
There is one structure that stands out however, it is an old one, made of stone, and is the towns saw mill. A large and beautiful building, there is a rusting planer out front, a remnant from when it was used to cut fresh lumber.
The farmer I am staying with has permission to pass into the No Mans Land to visit his abandoned ancestral home located at the original site of the village. There he can see the stone house his mother and grandmother lived in and were even born in.
Vehicles
What fills the roads of this small village the most are the tractors. Transporting fuel, vegetables, firewood and laborers, they motor past me at regular intervals. I am immediately drawn to the older models, like vintage cars, they have so much character.
Grocery Store
There is one government run grocery store in town located on the main road. Each small village has one, to ensure that the people have access to basic supplies. Outside is a pump for fuel and diesel as well as propane canisters. Inside I find all sorts of local and fresh products as well as plenty of liquor and dried goods. At the rear of the store is the fresh bread brought in daily and a fridge full of local sheep’s yogurt and milk.
Produce
One single but large vegetable stand is open this time of year and located a few minutes walk from the grocery store. Here is where the farmers are bringing some of their goods to sell and distribute.
I see kolokas or taro root, what my host farmer is currently growing and harvesting in his fields. There is local honey, olive oil, home made booze, bags of local pecans still in their shells. Loads of oranges and pomegranates fresh off the trees and all sorts of other vegetables.
Mosque & Cemetery
Yesilirmak has one small mosque that I am told is not frequented very much. When I walk up to it to have a look, there is no one around. Beside it is a small cemetery that I explore, one of two in the village. The farmer tells me his father is at rest here.
Seaside
Located on the coast, I can walk for fifteen minutes mostly downhill, and be at the stony beach. Not much to see this time of year but I can imagine in the summer, under that scorching sunshine, this is an amazing respite. There is a smattering of restaurants, two of which are open and are busiest on Sundays, when locals come with their families for a large meal. Everything else is closed up tight now in winter, and there is hardly a soul down here.
I explore this lovely rural village from end to end taking any road or path I can safely navigate. As I wander around, I hardly see any women, plenty of men though. I offer a smile and a ‘Marhaba’ and am usually met with the biggest grin. It is a special feeling I get here, akin to being allowed into someone’s home. To witness this way of life, the hard work, the rewards of real food. I feel so lucky today.
