In my short time here in Cyprus I had the privilege to be shown around an Exhibition at the Cyprus Museum called in “In the same place” by my niece Katerina Attalidou, who over the past few years has been travelling to every corner of the island producing watercolours which have been matched with archaeological exhibits found in the area she was painting. It’s totally wonderful and such an inspired idea as it unites the exhibits and the place so that we can relate to their significance over time. She paints with sensitivity and tenderness, taking in the landscapes and the nature around her, describing the emotions she felt creating each one.

She came to two conclusions- that the island is one, and not divided and that what is important to her, and by extension to us all, is our connection with nature which is crying out for care so that we may live alongside it in perfect harmony, protecting it and cherishing it for future generations.

I embrace both sentiments with considerable emotion and respect for what she has achieved. She asked for a copy of Albert Namatjira’s watercolours. The only place I could find it was the State Library and I made her a booklet of them. She loved them.

I walk the streets of my Cypriot neighbourhood with my sister’s dog Molly and breathe in the jasmine. The gardens overflow with flowering bougainvilleas which spill onto the streets, the colours are eye-popping and the cats abound. But I also see many many signs which sadden me. I wonder when the respect for the natural world will be part and parcel of everyone’s daily lives overcoming the needs for social media, fast cars and empty gestures.

It is not just in the gardens and roads of Nicosia. On our journey in Greece, a ferry boat sailed by. The messaging on the side was in direct conflict with what was spewing out of its funnel.

Back in Cyprus, the party boat off the coast of Ayia Napa causing a different noise pollution. We searched for the monastery of Ayia Napa, which was the centre of a quiet fishing village when I was young. Now a loud, loutish neon signed-nightmare of cheap and ugly tourism, the monastery lying empty, decaying. As for what is happening in the occupied areas I dare not even think about it. The town of Famagusta where I spent all my summers has been turned into a tourist attraction. Coach loads of tourists pile out of buses to walk along a cleared path to look at the destruction of war which lies on both sides of the road. The weeds invade the houses and roads, the iron rusts and the roofs collapse inward on themselves as if they too have given up the fight to hang on to what is left of this once magnificent city. Our hope to return ever dimming.

The sea however is still mine to claim and I do so with nostalgia. Its clear waters and burning sand are sharp reminders, memory triggers and reasons to question once more, how and why history is not learnt and better outcomes not achieved for the people of this small island.