Ayia Napa one year on. It’s stranger than you could possibly imagine! I haven’t seen The Walking Dead – still too scared! – but my other half assures me this is what it is. He’s a man of fairly limited imagination, so if even he compares Ayia Napa to an eerily empty make-believe world, something’s up.
To me, it feels more like Ozymandias: ‘Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair’! Everything grand and flashy is missing – the glittering Ferris wheel, the all-night clubs, the sky-stabbing lasers, the incessant bass beat thumping from every bar. Okay, nobody can close the beaches (well they can, but let us not dwell on a terrible time!), but despite what the CTO asserts, it’s not the sea and the sand which make Napa, Napa. Back in the 80s, this sleepy fishing village had just as much coastline; it’s the subsequent diversions which turned it into an iconic destination…
Once upon a time we partied all night in Pzazz and Plin-2. We swam through seas of sweaty revellers, danced till dawn, and spent heat-hazed afternoons on Nissi Beach, hemmed onto sun loungers by a press of coconut-scented bodies. These excesses are Napa’s hallmark, despite the municipality’s more recent efforts to present a family-friendly front. Just last year, we’d booked the same villa (hotels are still off-limits for the risk-averse, and anyway, they’re mostly closed!), and were periodically woken by shouts of excitement from the nearby waterpark, late-night laser shows and – on one memorable occasion – an enthusiastic couple disporting in next door’s pool. You can take the slapper out of Napa, but – until 2020 – it’s always been the crowds and noise and lights which typify this town.
Mid June this year and Ayia Napa was not just quiet but dead. A place that should be building up to being throbbing with life and light, bludgeoning the senses with endless diversions and uncountable people was silent. We had warned ourselves beforehand that this might be the case. “It won’t be the same,” we cautioned each other. “It won’t be like last year…”
In 2019, this was a messy, chaotic, crowded town. But it was also vital, animated, effervescent; it lived and breathed (and occasionally threw up on your shoes), assailing the senses like a Transformers film, or an addictive reality show. But as we drive down Nissi Avenue, the only movement is the cats. They’re everywhere, languishing in the middle of the road, washing their paws outside the boarded shops. Restaurants, cafés, clubs – everything is ringed by cats, and the doors firmly bolted. The infamous strip clubs are dead: the ‘Girls Girls Girls’ sitting at home knitting socks and eating borscht, or whatever it is strippers do in their downtime. Everything we once complained about – the crowds, the noise, the smells – is gone, and with it the town’s essence.
Even finding a place to eat was a trial – not because you have to book a month in advance, but because nothing was open. We pass by our perennial favourites and find them closed: the Hard Rock Café devoid of life; Gary’s prefaced by stacked tables and chained chairs. In our search for a decent meal, we drove all the way to Protaras – delighting in the fact that, for the first time we can remember, the coast road was completely clear, and we were not stuck in a line of traffic behind a beach buggy bursting with sunburnt Brits.
Always popular with island residents, Protaras was slightly less post-apocalyptic than Ayia Napa. The locals’ favourite, Kalamies, was open: waiters masked and gloved, tables nicely distanced. The fare is just as good, but the ambience somewhat lacking. “Just residents; no tourists,” says our server. “It’s like winter, but with better weather!”
Heading back, we’re reminded of his words. Driving down the Protaras strip on an evening in mid June usually takes a good amount of stop-and-start; now, we zoom past boarded kiosks and dead hotels like it’s 6am on a January morning. In Ayia Napa, the Square was as dark and vacant as a zombie’s stare. Down by the harbour, only the two souvenir shops closest to the entrance were open – albeit with reduced stock. Which seems to be an ongoing theme – why go all out, when there’s no one to attract except two gawking Nicosians and a clowder of cats?!
Arriving at our villa, the silence sets in. Of the 25 holiday homes we can see over the fence, all were empty; the night is dark and, for the first time I can remember, you could see the stars above the town.
In the morning, we headed to Nissi. It’s not our usual hangout, but we wanted to see the effect of corona on the island’s most iconic shoreline. Parking by Adams Beach – even at 11 o’clock, prime time for beach-goers – was a doddle, and there’s wasn’t one red number plate to be seen. The bars were empty, the air heavy and silent, the horizon devoid of pleasure craft and watersports enthusiasts.
“My job is much easier this year,” said the lifeguard, who was desperately justifying his paycheck by scrutinising two sandcastle-building children. “But it’s just a few people from Nicosia now. I hope the tourists will come back soon.” Later in the day we visited Konnos. The café was still open, but there was not a car to be seen on the winding approach, and the only thing there was lots of was vacant sunbeds.
It was a peaceful getaway. But strange. Take away the tourists, and you’ve lost the essence of place. Unlike Nicosia, Limassol, Larnaca, and Paphos, where life is returning to normal, Napa may take much longer to get back on its feet. As flights resume and visitors once more breathe life into the town, its spirit is sure to return. But how long it will take is anyone’s guess. For us, this was a place peopled only by ghosts of summers past.
We stayed at Angie Luxury Beach Villas:
http://www.luxuryvacationscyprus.com/
Telephone: 99 527176
