When you live in Denmark, “summer” can feel like a blink-and-you-miss-it event. With family visiting all summer, mid‑October to early November was our only window—and honestly, I’m glad it was. The crowds were thinner, the weather still flirted around 22°C, and the island had that easygoing end‑of‑season glow, like it was exhaling after months of nonstop sunshine. This island vacation felt like exactly what the doctor ordered to prepare ourselves for Danish winter. With history, adventure, incredible food and lazy evening by the beach watching the sunset. Visiting the birthplace of Aphrodite was the perfect option for our first vacation since the wedding.
The island itself feels like a living history book with sea views. Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Venetians, Ottomans, and the British have all left their mark here—you can feel it in the architecture, the food, even the way people greet you. There’s a unique rhythm to life, a blend of Greek charm and Mediterranean ease that instantly make you walk slower. Despite its complex modern history with the ongoing split between north and south, Cyprus feels peaceful, sun‑drenched, and comfortably old‑fashioned in the best way possible.
Our adventure started the way all good trips do—with too many connections and not enough snacks. It took us about twenty hours, three airports, and a small miracle to get from Aarhus to Larnaca. By the time we arrived, delirious but giddy, all we wanted was something edible and to be horizontal. We checked into a cozy hotel, grabbed a quick pasta dinner and took a midnight walk through the quiet streets, the air thick with that salty Mediterranean blend of warmth and calm.
The next morning brought sunshine, good coffee, and an enthusiastic hunt for brunch. Edem’s Yard was decked out in Halloween glory and—bless them—happy to adapt dishes for vegetarians. Their brioche sandwiches and matcha lattes were the kind of breakfast that makes you temporarily forget your emails exist. We wandered through Saint Lazarus Church afterward, admired its serene beauty, and stopped for a Guinness on tap by the beach because, apparently, we can’t resist good beer wherever we go, especially when we don’t find it often in Denmark or India.
A bubble tea and short drive later, Ayia Napa became our new base—the kind of beach town that can’t decide whether it’s relaxed or perpetually on spring break. The water was impossibly clear, like looking through liquid glass, and my first dip taught me two essential travel lessons: 1) always pack water shoes because rocks bite, and 2) fish have no sense of personal space. We spent our time there alternating between beaches, beers, and naps under sun umbrellas, slowly forgetting what weekday it was.
We made ambitious plans for this trip, including a dive at MUSAN, the underwater museum. My husband took to it like a natural. I, meanwhile, nearly had a meltdown trying to master breathing through my mouth while being underwater for forty minutes with sculpted figures around me—but once I relaxed, it was pure wonder. The moment your body gives up on panicking and just drifts, everything becomes weirdly peaceful—weightless, quiet, otherworldly. We celebrated surviving the dive food that suspiciously reminded us of India, and cold beer under the Cyprus sun. Life felt good.
Evenings were for wandering through bright streets, discovering narrow alleys, and eating our way through menus like culinary explorers. We stumbled into Vangelis Tavern in Protaras one night and left talking about their cocktails for days. Another night we danced (and slightly limped) our way through Halloween parties in Ayia Napa, surrounded by glowing skeletons, bad costumes, and the kind of joy that only comes after one too many cocktails.
Between all the beach lounging and late nights, Cyprus kept surprising us with its gentle blend of culture and history. We soaked in ancient vibes at Saint Lazarus, explored centuries‑old ruins at Nea Paphos, climbed through the eerie calm of the Tombs of the Kings, and spent an afternoon at a sculpture park overlooking the sea. After days of exploring by car, we learned one crucial travel tip: always opt for the boat tours. The Blue Lagoon, Sea Caves, and Cape Greco are stunning—but climbing into the water from land made us feel more like stunt doubles than tourists.
Our route took us through Nicosia—the world’s last divided capital—where the contrast between old cobblestones and modern border controls was surreal. We didn’t cross into the Turkish side but instead pampered ourselves at Hamam Omerye, a centuries‑old bathhouse that redefined cleanliness for me. Between the steaming marble, clouds of soap bubbles, and a massage that erased every knot from my shoulders, I emerged feeling like a boiled dumpling but in the best way possible. Add some local olive bread, cheese, and tea to that experience, and I was ready to declare Nicosia my new favorite capital city.
Then came the mountain part of the trip—Polis, Latchi, Troodos. We drove through winding roads lined with olive trees, stopped for vegan mezze dinners where half the ingredients came from someone’s garden (thank you, O Linós, for ruining food elsewhere forever), and trekked through Avakas Gorge—a narrow, echoing canyon carved by time. We stood beneath a giant boulder suspended mid‑air and instinctively agreed we would not be standing there if it were July—it was hot enough in October.
We also went snorkeling with turtles at Lara Bay (an actual life highlight). Watching those gentle, ancient creatures glide past us made the world feel still. We floated there, noodle in hand (because bravery and stupidity are cousins), just absorbing how surreal it was to share space with something so unbothered by our existence.
As the trip wound down, we traded hiking trails for sunsets. We visited Petra tou Romiou, Aphrodite’s mythical birthplace—its a pebble beach tucked besides a highway and pink skies. We ended that day like all others should end: eating mezze, sipping local wine, and laughing about how in 10 days we somehow still hadn’t managed to seen every possible beach in a single country.
Our final days were spent in the Troodos Mountains, exploring picture-perfect villages, sampling local wines, and eating orzo creamy enough to make poets weep. I finally found Lefkara lace while my husband proudly clutched a bottle of local olive oil—our version of adult souvenirs. On the very last day, we went for haircuts (yes, even on vacation—salt water and split ends demand it) and capped off our trip dancing on a sunset cruise in Larnaca as planes soared literally above our heads. The hostess even taught us a few Cypriot dance moves. We looked ridiculous and blissful at the same time.
Cyprus gave us everything we came for: sunshine, slow mornings, kind people, and a reason to keep ordering halloumi without guilt. It’s a place that balances ancient history with modern joy, where you don’t want beach days to end.
Leave a Reply