The Lunacy of War

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Photo essay of abandoned Cyprus buffer zone

I found myself staring at the photo essay above, by Reuters photographer Neil Hall, for a long spell. The disturbing images sent me back in time, as I sorted through my personal memories of the island of Cyprus during the early 70s.

On 15 July 1974, I was at the airport in Nicosia waving my husband (at the time) goodbye and watching him disappear through the sliding glass doors of the Nicosia International Airport. Normally, I would have parked the car, gone inside, and enjoyed a cup of coffee in the modern and comfortable lounge—a showcase of 70s furniture and fixtures. But feeling anxious about the mounting tension between the Greeks and Turks, and after seeing armed soldiers standing along the road leading to the airport, I decided to drive home to Kyrenia as soon as possible. My husband tried to assure me by saying it was probably a routine military exercise and then reminded me that the car brakes needed fixing on my way home.

Steering onto the exit road, I noticed more soldiers gathered. Even more than we had seen on our way to the airport. Scores stood alongside the road and in empty fields. I turned the radio on to BBC. Just static. Same static on other radio stations. I switched it off. Nearing the roundabout, I noticed a tank approaching from the direction of the Greek Army Camp. I pushed down on the gas pedal and sped around the traffic circle and onto the frontage road. A sudden burst of rapid gunfire behind sent shivers down my spine. I was caught in the middle of a killing spree—a coup to topple the nation’s first elected President, Archbishop Makarios III.

My memoir, The Lullaby Illusion—A Journey of Awakening, tells my personal story of the coup and the Turkish invasion five days later. For years following the war, I marveled, bewildered, at how a peaceful place (seemingly paradise) could disappear and become a living hell in the space of a few days.

After almost forty years of time standing still, the buffer zone still contains crumbling relics covered with dust and cobwebs, abandoned houses and cars, and the rusted remains of a gutted airport—a haunting reminder of the lunacy of war.

 

Throne Thinker

rodinWhile sitting on my throne yesterday, I did what every human does when he or she sits down on a toilet seat and gets comfortable. One sits and thinks, or one sits and plops. I found myself getting so comfortable, I started thinking about what makes something comfortable or not.

I’m certain these thoughts were a result of a conversation I had had with my husband a few days ago when he informed me that his search for the perfect toilet seat was over. “I have found the best one for me,” he said. He went on to explain that for years he thought the round wooden ones were best because of their solidness and warmth. But over the years the plastic ones had improved in density and the elongated, contour shape was more comfortable.

As I sat on my wooden toilet seat in our upstairs bathroom, my mind drifted to toilets I’d seen in my travels. While touring the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, Turkey years ago. I viewed the sultan’s squat toilet—a hole in the ground surrounded by a fine marble floor and walls. One afternoon, at a fancy five star restaurant in the hills near Istanbul, I was directed up a stone path that lead to the women’s latrine. It was immaculately clean, with shiny marble floors, beautiful inlaid mosaic tiled walls, and a porcelain sink sitting atop a carved olive wood stand. I marveled at the elegance. I pushed open the door to the private toilet. Whoa! No commode in sight, just a shiny ceramic square shaped squat box with a pair of footpads on either side of the drain. So I scooped up my long dress, straddled the hole, and did my biz. No toilet paper in sight, but a clay jug of water was positioned close by for cleaning up. Not very comfortable.

Days later, while wandering through the ancient city of Ephesus, one of the largest and most important in the Greco-Roman world, I was amazed to see paved roads, terraced houses for the wealthy with luxurious bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and a triclinium room for dining and reclining. The Ephesians had advanced public works with impressive plumbing. The municipal toilets, located in the big outdoors, were long marble benches with horseshoe shaped holes. Below the bench was a water channel for carrying away wastes. I sat on one of the horseshoe shaped seats for a photo op, but of course didn’t use it. The seat itself felt quite comfortable.

My mind skipped ahead to other toilets I’d encountered along life’s way. From holes in the ground, to buckets, to outhouses, to a chair with a hole in the seat and a pot underneath. All worked as collectors of waste and were absolutely necessary when I needed to go. Some however more comfortable than others.

There was a really nice bathroom in our hotel room in Cairns, Australia, when we visited there in 1998. A very comfortable toilet seat … until the chambermaid informed me that in Australia one has to be extra careful when using the toilet because spiders often hide under the seat. Not just any ole’ spiders, but the small, deadly ones. From then on, I inspected every toilet seat I encountered in Australia.

My most uncomfortable toilet seat ever was in London. While visiting a writer friend in a marvelous old Victorian mansion (resembling the Munster Mansion), I sat for hours in his wife’s private suite. A songwriter and poetess, she was entertaining. Needing a potty break, I offered to go downstairs and use the guest bathroom but the wife insisted I use hers. I excused myself and entered her bathroom. Seeing the fur-lined toilet seat, I thought, dramatic like her. Sitting down, I gasped in horror and immediately jumped up. A heated toilet seat? Imagine the creepy crawlies that live in that warm fur. I finished my business with a quick squat.

“The Thinker” (Le Penseur) by the French artist Auguste Rodin is a sculpture of a nude male figure sitting on a stone pedestal philosophizing. Perhaps it was his most comfortable seat.

No Bagels?

I first arrived in Israel in 1968, following the ’67 Six-Day War, to learn Hebrew and study Jewish History at an ulpan on the border of the Negev and Judean Deserts, in the small settlement village of Arad (located a few kilometers west of the Dead Sea and 45 km east of Beersheba). I appreciated all the new things I was learning and the interesting foods I was being introduced to, but was shocked to learn that bagels didn’t exist in Israel. What? No bagels? How can I live and study here? How can Jews live without bagels? Being from LA, I often brunched at Canter’s Deli, the famous Jewish-style delicatessen in Fairfax. When it came to authentic bagels, I was spoiled.

The closest thing to a bagel, in Israel in those days, was a warm pretzel-looking object being sold by a street vendor … and sold only in the afternoon. I wanted a real NY bagel for breakfast with cream cheese, lox, sliced onion, and a slice of juicy tomato. So began my search for the perfect bagel recipe. I needed a chewy, dense mouth feel experience, and the local bread didn’t cut it.

A friend agreed to send a recipe by mail; one she’d found in the NYT’s food section. A recipe for “Authentic, classic, New-York style” bagels—which required kneading, rising, resting, forming, rolling, resting again, boiling, turning, and then baking. Since my small apartment didn’t come with an oven, I had to do the complex routine of making bagels on the top of a two-burner stove. It took several shopping trips to Beersheba to find all the ingredients, but I eventually did. Then I spent one entire day making and baking bagels. They were delicious—a gourmet edible masterpiece.

OMG, I thought later, no wonder Israelis don’t DO bagels. They’re too busy rebuilding their country. I decided to just get used to those warm pretzel-looking things. Instead of making bagels every week I helped plant trees in and around Arad.

When I visited Arad, many years later, the trees were standing tall and the warm pretzel-looking object tasted yummy. More bagel like than I remembered.

Cyprus Ghost-town Rebirth

DERYNEIA, Cyprus — Time virtually stopped in 1974 for the Mediterranean tourist playground of Varosha. When Turkey invaded Cyprus in the wake of a coup by supporters of union with Greece, thousands of residents fled, and chain-link fences enclosed a glamorous resort that it’s said once played host to Hollywood royalty like Elizabeth Taylor.

The town’s crumbling, war-scarred beachfront hotels have become an emblem of the country’s division between Turks and Greeks. In 40 years, few have set foot inside the town, which remains heavily guarded by the Turkish army and twists of barbed wire.

But that grim scene could present a rare opportunity

Once Upon A Dream

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Dreams have fascinated me since childhood. My dreams always seemed so real and full of meaning. Hours after dreaming, I could recall in detail the images, voices, and symbols. Most often I didn’t know the meaning immediately, but I sensed it was important information that I needed to figure out. As if a secret message in code needed to be deciphered through careful observation with a willingness to embrace the hidden truth about myself and the world around me.

Sometimes I felt like Cinderella waking up in the middle of a dream… finding myself in an exciting, glamorous, improbable, far-fetched life. And then I would wonder, Continue reading “Once Upon A Dream”

Citizen of the World by Susan Joyce

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In 1968, at age 23, I left Los Angeles with my husband. Although I had attended college part-time for a few semesters while working full-time, I had many more semesters to go. And I didn’t really know what I wanted to be when I “grew up.” I decided to quit my job, take a year off, see the world, and then decide on a career. Felt sort of like dancing to the theme song from The Wizard of Oz. “Off to see the wizard,” I sang as I prepared for my adventure. Off to see the unknown. Why? Because, because. Why not? Best decision I ever made.

We sold our possessions, purchased tickets and several sheaths of American Express Travelers Cheques, packed clothes, books, and cameras. I stashed my passport and travel journal in my purse, and said tearful goodbyes to family and friends. Continue reading “Citizen of the World by Susan Joyce”

Interview with Susan Joyce

Seattle PI news site logoSavannah Mae of BLOGCRITICS.ORG recently interviewed me about my new book, The Lullaby Illusion.

 

Her questions were thought-provoking and took me back to my childhood reminding me of why I became a writer.

Susan, I’ve been perusing the various websites and web-pages of yours and I have to say that you have lived an extraordinary life. If you don’t mind though, I’d like to start this interview a bit further back by asking you about your childhood. Who were you as a child? (Were you the shy, demure child, or did you always have that adventurous spirit)?

Read the interview in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer.

The Lullaby Illusion hits the shelves (and e-shelves)

The Lullaby Illusion, by Susan Joyce

Now available!

The Lullaby Illusion

by Susan Joyce

New book details the harrowing personal journey of a young
American woman facing seemingly insurmountable situations while living in the Middle East and Europe.
After many miscarriages and the loss of a child in childbirth on the island of Cyprus, Susan seeks solace by creating art and recording her vivid dreams. Through difficult life changes—Cyprus’s bloody coup and war in 1974, a rescue from a sinking ship in the Indian Ocean, learning
of her husband’s secret life, and surviving his deadly assault in Belgium, she discovers her “ticking clock” is not the child she fails to produce, but rather her creative potential.

Following her vivid dreams and intuition, she successfully reinvents herself as an artist and writer. From beginning to end, Susan Joyce reminds us of the stream of awareness that flows through all of us.

Early reader reviews show it resonates universally with men and women:

A hell of a tale…

— Mark Mercer, Writer

Amid the gripping account of her final days living in Cyprus as war broke out and bullets flew past, what moved me most was Susan’s spirit through the difficulties life throws at her. This true story gives honest insight into the complex emotional turmoil we all experience for various reasons, and shows how it is always possible to see the positive and build our life afresh exactly as we choose to live; not to long for what might have been. An uplifting, inspiring and triumphant story.

— Jennifer Barclay, Author, Falling in Honey

…like riding the roller coaster of life, exciting and engrossing, funny and sad. A real page turner. I was sorry to read “The End.”

Isabel Saltonstall, Editor

 

Available from Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, Powell’s, other online sellers and better bookstores.

Writing on the Wall comes to pass as Russians ride high in Cyprus.

My life was shattered by the coup in Cyprus on 15 July 1974, followed five days later by the Turkish invasion on 20 July 1974. Thousands of lives were drastically changed forever by the atrocities, including
foreigners who happened to live there. Of which I was one. The writing was on the wall then. Because of the island’s strategic location, big powers continue to fight to control it.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/22/world/europe/russians-still-ride-high-in-cyprus-after-bailout.html?hp

Cyprus Bank’s Bailout Hands Ownership to Russian Plutocrats

The Bank of Cyprus was forced to absorb the insolvent Laiki Bank as part of the international rescue plan.