Olive Murray Chapman

Upon arriving in Famagusta, Chapman notices a number of Turkish women in their pretty bright dresses and wearing green and magenta coloured veils. All around the harbor are Cypriot country folk and peasants, the men wearing the voluminous baggy trousers ‘the vraka’ which consists of 25-35 yards of homespun black or indigo blue cloth. The vrakas appear to be looped up from the end giving them a skirt-like appearance. They are worn with high leather boots, or on festive occasions, with shoes and black stockings. When a peasant man is to be wed his fiancée usually makes him a present of a vraka. She is expected to weave the cloth herself. There is even a wedding song that is sung by all the guests regarding this gift of the vraka.

Chapman tells us that whenever a cruise ship of tourists would arrive in the port of Famagusta, the local beggars would be rounded up and locked in the local police station so that the visitors could walk about freely without being annoyed or harassed by them. Many stalls would be set up around the harbor where the sellers would compete with one another to sell their wares to the passing tourists. On display would be beautiful Cyprian drawn-thread work, embroidery and hand woven linens and silks. The sellers were pathetically eager to sell their work, for to many, it is their livelihood. Chapman recalls one seller’s anxious pitch. “Just have a look lady! One look. My work, lovely! No need to buy, just one look!”

The quayside was often crowded with natives of Famagusta, mostly women, both Turkish and Greek who would come to watch the departure of the tourists. Some would bring chairs and sit together in solemn rows, gazing with absorbed interest at the unusual sight of foreigners.

The peasants of Cyprus appear to be a superstitious lot. Even their mules, donkeys and horses wear the little blue beads that are meant to ward off the evil eye.

On the Saturday before Palm Sunday the big spring fair takes place in Famagusta. Most of the gypsy population in Cyprus have arrived and set up their encampment along with their mules and donkeys. These people have originated from Romania, Bulgaria and Czechoslovakia and have settled in Cyprus and have become naturalized. Most of them have adopted the Cypriot peasant dress. On the whole, the gypsy folk are viewed as an undesirable people and live largely by begging while the women swell the family purse by telling fortunes.

The spring fair attracts hundreds of people who come together, buying or selling every imaginable kind of goods from camels, mules and cattle to straw hats and earthenware jars. The potters of Cyprus have used the same method and pattern as those used all over the East from time immemorial. The women in the bible carried the same water jars as those made in Cyprus.

Of the peasant folk of Ayia Napa, Chapman writes: “this place and its people are as yet utterly unspoilt. They live their peaceful lives untouched by the hurry and turmoil of modern civilization. They may be primitive and uncouth, but appear happy as most, perhaps, in spite of their apparent poverty.”

As to Salamis, Chapman describes the ancient site as a place of desolate beauty and wonder. With its long rows of broken pillars and huge masses of half buried masonry, one can easily imagine the human commotion and animated activity that took place in the time of its glory. The huge Stone Forum, which occupies nearly 4 acres of land, is the largest Roman forum in the world. One of the largest asps on record was killed in the middle of these ruins in 1926. These reptiles whose bite is fatal once lived in great numbers here. To the north end of the forum lies the ruins of a wonderfully constructed tank of massive stones which formed the great reservoir for the ancient city. It is believed that the water that supplied the reservoir came as far away as the Kyrenian Mountains some 40 miles away by means of an immense and impressive aqueduct. We are reminded by the author that Saint Barnabas was himself born at Salamis and must have surely played here as a boy. Later in his life, when he returned with Saint Paul he would have delighted in showing his friend the stone colonnades, the gay shops, the luxurious houses with their bathrooms and of course the wonderfully built reservoir.

I love the author’s colourful descriptions of the Cypriot landscape. In Famagusta, she remarks that the Cyprus orange is very large and juicy and the best she has ever tasted anywhere. As she cycles around the region, she notices villages with their flat-roofed, single roomed cottages made with sunbaked bricks of mud and straw. She rides past fields carpeted with yellow marguerites and poppies while in the background looms the beautiful distant outline of the Kyrenian Mountains that are shading from the palest pink to a deep violet beyond a grove of eucalyptus trees and golden acacia.

Staying at a picturesque Venetian house in Varosha, Chapman describes the tranquil serenity of sitting within the walled-in garden of the house gazing at the sea ahead with it’s water shading from the deepest blue colour to emerald green, while behind her are vast plantations of golden wattle or mimosa, silvery grey eucalyptus and groves of orange trees laden with fruit and scenting the air. It does sound heavenly.

In Nicosia town, Chapman climbs a small hill behind the new Government House to watch the sunset. Here she describes how as the sun sinks slowly behind the horizon, the mountains shaded from pale mauve to deepest purple while the sky streaked with crimson and gold. Down in the city the muezzin was sounding the call to prayer, the cabarets were preparing for the night’s entertainments, the bazaars were closing, the streets crowded – but up on the hill, where the author stood, the spirit of peace and tranquility brooded undisturbed.

In the old town of Nicosia, the author notes that Friday is market day in the capital and the narrow streets and oriental bazaars are full of thronging peasants who arrive from up-country by mule or donkey to purchase their weekly supplies. The womenfolk amongst them will slowly make their way to the ‘Women’s Market’. The traders at these bazaars sit beside their wares that may consist of bales of home spun silk and linen, drawn thread work, handkerchiefs, tea cloths and leather goods such as boots and shoes. In the nearby vegetable bazaar, a typical old Cypriot peasant buys oranges from a Turkish woman who instinctively tries to shield her face from the man with her veil.

A few minutes walk from the old Gothic cathedral of St Sophia there is a khan used for stabling camels and cattle that has remained unchanged since the time of Christ. All around the courtyard beneath the verandah are the stalls or mangers filled with hay for the cattle. East meets west at the camel khan where on one side of the courtyard, a public motorbus is filling up with peasants while on the other side stands a stately caravan of camels.

Staying in Nicosia, Chapman notices a plaque on the wall of one house commemorating Lord Kitchener. The famous general did much for Cyprus by constructing the many good roads, which before his arrival in 1878 were non-existent on the island.

The author also discovered that mounting a donkey was not an easy matter and donkey riding in Cyprus was somewhat precarious. For instance at the top of the saddle there are two or three quilts (pamlouna) placed there which are held in place by a long cord together with a couple of saddle bags. The rider must then fling himself on to the beast with a flying leap from a rock or chair.

When passing through the Carpas, Chapman notices the differences in the dress and appearance of the women in the region compared to those in other parts of Cyprus. The women of the Carpas appear to be more handsome and carried themselves far better than the average Cypriot woman. Their beauty is helped by their natural unrestricted life and clothing. They walk barefoot and wear long baggy white trousers with an upper garment or smock open to the waist and worn over a loosely fitted undershirt.

Chapman also discovers that the moral standards of the inhabitants of the Carpas and Paphos districts are lower than the rest of the island. As a contrast, the inhabitants who live in the mountainous villages of the Troodos Ranges are extremely strict with regards to relations between the sexes. Chapman tells the story of a young girl who broke off her engagement simply because her fiancée dared to grasp her hand rather than the handle of a pitcher as she went to offer him a drink of water. He was never forgiven for this act of familiarity and the girl remained unmarried.

In a certain village in the Messaoria, the author tells us that the men there are so jealous of their womenfolk, that if a stranger were to ever greet a girl twice, it was enough to get her relatives to murder him. They would regard the act as a matter of honour. In the Carpas however, with its reputation for relaxed moral codes and where marital relations are somewhat unrestricted, Chapman tells us that in some of the cottages there, it was known that the bedroom had two doors, one for the husband and one for the lover.

Chapman reminds the reader that when the Turks captured Cyprus from the Venetians in the 16th century, they were instrumental in the preservation of many beautiful Gothic churches. By contrast, it is the Greek Orthodox Christians who were largely responsible for the ruthless destruction of many Venetian churches, perhaps due to many years of pent-up fury for being subordinate under Venetian rule.

During her travels across Cyprus, Chapman was privileged to have met Mr. Dikaios. He was the Cypriot archaeologist who with the help of local peasants unearthed one of the most important Neolithic discoveries of the age. From a hillside off the main road at Khirokitia, Mr. Dikaios discovered the complete remains of a sacrificial temple and Neolithic settlement dating back 6000 years. Chapman visited the site and was given a rare tour of the settlement by the famous man himself.

Larnaca, Chapman tells us is the oldest seaport town in Cyprus and is built near the famous ancient city of Citium or Kition which is mentioned several times in the Old Testament and is also renowned as the birthplace of Zeno, the founder of the Stoic School of Philosophy in Athens. The Larnaca seafront with its quaint archways, green shuttered houses and tidy rows of palm trees reminds the visitor of the Italian Riviera. By sheer contrast however, one only needs to turn a corner to arrive at an Eastern bazaar with its Eastern customs, Eastern dress and Eastern smells. The narrow street of the bazaar is roofed over with large pieces of cloth to protect the passerbyers below from the sun. Amongst the many goods on display one could also find and buy the now very popular Singer sewing machine. Further along is located the fishermen’s quarters where the Italian-looking blue jersey wearing fishermen can be seen mending their nets while outside the cafes opposite, a group of Turks sit, enjoying their coffees and smoking their hookah pipes. This strange intermingling of East and West can be found nowhere more clearly marked than in Larnaca.

The author states that with the exception of Iceland, she has never experienced greater courtesy and kindness as that offered to her by the Cypriots who seem to compete with one another to help the visitor in every possible way.

On the road to Limassol the colours of the landscape are divided into three shades: the intense blue of the sea and sky, the pale yellow of the barley and sun-baked ground and the vivid fresh green of the young wheat amongst the dark and glossy carob trees and the silvery grey olives.

In the village of Pano Panyayia, Chapmen describes that upon her arrival on a Sunday, no one was working, and instead the men of the village were seated on a long row of chairs smoking or sipping their drinks, all apparently in a comatose condition. She was offered a chair and offered a cup of strong black coffee by the Mukhtar which she drank under the intense gaze of the men who were now embarrassingly riveted on her the whole time. When she took out her camera and prepared to take their photo, the men jumped up and took positive delight in having their photo taken. There were no women in sight as they were not allowed to sit with the men and instead were probably inside their houses.

On the first of May, Chapman hired a muleteer, a man named Agamemnon, to take her up the mountain paths to Troodos. These ancient paths, now mainly used by foresters and peasants wound steeply up the mountain-slopes which were densely wooded with pine, and here and there with silver birch. While passing through a lovely glade, Chapman stumbled upon a lively procession of school girls, laughing and singing with two teachers making their way down the hillside through the trees. The girls each carried a large bunch of beautiful pink peonies. The teacher explained that the children came from the village of Pedhoulas and were now returning from an excursion to Prodhromos because it was the first of May. The children, the teacher explained, were carrying “May Roses” as it was the custom on every May Day to decorate the houses with them. Many of the children, Chapman noticed were very pretty with their large brown eyes and clear olive complexions. They wore their hair in long plaits down their backs and looked healthy and strong compared with the little village girls who lived down in the plains of whom looked somewhat fragile and undernourished.

Upon reaching the monastery of St. Chrysostom, beautifully situated a thousand feet above sea level, Chapman decides to climb the steep embankment to reach the castle of Buffavento which like it companion fortresses of Kantara and Hilarion, dates back to the late twelfth century. After partaking in the customary plate of orange preserve and a drink of sparkling spring water she began her ascent of the impossible wall of rock. The baked ground was very hard and stony and covered in places with sharp and thorny prickles and most of the wild flowers were dead. Up and up she climbed until she found herself gripping on to rock ledges and at times found herself crawling on her hands and feet like a wild animal. At she reached the summit, two great eagles letting out a wild shrill and angry cry swooped towards her, as it seemed she had stumbled near their nest. The lonely peaks of the Kyrenian Mountains are a favourite place of eagles. At long last, three hours after setting out from the monastery, Chapman succeeded in scrambling up to the top ridge to the runined entrance of the fortress. The view was indescribably grand, with sea and the north coast on her right, the hillsides covered in luxuriant forests of pine and olives, while to her left, the Messaoria Plain three thousand feet stretched away to meet the distant outline of the Troödos Mountains.

Hoping for no more eagles, Chapman passes through a tumbled-down stone archway of great thickness and half-filled with a tangle of green undergrowth to find herself standing in a flower-strewn courtyard leading out to one or two rooms with massive stone walls and Gothic windows that were overlooking the plain below. The air was filled with the constant droning of countless bees extracting honey from the golden marigolds carpeting the grass around the ruins. Chapman was surrounded by complete solitude, with no sound other the droning bees and the murmur of the wind. Although the natural rock of the mountain has been utilized for part of the ramparts, it remains a mystery how the great blocks of stone were conveyed to such an inaccessible spot. Buffavento means ‘The Defier of Storms” and it seems the castle has lived up to its name, for all through the ages, its mighty walls have withstood the wild weather and tempest unperturbed.

Olive Murray Chapman was a determined young English traveller and quite an extraordinary woman. It’s mind blowing to think that during the 1930s when she embarked on her travels to remote places around the world she was challenging the social restraints and the physical dangers that existed at that time, especially for women. Furthermore, there was a lack of opportunities that prevented most women from participating in global exploration and travel. It is obvious that Chapman was a determined and extremely self-assured traveller who refused to be kept at home by such “stuff and nonsense.” Sadly, the male dominated establishment at the time often ignored the contributions of these brave female travel writers.

After her husband was killed during the First World War, the young Chapman was determined to make the most of the education provided to her by her surgeon father. Instead of remarrying, Chapman set out to see the world’s more exotic places and to record her experiences on paper.

Her first journey took her to Iceland, which she eagerly explored on horseback. Not being content to merely recite the history of the remote island, Chapman made it her mission to also interview women in the less frequented portions of the tiny kingdom. During her intensive ride across the rugged terrain she also created beautiful watercolour paintings, as well as describing the great social struggle, which had occurred between the Old Norse religion and Christianity. Though she employed local guides, Chapman made her own decisions, which included climbing to the rim of a bubbling crater emitting noxious fumes. Nor did the many rushing rivers she routinely rode her pacing pony through put her off. Her journey provided her with enough material to write her first book, which was aptly entitled Across Iceland: The Land of Frost and Fire.

Having established her independence, Chapman went on to explore Cyprus and Madagascar. However, her most challenging journey occurred when she set off to cross the Arctic Circle in Lapland. In the company of a single guide, she rode a sleigh drawn by reindeer during this remarkable journey.

Travelling between the two World Wars, Chapman’s books balance the romantic longing for the freedom of travel with the scientific quest to reach unknown places to meet indigenous peoples. Her accounts of her journeys to Iceland, Lapland, Cyprus, and Madagascar established her reputation as an independent, resourceful traveler who was not afraid to take risks or to explore the least-traveled paths.

Chapman travelled with a still camera as well as a moving picture camera and upon her return the pictures were shown before the Royal Geographic Society, which at the time would have been quite an honour especially for a woman.

When Chapman died in England in 1977 at the age of 85, the New York Times concluded, “Everybody told her she couldn’t do it, that nobody had ever done it, and so she set forth and did it.”

FOOTNOTE:

It’s hard to find decent information about this extraordinary British woman. If anyone knows anything about her, please let me know. You can email me photos, newspaper clippings, text, anything at all – to the following email address. conemmanuelle@talesofcyprus.com