Today finds me and John in Nicosia,  capital of Cyprus and Europe’s last divided capital. I’m half Greek Cypriot, so from when I was little my grandfather told me and my brothers what happened here in the seventies. It was more or less drilled into us that the Turks were bad people who had invaded the north of Cyprus totally without reason. Yet here and now, and since reading more about what happened here fifty years ago, I realise that the situation is far more complex. I still consider the north of the island to be illegally occupied, as most world governments still do; but I now realise it’s not as simple as dismissing what the Turks did here almost fifty years ago as just wreckless and barbaric. Indeed, sat here in our apartment, with the prospect of visiting the north of the island on the cards today, I must admit the idea of visiting the place which I remember my grandparents being so upset about, as if to finally put that deamon to rest, as well as to get a better idea of the actual political situation here, rather intriguing.