There’s no mosques or churches in sight, so the only sound on the Karpaz Peninsula in North Cyprus is waves. 

I’m sitting on the balcony of my bungalow, watching the waves crash onto Golden Beach in the dying light of the day. Two stars are out, as the orange fades into black and soon the turtles will start the journey out of the water and up the sand.

Cicada chirps have replaced the crickets and in the distance the hum of a generator, and a few last tweets from the birds.

Hovering around sniffing, looking out to the sea is the Jack Russell who befriended me earlier. He lives at the bungalows, and seems to think I’m good value even though I have nothing to offer him.

Golden Beach is one of the few sandy beaches in Cyprus. It sits at the northern end of the Karpaz Peninsula, the pointy bit at the top right of the island. Golden is perhaps somewhat of a misnomer, but this Australian will take a sandy beach over pebbles any day.

Driving out of Nicosia, I was glad to leave the hot grittiness of the city behind. First out through fields of freshly harvested grains, packaged like large marshmallows, and then to the coast hugged by turquoise green water.

Travel Karpaz Peninsula Cyprus Donkey walking down the road

The donkeys think they own the road in Cyprus

There was hardly a car in sight, just a few abandoned buildings, a small town that was all but closed and then the glorious sand.

Grabbing an umbrella I headed down the sand dunes and onto the almost empty beach. Waves crashing in over a few rocks, I set up the umbrella against the wind and marched into the ocean, slyly laughing at the German couple who only timidly went in up to their shins.

This is what I had been waiting for the entire trip.

The joy of floating in the waves is immense; soothing, calming and relaxing.

Travel Karpaz Peninsula North Cyprus - The donkeys don't mind getting close up

The donkeys of Cyprus don’t mind getting close up

Then with the car radio tuned to Nostalgie Radio from Lebanon, we went off road again to the tip of Cyprus.

I listened to French and English classics from Don McLean, Pink Floyd and French artists I don’t know; all the way dodging the wild donkeys.

And now, back to the bungalow where the breeze is warm and the sky has turned to black.

There’s no music or traffic to keep me awake. And no mosques or a churches to wake me in the morning.

Bliss.

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