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The renovation of Limassol’s old town has created some fantastic buildings and pockets of activity but what of the area’s traditional residents?

Does Limassol’s old town function better than Nicosia’s? Is it more lively? Has it managed to get rid of the typical Cypriot old town reputation of being ‘palio’, which in Greek means both old and useless? A friend of mine, who a few weeks ago visited the place, definitely thinks so.

“You should check for yourself,” he told me when I asked for an opinion. “It is packed. They have somehow managed to persuade people to start going there and having fun. They have made it into a real town centre.”

Yes, I know I should visit Limassol but when? I postpone the trip endlessly as driving down the Nicosia-Limassol motorway isn’t one of my favourite pastimes but finally decide to make it. The ride takes a surprisingly short time as all the cars around me speed so, of course, I join the race. “Where are the cameras,” I think before finally resigning myself to the fact that there aren’t any. The same goes for police patrols. What bliss! We are in free man’s land and no-one drives slower than 140.

In less than an hour I get to Limassol and continue driving west, along its coastal road. On my right hand side I see the ugly achievements of 1970s and 1980s Cypriot architecture put up by clever entrepreneurs who believed that seven-storey office buildings would bring the town closer to the future than the magnificent traditional villas they replaced. On my left there is the newly expanded sea promenade, with its various patches of greenery, benches and bicycle paths.

“It was a big trauma for Limassolians,” explains local architect Sevina Floridou. “When I moved here from Nicosia in the early 1980s they were still lamenting the fact that they had lost the familiar landscape. They missed the old villas and the promenade and the ritual of evening walks with their families, sitting in the seaside cafes and drinking coffee. But at that time it was thought that old things had to be wiped out in the name of progress. Also, in 1974 after the Turkish invasion in Cyprus, Limassol had to change rapidly. Overnight, from a sleepy tiny town it became a major shelter for refugees. Many houses had to be built to give these people homes and stabilise their lives but it all happened at a great cost to historic heritage.”

Limassol’s former Mayor Demetris Kontides, by many considered to be the major driving force behind the old town’s successful revitalisation project, tells the same story. “When I became Mayor in 1996 the town didn’t have a real connection to the sea. There were these big ugly houses along the seafront and they divided the town from the sea. Also, at that time, old houses were usually brought down and new ones were built. But I studied in Prague and perhaps because of that I like old buildings. I feel they are part of our history and the people whom I worked with at the Municipality thought the same. So we decided we wanted to connect the town with the sea and to protect the old town. We made plans to develop the seafront and restore the area around the castle and also two other squares in the old town. We borrowed £20 million from the bank, got some help from the government and slowly started. Now, the seafront is again a favourite place for Limassolians.”

I park my car next to the old harbour where, the media has just announced, a new marina with berths for 1,000 boats will soon be built, and walk into the old town. It is midday and all restaurants around the castle are busy. My plan is simple. I want to eat something, have a look at the castle and old market place, walk around both the Greek and Turkish quarters, and finally use the hamam. I proceed to realise the first point of the schedule and from quite a number of establishments choose Artima, a modern looking place based in the Carob Mill, offering modern Italian cuisine. At its entry it has a big aquarium full of very depressed looking lobsters so in order to put at least one out of their misery, I decide to have lobster and prawn ravioli. As a drink I want fresh lemonade. “We have Sprite,” says a waiter so I opt for water.

I look around and can see that all other clients seem to be serious international businessmen. I ask manager Ivan Djordjevic and he confirms. “At lunchtime our customers are mostly businessmen from various Lanitis companies,” he says. “But in the evenings we have a much more mixed crowd, mostly Cypriots and also tourists from places like the Four Seasons and Le Meridien hotels. They recommend us to their guests because they know that they can trust our service.”

Djordjevic, originally from Serbia, has been working at Artimo for the last five years and is clearly proud of the reputation that both his restaurant and the others in the same chain have achieved. “Before Lanitis decided to open these restaurants this place was dead,” he says. “Now there is life here again. There are lots of restaurants and shops being renovated. We are slowly taking customers from the old tourist area. It is more attractive here. Especially on Sundays, one can’t find a chair to sit on to drink coffee. And when they open the new marina and University it will be even better.”

Costas Lanitis, one of three Lanitis brothers who run the Lanitis Group of Companies, agreed that the Carob Mill project was a huge success. “It is a very good business, especially the restaurants,” he says when I visit him in the Group’s magnificent Headquarters, also located in the old town, next to the Municipality. “We are very happy with this project because, although I wouldn’t say it is only thanks to us, the place has become a focal point for Limassolians and proved that a quality type of development in the centre of the town can work.”

Floridou provides me with yet another explanation of the area’s success. For years, before the Carob Mill phenomenon, she and a group of like minded friends had been working tirelessly to put the old town back on the map of Limassolians’ urban consciousness. They were organising open air Sunday bazaars in the streets around the castle, had a New Year Party in one of the warehouses, and every Saturday organised walks entitled Know Your Town around various old neighbourhoods.

“There was a lot of interest,” she remembers. “There would be three tours every Saturday with 40 people a group, and some of the schools would come as well. Both adults and kids were very receptive. It was as if we were shining a light on these things and bringing them together and people would understand how the old town was interconnected and how it worked.”

I take a walk towards the Old Market, also renovated during Kontides’ time as the Mayor. On my way there I pass various very noisy construction sites. These are old buildings that are being transformed into the new University’s premises. In spite of the midday heat, the work goes on as the first students are due to enter them in next September. At first, about 350 but the number within a decade is to increase to about 5,000. The ex-Mayor sees it as the next step to bring life into the old town, the young people will need shops, bars and accommodation, they will be the reason for development of the old town’s future infrastructure.

I get to the Old Market Square and at first sight, filled with many busy, colourful restaurants, it looks like yet another success story. But a short conversation with Marios, the owner of Palia Agora restaurant based next to the market, paints a different picture.

“The market works only till 1.30pm,” he says. “After that it is closed, and even if tourists come here there is nothing else for them to see. In the evenings the place is empty. Most of us close around 4pm. They have spent £2 million on the renovation of the old Agora but they haven’t thought about how to use it properly. They treat it like an institution and not a living place. We need it to be open longer hours so there are more customers. Also we need more shops around so the area is more attractive, not to mention that there is also a parking problem. Still there is hope. We are all waiting for the University to open.”

The Lebanese owner of a shop selling fashion jewellery, Michel Rebaiz, who has lived in Limassol since 1975, agrees. “A lot of people who used to come to this market before to buy and sell don’t come here any more because it is too expensive. They have created a new open air market, only on Saturdays, behind the Police Headquarters. So the authentic market is not here any more.”

Twenty-nine-year-old Elisabeth from England who rents a flat next to the square with her Scottish artist boyfriend says she spends her morning around the market place, in the afternoon she moves to the area around the castle and Ayios Andreas Street. “The market shuts up around two, the cafes around four. If they were open longer maybe people would come at five and stay till late evening but this way after a certain hour, people just don’t go there.”

A trained massage therapist, who has been living in Limassol for a year, she says she loves the laid-back, international atmosphere of the old town and was thinking of buying a property there but the prices she was quoted were too high. “We wanted to buy our apartment and had it valued somewhere between £60,000 and 90,000 because it is old and needs a lot renovation. However, our landlord wanted £350,000, that’s a London price, not Limassol. I have other friends who would love to buy here as well but the prices are too high. Renting is still quite cheap though.”

I ask Floridou, who also lives in the old town in the beautiful residential Irini Street, about the prices and she just shakes her head. “This is a very unfortunate thing that is happening now,” she says. “The prices have gone up so much that many young people, especially young artists who would be a huge boost to the community to have their workshops or accommodation here, can’t afford it any more. This is a big loss.”

So who buys? According to Floridou, at present, apart from some courageous individuals who can afford to make take a chance and are not afraid of all the difficulties connected with investing in the old town, not too many. However, many original owners who don’t live in the old town any more also restore their properties and use them in various other ways, for example renting them as restaurants. The problem is that despite a widespread belief that renting out a house as a restaurant is a great business it is not true.

“There is only a number of restaurants that the old town can support and frankly speaking I know of only one that is a real success,” says Floridou. “The others keep on closing down and being turned into other restaurants, bars or even brothels. So in the long run, it is not really a great investment.”

Cyprus Estates Ltd, a company based off Ayios Andreas Street, that deals with properties belonging to the Pavlides family, one of the old Limassolian families whose members live mostly in Greece, provides yet another solution to the issue of Limassol’s old town property market. “If the property we want to rent out is not in a very good state we ask for a low rent that will be increased only gradually but meanwhile we expect the person who rents to repair it,” says its director Kyriacos Mavri. “Now with the University coming we are experiencing a huge interest in renting out spaces to open coffeeshops.”

Restaurants, coffeeshops, bars, University, new marina, even a floating conference centre on the sea just opposite the Carob Mill… it seems that Limassolians are exploding with ideas about what to do with their old town but where in all of this is the space for its residents?

“That is the main problem,” says Floridou. “The interest that the Municipality has in reviving the old town is unfortunately not prioritised onto the permanent residents. For me, if I was managing the old town or the town centre or a community, permanent residents would be number one on my agenda, temporary residents number two, and those who create businesses and shops number three. The rule is simple: you make a hierarchy but you always remember that permanent residents are the most important because they are the ones who are going to buy from the shops, send their children to local schools and buy the services you provide. But here, one of the most serious mistakes the urban planning people make is that nobody thinks of doing more research into who lives in the old town, what income group we belong to, what we need, how to encourage more people to move here. All the changes are made in the interest of commerce and not residents.”

I go back towards Ayios Andreas Street, which has some of the most beautiful buildings in Limassol and whose breathtaking facades are hidden behind ridiculous, 1950s-style, tourist-directed merchandise such as fake Lefkara lace, cheap suitcases and ugly swimming suits. I pass by two beautiful Ottoman hans used as souvenir shops, an old mosque where I can see some men preparing for prayer, and the hamam that I won’t be able to visit as I am slowly but surely running out of time. I have a brief chat with Yiannis, a Cypriot from South Africa who came to the island a year ago, lives nearby and runs the baths, pop into the Voila Bar that Elisabeth told me her boyfriend has just opened an exhibition at, and look at a building next to it that used to be Limassol’s oldest brothel and is being renovated as a residence by the French owner of Voila. “It is the best thing that could have happened to this building,” says Floridou. “He will do a great job”. Then I enter Ankara Street that marks the official entrance to the Turkish Cypriot quarter and there, somewhere next to an old, half-ruined house with a facade displaying traces of at least five different architectural styles, I realise that now I am in another part of the old town and here time has stood still.