First day in Cyprus, in Larnaca.
After much walking I had a rest on the beach, a good swim in the gorgeous sea and then i went for dinner.
I picked the worst looking restaurant, displaying the cheapest prices. Inside the interior is all patched up, table cloths are dirty, the place is messy and the owners -father and son- are sitting having coffe.
I order some food…well never judge a book by the cover: food was amazing. grilled fresh fish.
I start chatting to the son, turns out he speak italian as he went to study for a year in southern italy.
I explain him what i do, photographing borders and he is not surprised, but looks sad at his dad, who starts talking in greek…this is what they said:
“we are refugees. Our home is in a village near Famagusta.
 I remember it all, I was 10 and we had to pick up few things and run with the fear that the Turkish army was coming to kill us. When the border opened after 2003 we went back to see our home. A turkish family was living in it. Not Cypriots, but turkish from mainland Turkey. They let us look around quickly but didn’t let us touch anything. But that is still my home. We arrived as refugees here in Larnaca. My father opened this restaurant and  we lived here all this time. Now our government wants to demolish the restaurant to build a road. Our government will make us refugee once again, we will be refugee twice! It’s all politics fault!”