4 hours ago
10 
Standing on the edge of a cliff, the sun scorches my neck as I take in the scene around me.
To my left, an ancient amphitheatre stands on the hilltop. To my right, ruins of former Gladiator houses and thousand-year-old mosaics.
A quick Google Maps check is in order. At first glance, anyone would assume I’m on a history tour of Kourion, an ancient Greek city-state on the outskirts of Limassol, Cyprus’s second city.
But technically, I’m in the United Kingdom. Let me explain.
I’ve travelled to Cyprus to cross Britain’s strangest land border.
There are no officials checking passports, no signs, no flags. There is, in fact, nothing that would indicate you were crossing from the Mediterranean island’s sovereign territory to another country’s land.
When Cyprus gained independence from Britain in 1960, the Crown kept control of two significant chunks: the equivalent of 3% of the land area.
The areas were named Sovereign Air Bases, or SBAs for short.
Akrotiri, the Western SBA, borders Limassol directly, and in the east, close to the UN-administered ‘buffer zone’ with northern Cyprus, is Dhekelia, the Eastern SBA.
I’m at Akrotiri. Back in March, at the start of the US-Israel war on Iran, a drone strike near this British RAF base raised safety concerns across the Eastern Mediterranean.
Currently, there’s no suggestion that it faces any threat. People who live here seem surprised to see a tourist, though — I am told the area has practically zero visitors.
Why here?
One of the main reasons I find myself here is that Cyprus is a popular beach destination.
Several airlines operate direct flights from the UK, and there are more hotels and holiday lets than I’ve had hot dinners.
Beyond its reputation as a holiday hotspot, however, Cyprus rarely makes headlines.
Nor does it get much mention in the histories of the Mediterranean, the Middle East, or the British Empire, which supplanted Ottoman rule here in 1878.
And really, it should. Cyprus has been occupied by just about every imperial power you can imagine. There is fascinating history, everywhere you look.
Even now, Nicosia is Europe’s last divided capital. When Cyprus declared independence, a new government was formed by the Greek Cypriots and the Turkish Cypriots.
Three years later, it all collapsed during ‘Bloody Christmas,’ a wave of violence that marked the breakdown of the power-sharing Republic of Cyprus. Because the attacks primarily started in Nicosia, UN officers created a border through the historic centre.
Today, south Nicosia is governed by the internationally recognised Republic of Cyprus. The north belongs to the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, and is only recognised by Turkey.
Meanwhile, a UN ‘buffer zone’ separates the two.
A border that doesn’t make sense
But back to Akrotiri. Because the border is so low-key, I have to guess when I actually enter.
Unlike the border in Nicosia, known as the ‘Green Line’ because it was literally sketched with a green pencil during the period of intense violence between Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots, there are no markers.
You have to look at your GPS to know you’re moving from ‘British Zones’ back into Cyprus.
I’m crossing at Kolossi, a village on the outskirts of Limassol with a 13th-century castle built by Crusaders.
I’m looking out over the Med, but technically, I’m in the same country as my family over 2,000 miles away.
A bizarre side hustle
The base is a strange place. It has an environmental education centre, a botanical garden, and even flamingos that live at the nearby Salt Lake.
All the while, RAF jets deafen in the background.
For me, the most interesting part is the environmental centre. There’s a viewing point with telescopes where you can get a closer look at flamingos, seashells, rare birds, and sea turtles.
I find it weird that this is open to the public, right next to an airbase.
Not all RAF employees spend their days on top-secret assignments, though.
The base is also home to the UK Government’s Darwin Initiative, a habitat restoration project that funded environmental and biodiversity conservation missions, such as protecting and recovering the endangered sea turtle population.
I see signs warning tourists that if they mess with the turtle hatching, they’ll be reported to the sovereign base area police. You’ve been warned.
Pubs and West Ham fans
Close to the airbase, and on the aptly named Queen Elizabeth Street, is a pub called The Hamlet.
Staffed by Brits — who are all West Ham fans, apparently — it really is the most bizarre experience of my time here. Bartenders speak to me in London English and effortlessly switch to Greek when a local comes in.
The menu is quintessential Brit: English breakfasts, Greggs sausage rolls and pints of Carlsberg, alongside Greek staples like souvlaki and Cypriot Halloumi.
Premier League matches are shown on the TVs, but staff tell me they rarely see international visitors because this place is not on the tourist beat.
They say it’s mainly local residents, people from Limassol, and of course, military personnel from the base.
Outside, I double-take at red Royal Mail postboxes, identical to the ones found across the UK. I half expect to see my mate Ben, a postie back in Brighton, cycling past mid-shift.
Standing at British pedestrian crossings in the middle of Cyprus is just bizarre.
Still, like a typical Brit, I press the button and wait patiently until the traffic light turns green and I can go.
Back at the pub, I even charge my phone without using a European adapter.
On both sides of the border, I conclude that it feels 80% like you’re in the Mediterranean and 20% like you’re in the 1970s UK.
It doesn’t feel like you’re entering or leaving either country, just stuck in the past.
As told to Sophie-May Williams.
Bengali (Bangladesh) · 
English (United States) ·