Like remnants of the Big Bang so too, the clouds in Northern Cyprus seem to leave traces of an explosive past. The hands of time have slowed down; the unchanged, silent and aging architecture speaks of a long and tumultuous history. Life inexorably runs its course as it has done so for so many centuries.
Children, still protected from the vicissitudes of adulthood, make the streets a giant playground where a happy creativity rages to turn everything into a game, unaware of what their innocent presence brings and what role they may eventually play in the future.
Hardened stances however speak of irreversible developments perhaps, where religious and cultural celebrations run high and where people's devotions are seen as coagulating and strengthening their cultural heritage.
But fervor and pride go along with a more troubling and palpable feeling also: people’s powerful inner world. Here, one also easily withdraws from the wanderings of the outside world, from the alterable surface of things. Faces successively express a bitter reverie on the current situation, or a frozen hesitation facing an uncertain future. Some thoughtfully seem to wander aimlessly, in search of their own balance in this new but unstable environment. There is no revolt in those human beings that sometimes seem to be out of reach. Fatalism in the Balkans, a region with a complex yet fragile religious and cultural mosaic, reminds us that at every moment, no truth is better than another any longer.