on the approaches to the Village of Neo Chorio and the Akamas Peninsula, this a perfect place for Harry and Sheila to gain inspiration for their painting and writing.
When we first came to live in this
then remote area, one of the things we found so magical to behold was the
magnificence of the star-encrusted sky at night.
Clear sky at night
Having been used to the well-lit
streets of modern towns and cities, and the powerful lights needed in and
around the RAF bases on which we lived, it was a source of enchantment when
night fell over the Akamas and suddenly enveloped the world in velvety
blackness. Looking up I felt as if I had never really seen stars before. Surely
here they were brighter and much nearer to the earth than those we were
accustomed to seeing? The constellations were easily identified and, during
July and August, shooting stars were commonplace. Starlight, reflected in the
wet sand and surf of the shoreline, showed emerging turtle hatchlings the
direct route to the sea; and the full moon, rising in a clear night sky, silvered
the water in the bay and flooded the landscape with soft light.
There was a deep silence too, broken
only by the sound of owls hooting softly, or the steady throb of diesel engines
as the painted wooden boats left Latchi for the night's fishing.
Today this calm and tranquil darkness
has vanished. We have been made to see the light. Lots of them in fact, from
the moment the sun goes down and small bats begin to emerge from their roost.
All the crowded new developments must have street lights, and it seems that
every new house has brilliant white or orange lights, housed in cute little
lamp posts, spread around the perimeter. Then there are spotlights, floodlights
and headlights all creating an artificial haze of light that blots out the
natural wonder of starlight.
Of course we must have lights in
places where it would be unsafe not to have them; but how many do we really
need? In these days of global warming, with the polar ice-cap and glaciers
melting while sea levels continue to rise, countries like the Maldives and Bangladesh are facing the awful reality of
being wiped off the world's map entirely in the not too distant future.
Governments are beginning to heed the
dire warnings from scientists and are desperately trying to cut carbon
emissions. Cyprus is no exception to this, and with
stringent fines looming if our carbon footprint is larger than permitted, I
can't help wondering what purpose it serves to keep so many lights burning so
brightly for so long.
I am not nostalgic enough to wish for
a return to the dark ages, when your eyesight was ruined trying to read by the
dim light of a candle; but how wonderful it would be to see a night sky
bejewelled with stars and unencumbered with light pollution once more.
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