24.11.19. Somewhere west of Nicosia, Greek Cypriots congregate for dinner in PLAKA. It is a small, traditional restaurant, serving meze for hours as guests dance to Ribetika songs. My friend and I don’t speak Greek – we are here with new friends, the owners of a fabric store on Onasagorou Street in the old town.

I ask what the lyrics to one song mean, and one of our hosts turns to me. “It is a man, and he is asking ‘Why don’t you want me? Is it because I am a fisherman? My clothes stink, but I sell a lot of fish and I can make you happy.’”

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