The jeep grinds from the coastal flatlands into a rising forest—pines crowd the windows, a high wind testing the vehicle’s temper as the driver threads a ribbon of switchback toward the Troodos spine. By midmorning the Mediterranean light has softened; the air is cooler, scented with resin and wild lavender. On this full-day run from Paphos, Cyprus’s inland geology and centuries of human history are revealed one stop at a time: a dam that holds migratory birds, a stone bridge that remembers Venetian boots, a monastery whose gold-leaf icons draw pilgrims, and a waterfall that still shouts its old name—Hantara, the water-noise.