The biting cold is wonderful, as is the clean air, the isolation and the smell of wood fires wafting through deserted pine forests. Walking is also a pleasure, and nature trails are clearly marked. Deep in the woods I came across an Anglican church, tin- roofed and tiny.The Troodos Hotel – Swiss chalet meets British colonial house – was our overnight base. The next, Podcataro, bears an abandoned but scrupulously maintained mosque.Opposite the Tripoli gate, the old Kennedy hotel – the only one within the walls – has been transformed into a Holiday Inn Stay here if you can afford the prices. The Famagusta Gate, in effect a mini- castle, is a venue for fine art exhibitions and classical concerts. The wall is well worth walking because of the stunning views and because each bastion has some unique point of interest. The National Struggle Museum in one corner of the square is moving in its amateurish simplicity rather than any lingering prejudice, and that is as it should be, given that a third of the population of the island have made their homes happily in Britain.It is only minutes from here to the massive 16th-century Venetian city wall, with its 11 bastions projecting into a broad moat.

The museum also contains mosaics looted from churches in the occupied area, sold illegally in New York and then rescued.Cyprus is proud of those (relatively few) who died in the anti-British troubles more than 40 years ago. The collection is among the finest in the world and has great emotional value for the people, many of whom are exiles in their own land. It dwarfs the diminutive but lovely medieval palace which is now a folk museum. Next door is the equally diminutive Cathedral of St John, more like a village church.The redeeming feature of the new Archbishopric is its Byzantine museum, built around icons collected by Archbishop (later President) Makarios, and others brought here for safety by refugees as the Turkish army advanced on their villages. Converted from an old electricity station, it includes a massive exhibition area, a cinema, a classy restaurant where Nicosia’s intellectual lite hangs out, and a coffee shop which attracts a nice mix of beatniks and yuppies. Haggle in antiquated grocers’ stores for herbs, spices and khiromeri: luxurious, hard, black, chimney-smoked hams, far more tasty than the Parma variety.From Ledra Street it is a five-minute stroll to the award-winning Powerhouse cultural centre. At the end of Ledra Street (the Murder Mile of the 1950s when teenage EOKA freedom fighters shot British soldiers then dashed back to school to continue working for their A-levels) you climb a makeshift viewing platform to peer over the barricade.

You stare down into an urban No Man’s Land, and the Turkish occupied areas beyond.Ledra Street, newly pedestrianised, is the place to buy your bargain leather goods. It is an ugly but fascinating affair of breeze blocks, rusting barbed-wire, decaying oil drums and gun- toting kids from the National Guard. Start with a couple of days in the sleepy walled city, the world’s last partitioned capital. Since the Turkish military “intervention” of 1974, a misleadingly named Green Line slashes across the centre of Nicosia.

“Going round, you come to the same place” says the sign on the lane encircling my favourite Cypriot village, Kakopetria. The Greeks have an idiosyncratic way with words, but I can see what they mean. After 23 visits to Aphrodite’s island, reporting on everything from massacres to wine festivals, there comes a time when even a dedicated Cyprus buff finds the place a bit samey as a holiday centre. So, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to spend a week seeking out the hidden Cyprus. To follow my route you need a hire car (between C£5 and C£20 a day; C£1 is equivalent to about 70p) and steady nerves to navigate narrow mountain roads which are constantly under repair.
Holidaymakers seldom bother with Nicosia They should.

From the evidence of the jacket photograph, the regal glitter is restored, though no longer on screen: who would have thought we’d end up missing it?Anthony Quinn. Nowadays, she spends her time on charity work for Aids and million-dollar perfume deals. Yet even he can’t gloss the terrifying nose-dive her acting took in the Seventies and Eighties The wonder is she survived at all. Burton, whom she seemed to match drink for drink, died in 1984, at the age of 58. Taylor was luckier, and, despite her fragile health, has managed to come back more than once from the ravages of addiction. In between they made some terrible films.By the end of the next decade Taylor was pictured, dumpy and frumpy, on the cover of Hollywood Babylon. What happened? Oh, booze, drugs, divorce, over-eating, frequent illness – the usual suspects.