What to do with yiayia’s Cyprus home?

Each year, thousands of our island’s homes are quietly inherited.

Usually, they belonged to grandma – women live longer than men; 85 years as opposed to 79. So when the end comes, it’s often yiayia who leaves us the keys.

But here’s where things get complicated. In Cyprus, inheritance law means that in many cases, the law states that the remaining estate must go to immediate relatives.

In theory, that’s great – keeping things in the family, maintaining heritage, honouring the past.

But in practice? Well, sometimes that’s messier.

Gran’s heirs might be scattered across continents. Roughly 800,000 of us are – having built rich lives in London, Melbourne, New York. And though we may have fond memories of endless summer hols at gran’s, an inherited house overseas can be a burden: hard to visit, harder to maintain, and nearly impossible to sell from thousands of miles away.

Even if we live right here on the island, we might not have the time – or money – to deal with what comes next: the roof that needs replacing, the legal wrangles over ownership, the 23 cousins who need to sign off on every decision!

And so yiayia’s house sits empty. Ageing. Full of stories – but falling apart. And what began as a heartfelt inheritance quickly becomes a logistical headache.

There’s no simple answer to this inheritance dilemma. Some families do manage to restore these homes. Others sell them off, piece by piece. Many just let them go – though that comes with other dangers.

But every now and then, there’s a family who find a different way. A way that doesn’t just deal with present worries, but also brings the past back to life…

Welcome to Avli tis Nefelis. As the name suggests, this was once the courtyard of Nefeli – a remarkable woman who left behind far more than just a house.

Born in Rizokarpaso in the 1920s, Nefeli was one of Cyprus’ many refugees – forced to leave her home after the occupation. And though she and her husband held out for two long years, eventually they made the decision to leave…

“They had nine children!” says Nefeli’s granddaughter, Stella Paloungou. “So they needed a place that could support a large family. And they chose Paphos: a small house with a large field, where they could grow their own produce to provide for their family.”

Stella remembers her grandmother constantly in the garden, or welcoming visitors with homemade drinks and desserts.

“Her lemons became lemonade, fruit became spoon sweets. In summer, she served figs fresh from the tree. And there was always oregano and thyme drying. Nothing ever went to waste – the garden gave her everything she needed.”

Nefeli’s was the old way, the Cypriot way. Her garden fed the family, not just with food, but with rhythm and purpose; everything had its reason and its season. And when she passed in 2002, the house came to her youngest son, Yiannis.

“While the older siblings moved to other cities and countries, it was my father, Yiannis, who stayed behind,” Stella reveals. “And, since he was the one caring for my grandparents and the land, the family collectively decided to leave the home to him.”

Yiannis decided to do something different. “Something that would keep my grandmother’s memory, our family spirit alive,” says Stella. “Rather than selling her home or leaving it empty, we decided to open her wonderful garden to others…”

Avli Tis Nefelis is the result: a traditional courtyard kafeneion. Located just behind the municipal market in Paphos, it’s an ode to the past – to a life lived slowly and simply when gardens fed families, neighbours dropped by unannounced, and everything had its season.

Here in this garden, the air feels softer, slower. Sunlight filters through the bougainvillea. Goldfish circle the pond. Basil and oregano drift on the breeze. In spring, the scent of orange blossom hangs in the air – light, sweet, unmistakably Cypriot.

Customers sit on Nefeli’s own chairs rather than flatpack furniture. They gather not beneath fluorescent lights, but shady vines. And they meet and chat; play backgammon and drink good Greek coffee – just as they did in Nefeli’s time.

And, as it once was, the garden is still the centre of it all…

“We use everything the garden gives us,” says Stella. “Lemons from the trees become lemonade or spoon sweets. In summer, we serve fresh figs on a plate with ice – just like yiayia. We tend her herbs – oregano, peppermint, thyme – dry them, cook with them, even sell them.”

The sandwiches and platters highlight the garden’s seasonal produce: tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers, celery, lettuce, rocket. And all the desserts are homemade and traditional: mahalebi, rice pudding, crème caramel, rose ice cream.

“It’s me, my mum, and my dad,” says Stella. “We launched in 2022, and now we’re here full-time, March to October. When the spring comes, the light changes, we set to work. And Nefeli’s home comes back to life.”

It’s hard work, Stella adds. But Avli Tis Nefeli is more than just a café.  

“It’s a way of life. Everything has meaning: the food, the furniture, even the trees. It’s about feeling something familiar, experiencing the true Cyprus.

“And I think my grandmother would be proud to see people sitting here, under her trees, laughing and sharing food. All ages, all backgrounds.

“When our family wondered what to do with yiayia’s house,” she concludes, “we couldn’t simply close it up or sell it off. Instead, we decided to honour all Nefeli stood for. So we opened her gate a little wider…”

For more information, visit the Facebook page ‘Avli tis Nefelis’ or the Instagram account @avlitisnefelis