Two Buildings Facing Each Other, Lefkoşa 1958

In 1958, central Lefkoşa was not crowded in the modern sense. The city moved slowly, but it already knew where its weight belonged. A few streets, a few corners, and a small number of buildings carried the city’s rhythm. Being “central” was not declared. It was understood by where people stopped, waited, and changed direction.

On one side of the square stood a three-storey stone building that had already settled into the city’s daily flow. This building housed CAN Sigorta’s first office. It had been there long enough to be part of routine life. Doors opened and closed. Papers moved in and out. People arrived with questions and left quietly. Nothing about the building demanded attention, yet it was never overlooked. It simply remained where it was.

Directly opposite, Saray Hotel was rising from the ground.

The photographs from that period show more than a construction site. They show a crowd. People did not pass by quickly. They paused. They watched. They talked. In 1958 Lefkoşa, a large building under construction was still an event. The city gathered around it, not out of urgency, but out of awareness that something permanent was taking shape.

Saray Hotel, even before completion, functioned as a focal point. Hotels at the time were not just places to sleep. They were meeting points, reference points, and landmarks for visitors arriving from elsewhere. Before the first guest checked in, the habit of gathering had already been built into its foundations.

Between these two buildings, a line formed. On one side, a place already woven into daily life, where records were kept and conversations repeated themselves over time. On the other, a structure announcing a shift in how the city would host, meet, and wait. Lefkoşa did not need signs to explain this relationship. People sensed it instinctively.

Risk in 1958 did not come from speed. Traffic was light. Vehicles moved slowly and predictably. Risk appeared when people gathered.

The Saray Hotel construction site created exactly that condition. An open excavation, wooden formwork, exposed edges, and dense foot traffic. By today’s standards, it would be considered uncontrolled. Yet behavior told a different story. People slowed down. They kept their distance. The space demanded attention, and attention was given.

Across the street, life continued inside the CAN Sigorta building. Its position did not change. It did not respond to the spectacle opposite it. It did not need to. Time worked quietly in its favor. While one building was becoming visible, the other was already familiar.

This facing arrangement was not accidental. Lefkoşa has always formed its centers through use, not declaration. Places became important because people returned to them again and again. Over time, these points accumulated memory.

Looking at the same location today, the difference is immediate. Streets are denser. Movement is faster. Waiting feels unnatural. Risk no longer comes only from where people gather, but from how little patience remains when they do.

Yet the story these two buildings tell together has not changed.

Lefkoşa does not create centers randomly.
Some places announce themselves.
Others simply stay.

And the city, eventually, decides.