What I Learned from Doing an Internship in Cyprus: Cultural Differences, Surprises, and Real-Life Moments
You know, sometimes you pick a place for your internship a bit randomly. The sun, the sea, the desire to see something different, to break the routine. For me, it was Cyprus. I had vaguely heard about the island: a lost spot in the Mediterranean, between Greece and Turkey, with some English mixed in. But honestly, I didn’t know much more. I thought it would be nice. An adventure. Another line on my CV. Except I hadn’t expected it to turn my head a bit. Not because it was hard (though sometimes it was), but because it’s a different world, and you have to learn to read between the lines.
Cyprus isn’t just postcard-perfect landscapes, it’s a fractured, complex, gentle, slow, noisy, and warm island. And today, I want to tell you about what I saw, experienced, and felt. The cultural differences between France and Cyprus, but also little shocks, moments of uncertainty, things I understood, and things I haven’t yet digested.
So if you’re thinking about doing your internship in Cyprus, here’s a little guide—not academic at all, but very real. Something that smells like sunscreen, broken air conditioning, iced coffee, and people talking too loudly in the street.
1. The Shock of Languages (and Sounds)
The first morning in Larnaca. I’m still in “just arrived” mode, a bit dazed, my eyes lost between the sea and palm trees, and I’m trying to buy a local SIM card. I walk into a shop, I ask in English, the clerk answers in perfect English, but when he talks to his colleague, he switches to a weird Greek… Like, I had some ancient Greek at school (mistake), so I thought I’d understand a word or two. Nope. This is Cypriot Greek, and it’s not quite the same thing. Very strong accent, words I don’t get, different rhythms. Basically, I’m lost.
And then, a few days later, I go to Nicosia. I cross a street, literally a street, and I’m in another country. Here it’s no longer Greek, it’s Turkish. The signs change, the faces a bit too, the vibe, the smells. I find myself having to relearn how to say hello. It feels weird. Like if Paris were divided between Saint-Lazare and République, and you changed language crossing a boulevard.
And you realize that in Cyprus, language is political. You speak Greek in the south, Turkish in the north, and English a bit everywhere to make it work. It’s a fragile balance, a kind of unspoken code everyone respects without talking about it. And you, in the middle, learn to juggle. Saying “Kalimera” to the baker, “Merhaba” to the waiter in North Nicosia, and “Hi” to the bus driver who pretends not to understand when you ask him a question.
2. The famous Green Line: more than just a line on a map
The first time you hear about the “Green Line,” you think of an eco-friendly neighborhood or a park. Spoiler: it’s not that. The Green Line is an armed border, right in the middle of a city. A real one. With sandbags, watchtowers, fences, checkpoints. I think I’ve never felt so cold inside as when I passed through there for the first time. Not because I was searched, not because it was tense (the soldiers are pretty chill), but because it hurts to see a city cut in two like that. Nicosia is the last divided capital in Europe. And we forget that.
What’s crazy is that people live with it. Like, really. You pass a street blocked by barbed wire, and right next to it there’s an ice cream shop, kids playing, a terrace. The war is over, but it’s still there, in the walls. And for a French person, it’s hard to grasp. We live in a unified, centralized country, where divisions are political but never physically visible. In Cyprus, geography is memory.
3. Time slows down (and so do you)
Want a real culture shock? Show up at your internship at 8:45 on a Monday morning, ready, motivated, French. And watch when your tutor arrives. Spoiler: not 8:45. Not even 9. More like 9:15. Sometimes 9:30. And everyone finds that normal. It’s not that they don’t care about work, on the contrary. It’s just that time has a different value here. It’s the climate, the culture, the sea calling you, the lingering siesta. Time in Cyprus isn’t pressure, it’s a resource.
At first, I was frustrated. I wanted things to move forward, meetings to start on time, emails to be read the same day. And then, little by little, I slipped into their rhythm. I started having iced coffees that lasted an hour, walking more slowly, understanding that sometimes “we’ll do it tomorrow” really means “we’ll see.”
And it changes everything. Your relationship to stress, to your body, to life. You don’t live less intensely. You live differently.
4. Meals: not just food, but sacred moments
France is famous for its gastronomy, I know. But in Cyprus, it’s a different way of loving food. Here, people don’t talk about menus, starters/main courses/desserts, or fancy recipes. No. They talk about mezze, dishes placed in the middle of the table, grilled meats, stuffed vegetables, halloumi (I still dream about it), dishes that come little by little, endlessly. You never know how much there will be. And that’s amazing. Because you eat, but above all, you share.
You don’t eat to fill yourself. You eat to talk, to laugh, to spend time with others. And often, the meal lasts two hours. Sometimes three. And nobody checks their watch. I saw entire families, kids, grandparents, cousins, colleagues, sit around a table, and stay there all afternoon. No tension. No phones. Just there.
And me, a little French guy used to 45-minute lunch breaks, I learned to breathe while eating. And to say yes to dessert, even when I’m full, because it’s offered with a smile.
5. The people, the looks, the silences
They say Mediterranean people are warm. It’s true. But in Cyprus, it’s a calm warmth. People smile at you in the street, for no reason. They say hello, they talk to you, they want to know where you’re from. Not intrusive curiosity. Just interest.
And then there’s politeness in welcoming. I was invited to dinner by colleagues after two days. I received fresh figs from a neighbor at work. Someone lent me an umbrella on a rainy day (yes, it rains sometimes in Cyprus, and it’s no fun). It’s not forced kindness. It’s part of their culture. They take care of others. Even those they barely know.
But beware, that doesn’t mean everything is easy. There’s modesty, discretion, especially in the north. Looks can be reserved, smiles shy. You have to earn trust. And that’s normal. The island’s history, the tensions, all that make people both open and cautious.
6. Religion: visible, but peaceful
In France, we don’t talk about it much. It’s secular, personal. In Cyprus, religion is everywhere, but not oppressive. You enter an office, you see an icon on the wall. You go to someone’s home, they explain the local saint’s feast. You hear the muezzin’s call in the north. And no one hides it.
But it remains calm, peaceful. No proselytism, no debate. Just a faith that’s part of life. And you, as an intern, accept it, respect it. And often, you learn a bit too. Because you realize that religion here is also culture, memory, traditions.
And you, when are you leaving?
So, yeah. It’s long, a bit messy, but that’s what I really felt there. Cyprus isn’t an easy country to understand, but it’s a generous land that gives a lot to those who take the time to listen.
So if you want to leave, if you want to change the air, step out of your comfort zone without going to the other side of the world, honestly, Cyprus is a very good idea. And if you need a hand with organizing, internships, host families, paperwork: we’re here. Really.
See you soon. And don’t forget your sunscreen.