The walkers are first through the gate at 8 AM: solo or in pairs, phones in hand, AirPods in place, they power down a boulevard whose violent emptiness marks the wreckage of Cyprus’s first, failed experiment in democratic self-rule. Overgrown gardens, ransacked houses, hollowed-out hotels, and derelict side streets unfold before them, the silence punctured only by the rustle of rats in the building husks and the soft slap of sea against sand. Next come the first of the day’s tourists, poking around the city’s remains with coronial curiosity. Around 9 AM, the tour groups start to appear; by noon, there are traffic jams throughout the site, as bikes, scooters, and golf carts—all available for rent at the entrance—join swarms of tourists throwing back beers and pausing for pictures as they explore the eviscerated city on foot.…