Like Robert De Niro in Everybody’s Fine, it waits quietly for connection in a world rushing past
By Christopher Smart
Between the metallic rhythm of trolley wheels and the glow of departure screens at Larnaca Airport, there stands an object strangely detached from the age around it.
Quietly positioned between Gates 24 and 25, against a plain concrete wall, stands a bright yellow post box bearing the number 6065.
Thousands of passengers walk past it every day.
Families juggling passports. Students leaving Cyprus for universities abroad. British soldiers returning to base. Holidaymakers carrying memories of the island in their luggage. Business travellers absorbed in schedules and screens.
Yet very few stop before Post Box 6065.
Fewer still seem to notice it.
And perhaps that is precisely what makes it remarkable.
If one were to film it, the camera would not rush. It would linger. The crowds would move in and out of frame while the yellow post box remained still, quietly observing a world in motion.
Somewhere in that stillness lies the mood of “Everybody’s Fine” the quiet loneliness of distance, the longing for reconnection, and the hope that someone, eventually, will stop long enough to notice.
An airport is the architecture of movement. It exists for speed, immediacy and departure. Boarding passes arrive on phones. Messages cross continents instantly. Destinations flicker endlessly across digital screens.
But Post Box 6065 belongs to another rhythm.
A handwritten letter.
A stamp.
An envelope.
Waiting.
There is something unexpectedly poetic about finding a post box inside an airport, a place defined by separation and reunion. Airports witness emotions at their rawest: embraces held too long, hurried goodbyes, anxious beginnings and hopeful returns.
Perhaps that is exactly why a post box belongs there.
One imagines the stories it once carried.
A tourist sending postcards home.
A student writing to grandparents unfamiliar with smartphones.
A soldier posting birthday wishes across continents.
A traveller choosing paper over speed for something too meaningful to reduce to a quick message.
For generations, letters demanded intention. One had to stop, think and choose words carefully. Handwriting carried emotion; time itself became part of the message.
You wrote.
You waited.
You hoped.
Today, we communicate endlessly and instantly, yet perhaps say less that lasts.
Standing quietly between Gates 24 and 25, Post Box 6065 feels like a small act of resistance against disposability—a reminder that not everything meaningful was designed for convenience.
For some British travellers, especially those of a certain generation, the sight may even stir memories of Postman Pat and his faithful cat, Jess—from a time when ordinary things somehow felt more personal.
Yet somehow, Post Box 6065 still stands.
Patient.
Dignified.
Hopeful.
And perhaps there is still one final role waiting for it.
Every airport has its unofficial landmark—the place travellers instinctively photograph, remember or quietly return to.
Why not this one?
Passengers walking between Gates 24 and 25 might pause, take a selfie beside the lonely yellow sentinel and share it online:
“Greetings from Larnaca. Met Post Box 6065.”
A small tradition, perhaps.
#PostBox6065LCA
#LCA6065
#GreetingsFromLCA
Because even in an age of instant communication, some things are still worth pausing for.
Also read: Cyprus–Lebanon ferry service to begin in June
For more videos and updates, check out our YouTube channel
