Myrtou (Greek: Μύρτου, Turkish: Çamlıbel) is a town in the Kyrenia District of Cyprus, north of the city of Morphou. It is under the de facto control of Northern Cyprus.
There are several traditions as to how the village got its name. One of them says that the name comes from the plant Myrtos or Myrtia – myrtle. On the western side of the village there is a whole area full of myrtle as well as other plants and bushes.
This particular area is known as Mersinia. According to the writing of ancient writers myrtle was a plant dedicated to Goddess Aphrodite and God Apollo. There is a probability that in this area was a sanctuary dedicated to Apollo and even a small village with the name Myrtos. Myrtou area was inhabited prehistorically.
The present Turkish name Çamlıbel means "area with pines", and the village is currently on the edge of the Akdeniz National park with its pine forests and woodland walks.
Archaeological excavations in two areas of the village Stephanie and Pegades brought to light valuable findings. Oxford Ashmalian museum and a mission from Sydney Australia University carried out the excavations.
Mademoiselle remembers too well
How once she was belle of the ball
Now the past she sadly recalls.
Mademoiselle lived in grand hotels
Ordered clothes by Chanel and Dior
Millionaires queued at her door.
Oh, she pleased them and teased them
She hooked them and squeezed them
Until like their empires they'd fall
She very soon learned
That the more love she spurned
The more power she yearned
Until she was belle of the ball.
Oh, Mademoiselle, such a soft machiavel
Would play bagatelle with the hearts of young men as
they fell
Mademoiselle would hide in her shell
Could then turn cast a spell on any girl
That got in her way.
She would crave all attention
Men would flock to her side
Woe betide any man who ignored
For she'd feign such affection
Then break down their pretension
When she'd won she would turn away.
Turn away, thoroughly bored.
Mademoiselle, long ago said farewell
To any love left to sell, for the sake of being belle
of the ball
Mademoiselle knows there's no way to quell
Her own private hell, just a shell,
With no heart left at all.
Poor old Mademoiselle.