On Easter Monday, we set out from southern Cyprus, across the Troodos mountains, to the small village of Mitsero on the Mesaoria Plain. The reason – there was, apparently, a red lake in a disused mine on the outskirts of the village. And I just had to see it for myself.

It took two hours to get to Mitsero, driving through Agros and Palaichori – and we had no idea whether we’d even find the lake, let alone be allowed near it. I’d read stories of people being chased off by a farmer, though I told myself that was because they’d been looking around the old mining equipment, not just the lake.

The drive over the mountains was typically beautiful. If you fancy doing it, stop off at Palaichori on the way to see its churches. Unfortunately they were closed when we drove past. We found Mitsero village with no trouble. You can probably get there quicker by motorway (it’s 20km from Nicosia), but I find motorway driving dull. Thanks to Google Earth, we also found the mine remarkably easily – it’s on the left, past the village. The slag heaps are a dead giveaway.

We turned onto a dirt track that led up the hill towards the mine. I kept a nervous eye out for irate farmers, but there weren’t any ‘No Entry’ or ‘Private Property’ signs, so perhaps I was worrying unnecessarily.

‘There’s a farm house on the bend there, Matty. Quickly, drive past it before we are spotted.’

We rounded the bend. On the track in front of us was a man with a very large gun.

He looked like some sort of rebel fighter. To say he was bloody intimidating would be a bloody understatement. He made us stop the car and spoke in rapid Greek, looking at us suspiciously.

Then another car drove up behind us, blocking us in. A great big military chap got out – I imagined he was Rebel Fighter’s boss. I made a split decision to fall back on a well-used strategy for tricky situations – play the dumb tourist.

‘Excuse me, please,’ I said jovially, big smile on my face. ‘We are looking for the red lake. Is it up there?’

‘Yes,’ the boss said gruffly, ‘but there’s an army training exercise on at the moment.’

I was so disappointed. We’d travelled all this way for nothing.

‘When would it be okay to come back?’ I asked, trying my luck. We’d try again in a month or two.

‘Well, maybe in half an hour? I will radio to check.’

I nearly laughed out loud.

He came back, no longer seeming quite so intimidating.

‘You can go in for five or ten minutes,’ he said, ‘and then we need to carry on.’ And he actually smiled.

I couldn’t believe they were delaying their army training exercise for us! There’s no way in a million years that would happen in England; there would be too many rules and regulations. Have I mentioned how much I love Cyprus?

I drove past the rebel fighter and up the hill, with his boss following us. Halfway up, the track reached a massive crater and I realised that this was it. We hopped out of the car and I waved my thanks to the boss as he drove on up the hill.

We ducked under the fence surrounding the crater and looked down. There at the bottom was the Red Lake. And surprisingly, it was actually red. Proper red. Not just a vague tint that can only be seen through half-closed eyes. It looked weird and unnatural – and awesome. Red is Goobie’s favourite colour so he was impressed as well.

Mitsero mine was a copper mine that operated between 1953 and 1967. The lake is called Kokkinopezoula, meaning acid lake. Apparently the minerals and ore from the mining turns the water red and birds are said to die if they drink from it. I noticed that no vegetation grew close to the shore.

I snapped loads of photos, all exactly the same, then some more with us in. And then I took a moment to step out of Photo-Frenzy and into Just Being to appreciate what I was seeing.

‘It’s been ten minutes,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

We hopped back in the car and I turned it around. It was only then that I noticed a line of tanks and soldiers at the top of the hill, all looking at us. Waiting.

Waiting while we visited the red lake we’d travelled halfway across Cyprus to find.