Our home in Greece is in a rural coastal village in Chalkidiki. The village was established in the 1930s by Greek refugees from Turkey following the catastrophic exchange of populations after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. The original houses were modest 2-3 room affairs built of mudbrick. As the wealth of the local population has improved, these mudbrick houses have gradually been replaced, in the 60s and 70s by three storey houses for three generations of a family (though in many cases the third storey remains unbuilt) or more recently by apartment blocks. These ventures, and the tavernas and bars were a means of allowing locals to supplement their income from agriculture, fishing or other small business ventures.More recently the tavernas and bars have become the main source of income during the summer months.
When we came eight years ago, the village was a small agricultural and fishing village, with an area to one side consisting of holiday apartments. We chose our apartment because it was on the edge of the village away from the sea front with its tavernas and bars. It has a view of the countryside inland.
We have learned that most of the holiday apartments are owned either by well-off Thessalonians who use them as weekenders during the summer, or by Germans. Since the expansion of the European Union, there are noticeably more Bulgarians and Romanians holidaying here. What is extraordinary is that the summer holiday season only lasts for about six to eight weeks. Outside this period, the place is dead, (as we discovered to our cost one New Year when we were trying to find an open taverna). An entry on Wikipedia estimates that a permanent population of 1520 is swelled to around 20,000 during the season. This puts considerable strain on rubbish collections, which are well-organised and frequent here, and water supply, which tends to dry up at about 6pm when the holiday population has returned home from the beach and are taking their showers.
Our village is typical of the expansion of tourist developments since the 1970s, which have sprung up in a ribbon along the coastlines of Chalkidiki. The Rough Guide notes that these developments have swept away both agricultural plots and wildlife havens as they grow. Expanding resorts increase local employment, often attracting inland workers to the coast. The generation that would have once herded sheep or goats, or tended their small vegetable patches, now work in tourist bars and tavernas.
The developments round our village are typical of this trend. Eight years ago there were fields and swampy wetlands between us and the next village, 2km away. Reed beds were home to a variety of birds. The tinkling of bells heralded the shepherd, who regularly drove his flock of goats past our apartment. In the intervening years, the wetlands have been gradually filled and bulldozed, and gradually roads have been made. Heavy earth moving machinery means that an ancient meadow or in our case the delicate ecology of a wetland can be swept away in a morning’s work. The space between us and the next village is gradually filling up with new apartment blocks.
Whilst this expansion to the south has been taking place, the village has seen other development too. There is now a paved esplanade along the seafront planted with palm trees. Easter marks the time when the village apparently wakes up and there is a hive of activity. The tavernas and bars have increased in number, and seem to get an annual refit. A lot of white paint is applied to kerbs and the lower part of tree trunks. There is much pruning of trees – the palm trees have their lower fronds removed. Aspen trees and poplars provide shade, but are subject to an annual savaging which leaves them looking pretty ugly. Surprisingly these amputated branches seem to recover and throw out new shoots pretty quickly. The better bars have put in gardens consisting of lawns upon which tables and chairs are provided for beer and coffee drinkers, with borders of flowers such as gladioli and roses. The lawns are mowed and everything is kept well watered..Away from the seafront, a triangle of land between three roads outside our apartment has become a well-tended parkland space. It has about 16 palm trees, a couple of rose beds and grass. It is tended regularly by council workers who come once a week. They strim the grass (I cannot understand why they do not use a mower – strimming takes three times as long), weed the rose beds and as it is spring they have today been pruning the palm trees. I notice that for this they use a long-handled saw driven by a motor similar to the ones we use at home. All the palm fronds are gathered in a heap and will be taken away later.
So we are tidied up and modernised, but at considerable expense to wildlife. And at the expense of the traditional way of life. The shepherd has moved elsewhere. And sadly, down the street, a shed in which three old men distilled tsipouro (like ouzo) has long since gone.
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