PARADISE LOST

This is an article that first appeared as an introduction to the 5th issue of Kennedy.

Paradise Lost

Starting this rather extended foreword for the 5th issue of our publication I have to warn those reading,  that this text is by no means whatsoever affiliated with the gothic metal band going under the same name, or Dante’s epic poem in any way. I came up with this rather pompous title to this editorial way before I started laying down the words on paper, with only the intention to headline suitably an article about the overgrowing alienation from places that resembled once some sort of an earthly paradise. And their downfall or  ‘’The fall from grace’’ . It had been a vague idea stuck in my head for quite some time now dealing mostly with the idea of memory and place and what significance it holds for us in a world where everything changes in such a swift and dramatic way, that makes it almost impossible to hold on to any sort of real reference. It’s the end of the summer, that time of the year that feels more than ever appropriate enough to share a few thoughts about memories, and a certain nostalgia for summers long since passed, that encompassed  a certain feeling quite hard to put in words. Reminisces from special places,  that have been going through so many transformations, climaxing to what could be a point of no return for many. With no intention to sound like a Cassandra here, or utilising nostalgia as some form of fetich, I will try in the most un biased manner possible to deal with a subject that carries a certain emotional burden especially for someone living in touristic country like Greece.

Holidays as a form of recreational activity are actually for most people nothing more than a break from work. Next to holiday in a dictionary is the word relaxation. Relaxation again is a word open to many interpretations. Relaxing can mean for some, to enjoy a rather mediocre cocktail stacked in the company of hundredslike minded tourists covered in a glossy mixture of suntan and sweat in San Antonio or for other individuals reading obsessively in solitude for a month under the generous shade of a fig tree in Andros. The real traveler like in this case, seeks the real escapism. In it’s true romanticised version the person who travels does it always alone. ‘’The Byronic traveller carries within him a fantasy of escape from all that defines their ordinaries’’. Tourism actually means ‘’turning on to a lathe’’, which means being shaped as if by a tool, by the places you visit. The Greek word for holidays ‘’Diakopes’’ means literally stopping or refraining from certain activities. Regarding the fact that in most Metropolitan environments the most unpleasant activity is work, diakopes tends to mean for most only refraining from working.  The vast majority, tends to use that ‘’sacred time’’ of interval only to escape the city limits or an office environment and not most of the other annoying habits that come with it in the first place. Most humans these days choose to refrain from virtually nothing in their holidays. Holidays used to be a certain kind of anachorétisme, again a word with Greek roots, meaning the departure from social life and the need for to transform even for a few days to a hermit. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not trying to say we should spend our holidays in caves reading religious scrolls or anything like it. The island it’s self is a already a secluded magical place where sceneries and crowds attractive and mysterious are waiting for us to blend in with them. Or at least that was the case some years ago. The current situation is demanding for more and more of the amenities and habits that form our every day life in the city following us, crammed in our suitcases and our mentality to those special places that used the be the ideal setting for the departure, or the ‘’diakopes’’ if you prefer. But sadly it’s not only the mentality towards the term holiday that changed over the years. Those places themselves are not the same anymore, messed up with to the extent that even their memory is mostly a sad recollection of a triumphant past than anything else. This article as I mentioned earlier is not a lustful essay for the past though. It’s not the side effect of a middle life crisis. Although there has always been a tendency to idealise and romanticise over previous generations, I hope that is not the case here and that this article can serve it’s purpose as a gentle reminder that our modern lifestyle demands will put eventually put an end to the world as we know it.

It was around the beginning of August 2012, where I found my self on the island of Nisyros, a volcanic island 19 hours away from Athens. Situated only a few kilometres from the Turkish shores, on clear days could easily see the gargantuan white hotel buildings at Bodrum, stacked in line one next to the other like some part of an apocalyptic scenery, considering our selves more than lucky to spend our August holidays on a island like Nisyros. One particular evening we dined  at  Nikia, one of the two villages hanging from the crater of the volcano overlooking the big plain, and we were treated to an almost overwhelming hospitality and an extravagant feast of epic proportions by the owner of the local tavern - a Cretan guy married to a local, tall as a cypress (greek expression for tall people) and sporting the thickest moustache decorating his upper lip. His son Paraskevas who could easily claim the prize for the Jean Pierre Leaud lookalike competition and his moustached father were probably the nicest people I met that summer  and still to this day remain a strong image from a country that is changing day by day. While presenting us with a feast of meat,fresh squids the best Cretan Raki and all the goodness from their garden it was interesting listening to their crazy stories and their obsession with their favourite greek soccer team AEK. That summer we stayed at the local thermal baths hotel dating back to 1872. The building has not changed much since then. Our rooms were minimal, almost stripped down with wooden walls and small almost uncomfortable beds, not much unlike the rooms of a hermit. At night the long corridor was empty and quiet and the only sound was that of the water running through the rusty pipes like muted trumpet. A figure wrapped in a white towel would walk sometimes from the public bathrooms like a ghost leaving water drops behind them on the floor. The island it’s self and this place in particular was the ideal departure for me. The real deal of escapism from reality and the transfer to another dimension. There have been many incarnations of this over the years. The same kind of departure that was for me Antiparos back in 1997 or Anafi in 2015 or Sikinos in 2011 or surprisingly enough Kimolos this year.

I was reading this year about Yoga classes at the neglected second floor of the loutra in Nisyros. It seems that Yoga classes and chill out DJs sets seem to be the latest trend in summer resorts. Chill Out these days doesn’t mean playing the Penguin Cafe Orchestra and Seigen Ono at Cafe Del Mar around 1990. Another big summer fashion is mutated champagne bottles bigger than a size of 2 year old kid and costing many thousands of Euros resting in bathtubs. This is a common practice in Psarou beach in Mykonos as an activity to entertain rich Arabs, while listening to Gypsy Kings performing live as a support act to Greek ‘’pop stars’’.  Psarou when I visited Mykonos around 1997 was just a tiny fishing village. Mykonos it’s self, another paradise, that not unlike Mallorca got into the grinder of gentrification many years ago and transformed  from a rather classy hippy retreat attracting international celebrities like Mick Jagger and Onasis to a luxurious resort for absurdly rich people and others that for reasons unknown desire to enjoy their holidays next to them. People that are looking for that kind of tourism advertised in cheap brochures with menus of 9 pounds for a kebab, a greek salad and a pint of lager as the perfect combo. Tourism in it’s wider sense is a new form of colonisation, taking in no regard whatsoever of the local population or habitat. The island of Mallorca is often claimed from Germans and British land owners not much unlike a colony .That attitude towards the island climaxed to an ongoing beef between them regarding the use of sunloungers back in 2000. Visitors and subsequently locals, have been on many occasions forced to use showers on rotation due to the huge demand of water on the island. Or withstand the many electricity cut offs. Even Deia the small rocky village hosting once legends like Robert Graves or Mati Klarwein is now home to a parade of new breed of modern celebrities blending in the with the remaining bohemians or their kids, that witnessed the booming of the tiny hippy retreat back in the 70’s. Around 2001, more than 30000 people from the local population of Mallorca, protested in a march of massive scale, demanding no more room for tourism on the island. Their logo was "Not Another Square Foot to Tourism" This line could come handy as a slogan here in Greece at the moment. It might be good enough for locals to make money out of tourism but what happens when the tourism makes the same place they were born and raised a living hell? Although Greece followed a much different, slower  path than most of it’s other Mediterranean counterparts, it’s on a steady decent to decline as  former ‘’virgin’’ touristic destination that used to offer a substantial alternative  to the overcrowded shores of Spain, Croatia and Italy. But how longer can it really hold on to that advantage? Greece’s real strength lies exactly in the real essence of the word ‘’diakopes’’. Not in all inclusive hotel packages or the holiday packages aimed at legions of beer thirsty Britons, who are merely interested in moving their habits and manners to a foreign land as long as its next to lukewarm water, saturated with a toxic blend of Coppertone and oil from motor yachts engines. Greece more than anyone else and due to the implications connected with it’s economic crisis, has to depend on tourism for most of it’s income at the moment. And not much unlike it’s Spanish or Italian predecessors, is standing on a tight rope at the moment. The way that it handles this challenge is crucial for it’s future. A good example of things to come is this. On the island of Rhodes a big protest  took place recently, initiated from small restaurant owners complaining about the all inclusive policies of big hotels leaving them literally without any income even in the busy summer months. The term ‘’economic growth’’ adored mainly by economic analysts and used a lot by aspiring politicians these days, can be the devil it’s self in situations like this.

Now the deserted village of  Emporios in Nisyros with it’s forlorn crumbling houses, has a bar and boutique hotel that recently opened there. Anafi has a new jewellery shop and  the mayor’s son opened a new bar playing bouzouki music, while the bulldozers are making way for a new road to Roukounas beach. The camper tents are so many that  reaching the shore line and the main road has street lamps. Bulldozers usually mark the the real loss of most quiet places. Now rooms cost 100 euro per day on a island the size of three football fields. It’s simple as that, the island can’t host any more tourists. On another note restaurants are serving atrocities named ‘’milfeuille with feta, capers and tomato’’. A good friend from London once described as his most memorable meal ever, some humble sardines on coal fire and string beans with a ‘’Χωριατικη’’ salad with local sour cheese.  That experience was far more enjoyable than any gastronomical luxury offered in 5 star summer resorts and Michelin starred restaurants or any 2000 euro suites overlooking the caldera in Santorini, an island popular for it’s colourful sunsets and Chinese wedding photography. Santorini has been the playground for many of my summer excursions but it’s charms lie way much further than the flooded streets of Oia and Fira. Just like it’s bigger competitor  -Mykonos- it provided for the poor locals that lived on very limited resources for years due to the island’s violent history of eruptions and earthquakes, a more than welcome income. But humans have a natural tendency towards greed. And then the basic laws of demand and supply come and do their job. This article proves to be among other things strongly related to economics. To put it in simple words property prices in the real estate business in Mykonos are soaring to heights that can only be compared with those in London.

Patrick Lee Fermor writes in ‘’Mani’’ ‘’In the end I came across a small white-washed shrine with a view of the sea. There was just room to enter, and inside a votive candle burned on a tray with some fresh flowers. A white dog appeared. I elected to call it the Chatwin Church. After a few minutes of contemplation I set off again, southwards past one of the war towers, a gorgeous forest monastery and finally the unspoilt hamlet of Castania, where the taverna owner marched me into the kitchen, pointed out the various dishes and then served a vast quantity of delicious food with a jug of rough wine. It took several strong coffees to get me moving again for the long tramp home’’.

Visiting Mani this summer after almost 20 years I found water sports facilities and people playing rackets at the old port of Limeni to my huge disappointment. The small village of Skoutari that I used to spend my holidays as a kid, was overcrowded with hundreds of cars making my decent down to the beach almost impossible. After taking the wrong turn though on the way to Gerolimenas I ended up a on small fishing village where tanned kids were taking dives in turns from the huge rocks among the fishing boats, while the village’s families chatted for hours about everything and nothing under colourful umbrellas.

At lunch time we made our way up the steep pebbled main road and stopped in from of something that looked partly like a house and partly like a taverna. An indigenous man in his sixties with green eyes and black moustache greeted us with a soft childlike voice. His manners were subtle and refined. The tavern it’s self was his family house. A couple of locals indifferent to our presence were discussing the pension cuts in the main room next to the tiny kitchen. We got a small table in the back under the vine. We ate greedily the small fried fish and tomatoes, and drank raki. On the wall an old and desaturated  Max Factor poster next the the carcass of a lobster. An Italian couple speaking low. The cicadas in a frenzy. It was probably the strongest moment of this summer.

What I figured out is  that there will always be some places that qualify for ‘’diakopes’’ or whatever that means. There will always be that tiny village  that for some reason stayed out of a travel guide.That place that you ended up at just because you took the wrong turn. Even if that is not the case, many of those lost paradises we used to call our home, resemble much more their former glorious selves if you visit them in the early days of September after the party is over and everyone is back to work. There is chance that you might come to realise that what we are trying to refrain from, more than anything in else in fact, is other people, and an island liberated from the overwhelming human presence  is in fact the most ideal setting to try and redefine our selves and our approach towards life it’s self. Noted travel author Eric Newby wrote around 1973 after resigning from the Observer ‘’ People, he said, are now lifted like freight out of the bowels of the aircraft and delivered to their hotels. ''Even worse,'' he wrote, ''will be the day, which has not yet come, when the desire to be alone has finally been extinguished from the human heart.''