http://www.odyssey.gr/article.asp?pagecode=02&entryid=2217
Odyssey,Vol. 4 No. 5 (May/June 1997)
Virgin Territory
Hydra in the bleak mid-winter: a craggy, barren island of obdurate cliffs and inaccessible beauty. A blustery wind confines the locals behind the whitewashed walls and heavy wooden doors of their houses. Even the cats that normally prowl the alleyways have gone into hiding. The Hydriot community seems impenetrable.
I wander the ghostly corridors of my hotel, the lone guest. In every kafeneio and taverna, one issue sparks furious debate: a plan to build a deluxe resort on the island. Those who see the resort as a financial boon for Hydra clamor in support-shopkeepers, restaurateurs, builders, and, surprisingly, hoteliers. The opposition is dominated by environmentalists, intellectuals, artists, and long-term foreign residents of Hydra. Eighty-five Greek literati have signed a petition to "Save Hydra," protesting against the project on environmental, cultural, and archaeological grounds.
The resort is the long-time dream of Richard Branson, the renowned founder of the Virgin Group of companies. Branson, who owns several exclusive resorts around the world, has been pushing for permission to realize the project ever since he bought a beautiful valley behind the tiny settlement of Kamini several years ago. He promised the $30-million project would create jobs for locals and attract high-class tourists to their island. The proposed 100-bed complex included a desalination and sewage treatment plant to compensate for local water shortages, a discreet solar power plant, and buildings in typical Hydriot style.
In August 1996, Branson seemed confident of success: "We want to preserve the special character of Hydra but also to further its economic development through tourism, which is essential for its survival.... Difficult decisions should not be reached hastily. But after two years of waiting, we feel the time has come for a straight answer."
When Branson paid a visit to Athens last February, in between promoting Virgin and hyping the benefits of privatization, he met with government officials to push once again for the Hydra project. At the time he said he was optimistic it would be approved-and the sooner the better. Expressing visible irritation, Branson said "the government has to decide whether to support the people of Hydra, or the handful of people who don't support the project. I think if it was up to the people of Hydra, it would already be built."
One month later, the Central Archaeological Council (CAC), the government body responsible for protecting historical sites, reached its long-awaited decision. After two grueling six-hour sessions, the CAC issued a non-binding recommendation to the ministry of culture to reject Branson's proposal; by late May, the ministry had yet to announce a final decision. But the CAC's action came as a surprise to many: The Virgin project was regarded as the test case for the new "Fast Track" scheme set up by the culture ministry to encourage foreign investments.
Admittedly, Hydra is an unlikely setting for a luxury resort. "It is an austere island where people go to confront themselves," says American author Susie Jacobs, who penned her wonderful cookbook Recipes From A Greek Island during her 15-year sojourn on Hydra. Yet with so many of Greece's natural treasures being ravaged on a daily basis and officials turning a blind eye to illegal architectural eyesores, it seems curious that Branson's carefully researched and designed project provoked such a furor.
A sentimental attachment to Hydra, and the marketability of an island with no cars, has sustained Branson's quest for a building permit. Other developers won't be as persistent, and Branson warned that Greece was shooting itself in the foot by passing up "tasteful" projects like the Virgin resort. "If we can't do it in Hydra, we'll take our money somewhere else. I'm sure I could invest the money somewhere else and get a better return."
Rustic Appeal
In April, I returned to Hydra to assess the controversial island's future. The town was slowly awakening from hibernation and the hills hummed with birds and bees. Today Hydra, ancient Greek for "water," has been drunk dry, although remains of ancient wells and cisterns abound in the hills. Water is ferried across from the southern Peloponnese eight miles away, along with other vital provisions. Yet the earliest settlers in Hydra, Albanian refugees who sought refuge in the rocky cliffs to avoid persecution by the Ottomans, were self-sufficient. They foraged in the apparently barren hills of Hydra for hidden jewels-thorny crowns of wild artichoke, wisps of asparagus, white blossoms of garlic, lemons, figs, and almonds.
From 1460, the steady stream of refugees continued. Nevertheless, as Nicholas Gage writes in his history, Hellas, "...the island was so poor, especially in water resources, that the Turks did not bother to tax it and the Hydriots were allowed to manage their affairs like a small independent republic. They turned to the sea and a few families became wealthy shipowners, willing to take a risk for any price." Perhaps this tradition of self-government accounts for Hydriots' fierce resentment of external interference in their affairs.
By 1800, the island's population had soared to 28,000-an incredible figure considering that today it is around 3,000. Hydra's commercial fleet grew apace. Most of the impressive stone mansions that are Hydra's architectural trademark were built between 1715 and 1815 by prosperous seafarers. Local resources were complemented by furnishings and craftsmanship brought back from Italy and Spain. Historically, Hydra has swung between extremes of prosperity and poverty. Her fleet played a vital role in the struggle for Greek independence, but many lives and fortunes were lost as a result. When the new Greek state was founded, the impoverished Hydriot aristocracy emigrated to Athens, leaving their marvelous mansions to crumble. The situation was so desperate by the 1940s that many buildings were demolished and the timber sold for fuel. In the 1950s, the first trickle of tourists arrived, beginning the tourist trade on which Hydra remains dependent to this day.
Ever since Jules Dassin's 1957 film The Boy and the Dolphin drew attention to Hydra, it has attracted artists and aristocrats from all over the world. The timeless image of Sophia Loren's feline profile, framed by the beguiling backdrop of the horseshoe harbor, was an irresistible advertisement for Hydra's charms. In the 1960s, many derelict mansions were bought and restored by the flourishing community of foreigners.
Among the beautiful young things who followed in the fashionable footsteps of offbeat celebrities such as Leonard Cohen and Timothy Hennessy was Branson's first wife, Kristen Tomassi. Disenchanted with married life, she ran off and fell in love with Hydra, where she lived for many years. But the island's reputation as a glamorous, Bohemian hideaway is wearing thin: Today, Hydra economically depends on affluent Athenians with weekend homes, transient yachtsmen, and the flurry of day trippers who tumble out of the cruise ships onto the harbor daily.
At heart the island remains blissfully tranquil, for what makes Hydra unique is its ban on motorized vehicles. Apart from two municipal trucks, the only means of transportation are mules, donkeys, and water taxis. Almost all "traffic" is restricted to town and the adjacent settlement of Kamini, a 15-minute stroll along the coast. The rest of the island is an unadulterated arcadia. You can walk in solitude for hours, the red earth muffled by a blanket of daisies, the hard rocks pregnant with silence. The only sounds are the gentle jingle-jangle of sheep bells and the barely audible hum of bees supping on wild irises. Rush hour consists of a herd of well-fed goats blocking the footpath, hustled along by a leathery shepherd who swings his crook in greeting.
To Build or Not to Build?
Indeed, the lack of roads (and of quality beaches) has discouraged large-scale, mainstream tourist development, despite the fact that Hydra is only 90 minutes from Athens by hydrofoil. But there are other obstacles as well. In 1993, the culture ministry designated Hydra as a "National Monument," tightening building regulations to protect its extraordinary beauty and architecture. Land outside the town limits is almost impossible to build on, which is largely why the Branson project floundered. Thus Hydra has been miraculously spared the haphazard building boom that has spoiled her neighbors Poros and Aegina. Even Spetses, though elegant and well-preserved, is abuzz with motor scooters.
But the ministry's decree has infuriated many Hydriots who feel it imperils their livelihood. "These people are reactionary outsiders-privileged Athenians and foreigners wish to turn our island into a museum for their private use," fumes Filis Saitis, proprietor of the Mistral Hotel. "They have their fancy cars and luxury lifestyles in the city, so they don't care if Hydra is mummified."
Builders on Hydra complain of rising unemployment, partly because a network of crooked local and government officials have a stranglehold on building licenses. Those with connections sidestep the laws, while others cannot even obtain permission to carry out essential repairs on their homes-which are paradoxically protected by law as listed buildings. Hydra's mayor, Kostas Anastopoulos, argues that locals should be responsible for their own future: "Admittedly, there are two categories of Hydriots-those who truly appreciate the beauty of Hydra and want to preserve it, and those who protect it at all costs because it is a product they sell." An accountant by profession, Anastopoulos speaks in monetary metaphors: "The government treats Hydra like the goose that lays the golden eggs-imposing heavy taxes but offering us nothing in return."
A major consideration behind the government's flawed regulations is the fear that development outside the town limits would lead to the introduction of roads and cars, facilitating yet more construction.
"In practical terms, large hotels in inaccessible places could not function using traditional transportation methods alone," says well-known painter Panagiotis Tetsis, dean of the School of Fine Arts and a member of the Academy of Athens. Anastopoulos dismisses speculation that new roads opened to prevent forest fires are merely a pretext, the first step in a gradual process that will change the face of the island forever: "There is no way that cars will ever come to Hydra. That's not even an issue."
Part of Hydra's charm are the donkeys and mules that trudge up and down the winding lanes and steep stairs of town, laden with sacks of cement, bundles of firewood, baskets of fruit, or the garbage bags collected from every house. Their swishing tails and clattering hooves are the island's pulse. Muleteers earn a lucrative living out of this monopoly and also do a roaring trade in whirlwind rides around town, lining up along the port at midday to heckle tourists. One muleteer thrusts a Dr1,000 note at a bemused Japanese teenager and almost forcibly lifts her onto his donkey. "Strip her for all she's worth!" a passing friend snickers.
A Kinder, Gentler Tourism
As a result of this grab-what-you-can attitude to tourism, almost every cafe on the port has been converted into an expensive souvenir store, selling gold jewelry, Balinese sarongs, and other imported trifles. Even the lace embroidery for which Hydra's nuns were once famous is now usually mass-produced in Piraeus. Local handicrafts have virtually died out. The olive presses and windmills are in disrepair, threshing floors are mostly overgrown. Whereas visitors were once so charmed by its unspoiled beauty that they often settled there for good, Hydra now sells itself as a one-dimensional picture-postcard. Shops open up moments before the cruise ships dock and close before the last passengers have clambered back on board.
Inevitably, disgruntled tourists are catching on to this mercenary approach. Shoddy service and inflated prices have brought a drop in tourism nationwide, and the younger generation of Hydriots who have inherited hotels from their parents has taken note. "People don't come to Hydra for our filoxenia any more," says Tassos, a likable young man who works as a bank clerk. His father owns a small pension. "Apart from the faithful few who return to Hydra year after year, tourists won't be back if they're ripped off or treated rudely."
Now in his 70s, Panagiotis Tetsis, the fine-arts school dean, has witnessed the island's evolution from sleepy backwater to exclusive holiday destination of the rich and famous. His shock of white hair bristles with visible emotion as he conjures up the valley behind the hamlet of Kamini where Branson envisages his resort: "It's like a scene from a Papadiamandis novel: the russet red earth, the sheep grazing among the pink almond trees, their bells singing in the breeze. In the summertime, a farmer threshes wheat there. If the land is built over, there will be no more threshing, no more sheep. Locals tempted by short-term gains are blinded to the long-term consequences. Once they are gone, they are lost forever."
Can development and preservation coexist? "This term 'development' has been dangerously misused in Greece," Tetsis retorts, his sapphire eyes aglitter. "Of course I am in favor of real development, of improving the quality of life for Hydriots and guaranteeing a prosperous future for their children. They must improve the infrastructure of the island, create jobs and businesses of their own, and preserve their heritage rather than putting their faith in an outsider. Nobody will be their savior, the magical solution to all their problems. What they hope to gain will ultimately be their loss, because Hydra will lose her individuality."
With current resources depleted and a slump in tourism, Hydra must develop alternatives. Tetsis suggests that rather than building on the Kamini site, Branson would have universal support if he restored some of the many exquisite mansions in dire need of repair and converted them into upmarket hotels. Branson has already acquired the Oikonomou mansion, where history was made when Hydra pledged her allegiance to the Greek Revolution. Some observers assert that this would make a marvelous hotel in the same vein as the Virgin Group's historical country-house hotels in Britain, all lovingly restored in keeping with their original layout.
Many feel that closed-community tourist resorts alienate locals and give little back to the surrounding environment. Perhaps small-scale, sustainable, eco-friendly tourism, integrated into the local landscape, could be the way forward. Susie Jacobs explains why she thinks this is so. "As awareness of the landscape recedes deeper into the collective unconscious, under a thickening layer of concrete and technology, Hydra offers a life of simple pleasures and rough-hewn grace. I wish you could see the tiny wild cyclamen softly pushing their pink blossoms through limestone fissures and smell the lemon blossom in spring. They are the sights and smells of Greece."
Long a hideaway for the international jet set, the arid, car-less island of Hydra remains one of Greece's most alluring destinations. But a country-wide downturn in tourism has left the island's natives wondering what the future will hold. Gloomy financial forecasts notwithstanding, the Greek government's rejection of a proposed multi-million dollar resort underscores one point: that economic development-no matter how potentially lucrative-must first pass muster with Greece's ruling elite.
