Sea urchins no longer galore

Do I need to sing the praises of Greece's magical waters? I think not. What I do need to do however is lament how these waters are being overrun by swarms of tourists in the summer.


Am I being a grouch? Yes, indeed, but not only because far too many visitors for my taste coming from other countries (mainly Balkan countries) decide to behave like there is no tomorrow as they bury cigarette butts in the sand or leave garbage lying about on the beach, emptying car ashtrays out in the open even though you point out to them that there is a bin just a few meters away. No, not just because of this. I'm being a grouch because Greeks haven't been smart about the whole business either and are equally to blame.

The sad financial state of affairs in Greece has led to over-exploitation of coasts and complete disregard of ecosystems. When beaches are overrun annually by hundreds of thousands of visitors, both foreign and domestic, and sunbeds and sun brollies are concentrated in such a small area of land that you can literally smell whether or not the person next to you remembered to put deodorant on today, it is only natural that the seas are not what they used to be.

This picture is a reminder to me of what creatures once inhabited the waters. This is the "after" not the "before" shot. Sea urchins were the deadliest force to be reckoned with when you dipped your feet into the sea in the 70s, because standardized tourist practices hadn't caught up with the rural Greek communities yet. Back then, bus loads of UK citizens, Germans or holidaymakers from Scandinavia would arrive in manageable numbers. Back then, you could actually see down the whole length and breadth of a beach, play volleyball or football with friends without ever coming into earshot of your parents who kept a vigilant eye from afar (and whose eyesight was never impeded for a second by hundreds of sunbeds). Back then, the sea was left alone to deal with its denizens and you would simply interrupt the waves as you splashed around for a while before coming out to dry while building your umpteenth sandcastle then rejoining your summer friends who were already engaged in a game of catch the ball, the "boys versus girls" version.

You see, the whole secret of a successful holiday was to leave the sea alone. Ιn the first few meters there were rocky homes for fish, octopus, crabs, starfish, seahorses, even sea snakes, weevers and, yes, sea urchins. Once past those, it was smooth sailing on a sandy seabed for snorkelers. Anyway, those of us that went to the same place every year knew the very few pathways between the rocks and never had trouble reaching the open, level, watery sands. The crime was committed when communities, eager to bring more tourists in, decided to uproot those rocks and create jetties that would capture sand between them during the winter months as the sea's currents shifted the seabed. The result was twofold: a) the beach would widen so more people could be accommodated and b) the rocks that sent wary visitors away in pursuit of more amenable strands now gone, it was only a matter of time before the sea life that provided equilibrium to the waters would leave and more human feet would soil everything.

This is a gorgeous shot of the quality of the water about ten years ago but only near a jetty. Ten years before this, there would have been many more sea urchins attached for dear life onto the boulders. In fact, so many more so that most of the bottom half of the picture would have been invaded by a black hue.