Simone Perotti's 2nd Open Letter (en)(it)

There are slightly fewer tourists than usual on Samos this year. On Ikaria, there are far fewer. I was there a few days ago, sailing on a sailboat with the Mediterranea, and I saw, asked around, and was able to assess the situation firsthand. Ikaria has a domestic airport, while Samos can be reached not only from Athens but also from Brussels, Düsseldorf, as well as from various airports in England and other European countries. This, however, did not prevent a decline in visitors, particularly Europeans.

When I disembarked at Fournoi, the beautiful island between Samos and Ikaria, I found, on the contrary, the same scene as always: just the right number of visitors, the same peaceful way of life in every season. Every year, a few thousand Europeans arrive in Fournoi, determined to do whatever it takes to get there. First they take a flight to Athens, then a second one to Ikaria, and finally the ferry to Fournoi. A small island—one-tenth the size of Kythira—that nevertheless always keeps its promise. And where a small bus runs back and forth to serve those without a car. The driver is Francesca, a lively and very friendly woman who, for two euros, will take you to the village to shop, no matter where you’re staying.

So how can this decline in tourist numbers be explained on two large islands with good transportation links? And how is it that Fournoi is carrying on as usual, as if nothing were happening?;

Tourist flows have become unpredictable. All it takes is for the price of a flight to go up or for a travel agent at a «competitive» destination to act more strategically, and suddenly an island may see almost no visitors or, conversely, be flooded with tourists. All it takes is a distant war, a rise in fuel prices, or any other source of instability, and Europeans or Americans stay home instead of traveling, believing it’s better not to go anywhere this summer.

From what I have been able to gather and study, the cost of airline tickets kept many millions of Australians, Americans, and Asians away from the Mediterranean in 2026. And this in a year already burdened by the limited presence of Russians, due to the well-known events in Ukraine, as well as by numerous other hotspots of political and military instability in the Middle East and the Persian Gulf.

For airlines, after all, not all flights are the same: some cost more and yield less, or vice versa. In fact, it’s common practice for them to adjust a ticket price slightly or to promote a flight more aggressively during the peak season for tourist bookings, in order to steer those who have already decided to go on vacation toward one destination or another. And so, someone who has invested everything they have—and even what they don’t have—in a hotel or restaurant may suddenly find their business half-empty, without even knowing why.

Samos, in a year when tourism appears to be on the decline, is holding up thanks to the Turks, who, as is well known, have been investing in the Dodecanese for years without causing much outrage among anyone. They have purchased, built, or taken over the management of marinas, hotels, and restaurants. Greeks do not look favorably upon this «invasion,» but, as the Latins used to say, «pecunia non olet»—money has no smell. Thus, the prevailing view in the local business community is «Welcome, Turks,» who do not limit themselves to buying and building, but also bring hundreds of their compatriots on their boats to the beautiful Greek waters for day trips.

Far fewer people arrive in Ikaria—the decline is as high as 30%—which is farther from Turkey and has undertaken fewer initiatives. Samos, on the other hand, has invested heavily over the past ten years in a cultural identity capable of highlighting the great figures of its past: Epicurus, Pythagoras and Aristarchus, Aesop’s inspiring stay on the island, as well as the dreamlike descriptions of Herodotus, who extolled the greatest Greek temple of antiquity, the Heraion, four times larger than the Parthenon. In 2016, during a spectacular presentation in Rome, the authorities of Samos unveiled their ambitious cultural plans at the Greek Embassy. That is why Samos is faring better than Ikaria today, even though there are fewer Turkish visitors this year than usual.

Culture is more profitable than tourism from Turkey because it attracts travelers with a genuine interest who remain loyal to the destination. In contrast, the mass influx of Turkish visitors is purely economic in nature and comes with unpleasant consequences, such as rising prices for land, food, and restaurants. A ten-minute taxi ride from the airport to Pythagoreio Marina costs 25 euros—undoubtedly far too much. And life for the island’s residents is becoming increasingly difficult.

There is still some time left before everything changes, but only because Samos is very large—one and a half times the size of Kythira — and because its development began much later than that of other islands. But if I were a resident of Samos, seeing marinas and hotels springing up, I would start asking myself some rather troubling questions.

For example: if this year’s decline in Turkish and international tourism—according to residents’ estimates, approximately 20% compared to 2025 — is not temporary, what will become of the approximately 80 taxi drivers who bought expensive cars? And what will happen to the hotels and restaurants?;

It is better, then, to invest in culture, because it has a more stable and loyal audience than that of mass tourism or Turkish tourists. Ikaria should follow Samos’s example.

The real question, however, is a different one: why do the Fournos seem to be less affected by the market’s whims? Most likely because they cater—without even trying, or perhaps because they are wisely guided by forward-thinking and modern local government officials— though I don’t know for sure—to a different kind of «customer.» More of a traveler than a tourist, someone less influenced by market fluctuations.

Typically, this is a European between the ages of 35 and 65, from the middle or upper-middle class, who avoids touristy and crowded places and is delighted when he finds simple but authentic accommodations. You don’t need to offer them amenities, entertainment, or beach umbrellas, because they simply don’t need them. Instead, this traveler loves the unspoiled islands, where the pace is set by the quiet lives of locals who don’t want to profit at the traveler’s expense or take advantage of them. And above all, it is nature itself—the great conductor who, with the wind, the sea, the sun, the rock, light, and good, simple food, conducts the orchestra of his stay on the island in the finest possible way.

The same is true of Lipsi, just a little further away—as well as on many other Aegean islands that have made wise choices. There, in recent years, tourism has not only not declined but has gradually increased. Its growth, however, has been promoted in a «controlled» manner—with three consecutive record-breaking years for visitor arrivals from 2022 to 2024 — through a tourism model different from that of the more commercialized islands: no rows of lounge chairs or organized beaches, with a collective rejection of swimming pools, and measures to limit water waste—reducing consumption by 32% from 2024 to 2025 — and with marine conservation programs to restore Posidonia seagrass beds and protect marine mammals.

A selective form of tourism with a low environmental footprint, which creates jobs for residents in sectors not directly related to tourism. A model that has allowed the people of Lipsi to «choose» their visitors, protecting their natural environment and the sea as best as possible, without compromising their authenticity. That is why Mayor Evangelia Laoudou officially received the ’Mediterranean Flag« a few days ago, an independent and highly selective international distinction that recognizes the value of the island’s choices.

Someone in Lipsi must have realized what experts have been explaining for many years: that in Europe, alternative tourism is no longer a niche market. If we combine Eurostat data—according to which 249 million European citizens travel each year—with the European Travel Commission’s surveys on the search for lesser-known destinations, we can estimate that the potential audience for eco-tourism and slow tourism ranges between 100 and 140 million travelers.

The most discerning segment of this audience — those who clearly and exclusively seek out destinations outside the established tourist circuits, places that are more authentic, more eco-friendly, and more «traditional» — is estimated, by conservative estimates, to number at least 25 to 40 million people. This is a huge group of travelers who continue to travel even when the overall tourism market is in decline, because they are highly motivated and can afford to do so. Nevertheless, every year they find fewer and fewer options when it comes to deciding where to spend their vacations.

And this difficulty is due to mass tourism: a form of tourism that disregards environmental issues, has no real interest in local communities but tends to disrupt them, and would prefer to see international airports and chains of hotels everywhere — instead of affordable housing for residents and better domestic connections to Athens. A form of tourism that believes a Greek island must become just like an Italian or Spanish one in order to «meet» the modest demands of the general public. As a result, however, the number of places that continue to interest this particular group of people—who, incidentally, are not only Europeans—is constantly shrinking.

In this way, in a year that hasn’t been particularly good for tourism, the people of Lipsi recorded a 9% increase in arrivals in July, holding their own comfortably where other islands, just a few miles away, are struggling. And all this without having to destroy their coastlines, conform to everyone else, or lose their unique character…

This summer, I saw a lot of videos and articles about Kythira circulating on social media and in specialized magazines. All of them were clearly promotional in nature and had been created by different organizations active on various platforms. Not a single one was aimed at those 25–40 million travelers. I conclude, therefore, that these people did not come to visit us.

On the contrary, the style was either glamorous—a glass of wine in the foreground on a white tablecloth, while in the background someone was diving into the sea — or that of a fun-filled vacation, with groups of young people dancing, boat trips, and beautifully plated dishes of mouthwatering food, or the classic image of Greece: the sea, the sun, and the beaches.

The dynamic advertising campaign in the Athens Metro was slightly more successful, featuring 62 billboards at 17 stations over a two-week period. Its main slogans were: «Kythira, listen to your footsteps,» «The Greece you love is still here,» «Time flows differently here.» A direction that was vaguely on the right track, but certainly too general and «light» compared to what is really needed—and the results seem to confirm this.

All of these campaigns are aimed, however, at positioning Kythira—at least in theory—on the map as a «major player in tourism,» while in practice the island is not yet ready to welcome tourists «of this kind.».

The slogan «The Greece you love is still here,» for example, is implicitly accompanied by images of places where, as I understand it, some people would like to build a «Riviera.» Isn’t there a contradiction here? A certain confusion…

So what, then, is the true and meaningful story we could tell about this place? Here we get to the heart of the matter: we don’t know it. That is the dramatic reality. Or, at least, we are not certain of it. Everyone would like their own, different story—perhaps based on their personal interests—forgetting that the common good, contributing to the community, and thinking for the long term are the only ways to truly benefit ourselves as well.

Because, if you’ve followed my line of reasoning this far, you’ll have realized that, in reality, we’ve only been talking about money—about tourists, revenue, and visitor numbers that benefit the island. I’m not sure that the people of Fournoi and Lipsi would follow the same line of reasoning. Perhaps the people of Amorgos would, judging by how heavily they’re investing in tourism: with a plan to double the capacity of the port of Katapola—so that it can accommodate more passenger ships and cruise ships — a major regional highway that would run near the protected archaeological site of Minoa, along with the construction of an airport and a large marina in Aegiali.

The municipal government wants all of this, but residents are strongly opposed to it. They are concerned about the increase in traffic, which causes traffic jams and car accidents; the enormous volume of waste, which can no longer be managed and ends up in uncontrolled dumps, causing pollution and fires; the beaches, which are being taken over by private interests and closed off to locals; water, which has become an exorbitantly expensive luxury; the cost of living and the prices of goods and rent, which are rising dramatically; labor, which is being driven into a state of overexploitation; and small businesses, which are coming under ever-greater pressure from powerful foreign capital.

That’s why Amorgos is on my personal list of Greek islands I won’t be returning to—and which I advise others not to visit. It pains me just to think about what might happen. I’ll cherish the memory of how wonderful it was forty years ago, twenty years ago, and even ten years ago.

What we as a community in Kythira do not know—namely, what true story we want to tell ourselves and others, what our vision for the island is—creates a risk similar to the one Amorgos faces. It leads us to disjointed choices and serious mistakes, even though our personal initiatives sometimes stem from the best of intentions.

And we don’t realize this because we don’t think about it. Because we consider it unnecessary to have a shared and agreed-upon vision—perhaps the result of a compromise—that could, however, represent all of us as well as possible. Instead of being forced to put up with petty political squabbles and verbal sparring in the local newspapers — which are useless, harmful, and, if I may say so, somewhat sad — we need mature men and women, ideas, and dialogue. We need to talk calmly with one another, perhaps from September through April, when we spend more time on our own. First in small groups scattered across the island, and then all together.

When I published the «My »Open Letter”, I was hoping to help get exactly that off the ground. However, the effort to organize a group of active citizens seems to have failed before it even began.

The problem—and at the same time the opportunity—remains before us: to try to understand the direction in which the Kythirian community wishes to move. A community that some still believe is solely Greek or solely island-based, while many forget that it also consists of people who emigrated and returned, from old and new immigrants, and from people who left their homeland to live here.

It is said that if all our friends of Albanian descent voted, they would account for approximately 17% of the voters — in the last election, 2,379 out of 7,223 registered voters cast ballots, meaning the turnout was 33%. Our European friends who have settled here would represent about the same proportion, perhaps even more, since they are all adults. So what does this 40% of the population, which generates economic activity, income, and consumption, and brings friends, relatives, and people who want to get to know the place here? What would Kythira be without them? And what does the remaining 60% think?;

On which island do we all believe we live? What prospects, what growth, and what changes await us? How many people believe that tourism is the only option, and how many consider other activities that could bring back the young people who left in search of a better life?;

Can the environment, the protection and preservation of cultural heritage and the local landscape, agriculture, crafts, local products, history, and traditions create jobs and foster controlled population growth, alongside tourism? Can new technologies, remote work, and the arts—as is the case in many places similar to Kythira—offer a real professional opportunity and a different way of life?;

How much and what kind of energy do we need, now that we may have avoided the absurdity of industrial-scale wind farms? Are we interested in becoming energy self-sufficient with just two medium-sized wind turbines, supplemented by stand-alone and grid-connected photovoltaic systems, without ever experiencing power outages? And what should we do to capture the 95% of rainwater that ends up unused in the sea every year? What do the school and health services need to function properly?;

In short, is anyone interested in finding out what we want, what we don’t like, and what we dream of for this wonderful place, which is facing the challenges of the present and where we all live as one people, whether we realize it or not?;

There are no Australians, Albanians, French, Italians, Athenians, Greeks who grew up here but were born elsewhere, «native» Kythirians, or people from the north and the south. It’s just us. And if a friend of ours in Karava sneezes when the north wind blows, we all catch a cold. And when a friend in Kapsali has a good idea, we all benefit, without any distinction.

I’ve been living here year-round for six and a half years now, and I say this with respect, but also with candor: I’m tired of the empty talk and fruitless arguments. I’m tired of those who undermine people’s efforts and sow discord, solely out of a ridiculous need for personal attention.

I’d like an island where people meet, embrace, smile, sit back and relax, drinks a small glass of tsipouro together, and begins to discuss matters seriously, motivated to do the best it can for all of us. There is no hotelier, merchant, worker, artist, student, or housewife on this island who does not possess dignity and the right to express their opinion and be heard.

This opinion is valuable. This opinion is who we are.

And we have many capable people who can propose plans, changes, adjustments, ideas, and visions capable of inspiring others to get involved and take action. All of us, however, have a duty to think, propose, and share our stories.

Because only one thing is certain: as is the case on all the Greek islands and all the islands of the Mediterranean, from Gibraltar to Beirut and from Çanakkale to the Gulf of Sirte, whatever we do not desire together—truly and deeply enough to work together toward it—will never happen.

And whatever we do together—but without a shared vision that we have truly embraced and discussed—will lead to nothing but failure. It will leave gaps that unscrupulous businesspeople will exploit on our behalf.

Any change that a people does not understand and cannot guide condemns them to a hundred years of loneliness. Except that loneliness does not mean sitting alone in your home and seeing no one. It means letting everything slip into darkness, leaving things to chance, without beginning to work together with others. Without first understanding what common vision you share with them and then, with calm, patience, and—why not?—love, trying to make it a reality.

This here, as a somewhat fake and faded advertising sign says, is the island of love. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to remember that, too, instead of just telling tourists about it.

I strongly feel the need and the desire to form a group made up of the most motivated people on the island—from all the communities here, from all the residents of Kythira. A group that will organize and work to facilitate meetings, presentations, and discussions, so that we can tell each other who we are, listen, understand, and plan a shared vision for the island’s future.

A vision we will work toward over the next ten years, divided into working groups and taking on direct responsibilities as active citizens. So that, after some time, we’ll be able to look each other in the eye, all recognize ourselves in what we’ve created, and smile with that pride we haven’t yet earned.

Simone Perotti

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