Paris Demetriades
Since the founding of the independent Cypriot state in 1960, and the simultaneous, spectacular rise of tourism, especially in the coastal city of Famagusta, back then a shining star attracting Hollywood celebrities, which, due to war, unfortunately dimmed far too early and ingloriously, Cyprus has enjoyed widespread popularity as a tourist destination throughout the subsequent half-century, from the events of 1974 to the present. Clearly, abundant Mediterranean sunshine and the enticing sea have, over the years, served as the driving forces behind our tourism industry.
The tourism industry itself, from its earliest years, became a driving force for the economy at large. This is an understandable, if not necessarily justifiable, development: understandable in that it produced tangible economic results, but not entirely wise, considering the risk of placing all, or at least most, of our eggs in one basket.
One discussion, however, that does not seem to have occupied us as much as perhaps it should, at least institutionally, is that of tourist gentrification. A term that, in recent decades, has increasingly concerned major urban centers abruptly transformed by tourism; Barcelona, Amsterdam, Venice, and more recently Athens. Broadly speaking, it describes the morphological alteration and alienation of urban neighborhoods, which, due to the “onslaught” of tourists, lose their authenticity. A common, unfortunate consequence is the literal displacement and eviction of traditional, indigenous residents.
While gentrification driven by foreign investment, unrelated to tourism, but linked to other industries that have periodically developed in Cyprus, such as golden passports and fintech companies, has sparked some discussion, at least among certain social circles. Tourist gentrification, a phenomenon that has been ongoing for some time, has never been adequately addressed. Perhaps this is because we are not necessarily talking about gentrification in the broader English-language sense, but rather a different, development-driven phenomenon, one that, in any case, is clearly flawed.
Because if it is not flawed and short-sighted, what else can we call the cheap, tasteless, and often environmentally irregular or outright illegal construction of hotel complexes and tourist residences along the shoreline, which have disfigured nearly the entire coastal character of our island? At the same time, how can we continue to tolerate the equally haphazard and tasteless dining and entertainment offered in so-called tourist areas, when our country possesses such a rich and admirable history and tradition and could, at the very least, offer something genuinely authentic?
I am not suggesting that, in 2025, folklore should become a commodity. Such an approach would be equally problematic. Nor would it be progressive to ignore the alluringly heterogeneous influence of different cultures, which from the depths of the centuries to today have co-shaped Cyprus’s cultural landscape. On the contrary. These influences are authentic elements of our identity as an island and a people, which we should unapologetically highlight.
What would, however, constitute a positive development would be the imposition, through the relevant state authorities, of a definitive and effective barrier against the cheapness, sloppiness, and carelessness of our tourism product; a product that, willingly or not, affects the quality of life of us locals. Unless, of course, the desire for quick money with no long-term benefit is, after all, also an inseparable part of our “authentic self.”
