Parasiticus
In Greece, unfortunately, there is no overarching urban planning strategy.
With the exception of a few cities that were built in an organized manner—such as Sparta, the center of Thessaloniki after the great fire, and Kalamata—most Greek settlements have developed without planning. Many have expanded haphazardly, both in areas officially mapped and in unmapped zones outside the state’s regulatory framework. In numerous cases, construction has taken place in protected areas—Natura zones or coastal regions—where human development is either restricted or outright prohibited by law.
This reality inspired my project, Parasiticus.
It all began with a visit to the Plaka of Naxos. A magnificent beach within a Natura-protected zone, where thousands of illegal buildings have been erected. Every year, they inch closer to the sea. Every business wants its tables and chairs to reach the shore, to be the first to capture the tourist season. The only thing that remains from the past is a dirt road, which cannot be paved because the area is still technically protected.
But it won’t be for long. What I saw there mirrors what has already happened elsewhere in Greece. Places that resembled Plaka ten years ago now have buildings nearly touching the sea. Recent laws (such as n.4179/2013) have allowed large resorts to build facilities as close as 10 meters from the waterline—where previously it was forbidden to pour concrete less than 25 meters away. And new legislation threatens to shrink that distance even more.
I had planned to document this phenomenon by the sea—one of my greatest loves—using my analogue camera. But on the day of my trip, I got food poisoning and had to be hospitalized at Papageorgiou Hospital. With only two days left on the clock and limited exposures on my camera, I felt a strong urge to still capture the absurd exploitation happening across Greece—especially in areas overtaken by mass, low-cost tourism.
From the hospital, I caught a passing bus that happened to stop at the KTEL intercity bus station. Acting on impulse and a childhood memory, I boarded a bus to Katerini. I remembered the coastal region of Pieria from the time I stayed at a summer camp run by the Mathematics Society. Back then, I was struck by the massive resorts catering mostly to Balkan tourists.
When I arrived at the beach, it was exactly as I expected.
I chose to photograph it without including people. Humanity brings life. But in these places, I felt only sadness.
The sea—normally a source of peace and vitality—has become a dead zone in Greek cities. It feels more like a wall than an invitation. Because of its unique topology, the sea often remains underexploited—not out of protection, but because it is difficult to commercialize fully.
In Parasiticus, I explore how cement, man, and profit-driven activity expand parasitically onto what little untouched land remains. The concrete spreads relentlessly—even to the smallest island—pushing us closer to total exploitation.
