“How is it possible that humans have landed on the moon, but a machine hasn’t been invented to carry our groceries up the stairs?” comments a middle-aged woman from Ano Syros, known locally as an “Anosyriani.” She is standing with her husband under a canopy, bags in hand. They are taking a break before climbing the whitewashed Calvary to their home, laden with shopping. “Is that the problem? Or is it that we have to go all the way to Ermoupoli to buy our daily necessities?” he responds stoically.
We were walking the labyrinthine streets of Ano Syros with Iosif Stefanou, an architect, urban planner and professor at the National Technical University of Athens (NTUA), when we passed the couple. “He’s right. When I was growing up here after the war, this place was teeming with children and shops; it was self-sufficient. Now it only has bars. In summer, it’s crowded with people; in winter, it’s dead,” he says about the windswept hill where the first – Catholic – residential nucleus was formed in the 13th century, long before Ermoupoli came into being in the 19th century.
Educated in France, Stefanou has been early concerned with protecting the traditional Cycladic architecture of his birthplace, Ano Syros, as well as Ermoupoli, the neoclassical capital of the Cyclades. He was the key figure in ensuring that relevant state decrees were issued from the 1970s, which remain in force to this day. This came at great personal cost, as he emphasizes: “Establishing rules early on was something that – at least back then – didn’t sit well with my compatriots. Like all Greeks, they wanted to do as they pleased with their building projects. My father would come around every so often saying, ‘What have you done to them? I go to the coffee shop and get into fights because they tell me, “It’s your son’s fault!” Explain it to me at least so I can understand.’ He died with this grievance. It was a victory for preservation, but a Pyrrhic one. While we maintained the medieval settlement of Ano Syros architecturally at a relatively good level, the community of its people is now threatened,” he says.
“Once, this was a model of coexistence. A mother would hear her neighbor’s baby crying and would run there first. Now most houses are closed for most of the year because they’ve been bought by foreigners or Athenians. Fortunately, most of them respected and saved the houses. Many of the locals think about easy profit, which is why only bars have sprung up recently. They don’t understand they’re cutting the branch they’re sitting on. They see Mykonos on the horizon and envy it, but they don’t learn from its current state,” Stefanou adds. I wonder about the legendary rembetiko musician Markos Vamvakaris, and if he were to walk around his birthplace today, he would have a heart attack, as the lyrics of “Frangosyriani” suggest. The working-class tavernas serving retsina wine have turned into cocktail bars. However, every time I feel pessimistic on this three-day trip around unseen Syros, a counterbalance magically appears.
Stimuli
Like our next appointment with 15 kids with bouzoukis and guitars. They are waiting for us a bit further down the white alleys, where the statue of the rembetis stands. They are students at the Great School of Markos, founded in 2017 on the initiative of composer and conductor Stavros Xarchakos and other enlightened individuals. “We are fighting tooth and nail to keep rembetiko, folk and Byzantine traditions alive,” Aristos Vamvakousis, a professional bouzouki virtuoso who teaches there, says. The school in Ermoupoli has 100 registered students, 40 of whom are learning music while the rest are studying visual arts and freehand drawing. “We are fighting, and as long as such efforts exist, Syros won’t become just a tourist destination. Besides us, there are many theater groups, dance groups, sports clubs, and groups of people who fight to provide variety and stimuli during the months outside the summer season. That’s what saves us, life in the winter.”
“The crazy thing, of course, is that new musicians are graduating from the school who love music but have no place to play on Syros. And it’s not just that the rembetiko venues have closed. After October, you can hardly find a taverna to eat in,” says Vamvakousis. “The reason is that catering businesses are now owned – after the Covid pandemic – by non-locals who don’t care about keeping the shops open during the difficult months. But even in the summer, the situation isn’t better; you have to search to find a horiatiki [Greek salad] or a meatball. The new restaurants for big wallets are unaffordable for us. In the past, you could have a meal for 17 euros per person in a small taverna, and the owner would be in the kitchen all day long. Now, a cocktail, prepared in a minute, costs almost the same. What would a businessman prefer between the two? It’s funny, but we nostalgically long for the Syros that existed five years ago,” says Vamvakousis. Next to him sits 54-year-old Lefteris Zannes, the oldest student at the school. He’s a real estate agent who had lived in Athens and returned to his homeland.
Blending in
“We have quite a few permanent residents from abroad and from Athens who have blended well with the island. They choose it because we have an airport, daily ferry connections, and a hospital. It’s a safe place; we leave the keys in the door, and the 20,000 residents keep the place alive all seasons. Beyond that, Syros has its history and culture, which is its ‘armor’ because it attracts more discerning people and not just those who want a holiday home. In recent years, however, there’s been a change happening across the Cyclades that, if not halted, will cause the situation to fall apart. What’s happening here is what happened on Paros, where my clients want to sell their properties and find something on Syros because it’s still quieter here. We are on the threshold. Once there were only a few Airbnb listings on our island; now, there are plenty. Rents have gone up, and teachers, firefighters and students can’t find a place to stay,” says Zannes. I ask him if, as a real estate agent, he also bears responsibility. “It’s true, and I take my share of the blame. I’m even considering changing jobs. Until I do, at least, I try to make sure that those who buy houses are good cases,” he replies.
It is indeed true that some parts of Syros have been extensively developed, as we discover while traveling to the island’s old fishing village, Kini. Once it had humble fish tavernas. Lina Fournistaki, born and raised on Syros, is the owner and chef at the restaurant Allou Yialou. She arrives exhausted from the preparations for opening not only this restaurant but also the Mykonos-style ONO concept venue in Agathopes. Fournistaki entered the catering industry young, as her aunt had a renowned taverna in the then-virgin neighboring bay of Delfini: “I grew up there in the summers. It was different back then. People came in with wet swimsuits. Shipowners and alternative types with backpacks sat side by side. Now, even a low-wage customer wants to feel like a king on vacation, he wants an establishment that is refined in flavors and style. Here, for example, we pay for the music rights we play, we have good-quality chairs, dishes and glasses, tablecloths, and wines, top-quality raw materials, and high payroll costs. To be financially viable during the months we are open, we must maintain high turnover. They ask me why I don’t put stuffed vegetables on the menu. But if I charged 18 euros [for stuffed vegetables], they’d throw them at my head, and with good reason. Necessarily, you go for fish and meat. The customer seeking luxury leads the dance, and we follow. Should we turn our backs on them? They are the ones who support us. Or should we perhaps do what others do, keeping a taverna like it was in the 80s with 2024 prices?”
Cod or ceviche?
The situation is very different in the alley in Ermoupoli where the women’s cooperative of Ano Syros, Kastri, is located. There you find affordable prices for soutzoukakia, legumes, and cooked dishes. The cooperative started in 1999 and has provided financial independence to many Anosyrianes who lovingly prepare homemade meals that become in-demand within hours. We even see tourists in line. On the island, however, the battle between cod and ceviche is raging, with the latter making a strong comeback on all fronts. Its dominance is a link in an economic chain. Wealthy individuals came and bought and restored the mansions that were collapsing. They invested huge amounts. This is how Ermoupoli was revived, and beautiful villas in the countryside were saved. But they will want to go out and eat in expensive restaurants, bring their friends to stay in luxury hotels, and bring their yachts. Once preferred by average Greek families, the island will soon be unaffordable for them. On the other hand, Syros has the antidote to overtourism because its economy doesn’t rely solely on visitors. It houses all the state services as the capital of the prefecture with many public servants, and there’s also Neorion Shipyards, founded in 1861 – one of the oldest Greek enterprises.
The shipyard passed through the hands of renowned families like the Goulandrises, who even established a production line for the Enfield 8000, a two-seater electric car, in the 70s. The shipyard experienced ups and downs, impacting the island’s economy. Since 2018, it has been operating under Greek-American ONEX ownership. So far, the operations are exclusively repair-based, which inevitably includes sandblasting the ships’ hulls. Over the past six years, the residents have been divided: On one side are the approximately 400 regular employees and their families who staunchly support the shipyard, and on the other is a dynamic group of citizens who founded the Syros Environmental Quality Observatory, demanding that while the shipyard operates, it should eliminate its environmental footprint. The company’s management has filed lawsuits against the association, and the atmosphere is tense. “If you spend a few days in Ermoupoli, you’ll think there’s a giant dentist in the sky drilling, as there’s constant noise, and balconies and boats are daily covered in dust that is definitely not harmless, and we all breathe it,” a local resident says.
Inside the shipyard, there is a flurry of activity, with one dock hosting a ship from Algeria. At the entrance, we are met by Ioannis Vamvakousis, the former harbor master turned company executive, for a tour of the impressive facilities. “We understand the concerns of a portion of the local community,” he begins. “All our operations are state-licensed and follow protocols; there is specialized equipment for measuring pollutants, and the levels have never exceeded the limits,” he adds, mentioning that the ownership has an investment plan that will transform the image of the shipbuilding industry in the country, also eyeing Elefsis Shipyards. The goal is to eliminate the environmental footprint, and besides repairs, constructions in the land area are also planned. “This upgrade is being designed now. Syros remained standing even during the pandemic and tough times because it had the Neorion, which today can employ up to 600 workers depending on the needs,” he emphasizes.
Manolis Vorisis, an Athenian veterinarian who has lived on Syros for 14 years, is one of the founding members of the observatory: “We experienced unpleasant situations during the trials, with the island divided into two camps. We do not want the company to close, but since it reopened in 2018, nothing has been done to reduce the burden that affects the quality of life. Schools and hospitals are within range, and the particles spread over a large radius, visible to the naked eye. You leave a white car overnight, and by morning it has changed color. We are a small island with a vulnerable ecosystem that must be protected as a priority for everyone,” says the man who, through personal struggle, changed the image of stray animals on the island. An active citizen sensitive on many fronts, Vorisis, along with volunteers, placed well-maintained feeders for cats in parts of Ermoupoli and the settlements. Through talks at schools, he has shaped many animal-friendly consciences from a young age. He is a professional with a social mission, countless hours caring for animals voluntarily, and money from his own pocket to support volunteer efforts. Every so often, he also provides his veterinary services on Tinos: “The situation there has spiraled out of control in terms of cost. I lament the fate of the island. Plots that once cost a few thousand euros have skyrocketed to hundreds of thousands. Syros is still holding on because it does not have such natural beauty; it has a vibrant city even in winter with many people. But we are at the limit. If we do not take care of the future with a plan, we will decline,” he says.
Memory
In the loukoumi production workshop of Ntina Sykoutri in Ermoupoli, the photo of the owner embracing the poet and lyricist Manos Eleftheriou stands out: “I miss him. He was the guardian angel of the island’s letters and history. He knew how to honor those who upheld tradition. The humble little loukoumi encapsulates the connection with lost homelands and sweetens all occasions in Syros: engagements, weddings, baptisms, treats, and even funerals and memorials. Once it was the only sweet treat we could all have. Because I grew up here at the port among the poor working people, and I consider it a great honor. Today, many come who want to show us that they can pay. But this is not a good recipe because it puts residents in the mindset of easy enrichment, not production.”
Another traditional craft is at risk. Manolis Zorzos, known as “Fouskis” to the people of Syros, guided us through the family shipyard where his father crafted dozens of tserniki, perama, trechantiri, and varkalas boats. A former captain, he has also crafted some of his own boats, but his most significant contribution in recent years is making models of traditional vessels on a 1:10 scale: “At the rate at which they break them, in the end, not a single kaiki [boat] will remain, and I felt the need to construct these so that people one day know what the wooden boats were like. Once they brought one of my father’s to be destroyed here outside. I closed the door so he wouldn’t see it, but he noticed and teared up. Imagine bending over the wood for months, giving it shape and breath, only to see an excavator destroy what you made, in just five minutes.”
Hole into the past
Next to the shipyard in a small alley, an unexpected wonder awaits us. The Zisimatos textile factory, which operated from 1918 to 1984, has been transformed into a museum thanks to a decade-long effort by a young local, Dimitris Stavrakopoulos. He always had a passion for collecting old things, and in 2013 he entered the building through a hole in the wall. He was enchanted by the sight, as the threads were still on the knitting machines. He persuaded the owners to rent it to him at a low cost and, with personal work and his own resources, turned it into a refined museum about the history of the textile industry in Syros. “My challenge was to make it experiential and sustainable. To convince my peers, the younger locals, to discover the island’s history with activities that include a large part of the community and combine education and the charm of the experience,” says Stavrakopoulos, who at 40 is the youngest museum creator in Greece. Having founded Hermoupolis Heritage, he plans excursions to the island’s countryside, with its old mansions, remnants of a bourgeois past.
We cross the threshold of such a house in Parakopi, where the aristocratic lady Evangelia Dounia awaits us, whose late husband Leon was a descendant of the great Koulouris business family. “In this 12-acre garden with pebble mosaics, pistachio trees, and pines, we have had the most beautiful dinners and receptions with people who came from Athens and couldn’t believe that the island had such grandeur. And I, for my part, took care to preserve all the old furniture, to keep the house at a certain level, even if the finances were not as flourishing as in the past. I hope my children and grandchildren have this dedication because I understand how difficult it is today, with maintenance costs having skyrocketed,” she says. We drink our coffee in old porcelain cups with elegant silver spoons. We talk about the Syros definition of luxury: waking up in a high-ceilinged bedroom and hearing the wind in the trees. The words by writer Nikos Dimou come to mind about those first settlers who created Ermoupoli from nothing: They were like aliens, they came, created, and then disappeared. Among them were my own ancestors too.
