The Vanishing Paradises of Crete

How Five-Star Hotels Are Bulldozing the Soul of the Island

Not all at once, but one vanishing cove, one flattened grove, one razed tamarisk at a time. And it is happening quietly—beneath the slogans of “development,” the smiling renderings of “eco-resorts,” and the official seals of approval from regional environmental committees.

Two more blows were dealt just this past week.

On June 26, the Environmental Committee of the Region of Crete approved EMERALD DEVELOPMENTS S.A. and other entities’ plans for a 600-bed, five-star hotel in Triopetra, Rethymno (Video via AllinCrete). The proposed development is a place where, for generations, there was only sea, stone, silence, and the memory of barefoot childhoods. Where Cretans came as children, and returned with their own children. Now bulldozers are coming too.

The second blow lands in Keratokampos, Viannos—in the quiet area of Skouros (beach below). There, a sprawling luxury complex is planned: a 5-star hotel, 30 high-end residences, spa, reception buildings, pools, dining zones, and even a “garden” for organic produce to simulate local authenticity. It reads like a parody of the new tourism vocabulary: “sustainability,” “wellness,” “integrated hospitality experience.”

And let’s not forget Ikos Kissamos.

But what it means is €500 million in investment for the erasure of something priceless.

The south of Crete has long been spared the kind of saturation that turned other parts of the island into theme parks for international tourism. Here, locals still outnumber visitors. Untamed nature still dominates the skyline. Life still follows older rhythms, tied to the land and sea, not TripAdvisor ratings or Instagram filters. This is what is at stake.

When developers arrive in these places, the result is rarely just a hotel. It is the slow unraveling of an ecosystem—ecological, cultural, human. Massive resorts carve into delicate coastal terrain, destroying habitats and displacing wildlife. The increased demand for water and energy strains already limited local resources, especially in the arid south. Waste multiplies, management lags behind, and pollution spreads.

However, the damage extends beyond the environmental. Communities feel the ground shift beneath them—literally and figuratively. Property values soar, pricing locals out of the very places their families have lived for generations. Infrastructure buckles under the weight of seasonal crowds. Roads jam. Water pressure drops. And the cultural fabric of these places begins to fray.

The Cretan way of life—characterised by hospitality, rootedness, and a profound love for the land—has always thrived in harmony with the environment. The moment that balance is lost, what remains is a shell: beautiful, perhaps, but hollow.

Tourism can bring jobs, yes. But those jobs are often low-paying, seasonal, and unsustainable. The wealth generated tends to flow outward—to foreign investors, large hotel chains, and absentee developers. Meanwhile, local businesses struggle to compete with all-inclusive resorts that keep guests captive behind gates and buffet lines.

What makes the situation more perilous is how these changes are implemented. Planning processes are often opaque, and community consultation is minimal. Environmental regulations, even when they exist, are poorly enforced. And conflicts of interest between investors and local officials are not uncommon. What we see is not just misguided growth, but a model of extraction, where short-term profit trumps long-term preservation.

The irony is painful. The very landscapes that draw visitors to Crete—the pristine beaches, the unspoiled gorges, the sense of untouched wonder—are being sacrificed in their name. We are killing the goose to make foie gras.

Let us not forget that it was Crete’s wildness, not its infrastructure, that made it famous. The places people remember most are not the five-star hotels, but the hidden beaches, the old tavernas, the quiet nights under a sky filled with stars. If we lose these places, we lose the soul of the island.

This is not nostalgia—it is foresight.

There is still time to change course. Development does not have to mean destruction. But it requires a shift in priorities—from profit to preservation, from outsiders to locals, from more to enough. As I’ve argued 1000 times, the focus of these “geniuses” should always have been on prime tourism rather than the illusion of luxury surrounding pools and buffet tables.

Crete is not just a destination. It is a home. And homes are not built with marketing plans. They are built with care. Clearly, those with developmental diamonds shining in the eyeballs would all the more happy if the Cretans just moved away.

Let us be careful now.