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In the summer months in Puglia, southern Italy, the battle for the beaches begins before dawn. Armed with tractors, beach owners flatten every imperfection from the sand, dragging it to sift out anything large enough to be considered waste. As the sun rises, tourists flood the coastline, often unaware of what lies hidden beneath their feet.
Two feet below the surface, delicate eggs laid by loggerhead sea turtles (Caretta caretta) are waiting to hatch. For the turtles, the beach is not a beauty spot but a habitat.
As sand groomers have been transforming beaches from vital habitats into backdrops for photoshoots, their work has had an enormous impact on the turtle population. “Occupation of the beach by private owners reduces a vital living space for the turtle,” says Salvatore Urso, a naturalist and co-founder of Caretta Calabria Conservation, who has been monitoring and protecting loggerhead turtle nests since 2005. “There is still not much sensitivity to coexisting with this species.”
Tractors not only crush or displace eggs – their mere presence can scare away female turtles, preventing them from nesting.
As tourism surges in the region, the nests are protected by a handful of committed experts and volunteers. Piero Carlino is director of the Sea Turtle Recovery Centre in Calimera, where staff dedicate their summers to rescuing turtle eggs. They monitor the beaches on foot and with drones to spot nests, and when a nest is identified, volunteers place a fence around it to protect it during incubation. Later, they provide support during hatching, helping to guide the turtles towards the sea. “People look at our dedication and think we’re crazy,” says Carlino.
The sand groomers versus the turtles is one of a series of conflicts between wildlife and tourists seeking picture-perfect locations that scientists and activists say are playing out around the Mediterranean as the holiday season looms.
Across southern Europe, tourists driven by Instagram and TikTok are taking to remote areas in greater numbers, threatening local environments and biodiversity. Visitors to the region account for about a third of all the world’s tourists, or about 330 million people in 2024 – and are forecast to reach 500m by 2030.
As a criteria for holiday choice, “Instagrammability” is here to stay, according to a poll by travel booking agency eDreams, where 59% of French people aged between 25 and 34 said they chose their holiday destination because of it. The 2023 Experiences Traveler, a report based on a survey of 4,000 travellers across Europe and the US, concluded that Instagram was now the most influential platform for tourists planning activities and trips.
On the Greek island of Naxos, in the Cyclades, local campaigner Eleni Andrianopulu expresses her worries over coffee. Tourist expectations, she argues, have been moulded to a new standard: the picture-perfect beach, villa and view – many of which are groomed and manicured at the expense of local ecosystems and people. “We, the people, and the place are just a decoration,” says Andrianopulu.
In some regions, the ecological concerns are mixed with broader anger about the social consequences of overtourism, and grassroots movements are springing up in opposition. On Naxos and its Cyclades neighbour Paros, Andrianopulu and Nicolas Stephanou formed part of the international “beach towel revolt” movement in 2023, protesting against the privatisation of beaches. Paros and Naxos are some of the driest islands in Greece and their unique culture comes from a “minimalist” way of life engendered by scarcity, Stephanou says. The over-construction of modern hotel complexes, “totally contrasts with the Cycladic identity”.
The growth of construction can require wetlands to be drained and soil tarmacked over. This limits the freshwater available to the 185 million migratory birds for whom the Cyclades are a vital stopover. According to the WWF, in the Mediterranean basin the populations of wetland-dependent species have declined by 81% in the past 50 years.
Across the Mediterranean, local and national governments are wrestling with the ecological and social effects of overtourism. Some, such as the Ciés islands off Galicia, have instituted caps on tourist numbers. Others have introduced fees, such as Venice, where tourists have to pay €5-€10 (£4.25-£8.50) to enter the city, or “visitor zones” and assigned time-slots to keep numbers in check. Elsewhere, authorities are experimenting with social media campaigns to reset tourist expectations of what they can photograph and experience.
The Calanques national park in south-east France is famous for its azure waters, where visitors can plunge in from rocky shores. The best view can be found from the clifftop. To immortalise it, some unscrupulous visitors go beyond the trails or park their car on the rocks, trampling endangered flora such as the endemic astragale plant.
The park receives three million visitors a year, and the high footfall has damaged trails around the creeks: rocks have been polished by the soles of endless shoes, and the soil eroded to expose the roots of Mediterranean pines. In response, authorities have launched a “demarketing” campaign on Instagram. The national park authority’s Instagram page now features images of volunteer clean-ups and instructions on how to behave rather than enticing images of the park. “We want to display the fragility of the park,” says Zacharie Bruyas, communication director of the park.
In 2022, the authorities decided to limit access to some creeks to 400 visitors a day. The first results of the restrictions appear tentatively promising, according to Bruyas. “There are some plantlets that are growing,” he says, though adds “we remain cautious, nature needs time”. Hervé Menchon, the deputy coastline ecologist in Marseille, says the restrictions will continue for five more years, “so that we won’t be forced to make it a sanctuary”.
Over time, the approach to social media in Calanques national park could become more common across the Mediterranean, with pictures of azure waters swapped for less glamorous shots of litter pickers. “This mission of protection is essential,” says Menchon. “The next generations won’t be tourists!”
Some beach owners, such as Damiano Reale at Vivosa Apulia resort in Marina di Ugento, on the Ionian coast, are taking steps to protect sea turtle nests on their properties. Every morning, Reale and his team check if any eggs have been laid, and avoid using tractors and strong lights at night, which could disorient the turtles. If nests are found, they fence them off and monitor them 24/7 when it’s time for the hatchlings to emerge.
“It is important to make tourists, politicians and researchers understand that a smart balance between commercial use of a beach and appreciation – whether of its history or its natural events – is absolutely possible,” says Reale.
Puglia’s director of the coastal state property and assets, Costanza Moreo, said in a statement that the region was “committed to protecting the nesting of Caretta caretta sea turtles”, had issued an ordinance that it was “forbidden to carry out activities that may endanger the nesting and hatching of eggs of protected species” and that beach cleaning should be done in a way that does not disturb nests.
However, scientists say these orders are not well enforced, and are only applied to known nests - leaving it possible for hidden nests and breeding grounds to be damaged.
In Greece, Andrianopulu says they have successfully campaigned for a ban on vehicles being used for beach grooming this year. “It is a big success that the machines that were there for years to flatten the beach will not be working this year … my only concern is that the progress we’re making is too slow in comparison to the massive and rapid destruction.”
This piece is being published in conjunction with the online magazine Magma
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