One mammoth development announcement follows another. Each comes with price tags of hundreds of millions, designed to dazzle the locals. But beyond the razzle-dazzle, these locals would like to ask: How much development—or rather, how much concrete—can this place actually handle?
Last week’s announcement concerned the Agios Athanasios area in Limassol, on land belonging to the Limassol Archbishopric. The project is valued at €379,495,000. According to reports, it will include residential units, educational facilities from primary through to university level, sports and medical centres, cultural spaces, a church, research and technology development centres, commercial and office spaces, and so on and so forth. In essence, an entire city.
Yesterday, we learned of another development in Prastio Avdimou, which will also include a university capable of educating and housing 12,000 students. Like the previous project, it will feature medical and research centres, residential units, tourist accommodation, wellness facilities, and the list goes on.
“With full respect for tradition, local authorities, and the environment,” promise the developers’ representatives, while showcasing building designs that could just as easily be in Dubai, Silicon Valley, or anywhere else. A small part of this development will reportedly fall within a Natura 2000 Special Protection Area, but we’re assured that many trees will be planted, bird nests installed, lakes created, and the land scorched by the 2020 fires will be restored.
Beyond the fact that permitting development on burnt natural landscape risks encouraging malicious fires, several other questions arise. For instance, how many universities does half an island with a population of about one million need? Yes, we’ll attract foreigners, but how many? The same goes for medical centres. How many? How many hotels? How many houses and apartments when there’s already a massive unused inventory?
In a place where we’ll soon be praying for rain, where meeting residents’ water needs is already challenging, we’re planning “mammoth” developments. Until we share the mammoths’ fate.
In a place without mass transit, how many cars can possibly circulate? On a road network that can’t handle existing traffic, how will all these people meant to inhabit these new cities get around?
How much more can a place endure when half of it is occupied, with invaders covering their half in concrete “developments” while the legitimate residents cement over the other half?