Greek wildfires. What it was like on Rhodes as a major blaze spread
Somewhere around 18 July 2023, multiple wildfires broke out on the Greek island of Rhodes that triggered the evacuation of around 19,000 people.
My girlfriend and I, and our friend Cameron, were holidaying on Rhodes when the fires broke out.
We flew home in the early hours of 22 July, a few hours before the evacuations started.
Here is an account of the last few days of that trip.
Sweltering heat
This morning, we’ve all been on an incredible swim to a nearby beach called Agathi.
An unforgettable four-hour adventure spent snorkelling with happy schools of fish, spiky sea urchins, and the odd lion fish sulking in the rocks.
During our paddle, we have each received a whopping great dose of UV that promises to strike us down with heatstroke.
We started early in a failed attempt to escape the worst of the sun.
Back at our seafront apartment in the small fishing village of Haraki, we sit, conserving energy, hydrating, and keeping our body temperatures as low as possible.
We’ve taken to freezing two-litre bottles of water and supping at them as they melt—which doesn’t take very long.
It’s blazing hot.
The head waiter of the seafood restaurant next door takes a break from prepping for service, and pokes a meat thermometer into the air.
It reads 46°C.
In the heat of the day, the wax inside the candles on the restaurant tables has fully melted.
Briefly exposed to the direct sun, the binding of my copy of Das Boot (I enjoy reading tales of the sea when near the sea) has melted, and about 50 pages have fallen out.
The wildfire warning
Several days ago, our phones flashed with a wildfire alert from the Greek authorities that listed the locations of known wildfire outbreaks, including Rhodes.
Thus far, the fire hasn’t impacted the southern coastal towns of Rhodes and their holidaymakers.
But today, both the fire and the efforts to control it have intensified.
Around 4pm, rendered stupid by exercise and the intense heat, I graduate from water to a cold can of Mythos beer.
It warms up to the temperature of a mug of tea very quickly, and before I drain it, a loud rumble smothers the tranquil late afternoon sounds of gently lapping waves, families playing, and tables being set for dinner.
When the firefighting aircraft appeared
The sound is a pair of Canadair firefighting planes that have come to fly sorties over Haraki bay and scoop up mammoth volumes of seawater to dump on the flames.
Swimmers stop and squint against the sun to pinpoint the sound, while everyone on land shields their eyes to gawp.
A low-flying plane excites the inner child in us all, but the skill of the pilots is staggering.
They fly a wide and low loop over the bay, searching for a clear stretch of coastal water.
Satisfied, they head out and back again, descending on a deliberate line to their chosen spot.
With perfect altitude judgement and level wings, the pilots skim their aircraft deftly across the surface of the ocean—effectively an infinite mass of concrete that could easily snatch their plane down.
Over a distance of about half a kilometre (as best as I can tell), the pilots keep the belly of their plane submerged just below the water line.
Bellies full, the heavy planes lumber back into the sky and turn towards the island.
Throughout the afternoon and evening, they reappear dozens of times to repeat this skilful manoeuvre.
Disconcerted by the sight, the swimmers have abandoned their hyper-saline frolics and the atmosphere has become subdued.
Evidently, the fire is spreading, and Haraki, and the nearby towns of Lindos and Lardos, are downwind of it.
I, and I suspect the other visitors, derive some sense of security (valid or invalid) from having a plane ticket home.
The local proprietors are in a much more tenuous and contradictory situation, however.
They rely heavily on the seasonal tourist boom to make enough money to sustain them throughout the rest of the year.
Those who have the option won’t leave until they absolutely have to. And even when they do, they can’t take their business with them.
What else ought they do but carry on making money and hope the fire gets put under control?
Heroic pilots
The skill and bravery of the firefighting pilots tops anything I’ve witnessed in person.
They selflessly risk their lives to help extinguish terrible fires that incinerate nature, homes, and livelihoods without discrimination.
Scooping the water up is dangerous enough. But what comes next must be even more dangerous and downright frightening.
Battling poor visibility and turbulence caused by the intense heat, they dump their payload as close to the flames as they can safely get.
When it goes wrong, the consequences can be tragic. The 2023 wildfires in Greece claimed the lives of two of these hero pilots, who were battling wildfires on Euboea.
Ash and incense
The fire on Rhodes has broken out near Laerma, about 10 kilometres from where we are staying.
My girlfriend and I are dressed up this evening to enjoy a few romantic cocktails.
Cameron is out for the count with sunstroke, laid up in bed, where he has been all afternoon and remains for another entire day, waking up occasionally from this giant snooze to suck on luminous bottles of Powerade.
For now, everyone’s holidays continue as normal, and the bars and tavernas enjoy their usual bustling trade.
But, despite the enormous efforts of the emergency services, the wildfire has grown and metastasized throughout the day.
Its growth registers in two distinctly unsettling ways:
- The air smells like incense due to the burning pine and thyme
- A fine ash is falling from the sky.
A thin layer of ash coats everything. We can draw in it using our fingers.
To my imagination, such a lovely smell emanating from so deadly a force feels very sinister.
Every night so far, the winking orange lights of nearby Lindos have been visible across the bay.
Tonight they are smothered out by a soft blue haze.
Evacuation orders haven’t yet been issued, but the fire is all anyone talks about over their drinks and dinner.
A difficult final night
The following night, we’re night swimming, making the most of the final night of our holiday.
Cameron has made a full recovery, and now it’s my turn to succumb to heatstroke.
The episode is catalysed by a plate of delicious pan-fried sole garnished with dill.
Sunburned, dehydrated, and chronically overheated, this oily dish is the last salvo that my strained constitution can take.
After a dreadful night spent kneeling over the toilet, I have to summon my inner resources, and maintain as strong a constitution and cheerful mood as I can for the long journey home.
Cameron is on a different return flight from my girlfriend and I.
His is scheduled to depart shortly after midday, while ours doesn’t leave until around 11pm tonight.
Despite this fact, we all share a taxi to the airport straight after checkout.
When the taxi arrives at 9am, the temperature on the dash already reads 43°C.
On the hour’s drive to the airport, I maintain my streak of never having vomited in a taxi.
We hug Cameron goodbye at the airport, and sit on some painted white rocks next to the car park at departures.
This side of the island is upwind of the fire.
The incense smell of pine is gone and there’s no ash falling, while an easterly wind blowing in from the sea cools the temperature but fans the flames.
My head is pounding.
A little lizard scuttles past us and into a spiky shrub. Large coaches park next to us, stinking of diesel.
Heatstroke
As it’s still early, we set off on what we expect to be a short walk from the airport to Paradisi beach at the end of the runway to relax until our flight later.
I’m dizzy with heatstroke, however, and feel very close to passing out.
Half an hour into the walk, we decide it would be more sensible to retreat back to the airport and its free air conditioning.
And that’s how we spend the last day of our trip—sitting under the cool air conditioning for ten hours.
The afternoon passes uneventfully.
We spend the day moving from gate to gate, sitting at the quietest one until it fills up, before moving on to another one.
Inside departures at Rhodes Diagoras Airport, you get a clear view of all the activity out on the runway.
Between arriving and departing passenger planes, firefighting planes and helicopters land to refuel, and some military aircraft come and go.
Beyond the runway, the mountains of the Turkish coast crown the cyan waters of the Aegean Sea.
Even Turkey, Greece’s strategic rival, has loaned two fire-fighting planes, a firefighting helicopter, and a crew to pilot them to help tackle the blaze.
Nearly evacuating Rhodes airport
The gate we are sitting at has filled up, and now everyone is standing ready to board their plane.
It’s time for us to find another, quieter one.
I’m so dizzy, I lose my balance when I stand, and stumble into an exposed red button—it triggers an evacuation alarm for the airport.
All 200 or so passengers waiting at the gate have just watched me set it off.
Their collective groans and head shaking makes me feel a tidal wave of shame to go along with my sour headache.
I confess my clumsy action to a security guard, who mercifully shuts off the alarm, silencing it before it can disrupt anyone’s travel plans.
More waiting.
Leaving Rhodes while it was on fire
My flights out of Greece have never been on time, and this trip is no different.
Apart from the chaos involved with travelling on a low-cost airline, the heat has impacted flights as well.
Priority has been given to the fire-fighting planes that need to refuel regularly.
And on its inbound leg, the Ryanair flight we are due to fly out on had to execute a go-around because the heat rising from the airport destabilised its final approach.
We eventually take off in the dark around 2am.
Out of the left-hand window, glowing ribbons of fire cut diagonally across the island.
Returning one year later
We returned to Rhodes the following year in 2024.
My girlfriend and I spent our 10th anniversary there, and Cameron joined us a week later to kick off the start of his summer break.
We spent an afternoon at Estate Anastasia Triantafillou, a winery and distillery that lost a significant portion of its vines in the 2023 wildfires.
They were still able to produce enough wine and grappa to get us happily drunk, however.
Greek wildfires and tourism
Western tourists with guilty consciences rightfully blame climate change for Greece’s worsening wildfires.
However, systemic issues like arson, including burning away unwanted vegetation, and the crisis-readiness of Greece’s emergency services must also feature in the discussion.
(I recommend Christy Lefteri's The Book of Fire for anyone interested in the full picture of Greece's wildfires and their human impact.)
The Papadakis inquiry into the 2023 wildfires states that “Firefighters are fighting an unequal battle, completely exhausted and without the necessary resources.”
Tourism accounts for around 20% of Greece’s GDP and supports over 90% of local jobs on some of its beautiful islands during peak season.
Simply refusing to go would probably transmute an ecological problem into an economic one.
Aware of this issue, Greece’s tourism ministry offered “free” holidays to visitors who were impacted by the 2023 wildfires on Rhodes to encourage tourism.
I certainly look forward to my next chance to visit this country blessed by the gods.