Mamma Mia: the movie that transformed Greek landscapes

Agios Ioannis Chapel lies on the East side of Skopelos. It is a destination hard to reach by public transport, accessed only by foot, rental car or an extortionately priced tour. Nevertheless, it is a popular location due to its use as the setting of Sophie and Skye’s wedding in Mamma Mia. 

Having opted for the cheapest option, by foot, we set off at 7am to avoid the midday heat on a 1.5 hour walk to the coast from the final stop of the public bus line. Finally arriving at the peak of the famous rock, the peribolos of the chapel was completely serene. The calm turquoise waters below rolled onto the stony shore, carrying the sparkle of the sun's reflection on their backs. We only met a few other visitors on our pilgrimage, who briefly broke the silence as they fought to catch their breaths at the final step. 

9 am: The heat of the sun now filtered through the trees, tempting us to relieve our discomfort in the refreshing sea below. 

11am: The beach had shifted. The environment was still undeniably beautiful- white chapel illuminated in the distance by the rising sun- but the quiet begun to fade as boats started arriving in steady intervals. 

With each arrival, the atmosphere changed. The unobstructed view of the sea was interrupted and the once open shoreline became busy with towels and burning bodies. Entrance to the water became congested with anchored ships and ferried passengers. The clean water felt almost untouched earlier but immediately lost some of its clarity as movement stirred the sand beneath the surface. 

It often makes me consider how different people choose to travel. I gravitate towards quietness, secluded paths and destinations earned through difficult trails. There’s a certain satisfaction in stumbling upon places by foot and the creativity of a beach picnic, using a wooden fork to carve into a watermelon and constructing sandwiches with a finger as a spread knife.

Others understandably opt for ease and convenience- the fastest route, the most accessible, the organised tour. But when large numbers congregate in areas designed to be enjoyed in peace, it changes a place’s character. The beach doesn’t belong to me, of course, but it’s not hard to notice how a landscape is put under the weight that Mamma Mia has left behind. When it finally returns to its 8am state, it’s surprising that the world can be restored after so much chaos. 

On one side of the city’s cobbled street, lit by the sunset light, we feasted on local vegetables and freshly caught fish on a traditional red and white tablecloth. On the other side, tourists choose to drunkenly tear apart slices of pizza with their canines, scream over my quiet conversations, demand attention from seasonal staff whilst forgetting the laws of gravity.  

I love Mamma Mia, but the Greece it shows is a version of reality which now feels increasingly distant in places like this, where fame has turned quiet corners into busy tourist traps.