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Bees, windmills and Anávra

Sustainability, Greek-style

By Georgios Vasilopoulos

October 6^th, 2019

Deep among the hills of outer-worldly, iron-rich red soil, high above Thessaly Plain, lies an unassuming village of 600 residents—Anávra—an unremarkable dot on the map near Mount Óthrys that almost no one has heard of. The village was established in the sixth century BC and has been known as Goúra at various times in history. Its economy to this day relies on free range livestock farming—specifically cows, sheep, goats and pigs—and there has been a substantial rise in beekeeping in recent years.

Like most settlements in Greece, Anávra has seen its share of adversity through the centuries. During the Byzantine era, barbaric raids forced many of its residents to flee the area. However, during the Ottoman era, Anávra flourished in secondary industries tied to livestock farming—wool processing, textile craftsmanship and tanning, as well as bronze-smithing, silk-making and viticulture. The village was also notable for manufacturing shoes, including tsaroúchia—the tasselled shoes worn as part of the traditional Greek ceremonial costume, the foustanélla—and shoes worn by the Sarakatsáni people. Springs from the nearby source of the Enipéas river, gushing at a rate of 400 cubic metres per second, ran watermills for washing and processing laundry—one of which was restored in the 1990s and continues to run today.

At its height, the population of Anávra grew to more than 10,000 people, including many who lived as nomads in the surrounding mountains. Manufactured goods from the area were sought-after and sold as far away as modern-day Italy, Bosnia, Romania and Turkey.

In the early 1800s, a fifth of the population left due to a plague epidemic and many others died. By the mid-1800s, political upheaval in the region had even more people fleeing for the neighbouring towns—including Lamía, Stilítha and Almyrós—where they could live a quieter life.

The 1940s brought World War II, the Greek Resistance and the Greek Civil War—on 23 April 1943, the Italians burned down Anávra. In 1954 and 1980, devastating earthquakes demolished Anávra’s last remaining stone mansions and factories, its original architecture lost forever.

Today, the secondary industries are gone. After being rebuilt, Anávra returned to its livestock farming roots—but reverted socially due to poor access and unsanitary conditions, with 30,000 animals wandering around the village among the 300 residents. The village was slowly dying out, isolated and in a bad way.

But the Anávriots, with centuries of innovation behind them, unwittingly had one last trick up their sleeves—the return of one of their own in the early 1990s, Dimítris Tsoukalás, who had been living for years in Athens. Running as an independent and winning over the farmers to elect him as mayor, forward-thinking Dimítris bypassed the usual Greek bureaucracy and directly secured EU sustainable development funding to transform the village. In his words: “Everything is possible—all you need is love, will, hard work and vision in order to succeed.”

Funding was allocated for infrastructure, social services, education and cultural projects. Anávra now produces its own electricity by its 20 windmills in the surrounding hills—and the surplus is sold, generating considerable income for the village.

One of the first developments was building the three livestock parks outside the village—Loútsa, Vassiliaroú and Ágios Panteleímonas—and educating the farmers on organic practices and sustainable methods of livestock farming. This not only improves animal welfare and raises the highest quality livestock, but also earns the farmers the highest returns for their work.

A new slaughterhouse facility was built, obtaining veterinary approval to ensure humane slaughtering practices and meeting international standards for quality and hygiene. The facility runs two days a week for most of the year—more often during Christmas and Easter—with a veterinarian present at all times and regular government inspections to ensure ongoing compliance. The organic, free-range meat from Anávra is well-known throughout the region and beyond for its top quality.

With nearly all residents raising livestock on the three livestock parks and some 80 private farms, the village has a 0% unemployment rate—an astounding figure given that, due to the financial crisis, one in five people is currently unemployed in Greece, three times the EU average. The average household income is equally notable—at €70,000, it’s not only the highest in Greece, but in the entire EU.

Other planned developments—including a biomass facility to supply a communal heat and hot water network from animal manure, and a hydroelectric plant—were shelved due to the financial crisis and coinciding national reforms, including Anávra ceasing to be an independent municipality and becoming part of the municipality of Almyrós, 40 kilometres away.

Despite these setbacks, Anávra remains one-of-a-kind—sustainable energy from the wind, sustainable clean drinking water from the nine nearby natural springs, sustainable organic livestock farming, no crime, and a hardworking, wealthy population.

I set off across Thessaly Plain, inland towards the mountains, to explore and document this remarkable village and the surrounding area. The fertile plain is home to vineyards, orchards, cotton, feed crops, wheat and tomatoes, to name a few.

Vinyard on Thessaly Plain

Solanum elaeagnifolium, or silverleaf nightshade, a highly invasive, noxious weed from South America which is now commonly found in Greece and quickly takes over neglected fields

An olive grove near the village of Krókio on Thessaly Plain

A feed crop near Almyrós

The road begins to climb gently through the village of Neochoráki and, a couple of kilometres further, an unassuming side-road steeply ascends into the mountains, offering panoramic views of the plains below. Along the way, concrete and metal kantilákia—roadside shrines—are frequently seen, some inviting travellers to rest or pray, others commemorating deaths or near-misses on the road. Despite the area’s seclusion, most of the candles or olive oil lamps inside the shrines are mysteriously alight, flickering away behind their little glass doors.

A kantiláki, or roadside shrine in the hills, with Thessaly Plain in the distance

While the lush, tree-covered mountains appear natural and untouched, many areas are actually active orchards and groves of nut trees, including almonds and hazelnuts. Along the road are many lay-bys, making it easy to stop to admire the stunning views.

Hills of orchards and shrubbery

As the road climbs, the area’s signature iron-rich, red soil becomes more and more apparent, contrasting strongly against the greenery. The vastness and tranquility of the landscape cannot be expressed through photographs or words—it’s an environment which must be experienced in person to appreciate fully.

The road to Anávra—the iron content of the soil increases with the altitude, giving the region distinct, outer-worldly landscapes

Six kilometres before Anávra, an unsurfaced road comes off the main road—those unfamiliar with the area could easily drive straight past without noticing or giving it any thought. The road is in a reasonably good state of repair—easily passable with a regular car—and climbs further up into the hills, through the open rangelands. The red soil is fine, almost silt-like, and gets absolutely everywhere—on your clothes, in your hair, the seams and doorjambs of the car—like a red talcum powder from Mars. You’ll be finding it for days afterwards.

Looking out onto the rangelands near Anávra

After passing by numerous livestock shelters, receiving curious but sceptical glares from herding dogs, and dodging fearlessly apathetic cows and sheep in the roadway, the road splits left toward a red-roofed masonry building, downhill deeper into the rangelands, or onward up a particularly steep section, paved in concrete to prevent washouts on rainy days.

The road to the windmills snakes through the hills

This is wild country—livestock are free to roam and graze where they please—yet these are domesticated beasts who are curious but not bothered in the slightest by the presence of people or vehicles.

During cooler parts of the year, livestock keep warm in the numerous shelters around the area—from rudimentary structures of sticks with corrugated metal roofs, to fully constructed byres. The rest of the time they can be found all over, happily grazing away. Many of the farms have herding dogs which excitedly run behind the car until you’ve moved beyond their territory. In autumn it’s common to see mother pigs with several piglets in tow.

A cow looks on curiously on the rangelands near Anávra

Cows graze on the rangelands near Anávra, free to roam

Two cows ponder on the rangelands near Anávra

Several cows congregate on the rangelands near Anávra

A vacant goat hutch near Anávra—the goats roam freely but return at night for shelter and protection

A herding dog wanders in the rangelands near a livestock farm

Goats seek shade at a livestock farm in the rangelands near Anávra

Higher up, the trees begin to thin out and the road becomes somewhat rougher. These are the last few kilometres before the summit and the site of Anávra’s windmill farm, Álogorachi—a name roughly translating to ‘horsepower’. At 1,630 metres, it is the highest windmill farm in the country.

Nearing the summit above the rangelands

Reaching the barren landscape at the top, the windmills loom, their 29-metre blades ominously whooshing in near silence overhead. The view extends out for miles and miles in all directions. The windmill farm was commissioned in 2006 and fulfilled by Spanish renewable energy engineering company, Gamesa.

The 20 turbines generate 17 megawatts—enough capacity to power 16,000 homes. This not only powers the village and surrounding area, but provides enough surplus energy to earn Anávra more than €100,000 annually. Importantly, the farm also prevents 74 tonnes of carbon dioxide from entering the atmosphere each year, compared to the coal-generated power previously used in the area.

Several of Anávra’s windmills come into view

The dirt road approaches the windmills which power Anávra

Some of Anávra’s windmills

Several of the 20 windmills which provide electricity to Anávra—the village lies below, out of view

Heading back down, the landscape quickly becomes lush again, with ferns, thistles and greenery thriving in the Mediterranean sun. The tranquility and seclusion feels luxurious for anyone accustomed to urban living—a million miles away from the overcrowding and noise of the city.

Ferns and flowering thistles in the mountains above Anávra

Driving back down the mountain along the winding, red dirt road, it’s easy to miss the rows of beehives hiding among the trees and shrubs of the rangelands. In fact, beehives are common throughout the area, sometimes sitting in plain sight beside the main roads.

Greece is home to more beehives per square kilometre than any other country besides Hungary. With agricultural land covering two-thirds of the country, and just under a third of that arable, there is an abundance of uncultivated land for bee populations to flourish—a contrast to the bee colony collapses seen across much of the world over the past few decades.

As Greece continues to prohibit growing genetically-modified crops, all Greek honey is, by default, organic and GMO-free. It’s known around the world most commonly for its dark colour and strong flavour, as nearly two-thirds is produced by bees consuming the honeydew from insects which feed on pine and fir tree sap. Other types vary in colour and flavour according to the time of year—rosemary flowers in February, sage in March, citrus and thyme in June, chestnut and oak in July, heather in September and carob in October. The rest comes from cotton, wildflowers, wild herbs and eucalyptus.

With no measurable crime in the area—bearing in mind a single hive can contain in excess of €100-worth of honey—beekeepers place their beehives in the open, confident they will remain undisturbed. Hives beside main roads will occasionally have signs idly warning of CCTV cameras but, in reality, their security is down to people’s honesty. And there is, of course, an element of security built in—most would-be thieves would think twice about disturbing the hives and risk being stung hundreds of times by a swarm of alarmed bees.

But it’s not entirely bee utopia—in preparation for the 2004 Olympics, Greece imported vast numbers of palm trees from Northern Africa, some of which inadvertently brought along stowaway palm weevils, a destructive beetle which destroys palm trees from the inside out. Certain pesticides used in attempts to control this outbreak were found to disorient and ultimately kill bees, culling Greece’s bee population by half in parts of the country, particularly in the south, over the last 15 years.

Greeks are among the world’s highest consumers of honey and, through awareness and education, are beginning to recognise the importance of preserving, protecting and nurturing their bees—not only for honey production but, more importantly, for their essential role in pollinating crops essential to Greece’s people and economy. Without bees (and other pollinators), there are no flowers, fruits or vegetables and—eventually—no life.

Beehives in the rangelands near Anávra

Beehives in the rangelands near Anávra

Beehives beside the road to Anávra—although signs warn of CCTV as a deterrent to thieves, the threat is idle and beekeepers rely on people’s honesty

Beehives among the wildflowers

Leaving the red dirt behind and returning to the main road, it’s about six kilometres of twists and turns to reach Anávra. The road through the village is typically narrow of Greek villages predating cars—and incredibly steep in places.

For a village of 600, Anávra is remarkably well-equipped, with main and lower squares, three churches, a car park, a free gym for residents, a football pitch and basketball court, civil and cultural centres, a museum, schools, and five shops, four of which are butcher-taverns. Most of the buildings are relatively new—built during the 1980s and 90s—but, in places, remnants of the original architecture are preserved, with the odd stone wall incorporated into a newer structure.

The main square is the heart of the village. Large trees provide shade during the summer and the square is used throughout the year for gatherings—including religious ceremonies, weddings, baptisms, festivals, dances and even theatre productions.

Beside the main church, Ágiou Dimítriou, is the lower square, with a general store, farm office, kindergarten, elementary school and the Folklore Museum of Animal Husbandry. Off the lower square, a footpath runs to the natural springs and a marble fountain. The two other churches are Ágios Geórgios in the north and Ágia Paraskaví in the south.

The patron saints for Ágios Geórgios and Ágiou Dimítriou are associated with livestock farming—Saint George keeping animals safe as they go into the mountains and Saint Dimitrios keeping them safe on their return.

The Folklore Museum of Animal Husbandry displays historic farming items collected in the area and celebrates the farming lifestyle through each season. The museum has its own courtyard with views of the surrounding mountains and valleys.

Around the village, several fountains offer drinking water from the natural springs, with gardens, a playground and seating shaded by trees.

The main road through Anávra and one of its three churches Ágios Dimítrios

A footpath leading from the village square

Anávra’s village square

Outdoor seating at one of Anávra’s taverns

A kreatotavérna (grill tavern) on the village square

The friendly tavern dog relaxes in the shade

During today’s dark times of greedy, power-hungry politicians, promoting their own agendas rather than working to better the lives of their constituents, Anávra has gone against the grain. Former mayor Dimítris Tsoukalás, who was born and raised in the village, gave up a high-power job in Athens to return to Anávra with his vision of regeneration—his way to give back to the community.

During the developments, he took an active role volunteering his time at the frontline alongside the developers and builders, which enabled him to identify and implement further innovative programmes to improve life in the village. He worked for the betterment of the community, rather than his own personal gain, and remained independent of political parties—putting his constituents first.

Since stepping down as mayor, Dimítris founded a nonprofit organisation in 2010, Anávra-Zo. Directly translated, it means ‘Anávra Life’ but, astutely, the name is also a play on the Greek verb anavrázo—to bubble up, to be vivacious, to have enthusiasm. He continues to play a key role in maintaining the environment, sustainability and culture of the village.

Dimítris believed the secret to success was to govern with enthusiasm, vision, cheer, love, faith and honesty. To empower and motivate the people of his village to come together, take an active interest in their community, and become self-sufficient and successful.

In doing so, everybody won. Many politicians today—in Greece and beyond—could learn a thing or two from his selfless example.

Rebuilding a village

Watch a TEDx Talk by former mayor of Anávra, Dimítris Tsoukalás.

Footnotes

Writing, photography and post-production by George Vasilopoulos

FootNotes

Writing, photography and post-production by George Vasilopoulos

© 2026 Georgios Vasilopoulos

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