Spanish Paradise Gone Awry
Think Spain and the name is enough to stir images of an undertaking in a sensuous experience. Narrow, twisting roads that suddenly erupt into spectacular mountains overlooking sublime stretches of the Mediterranean coast. Stimulating, violet nights with soothing breezes. Sun-draped limestone homes, and bouquets of wildflowers spilling from clay buckets, accompanied by the melancholic vibes of a guitar. Sounds blissfully peaceful, right?
Think again. Flickering through your in-flight magazine on your way down to the Mediterranean coast, you will be able to catch the first glimpses of a promised paradise gone awry. Indeed, after only a few days of staying in one of the many hotels crammed into a tiny stretch of land, you will never conceive this was once a pristine spread of untamed white sand. Instead of the dreamy, almost virgin debut you've come to expect, you will have to make do with a seething mass of concrete, and steel, of wires and wheels and machines crawling into the vanishing landscape. Exploring the country further, you will not fail to notice the rate at which the coastal line, as well as the interior, is being disfigured by a construction bonanza. Increasingly, sprawling American-style apartment complexes, deluxe resorts, and water-guzzling golf courses are spreading like a new disease. It is an all too common scenario that even Spaniards sardonically refer to as "el ladrillo." Simply, "the brick."
The roots of this construction epidemic can be traced back to the late 1950s, when politicians rolled out red carpets to developers in an unprecedented fashion, in order to attract a stream of tourists captivated with what Spain had to offer: sun-drenched beaches and cheap resorts. The arrival of their northern European wealthier counterparts was a dramatic turn around for a country mired in decades-old poverty. I asked Angel Beloqui, Chief Architect of the Urbanism Section in Segovia, to outline the historical roots of the problem: "When tourism began to flourish in the 1950s and we opened ourselves to the world, it all happened very rapidly. You could say we went from 0 to 100 kilometers in practically no time, and now we are paying the consequences of this developmentalist mentality."
The rapid transformation that brought Spain into the fold of a developmentalist mentality is now a source of concern for experts and environmentalists. Beloqui believes that the current levels of environmental destruction as they relate to the construction boom are moderate, compared to the wreckage that took place in previous decades. Blinded by the prospect of exorbitant profits, the 1960s and '70s witnessed a kind of urban development lacking in both sustainability and refinement. With the honeymoon over, many Spaniards are presently more aware of the problems of inadequate urban planning, but the ghosts of the past continue to haunt the country. Although Angel Beloqui claims current levels of destruction to be milder than that of previous decades, Paco Toledano, general coordinator of one of Spain's most prominent environmental organizations (Ecologistas en Accion Almeria), echoes different sentiments.
"The Andalusian coast and the Levant region are now being systematically destroyed under this construction fever," says Toledano. "In most cases, the damage will be irreversible."1
Following Spain's entry into the European Union in 1986, the construction sector became one of the driving engines behind the Spanish economy, which currently accounts for almost six percent of the nation's GDP. The construction boom is fueled not only by local economic interests, but also by the growth of a second residence market that has turned Spain into a second home paradise for many Northern Europeans. Soon after Spain entered the EU, thousands of Brits, and to a lesser degree Germans and Scandinavians, began to pack their bags and head to Spain in hopes of seeking a permanent place in the sun. Undoubtedly, the attractions that initially drove millions of tourists to make their annual summer pilgrimage to Spain--primarily the balmy weather, the sense of Spanish hospitality, its history and culture, and of course, its affordability in comparison to other Western European countries--played prominently in their decision to move there permanently. Spain's coasts now host 3.8 million second residences. According to some estimates, the number is set to increase to almost five million units by 2010. As of 2004, 1.7 million homes in Spain were owned by foreigners, and a disproportionate number of these are held by Britons: Although statistics are not entirely reliable, experts estimate that more than fifty percent of home purchases in coastal areas go to foreign hands.2 In fact, investment coming from abroad in the housing sector went from 3.5 billion dollars in 1999 to a staggering 8.7 billion in 2003: a 147 percent increase.3 Moreover, figures obtained from town halls recently reveal that plans have already been approved for an additional 1.65 million homes and apartments to be lined up between the Costa del Sol in the south and the coast around Valencia in the east.
Most ironically, the construction hysteria is taking place amidst a serious housing crisis that affects large segments of the Spanish population, particularly its youth. Housing prices continue to be the talk of daily conversations in the rich tradition of Spanish cafes as well as media reports: In 2004 alone, the increase was of 17.4 percent nationally, and a budding economy based on speculation around the purchase and resale of new property has many economists worried about the sustainability of this model. Social activists and environmentalists see the growth of a second residence market as a direct threat to locals. As Toledano affirms, "The second residence market is contributing to an excessive increase in housing prices." At the same time, it is a market characterized by a dearth in quality: construction materials are poor, homes are hastily assembled by unqualified crews, and they are often built in areas prone to landslides or flooding.4
Such is the deluge of bricks and cement that even the tourism lobby is finally showing signs of rebellion. FITUR--Spain's largest tourism lobby--has bemoaned that the glut of residential homes on the coasts are driving many tourists away into the less congested touristic meccas of the world such as Croatia, Macedonia, or Turkey. Indeed, since 2002, all economic indicators are pointing to significant losses that can be attributed to the growth of a second resident market. "The tourism industry needs tourists who make trips, eat out, go to festivals," says Maria Jose Caballero, coordinator of coastal protection programs in Greenpeace Spain. "A person who purchases a second residence, however, is estimated to spend six times less than the classical ëholiday' tourist we are accustomed to."
Business as usual
With developers bickering over the last few remaining patches of unaffected land to be metamorphosed into "coastal suburbia," tourism is not the only sector that is adversely affected by the construction chaos. Spanish politics at the local and regional levels are also coming under heavy fire over their suspicious ties with the world of bricks and mortar. Criminal organizations are now using development projects to launder money coming from illegal activities through criminal networks that extend as far as Colombia, Russia, Britain and Turkey. In 2003, the Andalusian Criminology Institute issued a critical report warning of the transference of legitimate political authority in the Andalusian coastal region into the hands of organized criminal bands.5 Shady organizations are increasingly influencing and appropriating small local municipalities, too weak to resist the glitter and hype of quick riches. Many local municipalities make ends meet with funds drawn from the process of land reclassification--much of it, bordering the illegal. In the town of Marbella, the scandal known as White Whale has thus far sent fifty-eight people to jail (lawyers, architects, etc.), and many of the members of the town's municipal council have been indicted on charges of corruption and money laundering schemes. This political crisis has eventually led to the stripping of the town council's capacity to approve of new development projects by the Andulusian regional government.
The Andalusian case, however, is far from isolated. In 2005, a council representative from the conservative Partido Popular, Antonia Sanchez Carillo, was linked to a land reclassification scandal in the city of Murcia. Carillo was accused of being part of a scheme that benefited Polaris World, a multi-million dollar private construction company specializing in deluxe residential complexes in the region.6 According to Professor Jose Luis Diez Ripolles, who coordinated the Andalusian crime report, the overlapping of politics and development stems from the limited nature of one basic resource: land. Construction companies place an inordinate amount of pressure on municipalities to reclassify land as fit for urbanization. As Diez Ripolles puts it: "Because in small and medium-size municipalities personal ties between developers, construction companies, and politicians are inevitable, this reinforces a set of dynamics that lack transparency."7 Not to mention the fact the proliferation of organized criminal activity is also negative for the local population, that is being forced to coexist with--and bear the brunt of--an increase in criminal activity in their midst.
Diez Ripolles is optimistic that present regulations can help curve the growth in corrupt practices, but in order for that to happen, "the law needs to be rigorously applied" and regional governments need to act swiftly against organized crime linked to development. The Andalusian government has actually taken steps to curb the overlapping of politics with bricks after years of passivity. Evidence for that comes from the significant move of capital from Andalusia to Murcia and Valencia.
Environmental trouble brewing
Yet the social and political dimension of the housing crisis is only one aspect of a much larger phenomenon. Environmentalists and even some politicians are gravely concerned about the sustainability of Spain's ecosystem. Greenpeace Spain has denounced that the second residence market is severely impacting the sustainability of coastal ecosystems. And rightly so. The newly born network of flush, perfectly smooth motorways connecting the many foreign residency suburbs, fully furnished with swimming pools, golf courses and other infrastructure represent an unsustainable lie. New airports, roads, golf courses and artificial ports are expensive to build, costly to maintain and worst of all, generate an enormous amount of residue. In a region like the Mediterranean, a sea that can renovate itself only through the narrow opening of the Strait of Gibraltar in the East, this can be a death sentence.
Perhaps nothing looks more incongruous in this desiccated landscape of the Levant and Andalusian coast than the water-guzzling golf courses. Many Northern Europeans snapping up the new homes come with an appetite for a designer lifestyle--which inevitably includes golf courses. According to environmental organizations and local residents, they are bleeding the earth dry: In 2004--one of extreme drought--losses in the agricultural sector mounted to a whopping 4.8 billion dollars in the second half of 2005. Undoubtedly, many of these losses stemmed from the persistent drought, but to local peasants whose lands are dying of thirst, the lush golf courses and well-watered plots cropping up around them, only add insult to injury. Golf courses remain a profitable business, bringing in annual revenues close to 1.2 million dollars. In keeping up with the demand, golf course owners have already began using water destined for human consumption.8 Julia Martinez, a researcher at the University of Murcia's Department of Hidrology and Ecology, is extremely critical of what she terms the "low density second residence market" with golf courses attached, which she deems responsible for introducing destructive water consumption habits. "In 2015," she says, "it is likely that residential water consumption levels will actually exceed those of the agricultural sector."9
Golf practitioners defend the proliferation of new courses by arguing that they create jobs. But Maria Jose Caballero of Greenpeace disagrees: "They are not built out of an increasing demand to play golf, but because a property with a golf course next to it achieves a twenty percent increase in its value once it's out in the market. Golf courses do not generate that many jobs, and instead, waste an enormous amount of resources that are needed elsewhere."10 Equipped with this knowledge, construction companies are not in the least shy about making golf courses an unavoidable feature of residential complexes. The sheer numbers chillingly support this fact: 138 to 276 in just five short years with another 150 on the way. The Murcia region alone has plans for another thirty-four.
The golf chic is symptomatic of Spain's inability to provide a sustainable solution to its water crisis. The Spanish government has warned that at least 450,000 new housing units projected across fifty towns and villages along the coasts of Valencia, Alicante, Murcia and Almeria lack the adequate water self-sufficiency and that plans for their construction should come to a halt.11 Developers, on the other hand, defend the sustainability of their projects by arguing that their residential complexes will rely on water coming from newly built or projected desalination plants and that the water used for golf courses is not apt for human consumption.
But, how much can desalination plants help alleviate the water scarcity crisis, especially during the summer months when millions of foreigners make their annual pilgrimage to Spain? I talked to Javier Porcuna, Chief of Press Relations in ACOSOL, a public consortium founded in 1994 that distributes water to eleven municipalities in southern Andalucia's Costa del Sol. According to Porcuna, ACOSOL's innovative supply and purification systems have allowed for a significant increase in the use supplying of purified water to golf courses and green areas through the company's Plan for the Reutilization of Purified Water.12 The problem, according to Maria Jose Caballero, is that "many plans for the purification of water are drawn taking into account the population that resides in a particular region during winter time. Unfortunately, many regions in Spain multiply their population by twenty during the summer months, and the plans do not contemplate this increase."
Officials like Javier Porcuna claim that their policies have resulted in significant savings in water consumption throughout the region, a result that has been partially aided by the construction of desalination plants. "The Costa del Sol desalination plant," says Porcuna, "can convert sea water into excellent quality water through a reverse osmosis filtering system. Half the water processed is desalted, and the other half is a salty mixture that is returned to the sea."
On paper, it sounds like the work of a genius. But environmentalists beg to differ. "The problems with desalination plants," laments Caballero, "are multiple." On the one hand, desalination plants become a significant obstacle in conveying to the public the idea that water is indeed a scarce resource. But more importantly, their environmental impact is quite severe in a complex and fragile ecosystem like that of the Mediterranean. Take, for instance, Posidonia oceanica. A kind of sea grass unique to the Mediterranean region, it grows in areas close to the coast and plays a key role in the sustainability of the Mediterranean ecosystem by retaining the soil and ensuring more than one thousand different species feed and reproduce themselves. For the Posidonia to thrive, two essential conditions are required: sun, for which it needs to grow in low-depth waters close to the coast, and a constant level of salinity. Imagine the plight of the Posidonia when desalination plants use the sea floor as a dumping ground for excess salt--thereby irreversibly destroying an essential component of Mediterranean biodiversity.13
The matter is not to be taken lightly: the European Union's Habitat's directives already includes Posidonia prairies as priority habitats.14 This, of course, is not the only problem: In Murcia, the regional government has announced the establishment of an agency to regulate the work of desalination plants that will serve residential areas only, leaving the needs of the agricultural sector unattended.15 It seems neither the Posidonia nor local peasants matter much.
How much longer can the Spanish coastline be a prisoner of the concrete lobby? Numerous municipalities throughout the country are already running out of space for additional construction projects, and construction companies are now building housing projects in natural protected spaces. In a grim report, Greenpeace Spain claimed that coastal urbanization has vanquished twenty-five percent of the flora and fauna of the Mediterranean coast.17 "We do not propose a utopian solution," says Caballero, her voice peaking with passion at times. "Rather the contrary, what we want is sustainable development, that is a system that allows for its existing resources to renew themselves. And for this, a moratorium in construction is a must." Perhaps the words of a recent editorial in the conservative ABC newspaper reflected the implications of this crisis in tragic but simple terms: "If things continue like this," concluded the editorial, "we won't need to go to Africa to enjoy the tranquility of the desert. We can just go to the Canary Islands, Valencia, or Murcia."17
1 Personal interview with Paco Toledano. 2 "El 30% de los nuevos pisos se construyen en el litoral," in La Vanguardia, November 28, 2005. 3 Source: http://www.procumasa.com/amplia_noticia.php?IdNoticia=67 4 Personal interview with Paco Toledano, General Coordinator of Ecologistas En Accion, Almeria. 5 "Criminal gangs drawn to booming Costa del Sol," in The Guardian, October 25, 2003. 6 http://www.abc.es/abc/pg060121/prensa/noticias/Nacional/Nacional/200601/21/NAC-NAC-022.asp 7 Jose Luis Diez Ripolles, e-mail interview. January 2006. 8 "Jugar al golf en tiempos de sequia," in La Vanguardia, Sept 25th, 2005. 9 Interview with Julia Martinez, University of Murcia. 10 Caballero phone interview. 11 "450.000 casas previstas en la costa mediterr·nea carecen de agua suficiente," in El Pais, December 29, 2005. 12 Javier Porcuna, Chief of Press in ACOSOL. E-mail interview. 13 Caballero, interview. 14 See http://europa.eu.int/comm/environment/nature/directive/birdactionplan/16_actions_plan/09phalacrocorax_desmaretti.pdf 15 Interview with Julia Martinez. 16 http://www.greenpeace.org/espana/campaigns/costas/amenazas-para-la-costa/urbanizaci-n-masiva-del-litora# 17 Valencia, Canarias y Murcia est·n ya en riesgo de desertizarse por completo," in ABC June 17, 2005
