A Love Letter to Hydra

by Ana Santl

05 September 24

As a photographer living in Athens, I have been fortunate to visit many islands for work, but Hydra is different. It’s my refuge—a place where clients and creative briefs fade away. Here, I leave my digital camera behind, framing photos without an agenda, free from the need to control the outcome.

I fell in love with Hydra when I first read chapter 14 of Deborah Levy’s Real Estate.

A couple of months and a few strokes of serendipity later, we moved to Greece with my family. In December of the same year, we packed our bags, took the Speedcat ferry to Hydra. The season was long over, and the year was about to end. Only a few of the red velvet seats were occupied, pale pink curtains framing the glimmering sea.

The first thing I noticed was the familiarity of the port I had never been to before. The second, the relief of having arrived in a place I was longing for and the certainty that I would return again and again.

Hydra is the epitome of slowing down, especially off-season. It’s like time travel, too. Everything is old, yet taken care of. There are no cars. Everywhere you go, you will most likely have to climb tens of sets of stairs. I stop all the time to take photos. My son stops all the time to pick up dry Bougainvillea flowers from the floor or talk to the cats. We eat early, sleep early. No reservations, no agenda.

What do we have to do today? Nothing.

We could walk to a beach, eat at the taverna, pile up stones, chase the waves. Walk back, prepare a simple meal, paint. We have had the same set of watercolour crayons for five years and at this point, I think they might just last forever. The approach is to draw with the crayons first, then take a brush and let them melt into a blur. Just like that, my memories of our trips blend into one.