The Imia/Kardak Dispute in the Aegean Sea

In January 1996, Greece and Turkey came dangerously close to open conflict over two small, uninhabited islets known as Imia (Greek) and Kardak (Turkish) with a total surface area of just 4 hectares. Rarely you will encounter Megali Imia ('Great Imia') or Büyük Kardak ('Great Kardak') for the largest of the twin, while Mikri Imia ('Little Imia') or Küçük Kardak ('Little Kardak') is reserved for the smallest islet.

Their lack of intrinsic value did not prevent a full-scale diplomatic and military escalation—largely driven by Ankara’s willingness to challenge an established status quo. As so often in Greek-Turkish relations, a minor issue was inflated into a major crisis, requiring U.S. intervention to prevent further deterioration.

Situated between the Greek island of Kalymnos and Turkey’s Bodrum peninsula, the islets became the latest flashpoint in a long-standing pattern: Greece relying on international law, and Turkey contesting it when the outcome proves inconvenient.

The Aegean Dispute
Modern tensions originate in the aftermath of the Greco-Turkish War and were formally addressed by the Treaty of Lausanne, which defined borders and obligations between the two states[1]. While Greece has largely adhered to this framework, Turkey has repeatedly sought to reinterpret or challenge aspects of it in pursuit of broader strategic aims.

The Aegean dispute centres primarily on territorial waters and continental shelf rights. Greece maintains a six nautical mile limit but, in line with the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, retains the sovereign right to extend this to twelve nautical miles[2]. Turkey’s opposition, despite the convention reflecting widely accepted international norms, reveals the extent to which legal principles are subordinated to geopolitical concerns.

Athens has consistently emphasized that any extension would preserve freedom of navigation through the principle of "innocent passage". Nevertheless, Ankara continues to portray such a move as unacceptable, even describing it as a casus belli, which is an unusually aggressive stance in response to a lawful entitlement.

On the continental shelf, Greece argues that its islands are fully entitled to maritime zones under international law. Turkey’s preference for a median line that minimizes the effect of these islands reflects a selective reading of that same legal framework. The resulting deadlock has produced decades of tension, including Turkish exploratory activities in disputed areas and repeated but inconclusive recourse to international adjudication.

Militarization
The issue of militarization further illustrates the asymmetry in threat perception. While the Treaty of Lausanne and the Paris Peace Treaty imposed certain demilitarization obligations, Greece has argued—convincingly, in its view—that these must be understood in light of the inherent right to self-defence under the UN Charter.

Following Turkey’s 1974 intervention conquest and occupation of northern Cyprus, Greece faced a significantly altered security environment. The subsequent strengthening of Greek defences on Aegean islands was therefore less a provocation than a predictable response. Turkey’s parallel military buildup along its western coast has only reinforced Greek concerns, even as Ankara continues to frame the issue as Greek non-compliance.

Related Issues
Broader disputes over minority rights and Cyprus continue to poison bilateral relations. The Treaty of Lausanne attempted to resolve ethnic tensions through population exchanges, but lingering minority issues remain a source of mutual accusations—though Greece frequently points to Turkey’s record as the more problematic. Remember the massacre of Greeks in Smyrna (now Izmir) in 1922, when an estimated 150,000 were murdered by Turks. Remember also Turkey's version of the infamous Kristallnacht in 1955.

Cyprus, in particular, stands as a persistent reminder of the consequences of unilateral military action, further deepening Greek scepticism toward Turkish intentions in the region.

The Status of Imia/Kardak
From the Greek perspective, the legal status of Imia/Kardak is far less ambiguous than Turkey suggests. The dispute ultimately hinges on whether the islets form part of the Dodecanese. This is an issue that, based on existing treaties, appears largely settled.

Italy’s seizure of the Dodecanese in 1912 and its formal recognition in the Treaty of Lausanne included not only the main islands but also their "dependent islets". When Italy transferred the Dodecanese to Greece under the Paris Peace Treaty[3], these associated islets were understood to be included, even if not individually named, which is a common practice in treaty law.

Turkey’s argument based on geographic proximity is difficult to reconcile with Article 12 of the Lausanne Treaty, which clearly stipulates that only islands within three miles of the Turkish coast remain under Turkish sovereignty. Since Imia/Kardak lies beyond this limit, the legal implication favours Greece.

Moreover, the Italian-Turkish Agreement placed the islets on the Italian side of the boundary, reinforcing their later transfer to Greece[4]. Turkey’s dismissal of this agreement on procedural grounds appears, from the Greek viewpoint, less a legal objection than a convenient means of reopening a settled issue.

In this light, the Imia/Kardak crisis can be seen not as a genuine legal dispute, but as part of a broader pattern in which Turkey challenges established arrangements to create leverage—turning even the smallest and most inconsequential territories into instruments of geopolitical pressure.

[1] Treaty of Lausanne - 1923 (Defined modern Turkish borders; confirmed transfer of the Dodecanese to Italy and regulated sovereignty over nearby islands and minority protections).
[2] United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea - 1982 (Establishes the right of coastal states to extend territorial waters up to 12 nautical miles and defines maritime zones).
[3] Paris Peace Treaty - 1947 (Transferred the Dodecanese from Italy to Greece and imposed demilitarization obligations).
[4] Italian-Turkish Agreement - 1932 (Sought to delimit sovereignty in the southeastern Aegean. Its legal validity remains disputed by Turkey).

Protect the Mediterranean Wetlands

Wetlands? Are there wetlands in the Mediterranean, you might well ask. Yes, there certainly are.

In the Mediterranean, wetlands include lagoons and salt marshes, freshwater lakes, karstic cave systems, temporary ponds, artificial wetlands such as reservoirs, salinas, fishponds and rice paddies, small and scattered peatlands, and one of the longest rivers in the world[1].

Wetlands are critically important for biodiversity and human wellbeing, but face a range of challenges. This is especially true in the Mediterranean region, where wetlands support endemic and threatened species and remain integral to human societies, but have been severely degraded in recent decades.

Since ancient times, Mediterranean wetlands have provided food, paper (Cyperus papyrus), water, building materials, and other ecosystem services that contribute to human wellbeing. Wetlands also offer at least some protection against floods and other extreme weather events.

[Alexandria, Egypt]

People just don't understand the importance of wetlands any more. Rampant building of hotels and other urban structures have been a constant attack on these wetlands. The Mediterranean lost approximately 50% of its natural wetland surface area over the twentieth century[2].

Historically, Mediterranean wetlands have been drained or highly sanitised for agricultural use, and development of tourist areas. Add to that the pollution of oil spills, discarded plastic, poor wastewater treatment infrastructure, and you have a perfect storm. Desertification of the Mediterranean is progressing at an alarming pace[3].

Protection of Mediterranean wetlands is vital for future generations.

[1] Balbo et al: Mediterranean wetlands: archaeology, ecology, and sustainability: Mediterranean wetlands in WIREs Water – 2017
[2] Perennou et al: Existing areas and past changes of wetland extent in the Mediterranean region: an overview in Ecologia Mediterrannea - 2012. See here.
[3] Kam, Muro: The increasing threat of desertification to Europe - brief, Institute for European Environmental Policy – 2025. See here.

The Lost Walls of Thessaloniki

In its heydays, Thessaloniki (Θεσσαλονίκη) was a major port and strategic centre in the Byzantine Empire. It is also known in Greek as i Symprotévousa or Συμпρωτεύουσα ('the co-capital'), a reference to its historical status as the 'co-reigning' city of the Byzantine Empire alongside Constantinople (modern day Istanbul).

The Byzantine sea walls were a crucial part of Thessaloniki's extensive fortifications, originally constructed and periodically reinforced from the 4th century AD onwards, particularly under Roman emperors like Theodosius I (379-395). The walls were vital for the protection of the city from naval attacks and pirate raids coming from the Thermaic Gulf, located at the northwest corner of the Aegean Sea.

Over the centuries, they have witnessed countless sieges, and played a key role in the city's defence against various invaders, including Slavs, Saracens, Normans, and ultimately the Ottoman Turks, who captured the city in 1430 AD.

An old photo (see above) of these 4th Century AD, Byzantine sea walls of Thessaloniki, taken in 1860, is an incredibly rare and historically invaluable document. It captures a significant architectural feature of the city that no longer exists, offering a direct visual link to its Ottoman-era appearance before its modern transformation.

The fact that the photo was taken in 1860 places it firmly in the late Ottoman period. By this time, Thessaloniki (then known as Salonica) was a bustling, cosmopolitan city within the Ottoman Empire. The decision by the Ottoman authorities to demolish these ancient sea walls was part of a broader restructuring of Thessaloniki's urban fabric in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This initiative aimed to modernize the city, improve sanitation, facilitate trade, and accommodate its growing population.

[Modern Thessaloniki]

The removal of the walls created space for the creation of wider boulevards, new quays, and public spaces, aligning the city more with European urban planning trends. While these modernizations brought new infrastructure, they also resulted in the loss of significant historical landmarks.

A photograph from 1860 would therefore depict the walls in their late-stage existence, perhaps showing clear signs of its age, but still standing as a testament to Thessaloniki's Byzantine past, before they were dismantled to make way for the city's future.

Did Egyptian Goddess Nut Depict the Milky Way?

Ancient Egyptian civilization kept a wary eye on the heavens and the celestial bodies that moved in it. While their reverence for the Sun, Moon, and planets is well-documented, the Milky Way’s name and role in ancient Egyptian culture remain unclear.

One suggestion is that the Milky Way may have been a celestial depiction of the sky goddess Nut. A scientific article tries to combine astronomical simulations of the ancient Egyptian night sky with primary Egyptian sources to map the goddess Nut onto the Milky Way[1]. With her head and groin firmly associated by primary texts with the western and eastern horizons, respectively, the author argues that the summer and winter orientations of the Milky Way could be construed as figurative markers of Nut’s torso (or backbone) and her arms, respectively.

Drawing upon a diverse array of ancient Egyptian texts such as the Pyramid Texts, Coffin Texts, and the Book of Nut, alongside advanced astronomical simulations, Or Graur, the author, presents a compelling argument that Nut, the celestial goddess of the sky, stars, and the universe, served indeed as a symbolic representation of the Milky Way.

Nut, often depicted as a star-adorned woman arching over her brother Geb, the earth god, played a pivotal role in Egyptian cosmology. She safeguarded the earth from the encroaching void and orchestrated the solar cycle, symbolically swallowing the Sun at dusk and giving birth to it at dawn. Nut also has an important role in guiding the departed souls to the afterlife and she is associated with annual bird migrations.

Or then tried to test his assumption by examining Nut's visual depictions on ancient Egyptian coffins[2]. He assembled a catalogue of 555 coffin elements, which included 118 cosmological vignettes from the 21st|22nd Dynasties. He discovered that the cosmological vignette on the outer coffin of Nesitaudjatakhet bears a unique feature: a thick, undulating black curve that bisects Nut's star-studded body and recalls the Great Rift that cleaves the Milky Way in two.

He argues that the undulating curve on Nut's body is the first visual representation of the Milky Way identified in the Egyptian archaeological record. However, though Nut and the Milky Way are linked, they are not synonymous. Instead of acting as a representation of Nut, the Milky Way is one more celestial phenomenon that, like the Sun and the stars, is associated with Nut in her role as the sky.

[1] Graur: The ancient Egyptian personification of the Milky Way as the Sky-Goddess Nut: an astronomical and cross-cultural analysis in Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage – 2024
[2] Graur: The ancient Egyptian cosmological vignette: first visual evidence of the Milky Way and trends in coffin depictions of the sky goddess Nut in Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage – 2025

Ancient Moroccan civilisation (partly) rewrites Mediterranean history

The Maghreb (al-Maghrib means 'The place where the sun sets') is possibly better known as Northwest Africa. Archaeologists in Morocco have discovered the earliest known farming society in northwest Africa – a finding that reshapes our understanding of Mediterranean history[1].

While the Maghreb’s importance during the Iron Age and Islamic era is well known, there is a significant gap in knowledge about its archaeology between 4,000BC and 1,000BC.

Archaeologists, excavating the Oued Beht site, found indications of the presence of a large farming settlement in the region, 'similar in size to Early Bronze Age Troy', which is probably a bit of an exaggeration.

“This is currently the earliest and largest agricultural complex in Africa beyond the Nile corridor,” the researchers claimed in a study published in the journal Antiquity.

Oued Beht first came to attention in the 1930s, when building work by the French colonial regime revealed a large number of polished stone axes and grinding artefacts.

In their latest fieldwork, archaeologists discovered remains of domesticated plants and animals, as well as pottery dating to the late Stone Age.

“The concentration of pottery and lithics at Oued Beht is of a size unprecedented at this date on the African continent outside the Nile corridor and its immediate vicinity and is also exceptional in Mediterranean terms,” they noted. Samples, derived from deep storage pits, revealed dates between 3,400 and 2,900 BC.

These storage pits are very alike to those found on the other side of the Strait of Gibraltar in southern Iberia[2]. At the Iberian sites, archaeologists had found ivory and ostrich eggs, pointing to an African connection.

All of this indicates, archaeologists said, that the Maghreb was instrumental in shaping the western Mediterranean during the fourth millennium BC.

[Neolithic pottery from Oued Beht]

Scientists think this community made substantial contributions to the shaping of the early social world. “Oued Beht and the northwest Maghreb will henceforth occupy an integral and profoundly revisionary place in the later prehistory of the Mediterranean.”

They proposed that this phase of activity at Oued Beht be referred to as a regional Final Neolithic, thereby filling one of the hitherto most obscure phases of Maghrebian prehistory.

[1] Broodbank et al: Oued Beht, Morocco: a complex early farming society in north-west Africa and its implications for western Mediterranean interaction during later prehistory in Antiquity - 2024. See here.
[2] Armenteros-Lojo, Jiménez-Jáimez: Massive prehistoric pit sites in Southern Iberia: Challenges, opportunities and lessons learned in Oxford Journal of Archaeology - 2023. See here.

[Recipe] Kourabiedes (Greek Shortbread Cookies)

Kourabiedes (κουραμπιέδες) are one of the most delicious Greek shortbread cookie sweets you’ll ever taste. Versions are found in most Arab, Balkan and Ottoman cuisines, with various different forms and recipes. the Albanian version, for instance, is called Gurabija.

These butter cookies, which are sometimes flavoured with brandy, vanilla, or mastiha, are the buzz of Greek tradition and dessert served during the Christmas holidays. In some Greek households you will also find kourabiedes served during Easter as well as during engagement parties and weddings.

The primary distinction between Kourabiedes and conventional shortbread cookies is that these delightful delicacies are frequently filled with almonds and lavishly dusted with icing sugar. These cookies are perhaps a bit messy to eat, but they provide a delightful taste of classic Greek cookies.

Ingredients:
- 1 kilo all-purpose flour
- 500 gram butter
- 160 gram caster sugar
- 1 tablespoon vanilla extract (or two packets vanilla powder)
- 200 gram blanched slivered almonds, toasted (toast for 5-10 minutes at 200^oC)
- caster sugar for dusting
- rosewater

How to prepare:
- Remove the butter from the fridge 2 to 3 hours before using to allow it to soften at room temperature.
- Preheat the oven to 180^oC.
- In a mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, whip the butter on high speed for 5 to 6 minutes, or until it turns white. Combine the caster sugar and vanilla extract in a mixing bowl. Continue to beat for a further 5 to 7 minutes. The volume of the butter may decrease when the sugar is added, but it will rise again. When it resembles whipped cream, it’s done.
- Remove the mixing bowl and gradually add the flour. Fold in gently with a spatula, then add the almonds.
- The mixture should be soft but not too soft that it sticks to your hands.
- Make walnut-sized balls out of the mixture (25 g). Arrange them in a row on a parchment-lined baking sheet.
- Make a small indent with your finger on top of each little ball of dough. It will be able to hang on to more caster sugar this way.
- Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until golden brown.
- Remove the dish from the oven. Place them on a wire rack to cool after carefully removing them from the baking sheet. When they’re heated, they’re soft and crumbly.
- Spray them with rose water once they’ve cooled.
- Dust with some caster sugar in a sieve.

Partial source.

English Tangier

Tangier is a city in northwestern Morocco, situated on the Atlantic coast, though some would like to (erroneously) claim that it is also part of the Mediterranean. Tangier has the best natural harbour on the western end of the Strait of Gibraltar, allowing its occupier to control naval access to the Mediterranean. A rather forgotten episode of English history is that Tangier once was part of the British Empire.

Starting as a small, strategic Phoenician town and trading centre in the tenth century BC, Tangier has been occupied many times during its history.

The name Tangier is possibly derived from the Phoenician word TNGʾ (𐤕𐤍𐤂𐤀), potentially meaning 'market' or 'trading post', as Phoenician names often described its function (e.g., Carthage, from Qart-hadasht, meaning 'new city'). Tangier’s role as a trading hub supports this etymology. The Ancient Greeks later named the cite Tingis (Τίγγις).

The Portuguese were able to occupy Tangier in 1471 though it remained 'unquiet' in the surrounding areas. Then, in 1661 Tangier became part of the dowry of the marriage of King Charles II of England (1630-1685) to Catarina de Bragança (1638-1705). I suppose the Portuguese were rather glad to get rid of the city and its troublesome countryside. Another part of this dowry was the Indian Isle of Bombay (now Mumbai).

At its peak, Tangier’s population ranged from some 600 to a bit more than 2,000 inhabitants, including Portuguese, Spaniards, French, Dutch, Italians, and Jews, until the latter were falsely accused of spying and expelled in 1677. Some 80 slaves, mostly captured Moors and Turks, added to the labour force. Only a handful of free Moroccans lived within city walls.

The English sent a garrison and fortified the city against (still) hostile Moroccan forces. They also planned to improve the harbour by building a 440 meters long breakwater. The improved harbour was to be 550 meters long and nine meters deep at low tide. It would be capable of keeping out the roughest of seas. Work began on the fortified harbour at the end of November 1662, and work on the breakwater in August 1663. The work continued for some years under a succession of governors. With an improved harbour, the town would have played the much same role that Gibraltar later played in British naval strategy.

[Leonardo de Ferrari's plan of the breakwater]

But the exclave was hideously expensive to defend and to fortify. In the end, it would offer neither commercial nor military advantage to England. When Morocco was later united, the cost of maintaining the garrison against Moroccan attacks vastly increased. The English Parliament refused to provide funds for its upkeep, which forced Charles II to give up his possession. In 1684, the English blew up the city's harbour and defensive works that they had been constructing and evacuated the city, which was swiftly occupied and annexed by Moroccan forces.

Some of the departing high-ranking soldiers were rewarded with large land grants in the newly acquired Province of New York. Thomas Dongan, 2nd Earl of Limerick, a lieutenant-governor of Tangier, became New York provincial governor and William "Tangier" Smith, the last mayor of Tangier, obtained 50 miles of Atlantic oceanfront property on Long Island.