I was wandering today through various towns south of Dublin, including Greystones, Bray and Dalkey. In Greystones I saw a sadly familiar sight. A once pristine beach had become a construction site, the future home of hotels that were soon to proliferate along the lovely coastline.
I guess it is a truism that when something delicate and beautiful becomes too well known, the act of discovery can turn into an existential threat. It’s a bit like Yogi Berra’s old joke about the restaurant: “Nobody ever goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.”
I remember many years ago walking along Ipanema beach with my Brazilian friend Luis Martins. As it happens, he had been good friends with the great Tom Jobim, the composer of The Girl from Ipanema.
We all know how that turned out. The iconic song by Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes created a tidal wave of international attention, which sent foreign visitors streaming into Rio de Janeiro. A once lovely and sleepy beach was transformed into a focus for international tourism.
Luis told me about a time when he and Tom Jobim were walking together along Ipanema beach. Jobim gestured at the endless row of huge and ugly hotels that towered over the oceanfront.
“Do you see all this?” he asked my friend, with a look of sadness. “This is all my fault.”