It begins as a gentle zzzz. You think it’s the power line above your head, or maybe a passing scooter. You sip your iced coffee, adjust your sun hat, and decide you’re imagining things.
But you’re not.
Because in Greece, when summer truly arrives, the cicadas arrive too—nature’s most relentless DJs—ready to blast their one-song playlist from dawn until dusk (and if the night is hot enough, all night too, just in case you forgot they exist).
And let me tell you: it’s loud.
They’re Not Here to Be Background Music
If you’ve never experienced Greek cicadas in July, let me paint you a picture: the sun is high, the sky impossibly blue, the sea shimmers invitingly. You find yourself under the shade of an olive tree, ready for your “Mamma Mia” moment.
And then—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
At first, you smile. How charming, how Greek, how authentic! Look at me, living the Mediterranean dream.
Two hours later, your left eyelid is twitching, your frappe is warm, and you’re muttering, “Is it always this loud?” while the cicadas continue their relentless anthem above your head.
A Small Creature, A Big Noise
Here’s the thing: these tiny creatures, no bigger than your thumb, can produce a sound that rivals a car alarm. They don’t care if you’re trying to nap, meditate, read your book, or have a romantic lunch under the vines. They don’t take weekends off, and they certainly don’t believe in noise ordinances.
The male cicadas sing to attract a mate (a noble cause, sure), but they do so by blasting their song at 120 decibels straight into your brain. If you’re nearby, congratulations: you’re part of the performance, whether you want to be or not.
A Love-Hate Relationship
I remember one particularly hot afternoon in Paros, sitting on a balcony with my friend Eleni. We were attempting a peaceful siesta, the shutters drawn to keep out the heat.
“Can you hear that?” I asked.
“Hear what?” she replied, eyes closed.
“The cicadas.”
She cracked an eye open, shrugged, and said, “Ah, you get used to it.”
Reader, you do not get used to it.
You tolerate it, the way you tolerate your neighbor’s loud phone calls or that one family member who insists on telling the same story every Easter. You learn to live with it, but you don’t exactly love it.
Headache or Heritage?
I won’t lie: the cicada soundtrack can give you a headache if you let it. It’s the background noise of summer in Greece, but some days it feels like it’s the foreground noise, center stage, with a solo that never ends.
Locals, however, will tell you it’s the sound of summer, the sign that the season has truly arrived. No cicadas? No summer. Simple as that.
And there’s a strange comfort in it, once you surrender. It’s like the sun: too much can be overwhelming, but you would miss it if it were gone.
Attempts at Escape
Think you can escape by going indoors? Think again. Unless you have double-glazed windows (and in many Greek island houses, you don’t), that sound will find you, weaving through the shutters, dancing on the tiles, reminding you it is out there, buzzing away.
One friend tried earplugs during a midday nap. She woke up, took them out, and immediately the zzzzzzzz snapped back into her brain like a rubber band. “I give up,” she sighed, reaching for another iced coffee.
Cicadas vs. Crickets: Know Your Noisemakers
If you’ve ever tried to complain about the zzzz to a local, they’ll likely correct you gently: “That’s the cicadas, not the crickets.” And here’s where your Greek summer education deepens.
Cicadas are the rowdy daytime performers, buzzing so loudly you feel it in your teeth, while crickets are the polite nighttime violinists, offering a softer, rhythmic chirp that feels like a lullaby compared to the cicada’s heavy metal solo.
Cicadas sing by vibrating their abdomen plates (yes, that’s what you’re hearing), while crickets create sound by rubbing their wings together, like tiny bow ties brushing in the moonlight.
So the next time you’re lying awake in Greece, listening to the difference between zzzzzzzz and chirp-chirp, know you’ve officially graduated from “tourist” to “Mediterranean summer survival expert.”
And When Night Falls? Don’t Get Your Hopes Up.
You’d think that when the sun sets, the cicadas would finally take a bow and let the crickets handle the night shift.
Not if it’s still hot.
On those warm, heavy Greek nights, when the air barely moves and the stars hang low above the olive groves, the cicadas keep going. Relentlessly. Like an overexcited wedding DJ who won’t leave until every last person has danced (or surrendered).
They will sing all night if the temperature allows, making you question whether you’ve actually gone deaf or whether your brain has simply learned to filter the zzzz into the soundtrack of your dreams.
The Humor of It All
You come to Greece for peace, quiet villages, and the slow life. Instead, you find yourself living with a high-pitched, non-stop concert that sounds like a million tiny maracas shaking in the heat.
You try to record a cute Instagram story, and it sounds like you’re standing under a power station.
You call your mother, and she says, “What is that noise?” and you reply, “Oh, just the cicadas,” trying to sound relaxed while thinking, Dear God, will they ever stop?
Embrace the Buzz
Because, truthfully, the cicadas are Greece. They’re part of the wild, sun-soaked landscape, just like the blue domes, the stray cats, and the goats on the road. They’re part of your summer stories, your salty afternoons, your slow lunches under the vines.
You will go home and realize you miss them when the world is too quiet.
You will close your eyes, and the zzzzzz will rise from your memory, and you’ll smile, remembering how alive everything felt under the Greek sun.
Final Tip: Surrender
If you’re coming to Greece this summer, prepare for the cicadas. Pack earplugs if you must, but also pack your humor.
Laugh when they get too loud. Take a swim when they overwhelm you. Surrender to the rhythm they announce so boldly.
Because someday, you’ll find yourself in the middle of winter, wrapped in a sweater, longing for a slice of Greece. And you’ll wish, even for a moment, you could hear that relentless zzzzzz once again.
And that’s when you’ll know: you’re truly in love with the Med.