The 195-square-kilometre island of Tinos sits at the very top of the Cyclades, just off the Greek mainland beneath Andros, and with this location comes the meltemi: strong winds that gust down for large parts of the summer. Here locals park their cars downwind so as to open doors more easily, and ferry timetables are unreliable at best. It’s even claimed that Tinos was the birthplace of Aeolus, the god of wind.
While holidaymakers seek to hide from the meltemi during summer, the conditions have, over the course of centuries, created a population that fully embraces the breeze: doves. Far from being a deterrent, the wind helps them take off and land. And so, scattered around the isle are myriad intricately designed dovecotes, known locally as peristeriones. Most are two storeys tall and painted in characteristically Cycladic white limestone paint. Where most vernacular architecture on these isles is denoted by the domed roof of Orthodox chapels and round windmills, these edifices are square and decorated with detailed slate patterns: triangles, circles, rhomboids. It’s estimated that there are almost 1,000 dovecotes dotted across the landscape; the oldest is estimated to have been built in the 1700s, the most recent in the 1970s.
Tinos was conquered by the Venetians in 1204, who governed until the 18th century, when the Ottomans came to power. The Venetians not only ate the meat of pigeons but also used their droppings as fertiliser on this largely rural island, which became a healthy breeding ground for the birds. Crucially, this was also a remarkably artistic island. ‘Those from Tinos were always a very aesthetic people,’ says Manthos Prelorentzos, who published a comprehensive listing of the island’s dovecotes in 2020. ‘They were known for marble making, and buildings were all intricately made of stone. The most famous marble sculptors all came from here,’ he adds, alluding to the fact Verde Tinos marble is quarried on the north of the island. The dovecotes, hard to come by elsewhere in Greece, were another expression of this artistry (while some exist on neighbouring Andros and Sifnos, they are very few in number). Research for the book spanned four years, eventually taking Prelorentzos back to the 13th century. Although little is known about the number of peristeriones that existed during Venetian rule, most belonged to wealthy landowners and are thought to have been unadorned. Things changed in the 18th century with the Ottoman conquest. ‘The population started travelling a lot more, to find work in the big cities of Greece, Asia Minor and Egypt. For the next 100 years, lots more money came to Tinos,’ says Prelorentzos. During this period, beautifully decorated dovecotes flourished.
A traditional cote is two storeys, roughly three by four square metres and five metres tall. Historically, the lower floor was used to store tools. Doors facing southeast and southwest are usually situated a metre or more off the ground to prevent rats and snakes getting inside. Entry for humans would be by ladder; rarely would stone steps be made. Inside, as many as 40 pairs of doves would shelter. Externally, most have small turrets on each corner, many with slate sheets protruding from them like wings. These helped to attract birds, who would land on them to rest before finding their way inside. ‘They were also used as scarecrows to hoax the doves’ enemies, like crows,’ says Prelorentzos. In many cases, the slate shapes in the walls of the structure feature apertures through which the birds could enter: big enough for them, too small for larger species. North-facing façades were left undecorated as the meltemi wind comes from this direction, making landing all but impossible. Were the geometric shapes of any importance? ‘They were all ancient symbols: triangles are the shapes of birth, circles are the symbol of the sun, but we don’t think locals would necessarily have known this explicitly,’ says Prelorentzos. ‘Probably they saw the shapes, they liked them, then all copied them.’
By the beginning of the 19th century, designs had become bolder, with Christian symbols added and, in many cases, farmers’ initials adorning the edifices. They continued to be built until the 1960s and 70s. It was then, as trade increased with mainland Greece and further afield, that cheaper meat could be brought to the island and the agriculture of Tinos changed. It still feels like a peculiar and very recent history to many on the island, though: ‘My grandmother would describe having pigeon for lunch every Sunday when she was younger,’ Prelorentzos recalls.
Tinos is a large island with a comparatively small population (there are just 9,000 inhabitants today; in the 19th century there were 25,000). It’s rock-wild and sage-green, even in summer, with the inner part of the island full of large boulders, ravines and vast flat plains. The land formation in the north is tinted with the famous green marble beneath. Seeing these strange dovecotes line the mountainsides – many now disappearing into the rocks as the limewash paint fades – provides an eerie glimpse into a mysterious bygone age. The odd dove still lands forlornly on the triangles before fluttering off. The wind merely adds to the drama.
Today, the Tinos dovecotes are owned privately, but no longer used to breed pigeons. Instead, many have been converted for residential use, a shift that has prompted criticism from some locals. ‘If we don’t find a use for them, the next generation will renovate them as houses. It’s not a solution. They put on extra floors, put on windows and spoil the vernacular design of them,’ says Prelorentzos. He hopes that an alternative purpose can be found for the dovecotes soon, before they too are gone with the wind.
A version of this article also appeared in the April 2025 issue of ‘The World of Interiors’. Learn about our subscription offers.
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