A Greyhound In Greece

Hello! My name is Emily and I am a student at Loyola University Maryland. In this blog, I will be chronicling my journey throughout the semester as I take on living in Athens, Greece. Come with me as I experience the many adventures of being a foreigner traveling and interacting with many different cultures!

[agreyhoundingreece]

A Farewell to Athens

As the semester comes to a fast-approaching close, I have been more excited than ever to return to my American homeland. That being said, there are so many things I will miss about Greece and this study abroad experience, so I want to dedicate this post to all of my favorite things (big and small) about this semester and the things I’ll miss the most.

In no particular order….

1.     Ease of travel: This has been such a blessing in more ways than one. I have had the surreal experience of visiting countries all over Europe and seeing or doing things that I will never forget. How many other 20-year-olds can say that they spent four months in Europe, visited almost ten different countries, and interacted with hundreds of new people and cultures? Cheap RyanAir flights and AirBnBs have enabled much of this traveling, as both companies provide the most expensive aspects of travel, flights and accommodations, for very student-friendly prices. I have explored first-hand some of the world’s most significant historical sites, participated in world-famous events like Oktoberfest, and enjoyed some of the finest food, drink, and art that there is.

(One of my many RyanAir flights throughout this semester)

2.     Greek Culture: Though I have sometimes found certain aspects of the Greek way of life frustrating, I have become accustomed to it and have learned to appreciate it. It has been so nice to immerse myself in a culture where money, materials, and work are not the first priority. The Greeks live in the moment, they eat and drink well, and to them, family and friends are truly the most important things. They don’t rush around frantically in their daily routines as Americans do, and they have a kind of genuine love for life that is hard to ignore and impossible to forget. There is a contagious happiness that I have found in the people here that I find much less often in America. Taking things slower and not worrying what tomorrow might bring have been two hard adjustments for me, yet much needed ones and a good respite for my normally anxious, hurried lifestyle. There is much less crime here, more relaxation, and an overall joyful way of living that is rarely present fully in the States.

(Me living the “Greek” life with wine in hand aboard a boat in Santorini)

3.     The food: I have had, without a doubt, the best food of my life in the past four months. Greek souvlaki has to take first prize, and is one of the things I will miss the most. The juicy kebab chicken wrapped in a warm pita with lettuce, tomato, fries, and chicken sauce has served as a more than weekly comfort for my roommate and me. With Greece’s prime location in the Mediterranean, I have also enjoyed some incredible seafood. The calamari and fresh fish have been unparalleled in freshness and flavor. In addition to the many new foods I have tried, I have also enjoyed many new drinks and unique beers and wines. The wine in Greece has a very distinct flavor from American wines, and some of the best white wine I have ever had was given to us on our boat tour of Santorini. It tasted more earthy and crisp, and it was perfect for a day of sailing. I have also come to love some of Greece’s local beers, Fix and Mythos, which reminded me a lot of some light beers that we have at home. All in all, some of the best food in the world can be found in Europe, and I have definitely tasted some.

(Another one of my Greek favorites--tomato, cucumber, onion salad with feta, olives, oil, and vinegar)

4.     The people: Besides missing some unforgettable Greek people, I’ll miss the friend I have made here, mostly my American friends. Because of the vast range of experiences (both good and bad) that we have all shared, I have felt closer to the group of people here than I have with friends from home that I’ve known for years. There is something about the pressure of a ticking clock that brings people together in inexplicable ways. Things seem crazier, love seems deeper, and words become easier to say. I’ll truly miss this the most. When living out of your comfort zone both physically and mentally, it definitely allows for mistakes to be made more easily, but it also allow for some of the most life-changing experiences to happen—something I’ve learned first-hand here. Of all the things I have gained abroad, the one that has affected me the most has been the relationships I have forgotten, forged, and followed along the way.

(My favorite group of people waiting to cross the street during our group trip to Warsaw, Poland) 

Aντίo σας, Greece! You will be missed…

  �

[agreyhoundingreece]

The Last Walk

I woke up this morning overjoyed that it was the last day of classes. I whipped off the covers and got ready, thinking about how nice it is to be finished for the semester. Once I get through finals, I’m done, I thought. This day of class was like any other, with an occasional nodding off in Mass Communication, a lunch full of laughs with my roommate and our friend, and then a slow walk home at sunset as I listened to music. In many ways it was exactly like any other day of class that I routinely experienced during the previous weeks. But somehow, today was different.

As I set off down the sidewalk towards home, the happy and relieved feeling I felt that morning started to melt away, being replaced with a sad, empty feeling. Am I actually gonna miss these long class days? I thought. My Tuesdays and Thursdays started at 9:00 AM with my commute to school, and didn’t end until 6:00 PM when I got home from my last class. They were long, tedious days to be sure, yet something about their end made me unhappy.

I passed all my usual stops, the ladies hard at work at my favorite nail salon, the old men gathered at the coffee shop where they play dice, and the children scurrying around with their rolling backpacks after being released from the school day. This time though, I took my headphones out and just watched closely. I took note of what the ladies were wearing, what the old men were watching on TV, and what the children were screaming gleefully about as they chased each other. The cars seemed to pass slower and the sunset seemed brighter, as if all my senses were suddenly heightened in my body’s attempt to soak up every last bit of this last journey home. It was my average walk from class, but today was different.

I stopped at the small square, about half way home, and lounged on a park bench as the pigeons strutted around me searching for food. Normally I would find them annoying, but today they seemed beautiful and eager. I overheard some conversations in Greek, happy to hear them rather than getting frustrated that I couldn’t understand. I still couldn’t literally understand each word, but I felt like I somehow knew what was being said.

I continued on after a few minutes of rest, getting closer and closer to my apartment. As I rounded the corner toward my building, I could see the little kitty that we had been feeding lately in the distance, perched on the gate right outside. I called her name and she came scampering over, as if to join in lighthearted conversation before I retired to my room. I looked down at her and pet her gently, and she purred loudly as she rubbed her head against my hand. I couldn’t help but think of what a lovely day it had been, and it was all because I had taken my time for once. Instead of dreading class and rushing through the day’s motions, I pondered each step and took in my surroundings. I was happy to be done, but my last trek home from school made me realize how much I would miss this country when it was gone.

[agreyhoundingreece]

I’ll Be “Home” for Christmas

There isn’t much I have felt truly deprived of since leaving the States and living in Greece. The only thing that has really saddened me has been the lack of the “Christmas-y” feeling I always look so forward to during this time of the year. Because of the much more temperate weather here and the lack of Christmas attractions, I have had no sense of what time of year it is, let alone the fact that one of my favorite holidays is right around the corner. I was sure that this disappointment would continue on until I saw my family again, but it surprisingly disappeared after a trip to the most unexpected of places—Warsaw, Poland.

My friends and I wanted to plan one last group trip all together before leaving, so we looked into cheap flights and fun places to go. Warsaw came up as one of the best places for this time of year, beautifully blanketed with snow, rich in history, and pretty cheap to visit. So, we booked our flights and Airbnb’s without really knowing what to expect.

As our flight was landing, we stepped down off the plane’s stairs only to see an icy layer of fresh snow covering the ground before us. It was a bone-chilling 34 degrees, and I already loved it. The weather alone was enough to remind me of how my hometown feels during this brief time before Christmas. We had a fairly uneventful night since we were tired from traveling, and woke up looking forward to a day of sightseeing after researching the city’s main attractions.

Old Town was stunning with its traditional architecture, clean streets, Christmas themed lights, and giant Christmas tree in the center. We wandered around the square for some time, eventually making our way to the highly recommended Christmas Market, and it was more than I could have ever hoped for.

A brightly lit arch adorned the entrance to the long strip of stalls, inviting us in from the square. As we walked in, I instantly felt a sense of warmth, even though we were still outside in the freezing cold air. The shops were each surrounded by a small swarm of people, all eager to see what they had to offer. Some were filled with hand-knit gloves and hats, others with artfully sculpted chocolate, some with fresh sausage and meats, and others with souvenirs like nesting dolls, ornaments, and jewelry. All of them caught my eye at once and I didn’t even know where to begin.

One of the best stands featured shelf upon shelf overflowing with colorful candies. There were candy canes, Santa cookies, lollipops, gummy bears, minions, reindeer, Christmas trees, and so many more. Every color I could imagine took shape in one of the types of candy, making for a bright rainbow display that attracted every passerby, not just children.

Every so often there was an open stall, filled with Christmas decorations—fake snow, garlands, strung lights, statues or cut-outs of Santa Claus, and places to sit and take pictures.

We stopped to get some mulled wine, which took me back to the familiar scents of holiday parties my parents used to host at our home. The fireplace was blazing, I was wearing a red velvet dress with tights and my Mary Janes, and I would run around tugging at my parents’ clothing as they sipped their mulled wine and laughed with friends above the sound of festive music.

I gripped my mulled wine tighter, breathing in its distinctive scent, and continued to the next stand. It displayed one of Poland’s most famous foods—sausage. They covered every inch of the stall from floor to ceiling, hanging from every beam and stacked high behind a glass case. They were being sold in every shade of red and brown, every height, length, and thickness. My roommate and I bought two small sticks, somewhat like beef jerky, and sat on a bench to finish our wine as we ate them. It was by far the best and most flavorful sausage I had ever had, nothing like what I had eaten in America.

One of the last stands of the market had one of the largest crowds and longest lines I had seen so far. It was selling Polish pierogis, probably the most famous ethnically Polish food. Coming from a Lithuanian family, pierogis had always been a culinary staple growing up. My dad would cook them with Lithuanian kielbasa, a form of sausage. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I yelled over to my roommate and ran up to the line. I watched with awe as they turned over the potato-filled dough and poured a creamy garlic sauce over them. It brought back a rush of excitement that I used to feel back at home whenever my father made these delicious Lithuanian favorites. It cost a mere four zloty (only about one American dollar) for two large pierogis and I stared at them as the vendor handed them to me.

As I walked and ate my Polish snack, I smiled thinking of how much everyone around me seemed to be in the Christmas spirit. I was wrapped in a furry warm parka, I was eating some of my favorite foods, and there were Christmas lights everywhere I looked. There wasn’t any music playing, but I swear I could hear “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” playing softly among the hum of the crowd as I walked through the powdery snow.

[agreyhoundingreece]

Seeing Pink

 I’ve never been a fan of heights, especially not when there is little to no barrier standing between where I am and where the fall starts. Needless to say, when my roommate and I had the idea to visit Crete’s famous Pink Beach, I had no idea the drive would wrap around endless mountains and border numerous sharp cliffs.

We got the idea to go to Crete when we searched for warm vacation spots around Thanksgiving time. Almost all the images of this spectacular island on Google featured some kind of crystal clear water or tropical sandy beach. And so, we discovered one of Crete’s most remarkable wonders—Elafonisi Beach. Like I mentioned before, it is known for its strikingly pink sand, something found almost nowhere else in the world. It had been a goal of ours to see this from the time we decided to study abroad in Athens, and the time was finally here.

(An image of Elafonisi Beach from elsewhere on Tumblr)

Rising early in the day, we walked to Old Town in Chania and sought out a rental place to get our car. After a bit of groveling that is to be expected with any Greek store owner, we paid the man and were on our way in an almost new Peugeot. Meant for a driver that uses manual transmission, the car was a bit jerky even in automatic mode. When we stopped at a red light or stop sign, the car’s engine turned off to be more “economic.” After the first ten minutes of the drive, I knew it was going to be an interesting trip to say the least.

The first half hour was a breeze; we coasted down a Greek highway at about 110 km/h and got to see some incredible views. Then, the GPS directed us to exit into what looked to be a fairly rural area. Hesitant yet trusting, I turned off the highway and we began what would be a hellish journey for someone who gets easily car sick and is scared of heights. We started winding through a small town in which every road was made almost totally of gravel and nothing appeared to be less than 50 years old. The people stared at our car as if they hadn’t seen one in years and the roads turned so sharply that I thought the car was going in a circle at some points. Thinking it was just the fastest way to the next highway, we continued on with perseverance and patience, unaware of what the next half of the drive would bring.

We realized with horror that there would never be another highway to drive on as the roads started getting pushed closer and closer to the edges of mountains, until the single road we were driving on for the rest of the way became one lane bordering a steep drop-off. We reduced our speed to about 40 km/h in order to avoid being pushed off the edge. As we approached a rather desolate area, a huge mountain loomed in front of us, showing no way of passing. As we crept toward it in our tiny car, we saw the entrance to a dark tunnel, an ominous doorway to the other side of the island and its beautiful beaches. We stopped briefly at the red light, waiting for absolutely no other cars to pass through it. When the light turned green, I stepped on the pedal with a bit too much force and our car sped through the tunnel’s entrance as I tightened my grip on the wheel.

(A view from inside the tunnel, almost out)

From the inside of the tunnel, I could see the winding road ahead, and along with it a huge white 18-wheeler. My heart almost stopped as I pictured in my head what the aftermath would be as this enormous truck came barreling toward us on such a narrow road. It showed no indication of slowing down, so I desperately swerved off to the side of the road into a tiny strip of gravel, where our car almost turned onto its side in an effort to stay grounded. The truck flew past us while blaring its daunting horn, clearly telling us to get out of its way. My roommate and I were shocked. We couldn’t believe that such a huge vehicle could travel so fast and so dangerously through these mountains without any caution or care for other drivers. We both had to calm our nerves before continuing on, gathering our thoughts and focusing on the road ahead.

To make matters worse, every hundred meters there were signs warning us of falling rocks and goats crossing. Every so often a huge triangular sign featuring a bright red exclamation point would protrude onto the road, doing a better job at frightening us than helping us. And so, one of the most arduous car rides of our lives continued, not without its fair share of close calls and deep ruts.

(The widest part of the road we traveled on, featuring the huge surrounding mountains)

Twenty minutes later we arrived at the Pink Beach, after a series of horribly bumpy roads and nearly popped tires. We took a huge sigh of relief and gathered our things to walk onto the beach. The sand near the parking area was rather black and soil-like, a huge disappointment since I was imagining bright pink beneath my feet. Despite this initial feeling of despair resulting from the terrifying trip, overcast weather, and dark sand, we kept walking. And I’m so glad we did. When we finally walked up to the place where the water met the sand, the clouds parted and the sun shone brightly on our faces. It lit up the empty beach, bringing our attention to the sand around us. 

The sand by the water wasn’t just pink, it was so much more. It had so many dimensions of pink—coral, peach, cotton-candy, flamingo, watermelon, blush, bubblegum, fuchsia, rose. A million shades of pink came and went with the tide as the ocean drew me into itself.

(pictures don’t do justice to how the pink actually looked)

It was rather cold for a beach day, but we didn’t care. We stripped down to our bathing suits and walked into the water. It was such clear water, that you could see your entire body move beneath you with the flow of the ocean. Suddenly the tension from the drive was gone, out of mind completely.

We lingered on the beach for a few more hours, seeing only a few other people, eating lunch and taking pictures as we basked in the sun’s gentle rays. When it was time to leave, I didn’t even think once about the drive ahead or its dangers—all I could see was pink.

[agreyhoundingreece]

Van Gogh: Dead or Alive?

Excitedly awaiting the arrival of my roommate’s parents, we waited patiently for their flight to land so we could meet them at the Airbnb. Leaving the weekend’s itinerary up to us, she and I began to think of things we could do, places to eat, and places to take them. At first, the obvious sites came to mind—the Acropolis, Monastiraki Square, etc.—but then we remembered an advertisement we had seen for the Athens Concert Hall’s limited time only exhibition called “Van Gogh Alive!” It was supposed to be an extraordinary showcase of Van Gogh’s life and works, not in the flesh, but displayed as copies and images surrounding you on floor to ceiling screens. So, we decided to seize the seemingly few opportunities that a rainy day affords by taking them to this exhibit.

When we got there, I was unsure of what to expect, given that we had not yet seen any preview pictures or heard much about it. Yet all of this uncertainty faded away when I saw the entrance hall’s quote—“I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.” This quote danced along the walls as it led down the main corridor of the exhibit, leading to an enormous open space that displayed all of his works.

On the first wall we looked at a copy of one of his best known paintings, one featuring sunflowers, and we all agreed that on the surface there was nothing special about it, but at the same time it was incredible. It just had this quality of ingenuity and authenticity, as if you could physically feel how much emotion it had been created with. We passed several more copies of all of his best works, including The Starry Night, The Red Vineyard, and some portraits, then we entered my favorite room.

Descending the white stairs, I became uneasy as projectors illuminated each blank step with a different painting, making me scared to put my foot down despite the fact that I knew I wouldn’t be harming the works. When we reached the bottom floor, I was overtaken with what surrounded me. On all sides the massive walls were covered with screens that spanned every inch from floor to lofted ceiling. Even parts of the carpet were replaced by these screens, displaying moving copies of each of his pieces. They would remain for a time, swaying about as the viewers look on with admiration. They were paired with many insightful quotes by the talented artist himself, reminders of how brilliant, yet disturbed he was at the same time. Perhaps the most illuminating part of this all-encompassing experience, though, was the music. Classical music of his time played loudly around the captive audience, drawing them in deeper and deeper to the images they were trying to understand.

I remember standing in front of one screen as Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms glided across it with ease, and I heard the most moving chords of Claude de Bussy’s “Clair de Lune.” I immediately shivered, my eyes widening as I saw the branches of the tree begin to be taken away with each stroke of the piano keys. Then the quote:

If you truly love Nature, you will find beauty everywhere.

I was taken. The next image was of Starry Night over the Rhone.” The yellow orbs glowing within the image felt as though they were jumping off the screen, their light too bright to stay in one place. Another gentle shift in music followed, and the words…

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.

A series of nautically themed paintings cascaded across the walls now, with the choppy waves leaving a salty spray behind, and the boats producing the distinct sounds of clanging metal bells and the cutting of water. A darker time in his life was approaching, and so the phrase:

The fisherman know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.

Finally, a set of paintings followed that displayed beautiful scenes of nature, then his self-portrait. The images were each accompanied again my transforming quotes from the artist himself, each one perhaps more enchanting than the next. 

I had completely lost track of time, eventually realizing that almost everyone around me had cleared out and become an entirely new crowd of people. I searched around for my roommate and her parents, finding them wandering towards the exit, clearly waiting until I had finished watching.

They continued the conversation they had been having before I walked over, and so I looked back as we walked through the exit in order to get one last glimpse of the room. It just so happened that the screen was displaying my favorite work by Van Gogh, The Sower, with the words: “One must work and dare if one really wants to live.”

 ......

Van Gogh was a tormented, mentally unstable, often violent person. Only one of his works actually sold during his life. He was driven to suicide because of his emotional state. He died years ago.

Yet, to me, he is very much alive.

[agreyhoundingreece]

Athenian for the Day

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live in a different time, a different place, a totally different world. Traveling to the Acropolis, perhaps Greece’s most popular tourist attraction, I looked around and imagined what it would have been like to live in Athens, a thriving port city, at the height of its power and growth. To us, America seems to have such a long history, yet it pales in comparison to the history of Greece, a history that extends over 9,000 years into the past.

For its age, the Acropolis is remarkably well-kept, and it has survived a number of brutal wars and attacks. It was the center of Athens, literally and figuratively, serving as the king’s central location and the center of worship for the loyal Athenian citizens. It still stands as one of the highest spots in Athens, the city’s focal point, and as a symbol of the ancient civilization’s legacy.

The walls surrounding this fortified center stood around 25 feet high, and after seeing the remaining stones in person, I had to wonder about the amount of manpower and strength it must have taken to build the walls. In addition to the gigantic walls, the temples within the walls of the Acropolis stand towering over today’s visitors as they marvel at the skill with which each stone column was meticulously carved. The largest temple was built for Athena of course, the city’s namesake and protector. Its height and length are quite an archaeological feat, providing evidence of just how important the goddess was to the Athenian people.

Every time I peered through the lens of my camera to snap a picture of my surroundings, I closed my eyes and mentally completed the crumbling stone and broken remains. I saw the city center teeming with people, a thriving port of wealth, knowledge, and power.

I tried to put myself in the place of an ancient Athenian, walking through the Acropolis, in awe of the beauty and power of my city, surely thinking that it would last forever in its current state. I’m sure they could never picture a young foreign girl standing in their place thousands of years later, admiring their city and standing beneath their billowing flag on a windy October day.

My visit to the Acropolis not only gave me some historical insight into what the town looked like in its prime, but it helped me form a connection with its people, past and present. I relished the idea of standing in the exact spot where an ancient Athenian once stood, proud to live where they did and confident in the future of their beautiful home.

To read more about the history of the Acropolis, click the following link: http://ancient-greece.org/history/acropolis.html

[agreyhoundingreece]

Iakinthou 12

The three of us walked briskly up the sidewalk in total darkness, trying to keep up the speed to maintain a little warmth. It was too brisk out for the light jackets we had worn around all day in downtown Athens, and we were so happy to be returning to the room to relax and get some dinner. Rounding the corner of our street, Iakinthou, we were passing a seemingly abandoned lot full of broken wooden slats and trash. The street was entirely devoid of other people, and there appeared to be an eerie mist rising off the pavement, lingering a few feet above it.

A huge dog suddenly attacked the wire fence right next to our faces, barking viciously, and startling us. We all screamed in unison, heart rates jumping, and covered our ears to avoid the deep, loud yelps. After running a few yards past it, we all relaxed and laughed nervously, shrugging off the incident. However, I don’t think I was the only one that started to get a strange feeling about that evening—it was the first of a few bad omens.

I led the group, walking through the gate to our apartment building first, and my two friends followed. One of them dug through her purse to find the keys, and a few kittens nearby looked up at us and scattered immediately, which was unusual due to the fact that the strays in Greece are so used to being around people that they hardly even flinch at the sound of a roaring motorcycle. I thought nothing more of it though, and we all piled into the tiny elevator. Like something out of a horror movie, the light on the ceiling flickered repeatedly, bringing us in and out of light. We reached the fourth floor. 

I stepped out first, turning right towards our room. Almost instantly I could tell something was wrong.

“Guys, the door is open…” I stammered quietly. The doorway was dark and empty, the door open almost a full two feet.

They both stopped dead in their tracks and one of them whispered, “Run.”

The three of us turned and bolted down the stairs, dizzying ourselves with every additional turn of the staircase. We reached the bottom floor and all scuffled around looking for our phones, two of which were totally dead, and one of which had 10% battery remaining.

My roommate used her phone to quickly dial 112, Greece’s emergency number, and an operator picked up. After explaining the situation, we were reassured that police would be there soon and not to worry.

They pulled up after what felt like a whole hour, and two brawny, tall men sauntered over. We reiterated what we had told the woman over the phone as one of the policemen stretched out his hand asking for the keys, and motioned for us to stay where we were on the sidewalk. They both entered the building with one hand on their guns and the other holding flashlights.

They disappeared up the stairwell and didn’t return for fifteen minutes.

In the meantime, my friends and I were conjuring up all kinds of possible scenarios, picturing them dragging a hooded man down the stairs in handcuffs.

They returned empty-handed, telling us to follow them upstairs. After exchanging information and taking some notes, they told us (with what sounded like no confidence at all) that everything was safe and to have a good evening.

I’m not sure if we all felt better, though. There was an excessive amount of dirt on the floor, dirt that hadn’t been there when we left the apartment earlier. There were signs that indicated someone had made a small mess and attempted to clean it up hastily. The porch door was unlocked, and we were trying to remember if it had been that way before. The air in the room had a certain chill to it, a combination of a drop in temperature and a rise in eeriness.

We sat down to get settled back in and unwind from the whirlwind of a day that we had had. We talked about our plans for tomorrow, smiling and remembering some funny moments from throughout the day. Everything seemed fine, but all of us couldn’t keep our minds off what had happened.

I couldn’t stay there that night, something just didn’t feel right.

I was carried swiftly away in my taxi, feeling so relieved to put some distance between myself and that apartment.

From that point on, I had a feeling all of us would be avoiding Iakinthou 12.

[agreyhoundingreece]

Roaming Around Athens

After months of saving and predicting monthly expenses abroad, I failed miserably at budgeting out money for one thing—transportation. It is one of those things that is easy to forget in the shuffle as you meticulously calculate how much you’ll be spending on clothes, food, souvenirs, flights, and the other “fun” stuff. However, I discovered very quickly that transportation to these shops, supermarkets, and airports adds up faster than I thought. So, after spending two months in Athens as a college student abroad (and on a budget!) I have devised a list of the most popular means of transport here and the pros and cons of each…

Metro/Train:

Here in Athens, these words are synonymous, both referring to the very cheap and efficient underground network of lines that can take you pretty much anywhere within an hour of the city, and maybe even farther. Living in a neighborhood about 25 minutes northeast of the center of the city, I have turned to the metro many times to get me downtown for a cheap price. It takes no more than 15 minutes to walk to your local metro stop, which are easily found on any maps app, and once there, the machines are easy to use. The alternative I usually opt for is the 24-hour pass for 4.50 euros since this allows me to have unlimited access to the stations for an entire day, ideal for sightseeing and traveling for things of a tourist-y nature. The other tickets range from 0.90 euros to 10 euros, and can get you anywhere from 5 minutes away to all the way to the airport, which is usually a 25 minute drive. This mode of transport is most popular among locals as well, with lots of commuters, teens, and business people using it on a daily basis. It runs as early as 5:30 AM and the last train leaves at 12:30 AM. Definitely the way to go if you are interested in saving money and exploring all day!

Bus:

Probably the other most popular mode of public transport, it is heavily used by locals and is extremely affordable. The bus stops are clearly marked on street signs, and buses always have their line number and destination lit up brightly on the front of the bus. Many times, it is convenient because the buses have you pay once you have already boarded, rather than requiring you to purchase tickets ahead of time and find a location to purchase them from. This is also a great alternative for heading downtown for the day, getting to the airport (on the x95), or for getting to school in the morning. The fares are always very reasonable in price, but the one downside to the bus is that it is often unpredictable as far as arrival time and it waits for NO ONE. This is the way to go for those on a strict budget.

Uber/Taxi:

For people who prefer private transportation services or are in need of transport right from their current location, there is always Uber. This has been a reliable mode for me as I return home from a night on the town with friends or don’t want to waste time walking to the metro if I need to get to the airport on time. My friends and I will split the fare, making the trip still very reasonably priced in the end. However, Greece has a popular app called Taxi Beat, not found in the U.S., and it works just like the Uber or Lyft apps, except that it summons a taxi rather than a driver in their personal car. Taxi Beat is great for shorter rides of a couple miles or so, and usually ends up being lower in price than Ubers. Since school is a 20 minute uphill walk in the mornings, I often grab a Taxi to get there, only spending a maximum of 3.50 euros to get there. Taxis are the best alternative for short travels and getting somewhere when experiencing a time crunch. I have also enjoyed many interesting conversations with local taxi drivers who barely speak English! The taxis usually have Wi-Fi available and are always willing to help with suitcases or luggage. Unlike Uber, they accept cash or coins, and are very appreciative of tips. Taxi Beat is probably my favorite way to get around since it is cheap, convenient, and fun!

Ferries/Air Travel:

As far as longer distances are concerned, ferries are one viable option that are frequently used since Greece is a nation full of islands. For travel to some of the most common island destinations like Santorini, Mykonos, Karpathos, and others, ferries are very affordable (ranging from 30-80 euros round trip depending on where you sit on the boat). This is a fun way to see some beautiful mountains, waters, and horizons on the way to your destination. The length ranges from 2-8 hours, but is very manageable due to the ability to walk around deck and the option to get a bed, table, more comfortable seats, and the offerings of snacks and drinks. In addition to ferries, airfare can be extremely cheap if you go through certain airlines. The college student staple has become RyanAir, an airline known for its cheap prices. For trips within Greece and Europe in general, this is the best option because it is only around 60-70 euros for a round trip. That being said, there are certainly no extra frills, but there is always the option to pay for extra benefits like priority boarding, extra bags, seat selection, meals during the flight, and other things. RyanAir has been my saving grace as I travel from country to country throughout the semester and I have never had a negative experience with it!

 Coming from one college student to another, I hope this article has helped anyone who intends to travel to Athens in the future. The city has so much to offer, and the transportation options make it easy to explore and experience some unforgettable things.

[agreyhoundingreece]

Finding God in Santorini

I have seen some beautiful things in life—the type of things that make you think “Wow, I will never forget this” and “Nothing could be more amazing than what I am seeing right at this moment.” I have been to nine countries and seen countless awe-inspiring sunsets, beaches, and works of art. But I can honestly say nothing prepared me for what I found on one of Greece’s most beautiful islands.

Feeling rather jarred as I was awakened by a piercing ray of light streaming through the airplane window, the trip began in a not-so-favorable manner. Brushing off the annoyance I felt at having to wake up at 5:30 a.m. for our flight, I relaxed a bit and agreed with my roommate that we might as well watch the sunrise since we had to wake up to land in about twenty minutes anyway. The sunrise was pure magic. Our plane was gliding just above a thick layer of clouds that totally obscured our view of the water, and the sun crept up in bursts of purple, pink, and orange. As a pretty religious person, I couldn’t help but stare in wonder of God’s creation. I hadn’t been to church since I’d arrived in Greece about a month ago, so I was convinced that this sunrise occurred just for me as God’s way of saying Open your eyes, I’m still here and you have so much to be thankful for in this moment.

As we conjured up ideas about what to do with our first night, we decided on the touristy (but so worth it) route of watching the sunset in Oia. If you’ve ever seen pictures of Santorini, or Greece in general for that matter, you’ve probably seen some breathtaking images of the sunsets that cascade over the ocean as it laps up against the mountainous village of Oia with all its white villas and blue domes. Despite the beauty of these pictures, they truly could never do justice to what I saw that Friday night. My roommate and I sat on a rooftop of one of the iconic white houses and respectfully observed as the sun performed its daily disappearing act. The colors were ones I couldn’t imagine in my head even if I tried—a melding of the brightest, yet most subtle shades of blue and pink I had ever seen. It was a genuine masterpiece and it was painted in the sky that night just for me to see.

As gnawing hunger got the best of us and the sun was almost down, we hopped on our ATV to find our dinner destination. The roads that brought us to the restaurant wound sharply around the mountain, with only a short guardrail standing between us and the cliffs below that led straight to the sea. Having a strong fear of heights, I turned my head the other way and shut my eyes as I wrapped my arms tighter around my roommate and held on, waiting for it to be over. However, the image of the sunset I had just seen wouldn’t leave my mind, and I thought about all the beautiful things I was missing out on by keeping my eyes closed. As we rounded a corner a little too quickly for comfort, I slowly turned my head toward the water and opened one eye at a time. I had opened my eyes just in time to see the last sliver of the sun dip below the horizon line and fill the entire sky with a soft glow that covered the mountains with a blanket of a cotton candy pink and a dandelion yellow. I smiled and breathed in the Santorini air, looking up and whispering “thank you” as I reflected on just how lovely it was to see the sun’s rising and setting all in the same day.

 The next day, we had scheduled a last minute private boat tour of the island, complete with stops at the volcano, hot springs, and two of the most noted beaches. After being briefed about the events of the day and the usual safety measures, we were allowed to roam around the boat on our own. I went to the back alone, just to watch the open waves as we passed them. I lifted my camera to my eye and looked out at the water in front of me. I was reminded of how vast the ocean is and how small of a space our little boat was occupying in comparison. I was so overwhelmed with the power in the water around me that I lowered my camera before even taking a picture and just sat there to listen. Again, I marveled at the being that created this, and thought it must be Him. Nothing else but God’s work had left me speechless like this so many times in such a short trip.

It didn’t end there though. In a short hour or two we stopped at the hot springs and were invited to get off the boat and jump into the water, water that was considered much too cold for the native Greeks that led our day trip. Going to Delaware beaches throughout my whole childhood, I wasn’t too worried about the “cold” water here, and decided to jump right in. They all stared at me in disbelief as I stripped down and lowered myself down the ladder hanging off the back of the boat. To my surprise, the water was still crystal clear about three feet down, and the temperature was shockingly temperate. I waded back from the boat and looked up to the mountain next to us, seeing a small white church built right into its side. The walls were practically crumbling, but it still stood firmly in its place. I climbed back on the boat and wrapped myself in a towel, tuning out the captain as I watched the little church fade from our view.

Resting on the back of the boat as the others sat down to eat, my best friend and I sat and talked for a while and watched the waves. I was rather astonished when the conversation shifted to religious things, since she is not religious at all, and hardly ever spoke about things of this nature. We had been discussing some personal struggles that she had experienced in her life and she turned to me with glassy eyes. She told me it helped her profoundly, despite the fact that she hadn’t really thought of herself as a believer in God.

“You know I’m not religious but I read something that said ‘How can you hate yourself so much when God spent so much time on you,’ and it made me cry out of relief.”

We sat on the boat for a while longer, sipping some Santorinian wine and laughing about some of the best memories from our semester so far. I thought of all the time He must have spent on her, me, and all the amazing sights I had witnessed in the past two days. Again, God had slipped Himself into my mind, this time in the form of an unlikely proponent.

I couldn’t help but smile at his clever ways. After all, I had come highly skeptical of what the weather and weekend ahead would be like, and left feeling convinced more than ever of God’s constant presence in my life.

 Link to boat tour: http://www.santoriniyachtingclub.com/Excursion.aspx?eid=49&et=Day-Cruise-with-Lagoon-52---Semi-Private-

_

[agreyhoundingreece]

Buzzed

If you asked the average student of my Greek university what their favorite aspect of the school is, they would probably tell you about the Olympic-sized training field that glows so green in the morning sun that it is almost blinding, the scenic view of Athens and all its small white homes from the top of the campus, or the delicious Greek cuisine served for lunch. While all these things are viable options, the first thing on my list would be sitting outside the Starbucks at a small wooden table in the farthest corner.

Since the first day of school, I have made a habit out of spending my two hour break between classes right outside the coffee shop, sipping my Starbucks and enjoying the kind of weather that few places besides Greece can offer during this time of year.

Given my lack of patience and constant running from one activity to the next, I surprised myself with the amount of joy and relaxation I gain from my bi-weekly two hours of basking in a cloud of cigarette smoke that disperses the sun’s rays as they lazily pierce through. Every day I sit and watch, watch and listen as I hear the buzz of ten different languages surround me and see people walking back and forth from one place to the next. It’s nothing glamorous, but it has allowed me to see and hear so much.

One day in particular I recall overhearing a Greek girl talking with an English-speaking friend about how ridiculous the English language is. She couldn’t believe that “Arkansas” and “Kansas” were not pronounced the same way, and after thinking it over, I really couldn’t blame her for her confusion.

On another day, I witnessed two male students arguing over whether or not a sports team could play better than the opponent and still lose the game.

As I sit among a small crowd of other people, I imagine what I would say if I was involved in their conversations.

Hearing the buzzing of fifty different voices in the background, I form ideas in my head, come up with rebuttals to their jokes, and devise counterpoints to their arguments. The inner dialogue that has been spurred by my observations of the usual gatherings outside Starbucks has prompted some of my deepest thoughts and best ideas. It has enlightened me in ways that I could not experience just by sitting in class or speaking directly to these people.

So if you asked me, the best part of my school is not absorbing the material I hear in class, but soaking up all the knowledge I have gained from simply sitting back, kicking my feet up, sipping my Starbucks, and listening.

[agreyhoundingreece]

Getting Too Comfortable

We were at the usual spot. It became our favorite weekly routine, as this restaurant was very reasonably priced and had the absolute BEST Souvlaki. It was called Tsi Tsi, and we loved it. So, late on a Monday we sauntered up the street to our little haunt and sat down at table 91 (as always).

By this point, about a month and a half into the semester, we had been here so many times that the same waiter recognized us and could probably even predict our order. We had been learning Greek in classes, and perhaps thought ourselves a little more skilled in the Greek language than we actually were. Nonetheless, starving after a long day of walking in the Grecian sun, cleaning our apartment, and doing copious amounts of homework, my friend and I could not wait to get our hands on the Souvlaki.

Feeling overly confident, we took the Greek menu this time, certain that we knew exactly where our go-to dish was placed within the pages of the “grill book.” And so, before the waiter could even finish saying good evening, we eagerly pointed to the Souvlaki on the menu, raised two fingers to indicate how many, and handed him the papers as he smiled strangely and walked away scribbling furiously in his server book.

After fifteen minutes of not-so-patient waiting, the food had arrived. My eyes widened as he set the food down before me and I thanked him in Greek as he did a little bow and went back to the kitchen. But when I looked down at my precious Souvlaki, I realized something was very, very wrong. It was definitely not the Souvlaki we had had in meals past. We stared at each other, a little horrified that it was not correct, and tried to figure out what to do. In a short time, we discovered that we had mistakenly pointed to something quite different on the menu, a portion of minced grilled mystery meat thrown in a pita with some onions, Tzatziki sauce, and cucumbers. It was certainly not what we had wanted and unfortunately, neither of us even liked this dish after trying it. 

In order to preserve proper manners, we choked down the rest of our mystery meat wraps, left a more than generous tip on the table, and scurried out before the waiter could ask how everything was.

Initially we were both irritated, still hungry and craving a food we couldn’t have at the moment. However, as we began walking toward our apartment a few blocks down, we started to laugh at how badly we had messed up and at how confused the waiter must have been when we ordered something totally different (and not good) in lieu of our beloved Souvlaki.

That night my stomach didn’t feel too great after dinner, but at least I learned what not to order in the future. Plus, I may have realized that despite spending twenty years on this earth and about six weeks in Greece, I may actually not know everything!

Below, I have included a picture of the actual Souvlaki that we usually order and enjoy from Tsi Tsi (though it doesn’t do it justice). 

[agreyhoundingreece]

Taking the Plunge

I stood at the top dripping wet, my heart pounding, and looked at my best friend who was in line behind me.

“Do it!” she said.

“Only if you go first,” I insisted.

As if in an act of defiance, she grabbed ahold of her tube and launched herself forward as she looked back at me with a flashing smile. Screaming could be heard all the way down, and as it grew fainter I looked to the safety patrol worker next to me and gave her a concerned look.

“Only a lee-tle bit scary,” she said as she raised her hand to me and pressed her pointer finger and thumb together, indicating exactly how silly I was for being nervous.

I hadn’t been at a place like this since I was a child at the beach, and I wasn’t looking forward to the huge drop I knew was coming.

Whoosh.

With a little push that I both literally and figuratively needed at that moment, she had launched my tube forward with her foot and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as I entered the completely dark tunnel. I felt an immediate rush of water and blood to my face as I plummeted downward through the black vortex. I heard water all around me and couldn’t help but let out a few thrilling screams as I zoomed down faster than I ever had. Thinking it was almost over, I began to relax, and just as I opened my eyes to see the finish, my heart dropped in horror at what I saw. 

As I exited the covered portion of the water slide, I was about to drop so steeply that it almost felt as if I was going straight down. This terrifying drop lead me straight back up the side of a water-covered wall and I felt as if I was moving in slow motion. As I reached the top of this wall, I opened my eyes for half a second and saw the whole indoor water park from above, from a vantage point I would never be at again. Closing my eyes, I proceeded to fall back down backwards as time sped up again, and I gripped the plastic handles harder in a desperate attempt to stay on.

I felt like I was about to cry, but I also felt an exciting rush of adrenaline and energy as I glided slowly down to the end of the slide where my friends were waiting for me.

A final splash of water hit my face and I rubbed my eyes before opening them and seeing my friends laugh and hold out their hands to me.

I looked at them, then back up at the enormous wall of water that had launched me downwards into a scary fall.

“I can’t believe you guys made me do that!” I shouted playfully at them.

“Wanna do it again?” they taunted me, seeing the nervous excitement in my eyes.

“Never…” I said as I shook my head with fervor.  

But as we walked away, I grinned with satisfaction—I was secretly glad I had taken the plunge.

[agreyhoundingreece]

An American Girl in a Foreign Market

After reading a brief blog post titled “Thoughts from the Amerika Section of the Grocery Store,” I got to thinking about this strange experience in my own way, and reflected upon the times I’ve seen things abroad that are labeled as distinctly “American.” Like the writer of this story, I too have encountered a separate American section of a grocery store, one called Jumbo, which is much like an American Target or Wal-Mart. As we neared the checkout, I noticed the large sign that said “Αμερικανός” so I started to scan the shelves. The first thing that jumped out at me were enormous bags of Lays chips.

“Fair,” I thought to myself, “Lays chips were a staple in my childhood lunches.”

Next I noticed the biggest cereal section I had ever seen. I think that was the first time I realized the importance of cereal in the States, a place where it is acceptable (and sometimes necessary) to eat cereal at any time of day. Finally, I took note of a variety of items that were most definitely in my shopping cart at every supermarket visit—things like peanut butter, a variety of Hershey’s chocolate, and Powerade and sodas.

My first instinct was to be rather offended because all of the food labeled “American” was pretty much junk food. But I also couldn’t help but recognize that these were very popular foods in America, foods that most people enjoy at least one of on a daily basis. However, it got me thinking a little deeper, that is, I started wondering to myself what it meant to me (and to others) to be truly American. After all, American cuisine is primarily a byproduct of all other cultures, as are all of America’s people. I myself am of Italian and Lithuanian descent, and even the Italian food made by my mother is extremely common in every non-Italian household in the country.

My conclusion was this—there are not any set qualities that make me an American, besides, of course, the fact that I am very privileged to have so much freedom to choose how I live my daily life. I agree with the writer of the post that inspired this one: “part of being American means belonging to everywhere and nowhere.” I like this idea because it’s true for every person living in America. To foreigners, I am just another spoiled American girl, but in essence I am so much more. All at the same time, I am a mix of Italian and Lithuanian, 100% American and 100% a human being.

No matter the food that characterizes my culture or the images that are evoked by the word “American,” at least I can confidently and proudly say that I am able to appreciate and embrace the food and people of every culture, everywhere.

[agreyhoundingreece]

The Power In Feeling Small

Entering the tent was like nothing I had ever experienced before. It was as if the crowds of people were moving as one giant wave, ready to wash over me—a pulse of laughter and singing in slow motion. As I snapped back into it and looked around, everyone looked like they were the happiest they had ever been and that there was no other place in the world than right here. I had looked forward to this day for months now, and I was finally here. The banner overhead read “Welcome to Oktoberfest” and, with that, we walked through the doors.

I couldn’t believe the number of people that were packed into one single tent, and the amount of beer and food being consumed all around me. We fit right in with our freshly pressed dirndls and long braided hair. I was overwhelmed with joy as all around me people smiled, danced, and toasted to good times. Every so often, the band would start up again and sing an old German song—a call to drink of course—and it ended with the entire crowd chanting “Prost!” The men all wore aged leathery lederhosen, and the women were adorned with intricate dresses and bright, satiny ribbons. In every direction there was a woman walking with trays upon trays of steaming food: oven roasted turkey legs, whipped potatoes, freshly baked bread, and more. It was truly something out of only my wildest dreams and I had to just stand and stare for a while to process it all.

We made our way to the center of the crowd and stood in awe of the band and the people. It was one of the few times in my life that I had felt so small, yet it was almost empowering. I felt little in a good way, as if I was lucky to be one of so many people that were enjoying every last drop of life’s energy and happiness. It was as if at any moment, someone would shake me awake and tell me it had all been a dream. There’s something very rewarding about feeling so insignificant, because it allows you to step back and take everything in as it is happening. It provides perspective, an important reminder that you are certainly not the only person in the world and that at every second, no matter how sad or alone you feel, there is so much happiness in the world. There is great power in feeling small and I have felt it.

[agreyhoundingreece]

First Impressions Are Everything

Everybody’s parents have told them a million times that “first impressions are everything.” Though I may have dismissed many of the things my parents told me as a kid with an eye roll, this is one of the statements that I always took to heart and still find to be very true. In a new place with new people, there is so much to take in at once, yet few things really resonate in the mind when it is processing so much new information.

As a 20-year-old college student from a preppy Maryland university, you could say that studying abroad for a full semester in Athens, Greece is quite a distinct change for me. The jet lag isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy, the language barrier is more than daunting, and the constant warnings from parents and friends about how “dangerous” Athens would be are undesirable to say the least. Yet, I can confidently say that my first 9 days as an Athenian have been quite pleasant, and definitely edifying. So, stay tuned for a series of first impressions of a few of the many aspects of Athens and its fascinating Greek culture!

The People: Like every other place in the world, there have been a few less than welcoming folks at the various places I have been. Two or three grumpy workers aside, the people here seem to be extremely friendly and helpful. In particular I would like to note one kind older man in the local supermarket who recognized us as flustered English-speakers in a Greek store and said, “Smile, you are in the most beautiful country in the world. Welcome.” A small gesture, yet so very appreciated.

The Food: I cannot emphasize how amazing the food has been thus far. Everything here seems to be much fresher and always local, and the serving sizes are just perfect. Gyros and Spanakopita seem to be just around every corner, and there is definitely no shortage of fine wines. My roommate and I have even gone back to one restaurant in particular just to eat its chicken Souvlaki (a Greek staple) about three times now. That being said, there will definitely be one or more posts in the future dedicated entirely to food, so I won’t digress too much further into details of what and where I’ve eaten. For anyone who knows me well, the only complaint I really have is that I cannot seem to find a bagel of any sorts; but alas, this seems trivial in lieu of all the other fantastic new things I have tried!

The Culture: Unsurprisingly, there are many differences between American and Greek culture, and some can be very hard to adjust to. One thing I noticed right away was that no one here, and I mean literally no one, is ever on time. Being an extraordinarily punctual person, I have been quite annoyed on more than one occasion by everyone’s apparent lack of care for dates and start times. Things here are just slower in general, and there isn’t the same sense of urgency that everyone seems to have in the States. Just as strange for me is the fact that the night life here starts much later than at home. Here, it would be shocking if you entered a club at 11 and saw more than 5 people. The people are night owls, yet somehow also morning people (quite the feat if you ask me). They stand closer, they walk slower, and they might be a little loud, but I like them. And I think I’m going to like it here, too.