My Greek is not very good. I speak a "lee-go" greek, meaning very little. But, I can tell I am improving by the age of the people I can talk to. At first, I could only talk to cats. I said "ya sou" to a lot of stray cats just to prove I could say "hi" in Greek. This was generally frowned upon by other people on the street, so I chose a new tactic-- talking to babies. Babies are easy, because all they can say is "ya sou," and that's all I can say back anyway. But in the past couple weeks, my Greek vocabulary grew. I could feel myself preparing to move on to the next level of conversation, a level that was achieved a few nights ago as I stood next to the metro station late at night waiting for my friends.

Continued…

I have received many American visitors during my time in Greece, and, as a result, I have visited the Acropolis seven times in two months. So when a friend stopped in for twenty four hours before his trip to Mykonos, he greeted me with a weird, but welcome, challenge: he did not want to see the Acropolis. My Greek pride kicked in and I was initially insulted, however, with a little brainstorming we developed an itinerary jam-packed with fun, tourist free activities. It went like this:

11 AM: Stop by a bakery, any bakery, and pick up patatopita. It’s the lesser known cousin of spanikopita, but it’s twice as addicting and terrible for you. 

Continued…

When traveling, one of my favorite activities is to visit a city’s supermarket. Seeing what junk food people eat, what soaps they use, and how much they pay for their groceries is a nice way to discover a place. The less obvious reason I like supermarkets in other countries is their anonymity. For example, I will never again have to see the cashier who rang up an embarrassing amount of bamba and aloe-chunk water in Israel. 

Continued…

I loved to cook before I lived in Greece for one summer. But then after living in the (not so) beautiful city of Athens, I realized that the heart to any culture is actually reached through its stomach. 

With that in mind, here are the top 5 culinary experiences you should have in the Mediterranean.

1) A horiatiki salad. Sure, it's only tomatoes, cucumbers, feta, and oil, but when a country actually grows these vegetables and doesn't believe in genetically modifying or overcharging for organics? Wow. Those vegetables actually have a taste!

*Cooking tip: Open air markets are the way to go.

2) Wine tasting. As students, we forget that wine is actually an art (it doesn’t always come out of a spout from the side of a box.) When you retire the red solo cup, please also retire that plastic wine glass.

3) Grilled Octopus. If you ever find yourself on a Greek island, be prepared to simply eat for the majority of your trip. If you order octopus, you very well may witness your waiter throw a rod into the sea next to the restaurant, pull out an octopus, and come back with that very octopus about 10 minutes later with a side of lemon. Get ready for the best seafood of your life.

4) Pizza. Naples. Need I say more?

Wait. I do need to say more. Find a hole-in-the-wall establishment that you haven't heard of. Dare to get lost and dare to eat without guilt.

5) Buy pasta in Italy and take it home to cook for your friends. Why is this a culinary experience? You have this one chance to be cooler than all of your friends. "Oh, this pasta? Just snatched a few extra bags on my way out of Siena."

Mangia, Mangia—φαε φαε—EAT EAT! You're in the Mediterranean, for goodness sake.

We hear it in the news—Greece: financial crisis, the edge of default, Euro near collapse, the brink of bankruptcy!

Continued…

   Stoic and jagged, this geological phenomenon has stood proudly for over 60 million years. They pop abruptly from the flat Thessaly plain, as surreal as if they were artificially inserted there in the soil. 

   Some see them as similar to the Grand Canyon, and others say they look like Mars, but they can only be known as Meteora: the monasteries that “float in the air.”

   They're a holy site, an old battleground, a monk’s haven, and a geologist’s dream. Rock climbers, artists, and simply quiet hermits linger here for the benefit of its peace.

   But for us, these rocks bring everything else to a halt. They are a sweet escape; the rat race can wait.

   Kastraki village is unspoiled—time stopped here long ago.  Kastraki’s air smells of a mixture of pine sap and smoked souvlaki. Pickup trucks cruise slowly through the town and kids throw dice on the Tavli board while old women carry baskets full of rosemary. Kastraki, a village untouched by mass tourism and commercialization, is the face of old-school Greece.

   Sydney hotel is a cozy stay, is accommodated well, and is directly across from the bus station that heads for the monasteries or Kalabaka.

   Once we arrive at our first monastery, we absorb the morning light and stillness of the scene.  The structure looks something out of a J.R. R. Tolkien story.  A fiery red shrub entangles the stairwell as we go up. We pay a 2 Euro fee, put on a provided skirt, and enter Saint Athanasius’s creation, the Grand Meteoro (standing since 1370). Taking a few steps up, I ponder the towering drop to the valley below. The tower, a feature since 1520, spews out a net once used to hoist up equipment and even monks.

   We stumble inside a dark kitchen, where old remnants of copper spoons, bowls, and cups hang. The museum harbors a collection of old Byzantine manuscripts, golden iconography, and romanticized battle scenes of the Greek independence and World War Two.

   I step outside to gaze over a balcony and gulp in the thin air. The light unsheathes semi-circular shapes and gnarly crevices on these sandstone giants. Though I am alone, the isolation fades as I soak in the energy around me.

   Meteora fosters a subjective divine—religious, spiritual, or atheist, the sight and place will give you chills.

GO.