Greece: A Feast for the Senses

There are two kinds of people – Greeks, and everyone else who wish they was Greek.   – Gus Portokalos

My journey to Greece started approximately twelve years ago at a Greek-food festival. While attempting to dig into an enormous piece of baklava, flakes of filo dough rained down from my mouth as I closed it around the plastic fork. As one does, I looked up to see if fortune had smiled upon me and allowed this transgression to go unnoticed. Alas, it had not. I met eyes with the elderly Greek man seated across from me, just as a wide smile spread across his face. “It’s good, no?” he laughed. “Mmhmm!”I nodded, mouth stuffed with syrup, walnuts, and oh-so-flaky filo dough.

My love affair with Greek food continued, bringing me again and again to falafel stands, gyro joints, and to any event or restaurant promising stuffed grape leaves.

So when a friend asked if I’d like to accompany her to Greece – despite the fact that I had decided to stay in Germany and pinch my pennies – I said yes. When it comes to true love, no price is too great, no shore (or airport) too far.

Santorini wine after a long hike. Could life be any finer?

Twelve or more years in the making, I set my feet on sacred soil. When the waiter set two squat glasses on the table along with a half-liter of wine, and I took my first bite of grilled feta, I knew I had arrived in the cradle of culinary perfection.

Between creamy eggplant, the rich warmth of Santorini’s white wine, the nutty smoothness of a double Greek coffee (medium sweet), and eating an obscene number of olives, my taste buds found what they had hoped for and more.

Greek yogurt and Greek coffee. The breakfast of Olympians.

But Greece, I discovered, was an indulgence for all the senses. Despite some spring gusts of wind and rain, the smell of freshly sprung flowers filled the air around Athens’ ruins. The scent of garlic and spices wafted from open windows in the early afternoon in Santorini. Greek music streamed from car radios and cellphones. In a restaurant window, people joined hands and danced. The sun shone sparingly, but warmly, and the water washed coolly over my feet.

As much as a table full of mezethes was a feast for the stomach, the landscape was a feast for the eyes. Stony hills sprouted with flowers, olive trees reached their twisting branches skyward. Red beaches gave way to turquoise water, and colorful towns crept over the cliff-sides of a crescent shaped island. Dark clouds rolled across blue skies, casting their shadows upon ruins that have persevered through millennia.

My only complaint about Greece, is that the time was too short. Athens and Santorini gave us just a glimpse of what the country has to offer – just a sampling of the delicious food, the magnificent nature, the engaging culture, and the generous people. Yet, even in the short span of seven days, there are moments I will never forget.

We made some four-legged friends on our hike.

We had the good fortune of being invited into a Greek home for a meal. Every time I buy olive oil, I will remember the large jug that our hostess pulled from underneath the sink while explaining that it came from her father’s village by the sea.

When someone references ancient Greek mythology, I’ll remember that same generous woman driving us to the Temple of Poseidon and, as we stood upon the cliffs above the Aegean sea, retelling the ancient myths of how Athena and Poseidon fought for the affections of the soon-to-be Athenians. Or how King Aegeus threw himself into the sea from that very place after thinking his son, Theseus, had succumbed to the Minotaur.

The next time I happen upon a donkey, I’ll remember walking up the winding stairs from Fira’s old port in Santorini and being passed by a portly man astride a donkey – with three more in tow – as he pointed at me, repeated something I had no hope of deciphering, and finally handed me his hat and motioned towards the top of the cliff. I carried that dusty hat up the 500+stairs, and will never know the reason why. But I have faith that the donkey-man eventually retrieved it from where I placed it at the top of the path.

 

And when I search for spare coins or hidden bills in an otherwise empty wallet, I’ll think of the man at his ice cream stand who laughed when my friend and I both discovered we had no money on us and said, “It happens to the best families!”

Greece, like creamy yogurt covered in a sticky layer of the best honey you’ve ever tasted, was an indulgence. And it was one that I hope to have the fortune of indulging in again. In the meantime, you can find me wherever the stuffed grape leaves are.

 

 

When in Doubt, Ski

In case you missed the memo: I love diving. Just over a year ago, I took my first plunge, and I was hooked. After debating with myself the various theories as to why I like diving so much, I’ve narrowed it down to the neat looking, technical gear and all the cool stuff that lives in the ocean. There’s just something about being literally over your head in nature while breathing from your personal tank of air. The clear, warm waters and blazing sunshine of Indonesia didn’t hurt.

Safe to say, it has been somewhat of a jolt to go from this…

…to this.

I love Hamburg and all it has to offer by way of diverse cultures, delicious food, friendly people, international commerce, and maritime charm. But for someone who has spent the past eight years much closer to the equator, it’s sometimes hard not to get down during the damp, cold, gray winter.

Not one to admit defeat, I considered my options.

Option one: diving near Hamburg. While this would satisfy my desire for wearing some neat dive-gear, the cold, dark waters in and around Hamburg weren’t so exciting. Also, this is expensive.

Option two: flying to Indonesia. This would make both neat gear and beautiful waters available, but (while cheaper than from the U.S.), tickets to Indonesia are wildly out of my price range.

Option three: find a new hobby that includes neat, technical looking gear, lots of time outside, and is within my price range.

Enter: Cross-country skiing in Oberstdorf.

The tickets were cheap, ski-rentals were cheaper, and I had a four-day weekend calling me to the Alps. All signs pointed towards the snowy south, so I took a chance and “dove” in.

I’ve been a down-hill skier since the tender age of four, and I used to love all things winter, but I have to admit that I was a little nervous as I set out. Could I handle the cold? Despite my down-hill experience, would I be totally incompetent?

Yes, and yes.

 

Cross-country skiing is hard! And I was slow. Very slow. Little old ladies and eight year olds were passing me kind of slow. By the end of each day, my legs were so sore that I could barely struggle up the hill to the youth hostel. But because of all my effort and exertion, I stayed nice and warm in my layers of flannel.

More importantly, I LOVED it.

To be outside, working hard, pushing myself to meet new challenges while surrounded in some of God’s most beautiful, mountainous creation! There were moments when I just had to stop – sweating and panting – look around myself, and sigh, “Wow.”

There has been a lot of turmoil in the world as of late, and one of the things I loved about diving into the ocean’s depths was the peace and tranquility of watching sea turtles and parrot fish floating by and munching away on coral – so undisturbed by the surface and yet so inseparably connected to all of us.

This weekend, I rediscovered that same calming communion in the mountains. It is in the leafless branches and the ground sleeping beneath its covering of snow. It is in the birds singing as the sun warms their frozen trees and in the tracks of rabbits that have scurried across the fields.

We can feel it tugging at something deep inside us – like the roots of our souls are somehow connected to the roots of those mountains. It is grounding, and it is transcendent.

I discovered that the hole I was feeling in my heart in the absence of diving, was the absence of this connection. The city is exciting and engaging, but – for me – there is always a lack, something fundamental that is missing. Something found in forests and mountains, fields of snow and ocean reefs. It is to feel and to begin to comprehend that we are all a part of something much bigger, something much more alive.

 

Is it Christmas yet?

Imagine for a moment that you’re driving home for the holidays. You’re stuck in traffic, gifts are piled in the trunk, and the radio fills the car with old-timey carols and ads for deals at Best Buy. And then a voice breaks through the idling engines and jingling bells: “Are we there yet?”

And in similar fashion began the advent wreath right here in Hamburg, Germany.

The year was 1839 and Johann Hinrich Wichern was pastor of the Rauhes Haus mission school. Every day the children would ask him if it Christmas yet, and Wichern (like generations of parents have aspired to do before and after) devised a clever way to end the nagging. He fashioned the first ever advent “wreath” out of an old cartwheel by turning it on its side and affixing 24 small red candles and four large white candles. Each day of the week, a small red candle would be lit – except on Sunday, when a white candle was set ablaze.

A large wreath hangs in St. Michael’s Church, Hamburg

Red and white candles harken back to the original Wichern’s original wreath.

A large wreath outside city hall.

Eventually, evergreen boughs were added and the candles were reduced to only four, for the household sized wreaths we know today.

Whether simple or ornate, many candles or few, the advent wreath is a fun and meaningful way to count-down to Christmas.

We all have unique holiday traditions, but there are also many that we share. The tradition of the advent wreath can be found in many countries in homes, churches, and even public spaces. It is something that teaches us to bring light into darkness, to look forward to the future, and to connect with those near and far. And to learn that it all started right here in Hamburg was a real Christmas treat!

A Holiday Interlude

It’s my favorite time of year, and I can resist the blog-itch no longer!

But before we dive deep into the vortex of candles, spiced wine, gingerbread, and all the carols our little lungs can sing, an interlude…

Some of you may have been wondering where I’ve been these past few months. To answer that question, we need to go back almost exactly half a year.

Paradise.

After concluding my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Indonesia (and a short stop in the paradise of Raja Ampat, Papua), I hopped over to Australia. Ever the adventurous woman, my mom met me in Sydney. We took in the vibrant metropolises of Sydney and Melbourne, brushed up on Australian history in Adelaide, toured the vineyards of the Barossa Valley, rode the rails into the rainforest, ate wattleseeds, ooh-ed and aww-ed over tiny penguins (and kangaroos and koalas), shivered in the mountains, saw whales from the top of a lighthouse, discovered glow worms (and millions of stars) in the forest by night, and dove the Great Barrier Reef. Just to name a few highlights.

Our hearts were warm, but our teeth were chattering.

It was a trip of a life time, and a truly extraordinary experience to share as mother and daughter.

But it certainly wasn’t the end of the summer’s adventures!

After two weeks back in Gainesville, my parents and I joined my aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin’s wife in Alaska. ALASKA. Talk about dreams coming true.

Moose Family!

I grew up tracking the Iditarod every year, and becoming a dog musher was my childhood aspiration. Anchorage, Denali, and Juneau delivered on sled dogs, glaciers, moose, bears, caribou, foxes, beaver dams, and some darn delicious king crab. We traveled by plane, car, boat, and then train, arriving in Whitehorse, Canada.

Another trip of a life time, and another irreplaceable memory of time with family.

The family that travels together…

Then I was in Spokane for a few days with more cousins, back to Florida for three days, and finally we set out on the last installation of the marathon summer: driving up the east coast to our old stomping grounds in New York and back. Along the way we visited friends and family, which (after more than two years) was some honest-to-goodness chicken soup for the soul.

Good times with good friends – we’ve come a long way from middle school!

All this to say that I am now in Germany – surprise! I arrived in mid-September, and have been working as an English Teaching Assistant via the Fulbright Commission. That’s a fancy way to say that I help English teachers out in their classrooms in exchange for paid living expenses and a great excuse to spend a year in Germany.

Now that you’re all up to date on the happenings of the past six months, we can move on to the important stuff: German Christmas.

But before sending a post your way that is full of holiday cheer and all things beautiful, let me address one more question.

Why?

Why travel? Why spend more than two years in Indonesia only to pop over to Germany? Why so many trips in one summer?

First, I need to point out that I understand my ability to travel is a great privilege. I have benefited from the taxes that many of you pay in order to live and volunteer abroad. I have also received help from my family and friends along the way. These are both gifts for which I am immensely grateful, and I hope that the work I have done and will continue to do to encourage better education and international cooperation will act as my gift in return.

In the end, it’s quite simple. I travel because it connects me to people and the world we all share. At the risk of getting a little cliché, I believe that peace with one another, peace with our world, and peace within ourselves starts with stepping out our doors, meeting our neighbors near and far, and respecting and delighting in the natural world.

Ok, I admit it…probably about 50% of my interest in travel is related to food. You caught me! (But seriously, there are international delights to discover right in your own community, like this Ethiopian food I tried in Spokane. Spoiler: it was amazing.

Understanding different perspectives, both human and ecological, help all of us live together with greater harmony and dignity.

These principles apply to all people and environments which lie outside our daily spheres. They can be located across the world, but also across the street.

In a time when many seem willing to withdraw from global conversations about poverty, war, and our environmental impacts, I hope that the spirit of travel will continue to work inside each one of us so that we may connect with the individuals, cultures, creatures, and ecosystems that all deserve a voice in shaping our world.

Alaska