Greece

I had planned to be in Greece for two and a half weeks, but I left after only 4 days.  It's hard for me not to view that as some sort of failure on my part.  Like I did something wrong by cutting my time short in what is a undeniably beautiful country.

My first day exploring the beach near my hostel

Arriving in Greece was invigorating.  After arriving at the tiny airport on the island of Crete, I caught the bus into town.  We passed olive groves, open-air fish markets, signs in characters that were completely alien to me, and lots of flat roofed houses with Greek flags flying out front.  My senses were buzzing and I could not wait to begin to explore this new and fascinating country.

I met a group of wonderful travelers in the dorm and we immediately hit it off.  None of us knew anyone else, so we all went out to dinner together that evening.  It was the oddest assortment of countries covering everywhere from Pakistan to Sweden, and there was something quite poetic about the fact that not a single country was repeated in our group of nine.

Chania's harbor by day.  We ate dinner at a restaurant along the water

Dinner was wonderful.  I ordered grilled mushrooms which were slathered with olive oil and lemon. Simple but delicious.  We were served by the owner of the restaurant himself and even treated to free fruit, semolina orange cake, and alcohol after our meal.

The next day was spent exploring Chania (the main city of Crete) with my new international friends.  Chania has a wonderful Old Town and harbor and we spent some time just lounging by the bay, soaking in the sun and enjoying each other's company.

Chania's Old Town has the most wonderful, narrow streets

We asked locals for recommendations and found fresh cheese and local wine to bring back to the hostel for a backpackers feast.  A candle was fashioned out of the book binding thread I had (yes, I brought some) and some olive oil.  As the sun set behind the hotel, it was one of those moments I couldn't believe was actually my life.  It was like something out of a novel.  Sun soaked backpackers from completely opposite corners of the globe become fast friends over a delectable, locally produced meal.  Only days into my time in Greece, my trip felt luxuriously endless.  I had plenty of time to lounge around on the beach and explore many of the amazing sights Crete had to offer.

Our very, very local wine

And then I got sick.  Really sick.  So sick I could hardly move and couldn't even keep water down.

My roommates were so sweet about having a delirious, vomiting human in their midsts.  Through out the day they checked in on me periodically.  My English and Irish roommates brought me tea on multiple occasions.  My Polish roommate gave me medication in a package I could not read and advised that I take a shot of hard liquor.  My Swedish roommate cut up an apple for me and also made me tea.  Apparently tea can cure everything.

I woke up the next day with a wave of depression like nothing I'd experienced in a long time.  It knocked to my feet and for a second day I couldn't get out of bed but for a completely different reason.

The beach minutes from my hostel.  The most beautiful windflowers were blooming all over the island. 

Suddenly the smells, sights, sounds of Greece became too overwhelming for me.  I couldn't handle the pushy local restaurant owner or the frail-looking stray dogs that followed us everywhere.  The thought that I was hours away from home took the breath out of me and nearly everything made fat tears well up at the corner of my eyes.

I also woke up to the knowledge that my roommates had completely changed their travel plans and would be leaving that day.  In that moment, I realized two very important things about myself: that I don't let people in easily and I certainly don't let them go easily either.

The backpacker culture of meeting people, spending an intensive few days with them, and then jetting off to different corners of the globe doesn't sit well with me.  Yes, we're now friends on facebook, but the idea that I would have to do that over, and over, and over was too much.  Even worse was the thought I could end up at a hostel like the one I stayed at in Nuremberg where I hardly anyone would talk to me.

Even though I had yet to see the blue roofed houses of Santorini, the stunning pink sand beach hidden in a corner of Crete, or the Acropolis in Athens, I left Greece for London after only 4 days.

At the time I wasn't sad.  I was desperately homesick and all I could think about were the non stop flights from London to San Francisco flying out every day.  In hindsight, it's hard not to wish I had pushed through it, that I had stayed longer.  One thing I am struggling with my trip so far (among many things...) is not letting the regret get to me.  Already I feel like I have a list miles long of the things I missed, while the list of the things I did get to do seems much shorter.

But at the end of the day, I know I did what was best for me.  Flying to London was the right decision to take care of my emotional well being.  It's been over a week and only now am I recovering from the depression that took ahold after I got sick.

I don't want to define my time in Greece as either being all amazing-things-that-I-should-have-stayed-to-see or all horrible-I-was-miserable-and-sick-the-whole-time, because neither captures my time there.

There are spectacularly beautiful moments that I don't want to forget.  Like one night when myself and two of my roommates were going to sleep at the same time.  They shared how to say goodnight in their languages and after I turned out the light, my Polish roommate started talking about a cartoon he saw as a child with a Polish lullaby.  He pulled up a video on his phone of a claymation teddy bear wearing a nightcap and hesitantly sung the song in Polish while we drifted off to sleep.

But my time in Greece was undeniably challenging.  It was the most desperate emotional pain I've felt in years and as hard as that was to experience, I don't want to forget or wash over that either.

It is all a part of my experience.  Traveling is the most challenging, invigorating thing possibly that I've ever done.  Some days I feel on top of the world and never want it to end.  Other days I would seriously consider cutting off my own arm if it meant I could instantly be at home with my family.

I'm not sure where that leaves me for the rest of my trip.  I am equally scared by the thoughts that I might push myself to hard and go through another intense depression, or that I might keep myself too safe and miss out on some amazing experiences.  For now I am resting, fighting off another cold, and trying to experience as much of London as I can handle.

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