The land of olive trees and wild figs
We just finished making Moussaka and I’m patiently waiting for it to come out the oven. It’s very dark, I can hear crickets and hounds in the distance and the stars are sparkling across a velvety dark sky. I’m writing from a hillside in Greece overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. I’ve been camping here for the last few nights, weeding the garden, angle-grinding metal pipes and cooking. Usually, when the workday is done, I join my German and Italian friends for a swim in crystal clear, turquoise waters that smell of salt and seaweed.
After I wrote to you last from Beirut, I hopped on a flight to Atheena and have been in Greece ever since. As my time here comes close to an end, I want to take some time to describe my experience and reflect on what I’ve learnt in the past month or so.
To me, Greece has a unique blend of eastern and western cultures. You can sense that you’re traversing across time and space as you walk through ancient Acropolis and temples as old as time, yet the city feels sleek and modern, stripped of any hint of the great empire that once was. Greece is a place where cultures collide among fields of olive trees, wild figs and grape vines. A complex and vulnerable equilibrium exists in those extremely diverse communities as a result of the country’s geography, making it the main gateway to Europe for most refugees and those seeking asylum from the Levant and wider Asia.
The people are kind and welcoming yet weathered and exhausted from decades of economic insecurity. They are very proud of their history, heritage, and language. You do get the feeling though that the place is pretending to be something it’s not, most obvious in hot tourist spots. It’s quite disingenuous because here you have a very culturally rich and diverse community actively diluting itself to appease to Nordic European tourists. But, there certainly is undeniable allure and magic hidden behind those perfectly white-painted buildings, further inland towards forgotten villages, off the beaten track.
A new travel style
As a first-time solo traveller, it took me a little while to get my shit sorted. I had a lot of decisions to make about what kind of traveller I wanted to be. Did I want to take busses or hitchhike? Couchsurf or stay in hostels? Eat in restaurants or stick to a diet of dried fruits and nuts?
For a couple of weeks, I experimented with different styles of travel. I gave away a lot of clothes and unnecessary items and made way for a sleeping bag and a matt instead. I stayed in a hotel that cost 20 Euro a night and felt a creeping sense of loneliness. I camped on an island and froze my ass off in the cold wind. I spent way too much time researching bus timetables only to end up hitchhiking, and I can safely say that I’ve now found my style. And I’d love to share with you what I’ve learnt so far.
Here are 10 lessons I learnt from my first month on the road:
- Trust your instinct: my intuition has been my guiding star, my true north if you will. I’ve found myself frequently having to make decisions about who to trust and to what extent, for example while hitch-hiking, and I’ve found that following my instinct has been the most reliable and fulfilling way to make these decisions. It hasn’t failed me yet!
- Less is more: backpacking on foot has taught me an invaluable lesson about what is truly essential for me to survive. My life now neatly fits into a 12.5kg-backpack, including my clothes, laptop, camping gear and a few bits and pieces. I’ve found having minimal clothes to be very comforting as I didn’t have to make constant decisions about what I’ll be wearing, which meant I could focus on more important things like where I should set up camp or how to get to the next town.
- Assume the best, expect the worst: as much as I’d love to believe that people have the best at heart, the reality is not so rosy. Some people, for one reason or another, have bad intentions. And I’ve learnt to assume that people have the best intentions, mainly to avoid being afraid and isolating myself, but at the same time I expect the worst, so that I’m ready in any scenario.
- Think local: Learning a few words in the local language goes a long way. Especially in villages and off the beaten track, people really appreciate the effort you put in to learn some basic words in their language. I think it’s a sign of respect to tradition and culture wherever we are in the world. This is also why I choose to couch surf when I can’t camp. In the past month, I got to meet some incredible people who have offered me tremendous help in the form of accommodation, food, local tips, rides and one even gifted me their old tent when mine fell apart.
- Keep your feet on the ground: While travelling though, lots of things can go wrong. You can miss the bus, or maybe it just never showed up. Your water bottle can leak in your bag and drench your passport. You might leave your wallet behind at a reception desk. You’ve probably already guessed it, but all these things have already happened to me. What matters most is my reaction to these challenges, and when I reacted in a grounded and calm way, there was no catastrophe. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I just keep my feet flat on the ground, look up to the sky and breathe, resting in the knowledge that no matter where I am and what is happening around me, I will always have my breath to get me through.
- It’s ok to feel lonely. Travelling solo has proven difficult at times, and I’ve definitely felt loneliness creeping in a couple of times. But I’ve been focusing on challenging the stigma of loneliness and sitting with the emotions as they rise, and then watching them float away after a while. Loneliness is not failure, it’s not forbidden, it’s simply an emotion that rises because of certain triggers and dissipates if we give it the space it requires.
- Stay flexible: in our everyday life, we have a lot of control over our environments and how we spend our time, but that’s not necessarily the case on the road. Some opportunities might come up unexpectedly, maybe you meet someone you connect and decide to travel together, maybe you find a really beautiful village and decide to stay for a while and pause your plans. I’ve found it really empowering to be flexible with my plans and give life the space it needs to teach me something new and lead me somewhere spectacular. We can’t experience this magic when we’re following a rigid schedule and constantly on the go.
- It’s the little things. On the road, you’re completely outside of your comfort zone most of the time. I’ve learnt that it’s the little things that comfort me and make me feel grounded and at home. Things like warm socks on a rainy day, reading a book with a cuppa, olive oil skin moisturizer, a small hello from a street vendor, the morning sunlight on my face. I’ve come to appreciate things that I often take for granted, and even though I have less, I feel more fulfilled and satisfied.
- Be a traveller, not a tourist: I read somewhere that the difference between tourists and travellers is that tourists want to escape life, and travellers strive to live it. That rings very true to me as I can clearly see the difference between those who are “on vacation” and those who are travelling to explore the culture and essence of a place. Slowly, I stopped going to touristic attractions without feeling fomo, not because I wanted to be hip and cool, but because I realised that the experiences I’m seeking simply don’t exist in places designed for people to escape their life and get pampered to.
- Capitalism is failing people everywhere. From villages on Mt Zeus on the island of Crete, to the bustling town centre in Damascus, capitalism is failing people everywhere. We are clearly living in a late-stage capitalist society that is forcing millions of people into poverty globally, and I believe that we will witness its collapse within our lifetime. The face of the resistance is quite similar everywhere I’ve been so far, with young people at the front lines, a generation without a clear future or a path forward. Amongst most travellers I met on the road, there seems to be a shared feeling of desperation and hopelessness of a viable future, wether it be because of eminent climate catastrophe, the threat of an economic collapse or geopolitical conflict, young people everywhere seem to have had enough. This mindset is dangerous for the sustainability of this system, because when you don’t believe in a future to work for, you have nothing to lose, and you live for the moment. We might see a generation of free-thinkers and entrepreneurs like we’ve never seen before, a generation that might actually just smash the system and pull it out from its rotten roots.
A most unlikely travel companion.
Yerjo is an 84 year-old man from Switzerland travelling around Greece on his bicycle. He’s got one of the most contagious smiles you’ll ever see, with eyes as clear and as deep as the Mediterranean Sea. I met Yerjo on my first night on the island of Naxos. I had arrived at the island late and decided to camp for the night, but the wind was atrocious so I had to buy a very over-priced low-quality tent and set up at the first open campground close to the ferry port.
I met him in the morning. I was surprised to see someone else camped, as the tourist season hasn’t started yet and the weather was certainly a massive deterrent. But there he was, preparing his coffee with this big smile of his. He said good morning to me in every language he knew until we got to English, and he offered me a seat. Later that afternoon, we randomly caught up on the beach and he invited me to dinner, where we shared three massive plates of steamed greens, fried potatoes in oil and garlic and massive white cannelloni beans that were cooked to absolute perfection in tomato sauce and doused in olive oil.
Over dinner, Yerjo recalled significant events of his life story. His wife had died 7 years ago, the same year that his only son passed. He’d been a mechanic and an architect, but “not for the rich”. He is an anarcho-socialist with a rich history in activism and alternative living. He’d been raised by two fathers, and was convinced that the human heart had an endless capacity for love. His eyes glistened when he talked of his various adventures and, most phenomenally, when he talked about his dreams and adventures which were yet to come.
We finished our dinner after the sun had set over the horizon, and I had the urge to build a fire on the beach to welcome the rise of a full moon. He joined me in collecting wood for the fire and began to light the fire in a most attentive and gentle way. He laid next, pressing his face close to the flames, and I thought I could see tears gently falling down his cheeks.
As I write, he is cleaning an old table he found at the far end of the campsite, preparing a big tomato salad with produce he got from a farm on his morning bike ride which followed his 6am Tai-Chi practice. There is a bouquet of flowers on the table, wildflowers he collected and gifted me this morning after my scuba dive.
In an odd way, I feel like I relate to Yorje more than young people I meet in hostels. We went on many adventures together, cycling and swimming and hiking. He’s my first travel companion on this trip, and is a brilliant example of the magic that travel can bring if you open your heart and remain open.
Where to next?
As I wrap up my journey in Greece, I’m feeling grateful and fulfilled. There is so much yet to explore, so many islands and hidden villages to visit and history to uncover, but alas my visa in Europe is only good for three months at a time and it’s time for me to move on. I will be heading to Albania next, accompanied by a new friend I made, and I think it’s going to be a blast. Can’t wait to tell you all about it!
love and solidarity,
Nathalie
Written from: Sarande, Albania
Next stop: Tirana, Albania