Yesterday was a delightful Sunday, spent with my host mom, and one of my last here in France. I have reached the point where everything is a last this or a last that: my “last day trip”, my “last day at the radio station”, or even my “last baguette” (sad day that will be). Weird how quickly that snuck up on me, although I guess I always knew it would happen. Let me back up a little though, and tell about my “last big trip” to Greece…
Katie and I were lucky enough to be able to sneak in a weekend in Paris, before flying out of Paris Orly airport to Athens, thanks to a friend who was generous enough to let us stay with her for a few days. Our stay was brief but fun-filled nonetheless, and was full of “firsts” for a change. I had my first picnic in front of the Eiffel Tower and walked around neighborhoods in the city I never even knew excited. It becomes almost like a game everywhere I go—find the places the least tourist-infested, where the locals hang out and I start to get a real sense of where I am. While I admit it doesn’t get much more touristy than la tour Eiffel, we had a blast riding our bikes from Montrouge to the 7ème arrondissement, our bike baskets filled with baguettes, pastries and champagne.
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| En route to the Eiffel Tower! |
After our impromptu “weekend trip before the trip” in Paris, we boarded our 6 AM flight to Athens. At the risk of sounding cheesy, I have to admit that Greece was everything I hoped it would be and more. I’ve been wanting to go for quite some time now and this year I finally had my chance. Determined to have a relaxing and stress-free vacation, I made sure we didn’t waste any time getting to one of the islands (I didn’t care which one), where we would proceed to lay out on the beach for 6 days straight. I wanted this vacation to be less about running around like a crazy person to every monument, stopping only to pose for a picture in front of each landmark, and more about relaxing and enjoying the simple pleasure of lounging on a beach somewhere. When I explained all of this to Michèle, she told me it was very “American” of me to go to Greece just to lay on the beach. I didn’t care though, my mind was made up and this was what I wanted to do! Of course I knew it would be a crime not to at least stop and see the Acropolis, no matter how quickly we were passing through Athens. So, like good tourists, we made our way up to the famous ruins, backpacks and all, only to find out it was closed. The one day we had to spend in the capital happened to be Easter Sunday, only the most important holiday for the Greek Orthodox Church. We were disappointed, but still made the best of the situation by just walking around, exploring the city and eating lots and lots of Greek food!
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| The next best thing to actually visiting the Acropolis: a picture in front of it! |
After a six-hour ferry ride, we arrived in Santorini around 1 am. We had our doubts, but Stavros himself (owner of the hostel we had chosen to stay at) was there to pick us up, as promised in an email. Exhausted, we somehow managed to find this large, Greek man waving his sign, “Stavros Villas”, in the midst of the chaos of the crowd coming off the boat and all the other hotel owners waving their signs. He greeted all five of us warmly, shaking our hands and cheerfully introducing himself, before he proceeded to usher us over to the hotel mini van. We arrived at the hostel about a half hour later, after winding our way into the darkness, up the side of the island’s cliffs.
I will never forget waking up that first morning and stepping outside the door of our “5 person suite”, where we had all collapsed into our beds the night before. The view was breathtaking. The white washed buildings against the backdrop of clear blue water that I always saw in pictures were right in front of me! Each morning we were there, I jumped right out of bed and put my swimsuit on, ready to spend the day at a different beach. By the end of the trip I had my routine down. Before anyone else was awake, I would head over to the common room/reception to check my email and Stavros would come over with a big smile and a steaming cup of coffee (I didn’t have the heart to tell him I don’t drink coffee). Out of all the places I’ve been, Greece has by far the most friendly, and hospitable people I’ve ever met. After my morning chat with Stavros and a nice cup of coffee to kick off the day, most everyone else would be up and ready to take off in our rental car (courtesy of Tony’s, where Stavros got us a “special price”). We saw some beautiful beaches, but my favorite was the “Red Beach”, named for the reddish color of the surrounding cliffs.
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| Although the photo doesn't do it justice, here's the view outside our window. I could get used to waking up to this :) |
At night, we would either eat at one of the many small, family-run restaurants near our hostel, or make our own food with what we had bought at the grocery store in town. There seemed to be one key ingredient in common with all the food we ate: olive oil. Never in my life have I consumed as much olive oil as I did during that week in Santorini. We dipped our bread in it, drizzled it on our Greek salads, poured it on just about anything and everything. If it weren’t for the fact that my luggage consisted of a carry-on backpack, I would have brought home about 80 bottles. Our restaurant dinners were as much about the experience as they were about the food. The place we ate at the first night had hands-down the friendliest staff that gave us their undivided attention and free dessert (Greek yogurt and fresh fruit). The second place was great too: the whole operation was run by a very old Greek man and his wife. He didn’t speak a word of English, and ignored our orders for the most part. I pointed to something on the menu and he shook his head and brought me something else; a similar exchange took place for everyone else in our dinner group. Normally this wouldn’t be considered good service, but we all loved our dishes, even if it wasn’t what we had originally ordered.
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| Katie and I at the Red Beach! |
Arriving at this charming little town, we soon realized finding a place to park would be no easy feat; there were people and cars EVERYWHERE. Guess a few other people wanted to spend their Sunday strolling through the antique market in the sun too. After driving around for a while with no luck, Michèle spies a miniscule “spot” in front of a few trash cans. Yes, her car is small, but I don’t know if this tiny gap in between two cars, half taken up by two large trash bins, could be considered an actual place to park. She made it happen. She tapped the car in front of us as she was straightening out, and I had to crawl out the door on her side, but she did manage to wedge her car in the spot, European style. We were free to go antiquing to our heart’s desire!
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| Antiques galore! |
It was a perfect day of bonding, filled with French conversation. We walked around together, commenting on how outrageous all the prices were and laughing as we poked fun at each other. Away from home this year, I spent Mother’s Day with my “host mother”. How fitting. Smiling, I told Michèle this only to find out that “Mother’s Day” isn’t actually until the end of May here in France. Who knew?
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| L'Isle sur la Sorgue with Michèle! I look like a giant... |
So here I am with less then two weeks to go, classes to wrap up, and several more “lasts” to experience. Well not really “last lasts” since I already know I’ll be back...
