Confessions of a first-time international traveler: Greece, Part 1

So, our two dear followers, you may wonder why we haven’t updated our blog in nearly two years. We are, indeed, somewhat ashamed. But we were busy getting married, working, living life, and … okay, we forgot about our blog.

But today is a lucky day indeed, a day we rekindle the blog. And now it is no mere cooking blog (not that cooking blogs aren’t awesome). No—now we will share with you the tale of our first international vacation, and maybe you’ll get a few chuckles, maybe you’ll be inspired, or maybe you’ll think we’re idiots.

We decided to visit Greece in a most educated way—we read a stranger’s blog that informed us Greece was in a financial crisis and everything would be cheap.

…this wasn’t entirely true. But it was enough to inspire our eager adventurous spirits to plan a 10-day quest. I pored over travel websites, ordered travel books, followed Pinterest boards of Greece photos and learned way more about Greece than was necessary for our visit. Quite honestly, I wasn’t being kept busy enough at work. I’ll blame that for part of my obsession. I discovered that I, the antithesis of a planner, was addicted to planning our trip to Greece. Despite all my planning, though, there were things that went far different from our plan.

Case in point: part one, our flights. We had ordered the cheapest available option for our flights – a string of layovers going from Minneapolis to Chicago, Chicago to Rome, and Rome to Athens. We were going to arrive at noon in Athens, be a little jetlagged, find our lodging and stay awake until bedtime.

That is, until the fateful delays. We learned the art of sleeping in airports, and discovered that Rome’s airport, after our initial delight finding things written in Italian, was some twisted form of hell. This is because:

1)     Rome’s airport has no adequate sleeping quarters.
2)     Rome’s airport has no water fountains.
3)     All the Alitalia (airline) staff seemed to not-so-secretly hate us.

Nowhere to stretch out besides the cold, grimy floor, and no water available unless we wanted to shell out multiple Euros. We were irrationally excited by our new shiny Euros, but not willing to make our initial purchases on WATER. For some reason, in our sleep-deprived, grimy state, buying water was the worst possible fate. So we rebelled, clinging to our empty water bottles, lips parched. We would not buy water.

Excuse the awful quality of this photo. But there I am, sleeping on an airport floor beneath a beach towel.

On a side note, our only glimmer of excitement was the inaugural stamp we got in our passports. Turns out, that’s just a number. Imagine my disappointment, expecting at least a fancy-lettered “Italy.” Nope… just numbers. And to add to my distress, my poor husband’s paralyzing fear of flying continuously shadowed everything.

I don’t even know what to say about the airline staff, except that when we got back home and found out Alitalia is teetering at the end of its airline life, we breathed a sigh of relief.

So at the end of the delayed airplane saga, we landed safely in Athens around 1 am (their time). In our Minnesota time, this was 9 am. Our poor little brains thought we were starting a new work day. Our moods lifted when we saw, there by the baggage claim, a water fountain! We decided that so far, Athens was a magical land that understood basic human needs far better than Rome.

But we weren’t quite there yet.

As I mentioned, the original plan was to arrive around noon. Now, at 1 am, we found ourselves panicking as we wheeled our luggage through the sleepy airport. Everything was shutting down for the night. Our initial plan, the metro, was no longer running. By some stroke of luck, we stumbled upon the bus station. Fortunately a bus was still running to the stop near the apartment we were going to rent. We hopped on.

We spent the whole ride in a broken conversation with two Greek women. They were trying to tell us something about the bus tickets. It must not have been too important, because we never figured it out and the bus still brought us to where we needed to go. One of them was kind enough to lend us a cell phone to call the owner of the apartment we were staying at. We weren’t really sure what would happen if we used one of our cell phones – it might explode. Or cost $20. Who knows. We also didn’t know how to dial European phone numbers. Luckily, we never had to actually dial a phone number while we were in Greece. Playing dumb worked most excellently.

At a little after 2 am, we were dumped off at the Syntagma Square station. A few stray dogs and late-night groups still out on the town were wandering around. We managed to locate our street, by asking a few teenage girls in clubbing attire. Ermou Street was lined with high-end clothing shops, all closed down for the night. The cobblestones and our heavy wheeling suitcase made for a deafening announcement of our presence. All the slightly-drunk wanderers and stray animals stared at us noisy lost Americans as we clunked by.

After several blocks of racket and embarrassment, there was our turn—into a dark, ominous alleyway. Exchanging glances, we ventured into the dark behind a row of shops. Standing by an old, weathered door, eagerly gesturing to us, was a large Greek man. I really hoped that was our guy.

Thankfully, it was Fotis, our host. He greeted us in a thick accent and opened the battered door. A little concerned, I saw that the interior was equally grungy. He instructed us to take the elevator to the second floor, and started shuffling up the stairs. That seemed weird.

Disclaimer: I think both of us have been elevator-sheltered all our lives. Upon returning home, everyone else seemed to know about this type of elevator. But to us, it was foreign and horrifying.

This is the elevator, and how I felt about it.

The elevator, first of all, wouldn't open. It looked like a tiny folding closet door. We stared at it, waiting for it to slide open. Fotis, having shuffled halfway up the stairs, turned and saw us looking stupid. Patiently, he plodded back down the stairs and manually pushed the door open for us. We eagerly crammed ourselves into what must have been a 2x2 foot square space, punched "2" and waited. Nothing. Fotis tried not to smirk and pushed the tiny door closed for us. After a pause, we finally went up. It stopped and we waited for the door to slide open. Apparently we're slow learners. A few moments later, Fotis manually pulled the door open for us and ushered us down the hallway. 

I'm happy to report that the apartment was lovely inside, and Fotis was a wonderfully patient host. Slightly delusional and surprisingly not feeling jetlagged at all, we finally got to sleep in Athens around 3 in the morning. Day one: check.