Every place in the world one visits, becomes one's own.
Greece is my calm seas, my 6.3 earthquake, delicious glasses of milk, mini-ice-cream bars we buy at the market after dinner. It is another place in the triumvirate of our marriage: Tony, me, Greece.
It is too many Greek salads, bad shrimp on the beach, and buying art from Nikolai with the stomach pains. Returning to help him pack up his wares, find he is fine, and wonder if he feigned the malady for a better sale.
Greece is loving refugees.
Greece is stopping for gas and an attendant fills the tank. When we assume we must clean the windows ourselves and do a horribly poor job, he takes the sponge/squeegy and puts us to shame.
It is the beggars vs. swindlers conundrum. Who is what, and what constitutes true need?
Greece is hiking and the surprise refugee refuse and ancient columns.
Greece is menus that leave you wondering...
Greece is found beauty on a dirty street.
The real Greece is driving to Molyvos in first and second gear on a dirt road that climbs to scary heights without guardrails, then feeling great relief when the road winds back down to the sea, then catching my breath when it rises to cliffsides again.
Greece is learning, listening, showing compassion for a challenged country whose people keep smiling.
Greece is rethinking freedom and blessings of peace.
Greece is now a part of me.