Your Traveling Tourist

Today I passed some tourists and chuckled to myself. With their backpacks, guidebooks, and cameras I felt like a local compared to them. It’s when I open my mouth to try to buy something at the market that the real locals chuckle. I did end up walking away with what I wanted (cheese, chicken, prunes, pears, pomegranate, and some weird looking yellow thing), but it was not easy.

This past weekend I embraced the tourist in me and went to the small town of Kalambaka with my friend Paige. The more we break out of our comfort zone and take the buses hours outside of Thessaloniki, the more quickly we become acclimated to our surroundings. We easily found our hotel, bought our return bus tickets, and eventually started hiking.

We made it up some giant rock formations as we neared several monasteries and nunneries in the area called Meteora. It looks as if they were just plopped on top of the rocks. They were built there for the monks and nuns who were fleeing for safety. Now they are open to the public.

The first day we hiked up to the Agias Traida (Holy Trinity) and got as far as the door to find it was closed. Major bummer, but it was from up there that we spotted another girl hiking along in a bright yellow hat. She met us as we came down and ended up joining us as we headed off to the nunnery nearby. In order to get in, Paige, Caoimhe (pronounced Keefa), and I had to pay two euros and don the skirts provided. Inside, it was intricately decorated with beautiful detailed paintings along all of the walls of saints and what I assume are biblical stories (though very few looked familiar). Nuns still live there today in fact and came in and out of the rooms we were visiting.

We walked back down to the town to enjoy a nice meal of gyros and baklava before turning in for the night. Our hotel balcony looked out to the rocks and the mountains, which was lit up at night. It was incredible to open the door and see such gorgeous rock formations. The three of us started the next morning early and went up to the top once more to go inside the Great Meteora!

After finding that monasteries and nunneries were all essentially the same on the inside, we opted to only hike to them instead of going inside them. Due to the wind and our growling stomachs, we headed back to town for another meal and got to hear all about Caoimhe and her travels. Originally from Australia, she was on fall break from teaching music in a primary school in London. She seemed to know everything about all of our upcoming destinations. It was great to meet her and hear of the places we just had to visit.

Our four-hour bus ride took us to Thessaloniki just in time for a toga party in our building with the rest of the American study abroad students missing out on Halloween. That counts as Greek culture right? We fit right in now.

Srbija in Five Minutes

Yesterday I returned on the train with my backpack, a new scarf, and all sorts of new stories to tell. Serbia was far from what I expected, but absolutely beautiful. I had no idea what I was getting myself into though.

Belgrade had huge gaping holes in some of the downtown buildings from when we bombed them ten years ago. They also had a lot of French architecture and beautiful parks. We ate pastries for about every meal, and I think I gained ten pounds.

Petrovac Na Mlavi is where I spent the majority of my time in Serbia, which is a quaint small town of about 10,000 people. It was there that I was treated with such hospitality, far beyond words, by people in the community and by one family in particular. I could not say “thank you” enough to two girls – Kacha and Marija as they introduced us to the culture and welcomed us into their home.

We met with the mayor one morning and high school students another. Everyone seemed to want to know about the Americans and show that they weren’t like what we may have seen on the news. I’m not exactly sure how they were represented on the news ten years ago, but they certainly were well represented this past week.

I greatly enjoyed my time in Serbia, but was also happy to return “home” to Greece, where I have my own bed (I shared with two other girls), a heater that works (ours didn’t and we woke up in the middle of the night to sparks flying and a room full of smoke), and the freedom to set my own schedule (as opposed to someone else’s agenda). All in all, it was a good way to spend fall break.

Interesting people you’ve never met

Tomorrow I am getting on a 17-hour train to Belgrade, Serbia. From there I will see some sights, perhaps make a guest appearance at Parliament, and then get on a bus for a few hours to a much smaller town called Petrovac na Mlavi.

Why? Well, this next week is fall break, so I am going to a country I never had even heard of before coming here. It will certainly be interesting. I am going with my friends plus some others, totaling to 10 study abroad students. Our leader? Igor. To help us get acclimated to the culture, this Serbian native (who also happens to live in our building) has prepared a 12-page booklet with phrases, tourist sites, and important information/instructions. While this seems nice, it is also a bit overwhelming. A few of us are a little worried he’ll try to take charge more than needed.

Regardless, it will be an experience that very few people will ever have, and for that I am excited. I am sure we will all stay safe, but feel free to pray for our travels as every new country has a certain element of unknown. Other than this 12-page packet and a Wikipedia search, Serbia is essentially full of unknowns to me. I’ll let you know how it goes next week!

Bible Times

On Saturday I was able to visit  one of the deciding factors for studying abroad in Greece. I, Samantha, walked on the road that Paul traveled on time and time again as he helped spread the gospel and encouraged churches. My friend Paige and I took the bus about three hours from Thessaloniki to the city of Philippi, located in between Kavala and Drama. This was the place where the book of Philippians was written. This is where Paul first met Lydia, the first Greek convert. This is where Paul was in prison. This is where early Christians met.

We first made a stop in Kavala and walked around the city which a port city about the same size as Des Moines. It wasn’t until I was there that I realized I missed being in a city that size. Thessaloniki is much larger, while it is not Shanghai, it doesn’t have that nice community feel to it. Kavala was like a little taste of home, only it happened to have a castle. We enjoyed the scenery and got a little fruit at the open market, which again reminded me a lot of the Des Moines Farmers’ Market.

After almost missing the three buses we had to take to get there and then not knowing exactly when to get off, we finally arrived. As students studying in a European school, we went in free – bright-eyed and full of excitement. As soon as we walked around the corner to see the giant theatre we were jumping and yelling, pointing in every direction .

It was like walking in a Bible museum, except for we could touch the stones, climb the walls, and of course, didn’t have to whisper. There is no real way to describe how neat it was. All I can say now is, we were there.

More photos at www.flickr.com/growingabroad

More photos at www.flickr.com/growingabroad

More photos at www.flickr.com/growingabroad

The Exciting Lives we Lead

For those of you wondering – I am thoroughy enjoying my time here in Greece. Not only is it warmer (!) and absolutely beautiful, but I know I am growing. As I force myself to fit into awkward social situations or challenge myself to go beyond what I originally thought I was capable of achieving, I can feel my understanding and personal depth stretching. I get the same satisfaction from this as I do from sore muscles the day after a long hike. Each day I learn something new or push myself a little farther, whether it has to do with Greece and its culture or by reading the Word or playing the ukulele in my room.

In that same breath, I am learning quite quickly that being adventurous comes at a cost. As you might have guessed, I mean more than merely financial costs, although that is true too. I miss being with people at home. I miss shopping at the grocery store and knowing what to buy. I miss the independence that owning a car provides. I miss going to an actual church service. But, I know that this adventure is a temporary thing and am comforted by that fact.

I talked to my English professor today when I went in to talk about our upcoming paper. She spoke so highly of my writing, which I found to be very flattering, and then she asked me how I was doing being here in Greece. Overall, I have found this to be a very positive experience and told her of my upcoming plans to travel to Serbia next week. Then I returned the question.

My teacher has lived in Greece for 16 years now. Previously she had lived in Ohio, but her husband was Greek and had apparently wanted to return so she and their two sons came with him. She said it had been hard to adjust and is a continual adjustment. Although she only talked for a few minutes, it was evident there was deep sorrow as she spoke about it. She had never realized just how much of a sacrifice she was making when she left. Her whole family is in the States, but now she feels as if she doesn’t have a real “home” there or here. She said both of her sons grew up without finding their place in Greece. She hopes they move somewhere that is a better fit, but then knows she will miss them and be without them. Now she’s stuck, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some serious regret about being adventurous in the first place.

Counter Exchange

Today, in honor of one of my many days off of school, I set out to tackle some long overdue errands. One of which, included going to the bank to exchange U.S. dollars for Euros. Much to my dismay, I checked the currency rate online before leaving to confirm that the Euro is ridiculously expensive.

Now, banks in Greece are not like the ones in the U.S.  Instead, they have even shorter bank hours and worse customer service. You better believe there is no drive-thru either. In fact, it’s frustrating just trying to manage to get through the doors.

I’ve been to the bank once before, but otherwise much prefer the many ATMs scattered throughout the city. Open from about 9 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., banks are constantly facing a long line. To enter the building, you must push a button and wait for the door to be unlocked by the receptionist. Then you find yourself trapped in a small glass foyer, stuck between the two locked doors. You then must push the button again and wait for the door to unlock before pushing it open. Finally inside, you can take a number and wait.

When I got there today around 1:30 p.m., they were serving number 257 and I was number 279, and therefore had awhile to gaze at the Greek posters, presumably about setting up a bank account. By the time my number was buzzed and flashed across the screen, I was certainly ready to exchange my money and get out of there.

“Milas anglika?” (Do you speak English?)

“Nay, what do you need?”

This is one of the many confusing parts about the Greek language as “nay” means “yes” and “ohee”, which sounds “okay” actually means “no”. Oh, and if you nod your head once in an upward motion, that also means “no”.

Anyway,  he spoke English perfectly, and bonus – was actually nice. Greek people aren’t always the most approachable and tend to be rather stand-off-ish, some might even consider them rude. Of course, I have met some exceptions, but it certainly isn’t the Midwest. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to exchange money and directed me to another teller, who, not surprisingly, had a line of four other people waiting.

By the time she got to me, she was saying a bunch of things in Greek to the other people in the line behind me and I wasn’t sure what was going on. I asked her the same question, but she did not speak any English. My Greek currently can only get me as far as, “where are you from?”, which wasn’t exactly useful in this situation. Apparently, you need your passport to exchange money. I had considered bringing it but was able to exchange money last time without it and the girl across the hall from me had her wallet stolen in that same area last week. I really didn’t want to risk it. The lady said several more things in Greek and looked at me like I was stupid.

So, after all of that, I walked over to push the buttons to get out of the bank, American money still in hand.

Never Imagined I Would be Here

This past weekend I took my adventures to new heights, literally. Saturday morning started off a little rainy and quite foggy. I had no idea what to expect as we got off the bus and grabbed our backpacks. Much to my amusement, the bathrooms were just like the ones in China. For some reason I thought I’d never see a squatty potty again, but had I thought wrong. As I filled my water bottle, I gazed up at the mountain I’d be climbing for the next two days – Mt. Olympus.

After a group picture with 50 other study abroad students from my school in Greece, we started the climb. Of course I wanted to keep pace with my friends, but before long we were all in different places in the group. Never have I climbed something so big, or mountainous for that matter. For the first several hours as I breathed heavily and sweat through all of my layers, it seemed more like an advanced hike in the woods. There were trees everywhere, which distracted me from the fact that I was going up an actual mountain. I prayed a lot and sang in my head often to keep going. The path got steeper, and it got tougher to keep a steady pace. As the altitude level raised I stopped every so often to catch my breath or drink some water.

Finally, I reached the lodge where we would be staying the night. I felt such a relief and sense of accomplishment knowing I had made it so far (and wasn’t last to arrive, but in the middle of the group). We ate and sat by the fire, feeling rather proud. After a long night of silly chatter from the room next door, we awoke to the lights turning on automatically at 6 a.m. for a breakfast of three slices of bread for a shocking 4 euros. Thanks to the location of the lodge, we didn’t exactly get to shop around for the best deal. Before I knew it we were climbing again despite however sore our bodies may have felt.

This time, we were undoubtedly climbing a mountain. By no means was it a stroll through the woods, not even with a strong imagination like mine. I felt like a goat, only less agile. The trail consisted merely of loose rocks. One slip and it’d be a whole new journey deep down to the valley below. Somehow I ended up in the front of the group along the narrow and steep climb. Between the glances I took to my left and my right and the knowledge of my tendency to fall, I found myself suddenly very afraid of heights. My breathing quickened as I pushed myself to keep the quick pace of everyone else as we went higher and higher, nearing the top.

My limit had been reached. Mountain climbing was not something I was used to, nor something for which I was prepared. I took my opportunity and scooted to the side and sat on a rock as others passed. Allowing myself to breathe, I calmed my scared self by the time most of them had continued by me. I got up and resolved to continue. From that point on, anything further was more than I thought I could do and something to be counted as a personal success. I caught up to the group and reached the lookout point. It was beautiful, and I was so glad to have made it. From there everyone was splitting into two groups – one to the very top, to the summit, and the other group to another point at about the same height as where we were. It was then that I realized I was given the opportunity to enjoy the mountain. A friend and I didn’t join either group. We took in the area around us, took pictures, and carefully made it down the slippery rocks.

Although it was not my original plan, I am so glad it was the route I took. The most frustrating part about the trip was that the pace was set in order to reach the top as quickly as possible. That’s not exactly my style. I got to take my time on the way back to the lodge and enjoy the subtleties amongst the greatness of the mountain. Mt. Olympus was another one of those experiences to add to the list of “I’ll never forget it.”

This past weekend I took my adventures to new heights, literally. Saturday morning started off a little rainy and quite foggy. I had no idea what to expect as we got off the bus and grabbed our backpacks. Much to my amusement, the bathrooms were just like the ones in China. For some reason I thought I’d never see a squatty potty again, but had I thought wrong. As I filled my water bottle, I gazed up at the mountain I’d be climbing for the next two days – Mt. Olympus.

After a group picture with 50 other study abroad students from my school in Greece, we started the climb. Of course I wanted to keep pace with my friends, but before long we were all in different places in the group. Never have I climbed something so big, or mountainous for that matter. For the first several hours as I breathed heavily and sweat through all of my layers, it seemed more like an advanced hike in the woods. There were trees everywhere, which distracted me from the fact that I was going up an actual mountain. I prayed a lot and sang in my head often to keep going. The path got steeper, and it got tougher to keep a steady pace. As the altitude levels raised I stopped every so often to catch my breath or drink some water.

Finally, I reached the lodge where we would be staying the night. I felt such a relief and sense of accomplishment knowing I had made it so far (and wasn’t last to arrive, but in the middle of the group). We ate and sat by the fire, feeling rather proud. After a long night of silly chatter from the room next door, we awoke to the lights turning on automatically at 6 a.m. for a breakfast of three slices of bread for a shocking 4 euros. Thanks to the location of the lodge, we didn’t exactly get to shop around for the best deal. Before I knew it we were climbing again despite however sore our bodies may have felt.

This time, we were undoubtedly climbing a mountain. By no means was it a stroll through the woods, not even with a strong imagination like mine. I felt like a goat, only less agile. The trail consisted merely of loose rocks. One slip and it’d be a whole new journey deep down to the valley below. Somehow I ended up in the front of the group along the narrow and steep climb. Between the glances I took to my left and my right and the knowledge of my tendency to fall, I found myself suddenly very afraid of heights. My breathing quickened as I pushed myself to keep the quick pace of everyone else as we went higher and higher, nearing the top.

My limit had been reached. Mountain climbing was not something I was used to, nor something for which I was prepared. I took my opportunity and scooted to the side and sat on a rock as others passed. Allowing myself to breathe, I calmed my scared self by the time most of them had continued by me. I got up and resolved to continue. From that point on, anything further was more than I thought I could do and something to be counted as a personal success. I caught up to the group and reached the lookout point. It was beautiful, and I was so glad to have made it. From there everyone was splitting into two groups – one to the very top, to the summit, and the other group to another point at about the same height as where we were. It was then that I realized I was given the opportunity to enjoy the mountain. A friend and I didn’t join either group. We took in the area around us, took pictures, and carefully made it down the slippery rocks.

Although it was not my original plan, I am so glad it was the route I took. The most frustrating part about the trip was that the pace was set in order to reach the top as quickly as possible. That’s not exactly my style. I got to take my time on the way back to the lodge and enjoy the subtleties amongst the greatness of the mountain. Mt. Olympus was another one of those experiences to add to the list of “I’ll never forget it.”

Anyone have the time?

This morning I woke up several hours before my first class to head down to Aristotles Square for another meeting about the film festival. With no cell phone in service and a watch with a dead battery, I am at the grace of my roommate and her alarm clock. I woke up on time and got out the door after a wonderful bowl of muesli (granola/trail mix/cereal mixture). I walked right past my usual turn and decided to test out my innate navigational abilities. A pleasant walk it was as I pass old ladies buying bread and construction workers making noise doing who knows what. At one point the roads came to a diagonal cross point and I wasn’t entirely sure which way to go. Taking a quick right, I continued on my way.

I left at 8:30 and my meeting as at 9 a.m. but I had no idea how I was running on time. Unlike America, where every Walgreens and bank shows the time and temperature on their sign, there is barely a shop with a clock hanging on the wall inside. In fact, I’ve yet to spot a single clock on our entire campus. I did make it to the meeting on time, and even managed to remember to mention that I had to leave by 9:45 in order to get back to catch the bus to school (there is a free bus that the school sends twice a day, once in the morning and once at night). The meeting only lasted a half hour I was told before I headed on my trek back. I got into my room by 10 a.m. and decided to make my lunch. Seemingly with plenty of time left, I crossed the street and bought a few pears (recent obsession of mine). As I strolled down the street I saw the bus drive away.

What?! I had plenty of time! How did this happen? It didn’t matter anymore, I had no time to stop and ponder as I had approximately 30 minutes to get to class. I rushed to a nearby kiosk to buy a bus ticket and speed walked to the nearest bus stop, which is no where near. The bus stops don’t even show the time! By this point I’m starting to break out in a sweat in part due to my increased heart rate and also thanks to the fact that it’s about 80 degrees outside (jealous?). The 58 bus is 5′ away according to the board, which I assume means I’ve got a five minute wait ahead of me. Not sure how they can minute by minute update the board on bus schedules but can’t show the time… Anyway, the bus finally comes and I board, stick my ticket in a little machine to get stamped (they do random checks on buses to find out who has tickets, some students apparently got taken down to the police station today and had to pay a 30 euro fine – oh yeah, and euros are way more expensive than dollars), and hang on as it starts moving. Eventually I got to sit in the back and got to observe the rest of the bus. A few guys stood by the door for a while and they were throwing all sorts of sketchy vibes. One of the Greek students was riding the same bus and said they were “junkies talking about whites” which are pills of who knows what.

I did make it to school, however I’ll never know just how late I was to Greek class. My guess is about 15 minutes max, which isn’t too bad. I was also told that the school bus had left earlier than usual. Maybe that’s why the culture views tardiness as acceptable – there’s no way of knowing just what time it is. I am accepting watch donations, feel free to send one in the mail, as I hope to not have to do that again.

This and That

As  you may have noticed, the rate of my blogs are far less than those when I was in China. Although it might seem a bit odd, I am constantly comparing Greece to China as opposed to the U.S. In this case, my stay here in Greece is three times as long as when I was in China. I have a schedule and am essentially living here as if it were my normal life, whereas China I was undeniably a traveler. So instead of constant sites to report back, I can tell you about seemingly small things such as the fact that I have to remember to turn the water heater on twenty minutes before I take a shower or that I can no longer regulate my intake of high fructose corn syrup as I have absolutely no idea what it says on the label (I am however blessed by this and my diet has therefore consists heavily of a generic brand of Nutella and bread).

Perhaps I’ve adapted quicker or was just more prepared. Then again, I am living in a building with 30 other American students and attending an American college where everyone speaks English. In some obscure way, life seems normal. I’m getting into a regular routine and really like the city around me. Other than the buses that drive past my first floor window every 15 minutes, it is relatively quiet near where we live. Conveniently, it is only about a ten to fifteen minute walk from the boardwalk by the Aegean Sea where the streets are lined with cafes, restaurants, and bars. About ten minutes in the other direction is an old rundown wall next to what we like to call the “castle” giving me a taste of ancient history.

Yesterday was my first venture out alone. Before then, I’d always walked around with at least one other person, but had a meeting downtown with the person I’ll be working with for the film festival and had no other choice but to be brave. Now, I know I might act like a courageous world traveler, but in reality – I’m a scared little girl.  I try to blend in, but sometimes just blush at the thought of my awkward American tendencies amongst Greek people. As I walked along the busy street I noticed a few things that strongly differ from American culture – everything is slow (with the only main exception being the cars – one step too soon and you’re as good as mousaka). I kept getting stuck walking behind slow walkers and then realized, nope, I’m just walking fast. I was walking over to the cafe during the siesta time (yes, a Spanish word and it means the same thing here, still haven’t quite figured that one out) so tons of shops were closed down, but all of the cafes were packed. I guess if you don’t sleep, then just load up on caffeine. It makes sense though. There is no reason to work for eight to ten hours a day without more than a lunch break. That is at least, if you never really want to accomplish much and like constant disorganization. Still, I’d be okay with it.

By the time I made it across town to my meeting I was probably five minutes late. This, I’ve been told, is also considered a part of Greek culture. This is the part I totally dig. No wonder I already feel more adapted than I ever was in China. I was thrilled to get to sit and talk to Danae, whom I’ll be working with to help coordinate the interns. What was best was to hear bits and pieces about how she lives and more about actual Greek culture. It was slightly different than meeting one of my friends for coffee, but overall was good, and I am looking forward to working with the film festival to better acquaint myself with the city in which I live.

Back to School

Yesterday, I finally had classes and sat through an entire school day. Let me tell you, it was long. My first class starts at 11 a.m. and then my last class ends at 6:30 with only a break for lunch. By the time the bus comes around and takes us to our apartments it’s almost 9 o’clock. But I can’t complain too much because I only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays…or I’m “living the life”, as one might say.

There are some serious differences between America and Greece when it comes to school. For starters, Greek school is absurdly unorganized. Knowing that they are much looser when it comes to time and overall as a culture approach things more relaxed, one begins to wonder when they get things done. That’s just it, they don’t. Since it is the first week of school everything is turned slightly upside down and the flow of information is seriously lacking. Everyone I know from America has mentioned some sort of frustration with the given sense of disarray. As my politics teacher said, “It’s the first week of school, so everything is hectic. The thing is, the first week comes around every year, and they still don’t know what to do here.”

I must admit, I find it odd to study in such a beautiful place. It seems only natural to take pictures of the view between classes, but I don’t want to seem too American. Blending in around here isn’t exactly easy. My eyes, hair, and face all seem to confirm my nationality. Plus, I don’t have a giant-faced watch or smoke cigarettes every five minutes like the cool kids here in Greece.

Despite the ridiculousness, my classes did begin and several of them seem like they will be well worth the time. I am thrilled to be in a Greek class to start learning about these oddly familiar letters surrounding me in the streets. The annoying part about Greek is that there are quite a few common letters in Greek and English, the only problem is that they make a different sound. The word spelled “vepo” is pronounced “nero” and means water.  Of course, there are plenty of other letters that make no sense whatsoever. It should be a good class to take.

I am also in an English class, taught by someone who was originally from Ohio, which is nothing like I thought it would be. As per the course description, I was expecting another writing course to hone in on some more of my skills. Instead, it is more of a lit. class, so we’ll see how that goes. Another one of my classes is a social sciences class called “Individual and Society,” which is taught by a lady from Turkey.

To end each day, I have a politics course called “Civil Society” taught by a British American professor who grew up in South Africa, went to school in London, taught in various places in the world, worked in the UK, Sri Lanka, and Pakistan, but is now married to a Greek man and therefore lives here. She’s never actually lived in the U.S. but her mother is American and so, she technically has American citizenship. She is quite clever and most likely will end up teaching my best and most challenging class of the semester. I can’t decide yet if she is actually brilliant or if the British accent is just throwing me off.

I think it is safe to say that school started off well, but now I have to get in the mindset of doing homework. Bummer. This weekend is looking up though as a beach trip is all lined up to go and as always, no class on Friday!