I am often mistaken to be a French Tourist. I find this odd. I know very little French. Most Greeks will greet me with saying good morning in French. Six people so far this morning thought I was French. I reply in French, as best as I can, and most don’t know the difference.
I woke up this morning to take a walk around the area. I got to the lake front just as the sun was rising over the mountains. You know those watercolor paintings where everything is serene? I felt like I was walking around in one. It was amazing. I was going to stop and sketch, but I knew it could not do it justice. Just the way the sky hit the mountains, and the mountains hit the water, it was magical. It was like the mountains were fragile, the way they rested on the water. Everyone was walking around the Kale, mostly older men and women power walking.
I came back to the guesthouse. I started editing photos outside in the quant patio. Others came out and we were all talking. I could catch every 4th or 5th word in Greek. I was doing my best to keep up. Every now and then they would translate for me, explaining in depth of what they were discussing. Father and son artists joined me for breakfast. Matsa served us breakfast consisting of three different types of bread, 3 different home made jams, coffee, and orange juice. We talked about how expensive it is for bus rides, how incense are classy in Greece, and how I’m an architecture student. Matsa loved the fact that I’m architecture. She brought out a photo book of what her guesthouse looked like before she bought it, and pictures through the construction. It was really cool to see. She renovated the 150 year old house that was once made from wood, straw, and clay.
The father is a photographer, while the son is a painter. They live in Athens. He showed me work that they have done. And gave me little postcards of his work. A 1960’s Greek version of Playboy(everything’s covered, not to worry), an advertisement for cough drops, advertisement for shadow puppets, and an advertisement for Greek Tea. They left to take a walk around the city.
A family of 3 sat down and again, started speaking French to me. I think I look like a deer in the headlights when this happens. My eyes just widen. They soon stopped.
After breakfast, I have come to the realization I belong in guesthouses. It sounds funny but it was a great experience. Hotels seam to be lonely, and often without the personal touch. Or, it is often hard to find. I just hope every guesthouse is like this one!
I am not an author. To be quite honest, I always hated English class. I write so I may share my experiences and remember the man I met on a bus who treated me to dinner with his family, paying and booking a hotel only to find out its out of business, fake crying in the Athens airport to get a ticket home, or remember the strangers who looked out for me on a bus. Some live, experience, and are fulfilled by what’s in their backyards. I find there is something truly exhilarating about cramming as many possessions into a bag as possible, only to complain you brought too many. This is my life out of a suitcase, hope you enjoy.