The Things I Noticed in Greece

We spent almost three weeks in Greece this summer, starting in Athens and then heading to the Greek islands. Athens was brief. We had just enough time to visit the Parthenon, eat some very good food, and get our bearings before heading to Paros and then settling into Chios for most of our trip.

I came home with hundreds of photographs, a few new favorite foods, lots of memories and, unexpectedly, a different relationship with time.

That might be the thing I noticed most.

Dinner at 9:30?

We had a 9:30 dinner reservation one night at a restaurant right on the water in Paros.

At home, 9:30 feels late for dinner. In Greece, we quickly learned that it was basically the beginning of the evening.

By about 10:30, the restaurant had completely changed. The music got louder. People started waving white napkins in the air, and before long, people were dancing on the tables, completely caught up in the music. Napkins were flying, everyone was laughing and cheering, and then fireworks started going off from the roof of the restaurant.

There were plenty of phones in the air, too. People were taking photos and videos, capturing the dancing and the fireworks.

And I get it. It was a moment you wanted to remember.

But I also remember looking around and noticing the people who weren't looking through a screen at all. They were just watching, laughing, dancing, and soaking it in.

We were somewhere in between. Of course I took pictures and video. I wanted to remember it, too.

But there were moments when I put my phone down and just watched.

And that became something I noticed throughout the trip.

Our little escape

We also had the sweetest little plunge pool at our Airbnb. It became our own little escape.

Most nights we'd come back, make cocktails, and sit out there for a while. Nothing particularly exciting was happening, and that was exactly what was so nice about it. We'd swim, talk, have a drink and look around.

There was nowhere we needed to be.

The afternoon we were lured into a bar

Another day in Paros, we were out shopping when we saw the sea through a bar and were lured into a cozy seat right on the water.

We sat down, ordered a glass of wine which then became three and admired the sea.

The wind had picked up and was creating these enormous waves.

I couldn't stop watching them.

There was something mesmerizing about sitting there with a glass of wine, watching the water move, with absolutely nowhere else I needed to be.

I could have sat there all day.

And I remember thinking, I don't think I do this enough.

Just sitting. Just watching. Just letting something beautiful hold my attention without feeling like I needed to turn it into something.

Paros on fire

There was another moment that has stayed with me.

We spent an afternoon at Crios Beach Club, doing exactly what you would imagine: swimming, eating good food, having drinks, and enjoying this absolutely gorgeous setting.

And in the distance, Paros was on fire.

It was such a strange juxtaposition. We were having this beautiful, carefree afternoon by the sea while watching smoke rise in the distance.

It was a reminder that beauty and difficulty can exist in the same place at the same time.

It was hard to reconcile the two things at once. We were swimming, eating, drinking, and enjoying this beautiful place, while somewhere nearby people were dealing with something very different.

I remember feeling grateful for our afternoon, while also feeling a little unsettled by what we were watching.

I kept noticing the little things

I took a ridiculous number of photographs of alleyways.

White walls, blue doors, stairs, flowers, shadows, and shop signs.

“Summer Addicts.”

“Joy.”

“Sunset.”

Words that somehow seemed exactly right for the place.

I photographed white-painted stones and little details that probably wouldn't mean much to anyone else.

But I wanted to remember them.

Not because they were important.

Because they were beautiful.

And as a painter, I think that's how I travel. I collect color, shapes, textures, and little bits of visual language without even realizing I'm doing it.

The gift of not knowing what time it is

Maybe that's one of the reasons travel feels so restorative.

At home, I know what time everything happens. I know what needs to be done. I have a list in my head before I've even gotten out of bed. There is always something I could be doing.

In Greece, our normal routines disappeared.

We ate late, took naps, wandered, stopped for wine, stayed longer than we planned, and watched the water. And eventually, I stopped thinking about what time it was.

That was probably my favorite part.

What I'm bringing home

Of course, I brought home the photographs. So many photographs.

And I know the colors, textures, signs, alleyways, water, and light will eventually find their way into my paintings. That's already happening in my head.

But I'm bringing home something else, too.

A reminder that I don't always have to be productive. That I can sit somewhere beautiful without needing to photograph it, write about it, paint it or make it useful.

That dinner can start at 9:30. That a cocktail by the water can be enough of an evening. That I can watch waves for as long as I want. That I can wander down an alley because I like the way the light falls on the wall. That sometimes I can put my phone away.

And maybe I can practice some of that here at home.

Sit on the dock and watch the river.

Stay outside a little longer.

Have a glass of wine without scrolling through my phone.

Notice the garden without immediately making a list of everything that needs to be done.

Maybe that's what I really brought home from Greece.

Not just photographs of beautiful places.

But the reminder to actually be in my life while I'm living it.

I’d love to know...

Have you ever traveled somewhere that changed the way you wanted to live when you came home? I'd love to hear about it. Leave me a comment below or send me a note.