In my North American-centric world, Greece belonged to ancient history, to mythology, to the past. So it was a real surprise in the 80s when my sister Sal ended up there while tromping through Europe, settling into the expat’s life, and my sister Susan soon followed. It was enough to get me off the road trip circuit and out to apply for a passport– which I didn’t use until Sue fell ill and I felt a need to be by her side.

I remember the confusion of landing in Athens for the first time. Sue was meeting me at the airport, but as my flight from New York City coasted to a halt, it shook me up to see a tank (albeit, a miniature one), sidle up to our taxiing jet and escort us to the gate. Steps were wheeled to the side of the plane. Armed guards with machine guns stood outside the glass doors we needed to enter to pass through customs. And then I saw the signs. I reeled. The Greek alphabet of science and college sororities … was the modern Greek alphabet! I couldn’t possibly figure out what the signs said, knowing maybe half of what the letters looked like *might* just be pronounced the same as in English, and maybe not. A madcap taxi ride across the city past giant billboards for Lucky Strikes cemented the day in my mind. This was certainly NOT home!

Still, it grew on me, trip after trip. The languid lifestyle, the layers and layers and layers of history, the incredible scenery. It grew on me so much I considered finding a villa of my own. Perhaps someday. My journeys, faciliated by my sisters, added depth and texture to my life, an acceptance of cultural gulfs, and a new viewpoint from which to write.