Studying abroad comes with the extended perk of spring break options most people can only dream of. If you plan it well enough, you could spend a week in Spain chowing down on tapas or taking a thermal bath with a moonlit view of Budapest. I chose to spend a week in Greece, after years of poring over pictures of Cycladic blue domes and watching "Hercules" until my old VHS tape gave out.
More than anything, I booked my flight to Greece with all the eagerness of an explorer. I wanted to climb every mountain, watch every sunset, and walk through every winding street, my feet and hunger pangs be damned. I'll admit that this mentality obstructed me from being super practical, seeing as the only Greek I knew was yassas—luckily, most everyone I ran into spoke English or took pity on American tourists (eager to point out the current state of affairs in the U.S., most of them were extra nice, if a bit sardonic).
When I boarded the ferry from Athens to Mykonos at sunrise, I had no idea what to expect. This was the only island where, instead of booking a hostel, I took a chance with Couchsurfing, a site where a local takes you in and, rather than payment, you share your own experiences and your company. It was also the only island on my route I wasn't familiar with; everyone drools over Santorini, but Mykonos was just recently picking up speed as a destination to be.
Cycladic Blue Sea: My week was dominated by blues, whites, and salt spray.
We're told from a young age not to talk to strangers; this is always something I disregarded, much to my mum's chagrin. There's a difference between sensing a situation and shunning all strangers. When Amandeep Singh, a Punjabi man who had lived in Mykonos for more than a decade and insisted I call "Aman," accepted my Couchsurfing request and agreed to house me on Super Paradise Beach, how could I say no? Other than the fact that I now ha a roof over my head, I was excited to meet someone I would more than likely not be able to get to know in any other context.
I arrived in the afternoon, leaving a red rose I'd found in Athens at a port-side chapel. After getting signal and running around the port, I called Aman, who picked me up in a little car. He told me what beaches were best for reading quietly or black out at. I took the former route, opting for the quieter beach near another small port by Mykonos' town center and, I found out later, the best souvlaki I've ever tried in my life. A few hours, and I already felt at home.
In Color: The winding streets and the ports were as beautiful as they were confusing to maneuver.
Aman picked me up later that afternoon, and we went back to his house where I unpacked, taking in the incredible view and my even more incredible luck—the island was full of tourists, and I was staying with a man who lived far up in the mountains, isolated from even the smallest click of an insect's wings.
After I washed up and watched the sun set, Aman and I drove to the town center in his rickety little car, dodging rocks on the mountainous path. We bought dinner, and went back to his home. Once back there, he poured me a glass of Mykonian wine, and then turned in. I was left alone, and decided to take my dinner outside.
Gambling, and Winning: The house had a beautiful view of Super Paradise Beach and a balcony for me to sob about said view.
It's at this point that I remembered I was in the mountainous region of the island, free of any light pollution and any noise. No photo or elaborate paragraph can do justice to the stars I saw that night. The kind of contentment I felt sitting under the clearest sky I had ever witnessed, sipping a glass of red wine, and knowing I was a competent traveler is something I know I'll hold close for the rest of my life.
The next day, I made some friends on the ferry to Santorini, and would end up meeting them for dinner. I played with stray cats. I drank coffee with old taverna owners. A few times, somehow, I was even mistaken for a local.
Making Friends: The exact moment I decided I wanted an Aegean Cat, captured.
It's these little moments where the world seems so big and so small at the same time. It's these moments that remind me that there are people who never leave their corner of the globe, and make me feel blessed that I've diverged so much from mine when I'm not even of age to drink in my home country.
We can't be afraid of the world, and now more than ever—or maybe I'm just now noticing—it's terrifying.The world is a scary place, but we need not fear it; it can even be beautiful, if one looks in the right places.
