By: JaTon Kılınç

I was both nervous and excited about my first trip to Athens, Greece. I consider myself an adventurer, but ten days alone in a foreign country—living among locals with only a basic understanding of the language—was still a stretch, even for me. And yet, I did it.

There is something deeply necessary about spending time alone, reflecting on oneself. When I first arrived, the adjustment was real. Being alone in a new place always is. But after a few days, I found my rhythm. As my departure from Athens began to approach, I realized my feelings about the city had changed.

My first impression of Athens was jarring. It felt like the New York of Greece—old, gritty, fast-paced, layered with graffiti. And yet, beyond that initial shock, there was no true comparison to any American city. Athens felt like a crossroads: part Portugal, part Italy, and something that reminded me—unexpectedly—of North Africa. At times, it felt like a Christian settlement nestled within the Middle East. I still can’t fully articulate it, but Athens is layered in a way that defies easy labels.

What I came to understand is this: Athens must be experienced slowly. You cannot fall in love with it in a weekend. It needs time to reveal itself.

At one point, I was ready to leave—if I’m being completely honest, that feeling surfaced after dropping my husband off at the airport. Loneliness has a way of amplifying discomfort. But as I began to reflect, I started noticing what had quietly taken root.

I loved how my body responded to the Mediterranean diet—fresh vegetables, fruit, simple foods prepared with care. My digestion felt balanced in a way it hadn’t in a long time. I loved the absence of road rage. Greeks are aggressive drivers, yes—I was terrified to drive my rental car in the city center—but there was a patience and compassion on the roads that I rarely witness in the United States.

I loved that I could get my nails done for a fraction of the cost back home. I loved that once you stepped away from tourist traps, you could enjoy local cuisine—real, soulful food—at prices that felt humane. I loved how grateful people were when I tried to speak Greek, even imperfectly.

Most of all, I loved the Greek people.

They are warm, kind, and deeply hospitable in a way that feels genuine, not performative. They do not rush emotional connection. They allow it to unfold.

I didn’t cry on the plane home the way I did when I left Italy, but Greece touched me in its own quiet way. The best comparison I can make is this: arriving in Athens feels like carrying a heart hardened by candle wax. And once the people here light that candle to your soul, the warmth slowly begins to melt you—softly, patiently, and completely.

Until next time mes amies,

Stay young, stay curious & stay true,

Je suis JaTon