It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what makes travelling abroad such an eye-opening experience. Undoubtedly, some of the world’s cities are so magnificent in scope or detail as to make a lifelong impression on anyone who visits them. Some places stand tall as a symbol of another culture that lived long before our own: a postcard to future generations, a proud reminder that they weren’t the first ones here. It would be deceiving to say that these wonders are not what draws visitors from halfway around the globe. However, there is something else that makes an overseas journey special: the sheer feeling of power one gets from being there. This summer, 5,870 miles away from home, looking out over the Aegean Sea, I felt truly free for the first time.

Before I traveled to Italy this past March, I had never been out of the country. It came as a shock to me that I would be leaving the United States, a concept I failed to truly take in until I was back home, wondering how I had been over the Atlantic Ocean just hours before. Regardless, I would return to Europe a few months later. My dad, a faculty member at Drury University, told me that a dear friend of his had invited us to come to Greece to celebrate the 15th anniversary of Drury’s architectural study abroad program, which is based in a place called Aegina, one of the Saronic Islands. We arrived on July 2nd, after travelling for eighteen hours: just in time for a bright, sweltering, hundred-degree morning in the bustling Athens metropolis.

The symbol most often associated with Athens is the Parthenon. It is part of the Acropolis, which literally means “high city,” a name that is by no means an understatement. The Acropolis rises above every other building, serving as a point of reference throughout the entire city. Close to it is the Acropolis Museum, a rather large modern-looking building showcasing replicas (or in some cases, actual artifacts) of almost every sculpture or inscription in the archaeological site. Needless to say, the museum was dwarfed by the actual Parthenon. To me, the secret of the Parthenon isn’t its size or even its beauty. It is its boldness. The Parthenon is something to see close-up, but is even impressive from far away. It’s hard to forget the sight of the Acropolis from the seventh story of the George Lycabettus Hotel. It stands so–firmly–that it’s hard to believe that it’s two millennia old. One really gets the feeling that although the Ancient Greeks may not be around anymore, their legacy cannot be erased. I soon learned, too, that it was built to do just that: to look monumental, to impress. The Greeks even gave the Parthenon curved columns so as not to make it look warped from a distance. It is truly a marvel of engineering, and embodies Greek pride at its purest.

Another aspect of Greece which I found interesting is the Greek language. For one, it was fun to pass the time by transcribing Greek letters to English ones and seeing if any of the resulting words had a basis in our root words (although most signs had English captions). But there was another thing that struck me about being in a country that used a different character set, something I had not noticed before. People say that the best way to learn a language is to be immersed in it, and “sink or swim,” if you will. The longer we stayed in Greece, the more words I began to recognize. There were words you’d see again and again, such as “προσοχή” (pro-soh-chee) and “είσοδος” (ee-soh-dohs), which mean “attention” and “entrance,” respectively. Over time, I began to be thankful that I had learned to decipher certain words, without which I wouldn’t be able to tell the men’s restroom from the women’s (called “water closets” in Greece). I didn’t realize how often we use some words until I had to read them in another language. We don’t appreciate language as much as we should; it is what allows us to communicate. Without language, I wouldn’t be writing to you now. And without language, the Greeks certainly couldn’t ever have built a city as beautiful as Athens.

I shouldn’t mislead you: in many places, Athens is dirty. The building walls are covered with graffiti, telling citizens to “Wake Up!”, or “Take the Brexit Road–No U-Turn,” bitter outcries against the EU’s budget cuts to Greek services: an attempt to resolve the serious debt of the Hellenic economy. Despite this, the Greeks are not deterred whatsoever. They are hard workers, but are still able to live well. In fact, a day in the life of a Greek citizen is roughly captured in the following schedule: get up early, go to work, take a 3-hour break (“siesta”) in the early afternoon, go back to work, have dinner (often not until 9:00), and stay up until midnight, or often well past. In some ways, it even seems like Athens is more “alive” during the night than it is in the day. Indeed, when one looks at it, European life appears to be more practical and efficient than that in America. People walk to work, try to make a living, but always seem to enjoy life along the way. And in a city where the seafront is never more than a 10-Euro taxi ride away, it’s hard not to do just that.

As I soon learned, taxi rides can be much more than just getting from Point A to Point B. I had the good fortune to meet a taxi driver named Stamatis while in transit from Piraeus (the Athens port) to Veikou Street, a bustling locale in the Plaka (where our hotel was located), a tourist hub right next to the Parthenon. It’s odd how people that you’ve never met before can make a lasting impression on you. But it seemed as if the entire Greek culture was represented in Stamatis. He was certainly one of the nicest men I’ve ever met, but for the first time I realized how hard it could be to keep your head above water in a country that was constantly throwing new challenges at its citizens. He talked to us of his parents’ work, and their parents’ work, and how he had acquired his car, and what it really meant to be a taxi driver. However, the thing that stuck with me the most was a short little comment Stamatis made, in which he said that he previously owned a Skoda (the Ford or Toyota of Greece), but took out a loan to buy a Mercedes taxi car, which was necessary for a higher level of service, and required by more demanding travel agencies. However, the smaller trunk size of the Mercedes sometimes actually made him lose customers who needed a bigger space to store their luggage.

However small of a tale it was, I think I realized at that moment that the Greeks were justified in their bitterness towards the EU. This Mercedes, a supposedly higher quality vehicle, had in some ways made Stamatis’ job harder than it needed to be. And in a sense, the EU is doing the same thing: “helping Greece out” in the long run, but restricting their everyday lives. Clearly Stamatis recognized this too: he told us that he had a girlfriend whom he intended to marry and raise a family with, but he’s refrained from doing so simply because the economic situation was too unstable and he was reluctant to make any bonds he wasn’t sure he could financially sustain. Indeed, these reforms that the EU has made have imposed enough restrictions on the Greek lifestyle that Greek citizens have every right to cry, “Wake Up!” and speak out against them. In that mindset, the economy is only a massive, impersonal, inhumane system where one man’s gain is another’s loss–and Greece has fallen into a vicious cycle on the latter side. And that is what opened my eyes. I realized that I was in another world, one where financial stability is not guaranteed.

That is the learning that one acquires from travelling abroad: being in the moment and seeing from someone else’s point of view.

Sam Garvin is a 8th grade student at the Springfield Scholars Program. This is his 8th year in gifted education. He is interested in music, travel and other cultures, as well as in-school subjects such as mathematics. He is glad to have had the good fortune to be able to travel abroad, as well as the opportunity to write about it.

The opinions expressed in this piece are solely that of the author. They are not indicative of those of PAGE in any manner