# 32. Greece. The Gateway.

Greece: The Myth, the Country

We all know Greece. We’ve all traveled there in our minds, even if we’ve never set foot on its soil. Maybe it’s a Disney movie, a bedtime story about Zeus and the gods of Mount Olympus, or a mention of its thinkers who shaped the world we live in. Greece is the gateway to the West. It’s the place where Western philosophy, politics, and culture first took root and flourished.

We can all picture it. The Acropolis rising against the sky. The whitewashed villages clinging to the cliffs of Santorini. The 300 Spartans standing firm at Thermopylae, defying the Persian tide. Their wives, it’s said, told them to come home with their shields or on them. Maybe it’s legend. Maybe it’s true. But Greece does that to you—it fills your head with stories and images.

I wasn’t any different. As our family trip to Greece came together, I had my own ideas of what it would be. I’m a history nerd at heart. The pull wasn’t the beaches, the sun, or the wine. Not even the ouzo. It was the stories, the ruins, the sense of standing where it all began.

I spent the weeks before the trip cramming like it was a history exam. I wanted to refresh what I’d forgotten from school and learn more about where we were headed—mostly about the Minoans, the people who once ruled Crete, where we’d spend most of our time. They were a fascinating culture, contemporaries of ancient Egypt, and possibly the best example of a matriarchal society. Women seemed to hold the top roles in politics and religion. Their writing remains a mystery so it’s hard to know too much, but the evidence suggests this might have been one of the rare societies where women dominated completely.

This sparked some lively discussions in the rental car with Jenn. What would the world look like if more societies had followed the Minoan way? We didn’t come to any grand conclusions, but the conversations kept the drive interesting. No, I didn’t turn into a Classics scholar after a few weeks of reading. But standing at the Minoan historical sites, between diaper changes, I like to think my thoughtful nods while reading the short informational blurbs carried a little more weight.

The Journey

With two kids in tow, we packed our bags and boarded a flight from Amsterdam to Athens. Armed with a slightly better understanding of the fascinating people who once called Crete home, but more importantly, with a backpack stuffed with snacks and toys. They were our real lifeline for the three-hour flight.

Athens, like many old European cities, is built around a central point that has defined its history: the Tower of London, the Pyramids of Giza, Prague Castle. In Athens, it’s the Acropolis. Here, the ancients built their most important structures, set apart from daily life, reaching up to the gods in tribute.

As a visitor, it’s surprising how casually the Acropolis appears, looming at the end of this or that street. Its significance feels like it should demand effort to see, hidden away or revealed only after a climb. It reminded me of my first time in Rome. I stepped off the metro at Colosseo, and there it was—the Colosseum, towering right across from the subway exit. It felt like stepping out of a time capsule, spit out 2,000 years into the past.

But the modern world presses close. Crowds, vendors, traffic—all of it buzzes around these ancient wonders as if they were just another part of the scenery. The Acropolis was no different. Outside our hotel, the Parthenon perched atop it, lit up against the night sky, gazing down on the city below.

Athens isn’t like the idyllic islands of Greece. It’s not a place of comfort and luxury at every turn. The city is raw and unfiltered. It will challenge you with its smells, its noise, its chaos. But it’s real—a city that’s been the beating heart of Greece for thousands of years. Athens moves fast and slow all at once. Its people are proud, calling themselves Hellenes, as the ancients did, not Greeks—the Roman name passed down through the ages.

Crete

After a short stay in Athens, we moved on to Crete. Though part of Greece, Crete feels like its own country, its own culture. The island is vast, with mountains cutting through its center and roads that stretch for hours from one end to the other. We stayed at a resort just east of Heraklion, chosen mostly for the kids. It was a TUI all-inclusive, a mix of highs and lows.

The lows: a Thai restaurant that served the worst Thai food I’ve ever had. (Yes, I should have known better than to eat Thai in Greece.) The highs: constant kids’ entertainment, a lazy river just off our room’s porch, and unlimited watered-down drinks. 

For us, the most compelling part of Greece was the contrasts it offered to the world we now call home. From Amsterdam, a city famous for modern commerce and the golden age of mercantilism, to the birthplace of what we call “Western” itself. From the ever-present sunny skies of Greece to the drizzly stratus clouds that blanket the Netherlands most of the year. From the hustle of city life to the ability to slow down, feel the sun, and take in the sea.

Of all the adventures we’ve had since becoming expats, the family agreed: Greece was near, if not at, the top. Dad got to nerd out. Mom and the kids got their pools and beaches. And from our home base, it was an easy trip.

Despite “knowing” Greece—like anyone who stayed awake in history class—I wasn’t sure what to expect. But now, having gone, I’m glad to say Greece isn’t just a place of myth or history. It’s alive. It breathes. It offers good ouzo, plenty of sunshine, and every reason to go back.