December 2024
Dear Greece
Dear Greece,
For two years, you hosted me – with abundant sunshine, seas that make every postcard pale in comparison, and a mentality that constantly challenged my German self with the same question: “Am I in the wrong place – or just too punctual?” Now that we’re parting ways, it’s time to reflect – with a heart that looks back both gratefully and slightly overwhelmed.
Let’s start with what I’ll always be thankful for: your weather. 300 sunny days a year, warm breezes that made my German scarf redundant even in winter, and summers that felt like you had them delivered straight from paradise. I sweated, I sizzled, and I learned that flip-flops aren’t just footwear but a philosophy of life.
But, dear Greece, as much as you tanned my skin, you also tested my stomach. Your love of fried octopus, unidentifiable pies, and a truly remarkable amount of lemon – on everything! – often pushed me to the edge of culinary endurance. And that Ouzo. Why does it taste like a traumatic licorice spirit that only becomes tolerable after the fourth glass?
The real challenge, however, wasn’t the food but your soul. We need to talk about the cultural differences that stood between us like an unscalable Mount Olympus.
While I, as a good German, grew up with the mantra “Order is a must,” you taught me a different lesson: Order is for the weak. Appointments? Optional. Punctuality? A concept that fascinates you about as much as quantum physics. Your “Siga, siga” philosophy – “Take it easy” – was a crash course in patience for me. For you, “sometime” is a perfectly valid time indication, while I, with my German sense of precision, even plan vacations using an Excel sheet.
And your flair for drama – oh, Greece, how you love it! Every trip to the market is a small Greek tragedy, every family dinner a stage play that Aristophanes and Euripides would applaud. While we Germans prefer to resolve conflicts with a subtle “We’ll talk about it later,” you embrace the big show: loud, impulsive, and often accompanied by an enthusiastic “Malaka!” – a word I’ve now heard in an astonishing variety of contexts.
This brings me to my Greek father. Dear Greece, you didn’t just remind me of yourself but also of him. His impulsiveness, his sharp yet often incomprehensible leaps of logic – and the way he shifts from discussing facts to staging a personal catastrophe at a speed I simply cannot follow – all of this mirrored your soul. The realization hit me hard: Perhaps it’s not just about the country, but also my DNA, that I often found myself utterly perplexed here.
Yet despite all these differences, you showed me that life doesn’t always have to be efficient. You taught me the importance of pausing, having a coffee, and simply enjoying the moment – even if the waiter takes half an hour to bring the check.
But in the end, Greece, we need to be honest with each other. I don’t fit into your chaotic, warm, and unpredictable heart, as much as I tried. We are like two puzzle pieces from different sets: both beautiful, but simply not made for each other.
I thank you for the sunshine, for the adventures, and for helping me understand a part of my heritage – even if it often tested my nerves. I’m heading back to a land where trains run on time, and arguments remain polite. But a part of you will always stay with me – in the form of a love for the sun, a longing for your sea, and a tolerance for life’s little dramas.
Farewell, my chaotic Greece. Stay as you are – loud, loving, and full of surprises.
With a grateful and slightly overwhelmed heart,
Your German guest with Greek roots
the photo was taken between Argos and Tripoli on the old national road
For two years, you hosted me – with abundant sunshine, seas that make every postcard pale in comparison, and a mentality that constantly challenged my German self with the same question: “Am I in the wrong place – or just too punctual?” Now that we’re parting ways, it’s time to reflect – with a heart that looks back both gratefully and slightly overwhelmed.
Let’s start with what I’ll always be thankful for: your weather. 300 sunny days a year, warm breezes that made my German scarf redundant even in winter, and summers that felt like you had them delivered straight from paradise. I sweated, I sizzled, and I learned that flip-flops aren’t just footwear but a philosophy of life.
But, dear Greece, as much as you tanned my skin, you also tested my stomach. Your love of fried octopus, unidentifiable pies, and a truly remarkable amount of lemon – on everything! – often pushed me to the edge of culinary endurance. And that Ouzo. Why does it taste like a traumatic licorice spirit that only becomes tolerable after the fourth glass?
The real challenge, however, wasn’t the food but your soul. We need to talk about the cultural differences that stood between us like an unscalable Mount Olympus.
While I, as a good German, grew up with the mantra “Order is a must,” you taught me a different lesson: Order is for the weak. Appointments? Optional. Punctuality? A concept that fascinates you about as much as quantum physics. Your “Siga, siga” philosophy – “Take it easy” – was a crash course in patience for me. For you, “sometime” is a perfectly valid time indication, while I, with my German sense of precision, even plan vacations using an Excel sheet.
And your flair for drama – oh, Greece, how you love it! Every trip to the market is a small Greek tragedy, every family dinner a stage play that Aristophanes and Euripides would applaud. While we Germans prefer to resolve conflicts with a subtle “We’ll talk about it later,” you embrace the big show: loud, impulsive, and often accompanied by an enthusiastic “Malaka!” – a word I’ve now heard in an astonishing variety of contexts.
This brings me to my Greek father. Dear Greece, you didn’t just remind me of yourself but also of him. His impulsiveness, his sharp yet often incomprehensible leaps of logic – and the way he shifts from discussing facts to staging a personal catastrophe at a speed I simply cannot follow – all of this mirrored your soul. The realization hit me hard: Perhaps it’s not just about the country, but also my DNA, that I often found myself utterly perplexed here.
Yet despite all these differences, you showed me that life doesn’t always have to be efficient. You taught me the importance of pausing, having a coffee, and simply enjoying the moment – even if the waiter takes half an hour to bring the check.
But in the end, Greece, we need to be honest with each other. I don’t fit into your chaotic, warm, and unpredictable heart, as much as I tried. We are like two puzzle pieces from different sets: both beautiful, but simply not made for each other.
I thank you for the sunshine, for the adventures, and for helping me understand a part of my heritage – even if it often tested my nerves. I’m heading back to a land where trains run on time, and arguments remain polite. But a part of you will always stay with me – in the form of a love for the sun, a longing for your sea, and a tolerance for life’s little dramas.
Farewell, my chaotic Greece. Stay as you are – loud, loving, and full of surprises.
With a grateful and slightly overwhelmed heart,
Your German guest with Greek roots
the photo was taken between Argos and Tripoli on the old national road