Dear Greece: My Complicated Feelings About My 2021 Study Abroad Experience

By Lizette Mier ‘22

This is a recreation of a long letter I wrote to Greece, months after I had finished my Term Four study abroad during April - May 2021. I wrote this letter out of anxiety and frustration on October 25, when I realized that my Cultural Diversity and Integration Class in Denmark was taking a mandatory field trip to Greece. I used the original letter to sort out my confusing feelings of returning to a country that I had mixed feelings about. These entries symbolize the different themes from that letter. While in Greece, there were good memories with Wellesley friends, but there were also a lot of confusion and unanswered questions that made my experience more difficult than I anticipated.

Dear Greece,

I don’t know how I am supposed to feel about you. The memories of you haunt me still, and now I’m supposed to return to you without much choice? You’ve followed me everywhere I’ve gone since I left your beaches and your Athenian streets. I saw your ghost in the palm trees and dry lands of my home in Phoenix. I felt your spirit, as I navigated language barriers in Denmark, however brief it was with Danish.

I think of you more than I want to and I can’t stop. The experiences I had with you brought back troubling childhood memories I was not ready to cope with. Every time I stood frozen, unable to read or speak Greek, I was thrown back in time. I remembered the feelings of shame and guilt when I didn’t speak Spanish properly to my own family. I remembered how embarrassing it was to have grown up in a Spanish household only to have a linguistic barrier with your own mother because the school system prevented you from speaking your native language. “Only speak English when you are in school” was what I was told…and like a good people pleaser, I did. I received A’s in English classes, yet I stammered in Spanish without translation apps to bail me out at home.

Living with you was like having tape over my mouth. I felt powerless. Over the years, I was able to work on my Spanish. Though I now occasionally use Google Translate to supplement it, I have grown used to being the middleman. I am now confident in stepping in anytime someone needs a Spanish-to-English interpretation. I am always ready to jump in and say “Necesita ayuda? Hablo ingles y español.” Because the Covid-19 restrictions only allowed essential services, there were mostly older Greeks out in the streets of my neighborhood. Many times, they did not speak English, and suddenly I found myself in that vulnerable position of shame. I was no longer the middleman—I was the one that needed a bridge.

Dear Greece,

While with you, I felt that there was always something you were trying to hide. I could feel the shadow of Turkey over me as I interacted with locals, but I didn’t have the education or experience to understand these awkward feelings of tension that I felt around you. Local people would make discriminatory remarks about Turkish, Bangladeshi, and Roma people, and I stood there in silence without the language to challenge their thinking. I didn’t know your history and therefore felt helpless in understanding this tension.

Dear Greece,

Traveling with you made me re-check my privilege in a whole different way. My pale skin, dark eyes and hair awarded me a cloak of invisibility as I wandered through your streets—a privilege some of my darker-skinned friends were not always given.

Traveling with a group gave me a different experience. My friends and I suddenly drew eyes. My American accent rang out so noticeably. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that all these stares are just because tourism was highly restricted and only essential travelers were allowed (students qualified as essential I guess)...so maybe Greeks were thinking: “What the f*ck are these American tourists doing here???”

Dear Greece,

F*ck you for overcharging me on taxis. I wish I could negotiate in Greek. I wish the taxi app worked everywhere.

I hate that the oil stains from my food ruined my shirts and a pair of pants. I wish I was less anxious and bold enough to hunt for stain-remover before they set in…or clever enough to have packed it with me.

Dear Greece,

You were supposed to be magical. You were supposed to be charming and inspiring. I ran away from you feeling cheated. I found myself lost, and when I wasn’t enjoying my Greek experience at times, I wondered if maybe I was the problem. When I told people I was going to Greece, the look on their faces was as if I won the lottery and they blew up these dreams they had of Greek islands. During these moments, I thought maybe I was the loser; it felt like I got pocket change instead of the jackpot.

I’ve been thinking about why I am dreading returning to you, and I think the problem is that I judged you for everything you couldn’t give me at a time when the entire world was struggling. I judged you for not providing me the magical moments that the media and friends had promised me without considering the fact that you were in the midst of a global pandemic, with no vaccinations yet widely distributed. I misjudged you and wrongfully expected more from you than I wanted to admit.

No island hopping was allowed. Bars and restaurants were closed. I wasn’t allowed to go more than two kilometers from my home. You were restrictive and controlling. The exciting life that I was promised no longer existed, and I think deep down I am jealous of the imagined Greece I didn’t have.

Dear Greece,

I ran away from you expecting to never see you again. My roommates and I joked that this wouldn’t be a country we would be super excited to return to…but I guess the universe always has other plans, right?

I am studying in Denmark this semester and, coincidentally, I have to travel back into your arms. Originally, my class was supposed to take a field trip to Italy to learn about the influx of asylum seekers in recent years. Imagine my surprise when I saw my syllabus had changed—a new professor hired at the last minute. Now, we’re going to Athens, Greece.

Looking back, I see you want me to have a second chance. All the questions I had about you relating to racism, nationality, and discrimination, the questions I had no means of finding the answers to, are just now being explained to me in Denmark. This “Cultural Diversity and Integration Class'' is showing me parts of your muddy history I wish I had known earlier. The class is an unexpected answer to my silent prayers, and it gives me the opportunity to give you a second chance.

It is weird to say this now, but after much thought and several pages of frustrated letters, I am excited to see you again. Now that I am in the coldness of Denmark, I miss your warm hospitality. I miss your fried cheese and oregano chips. I miss walking through your streets.

I am excited to put your life into context—to walk the streets with a strange feeling of familiarity. I am excited to feel the sun and sit in my favorite park and eat my favorite foods. I am excited to live a new life with you—despite how long it might have taken to admit this.

It’s strange to admit now, but I miss you—at least, the idea of you. I can’t wait to say my goodbyes and maybe see you again, old friend.

Epilogue:

My second time in Greece in October was exactly like the end of my last letter. I experienced warm hospitality and the feeling of familiarity. I got to eat my favorite foods again and make new memories with my classmates. I learned about some of the history of the discrimination that I previously witnessed. And this time, I was prepared with stain-remover for the inevitable oil-spills I had. Covid-restrictions were lessened, and I felt the magic people told me all about. I am glad the universe forced me to give Greece a second chance…and I am waiting for a third!

Lizette Mier ‘22 (lmier) is a graduating senior, looking forward to many more positive experiences abroad. From the February 2022 issue.