There they are. The two most dangerous words in the English language: I know.
The topic came up in conversation the other day. I was talking to my friend about all of these travel blogs I was reading, living vicariously through the worldly experiences of others. Now that I’m back home from overseas, one of my favorite things to do is to search online for photos and descriptions of other people’s experiences in Greece.
I want to see one more time, even if only from behind a computer screen, the white sandy beaches, the mountains that twist and turn infinitely upwards into a brilliantly blue Mediterranean sky. Every fiber of my being aches–home, a part of me thinks, believes desperately, even though I have never lived there, not once in my life. Greece is like a phantom presence in my childhood memories–some summers it is there, and others it is not.
There and gone in an infinitesimally small period of time. In a matter of weeks, even. And then the memories begin to fade.
As much as I love to read about other people’s travel experiences in the country I like to daydream about, some recurring off-handed comments began to jump out at me over time. Somebody wondering about how difficult stereotypical Greek meat-y foods (gyro, souvlaki, you get the gist) were to find on island villages that are renown for their seafood cuisine. Another person marveling at how hummus and pizza were not readily available to them, as if all southern European peoples shared the same cultural and culinary heritage exactly. You can find pizza in Italy, so you should be able to find it in this small Greek village, too, right? And, of course, the inevitable comment about the Greek work ethic. Something along the lines of: the pace of life is so much slower; or, everyone takes siestas when they could be working; or, at it’s worst, jokes about how the midday nap is solely responsible for the current economic crisis.
The comments about the food don’t bother me so much. In my six weeks in Athens, I did not particularly crave pizza or hummus, and, besides, I know where the good Italian restaurants and multi-cultural chain grocery stores are in my corner of Athens. But I can see how these off-handed statements might be based on some problematic assumptions. What bothers me are the jokes about siestas and Greek laziness because I have friends and family in Greece. And let me tell you something. They work every day like dogs given the current economic climate. They work like dogs, and they don’t get paid. And it upsets me when travelers judge an entire culture from within their own cultural bubble while staying in tourist-y areas of Mykonos and Santorini or maybe even visit the occasional obligatory museum. Every night’s a party, they exclaim in surprise, as if it is the norm everywhere.
Behind every exclamation there is the assertion again and again, hidden underneath the pretty words and well-edited photos: I know, I know, I know. I know this place. I have been there. I have judged it. I know all there is to know about its landscape, its heritage, its culture, its people. I paint the picture that is this place to you for your consumption.
I love reading travel blogs. It is not all of them that do this. In fact, it is a very few of them that do. And I’m almost glad that those very few do. Because if I had not become aware of it in the words of others, then I would not have become aware of it in my own words. When I think of Greece I want desperately for it to be mine, as if it were possible to possess a country or for it to possess me. Greece is a place that I visit sometimes, but it belongs to the people who live there already. Mine is a very limited picture of a very beautiful place–a place that might be troubled, a place that might have an ugly underbelly, but a place whose people I refuse to call lazy. A place whose public landscape is being diced and divided among private hands for continued tourist consumption. This summer I watched the harvest moon from a lookout point on a mountain that next year will be overrun with resorts. It is a spectacular view that next year I will not be able to afford.
Let me be clear here when I say that I support the tourism industry. It brings a lot of money into a country. Plus, there is the undeniable fact that I enjoy being a tourist. At its best, tourism brings down cultural barriers and fosters open-mindedness. But at its worst it is all about the two words–I know–words that have toppled civilizations and started wars. Two words whose power can only be broken with the addition of a most difficult third, making up the foundation of western philosophy.
I don’t know.
And travel, in the end, is all about not knowing. Most of the best adventures are.
–Marie-Irene
badpoetree 
Great shots =)
Thank you!