Some very meaningful (or comical) interactions and experiences I had abroad in the great nation of Greece don't constitute their own entire blog post, so here they reside.
June 29th, 2019
We have this really awesome tour guide that works for our program, his name is Tryfonas and he acts as a guide, a coordinator and a translator among other things. He has a huge personality, as a lot of Greeks do, and he seemed so close to our age but also older at the same time; I really couldn't get a read on him. I feel like many of us were kind of fascinated with him and couldn't quite decide what we thought of him. He was so weird and funny. Tryfonas had no shame or embarrassment singing an entire Greek song, very badly, over the intercom on the bus. But he was also really smart and clearly very qualified for his job. He worked super hard to make sure all 30+ of us were accommodated and happy. His super thick accent and knowledge of Greek culture, as he's lived here his whole life, also made him really interesting to talk to and I enjoyed listening to his tales and experiences.
Anyways, Tryfonas gained my trust and respect early on. After 5 or so days of essentially fasting, eating a granola bar a day, struggling to find vegetarian food, and being in a very bad mood, before we got on a bus to go on our first field trip, Tryfonas brought us all sandwiches. The night before he asked us what we want and everyone said Greek food and I was like oh, that means meat from a stick probably, so I wasn't that stoked. But he assured us he was bringing vegetarian and vegan accommodations. I wasn't really sure what to expect because Greek cuisine doesn't exactly have a ton of vegetarian food, they like lamb, pork, chicken, etc., and understandably so, I'm sure it's delicious. As I walked past Tryfonas he tried to hand me a sandwich and I was like "uh, I'm vegetarian," in a very small voice. Organizations and such usually aren't required to accommodate vegetarians because it's not an allergy, so I never want to appear to be demanding. But he exclaims "OH!" and hands me a different bag and says "this one is for you! It's falafel in a tortilla!"
I thank him profusely, so relieved to have some type of nutrients. People have told me falafel is generally the only veggie thing they'll put in gyros; the Greek equivalent of a hamburger sold everywhere, but I'd never had it before so I wasn't sure about it. It was made with like chickpeas and herbs, and I liked chickpeas, I just hadn't tried it yet.
I proceeded to have the best meal of my life. It had these chickpea balls, hummus, veggies, lettuce; a vegetarian's wet dream. FINALLY some vitamins and nutrients in my goddamn food, a meal that's not a Nature Valley bar. I felt like I would live now.
So long story short, I now trusted this man with my life. Someone hands me vegetarian food while my stomach is literally crying out for food = they earn my trust eternally.
And I felt really taken care of every program-funded meal after that. Even when we bombarded a small family-owned Greek restaurant with our presence, and chaos ensued as 30 college kids began chatting and grappling for food, he would make sure to find each one of us with dietary restrictions tell the waitstaff (who usually only spoke Greek) exactly what all of us needed and ensured we were fed.
He might act like a crazy person sometimes, but as much as he is silly, he goes above and beyond the call of duty, planning all of our meals, ensuring we are all taken care of and, using his bilingual skills like a superpower, acting as a bridge between us and Greeks who didn't speak English.
So, on the day we went to the Acropolis, one of my roommates and I kind of lagged behind, wanting to look at some of the structures we didn't get to as a group, because our time there was so brief. So we exited the Acropolis like ten minutes late and thus we were ten minutes late to lunch. I hoped there was food left, but we were all vultures just trying to survive, and I wouldn't be upset if there wasn't.
We sat down on the stone steps in an open spot by Tryfonas and all the other students, and he hands my roommate a sandwich and I remind him I'm a vegetarian and he tries to hand me a sandwich. "Here this is a vegan sandwich, it's for you guys." I looked at it and it looked kind of gross like just a bunch of soggy vegetables in bread so I said "Oh no, it's ok, you can save that for an actual vegan," trying to wave it off. He insisted that I take it so I did and started to gnaw on it.
I don't know if I was hungrier than I thought but it was delicious, some type of eggplant on really nice bread among other veggies. I never ate like sandwiches or bread (that isn't garlic bread) really before I came here, but because I had to eat what I was given I was eating so many more sandwiches than usual and I was really enjoying it.
"This is actually really good, thank you," I told Tryfon.
"I told you!" He said, "you didn't believe me! You silly Americans," he exclaimed in his thick Greek accent.
I shook my head and laughed. "No, I really didn't."
A few moments passed and I was talking to one of the girls next to me, and then Tryfon suddenly said: "you know, I really like the bass in your voice."
I blinked at him, knowing he was talking to me because I'd always been that person with the super low voice, but being surprised that someone would say something like that so casually. "Really?" I asked.
"Yes," he answered, genuine like always. I don't know if Greek people could be sarcastic, they all seemed to be so genuine and good at communicating what they want to say very directly, something that I envied. "It is very good."
"Really?" I said again, still surprised at this comment. "Because most people don't like it, I've really struggled with it for a long time," I explained.
"Why?!" He asked, which is what he says to most things we say, always wondering about why we Americans thought things.
"A lot of guys have told me they don't like it. People make rude comments on my social media if I post a video with my voice in it, and one time a guy I was talking to told me that if he was talking to me on the phone he would think I'm a dude."
"What? That is ridiculous, it is very nice. You would be a very good singer."
I wasn't about to delve into my long history of choir and singing, but it was kind of bittersweet hearing that part about singing because my vocal coach always told me how unique my voice was, and even though it was always difficult for me to control, that it was super rare and I should always take care of it.
"Thank you, that's really nice of you, I don't know if anyone's ever said that to me," I said. He probably didn't know that made my day. Or week. Or life.
"Yes, don't let anyone tell you that. You have a very good voice."
I pondered this for a while thinking about the differences between Americans and Greeks. An American man would never say this to me, or at least they never have. In all my interactions with men regarding my voice, they have all been negative. I can only think to relate this to the age-old concept of femininity and sexuality. Small, dainty builds, high-pitched voices; your standard ideal woman, what is seen as most desirable to a man. The same thing works both ways, women may have this inherent bias and regard men that have higher-pitched voices as less desirable. And it's something that I've always been annoyed with but accepted. I'm a very tall, not delicate or petite, deep-voiced woman.
But what's interesting and wonderful to see is that Greek, or European ideals in general, seem to be less rigid. Not only would an American man never say that to me, but an American man would never think that in the first place. They just don't usually. But Tryfon just said it so casually, as casually as you would compliment someone on their hair or something, and you know he believes it because if he didn't it wouldn't have ever come up; he's very transparent. Tryfon himself has a higher-pitched voice than most men I would say, or maybe it's a common Greek thing, but either way, he's as confident as any man.
I think sometimes we think that Europe may be lagging behind America in infrastructure, technology, and so on, but I think what America may lack is this broader mindset of taste. To him it didn't seem weird to compliment something outside of gender stereotypes, but to me it seemed shocking, life-changing even.
Maybe Americans can learn to appreciate all types of people, and not be ashamed to like things outside of the norm. Maybe we can learn to appreciate other things than the norm, smaller guys, taller girls, etc. I don't think everyone has to like or appreciate every type of person, and now I'm fine with some people not liking my voice. But if everyone felt comfortable to like what they like and compliment each other on it freely, the way Tryfon did, people might be happier being themselves. It really warmed my heart to hear something like that, but to him, it just seemed as normal as talking about the weather.
July 13th, 2019
In the wonderful yet odd world of Santorini, we physically had no reasonable or affordable means of getting around unless we rented cars. There were 14 of us so we needed three cars. Considering the roads in Santorini are slightly dangerous at best and terrifying at worse, no one jumped at the idea of being any of the three drivers we required. When I learned we were getting cars I had already decided that, despite the fact that I absolutely love driving and have countless hours of driving time, I would not volunteer. I had just had such a rough year with car luck last year, I couldn't do it. But I didn't not volunteer necessarily because I thought something WOULD happen, I just didn't want to be responsible if anything DID happen. I selfishly thought I would leave all that responsibility to someone else.
But the day the cars arrived I was awoken by the girl who organized the trip and rented the cars whispering my name in my ear. As it was going to be one of the first days I slept in in a very long time, I was asleep like a rock and very disoriented when she came in whispering my name. She said "are you 21?" I said yes and she was like "will you just come sign the forms for one of the cars because we need three people over 21?"
I arose from my weird yet comfortable cot bed in the Airbnb and wandered outside into the already blistering heat. I silently handed my ID to a Greek man with way too much energy who had me sign a form I didn't read. We listened to him tell us that if an accident is our fault we pay and if we're not at fault his insurance pays it, and apparently that was the only thing we needed to know. But at this point, I still thought I was just signing the paper but I didn't really have to drive.
But when we went back inside and we were all talking about it we decided the people that signed the contracts should just drive just in case anything did happen because we might get in trouble if someone else was driving. And no one else really jumped up and begged to drive. So at this point, I accepted my fate.
I really don't know how to describe the roads in Santorini accurately. They get wider and narrower and wider again within meters while driving along the same road. The entire island is basically made up of blind corners, one of the most dangerous things to encounter as a driver and there's really no way to properly deal with them except go really slow. Even the intersections were weird, all 2 way or 4 way stops, because, of course, there were no lights. And there were crazy motorbike and ATV drivers everywhere that literally did not give a fuck and will dart right in front of you or go a million miles an hour. And the car was clearly old, not ancient, but you had to press all the way down on the gas and break pedal to do anything, which is a huge change from my car which you barely have to tap. And when we started up a hill, which there were many of, the car literally had no power or acceleration or whatever and it would go like 10 mph up the hill until it leveled out, which is extremely dangerous when there are people behind you. It was clear to me that the car was so dangerous that no business would rent it out in America, it would be a HUGE liability. But we're in Greece, baby.
As much as this sounds like a complete nightmare, this was actually the biggest blessing. While decently stressful, being back in the driver’s seat after complaining for weeks that I miss driving and I miss my car really rejuvenated my spirit. I had a wonderful group of friends in my car and we stopped by an electronics store and got a cheap aux chord. I would’ve never believed my happiest moments in Santorini would be while driving this shitty car along cliffs overlooking the oceans and donkey pastures blasting early 2000’s songs. I think those moments I’ll treasure forever.
I was just praying the whole time that nothing bad happened. Buses would nearly scrape our car and motorcycles would dart out in front of us but that was normal for the territory and we were just doing our best to adapt. We only had the car for two days and I couldn’t imagine my luck would be so bad that I would fuck something up in 48 hours. But I really should’ve known.
There was a lack of signs oftentimes or at least a lack of visible signs, and one day when we were leaving town I accidentally entered a one-way road when I left the parking lot because I had really thought it looked big enough for a two way. Suddenly a giant tour bus was hurtling towards us and there was no room to turn around or go past it. All 5 of us were collectively screaming at the top of our lungs in the few seconds we thought we were about to be bulldozed by a massive bus.
I had no choice but to dart down a tiny gravel alley that was right next to us, and as soon as we were halfway through it we stopped to assess the situation. The alley didn’t go all the way through, it was a dead-end so we had to turn around and it was extremely narrow. With a hotel on one side and a short rock wall on the other I really was not sure how I was going to get us out of this.
I started doing the forward, back, forward, back, inching back and forth movement. It didn’t look like we were getting very far, and I was very stressed. Everyone kept being like "you're doing great!" and I appreciated it but still it was taking a long time.
So, being the impulsive person I am, decided I would just let it fly for a second and take my foot fully off the shitty brake and get as close to the rock wall as I could. But suddenly it just kept going and going and everyone was shouting "stop! Stop!" and in my frenzy my foot just froze and didn't move and then when I finally tried to hit the brake, instead I hit the gas and before I knew it we had slammed into the rock wall with a sickening crunch.
We all gasped and a moment of utter silence came over the car for a moment as we looked at each other in horror. I said "uh oh," like an idiot, and me and my copilot and one other girl jumped out of the car to assess the damage.
An important thing to note is that the car was already a piece of shit. It was incredibly dirty with intermittent scratches and a big dent on the back fender. Most cars in Santorini were this beat up, unsurprisingly considering the road conditions.
But it was black, and all the scratches from the grey rocks were in stark contrast to the car's paint job. And there were a few places where the paint was actually scraped clean off, showing the white undercoat and silver body.
"It's not that bad," my helpful copilot, Ashley, said. "Yeah, it's not that bad," I provided, but I think we were all just trying to convince ourselves. The other girls were like "yeah, it's fine!" I mean even though the car was really shitty I still felt like it would be very easy to notice. But, there was no time to stop our whole day and freak out about it, we were only in Santorini for four days. So we just brushed it off and laughed and piled back in the car and got safely home.
In my life, I have survived two major car accidents, both in which I was in the driver's seat. And as much as I'm in love with cars and in love with driving, both experiences took me a long time to overcome and tend to follow me even now and get inside my head. I was reminded of things my parents have said about car accidents, minor or otherwise. The lives of the people are the most important, cars can always be replaced. We could've hit a motorist or someone on an ATV or I could've hurt my friends and that would've been a nightmare abroad. What happened was the best type of accident that could've transpired. None of my friends were even close to hurt, and the car was just scratched.
At that moment I knew the worst thing that would happen is I would have to pay damages and my parents would be annoyed. The best thing that could happen is that no one notices and nothing happens. Unless the Santorini police can come and arrest me for damaging a rental car those are literally the parameters of what could become of me, Allyson, the nervous, foolish driver.
So I got home, everyone went inside to get ready for whatever we were doing next, and I took this opportunity to see really how bad it is. I sacrificed the hand towel given to me by the Airbnb and soaked it with water. I took it outside hoping no one would walk around to the back of the house and catch me looking very suspicious.
I scrubbed the affected area with it, vigorously I might add. It actually took off a ton of the surface scratches, or what was noticeable of them, removing a huge amount of what could potentially be noticed. I noticed that the car was incredibly dirty so it looked suspicious that the dirt and dust was removed off one area of just a few square feet. So to look less suspicious I wiped the entire back of the car and many of the windows, etc. etc.
But, understandably, it wasn't going to be that easy. The places where the paint was actually removed was not swayed by my washcloth. I examined it, pondering what my next move would be. I left it to dry and came back to see what it looked like dry like an hour later.
I really didn't know how much this crazy Greek guy was going to analyze the car, but if this was America this definitely wouldn't fly. I knew if I wanted to save my ass I had to do something else.
I instantly thought of something I always keep in my purse, a Sharpie. Probably because I always think I'm just gonna meet a celebrity or something, but regardless, a Sharpie is a very versatile tool and it just always comes in handy.
The car just so happened to be black, so I knew what I had to do. I had to use my resources.
In the evening after all our activities were over I walked out back with my trusty Sharpie and went to town. I went after it filling in the little white chunks, then I got excited and I started going over the surface scratches that were still visible.
Soon I realized that Sharpie black is very different from automotive paint black. I noticed how ridiculously different and noticeable it was, but at that point, it was far too late, I had no way to remove it, especially with my limited resources here in Santorini.
Sadly I forgot to take a before picture at how bad the damages were, but It was honestly laughable how ridiculous it looked. And I had no choice but to leave it. I left some of the scratches uncovered because I honestly didn't want to keep filling it in because I felt like the stark contrast of the blacks would look even more noticeable than leaving some scratches.
In the morning the man was coming to pick up the cars. As I'm not a morning person and we'd been staying up late, I put the keys on the kitchen table and announced they were there so someone could just give all of the keys to the man in the morning and I wouldn't have to get up.
When I went to bed I just hoped and prayed that I wasn't awoken by one of the girls angrily telling me I had to explain myself to the rental guy. But if I was, oh well, I'd have no choice but to own up.
In the morning, to my horror, I was awoken again by the girl who ordered the cars whispering my name in my ear. I literally was filled with terror when I opened my eyes to see her, afraid of how everyone would think I'm such a fucking idiot.
But she didn't really look mad to my surprise, just kind of generally concerned. "Will you come out with us just in case we have to sign some more papers or anything?" she asked. I said "uh, sure," and peeled myself out of my bed into the already blinding sun outside.
I got outside to see that the dude wasn't even here yet, she just wanted us to come out and be there when he arrived. "Maybe we should move the cars out to the front?" she mentioned. "Good idea!" I said leaping into action too quickly. My car was butt out and this gave me an opportunity to put it front out, which maybe will help postpone my potential detection.
I was the first to start my car and start moving it to the front. I lickity-split got that car turned around and there was this gazebo in the front garden of our rental house and to make more space for the other cars in the driveway I backed the ass of my car straight under it. This way the scratch/sharpie patch was in the shade so the ridiculous off-black color was in the shade thus making it all significantly less noticeable, even if the rental man wanted to step around all the plants in the garden for some reason investigate the entire perimeter of the car.
After this, standing in the sun in the early-ish morning, me and the two other girls waited for the crazy rental guy who was really late. Eventually, he arrived, and we all handed him the keys and thanked him, he told us he would take care of everything and we were free. So we all meandered inside to pack up our stuff to go back to the mainland. My chest was still tight, just waiting for the man to come banging on our door telling us we damaged the car and I'd have to come forward.
But minutes turned into an hour and I discovered that the man and all the cars were gone. Nothing happened. And, as days and weeks went on, the girl who's name the cars were rented under never got a call or an email or anything to my knowledge.
So I guess the moral of the story is to carry a sharpie and always take the black car. Or that minorly damaging a car abroad isn't the end of the world and you probably won't get caught.
Or don't be a dumbass.
You can take your pick.
July 20th, 2019
On our five-day road trip to see the amazing landmarks of history on the mainland of Greece, we found ourselves in an area called Olympia, which I thought was hilarious because I happened to grow up in the capital of Washington which is named Olympia (not after the Greek Olympia, but because of its view of the Olympic Mountains, but the Greek Olympia still came first of course). I kept making jokes that I'd been in two Olympias now, and I sure got a kick out of it.
It was a very healing time because the hotel we stayed at was nice and calm, not a lot of people there, good food, a quiet town nearby, and a beautiful pool we spent most of the day at. I could've stayed there for the rest of the trip, but we were only there for two days.
The second day, we just had a few hours of sightseeing in the morning and then we had the rest of the day to do what we wanted. There were some little girls playing at the pool and a few kids on the program befriended them and played with them for hours. I didn't really think anything of it, I love kids but I was just tired and I was sunbathing, however, I understood why kids on the program loved playing with them because it was refreshing seeing little kids laughing and shrieking and being fascinated with us older kids.
Hours later, after dinner, we were watching the sunset while lounging on the pool chairs; the pool had an unparalleled view of the breathtaking Greek sunsets.
Eventually some of the little girls ran over and began talking excitedly to the students on the chairs next to me who they had played with earlier. They wanted to make a TikTok dancing video with them and were having a great time with these college students they had just met.
Eventually, as a few of us were sitting there watching, thoroughly entertained by our friends struggling to learn a simple dance routine from girls that were maybe ten years old, the family that belonged to these girls wandered over, a mother, father, and a few older girls.
The mother asked "Are they bothering you? I'm so sorry" like mothers often do. We all waved her away because we loved them, they were so cute. "Only my kids would find twenty-year-olds to hang out with," she laughed.
They wanted to know what program or college we were with, how many of us are there, how long we were here, etc. etc., and we were happy to answer. The mom was very sweet, with a warm New York accent. The dad had a thick Greek accent and they revealed he was full Greek and had grown up here in Olympia. They met when they were both going to college in New York getting their graduate and master's degrees and now their family lives in Chicago for work. We, in turn, asked them how long they were here for and they had been in Greece for several weeks and were going to be for several more weeks, including a week trip to Romania just for fun. I now gathered that this family was probably loaded, considering staying in hotels for that long and going to Romania just for fun is only something a decently well off family would do. The dad even mentioned that they owned property in Olympia, and were planning on building a house there for their stays back in his hometown in the summers.
Suddenly I was overwhelmed with thoughts of my family, and the way we travel and spend our vacation time. In the winter we always go to Hawaii, where my dad has heritage and where his mom currently lives, and we just relax and enjoy each other and the island that we know so well. We have this odd sense of home there, even though we're at a resort and in a different state, but we feel so unbelievably comfortable in the community. Every morning we walk into town and get coffee, we go to the same grocery store, the same restaurants, we get to know the people there, and we do this same thing every year. We're even best friends with the guy that runs the gift shop because we go there to buy snacks so much. Many families wouldn't like this, they'd rather spend their money going to new places for vacation every year, but we don't. We are so happy and comfortable there, why go anywhere else?
This family had that exact same connection to Olympia and this hotel and did the exact same thing that we do yearly, returning to their homeland and a familiar community. They were so comfortable, they knew all the workers at the hotel by their first names and the dad was childhood friends with the owner. While I really loved what I was doing and experiencing in my study abroad, I suddenly hungered for the way I travel with my family, not because of the luxury but because as a family we are always able to make such meaningful connections with the communities we reside in when we travel.
Eventually, the conversation turned to the oldest daughter, who was just about to enter her junior year at her high school in Chicago. The mother, after asking us various questions about what we study and about UW, explained she was getting increasingly stressed about admissions and the SAT, etc. etc. At first, she was so shy and would barely speak and just let the mom speak, but eventually, she spoke up.
She asked what colleges look for in the application and how important her test scores are and what she should write about in her essays. We told her that the essays are by far the most important and that she should just write about her passions and diversity, which she has plenty to write about because of her Greek heritage and its clear impact on her life. She also worried that she didn't do enough extracurriculars, that all her friends told her she has to do sports and be in a bunch of clubs and play an instrument. She wondered if she should write about the one year she did soccer in middle school but she didn't really like it.
We reassured her that she didn't have to force herself to do anything, that she doesn't have to lie in her essays or applications. I told her to just be involved in things she's actually passionate about. If she doesn't like sports or music she doesn't have to do that. She can just join a club or organization that's actually related to something she's passionate about. We tried to reassure her that it's really not that bad and if she's genuine colleges will see and appreciate that and she seemed to really believe us.
After this conversation I was reminded of my own stress when applying to colleges so long ago, how I was also the oldest and my parents asked everyone for advice and it consumed our family's conversations for months. So much of this family was giving me flashbacks to my own life and I couldn't stop smiling and I wanted to talk to them forever. It made me so happy because I missed my family so much. I was smack in the middle of the trip and as much as I was having fun, I wouldn't have minded if the trip abruptly ended and sent me home that day. It was the longest I have ever been away from home and while I appreciated the growth I also struggled a lot.
Our conversation ended up stretching on for at least an hour or more and eventually, the parents were asking to buy us dessert or drinks or something, asking us what we'd like. We insisted they didn't need to buy us anything but they insisted and said they appreciated how nice we were to their girls and that we took so much time to talk to them.
We continued to insist that they were so sweet but we didn't need anything, but they ended up calling the waiter over (by name) and ordering in Greek. We had no idea what would come but they said something about juice and desserts.
After quite a few more minutes of chatting, the family finally bid us a good night, which we needed because we had to get up early to travel the next day. I mourned the loss of the cute, nice family and vaguely wondered if they could adopt me for the rest of my stay in Greece until I was returned back to my own family.
Not too long after we were presented with a fancy tray of desserts, puddings, some cookies, and several glasses of fresh juice. I didn't partake in any of it because I don't like juice and I don't like a lot of desserts, but I admired the tray as my fellow students eagerly partook in the treats. It was such a kind gesture, and so random in how it came about. It got me thinking about how just taking the time to talk to people, whether it be kids or adults, could mean the world to them. And sure, not everyone you have a meaningful conversation with has the means to buy you treats, and that's alright, but in this instance, the interaction meant a lot to both parties because clearly the family was very grateful and us students love nothing more than free food.
We were a good group of kids, I don't think anyone doubted that, but this wholesome interaction with the Greek family brings the word 'mindfulness' to the front of my brain. And I think we were only all that much more mindful in all interactions we had going forward.
You never really know who you're affecting just going about your daily life, and this family will never know how happy they made me reminding me of my own.
We excitedly returned to our rooms to brag to our friends that we got free food from rich people.
July 26th, 2019
As college students in a foreign country generally do, one night in our first week in little Napflio we decided to go out to the “club.” It wasn’t really a club, but more a beach bar that played very loud music and had colorful lights when it got dark. But, as we weren’t in Athens anymore, it was the best we had.
My lazy ass wasn't really in the mood to go full send, and we had decided pretty late in the night to go out and I didn't want to make my friends wait while I did my full makeup routine. So I opted for a "simple makeup" routine (something that really isn't in my repertoire of makeup skills) and just put on some mascara and concealer and drank disgustingly cheap Greek wine while doing it.
I put on a nice denim skirt and crop top and put my hair up in a bun and called it a day. Going out not completely done up is something that has chronically caused me stress and made me slightly uncomfortable, but not wanting to be a burden on my friends and especially my own time (when I was a freshman my makeup could take an hour or more) I've learned to be a bit more lenient in letting myself have a good time without a full face of makeup on.
But I don't expect to talk to anyone new or pull men or anything like that. If going out without all my makeup on made me uncomfortable then flirting with men without all my makeup on was definitely a no go. I didn't even like trying my hand at flirting with a man without my hair down, you know because of age-old notions of femininity and beauty and whatever. If I went out in full makeup and my hair in braids I would still call that night a wash. It's just one way my finickiness manifests but I'm slowly growing out of it and learning to relax a little.
So we go out, but I was in chill-Allyson-with-natural-makeup-on-just-hanging-out-with-friends mode. Which arguably is my favorite way to go out because then I don't have to worry about looking good I can just get drunk and have a good time with my friends.
But that's not what happened.
So we go out and two of the girls we were with were really good at flirting with guys to get free drinks out of them. Call it what you will, but to me, they were smart and charismatic, not at all like my quiet demeanor and I enjoyed watching them work their magic.
But soon after we arrived at the bar they disappeared and myself and the other girls and guys that I was with briefly worried because we couldn't find them. Losing members of the group was not something recommended on a night out abroad. But we eventually saw them at a table with a few Greek men who had a nice bottle of ouzo in a bucket of ice. Relieved, we left them and went on our merry way to get drinks at the bar.
We danced for a little and drank a little, however, after a few drinks we grew bored and when someone said they had to go to the bathroom we all agreed to go so we could discuss our next move.
At the entrance to the bar on the way to the bathrooms, we spotted the two girls who were previously conversing with the Greek men. They were now in conversation with the most beautiful, tall, foreign, white boys I had ever seen. I joyfully noticed there were three boys and two of them, but I shrugged it off knowing I wouldn't approach them.
I told my friends how I thought they were so fucking cute and tall and my friend urged me to go over there. I waved her away, knowing I shouldn't. I don't even have all my makeup on and I don't have the kind of prowess our friends do. They continued to encourage me and I just told them to forget I said anything.
So we begin our walk to the bathroom and as we pass our friends and the foreign boys, someone in my group LITERALLY PUSHES ME INTO THEM! I end up shoulder checking a tall brunette boy with an adorable baby face and laugh nervously as I glare at my friends walking up to the bathroom.
I greet my two girlfriends having no choice now but to be in this conversation and they greet me back establishing to the men that we all know each other. The boy I was pushed into seemed to be the odd one out, as my two friends were each in a pretty deep conversation with the other two.
After the initial 'how are you' conversation, he said something in a different language to his friends and they had a brief exchange as my friends and I watched. I was looking at my boy with almost literal fucking heart eyes like an idiot, I had always been easily whipped by white boys with accents and/or European boys. After he turns his attention back to me I ask him what language he was speaking, after I tried fruitlessly to decipher it along with his thick accent and slightly broken English. He asked me to guess, and although I had a pretty good grasp on a wide variety of languages I would've already guessed something if I had a good idea.
I nervously ran through my brain knowing it wasn't any of the obvious; French, Spanish, Italian, Greek, German, etc. There weren't many of the easily recognizable languages left, but they were very tall and pretty pale, "Swedish?" I offered. He shook his head and laughed.
"Close."
"Uh..." My knowledge of white Europeans from my addiction to watching 90 Day Fiance pulled through as I said "The Netherlands?"
"Yeah!" He said with a smile, "Dutch. We're from Holland." I smirked, I felt like the second try wasn't that bad, Dutch was definitely not something easily recognizable especially with the way the American education system taught languages.
"Your English is really good!" I said, and I swear this man smiled as if I told him he won the lottery. (I later tweeted 'foreign men act like you sucked their dick when you tell them they have good English' for all my twitter fans out there reading this.)
"Really? That's not what all my friends say," he laughed, but I assured him it was good. And although he frequently made grammatical mistakes I enjoyed it when he said words out of order, it was like listening to an alien version of English but my nerdy, linguistic-loving ass found it interesting.
Us girls asked them how old they are, knowing foreign boys can be deceptive at times. Thankfully, they said they were all 21 except one that one of my friends was talking to was 20.
Soon he asked for my Snapchat, but in usual Allyson fashion, I told him I didn't have one and offered to exchange Instagrams, knowing my Instagram had a lot more to offer than my Snapchat. He agreed and then after exchanging usernames I glanced at his phone screen and winced as I remembered the last set of photos I posted was a boudoir shoot I was basically naked in, my most revealing one to date. As a male does, he was immediately very interested in them, scrolling through and pointing and asking "Are you an actual model?"
"No," I waved him off, knowing I was an idiot for trying to flex like this "just for fun sometimes."
After talking for a little longer they asked us all out to the dance floor in which we followed. I saw my other friends again in passing and gave them the death glare while they wiggled their eyebrows at me.
But as we entered the dance floor I was suddenly spun around and pulled away from the group by one of the girls I was with, the more energetic and might I say motherly of the two.
"Listen," she looked intensely into my eyes, "are you sure you're okay with this?" As study abroad-mates, we were unfortunately all too familiar with each other's sexual histories. She knew I had trouble with intimacy and I hadn't done anything with anyone as a result of it. She also knew I had been talking to this guy (I'll call him Ben for all intents and purposes) I'd been on a few dates with since JANUARY and it was my first venture into dating since high school (roughly three years ago).
"If there's anything that happens that you're uncomfortable with just tell us," she assured me, and I frantically looked around like I had just been propositioned for sex, I had no idea why she was being so serious. "And this Ben guy? How serious is it? Like is this a big deal?"
I shook my head and frowned at the memory. "No it's fine" I grumbled, "he never cuffed me anyways, we're not official, it doesn't matter." The undying loyalty of the Scorpio within me was stressed but he also never seemed to want to cuff me. He asked me to date him once after our third date but I thought I didn't know him well enough and hoped he would give me some time, but he never asked again after our few dates that followed and he grew distant before I left for Greece despite the fact that we had still been Snapchatting every day. (For anyone curious, I had hoped that we would date when I got home from Greece, but soon after I returned it promptly ended in disaster.)
"Good." She grinned. "Tell me or give me a signal if you aren't okay, okay?" I nodded profusely, still not sure what I was agreeing to, as she turned back to her guy.
I turned back to my guy and smiled apologetically, and soon I looked around and saw my friends grinding on their respective men. Never having been a fan of grinding, as much as I loved dancing, I looked around in panic wondering if it was my turn to do my duty as a flirty female at the bar. I smiled nervously at my guy and he must've seen the terror in my eyes.
"Want to go get a drink?" he asked, to which I nodded.
He takes my hand and we push through the crowd and eventually reach the bar where he asks me what I want. I panic and think about what I've been recently drinking and suggest tequila shots. If there was anything I needed to survive this interaction with a cute boy it was tequila. He agrees so that's what I order from the Greek bartender. The Dutch boy paid, and I was kinda touched because a guy had never really bought me a drink before. We take the tequila shots and slowly return to our friends. We dance and chat a bit and before long I look over and see my two gal pals making out with their men.
I seize up in terror as I look at my guy, knowing all too well where I was headed.
There's a scene in the meme-y Netflix film Tall Girl where our similarly inexperienced protagonist finds herself on a triple date with her friends paired with a man she doesn't really know, and during a rather quiet moment, she turns around and sees the other two couples making out. Not knowing what else to do she engages in a really awkward kiss with her guy. (Months after Greece when I saw the movie with my friends I had to resist the urge to point at the TV and say "hey that basically happened to me!") I felt very much like Tall Girl at this moment, as if we didn't have plenty of other similarities in our lives.
He looks at me and we both chuckled and he leans towards my ear and says something roasting one of his friends. We laugh about this for a moment and then suddenly one of my friends is tugging on me saying we're leaving. I say okay and then we are all saying goodbye to the men from Holland. I was sad, admiring them, realizing the boy I was with was the cutest, or the most my type, out of all of them. But I was overall relieved that I could end this pleasant interaction without an awkward intimate embrace.
I pulled away from hugging him when all of a sudden the beautiful Dutch boy with the fluffy brown-haired asked the fateful question: "But can I get a kiss goodnight?"
My stomach drops and I panic again. Allyson, who's untouched lips (except for that one time a gay guy dared me to kiss him while I was drunk at a GAD) have never once been touched out of her sheer crippling anxiety of being intimate on any level with a person, kiss a boy?!
Months before, right before a nighttime date with Ben, I had been running around my sorority house asking what I should do because we were having a wine night and I was sure he was gonna try to kiss me and I fully had no experience. But, as my mental health and stress levels had improved so much since high school I knew I was basically ready. So I collected as many tips and pieces of information from my friends that I could (although the overarching theme was 'your body will know what to do' which was of no help to me) and went on my date where he subsequently was way too awkward and scared to make a move, which I understood, I can look intimidating.
So, knowing I had all the preparation I could possibly have, and in my drunkenness, I realize I'm 21 and I should just do it.
So I meet him in the middle and give him a little peck on the lips like you would a grandma that kisses you or something. I laughed and gave him an embarrassed look, wondering if he could tell how much of an inexperienced idiot I was for someone who posts pictures of their tits on Instagram.
He smiled encouragingly and leaned back in where I soon discovered what it feels like for a male to attempt to make out with you. In my panic, I didn't at all reciprocate and froze up. In fact, I couldn't stop smiling (translated as 'laughing nervously') and just watched with my eyes open thinking about how strange it looked when someone was that close to your face with their lips on yours.
I swear the whole interaction couldn't have lasted more than 15 seconds despite the fact that it felt like it lasted forever. After our teeth hit together and I couldn't stop chuckling at my own idiocy, he finally pulled away and released me as I smiled sheepishly at him. He didn't seem nearly as disappointed as I thought he would be, despite the fact that I knew I had made a complete idiot of myself. But at least I hadn't run away screaming like I would have a year ago. I was proud of myself for that, even though I knew I had failed at making out with this man successfully, whatever that may mean. I just prayed that somehow my friends were busy doing something with their men and didn't have to witness that trainwreck.
But it was over, and my anxiety-ridden lil pussy ass had survived.
I thought we were leaving, but it seemed as though the plan changed and as our group met up with the rest of our study abroad-mates and we all walked out together. Everyone was discussing if there was another nearby bar we could go to. But since the town was ultimately so small, there wasn't one close enough and we somehow lost our study abroad brethren again so the six of us just meandered over to sit on the beach.
After asking them about their travels for a while, even though I hoped we would go somewhere a little saucier allowing me a chance to redeem myself, soon my friends whispered to me that they were getting weird vibes and we were gonna ditch them. As much as I mourned the end of my foreign affair that wasn't at all an affair, I knew it was for the best that this extremely strange interaction ended.
We said goodbye and as we abruptly got up and left, the boys were whispering and snickering behind us. I now understood the weird vibes my friends were describing. All of a sudden one of the boys yelled from afar while cackling "we're actually 18!" My eyes widened and I gave my friend a worried look.
"It's fine, just keep walking," she said, putting an arm around my shoulders as our walking pace sped up quickly.
"Man, are they like... crazy?" I asked quietly.
"Yeah kinda," my friends agreed. We soon met up with the rest of our study abroad friends on the street as we made our way back to our hotel. They asked us so many questions so we all began excitedly telling them our weird tale and all about the guys.
"What was your guy's name, Allyson?" one of my guy friends asked.
One of the girls piped in "I feel like it was Sam, he looks like a Sam."
"Wouter," I said, knowing I was probably butchering the Dutch pronunciation.
"What?"
"His name is Wouter."
"Oh my God," he almost doubled over in laughter and said, "do you ever think you're talking to a Sam and he's actually a Wouter!?" We all got a heck of a laugh out of that, realizing how funny it sounded when he put it like that. The absurdity of life in Greece never failed to amaze me.
About 36 hours later I messaged Wouter on Instagram out of pure curiosity (and I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit I kind of wanted him to be so allured by my Instagram that I could live my 90 Day Fiances fantasy and date a cute boy from abroad) asking if it was true that they were 18 and if so how did they get into the bar.
Wouter, whose written English was significantly harder to understand than his spoken English, assured me it was, in fact, true. They were 18 (my drunk ass kissed an 18-year-old), and they had used shitty fake IDs they made, and that one of the guys he was with was actually 15! I nearly shit myself realizing one of my friends had made out with a 15-year-old, but the whole experience was so odd I couldn't be that surprised.
Wouter and I messaged back and forth for a few weeks before it eventually petered out. The slight language barrier and the cultural differences made it kind of awkward to communicate about any elevated topics, but I was fine with that. The whole reason this experience stuck with me anyway was the fact that I just went out on a whim, without my full armor of hair and makeup fully done, and I still managed to catch the interest of a boy I found very cute. The knowledge that I could pull a man without all that gave me a bit of confidence I hadn't had before.
Aside from that, I wasn't sure what the moral of the story is. Probably that my life is fucking weird.
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