Greece: 18 Years of Love, Discovery and Meaning. The moment I fell in love.
- Gabriela
- Oct 3
- 4 min read
It’s been almost 18 years since I first traveled in Greece.
A different life. I was someone else. I was with someone else.
I didn’t even know what I wanted from life.
It was 2008. I couldn’t read the alphabet, I didn’t understand the language, and my biggest fear was… getting lost.
I drove all the way to Athens to visit my mother, who had been working there since 2004. I asked her, at 2 AM, to go outside and check the street name signs — because she didn’t quite know how to write down the address for us.
When we arrived, it was pure joy. Pure longing. What a moment.
That was when Greece entered my life.
At first, just as a trip.
Then as a revelation.
And today… as a conscious life choice.
In 2009, I even lived in Athens for a few months.
David’s father — my partner of 12 years — was a PhD student at the time and an entomologist, a man passionate about nature, science, and exploration.
Together we travelled across Europe and mainland Greece, always on a tight budget, guided by instinct and paper maps.
We slept in the car, discovered wild, untouched places, and I took photos whenever something moved me.
That’s how we ended up one night in a place called Kalogria, in the Achaia region.
Tired, we parked somewhere random — I had no idea where we were.
In the distance, lit only by the car headlights, I saw the shimmer of water.
Complete darkness otherwise.
And in the morning… something deeper than sound woke me.
A stillness that made me pause from the race of life.
The Prokopos Lagoon.
And the umbrella pines — those delicately sculpted trees, like characters from a fairytale, standing like silent guardians over my sleep.
I watched their reflections in the water, gently swaying in the horizon, as if whispering messages thousands of years old.
Messages of longing. Of calling. Of remembering.
For the first time — without even knowing — I felt my soul had roots.
It was my “wow” moment. I can’t fully describe it, but I still feel the shiver along my spine, my whole skin alive with emotion.
My mother often teases me that I haven’t yet found my roots.
That I’ve changed too many houses, too many places.
But I know now:
My roots are not in a building. They’re in a feeling.
And that feeling… is in Greece.
Another magical moment followed:
A sunset with the Rio–Antirrio bridge in sight. I was in a trance.
I had crossed that bridge many times, driven down that same road near Antirrio countless times, without knowing that, just below the expressway, lay Nafpaktos — the town I would discover only in 2024, while searching for a place we could call “home”.
I had always felt drawn to that area.
I felt its calm, its grounding, its calling — but it kept itself hidden, waiting for the right time.
Life moved on. Our paths separated — but with gratitude.
Because David’s father was the person with whom I began all these journeys.
He wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t “not the right one.”
He was exactly what I needed in order to see the world, to learn, to grow, to become.
I’m not sure I would’ve had the courage to do all of it alone.
But life has its cycles.
And each stage needs its own people.
Since 2022, Greece has returned to my life, after a 3-year break.
With different eyes. A different soul.
Beside a different man — my current partner.
A man with deep sensitivity, with the music and dances of Greece in his blood — though he didn’t know it yet.
Together, we discovered a different Greece.
I wanted so much to show him the places I loved.
And we drove thousands of kilometers each time, to revisit them — and discover new ones.
After 9 road trips through Greece over the past 3 years, we both understood something:
Greece is not just a place you want to return to.
It’s a place you want to stay.
To live differently.
To breathe differently.
To build with meaning.
There, we both felt it: “This is home.”
And now… we’re making this dream a reality.
And David — my child who loves water and waves — who felt the sea for the first time at just 6 months old, has now visited Greece 11 times before the age of 12.
For him, Greece isn’t a holiday.
It’s part of his childhood. Part of our life.
I know some of you were surprised by our decision.
But I’ll say this with all honesty:
Greece is not an escape.
It’s not a whim.
Greece grew with me.
It waited for me to understand it.
And now, patiently, it waits for us to call it home.
I don’t know who still reads my stories to the end.
Maybe I write mostly for myself.
Maybe for souls who are searching for something similar.
But if you’ve made it this far… thank you.
And I hope that, in some quiet or deep way, you’ve also felt the calling of a place —
of a world — of a “home” that has more to do with meaning than with walls.
If you have… leave me a sign. A thought. Your story.
Maybe together we’ll remember how roots are truly made.
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