What The Flux

Considering life in another country carries a complex emotional weight. On one hand, there’s the thrill of adventure—which is very real. On the other, it’s a strange experience to find yourself in one of the most beautiful places you’ve ever seen, immersed in a culture rich with authenticity, warmth, and safety, and still feel… isolated. This feeling stems largely from the language barrier. Even mapping reveals the complications. We’re in Greece, and we don’t speak—or read—Greek. I expected this would pose some limitations, but now that I’m here, I can more clearly articulate the nuances of those limitations. We often don’t realize how much we absorb from our surroundings just by reading signs and posters. Because Greek uses a different alphabet and has no linguistic overlap with English to use as a guide, we’re often in the dark. We can’t tell if we’re standing in front of a law office or a dental practice. Bakeries and supermarkets are more obvious, and in truth, I rather enjoy sh...

After the global financial crash of 2008, Greece was hit hard. What followed became known throughout the country simply as The Crisis (Η Κρίση). It wasn’t just an economic collapse—it was a wave of sudden reforms and deep austerity that touched nearly every household. People lost jobs, income, homes. A humanitarian crisis unfolded quietly alongside the financial one. The recession that followed turned out to be the longest ever recorded for any developed, mixed economy. By 2013, Greece’s stock market had fallen so far that the country was reclassified as an emerging market—a symbolic blow to a modern European nation. The fallout ran deep. Politics fractured. Social safety nets frayed. Many of the country’s brightest minds—young, educated Greeks—packed up and left in search of stability elsewhere. Most have returned now.  Scars remain, woven into the landscape and the culture but strength from what has been endured does too.  Today what can be seen when traveling Greece is evid...

Greece feels remarkably safe. It’s common to see children under 10—often young girls—walking alone after dark, even riding their scooters through quiet streets at 10 p.m. It’s simply understood: Greece is safe. That sense of security seems to be rooted in the culture itself, where family is deeply valued, and community ties are strong. In the nine days we’ve been here, we’ve seen exactly one police car—a fact that feels both surprising and wonderful. One thing I didn’t expect, though, is the near-total absence of yoga. When planning this scouting trip, we focused on the obvious: employment, climate, housing, transportation. I never thought to ask, “Is there yoga?” I assumed, as in the U.S., there would be a studio on every other street corner. Rob made a similar assumption about music—surely there would be recording studios and venues to explore. I also imagined that fine art would be as accessible as it is in the States, with dedicated museums, modern art institutions, and galleries s...

Rob and I often talk about relative wealth. Studies have shown that people tend to feel happiest when they have as much—or more—than those around them. Being at the top end of the economic spectrum in your community tends to feel good. So what does it mean to live in a country where most people hover around the midline? When I began considering a move to Greece, several friends reminded me, “It’s a poor country.” And by certain metrics, that’s true. Greece is still recovering from the economic collapse of 2010. It doesn’t have the glut of goods we’re used to in the U.S. In stores, housewares, electronics, and furniture often feel low-end to an American eye—especially one accustomed to having access to high-quality goods from around the world, delivered quickly and affordably (at least until Trump disrupted that system). It’s hard to grasp just how plush life in the U.S. is until you leave. You can pick up a full set of fine porcelain at a yard sale for five dollars, or find solid wood ...

We’ve made our way to Kalamata, another city in the Peloponnese region of Greece, about a two-hour drive from Nafplio. First impressions? It feels like a mix of Brooklyn, New Orleans, South Beach Miami, and Beverly Hills—a strange combination, I know! Unlike Nafplio or Athens, the urban streets of Kalamata are wide, a more recent development that feels refreshingly familiar to an American. But that sense of spaciousness doesn’t last. Once you leave the urban center and enter the residential neighborhoods—mostly beach towns lining the coast—the roads quickly revert to being incredibly narrow, winding beyond anything you can imagine, and at times, quite rough. Kalamata’s street life has the energy of Brooklyn, but it’s dotted with charming, French-influenced two-story buildings featuring ornate wrought-iron balconies that evoke New Orleans. Our Airbnb is directly on the port, overlooking the water, surrounded by restaurants, shops, and a few small beaches. Just an eighth of a mile down t...

One noticeable difference between the U.S. and Greece is found on the roads. In many older areas—like Nafplio and the small hamlets scattered throughout the countryside—the roads seem far too narrow for two-way traffic, yet somehow every encounter between vehicles works itself out. It’s now clear to me why car rental companies offer so many micro cars—even the wheels are tiny! Locals seem to prefer motorcycles and mopeds, zipping in and out of traffic with ease. Rob commented on the consistent tailgating, saying, “That’s not tailgating to the Greeks—it’s just driving.” Occasionally, especially in Athens, a beat-up little pickup truck will pass by with a speaker blasting announcements, asking if anyone has scrap metal, old appliances, or other junk. Sometimes these vehicles (without the rooftop cages) are used to broadcast political or religious messages. Our rental car has two fuel inputs: LPG and regular gasoline. LPG costs less than half as much, so we’ve favored using it—though not ...

  I grew up on Long Island and absolutely took for granted how much the beach shaped my life and joy. It’s funny, then, that I ended up in the desert—landlocked—though I did score a 108-degree hot spring, which helps satisfy my deep connection to water and all its moods. Every stop on our nearly month-long trip (of which we’re 6 days in) to Greece is by the sea. Yesterday and today, we explored the coastline east and west of Nafplio and found a spectacular  variety of beaches: some no wider than a few feet, where the water laps almost immediately at your feet; hidden coves nearly encircled by mountains, with only a narrow channel leading to the open sea; and beach towns that reminded me of the Hamptons or Freeport back on Long Island. One thing’s for sure—every beach seems to have at least one seafood restaurant offering the catch of the week, or even of the day. At Ira Beach, which has just one business—a little seafood taverna—there were a couple dozen fishing boats docked o...

Where we live in the States—Truth or Consequences, New Mexico—we’re hardly representative of mainstream American culture in that there seems to be a general disinterest in preserving the past through architecture. Often a structure becomes idle, and is deemed condemned, and the local gravel company, Bar Two, is called in to demolish it and haul it away. In my time I’ve seen a drive through liquor store/bar (with stylish 20’ high metal arches from the 1950s), an old firehouse, an antique tavern that dated back to the 40s, and multiple administrative buildings reduced to rubble and hauled away and replaced by nothing.  In the 19 years I’ve lived there, I’ve seen stunning architectural gems destroyed and dragged out of town—probably melted down for scrap or lost to some unknown fate. I doubt it’s about a lack of appreciation for history; more likely, it’s about keeping money circulating through familiar channels. Bar Two is as rooted in local nepotism as any long-established business...

What’s sinking in deeply is how traditional Greek culture remains. The focus is clearly on family—you constantly see three generations traveling together. Kids roam in loose little gangs, kicking soccer balls across town squares, which are lively hubs for social gathering. Parents don’t hover; the community itself is the container of safety. Everyone looks out for each other. Teenagers cluster just outside cafés, where adults in the family linger for hours, sipping coffee or drinking local wine—often just $4 a bottle, and with no added sulfites.

We spent the last three days exploring Nafplio and its surrounding beach towns. Nafplio is vibrant with life, partly because summer is beginning and travel to the coast is picking up. The town has a significant year-round population of about 36,000. Meals are simple and close to the source: a whole fish, freshly plucked from the sea in view. Greece doesn’t rely on imported food; it’s a deeply agricultural country, and the ingredients speak for themselves. A zucchini tastes like zucchini. All it needs is a drizzle of locally grown and pressed olive oil and a sprinkle of oregano. The cheese—made nearby—is incredibly fresh, likely just days old. We wandered through a farmers market with tomatoes redder than fire engines, practically bursting with juice. We picked up unbelievably delicious oranges from a roadside farm stand. Photo: Cats are everywhere—calm, scruffy, and ever-present. They wait patiently at tables for scraps. Rob is about to reward this little guy with the skin from his sea...

It’s our fourth day in Greece. Yesterday, we picked up a rental car at the airport and drove from Athens to Nafplio—about two hours by highway. Rob got his bearings behind the wheel quickly, and we arrived in one piece at our next stop: a weekend beach destination popular with Greeks. As our waiter confirmed last night over dinner, they don’t see many Americans here. “Mostly Italians, Belgians, Polish, and folks from the UK,” he said. We chose Nafplio partly for that reason. The town has a population of around 25,000, and like many places in Greece,  its economy runs largely on tourism. We’re still hunting for a SIM card so Rob can use his phone. When I reminded him of this last night, he shrugged and said, “Phone. What phone?”—clearly not missing the tether to the life we left behind in the U.S. Still, we’ll try to get one today; relying on a single device in a country where English isn’t guaranteed and maps are essential feels a little precarious. A few early observations abou...