A Commoner in Greece
Nestled in the ancient bedrock between the sprawling Tatoi Forest and Marathon’s picturesque coastline was the Anixi Hotel, where I hid from the overtourism in Athens. The establishment was unnoticeable between a floral shop with colorful product displays spilling onto the sidewalks and a children’s center towering over the hotel. Anixi Hotel’s insignificant outward appearance downplays the abundance concealed within its smokey gray-washed walls.
Each morning, a staff member arrived at my door, hugging a basket (yes, a basket) in one arm filled to the brim with various fruits, pastries, jams, tea sandwiches, a coffee thermos, a glass bottle of fresh juice, and a large jar of Tzatziki. They’d stretched out their other hand to present a plate of scrambled eggs, an assortment of Greek cheeses, and a platter of fresh tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumber.
On the first morning of my visit, I returned a still somewhat full breakfast basket to a staff member and explained that I was lodging alone. The staff member replied with a hearty giggle, quieted by a sadistic smile, “Oh, but this is a light breakfast. You will be hungry in no time!”
They continued bringing the same serving every morning, and I no longer pleaded.
I attempted to eat all the food out of fear of wasting the remaining. However, my body seized at the point of satiation. Disappointed by my inability to make what I couldn’t even classify as a dent in my meal, I wanted to store the food for later. However, the dining culture I experienced in Greece only left me with more food to consume and leftovers to store.
The question that previously arose within me was no longer, “What should I do with my leftovers?” but became, “Why do I feel the need to hoard this food?” Was I being waste-conscious or operating with a poverty mindset?
This spiral triggered frustrating memories of things people would say to me, like, “You travel like a commoner,” or they’d wonder why I bother to travel as much as I do if I’ve never experienced first-class flying or lodging. Without a sufficient response, I turn to them and smile.
Compared to the influx of social media influencers captivating many viewers through curated reels featuring glamorous travel experiences, my travel style is undoubtedly considered “basic.” What I struggle with conveying to others who conflate the worth of my travel journey to the number of followers I have is that I’m not traveling to influence; I’m traveling to experience a world I’ve previously only read about. Social media is simply a way for me to share a few memorable moments and relish in that which I hold for myself.
I get it. I have an unused Priority Pass for an elevated airport lounge experience, and spending extra for a first-class ticket on a long-haul flight wouldn’t hurt. A lavish stay could offer comfort when I want to sleep in or work from my room.
However, I am always more interested in maximizing the value of my dollar. Look, I’m 5 feet tall and petite; every seat feels like extra legroom to me. I no longer drink alcohol on flights and rarely indulge in in-flight entertainment. I enjoy every moment I receive of not being tethered to my mobile device, so there is no need for in-flight internet. As for lodging, I typically spend more time outdoors than indoors at my destinations.
Really, what are the significant benefits of a first-class experience for someone like me?
But maybe it isn’t about weighing pros and cons or stretching dollars. Perhaps it’s about these individuals believing there is no need to compromise on travel experiences because they are never lacking.
On the last day of my stay, I decided to eat only as much as possible, as I had done on my first day. While I couldn’t control what the staff would do with the leftovers, I could control how I felt about letting them go.
