Things You Only Understand After Spending a Summer in Greece.

There are things people think they know about Greek summers.

Blue seas. White houses. Beautiful beaches. Fresh food. Sunsets. And yes, all those things are true.

But, spend an entire summer in Greece and you begin to discover the other things. The things the postcards somehow forgot to mention. Like the fact that cicadas apparently have no volume control whatsoever.

Or that at some point in July, iced coffee stops being a beverage and becomes past of your personality.

So, in honour of another gloriously hot Greek summer, here are a few things you only really understand once you’ve lived through one. Full time.

1. The cicadas are not background noise.

They are the soundtrack. You wake up in the morning. TZZZZZZZZ. You have lunch. TZZZZZZZ. You sit outside with your coffee. TZZZZZZZ. Eventually, you might stop noticing them. And then, strangely, when summer ends and they disappear, you miss them.

2. And iced coffee can last approximately three business days.

You don’t just drink coffee in Greece. You, somehow, enter into a long-term relationship with it. You order a freddo espresso or a freddo cappuccino. You take on sip, you talk, you take another sip. Someone arrives, you start another conversation and two hours later, you are still sitting there. There are tree ice cubes left and nobody is concerned. That is how coffee should be.

3. Shade becomes valuable real estate.

In winter, you choose your table at the cafe, because it has a lovely view. But in August? You conduct a full environmental assessment. Where is the sun? Where will the sun be in 30 minutes? Does the umbrella move? Is there a tree? Can I physically relocate this chair another seventeen centimetres? The best table isn’t the one overlooking the sea, it’s the one in the shade overlook the sea.

4. You learn not to argue with the afternoon sun.

Visitors occasionally have ambitious plans for 2 p.m. That is just adorable! At 2 p.m, though, in August, Greece has one very clear message: NO. This is not the time for sightseeing, it is the time for swimming. Or sitting somewhere shady. Or having lunch. Or taking a nap. Preferably, somewhere near an air-conditioner that you have already emotionally bonded with.

5. Dinner at 7 p.m feels suspiciously like lunch.

Greek summer evenings stretch forever. At seven, people are still swimming. At eight, they are showering after the beach. At nine, someone finally says: ”Should we think about dinner?”. And somehow, sitting down to eat at ten feels completely reasonable. Your winter self wouldn’t recognise you.

6. The beach requires considerably more equipment than expected.

In theory ”Let’s go for a quick swim” is lovely, simple. Except now we need: towels, water, sunscreen, sunglasses, a hat, a book, another book in case we don’t like the first one, beach shoes, snacks, coffee, a bag for wet swimsuits, and aproximately seventeen other objects nobody remembers packing but everyone apparently needs. We’re not going swimming. No. We are relocating.

7. You develop very strong opinions about beaches.

Before spending enough time in Greece: ”What a beautiful beach!”. And afterwards: ”Hmm. Too organised”. ”Not enough shade”. ”Too many people”. ”The water isn’t as clear”. ”Pebbles are nicer”. ”No, sand is nicer”. ”Yes, but where are we getting coffee?”. Congratulations. You have become impossible.

8. ”I’ll just pop into the bakery” is dangerous.

You went in for bread. That’s all. Bread. You leave carrying bread, spanakopita, a cheese pie, something sweet, and possibly another pastry because the lady behind the counter said: ”Try this one”. You had no defence.

9. Island time is real.

You start the summer with plans. Schedules, lists, things you’d like to accomplish. Then Greece slowly works on you. ”We’ll go later”. ”Tomorrow is fine”. ”Let’s have coffee first”. And eventually you realise something surprising. The world did not collapse because you didn’t hurry.

10. The simplest evenings become the ones you remember.

This might be my favourite part. After all the beaches, ferries, villages and summer adventures… Sometimes the best evening is remarkably ordinary. A table outside, something simple to eat, cold drinks, people you love… A warm breeze. The sound of conversations from neighbouring houses. Maybe the sea somewhere in the distance, nobody looking at the time, nobody particularly interested in leaving. And suddenly, you realize, this is it. This is the Greek summer everyone tries to photograph. Except the photograph never quite captures it. Because Greek summer isn’t really the blue water. Or the beaches, or the bougainvillea. It’s a rhythm. You eat later, you stay outside longer, you drink your coffee slower, you make fewer plans. You stop worrying quite so much about what time it is, and for a little while… Life feels wonderfully uncomplicated. Until a mosquito arrives, then all peace is cancelled…. Immediately.