You can’t just “go” to Greece — you have to let it sweep you off your feet. This isn’t a country so much as a full-body experience. It smells like oregano and sea salt, sounds like bouzouki music spilling from a taverna at midnight, and looks like every postcard you’ve ever saved on Pinterest. The best part? Whether you’re feeling rich like a shipping magnate or broke like a college backpacker, Greece can still be yours.
Most first-timers land in Athens, where the Acropolis rises above the city like Beyoncé at the Grammys — confident, timeless, and fully aware you’re here for a photo op. You’ll come for the Parthenon and stay for the tiny cobbled streets of Plaka and the caffeine bombs they call frappés. And don’t sleep on the street art or rooftop bars — Athens has a grittier, cooler underbelly that feels more like Brooklyn than the birthplace of democracy.
But the real Greek daydream happens once you hit the islands. Santorini’s cliffs and sugar-cube houses practically beg for a slow-motion hair toss in the wind. Mykonos, meanwhile, is for those who think sleep is a conspiracy — beach clubs, DJs, and a designer boutique around every corner. Crete is like that friend who can do everything — ancient ruins, beaches, hiking gorges, and olive oil so good you’ll start planning an import business. And for those allergic to crowds, Naxos and Paros are the quiet Cycladic cousins who still have dreamy beaches but at prices that won’t leave you crying into your tzatziki.
Now, about those budgets. If you’re high-rolling it, you’ll be sipping Assyrtiko wine on a private terrace at sunset while your infinity pool reflects the Aegean like a mirror. You’ll charter a yacht, helicopter between islands, and find yourself Instagrammed by other people who assume you’re famous. Mid-range travelers still get the bougie feel — think boutique hotels, cooking classes, and standard ferries that are basically cruise ships in disguise. And if you’re on the thrifty side, Greece is still shockingly forgiving. Hostels and guesthouses abound, street food is a religion (a souvlaki for the price of your morning latte back home), and beaches are, mercifully, free. You’ll see the same sunsets as the billionaires; you’ll just be holding a supermarket beer instead of champagne.
Expect Greece to be warm — not just the weather, but the people. A simple “kalimera” in the morning gets you smiles, extra olives, maybe even a free ouzo. English is widely spoken, but mangling a few Greek phrases will earn you brownie points. Ferries are your magic carpets between islands, though you’ll want to book ahead in high season. Scooters and ATVs are everywhere, but remember that Greek drivers take lane markings as gentle suggestions.
There are surprises too. Churches and monasteries request modest dress, so throw a scarf or shawl in your bag even if you’re living your Mamma Mia fantasy. And cash is still king in tiny villages, so don’t bank entirely on cards. Oh, and don’t try to “do” all the islands in one trip — pick two or three and savor them. Greece rewards the lingerers.
What sticks with you most isn’t just the views or the food (though feta here will ruin supermarket cheese forever), but the rhythm of the place. Lunch stretches to four hours, strangers become friends over wine, and sunsets are a group activity. Whether you’re splurging on a cliffside villa or sharing a dorm room, Greece gives you the same priceless souvenir: a sense that life can be both slower and richer at the same time.
So pack light, bring sunscreen, and leave space for spontaneity. In Greece, your day might start with ancient ruins and end with dancing barefoot under the stars. And if that’s not NY Style travel, I don’t know what is.
Fantasy vs. Reality: Greece, NY Style Edition
Fantasy: You’re on a gleaming private yacht gliding between Santorini and Mykonos, Aperol spritz in hand, hair catching the Aegean breeze like a Vogue cover shoot.
Reality: You’re on the 10:15 a.m. Blue Star ferry, sitting next to a grandma with three chickens in a basket, clutching a $3 gyros and still feeling fabulous because, hello, look at that water.
Fantasy: Every meal is at a Michelin-starred restaurant where the chef knows your name, and your Instagram stories are dripping with octopus carpaccio and wine pairings.
Reality: You’re at a family-run taverna where the owner hands you an extra plate “on the house” and the wine comes from a plastic jug. It’s somehow the best meal you’ve had all year.
Fantasy: Santorini sunsets from your infinity pool, private terrace, and perfectly arranged fruit plate.
Reality: Same Santorini sunset from the public overlook, sitting on a stone wall with fifty strangers and a can of Mythos beer, and it’s still breathtaking.
Fantasy: A week of chic boutique hotels, curated island-hopping, and private drivers waiting at every port.
Reality: Three nights in a hostel dorm, two nights in an Airbnb with questionable plumbing, and a rented scooter that may or may not survive the week—but your Instagram feed still pops.
Fantasy: Channeling your inner Mamma Mia in flowing linen as you dance under the moonlight with locals.
Reality: You’ve spilled tzatziki on your only nice outfit and the locals are politely pretending not to notice. But you’re dancing anyway, barefoot, and it’s magic.
+ There are no comments
Add yours