By Stamatina Notaras
Let me paint you a picture. One without the glossy finish or perfect edges. I’m sitting at a dimly lit table in the epicentre of Athens, Monastiraki. I’ve officially been in Greece for two weeks, and as much as I’ve been living strictly on a go with the flow basis, I would now please like to know in which direction the flow is coming from, where it will take me, and perhaps when I should expect its arrival.
So me, myself, and my multiple personalities are sitting with a glass of rosé, trying to quiet the mind the only way I know how – writing.
My thoughts on the matter of moving overseas are that you’re allowed about two minor breakdowns and only one major. I’m merely being efficient and getting the first two out of the way. Because when you’re used to a strict routine, your favourite pad thai for takeaway, and the safety of your couch with Love Is Blind rolling in the background, Athens hostels, temporary beds, and no reality TV can be, to say the least, terrifying.
Moving abroad isn’t a foreign concept, and the roadmap towards it should be pretty clear by now. It usually starts with an inspired conversation with a friend about how “they have dinner at 9pm in Europe and come home at 7am” or “There’s just no place like London” – both true, mind you. Next steps are to pop into a newsagent (or Officeworks if you’re feeling fancy) for a brand-spanking-new A4 notebook with fresh sheets of lined paper, ready to be inked up with ‘To-Do Lists’, ‘Places to Visit’, and ‘What to Pack’ (mostly adapters, portable charger banks and don’t forget your underwear).
The excitement can be exhilarating – and as it should be, you’re about to move overseas. But in a room of type A’s, I’m happy to stand loud and proud for the type B’s – mostly the younger siblings, always the fun ones. But fun sometimes leaves little room for logic, and when you’ve bought a one-way ticket overseas, a little logic doesn’t go astray.
I’ve been living (surviving) in Athens for two weeks by this point, only bringing with me a spilling 30 kilogram suitcase, a vague idea of where I might live, and a growing list of hindsights crafted from tasks I probably should’ve done by now. It seems as though I’ve unintentionally delegated the task of personally discovering whether chaos is really a strategy – and if blind optimism will, after all, prevail (here’s hoping).
But let me take you back to the start. And by the start, I mean back in 2008 when Pierce Brosnan, Meryl Streep, and Amanda Seyfried graced us with the gift that is Mamma Mia. Not to sound childish, but I wanted Sophie’s life back then and dang it, I want it now, too.
Reaching the pointy end of my 20’s, I don’t subscribe to the idea that you have to be of a certain age to do anything or that it’s ever too late for a change. But I do know that if I don’t make all of the reckless decisions my heart desires now – while I have no kids and no major responsibilities – inescapable regret will inevitably rear its head later down the line. And I just don’t like the sound of that.
My tips from a newborn solo traveller to the next are as follows: Lock the door in your hostel toilet. Otherwise, a complete stranger from America will walk in on you. In this instance, it turned into a beautiful friendship filled with drinks and day trips, sharing secrets from our lives across the globe (but you might not be so lucky). Wear walking shoes – always – because you’ll be doing a hell of a lot of it. Ask questions. You’ll most likely find the best answer comes straight from the mouth of a local shop owner rather than your phone. I’ll keep you updated with any more.
So while I scramble to secure that pretty little life I so desire, I won’t shy away from the fact that I at times get scared and stressed, and don’t expect that to stop any time soon.
So book the ticket.
Disclaimer – I hold no accountability if you absolutely have the worst time and regret every second (but I doubt that’s going to happen).
