Karpathos, a poem.
I asked their mother what she liked more, this island or New Jersey.
She said, “here, we live with less but have more.” I know what she means.
In Karpathos, you can’t drink the tap water or escape the humidity and the Greeks don’t know how to stay in their lane when they climb their mountains in stick-shift to the white churches they pile into to kiss mother Mary and pray for miracles. But they do know how to turn their homes into pastel time capsules, tend to their stores from the streets, and dine together on Sundays.
I spent the past four days with family friends on the tiny island of Karpathos in Greece. It only takes an hour to drive all the way across it. While staying with this family, I attended church services with them, ate divine Greek meals, watched them dress in traditional costume, and danced with them to the same songs their great-great-grandparents did. I learned so much from this experience.
I have returned a better person than I was when I left.