It was February of last year, I herded my fellow travelers up this big hill, hiking for 45 minutes. We were unsure if we were walking in the right direction since we only had a small, hand-drawn map to rely on, but I insisted that we continue our power-walk pace. We needed to get to higher ground; more importantly, we needed to get there before sunset.

The weather in Athens was mild at that time of year, at least by my Canadian standards. I had just arrived from Greece the day before and immediately fell for the Greek capital, home to both man and Gods alike. We made it to the top of the Lycabettus Hill as the orange rays of the sun washed over the sky. We stayed there for over an hour, mesmerized by the beautiful light that painted over the ancient city below.



Other travelers tell me it is possible to feel a head-over-heels, life or death type of love for a destination; lately, I’ve been wondering if I have ever been in love with a place. Atop Lycabettus Hill, I realized I did not want to leave Greece; in fact, I imagined myself living there for the rest of my life. Today, whenever I think of traveling, I think of that city and that sunset.

I was, and still am, in love with Athens.