*Originally published December 29, 2015

Travel doesn’t always occur at convenient or ideal times. Try Greece in August and you will experience sunsets over the Parthenon in glaring and thrilling ways. You may look for iced tea in vain. You will sweat and be awed by the engineering feats of “ancients”. But you won’t be alone. We discovered the high volume of August tourists in 1972 by the paucity of tent sites in Athens. It was a last glorious trip through Southern Europe with my husband, mother, and 15-month old son, before returning to the States after three years in Germany. Tents were crammed together by midday. Our set-up was the two-person tent for my husband and son. Our station wagon next to the tent was sleeping space for my mother and me. The next morning before leaving, my husband posted a sign in as many languages as he could muster to reserve the space by the tent.

Late that night we returned, confident our place would respectfully be saved. Next to our tiny tent was a McTent. It was huge! My husband’s reaction was about as large as the poacher’s land grab. Tired, hot, and feeling betrayed, my husband jumped out of the car and confronted the camper.

He was Greek and communication was rough. The pitch and intensity of the two men escalated and gestures became more defiant. It was not a win-win. It was a win-loss. The McTent was not going to be moved.

Defeated, my husband returned to the car. He was wrung out, but still carrying the ire. My mother and I were laughing hysterically. Hardly an empathetic greeting for the man who had gone into battle for his clan. Our hilarity began moments before his arrival, when my son had started gesturing and jabbering loudly—mimicking the scene. With the charm and innocence of a toddler turned comedian, he had broken the spell of anger. My husband, seeing our son, joined the entertainment.

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