One of the perks of living overseas is all of the traveling you get to do. It isn’t as though we don’t have great places to see in the U.S., but the airfare is generally much higher, the distance to travel is much greater, and the novelty is less enticing. One of our favorite trips during our time abroad was to Corfu, Greece. Although now (post-covid), flights from Frankfurt International to Corfu have increased a great deal, but I also think there was a sudden surge in interest from tourists to see the lesser known islands, abandoning the more frequented Santorini.

It was 2018 when we went, which feels like a lifetime ago, and tickets were like 120 euro a pop. Everything else was equally inexpensive: the hotel, the food, the excursions. It was complete heaven to us.

There are four stories from this trip, revolving around food, that stand out to me, so much that it feels as though all we did on this trip was eat. The first was breakfast. The buffet at the hotel was like no other and reminded me more of a brunch buffet in the U.S. What my son and I took home with us, as a habit, was crusty bread drenched in olive oil. We thought this was exclusively a dinner option, but not any more! We had been freed from our shackles of American breakfast. Liberated from oatmeal and scrambled eggs. All hail, bread and olive oil! Okay, that’s a bit intense, but it truly became a morning favourite for a long while. Finding fresh olive oil in Germany was a bit challenging, having to settle for the imported blends; but we held onto this breakfast for a long time.

The second food story I don’t think I will ever forget was when we ventured off into the town nearby to get more local fare, only to see we were the only ones there. This would be a common theme during many of our trips to southern Europe – the late dinner. Gasp! Who eats at 9 or 10?! I’m in bed by then, and I’m not so sure my food choices at that time would be healthy either, and more like that of a 20 year old stoner with a taco in one hand and a fist-full of M&Ms in the other.

Anyhow, back to the story…we inquired about the fish (menu read: FISH) to which the waiter responded with “follow me!” Weird, but okay. I’m on vacation and up for some shenanigans. Am I catching the fish? WHO KNOWS! We follow him into the kitchen where the chef smiles brightly and excitedly opens a drawer full of ice and fish to show us the six or so specimen they currently had. We had no idea what the hell they were, and he only knew some of the English names for them, so choosing one was based more on what “looked good” coupled with “how much are they?”

I assumed there would be more catches? I’m not really sure. But what I can tell you is that for a brief moment I thought that my husband, son, and I might actually BE the dinner…or trafficked or put to work. You see the headlines all the time. Tourist Goes Missing on Once in a Lifetime Trip, Says Close Relative. Okay, I’m clearly not great at headlines and I obviously have a problem catastrophizing. Yes, well…this won’t be the last time.

We did choose a fish and I couldn’t tell you what kind it was, but it was delicious (maybe branzini). We ate, drank, laughed, dreamed, and eventually walked back to the hotel. Oh, and we werent’ trafficked either.

Next day we went on a sea adventure. The boat took us to remote beaches and swimming holes, accessible only by boat. The trip included lunch on the beach where they grilled up pork chops, had a fresh “greek” salad, and crusty bread with fresh olive oil and garlic. It was spectacular, but that’s beside the point. As we were sitting there, the captain comes over to ask how we are enjoying ourselves and, as we are chatting, he picks some vegetation growing on beach and hands it to me. He says “eat this. It is sea asparagus. It’s good for you and full of vitamins.”

Listen, here is the thing – we are a mostly ADHD family and I’m the captain of that misfit dragon. I don’t like to think too much about these things, and I’d rather worry about the consequences when it is too late. So…I ate it.

Of course moments later that left me convinced I’ve now been either drugged to be smuggled into a human trafficking ring or I’m about to die at sea. I’m not a fucking pirate. I don’t want to die at sea! I certainly don’t want to be trafficked, so I panic.

“Bill, where is my bag? I need my bag!” He asks why. “I might have some benadryl in there!”

The medication that could save lives: Benadryl.

I’m very aware that an antihistamine won’t serve as an antitoxin, but here we are. I’m also not sure he remembers the story quite the same way and I suspect much of my drama was kept internal to my own mind, or it is the opposite and my telling of the story reflects someone much calmer. Who could say, really.

The point is, I lived. And I ate sea asparagus (kritamo)!

Meanwhile, during that same beach stop, an Italian boy was diving down deep with some kind of knife, popping up periodically with something in his hand then throwing it into a bucket. Not gonna lie – there was a moment in my head where I thought “why’s this kid got a knife? That’s super sus and I’m not a fan”. Before anyone judges, keep in mind, I’m from the mean streets of the U.S. No one really trusts each other and half of the population has guns. Anyhow, as I waited for death to take me, I watched this boy dive, return, dive, return, over and over, trying to see what he was collecting (I decided it was rocks because kids love rocks – but why the knife?).

Eventually it was time to leave. Once the boat started heading to the final swim site, I began meandering around to see the various views of the landscape I was lucky enough to experience. It was then that I ran into the Italian boy and his family, pulling the mysterious treasures from the bucket. They were sea urchins. They had a special cutting device that looked like garden clippers to get through the spines and body, as well as gloves (safety first), cutting to expose the eggs within (Uni). They noticed me watching them, like a proper creeper, and happily offered me a tiny spoonful to try. Having just survived the green sea toxin, I decided that this was less unknown to me so…I ate it!

(Oh, and I lived).

Traveling to new places has given me so much, that I often find it difficult to express the gratitude I have for the experiences I’ve been fortunate enough to have. I got to try fresh olive oil, sea asparagus, sea urchin, and choose my own fish! Pair it with the beauty of Greece, the generosity of their people, and the community they all seemed to have with one another, it is no wonder that I suffer constantly from fernweh and wanderlust being back in America.

But…how are these One Health Stories? Well, it’s true, it isn’t super obvious – at least, not if you live in a society like this. America is massive and diverse and hard to nail down what specifically makes someone or something “American”. Having lived in the country, the cities, the burbs, and in about seven different states in my lifetime, I still just always feel like we are a packaged or plastic society. I don’t know if that is the singular thread that binds us (I hope not!), but we are generally removed from the sources of our food, we have hygiene standards that would have NEVER allowed foreign tourists into a kitchen, and foraging is only recently gaining some popularity, and mostly in niche groups.

Knowing what is edible on your land and in your waters is important. It makes you more connected. Locally sourced food (like the olive oil) means less of a carbon footprint, but not every town or neighborhood has access to farmers markets. I think it gives us greater pride and empathy to understand our food sources, which gives us the wherewithal to make the changes necessary for a sustainable future. It is unrealistic to assume we can get everything we need or want, locally. But we can certainly try to increase the goods we do source from local, smaller farms. For the welfare of animals, the health of our waters and lands, and for our own health.

I loved this trip and I loved Corfu. The people, the sites, the swimming – it was all surreal, but the food stories. They were, bar none, my favourite parts.