Grecian Goddess, Or so I thought. Part 1.

As my plane took off I felt a sense of relief and excitement. I couldn't help but feel like a celebrity! I was finally leaving the relatively small city that had been holding me back for so long. I was going to GREECE for modeling! Yes, Greece; the land of olives, feta and white sandy shores. I couldn't wait to start my glamorous life hosted by the best agency in Greece. I couldn't wait to work on the beautiful Greek islands, dine at the best restaurants, and go yachting to the French Riviera. It was only a matter of time for me.


My mid-flight dinner consisted of chicken and rice in a white wine demi-glaze. I was enjoying it but as always I made sure not polish off the whole meal. I needed to cut a few corners... (hmm, maybe leave a little piece of chicken.. and half the rice.. ya that's good). I couldn't let my thighs get in the way of my European success! I typically had a pretty healthy relationship with food, but when I'm working its hard to eat healthy amounts. Designers want models to be a size 0-2 (but I'm a size 2-3 at my smallest). Agents are constantly telling me, "you could loose a little here and there..." so I tend to shy away from 3 round meals. I cut corners and now it was the chicken.


You really can never be too small in this business. But at the same time, I consciously remind myself not to let this industry destroy my health like it has to so many other young girls. Maybe that's why I tend to eat more now, enjoying my Starbucks addiction almost daily and indulging in my favorite foods here and there... leaving my hips at a 36 size 4 jeans which is considered "fat".

I knew I was no longer in Kansas when I had not gone through any security after picking up my bags, an odd practice in this day and age. I observed several people enjoying their cigarettes in the open air of the airport. My attention shifted to the signs- they were all greek to me. I wondered how I would ever navigate my way through a city when I couldn't read the signs or speak the language. I would find out later it was not impossible but not "so easy" either, a term the Greeks would use in response to every question I ever had.

I walked back and forth, back and forth between terminals, the drivers came and went, every arrival found his or her driver eventually, except me. After about one hour, I was beginning to worry that my driver would not arrive. Another 15 minutes passed when I decided to make a phone call to the agency. I somehow convinced a male customer service representative to let me use the phone after countless failed attempts asking the female beside him. I reached someone at the agency but they informed me that my driver had 'something' to do and that he would be at the airport in the next 2 hours!? Didn't the agency schedule the driver? I imagined the driver out there somewhere enjoying a delicious souvlaki without me.

When the driver arrived he didn't think much of his tardiness and took his time to chat up his fellow drivers in the entirety of the airport about various topics like: the weather, their families and how work was going; of course, I don't know for sure that this was the topic of conversation as I don't speak Greek. Yes, I got a little grumpy, that should be expected after a 17 hour flight, no sleep, and waiting forever for a chipper man with no clue how annoyed I was. I kept silent, afraid If I opened my mouth I would lose my ride to the hotel and my sanity. I didnt know it then but I would discover Greece never liked me from the start.

Obviously this was my first attempt using paint, ever.