I’ve spent a while both thinking about and avoiding thinking about this end statement. I do not want to produce something trite or insincere. But more honestly, I do not want an “end.” My denial of this “end” is perhaps the best way to describe my time on the Greece FSP. No amount of words or pictures, blog posts or videos can truly encapsulate the rewarding and exhausting experience of the past 77 days. Currently on the high-speed ferry back to Athens, all doped up on Dramamine and very nostalgic, I am consumed with a series of memories each competing for the forefront of my consciousness, creating a kind of classic montage from my own cheesy, “triumph-of-the-human-spirit” movie of my time in Greece. I hear Charlie’s voice-over “I think I’m developing a tolerance for beautiful scenery” and look around with refreshed eyes taking in the golden wheat rippling in the wind and the sparkling blue water separating us from the sprawling Attic hills, utterly amazed that such sheer visual magnificence could ever become normal. I taste the unique blend of Nescafe, condensed milk, sugar, and unidentified foreign substance that makes frappes so potent and addicting. I feel my stomach cramping from uncontrollable laughter as I grab Alex and Katie’s hands to skip with childish glee towards the finish line at Olympia. I smell the mouth-watering, slow-roasting Santa Claus of meat while waiting in line at Monastiraki for my millionth greasy gyro. I pose for a victorious photograph at the top of Mt. Jouktas, feeling my goofy, toothy grin and realizing that this—the entirety of the Cretan countryside laid out before me—this is my classroom. These snippets of my internal montage are only a fraction of the memories I will take with me when I say my last goodbye to the country that I called my home and the group that I called my family for the past ten weeks.