It Was All Greek (And Little Angie) To Me
Sitting stateside, the mythic magic of Greece that every Greek (including a quick-tongued, raven-haired Mother from Utah) brags about seems too good to be true. But the moment the wall of heat hit me upon arrival in July at the Athens airport, I could feel it was. A week later, when I viewed the Parthenon from a rooftop bar in Athens, my eyes widened like the half moon glowing over top of it at my final sighting of emblemized ancient storytelling. The Parthenon is a marble temple that towers over the city, built centuries ago to be the religious mecca of Athens' ancient city center, called the Acropolis.
In case it wasn't obvious (as it wasn't to me before reading Gods, Heroes, and Monsters with the Greek sun beating on my forehead at the beach), the city of Athens is named after its patron goddess, Athena. Athena was one of Zeus' many illicit love children, born of a woman Zeus hunted down, impregnated, and then ultimately swallowed whole while cosplaying a snake to avoid a prophecy of future patricide. His daughter, Athena, arrived anyway. She was split directly from the inflamed channels of Zeus' brain, bringing the end of a horrible migraine for the god that I can only imagine is how RHOSLC producers often feel after a night of production with Lisa Barlow and Whitney Wild Rose at odds. Athena invented geometry, astronomy, and the basics of future industrial farming. But her biggest godly gift was her military prowess, though Athena preferred to love instead of fight, a claim held (if not executed) by many Housewives of Salt Lake, like Heather Gay, feigning ignorance of her own antagonism against Bronwyn.
If you also weren't aware that Zeus was a total man whore, the mythic townspeople gossiping under the clouds of Mount Olympus would've been the first to warn you, as no woman was safe from his wandering eye. Zeus' temple in Athens, dramatically named the Temple of Olympian Zeus, was the biggest architectural feat of the era. Simply put, Zeus was the number one guy in this group, both historically and in storied worlds. And similar to the Bravo main character that moniker comes from, Zeus got drunk on power and toxic relationships. Brittany and Jax's miserable marriage (of their own admission) could only be rivaled by Zeus and Hera's, with cheating and power-tripping fueling both wives into the worst versions of themselves. Zeus' constant disrespect of his wife made her a jealous, bitter wet-blanket who wreaked mischief out of insecurity, leaving her to be one of the least popular goddesses in the gang despite being married to the number one god in this group.
Put succinctly, Hera's bitch wife behavior spiraled from Zeus' inability to keep it in his all-powerful pants. But the truth that Hera didn't support other women was less of an issue with Zeus' daughter, Athena, because Athena was such an anti-social, unimpressed daddy's girl that Hera considered her more like a man than competition.
Only a few weeks after spending time reveling in the very real lands of Greek fables, the trailer for season 6 of RHOSLC rang these words in my ears: "Behold the Sisters of Salt, a Greek tragedy." Those words were moodily mused by a chorus of performers in white robes during the women's annual cast trip. This year, the women go to first-chair Angie K's home country, news so exciting it squeaked into the Bravoverse before the trailer even dropped, thanks to BOTG shots of the cast at the airport shared by fan accounts. When I spoke to every cast member of season 6 (save Whitney) at a July red carpet days before my 10-hour flight to the same country (though a different island), they told me their trip was transformative, tearful, stunning, and hard. Sounds like a Greek tragedy, indeed.
Much of Housewives can be considered an up-and-down saga (see seasons one through three of Beverly Hills). But the spiteful, spicy, vain nature of Greek mythology is an especially fitting parallel for Salt Lake City. There isn't a group on Bravo more wholly obsessed with power dynamics, causing them to see-saw through alliances more unpredictably each season. The bitchy stare of Meredith Marks and her darling children when you're on her bad side is reminiscent of Medusa (once beautiful, cursed into the ugliest woman in the world by none other than Athena) and her loyal sisters, who hid her in a jagged cave at the end of the earth. That's why it's wonderous to imagine, Angie, Meredith, Lisa et al gazing up at the temple of Apollo (the god of arts, medicine, and healing — or rather, hilling) on the island of Naxos or the statue of Aphrodite (the god of love/mother of cupid/often heartless shit-stirrer of the Trojan War) in Santorini. Healing and love will undoubtedly be named-dropped goals of their trip, regardless of how far the ladies fall short of achieving them.
Interestingly enough, despite being a fan favorite of the Olympian universe, real Greeks weren't traditionally impressed by Aphrodite, since they valued friendships, especially same-sex friendships, as more fruitful than romantic love. That makes this place entrenched in lore (a place where I also never drank more wine in my life), the perfect landing place for the eight best frenemies to perhaps finally get to a good place for more than a single scene. While it's doubtful that's what happened on the RHOSLC season 6 cast trip to Greece, and we won't find out until the season rages on in the fall, cataloguing my trip to the Aegean sea is a belated last attempt at manifestation that the gods were on this friend group's side.
Athens in the high season was historically hot. The bright side is that Greek hospitality makes it a safe bet that kind taxi drivers and eager bellhops will help you drag your ludicrously capacious American suitcases from the curb across their cobblestone thresholds. Whether you're lounging at beach clubs (on the Riviera, I recommend Astir for fancy or Paralia Asteras for casual, both within reach of the super yacht marina flanked by luxury designer stores I suspect the RHOSLC would've done major damage in), bopping around a bougie neighborhood like Kolonaki (I can't recommend enough spending whatever time you can at The Modernist and it's rooftop bar, and exploring the free botanical gardens), or spending time at your hotel pool, you'll feel cool even as you sweat through your shirt.
What I can't picture the Housewives partaking in was the ferry ride I opted for from Athens to their island of choice. It's not uncommon to take the ferry from the mainland to Mykonos, Crete, Naxos, Santorini, or beyond, but it's also not the most discreet. The thought occurred to me many times during my four-hour cruise (where, to be fair, there was a cafe and bar) that Lisa and Bronwyn, for that matter, would sooner go home than lug their bags into an unmarked storage garage at the port as I had.
The alternative, to fly, only takes a fraction of the time on a small plane, though you run the risk of having your bags delivered at a later hour. Still, either mode of transportation is worth arriving at winding stone alleyways up seaside inclines, dotted with white buildings covered by royal blue roofs. While the beauty of any Greek island (and I mean that any wholeheartedly) makes it a locale worthy of needing to do nothing, there is much to do. On Naxos, where I stayed in Chora, every European benefit presented itself with a flamboyant flourish: artisan shopping, beach clubs with impossibly blue waters and resort-style pools, olive oil tastings at family-owned mills from the Medieval days, and sunset drinks at convents converted into rooftop bars (a specifically Naxian opportunity, though other renovated historic locations are not hard to find). Chartering a boat is also not hard to do; in fact, it's a necessity. The sight of Paros from deep in the waters of Naxos, after a day of eating fried local Graviera smothered in pepper jelly, washed down by shots of herbal Mastika refined from Greek trees, followed by a peer-pressured push into a traditional Greek dancing circle (don't believe anyone when they tell you, "it' just twelve steps" but do it anyway) was supremely divine.
Greece is that — divine (and the teased scenes of RHOSLC appear to be that way, too). Waltzing through not-so-lazy afternoons in Zeus' country feels like being gilded in sunlight. The sensation would be unbearable if it weren't routinely washed over by brilliant waters. Vougliameni's thermal lake with dead-skin-eating-fish living in lime caves; grotto beaches covered by polished sea stones on the islands; the isolated but inviting Gramvousa Fort on its own island; the red beach in Santorini, where I can already forsee Mary Cosby getting beet red as she big-sis-es Britani Batemen. This Mediterranean heaven is architected to baptize you in its festivity from the moment you touch ground.
The shimmer of the ocean, the kindness of the people, the way your belly will forget the feeling of not being full….spending a vacation in Greece feels like the mystical flap of a butterfly's wings. What Utah's finest will do while flanked by myths, family, and so much damn food shoved in their faces is without a doubt appointment television. Should their journey, or mine, be your inspiration to Angie's elders' corner of the universe, be prepared to feel compelled to extend your trip — and leave room in your suitcase for splurge purchases the Wives would approve of.
