A Heartfelt Connection in Greece Between my Teen Daughter and Our Elderly Neighbour Hula

Last summer, on our last supper in Greece, my daughter wrote a letter to our 70-something neighbour, Hula. Every day during our two-month stay, Hula greeted us with a smile full of love. Mornings she’d take care of the plants around her house; in the afternoons, she’d usually read; and in the evenings, before bed, she’d teach us—especially Ru—bits of Greek. She doesn’t speak English, and we don’t speak Greek, so our conversations were limited to what she taught us. When it rained, Hula would point to the sky and say, “Vrochí,” teaching Ru the word for rain.

When we returned from the sea, she’d greet us in different ways, encouraging us to reply in Greek. Her face lit up when we succeeded, and so did ours. As a gesture of gratitude, Rugile decided to write a thank-you letter and leave it on Hula’s outdoor chair as we headed to the airport.

Because of the language barrier, we learned little about her during our visits. Hula doesn’t use Facebook, but she has a flip phone, and while gardening, she often chats cheerfully with someone. She lives alone and doesn’t own a car, but when she needs something from town, she asks her neighbors, and they happily provide. Hula loves early-morning swims, reads a lot, and used to be a teacher. Most words she said to us we didn’t understand, but her kindness left a lasting mark on us.

About Our Neighbour Γουλα (en Hula)

That morning, when we left Vivari, Greece, it was windy and drizzling, and we weren’t sure if Hula ever found the letter or, if she did, whether she understood it. Ru often wondered how Hula was doing, wondering what keeps her busy now when the gardening season in Greece is over. In that letter, Ru mentioned that we’re planning to return for Christmas.

Three months later, we were back. Arriving late at night, we took a slow morning, enjoying breakfast in bed while watching a movie. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Curious, Ru hurried to see who it was, thinking it might be her summer friend. Instead, she opened the door to Hula’s big smile and arms full of welcome gifts.

In one hand, Hula held a large bag of mandarins—poli kala, she explained; in the other, Ru’s letter—carefully kept, not even a fold. It was clear how much it meant to her. She hugged us all, made sure she remembered our names correctly, and tried to chat as we pieced together our limited Greek. While the words often confused us, the intentions were unmistakable: the care in her welcome, the love in her gesture, and the thoughtfulness behind saving the note to show it on our very first day back.

For us, Greece is its people. It’s the warmth in their eyes and smiles, the hugs they give each other, their patience with small children, the confident and natural grace of its women, and the way they make you feel truly welcome when you return.