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Siga Siga: The Greek Art of Savoring Life
- susanjhall
- 20 hours ago
- 6 min read
Early last fall, my husband, Tim, and I enjoyed a wonderful, “bucket list” trip to Greece.
We were looking forward to the legendary blue skies, iconic whitewashed architecture, delicious Greek cuisine, and the timeless ruins—ancient temples and marble cities that have stood watch over the Mediterranean for more than two thousand years.
And Greece did not disappoint.
On our first morning in Athens, we made our way to the “Plaka,” which, in Greek, simply means “The Neighborhood.” In this case, the neighborhood was the maze of cobblestone streets and marble boulevards surrounding the Acropolis, that iconic ancient citadel perched above the city, home to the Parthenon and monuments that embody the glory of classical Greek civilization.
Throngs of tourists hurried past on the way to beat the lines at the Acropolis, clutching guidebooks and posing for IG shots, scanning the streets for restaurants and ruins, determined not to miss anything. Souvenir shops overflowed with the ubiquitous blue-and-white “evil eye” charm, T-shirts, and ball caps emblazoned with “Greece.”
We walked to the meeting spot and looked for the tall man holding a white and blue flag, our guide for the day.
George had crystal blue eyes and a wonderfully deadpan sense of humor and dry wit that I immediately adored.
We hopped into his van and, as we drove past grapevines and olive trees, George mentioned that, like many Greek families, his father still harvests his own grapes for wine.
“Is it any good?” I asked.
George paused and, throwing me a look in the rearview mirror, said knowingly, “You cannot tell a man that he is a bad cook, that he is bad in bed, or that he makes bad wine.”
Later, after tasting a particularly spicy olive oil at an olive mill, George nodded his approval and proclaimed, “This one will beat you up and steal your car.”
We had a full-day private tour planned, so I was a bit disappointed when, after only the first stop, George guided us to a small local café and announced, “Now, we have a coffee.”
Coffee? We had already had copious amounts of coffee at our hotel. Didn’t he know we had places to go?! Things to see?!
Reluctantly, I took the chair George offered and sat. I didn’t want to be rude and, besides, I have learned through my years of travel to leave some breathing room. Sometimes the best experiences happen in the gaps between our plans.
At this little café, I learned several important lessons.
Lesson #1: There is coffee. And then there is Greek coffee.
Our waitress brought out three small cups of something that looked suspiciously like hot chocolate — but decidedly was not. Greek coffee isn’t filtered. Instead, boiling water is poured over ultra-fine grounds that settle at the bottom like a thick, sludge-like mud. Woe to the unwary, hurried tourist (aka me) who sips too deeply.
George’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement at my grimace.
“It’s made to savor and sip slowly,” he said.
Lesson #2: Savoring slowly is The Whole Point. (And not just when it comes to coffee.)
In fact, the Greeks have several words built into their daily vocabulary dedicated to the art of slowing down and savoring life.
Kafenio culture — or “coffee culture” — is time to sit down and savor. Coffee is rarely taken to go and often stretches for hours over conversation. If you see someone in Greece carrying a to-go coffee, they are probably not from Greece.
Parea, we learned, is the joy of shared company: a cherished ritual of friends and family gathering informally and lingering over conversation, laughter, and connection.
Siga-Siga” (See-GAH See-GAH), my favorite, which literally means “slowly slowly” but culturally means so much more:
Don’t rush. Let life unfold as it will.
No need to create so much stress for yourself!
Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is not promised. Enjoy this moment now.
Lesson #3: When you finally slow down, you begin to notice the moments of joy and grace around you that were there all along.
I found myself relaxing into the chair and, for the first time, noticing the locals around me.
An older Greek gentleman settled into a chair, crossed one leg over the other, and took his first slow sip of coffee like he had all the time in the world.
Several locals sat at a nearby table, engaged in a heated game of backgammon.
Another regaled his tablemates with a story, his animated hands flying through the air.
It was a Tuesday. 11 a.m.
As George led us through the labyrinth of sunlit, whitewashed alleys of the local neighborhoods, we noticed the relaxed tempo continued.
We also noticed the cats.
They were everywhere. So naturally, Tim and I started naming them.
“There’s Doorstep Kitty,” I said—so named because she had splayed herself out as long as possible to ensure every visitor had to scissor-step over her to enter the shop.
“And there’s Restaurant Kitty,” Tim said, pointing to a white feline claiming a premium outdoor table clearly reserved just for him.
And “Church Pew Kitty,” whom we admired for her excellent choice of a cool, plush velvet respite from the blazing heat.
Later we met a languid ginger cat living comfortably among the ruins of Ephesus. We named him “Stoned Kitty” for his unapologetic lethargy as much as his locale. And then we learned that his actual name was “Garfield” and he was so popular with the archaeologists and tourists who pampered him that he had his own Instagram account.
They lounged in the most unexpected nooks and crannies, these wonderful cats.
And, despite being a bit dusty, they looked well-fed and comfortable. We wandered down alley after alley of whitewashed buildings, and everywhere there were small bowls of food and water left for these furry sun-worshipers when they needed a break from the rigors of sunbathing.
The Greeks consider the cats neighbors.
And in Greece, neighbors look after each other.
(Scroll down to see my favorite Greek cat)
Standing among ruins thousands of years old, it became clear why the Greeks built the philosophy of Siga-Siga into daily life. When time and change erase even the greatest civilizations, perhaps the wisest response is to slow down and savor the moments we have.
At the Acropolis of Athens, the Parthenon was already ancient when the Roman Empire
rose to power. Built in the 5th century BC, it has watched over Athens for nearly 2,500 years.
At the Akrotiri Archaeological Site on Santorini, a Bronze Age city buried by volcanic ash, archaeologists uncovered an indoor, gravity-flushing toilet system from more than 3,500 years ago. The Greeks had running water and indoor plumbing thousands of years before most of the modern world figured it out.
Frescoes of the Minoans on Santorini and Crete portrayed women at the center of religious and civic life, painting colorful glimpses of a sophisticated society where female authority was respected and promoted.
In Ephesus, we walked along marble streets once warmed by heated stones beneath the ground. Nearby stood the magnificent Library of Celsus, one of the greatest libraries of the ancient world, which once housed nearly 12,000 scrolls of philosophy, science, poetry, and history.
And just beyond it was the bustling Agora of Ephesus, where merchants once sold goods from across the Mediterranean.
So many marvels of engineering, architecture, and philosophy — much of it still buried treasure beneath our feet, waiting to be excavated.
What struck us most was how so much of this brilliance was lost — to war, conquest, earthquakes, and time.
Standing among the ruins, I felt humbled and small, and couldn’t help but wonder how much knowledge vanished along with the stones.
Travel has a fascinating way of reminding us what truly matters,
and that we are all just passing through.
Greece’s landmarks and ruins, breathtaking yet eerily impermanent, remind us that our time to live, to leave our mark, is fleeting. If even the greatest achievements can fade, how much more important is it for us to cherish each day?
In the end, Greece reminded us that we are on this earth for a finite time and the best way to live is to savor the present.
And perhaps the secret to living well is the way the Greeks have known all along:
Siga-Siga.
Slowly. Slowly.
Stay Strong. Stay Kind.
With so much love,
Susan
Happiness Practice
Where in your life are you moving too quickly to actually enjoy what you have?
What are you waiting to appreciate “someday” that you could savor today?
This week, take a few minutes each day to truly slow down and savor the small joys in life.
Take a few extra minutes and enjoy your morning coffee or tea before rushing out the door
At the end of your commute, sit in your car for 1 minute and take a few deep breaths
On a walk, pause for a moment and notice the way the sky changes above you, the rustling of the leaves or the sounds of birds chattering
Make plans with friends or loved ones and be there when you're there
Enjoy the phone call with a friend instead of multi-tasking while you talk
When a favorite song comes on, sing along, or enjoy it fully before going on to the next thing
At the end of the day, notice the clean, cool feel of your sheets, and enjoy a long, slow stretch under the comfort of your covers.
👉Click here to read this article in Business Insider, where I share what it takes to have an Extraordinary life.
Hint: You already have everything you need. ❤️
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