Ever Travel With the Mayor? (aka Grandpa Pete on Tour)
Traveling to Greece with Grandpa—aka Mayor Pete—is… an experience.
Not a bad one. Not a chaotic one.
More like a “Did he really just do that?” one.
He’s the kind of man who can walk into a village café knowing absolutely no one and walk out fifteen minutes later with two new friends, local gossip, and a free plate of watermelon “from the owner.” In Sparta, Crete, Athens—didn’t matter. He was greeted like a returning dignitary everywhere we went. Hence the name: Mayor Pete.
The Fanny Pack Situation
Let’s start with the fanny packs.
Plural. Three.
Worn simultaneously.
Color-coordinated… unintentionally.
They’re layered in a very specific order like ceremonial regalia. Contents? Top secret. Could be chapstick; could be the Crown Jewels. We’ll never know.
TSA incident: He quite literally bum-rushed his two adult grandchildren to get to The Packs. Were they in danger? Who can say. Were The Packs safe? Absolutely.
Mayor Pete’s Rule #1: Always know where your fanny packs are.
Mayor Pete’s Rule #2: See Rule #1.
The Suitcase Full of… “Groceries”
While we packed clothes, Mayor Pete packed an entire suitcase of American “groceries”—as bribes for his constituents—I mean, gifts for relatives. We gently explained Greek products are, um, superior. He zipped up the Pop-Tarts and smiled.
Clothes? In the small duffle. Wear → rinse → repeat. He did not smell. Verified by committee. 😂
Mayor Pete vs. The Hotel Room
Nothing says “family vacation” like two people named Peter—Mayor Pete and his namesake grandson “Re-Pete”—arguing over a thermostat.
The Mayor wanted 87°F.
Re-Pete wanted Antarctica.
Solution: We switched rooms, rearranged beds, and the hotel staff literally converted a suite into a triple for all the younger adult boys—because “the Mayor didn’t come all the way to Greece to freeze.” He wasn’t wrong.
The Mayor’s Rounds
Everywhere we went, he made “the rounds.”
At breakfast.
At the beach.
On the bus.
At dinner.
At the monastery.
He shook hands, talked to strangers (including a few who weren’t actually trying to talk to him), and somehow always returned with fresh intel:
who was from which village
who had a cousin in Brooklyn
which restaurant “used to belong to so-and-so before the renovation”
and which waiter had “a good face”
We didn’t question it. The Mayor knows things.
And if you’re picturing the energy—see the Fedora Moment below. That’s him.
Mayor Pete’s Swagger (Throwback)
Throwback to Santorini: his swagger in my fedora; his wife, Christine—our mom—smiling proudly in the background. A forever favorite.
Spiritual Affairs (Candle-Sprint Division)
He is personally ensuring his spot in heaven. If a church is within eyesight, Mayor Pete is already at the icon stand—lighting a candle before we’ve cleared the narthex. We were nearly mowed down more than once by a very polite, “Excuse me—important business.”
Bonus scene: I wanted to light a candle at a specific church that turned out to be closed. The key was left in the door (only in Greece!), and my father-in-law—ever the problem-solver—started to turn it. “No, no, the church is closed,” his son hiss-whispered, steering him away as he grinned. Heavenly audit: still glowing.
And then the sentimental part…
This wasn’t just a vacation for him. For the first time since our mom passed a few years ago, he brought his grandchildren to Sparta to visit the roots they share. We could all feel it—the pride, the nostalgia, the joy. We could feel our mom—their grandmother—there with us. He didn’t say much about it, but you could see it in the way he looked at his grandchildren—and at the villages and the people.
It was his way of passing something down.
A quiet legacy.
A story that didn’t need words.
Mayor Pete’s Top 10 Travel Rules
Your “how to travel with the Mayor” starter kit.
Secure the fanny packs.
Ask what’s next often. “What are we doing now? Where are we going now?”
Talk to people. “Talk to me, talk to me” works on strangers and family.
Pack gifts for your constituents. Clothes are optional—laundry exists.
If you’re not eating, you’re between courses.
Power-walk first; nap anywhere later.
ATMs don’t exchange dollars… but optimism checks every single one.
One church seen, one candle lit. Keep the heavenly account current.
If in doubt, order two. You’ll “hardly eat,” anyway.
Save a good joke for every taverna table. If you recycle it, no worries—there’s always a fresh set of ears. Maybe we should call him Mayor Re-Pete instead. 😉