A year ago in February, I went to the Oracle of Delphi’s cave. How it came about was actually quite unexpected and spontaneous. I traveled to Marrakech for my dear friend’s bachelorette weekend, and I decided to make a longer trip out of it. I went to Paris, London, and Athens. The first two are cities I have lived in before, the latter a place I’ve considered moving to—in the country that feels like home in my blood and bones. I wanted to look for artists for Syndesi and experience Greece in the winter, as I usually spend time there in the summer.

Athens is beautiful in the winter. Orange trees are at peak ripeness and line the streets. It’s quite a contrast to the concrete backdrop of the city—a welcome one at that for me. It’s not as packed with tourists as it is in summer, and walking down the cobble-stoned alleyways and streets has a different allure. Daydreaming and wandering is easy. Going to restaurants, cafes, museums, and yoga studios (things that I normally do where I am) gave me a taste of the pace and lifestyle of how locals truly live year-round.

I had an itch to go to Delphi and find the cave of the oracle. I had visited the site before, but the cave is not exactly there. A day prior to arriving in Athens, I was told where the caves were, and I felt compelled to go. On my last full day in Athens, I rented a car and drove to Mount Parnassos to go to Delphi and find the cave, which can either be hiked or driven to if your car can brave the unpaved road. It just so happened that day, that it started to snow. A lot. I had already made the arrangements. I had the car and the snow gear, so I went on an adventure. An expedition if you will.

The snow in Athens was light and didn’t stick, but as I got closer to the mountains it became more and more dense. When I got to the ski town of Arachova, there was at least of foot of snow, and it kept pouring down, although the sun was shining bright. Aside from my growing concern of how I was going to get to this cave in these conditions, it was so magical to be there. Greece may be known for the sea, but its mountains are magnificent in their own right.

This town was packed in peak ski season. The shops, bakeries, and cozy restaurants lining the streets, smells of traditional winter meat dishes wafting out onto the sidewalk, people coming back from a day on the slopes to warm up to share a meal together. The cave was a few miles out from here. I stopped to stretch my legs and take some photos. It’s about a 2-hour drive from Athens.  As I got back on the road and turned onto the street where my navigation was leading me, the road was slicked with snow. I was so close and yet my car could not get past the ice. Obviously, I did not come here to die, so I turned back and considered my options.

I could at least go to Delphi and visit the Temple of Athena. So, I go there, the roads safe and dry, and sit under an olive tree gazing at Athena’s temple with the snow lightly coming down and the sun shining gloriously. I was the only person there, which was quite a stark contrast to when I was last there in peak summer. I felt disappointed that I came all this way, and I wasn’t going to see the cave. I didn’t want to give up. There had to be a way. I told the land and Athena all that was weighing on me. I asked the olive tree for guidance. I heard a whisper to try again. To go back. It sparked my heart with hope. I had a few more hours of daylight left, and if I went now, I could make it.

Completely renewed and determined, I tread lightly, driving slowly back to the road where I reached my limit before. It looked like it had been swept now. I was pleasantly surprised as my navigation told me I had reached my destination. Here’s the other caveat—the main road was open, but that unpaved road that I mentioned earlier that leads straight up to the cave, that one was covered in snow. I was going to have to hike up the 2 miles. I made it this far and there was no turning back for me now. I have some hiking and trekking experience—it made me think of hiking up to Macchu Picchu at 6am in the pouring rain with just a poncho to cover me a few years back. But snow was new territory for me, and aside from my phone telling me I was going in the right direction, I had no idea where I was going. The road was mostly straightforward, but the snow coverage made it a tad more challenging to tell the direction—and slippery. Going back down was going to be interesting. I’d think about that later.

As the path flattened out, I reached the last bend, completely out of breath, and looked out at the most beautiful view. It was golden hour, and the sun was almost at eye level as I stood on this mountain. I reached the cave.

The journey was absolutely worth it. Not surprisingly, there was no one else here (who would be crazy enough to come out here in this weather?!). The absolute peace and quiet inside of this cave seeped into me. It’s a quiet that feels otherworldly, that is a sound in itself. I must admit, I was a little hesitant at first to be in this cave completely alone. It felt exposing somehow, like it could hear my every thought, that it knew everything about me. As I walked around the circumference of its interior, I started to sing. Hearing the acoustics of this cave, my voice amplified, just for me, yet knowing somehow that others unseen ears were listening and inviting me to continue, gave me the confidence to sing louder. It was a chant, a beat, a rhythm, that emerged from my voice. My own personal soul song. The sound lifted me. It strengthened me. It solidified me. It told the story of me without words, so that perhaps only I would know it when I heard it.

I then spent some time in silence, sharing my gratitude for this experience. For the guidance and support I received in getting here. As I reflect now a year later—and I knew it then, too—is this was a voice reclamation. The way it all unfolded, the resilience, courage, and setbacks all reflect my lifelong journey in reclaiming my voice. The past experiences of being silenced, suppressed, and truly feeling invisible… I never thought I would even make it this far. That I could express myself even this much. And I feel like I’m still only scratching the surface of what’s possible.

I could’ve stayed in the cave much longer, but I had to get back down before it got dark. I see why people choose to live in caves, why the oracles would have been here. It’s a surreal experience, like being in a womb, the seat of all creation. I had my reservations upon entering, but I felt completely safe and held there, wrapped in a little cocoon. It was just about sunset when I reemerged, the view breathtaking, and I floated out of there. I made it down safely (my waterproof Salomon’s had good traction) just as the sun disappeared behind the sky and it turned to dusk. I was still on a high from that whole experience, and completely physically exhausted. I stopped at one of the tavernas in Arachova for a nourishing meal that tasted even more delicious because of how ravenous I was from the hike and cold. I drove back to Athens and caught my flight back to New York the next day, sore with shin splints and all, and heart full to the brim.