The sun shone through the tinted windows of the bus, warming the window to the touch. I looked out over a green and brown landscape — all mountains and trees in the outskirts of the Greek city of Nafplio. The scene jostled as the bus turned down a bumpy, unpaved road, the sides lined with rows of orange trees.

Our group of 15 slowly climbed out into the bright sunlight. Overlooking the orange groves, which seemed to stretch to the see, was a house high on a hill. We walked toward the orange groves where a short Greek man with a bright smile was waiting to greet us.

“I am Petros, and welcome to my home,” he said with a smile. “I will show you around the groves, and then we will go inside and my wife will teach you how to bake, yes?”

We all nodded and headed into the grove. As we walked, Petros explained the different types of orange trees he grows and how he grows them without pesticides or chemicals. Deep inside the grove were rows and rows of trees covered in ripe fruit. Oranges littered the ground everywhere, giving off a sweet, zesty aroma.

“These are ready,” he said, picking one off a tree. “Here, try it for yourself.”

I lifted my hand toward the branch, barely tugging the ripe orange that fell into my hand. I brushed off the dirt, peeled it open and put a wedge in my mouth. The sweet juices squirted all over my hands and clothing, but I didn’t mind. The sweet fruit I had picked myself was definitely worth it.

We headed inside Petros’ home, hands sticky with orange juice and carrying more oranges to take home. Standing in the kitchen behind the counter was Petros’ wife. While her daughter handed out fresh orange juice, Petros’ wife taught us how to make orange zest cookies.

She commanded the kitchen counter like it was her stage, and the dough in the large bowl in front of her like her craft. Her measurements were more an intuition and understanding than precise increments. All of her ingredients were local: oranges from the groves, olive oil from the trees behind the house, flour from a brother’s farm.

As the cookies baked, we sprawled across their kitchen and living room. Soon, half of us were in the back playing basketball with Petros’ son, while the others were rolling out dough into shapes with Petros’ daughter. Minutes turned into hours, small talk turned into stories and laughter.

As I sat in the corner of the kitchen, stuffed with oranges, cookies, Greek pancakes and honey, I couldn’t get over the hospitality of this family. Petros has enlisted his entire family to help show 15 Americans what Greece is. They had given up an afternoon to total strangers, inviting us into their home and sharing with us something more special than just food — culture.

And in that moment, I was so incredibly grateful to be where I was. In all my time in Greece, I never expected to be so lucky — to be able to say that I not only learned about the history, language and landscape of this magnificent country, but I also learned about the people. I learned about their families, their traditions and the values that they hold dear.

I left Petros’ home that day with a smile on my face and a promise to myself that I would be more like the Greeks, who treat everyone they meet as a special guest, who enjoy good food and drink almost as much as they enjoy good company, and who have an unparalleled passion for life.