When we moved to Greece, our biggest concern was healthcare. Turns out, the bigger surprise was technology.

We expected a certain amount of disorganization here. Greece, after all, is famous for its love-hate relationship with bureaucracy. We braced for long lines, missing documents, a few passive-aggressive sighs, and maybe even the need for a personal connection to someone’s cousin’s godfather in the Ministry.

But here's the kicker: Greek bureaucracy has quietly gone digital.

No more lining up for hours in government offices with three different kinds of identification and a bribe sandwich. Most official documents, birth certificates, driver’s licenses, national IDs, can be downloaded or stored directly in your Apple Wallet. And I don’t mean just some fancy government portal that freezes every five minutes. I mean actual ease. As in, a few taps on your phone and boom—your entire identity is right there, next to your airline boarding pass and loyalty card for that café with the good bougatsa.

You want examples?

The Greek driver’s license? On the Apple Wallet.Greek Police ID? Also in the Apple Wallet.Boat license? Yep, that too.

And by the way, Greece actually requires you to pass a written and practical test before operating a boat. Imagine that. In Florida, if you can drive a car, it’s assumed you can drive a yacht too. You just float and hope for the best, apparently. Duh!

A Greek Logic Puzzle (That Actually Makes Sense)

While sorting out some necessary paperwork for my wife’s AMKA, the clerk asked for her birth certificate. We produced her New York State document.

“No parents’ names?” the clerk asked, frowning.Apparently, the short form (sic) NY birth certificates don’t list the names of the parents. And in Greece, that’s a problem.

Why? Because it’s not just about your name, it’s about your name’s lineage.

In Greece, where everyone seems to be named Nikos or Maria, identification goes like this:

It’s a naming system that reduces duplication and actually strengthens identification.

Still, to really lock it down, they’ll ask for one more thing:Your Tax ID (Α.Φ.Μ.)

That’s it.Verification complete.

Getting the “long” form birth certificate

Sounds simple, right? Request it online and have it mailed overseas?

Nope. Buckle up.

First, my wife calls Ulster County in Upstate New York, because in 2025, you can still only handle this over the phone if you want the long form. The call costs more than a few bouzouki lessons, and she’s left listening to that eternal loop: “All available representatives are currently assisting other callers…”

Finally, a human answers, but alas, it’s the wrong department. She’s handed another number to call. More waiting. More coins metaphorically going down the drain.

At last, someone picks up.

“Hi, I’m trying to get a copy of my birth certificate. The one I have doesn’t list my parents.”

“Ahhh, you have the short form. You need the long form.”

“Yes. I live in Greece now. Can you send it to me?”

“Oh no. You have to pick it up in person.”

“I live 7,500 miles away. Can my sister pick it up as she lives in Ulster County?”

“Only your mother or father can do that.”

“They’re both dead.”

“Then you have a problem.”

No kidding!

Eventually, the clerk has a brilliant idea: “Write a notarized letter authorizing us to prepare the certificate and include a self addressed envelope so we can mail it to you in Greece.”

We both gasped. My wife politely tried to explain:

“We’re in Greece. We don’t have access to U.S. stamps.”

“Well, then we can’t send it to you.”

“Can my sister at least bring you the stamped envelope?”

“Absolutely not!”

We gave up. Not just on the conversation, but briefly on America as a functioning system.

And let’s talk about that notarized letter. In Greece, there’s no such thing as strolling into a UPS store and getting a stamp from a gum-chewing clerk named Linda. No, here, you go to a proper notary public, the kind that handles real legal contracts and documents, not overnight boxes. The form would be in English, of course. The stamp and signature? All in Greek. Would Ulster County accept that? Who knows.

Finally, after much debate and the temptation to just book a Delta flight, we found a workaround.

We sent everything to my wife’s sister in New York: the notarized authorization, a letter to the clerk, a self-addressed envelope to Greece—all inside a larger brown envelope. Her sister added the appropriate U.S. postage, sealed it in yet another envelope, and finally sent it to Ulster County.

A month and a half later, we received the birth certificate.

So to recap: in Greece, you get your entire legal identity downloaded to your phone while drinking a freddo cappuccino.

In the U.S., you need a landline, three envelopes, some US stamps, and a Saint to contact your dead parents.

You Missed Your Appointment (according to the app)

How the U.S. turned healthcare into a maze of portals and profit, while Greece quietly made public service... public again.

When people talk about how advanced the U.S. is in terms of technology, they’re not wrong. A multitude of companies, staffed by the brightest minds, are working around the clock to make our lives easier, more productive, and more enjoyable.

Right?

Hmm. Let me ponder that for a moment.

An App for That... and That... and That

In the U.S., everything has an app.Doctor’s office? App.Pharmacy? App.Ordering dinner, counting calories, booking a haircut, finding a soulmate, adopting a dog? App, app, app, app, app.

At first, it feels like a choice. Freedom. Tech-enabled convenience.But then you blink and realize you're juggling eleven different apps... just to see five different doctors.

Yes, eleven apps for five doctors.

Why? Because each one uses a different system. Some switched mid-year. Some merged. Some wanted two-factor verification and a blood sample to log in.

A Not-So-Funny Story

I had a follow-up with my primary care doctor. After the first visit, I was gently “reminded” to download their app so I could view results, schedule appointments, and most importantly, check in for my appointment ahead of time.

Sounds easy. I complied.

About a week before my next appointment, I was bombarded with reminders; email, text, robocall. I opened the app to confirm I’d be there.

Nope. Not yet available.

Turns out, just like Delta, you can only check in 24 hours before. So, on the morning of my 8:30 a.m. appointment, I tried again.

Still didn’t work.

I arrived early and gave it one last shot. It worked! I proudly skipped the check-in line and headed straight to the waiting room.

And waited.And waited.People who came in after me were called. I just sat there, invisible.

Eventually, I went back to the desk.

“Did you check in?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes,” I said. “In the app.”

“Ohhh, that doesn’t work,” she said cheerfully.“You missed your appointment. There’s a $25 no-show fee.”

Reader, I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

Need a Refill? Forget About It

Sharing records with a new doctor?Refilling a prescription?

Forget it.

I’ve filled out the same clipboard forms more times than I can count, sometimes at the same office, visit after visit.

Every time:

Want a simple medication refill? You’ll probably need a new appointment. Maybe some blood work. A co-pay. Then, maybe, you’ll get 30 days of what’s keeping you upright.

And even then, watch out. They might send the prescription to the wrong pharmacy. One you haven’t used in years.

“Publix Pharmacy on Main Street?”

Nope. We moved three years ago.

Still, somehow, that one stubborn address lives on in every system. Like a bad ex who keeps showing up in your group texts.

Want to fix it? That’ll be another phone call, another hold line, and another round of fax-machine roulette.

The Prescription Circus

Speaking of prescriptions—there’s an app for that too.It’s called GoodRx, and it lets you compare drug prices at different stores and pharmacies.

Here’s the kicker: the same drug, same dosage, no insurance, can cost anywhere from $27.99 to $218.Not a typo.

And often, your insurance makes it more expensive than the GoodRx “cash price.”No one can explain this. Not your pharmacist. Not your insurer. Not even a tech bro with a whiteboard and a TED Talk.

Meanwhile, in Greece?

Every medication has a retail price printed on the box.That’s the maximum you’ll pay.Often less.

If you have a Greek AMKA (basically the Greek version of a Social Security number), you might pay just 25% of that price, even if you’re uninsured.

Actual Example:

That’s right: €2.19.

Less than a Starbucks oat milk latte.

Meanwhile, in Little, Poor Greece... they’re not waiting for Silicon Valley to solve everything.

They’re building systems that work.

The government created an app called “MyHealth.”If you have an AMKA, insured or not, you’re in the system.

You give permission once to share your health data. After that, your entire medical history is accessible to you and any licensed healthcare professional:

Imagine being in an accident. Emergency staff scans your ID and knows your meds, allergies, blood type, and past medical history.

That’s public service.

No data harvesting. No freemium upgrade.Just systems that serve humans.

Prescriptions?They’re digital.

The doctor enters it into the system.You get a text. And an email. And if you ignore both? It’s on the app.You walk into any pharmacy in the country, show the barcode, and your prescription is filled.

No drama. No hold music. No faxes.Just health care. Imagine that.

One Login to Rule Them All

Let’s talk about TAXISNET.

If you want to do anything in Greece, from paying your taxes to turning on your water, you’ll want to establish your TAXISNET credentials. It takes a bit of paperwork and patience (you’ll need a Greek Tax ID—Α.Φ.Μ.—and preferably a Greek phone number), but it can all be sorted within a couple of days.

Once you’re in? You’re in.

With your TAXISNET login, you can access nearly every government portal.One account. One password. One system.

You can:

There’s even a dedicated portal, MyAADE, with over 100 categorized services where you can submit digital requests and complete official processes without ever printing a single form.

I repeat:One portal. One area. One login.

How’s that for a public service?

America, we love you. But you’re running on DOS in an iOS world.

Please update your operating system.