From beaches to battlefields: how a BIP in Crete changed the way tourism students see history

With summer holidays just around the corner, many of us are already dreaming of beaches, city breaks or a well-deserved escape abroad. War memorials and military heritage sites may not be the first stops that come to mind, but our International Tourism students know better.

“There are some trips that stay in your camera roll, and then there are trips that stay with you.” When Thomas More student Sára Zeliesková wrote those words after a week in Crete, she gave this story its opening line. Because what started as a Blended Intensive Programme on military tourism quickly became more than a study trip. It became a week about memory, responsibility, difficult histories and the kind of international friendships that only happen when people learn, travel and reflect side by side.

In Crete, 12 Thomas More students from International Tourism joined peers and lecturers from Universidade Lusófona (Portugal) for a BIP hosted by Hellenic Mediterranean University, a HEROES associated partner. Their shared theme was military tourism, a topic that may sound unfamiliar in Belgium, but one that opens up urgent questions for anyone preparing to work in tourism. How do you tell painful histories well? How do you make space for memory, loss and multiple perspectives? And what responsibility do you carry when a destination’s story is still sensitive, contested or unfinished?

More than a study trip

For Ana Zavasnik, the draw was immediate. She had never been to Greece before, and the combination of a new country, a new topic and an international group made her curious. What she found was not a classroom in the traditional sense, but an island where history kept showing up in very concrete ways. Over the course of the week, students moved through Heraklion, Knossos, the Venetian Walls, the Historical Museum of Crete, the Monastery of Arkadi, the War Museum in Chromonastiri, Rethymno, Platanias, Maleme, the Maritime Museum of Crete, Chania and Souda Bay Commonwealth Cemetery. Museums, memorials, cemeteries, shelters, monasteries, city streets: every stop added another layer to the story.

Ana describes military tourism in simple, sharp terms: tourism connected to wars, armies, fighting and soldiers. But in Crete, the theme quickly proved to be more layered than that. It touched World War II, occupation, resistance, sacrifice, architecture, remembrance and grief. At Arkadi Monastery, students confronted the story of people choosing self-sacrifice rather than capture. At cemeteries and war shelters, they saw how memory can be preserved with care, but also how it can still stir raw emotions generations later. They were not just learning facts. They were learning how history lives on in people, in landscapes and in the stories destinations choose to tell.

When history becomes personal

One of the strongest lessons came from hearing how differently people relate to the same place. Ana remembers the owner and guide at the war shelter speaking with striking honesty about the German occupation of Crete. “He told us that some Germans that visit aren’t even aware of their country’s past history at all,” she says, and he spoke openly about forced labour, reparations and the feeling that “karma and justice always come around.” It was not a polished speech designed to keep visitors comfortable. It was direct, personal and emotionally charged. For Ana, that mattered. “It was a refreshing thing to hear, someone speak very directly about his feelings and opinions regarding such a topic.” In that moment, tourism stopped being just about interpretation panels and guided visits. It became about listening to voices that are still carrying the past in the present.

Another moment stayed with her for a different reason. “The way a Greek student was talking about the German War Shelter, how her grandpa was listed in it and how it made her emotional,” Ana recalls, brought home just how personal these sites can be. In the same breath, she remembers “a lecturer from Portugal that was quite knowledgeable in this BIP’s topic” showing deep respect for fallen Māori soldiers he had no prior connection to. For Ana, that parallel said everything. “Despite having or not having a connection to the place you can appreciate and mourn the loss of people.” It is a powerful insight for any future tourism professional: memory can be inherited, but empathy can also be learned, and good interpretation makes space for both.

From different countries, one group

That human dimension ran through the whole week. In the beginning, Ana says, “the schools were rather divided,” which is often how international projects start: a few careful conversations, a bit of hesitation, everyone still orbiting around the people they arrived with. But BIPs have their own rhythm. As she puts it, the group grew closer “by eating, singing, dancing and falling asleep on the bus together.” Shared meals turned into inside jokes, long travel days became bonding moments, and the invisible lines between Belgium, Greece and Portugal slowly disappeared. By the end of the week, they were no longer just students from different institutions. They had become a team.

Sára’s reflection captures that transformation beautifully. “I arrived expecting to learn about military tourism and cultural heritage, but I left with so much more,” she writes. What followed in her account was not a list of academic outcomes, but a map of what really stayed with her: “new friendships, inspiring conversations, unforgettable memories, and a fresh perspective on how important it is to preserve the stories of the past.” She describes days filled with learning, laughing, problem-solving and creating memories together with students and teachers from different countries. And in the end, her most powerful conclusion is also the simplest one: “As grateful as I am for everything I learned, I think I’ll remember the people the most.”

Lecturer Marco Scholtz saw that shift happen in real time. The clearest moment came during the final presentations, when students were asked to reflect on the week and imagine how military heritage could be made more meaningful for younger audiences. They were no longer repeating classroom concepts back to him. They were comparing perspectives, questioning interpretation, thinking about stakeholder voices and debating when technology adds value and when it distracts. For Marco, that is exactly where the real learning starts. “Teaching about tourism helps students understand concepts,” he says. “Letting them experience tourism on site helps them understand the complexity behind those concepts: the place, the people, the emotions, the stories, the stakeholders and the responsibility of designing meaningful visitor experiences.”

Tourism with responsibility

That is what makes this BIP so relevant for tourism students. Military tourism is not about war for war’s sake. It is about places shaped by conflict, remembrance and collective memory, and about how those places are interpreted for visitors today. Marco kept returning to one idea throughout the week: students need to think beyond attraction and entertainment. They need to ask harder questions. Whose story is being told? Which voices are missing? How do you engage younger visitors without oversimplifying the past? “Tourism is not only about creating enjoyable experiences,” he says. “It is also about responsibility towards the involved or affected stakeholders, especially when dealing with war, memory, loss and contested histories.”

The answers are not simple, and that is precisely why this kind of place-based learning matters. Students practised international teamwork, critical reflection, presentation and visitor experience design, but what they gained was not only technical. They also became more attentive: to nuance, to discomfort, to the emotional weight of a place. Marco noticed quieter students presenting with confidence by the end of the week. Ana noticed something similar from another angle: even students who seemed confident still trembled before presenting. That mattered too. Growth did not always look polished. Sometimes it looked like trying, listening, speaking up anyway and starting to understand the responsibility that comes with working in tourism.

What stays after the journey

One sentence stayed with Marco throughout the project: “We cannot be blamed for what happened in the past, but once we are armed with that knowledge, we are responsible for what happens in the future.” It is the kind of line that lingers, because it says something essential about education. Students cannot change history. But they can shape how history is told, how visitors encounter it and how destinations carry it forward. In that sense, this BIP was not only about Crete. It was also about the kind of tourism professionals these students are becoming.

For Sára, “a piece of my heart is staying with you” in Crete. For Ana, the advice to other students is even simpler: “Just do it.” Together, their words capture what this BIP really offered. Yes, there was academic depth. Yes, there were new insights into military tourism, heritage and contested histories. But there was also something more personal: perspective, courage, connection. This is what international education can look like when it works at its best. It does not just fill notebooks or camera rolls. It shifts how students see their field, their responsibility and, perhaps, a little bit of themselves.

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