Florence, Italy: Athens (City of Promoters)

Every city is known for some quirk in its personality. Venice: the Romance. Florence: lots of Universities. Rome: the Church. Athens: the Promoters.

I met the TCU girls at a hill by the Acropolis. The Areopagos (Hill of Ares — the Greek God of War) is this incredibly slippery giant rock outcropping that you can climb and take pictures or just get a great view of Athens. We stayed and watched the sunset for a long time and then tried to find our way down to the Plaka. Even though I knew the quickest way (going back by my hotel), we decided to see if going around the other side of the Acropolis was quicker. It definitely wasn’t. 45 minutes later and we were in the Plaka and trying to find the restaurant.

I’d seen the restaurant last night and also knew that our 6:45 start for dinner was going to beat the crowd — by a huge margin. When I was looking at my map to find exactly what street the restaurant was on, a guy came up to us and asked us where we were trying to go. When I told him the name of the restaurant, he gave a little shrug and said it was only OK. He pointed it out and then said, “but try the Taverna ____ just down the street and you’ll like it better.” Everywhere I turn in Athens people do this. The hosts at restaurants in several cities make you wait for a while before they give you enough attention so you can ask for a table. The hosts in Greece will start pulling you as you’re walking by, motioning for the nearest open table. Even if it’s obvious that you’re not wanting to eat there, they’ll still get in front of you and try to redirect you to the nearest seat.

Our dinners were phenomenal. Unlike Florence, a place known for its pastas, wines and cheeses, Athens is known for its meats and baked dishes. Our table of four had a feast, and once again, for much less than we would have had to pay in Florence. For appetizers: dolmades (grape leaves stuffed with pork and rice) and mousakas (this baked dish with beef, egg plant, and a bunch of other stuff I couldn’t distinguish). Even with just the appetizers we knew that the meal was great.

Then came the main courses. My veal topped with a light tomato sauce (and accompanied by fried potatoes — not even close to tasting like French Fries) melted in my mouth, but still didn’t match up to some of the girls’ plates. Marisa’s skewer of meat probably beat out Jen’s codfish. All of the meats, though, tasted superb. We topped those off with individual servings of baklava. One word: intense. The honey wasn’t the slow-moving syrup kind you find in the US; it was a shining coat of sugary glaze that made the nuts and pastry go down slowly. You may think slow is a bad thing; in which case, you’d be wrong. With something that good, eating it slow is the only way to enjoy it.

They also had a barrel of white wine that they served on-tap. While Greek wine is OK, I’m definitely a fan of the Italian ones more. For some reason, the Greek one didn’t have as sharp of a flavor, so it went down like warm water. That was a case where slow wasn’t better.

After we finished the girls came back to the hotel and they wanted to look at the sunset pics on the computer screen. I ended up showing them all of the pictures I’ve taken in Florence and even showed them how I blend the triple-exposure shots to get the richest color spectrum. Then I walked them back to their street in the rain. Want to know the only downside to having a town made mostly of marble? It’s too slippery when wet. This was also a case where slow was definitely the only way to go. I didn’t need another trip to the hospital; which happens to be called the ‘nosokomio’ in Greek (I looked it up — it’s not from experience).

On the way back from walking with the girls I found two more of Athens’ promoters. These two guys in their late 50s, about four blocks apart, both stopped me and asked me if I wanted to meet girls. I laughed and said no. I’m not sure if they were setting up hookers or trying to get me to go to a nearby club; maybe both. I must have looked like a lonely American walking down the street.