As we made a wide semi-circle on approach to Athens I scanned the horizon from my window seat to get bearings. Just before landing I spotted the well-lit Lykavittos or “hill of the wolves”, then, orienting myself, found the acropolis. It was 5:30 pm and already dark. Outside the terminal a strong and biting cold wind was blowing. I found a taxi and, to my relief, the young man spoke good English. (Or was it a woman? — my opinion reversed several times as I considered this truly androgynous Greek.) Furthermore, he was familiar with my destination, the small Hotel Nefeli in the narrow, winding streets of Plaka, the old Turkish quarter. In violation of the taxi regulations mentioned in my Lonely Planet guidebook, he did not start his meter. In response to my question about the fare, he said, “With the Christmas bonus, it will be three thousand drachmas.” Twice as much as a helpful fellow passenger at the airport had said I should expect to pay. But, using the rough approximation that each thousand drachmas was about four dollars, this came to about the same amount as the shuttle from downtown San Francisco to the airport had been. The driver took me right to the door of the Nefeli, which I recognized from my stay in 1993.

Maryl, who had taken a 7-hour bus ride from Thessaloniki, was already in the room, but she hadn't been there long. It almost seemed as if we were resuming a conversation recently suspended. We spent a few hours exchanging the details of our journeys and sampling the ouzo she had brought and the brandy I had brought. Then we walked to nearby Syntagma Square to observe what we could of holiday traditions in Greece. On several street corners we passed vendors with carts selling roasted chestnuts. But that was about the only old custom I noticed. In the square itself a tall flagpole had been draped with colored lights to form an electric Christmas tree. The square was packed with people milling about. Just as I might expect to see at home, there were vendors with large clusters of shiny helium-filled mylar Santa Claus balloons. But of the children in the square I didn't see one carrying a Santa. Their clear preferences were the modern Disney character balloons —not even Mickey and Don­ald, but Pocahontas and the Little Mermaid.

When it was properly late (8:30 or so), we went out in search of dinner. There were many restaurants within a short walk of the hotel. But selecting one for dinner sometimes seemed as much of a challenge as hunting your own food. If it was too early, they wouldn't even be serving yet. If the hour was right, but there were no diners in the restaurant, we took it as a sign of poor quality. If we walked past certain restaurants, men known as “touts” would try to rope us in to coming inside. Maryl scolded me if I even acknowledged their existence with eye or voice contact. At some restaurants the food and atmosphere looked good, but the prices were excessive.

Because we didn't travel far beyond our local neighborhood of Plaka in Athens, we were faced with a limited number of restaurants clustered together in a few areas. After three nights they all began to have a certain sameness. This was true even more so in Nafplio, where there were perhaps only a dozen to choose from. It was a nightly challenge to find something a bit different from the day before. As for the food itself, some things like fish or crepes were specialties, but most restaurants had variations on the same themes. Salatas: greek salad, σκoρδαλιά (scordalia­, a strong garlic dip), μελιτζάvασαλάτα (melitzanasalata, eggplant salad, which we stopped ordering after two occasions when it tasted much more like Miracle Whip than baba ganouj), and ταραμoσαλάτα (taramosalata, fish roe dip). Often we combined Μεζέδες (mezedes, appetizers) to make a meal): λoυκάvικo (sausages, at one taverna these were flamed at our table), καλαμαράκια (calamarakia, fried squid), σoυβλάκια (souvlakia, skewered chunks of beef, lamb, or chicken), σαγαvακι (saganaki, fried cheese —very salty, and something which the cats that circled around our outdoor table were eager to share), vτoλμάδες (dolmades, typically, stuffed grape leaves in olive oil, but sometimes a disappoint­ing stuffed cabbage in bechamel sauce), γιγάvτες (gigantes large beans—favas?—served cool in a savory tomato sauce), and perhaps modest-sized servings of τυρόπιτα (tyropita) or σπαvακόπιτα (spanakopita, feta cheese pie in filo dough, the latter with spinach as well) or μoυσακάς (moussakas, a baked casserole with minced lamb and eggplant or potatoes, covered with bechamel sauce).

Main dishes were usually based on red meat; fried side dishes were always available, such as fried eggplant or zucchini slices or, often, french fried potatoes. For lunch at Zorbas on our first day in Nafplio I tried a rabbit stew that was okay. In the middle of the afternoon on New Year's Eve, after explor­ing the ruins of ancient Epidauros we went to the modern town and found only one deserted place open; to our delight the woman there treated us to a tasty plate of lamb and potatoes flavored with feta and olive oil. At a cellar-like restaurant one night in Athens I ordered the house specialty of veal stifado, which turned out (to my relief) to be normal looking beef in a very good sauce with caramelized onions.

I am sorry to report that we found no really excellent meals. Breakfast I knew would never be exciting. It is generally included with a hotel room (at an added charge of 750 - 1000 drachmas) and consists of diluted, oversweetened juice, bread with margarine and jelly, perhaps a thin slice of white cake or an excess of mini-croissants, and the inevitable cup of Nescafe. Lunch was a treat only in Sparta, which I will describe later. The worst meal was definitely the lunch served by a man in Nafplio who aggressively led us into his restaurant promising the psarosoupa (fish soup) that Maryl wanted, then delivered what seemed like canned tomato vegetable soup with a heavy dose of cayenne, accompanied by a plate of noxiously salted sardines.

At the other extreme, the best meal was a late dinner at another restaurant in Nafplio, practically next door, which had a display case of fresh fish outside, frequently left open, a tempting target for the town's many cats. Our very accommodating waiter served a filet of swordfish that turned out to be really succulent. But the second time we tried fish—a whole fish of untranslat­ed species at a ψάρoταβέρvα (psarotaverna, fish tavern) on the coast in Kalamata, it turned out to be very expensive (around $15 a pound) and not that flavorful. Of course, my lack of pleasure with the food may owe in part to the fact that my taste buds were tainted by sinus drainage from the respiratory ailment that wouldn't go away. The wine always seemed to taste good, though, whether it was retsina, Boutari red, or one of the barrel whites.