The evening was mellow; Venus and Mars glistened playfully on a clear, ink-blue sky, and there was a floating brightness in the air, bestowing an illusion of glow on the marble ruins of Athens. Plaka’s narrow alleys remained empty, dotted with a few scattered pedestrians whose presence reinforced rather than softened the quiet solitude of the dusk. It was Wednesday, on a February night.
We entered Amaltheia creperie on Tripodon street – both the shop and the lane being unusually quiet, as if in a reverie of their own. [Read more…]