A couple arrives in Athens, loses a day on the flight, and forgets it is St. Valentine's. They rush to the Acropolis at last light and spot a red heart-shaped balloon that makes one narrator feel dizzy and uplifted, while Matty identifies glowing columns and architectural orders. They feel rooted on ancient ground but then confront hunger and booked restaurants after long travel. Wandering through crowded tavernas, they finally find a corner table where a waiter serves simple, inexpensive Greek dishes and diluted wine. The cheap food feels especially satisfying given limited funds and a free apartment arranged by Matty's former professor.
It flew solo over the city, trailing a ribbon just released, and I got weirdly dizzy, like it was me rising up forever from the ever-shrinking earth. But Matty was saying what she knew about those famous columns glowing butter-yellow through the restoration scaffolds, and words like doric and ionic brought me back to where I was. I felt suddenly wonderful.
But the day was a problem in that we were starving after twenty hours of travel and the restaurants were all booked up. We found ourselves wandering through a maze of tavernas stuffed with couples at white tablecloths and folk singers playing those little almost-guitars. Hunger met fatigue met being in an alien place and we were basically hallucinating by the time we found a table at a corner spot that didn't appear to be marking Valentine's at all.
The waiter seated us outside, whisked some wax paper over the table and slapped down a small football of bread. Matty tried her Greek but he answered in English and brought us some giant beans and cuttlefish and a jug of diluted wine. I said, "Happy Valentine's baby," and Matty rolled her eyes. The food tasted even better because it was so cheap.
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