Last night, the usual suspects took a couple of taxis to Orizontes, at the top of Lycabettus Hill. The drive itself was wildly spectacular, as the little yellow car tore up narrow windy streets, lined on both sides with parked cars. Tragedies were narrowly averted many times during the ten minute ride. We sat quietly, jaws and fists clenched, while the driver shouted and gestured, backed up for a whole block to let downhill traffic pass, and avoided several massive collisions only by the grace of some Athenean god. Lycabettus is the highest point in the city of Athens, and once we stumbled out of our taxi, we queued up and bought tickets to take the last and steepest part of the ride in a little funicular. Orizontes is one of several restaurants and cafes at the end of the ride, the hill topped off by a small white church, Agios Georgios (Saint George).

The restaurant is very white table-cloth fancy, with large picture windows overlooking the city, but we were delighted as the hostess led us past the interior tables and out onto a large stone terrace. Our table abutted a low wall and was minimally lit by a light hung from an adjacent tree. Reading the menus was a challenge (we thought the waiters could offer miner’s helmets along with the wine list) but any difficulties were surpassed by the truly jaw-dropping view. We sat through a leisurely dinner in the sultry evening air with the lights of the city spread below us. To our right, communications antennas and their support wires looked like the rigging of a ship, which kept us in phase with the whole “Talk Like A Pirate” day vibe we were trying to maintain. Little bats flew in circles in the air above our heads. The food we ordered was just fine, and expensive – a goat cheese appetizer, some lamb shanks, chicken, a big salad. Better: the soup (potato vegetable with saffron, smooth and rich), the small scoop of lemon sorbet between courses, the two bottles of really lovely red wine. And fabulous: being there.

We walked down the hill, dozens of stone steps through a bustling hip neighborhood, and ended up at the same taverna next to our hotel where we spent Saturday evening. Our waiter brought us a round of Mythos, and then another, and we gossiped about our funny (as in odd) colleague Les (apparently he is having a fling with an archaeologist!) and tried to guess Steve’s age – he’s being awfully coy about it, for no apparent reason. I left 20 euros to pay for my share of the bill and apparently I left a generous tip – our seven beers totaled 14 euros. It all evens out in the end.