Most of the streets below the Acropolis are narrow and are pedestrian only. By 10 am the first of the tourists start appearing like the first locusts scouting ahead of the swarm. By 11am the swarm starts to arrive. By noon there are thousands of them. They mill around the area for hours looking for ways to spend money. By 4pm they have had their fill and by 5.30 they have left the area to regroup. Suddenly, the narrow streets and pathways are deserted. There is not a tourist to be seen. The stores, cafes and restaurants have been stripped bare, but their owners are rubbing their hands with glee. They will eat well tonight.

We also intend to eat well. We have made a reservation at a restaurant that is a 15 minute walk from the hotel. But the walk is away from the Acropolis, and soon we are out of the tourist area, and out of our comfort zone. The streets become wider, but there is little traffic. Most of the stores have long gone leaving empty, derelict buildings. The sidewalks are broken and scarred, much like the homeless that are suddenly very much a presence. Graffiti is everywhere

We are beginning to feel nervous.

Where is this restaurant?

We turn a corner, and suddenly there is life. The neighborhood is changing. The first sign of life is a Hookah lounge

Not exactly what we were looking for, but an improvement on what we just left behind us,

We turn another corner and we are back in the sort of neighborhood we were hoping for. A lovely narrow winding street completely filled with tables and chairs from the restaurants on either side. But it is 8pm and it feels deserted

We find our restaurant and it looks charming, as does the owner who greets us. Dimitri is a strikingly handsome 50 year old Greek with a full head of long wavy grey hair brushed back. Dressed entirely in white linen to match his teeth and to show off his glistening olive skin, he looks runway ready. He runs an elegant finger down the list of reservations until he finds my name.

He takes us past the row of empty tables lining the street and points at a table in front of garage doors sadly in need of a coat of paint.

He may be handsome, but we are not enamoured.

We point to the row of empty tables we just passed any of which would be a huge improvement over this.

“They are all booked” he replies “our regulars always request those tables”. He delivers that line like a slap in the face. Way too much attitude, even if he is runway ready.

This is not going well. He refuses to offer us anything better and then advises us that he has a reservation for our table and we would have to be gone before 10pm. I want to slap him. We consider our options. The restaurant has fabulous reviews, the table offers a good view of the street as well as the garage doors, and we have almost 2 hours before it is 10 pm. We will stay, I tell him, wishing I had a pair of scissors so I could cut his hair off.

Meanwhile a young couple are seated at a table next to us – one of the tables that Dimitri had assured us was booked by regulars. They are charmingly innocent, hardly old enough to be out on their own, white skinned with blond hair, they look to be northern European. They sit gazing into each other’s eyes across the small table. They are right next to the street. She hangs her small shoulder bag over the back of her chair, carefully putting it on the side away from the street.

Another couple are walking by, hand in hand looking as if they are enjoying a romantic evening out. A little older, a little wiser, with no air of innocence. As they pass the young couple sitting next to us the man’s arm smoothly goes out around the girl’s chair and in one very practiced movement removes the shoulder bag from the back of the chair, and turns to give his girlfriend a quick kiss.
When they separate the bag is hanging on the woman’s shoulder as if it had always been there, and they walk casually away. Gordon sees this and yells at the young couple that their bag has been stolen. They don’t seem to understand. Gordon shouts again, but nothing happens. I jump out of my chair (who knew I could still do that) and run (another surprise) after them. Meanwhile it dawns on the young man what is going on, and he too leaps from his chair and runs after the couple. It will come as no surprise to anyone that the boy can leap and run much faster than I can, and within a few strides he passes me by and is on to the thieves. The woman gives up the handbag without a fight and then unbelievably hooks her arm into the man’s and they continue their stroll as if nothing has happened, all the while looking for their next victim

Suddenly we are heroes. The young couple are beside themselves. Dimitri is even happier. A nasty moment that could reflect badly on his restaurant has been averted. His entire attitude changes. We are now the best of friends. We have a wonderful evening, full of excellent food, good wine, and long conversations with Dimitri.

Ten o’clock comes round very quickly. The restaurant is now packed and there is a line of people waiting for tables. We have to leave. There are big hugs all round and Dimitri tells us we are his favorite customers and expresses never ending friendship. I am glad I didn’t have any scissors with me.

The street, almost deserted two hours ago, now looks like this

We begin a slow walk home enjoying the atmosphere, the Fabulosity Meter chirping away happily.

A homeless man is making his way through the restaurant tables asking for money. It is impossible to ignore him, although there are many doing just that. He has three children with him. Two young girls walking beside him and an even younger boy in a push chair. There is no wife, no mother. The children are all clean and nicely dressed but none of them has shoes. The father is doubled over with the weight of three huge bedrolls and a pile of pillows strapped to his back. His clothes are old and dirty, his feet are filthy. He has a heavy coat on despite the heat.

People either stare at them or look away, but no one offers help.

I have never seen a man more broken but still desperately trying to care for his children. My heart breaks just watching him. How can anyone let this happen? Sadly there is nothing I can do other than offer him some money. It might make a difference for a day or two, but what then?

I hope it is not how I remember Athens.