At the bottom of Lycabettus Hill I tucked into another pot of Mailo’s pasta. This one rigatoni in tomato and basil sauce with grated cheese on top. I thought it surely couldn’t be as impressive as yesterday’s truffle. But the sauce still took me by surprise, the flavours of fresh ripe tomato came through strongly, and once again, pasta so chewy it was ecstasy.
After fuelling up on the tastiest carbs known to man, I climbed Lycabettus – the steep pointy hill in the middle of Athens. The wind carried the sounds of speeding motorbikes and church chimes to my ears. I climbed out onto a jutting rock and spied on the city from above. Looking down, large roads running through the city stood out like trenches sparkling with traffic lights. Out from the Acropolis – which is dwarfed by Lycabettus – bushy tentacles of greenery flexed and curled through the crowd of buildings, the vegetation concealing the ornaments of that other Athens, the one where Socrates once spread his teachings, the one that went to war with Sparta…
Somehow, I got into conversation about Greek language with the receptionist at Hawks as I was extending my stay. She clarified a few things for me, the main one being that they never, ever drag their o’s in Greece. Whether it’s Omicron “O” or Omega “W” it’s a short O. We also discussed how all Greeks speak English. She lamented that barely anyone speaks Greek. ‘Only Greeks speak Greek’ she sighed. ‘I was out with some friends a couple weeks ago and nobody I was out with spoke Greek. Nobody! It’s so tiring.’
I am kind of surprised that people in Athens overwhelmingly speak English. You expect to get to another country and struggle with a language barrier, hence my language anguish in Madrid. But here in Greece, or in Athens at least, it’s all English to me.
