Nicasio and Daniela celebrated their first day and night in Greece by a brisk walk to the Plaka district of old Athens, just below the Acropolis. After getting directions in the library to this scenic, albeit touristy community which hugged closely to the citadel's steep walls, the two stopped by their dorm room for a quick shower and a dip into their stash of Euros for dinner. Nicasio changed into a fresh pair of jeans and slipped on a long-sleeved dress shirt. He informed his research partner that while she had spent so many hours looking over the images of Amazons from the ancient world, he had done some fact-finding about a few aggressive women the professor had been concerned about over the telephone.

Daniela quickly dried her hair and slipped on a white cotton pants suit with comfortable shoes for some serious walking. Their conversation continued as they passed out the gates of the American School and headed in the direction of the formidable granite hill central to the old city. It was known since ancient times as the Acropolis. And it was on that steep summit that the incomparable Parthenon had been built in honor of the Greek goddess Athena, some twenty-five hundred years before.

The two foreigners progressed for several blocks with difficulty, across gritty streets and intersections, dodging the demonic traffic which seemed to make no peace with pedestrians. After twenty minutes of defensive walking, they passed by the large Neo-Classical parliament building, well-lit in the evening light. From there they moved out onto the expanse of Syntagma Square. It was the place where, on television back home, they had watched with the rest of the world the violent demonstrations by the Greek public over the nation's austerity sanctions. Now only a few clusters of people, looking to be immigrants of African or Middle Eastern nations huddled together at a distance from the occasional tourist. The majority of people, however, were members of the still economically depressed society itself—ambling peacefully and surprisingly gregariously across the expanse of gray marble tiles in all directions.

Leaving the square and moving southward, the roads began to be cordoned off to traffic and the two detected they were approaching the oldest sector of central Athens. Reaching a long pedestrian promenade called Ermou Street—the "way of Hermes," the two felt the anticipation of knowing that soon, amid this non-aesthetic cluster of apartment buildings, would eventually appear again the astonishing temple.

They soon were not disappointed as a cobblestone roadway began leading upward in elevation, away from the unsightly multi-storied domiciles which all but obscured the hill from the lower street level. And suddenly, there it was! Bathed in the amber glow of spotlights, the incomparable sanctuary to Athena, the Parthenon. In the glory of its day it was a perfection of sacred architecture—temple to the virgin goddess of wisdom and military strategy. An immense statue of her once had been housed inside, depicting the helmeted and spear-bearing patroness of the ancient city. As Nicasio and Daniela passed along the winding streets of Plaka, Athena's columned edifice rested solidly, timelessly, on its rock mountain pedestal, still high above them.

The myriad of quiet walkways contrasted peacefully with the rest of Athens, and flanked on either side were fenced areas where centuries of excavations had been ongoing. It was clear that one only needed to scratch the ground in this region of the world to find remnants of a layered city—perhaps the most ancient in all of Europe. Following the street lights, which defined the narrow passageways, the two followed their instincts to find an intimate restaurant. It would certainly be among the many which had now become the mainstay of the dimly-lit, romantic neighborhood.

"So Nicasio. You were saying? Dr. Simons called you about . . . some women . . . while I was in the Blagen today?"

Daniela was looking with  vague interest into the many curio shops along the street as she spoke. These little stalls ran the gamut of tented affairs to the street front—rooms hinting of a former Neo-Classical past. The shops accented the outside tavernas, and brimmed with stands of travel guidebooks, colorful post cards and bright summer clothing hanging from wires strung along the pathway. The tourist industry—Greece's mainstay of income they were told, had been decimated by the ongoing financial crises, and while many shop owners could be seen seated or standing patiently outside their small stalls, there were but only a few foreigners milling about unhurriedly.

"Yeah, well what can I say, Dani. The man back at Cal loves me. He never stops calling. And yes . . . it was all about his new passionate enemy of his . . . certain academically involved women."

She only smiled and rolled her eyes as they passed by a large mirror facing the street. The two of them could suddenly see themselves looking out from it as a skewed and disoriented couple.

"So what exactly do these women have to do with your study over here?"

Nicasio continued to lead the way before answering. He too was not interested in any of the touristic items which were displayed on every wall, even when stacked out into the street. He passed quickly amid the assemblage of replicated Greek urns, plaster busts of philosophers, spears, helmets and sandals, beach bags and T-shirts—expressing phrases like "Greece is for Lovers."

"Maybe something pretty significant," he finally replied. "See . . . someone . . . a woman  from Stanford paid a visit to  our site down in Big Sur. She claimed she knew of our work and was somehow associated with it. But you you see . . . that's impossible."

"So . . . does it turn out she is  associated with it?"

"Not at all . . . well . . . as far as we know, not at all. But that's just one of those little details we may find out while over here, Dani."

"Wow. Interesting."

"According to the professor, those women might have been the ones who did a focused study at the Blagen Library. Possibly a decade or so ago. They would have been that group of researchers . . . all women, that Dr. Santori mentioned earlier. They were all here. . .  working on that topic of yours."

"My topic?"

"Your Amazons! Apparently they were some sort of international consortium. But definitely working under the radar screen of academia."

"And all women? . . . Well after today, I can see why."

Nicasio laughed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, they're just fascinating. Seriously fascinating. Especially to another woman."

"Well . . . you got me there then, Dani . . ."

The two found themselves climbing further up the steep little streets where the tourist shops began to thin out and only the more romantic tavernas, on terraces and illuminated by candles, remained. They seemed to be ancient places themselves—some hewn right out of the rock cliffs. It was obvious that in the heat of day such an exotic eatery would be an oasis, shaded by the leaves of trees and vines which grew out of the massive hill above them.

But now in the dying daylight the little bistros appeared to be aglow internally and from an occasional street lamp. This attractive ambiance was evidenced by the number of couples seated around the small tables facing each other closely. They all seemed to be absorbing the anachronistic element of an altered place and time.

"Wow,"Daniela said quietly to herself while gazing at the surroundings.

 Upon a closer look, the couples and small parties who were part-taking of the ambience were on the whole locals, amorous as couples and boisterous as groups of friends. There were but few tourists, who like the two of them, had been willing to venture out on foot to explore the sites and cuisine on the steep mountainside.

The warm night air of early summer was inviting as Nicasio and Daniela approached a particularly colorful set of tables on a terrace with a view. Green painted wicker chairs and lavender table cloths topped off the dream-like mood of the place, while candle lamps were centered on each table. The maître d', a mustachioed and thin man of around fifty, smiled broadly at the two Americans and practically herded them physically over to a table at the edge of the railing. 

Nicasio nodded, accepting the directive, and Daniela seemed pleased with the choice, looking above her at the strand of grape leaves that trailed down off a trellis practically touching her hair. The atmosphere for the evening at hand seemed close to perfect to both of them, though this had most to do with the ever-present knowledge that somewhere above them on that sturdy hill, sat one of the wonders of the ancient world.

They were quickly brought out menus and a bottle of drinking water by a sombre young man of barely twenty. He donned a freshly ironed white shirt and seemed to somehow know that the two of them would not be able to speak the most basic table Greek. He identified himself in commendable English simply as 'George.' He went on with a scripted explanation of what was available on the menu that evening. He did this perceptively, to see if they needed any description of the dishes' ingredients —something he had no doubt learned about western travelers. To Daniela's ear his voice and accent of English was attractive, something akin to a confluence of Russian and Spanish but delivered with some vestige of British annunciation. To George's surprise, the two tourists were familiar with the items listed, as Greek food was ever-present and one of their favorites in San Francisco. Yet like most of the known world, enamored of the country's fine cuisine, they now remained curious if it would live up to its reputation.

Returning after several minutes with a carafe of the local white table wine and fresh bread, George took their obligatory orders of grilled lamb, mousaka, dolmades, and a green salad with tomatoes, olives and feta cheese. For the first time in what seemed like ages, the couple comforably sipped wine and munched on bread. They had the opportunity to once more look into each others' eyes.

Reaching across the table, Nicasio took Daniela's hand and held it affectionately. He waited for that certain spark which the gesture on other occasions had brought out in her. Yet despite the intoxicating atmosphere of the place, Daniela's look back at him  was perceptively distant. Her gaze and response were saying something he could not fully interpret. Yet, despite this, her looks were still somehow inviting. Nicasio had always found her attractive face, even when distracted, penetrating and alluring. For it was in her features by default, he had always believed in. However on this night, her mind and conversation seemed even more astray. The face looking back at him was definitely elsewhere, and more guarded. She seemed to carry something new about her which could not be effectively disguised anymore.

"So," he said, letting her hand go free. "Are you glad we broke out of that book-infested dorm compound to come here tonight?"

A subtle grin and unexpected look of complete satisfaction beamed back at him.

"Totally!"

She was now smiling broadly—not at him, but in reaction to where they had suddenly found themselves.

"You know, Nicasio, this whole experience so far has been amazing!" 

She continued looking around and up at the bougainvillea blossoms swaying in the warm breeze.

"It is nice here . . . huh?"

"Oh yes. Being in Greece right now . . . in this different place . . . the things I saw yesterday in those books and online . . . wow! I am so glad I came. You just don't know how much I needed this."

He was surprised at her genuine animation and enthusiasm. It was as if someone had turned on a bright light inside of her.

"Well then," he said, reaching out again—only this time for his wine glass. "Here' is to the rest of a great trip, Dani."

He held the glass up, signifying a toast.

"To Greece . . . and to us."

She lifted up her glass in response. There was a brief pause as she seemed to be thinking.

"Absolutely," she replied. "And here's also to . . ."

Daniela's reply was punctuated with even more pensive hesitation.

". . . to the Amazons," she finally said. She was not looking at him directly anymore, but rather down the marble steps, leading to the lower streets of Plaka, and further still toward the ancient ruins of Athens.

Nicasio nodded and tapped his glass against hers.

"Yes, Dani . . . to the Amazons then.

* * *