Where in the World is Dakota?

Coffee, Warmth, and an Unhurried Start

I started the morning with breakfast at a local favorite, and it felt exactly right. I sat out on the patio with a heater nearby to take the chill off the air, letting the day unfold slowly instead of rushing it.

This was my first taste of Greek coffee — and it surprised me. It was hot, but incredibly smooth, with a richness I couldn’t quite place at first. Greek coffee is brewed slowly in a small pot called a briki, where finely ground coffee is simmered rather than filtered. The grounds settle at the bottom, which means you sip carefully and never drink it all.

There’s also a tradition tied to it: once you’re finished, the cup is turned upside down on its saucer and left to cool. The grounds form shapes along the sides, which some believe can be read — a way of catching glimpses of what lies ahead. I smiled at that idea… and immediately felt like I was in Harry Potter, attempting to read tea leaves. (For the record: I am not Hermione. 🔮😂).

When it came time to order food, I couldn’t decide between two items… so I got both.

One was banana toast — peanut butter, banana, forest fruits, coconut, and agave syrup on sourdough. Bright, fresh, and layered with flavor.

The other was French toast, topped with white chocolate crème, agave syrup, forest fruits, and hazelnuts. Decadent and indulgent in the best way.

Both were excellent, but if I went back? I’d want all the banana toast toppings on the French toast instead of what came with it— because that would’ve been perfection.

Off the Beaten Path (As Usual)

After breakfast, I set out to explore. I knew my first destination: the caves where Socrates was imprisoned and where the ideas behind The Allegory of the Cave were formed.

On my way there, I wandered — something I seem to do instinctively these days. I looked up and saw what I thought was a wall.

It wasn’t a wall.
It was the road.

Straight up.

A steep climb that immediately made me laugh. I leaned into it and started my way up, only to be met by a set of stairs I couldn’t see the end of. Up I went… to find more stairs. I conquered those too and finally continued into the surrounding park area.

It was gorgeous.

Walking those paths, it was easy to imagine ancient Greeks moving through the same terrain — philosophers, messengers, citizens navigating these hills long before modern roads existed. I record little voice notes for myself while traveling, and one of them captures me panting and saying, “This would be much more fun side-by-side.” The terrain actually reminded me of Heart Attack Hill — for those of you who know it, you know exactly what I mean.

From there, I could also see the Acropolis in the distance. I imagined standing on that hill centuries ago — during the time of St. Paul, or even earlier — catching sight of the temples in their full splendor. The photos don’t do justice to the awe-inspiring grandeur of the view.

History Beneath Every Step

I walked next to the Prison of Socrates, a place layered with history. During World War II, the structure was sealed with concrete and used to hide antiquities from the Acropolis and the National Archaeological Museum — a quiet act of preservation in the middle of chaos.

Nearby stands the Church of Agios Dimitrios Loumbardiaris, a small 12th-century Byzantine chapel with a remarkable story. According to tradition, the church was saved by a miracle in the 17th century when a Turkish commander attempted to bombard it — only for lightning to strike him the following day. Inside, frescoes dating to 1732 still remain. The church’s current form comes from a careful restoration in the 1960s, honoring both its Byzantine and post-Byzantine history.

I continued wandering through wide open spaces toward the Hill of the Pnyx and the Diateichisma Wall, one of Athens’ most significant fortification monuments. Stretching nearly 900 meters, the wall dates back to the 4th century BC and was reinforced over time in response to threats — Macedonian, later Roman, and beyond. It’s a physical reminder that cities, like people, strengthen themselves layer by layer.

Choosing the Harder Path

While wandering, I spotted a tower high on a hill and decided to try to reach it. I didn’t know the exact route — only the general direction. It was enough to start.

There were multiple paths to choose from.

Some were smooth, paved, and well-worn. Others were rugged — dirt underfoot, loose rocks shifting as I stepped, steeper inclines with no carved stairs to guide the way. Without really thinking about it, I kept choosing the less-traveled paths.

Why?

Because they were more fun.
And because they offered better views.

The easier paths curved gently, shaded by trees that blocked much of the scenery. The harder ones demanded more effort — but after each difficult stretch, they opened into something breathtaking. A wider view. A clearer perspective. A reminder of why I’d chosen that route in the first place.

As I walked, I found myself talking with God. Thinking about promises. About direction. About how often faith looks exactly like this: moving forward without a full map, trusting the general direction you’ve been given.

Some paths look easier, but take longer.
Others ask more of you, but get you there faster.

There were moments I stopped entirely — not because I was lost, but because I wasn’t sure which turn to take. Both paths looked plausible. One looked safer. The other looked harder. I stood still, took in the beauty around me, checked my bearings, and listened — not for certainty, but for peace. And kept taking the more difficult view.

Just as I rounded one final bend, the tower came into full view.

I had arrived.

Below me, I could see the easier path winding its way up — longer, gentler, and far more indirect than the one I’d taken. Standing there, I smiled. Not because the harder path had been superior, but because it had trusted me with the journey.

Sometimes the way forward isn’t the most obvious one — it’s the one that asks you to keep going, even when you can’t yet see the end.

At the Top: The Hill of the Muses

I had reached the Hill of the Muses, the highest of the hills west of the Acropolis. Named for the poet Mousaios, the area once served as a shrine, later a strategic stronghold, and eventually the site of the Philopappos Monument, built in the 2nd century AD.

From the top, I could see everything — the Acropolis, the city, and the waters beyond.

That was my wandering for the day. No set plan. No checklist. Just following curiosity and nature’s signs. 

I even captured what I was wearing — my first time hiking in a skirt! I didn’t know it would be a full hiking day. After that, it was time to head back to the hostel, shower, and get ready for dinner.

A Birthday Dinner Above the City

Dinner that evening was at Elysium, a rooftop restaurant perched high above the city, with a direct view toward the Acropolis. I chose a seat at the very edge of the balcony — the kind of place where you don’t just see the view, you sit inside it.

As the sun began to set, the city softened. Rooftops stretched out below me in quiet layers, and beyond them the Acropolis rose — steady, ancient, and impossibly present. The light shifted slowly, clouds catching gold and gray, the Parthenon standing watch as if it had done so every evening for thousands of years. It felt reverent without trying to be.

I started with the traditional stuffed vine leaves served with yogurt sauce — delicate, bright, and deeply satisfying. A must-try.

Then, finally-thanks to a friend’s recommendation, an espresso martini — Dark Obsession — made with vanilla vodka, Kahlua, Frangelico, white chocolate, gingerbread, and espresso. Rich, smooth, and indulgent in a way that felt perfectly timed.

For my main course, I ordered the grilled lamb chops with baby potatoes and seasonal greens — beautifully prepared, hearty without being heavy, and exactly what the evening called for.

At some point, the manager overheard that it was my birthday. Without warning, a dessert appeared — pistachio frosting layered over a soft cake center, crowned with berries, tiny flowers, and a single candle. I still don’t know exactly what it was, but it felt like a gift rather than an item on a menu.

As night settled in, the Acropolis lit up — glowing against the dark sky, luminous and calm. I kept looking back at it between bites, between sips, between thoughts. Some views don’t ask for commentary. They ask for stillness.

And that night, high above Athens, stillness felt like the most fitting way to celebrate another year of becoming.

Unexpected Company & Christmas Lights

While dining, another solo traveler sat nearby. Her drink looked amazing, so I asked what it was — and that turned into conversation. She was in Athens for work, visiting a friend, and invited me to join them at the Christmas market after dinner.

It was my first Christmas market of the season.

People were bundled up like it was freezing, while I wore a dress and coat — earning plenty of concerned looks. The market had the traditional stands of craft vendors and food, but the light show was magical. I took countless videos and screenshots — hopefully I can upload a few to the blog, and if not, they’ll live on my social media. (Note: they will live on. my social media).

We went our separate ways that night, knowing we’d cross paths again the next day — both booked on sunset tours, different companies, same destination.

Final Thought

That day wasn’t loud or rushed.
It was layered.
Faith-filled.
Unplanned in all the best ways.

And on my birthday, of all days, I was reminded that sometimes the most meaningful journeys come when you choose the path less traveled — and trust that God knows exactly where it leads.