The dining space sits at the heart of the structure, a wide dome supported by untouched stone ribs. A long table stretches beneath a cluster of hand-blown glass pendants that glow like captured moons.
Meals here feel ceremonial—part gathering, part time travel. When friends visit, they fall silent before the first toast, listening to the echo of laughter ripple through the chamber.
He never plays music during dinner. “The cave hums on its own,” he says. “You just have to be quiet enough to hear it.”
Outside, night seeps down the cliff face, but inside the stone stays warm—like a heart still beating beneath the mountain.
