So, thanks to Themistocles, who moved his fleet from Phaleron (Faliro), only a few stops up the green metro line, to Piraeus, Athens has a handy and well-protected port: Piraeus. It is technically a different city (as with Salford and Manchester) but only technically.
It’s not a particularly welcoming place to traipse across from the Metro, and it takes a good hour and a quarter from the airport to get here (accompanied by amusing conflicting arrows pointing the way to the station) but it’s not a destination, really, but a stopping point on the way somewhere else. That must create a certain different sort of psychology amongst its tourist-wranglers, but they seem quite cheerful about it. Certainly the bustle and noise of the streets hereabouts doesn’t betray any sense of inferiority.
A comfortable little hotel, which provides 6am breakfast, a shuttle service to the port (gate E9) and a rudimentary spag Bol for dinner, which was welcome, as I arrived at 9pm, and wandering off into the dark busy streets to find a restaurant didn’t really appeal to me at that point.
The port is massive, according to Lonely Planet, and I’m due to leave at 7am tomorrow for Mykonos (the hotel has a shuttle bus which comes free with an 8 euro breakfast) so I doubt I shall have time for some fresh fish, which Aristophanes jokingly suggests was Themistocles’ real reason for shifting the port. Ah well. Time for an early night.