Piraeus, Athens

And back to Athens, when we started and ended our Greek island journey. We spent our final couple of days in Piraeus, the port area of Athens. Despite port areas of cities being notoriously dodgy, we enjoyed Piraeus immensely.

Piraeus is Europe's biggest port (or one of the biggest, depending on the source). We decided to walk from the ship to our hotel, with our luggage.

I can attest to (1) the port being very, very big — particularly noticeable when your ship docks at the furthest quay possible, and (2) Greek sidewalks being very bumpy. They have a raised marble central strip, surrounded by small square tiles, which may be a fabulous aid for sight-impaired people but they are absolutely terrible as a surface for pushing suitcases.

We did consciously try to enjoy the lovely old buildings as we sweated our way along the Piraeus streets.

Now that we had worked off some of those shipboard kilojoules, our aim was to eat as much authentic, local, non-touristy Greek food as possible. What I was after was tyropita, that deliciously flaky, salty cheese pie.

I asked the waitress at a cafe where I would get a good tyropita. At the bakery across the road, she told me. It's not a cafe food. So we ordered a cafe coffee, and I went to the bakery and found some tyropita. And the next day, I found another bakery and another tyropita. Athens has wonderful fresh orange juice, incidentally.

We wandered around Thissio, probably my favourite Athens locality. It's like Plaka but without the tourists. I never cease to admire the myriad ancient ruins that are scattered throughout this city. You can't go for a walk without bumping into some 2000 year old artefact.

On our last evening in Athens, all I wanted was a pita gyros and a Greek beer, sitting at a table on the pavement. Unlike in Australia, Greek gyros — that deliciously smoky, seasoned meat on the spit — is never lamb (or beef). It's always either pork or chicken.

This was a perfect pita gyros. I was told off by the restaurant owner for calling it a souv.

Ken is eating gyros. Pork. Not pita gyros, just gyros. Despite his expression, it was delicious.

The friendly restaurant owner and I got chatting. In our talk about travels, I mentioned South Africa.

'Ah,' he said animatedly. 'I have a German friend who lives in South Africa in a gated community. He watches the villagers firing bazookas at each other over the wall.'

I was so tickled by the image that I wrote it down.

On the subject of Australia, he told me that he loves 'Corky Dante'. Corky Dante? I was puzzled. Was this a children's TV show — about Cocky, a cockatoo, perhaps? Or was it a multicultural dance collective? Some sort of niche sport? A well-travelled wine?

My confusion was annoying him. 'Corky Dante!' he repeated loudly. 'Corky Dante!'

No, still baffled.

He grabbed a large carving knife. 'That's not a knife! THIS is a knife!' he exclaimed.

Crocodile Dundee has a lot to answer for.

Yassas, Greece. It's been great.