Trip 44 — Ikaria Walk

Prelude
Tuesday, 22 April 2025

Yesterday, Athens airport to Koropi: 5827 steps/5.14 km/3.19 mi/49m
Today, Omonia to Piraeus: 11287 steps/9.26 km/5.75 mi/1h 34m

Emirates betrayed me.

When possible, I fast-forward through the advertisements that precede films on planes. There should be a Web site where one can look up an airline and see something like, "Cathay Pacific: Movie begins at 2:33." I've paid for the flight. Why are they trying to sell me stuff?

On Emirates, I skipped ahead too far, and when I reversed, I landed in the middle of an ad for the Trump Tower Jeddah. "An unparalleled fusion of modern architecture," it said. And something about joining the Trump Club. I'd rather go through the torture course at McKamey Manor.

"Donald J. Trump is the very definition of the American success story," the site informed me once Emirates' languid wi-fi cooperated. "He is the archetypal businessman — a deal maker without peer." There followed endless drivel about the idiot-in-chief's real-estate escapades and contributions to golfing. The biography was so long that it could be used to clean up all of the stray-cat droppings in Athens.

I was livid. How dare he invade my happy place! "This is unacceptable," I told the flight attendant. "I know it's not your fault. But no one should have to see this vile human on a screen. I'm embarrassed for my country." And I shouldn't have to be. I'd love to spend this entire trip wearing a "Fuck Trump" shirt, but I'm too polite.

"I'm not allowed to share my political views," she said. "But I'm from Ukraine."

"I'm so sorry. I wish you peace."

The airline's shrimp with saffron rice and a glass of wine (and then a glass of port) helped me settle down, but I contemplated canceling my Emirates return flight and put an itinerary on hold with American. I probably won't use it, since canceling the Emirates ticket would just leave a bunch of miles in their frequent-flyer program, but next week will be my last voyage with the airline and then I'll gleefully explain why I'm closing my account.

Athens is on the list of airports with stupid metro fares — it's €9 from the airport into the city but €1.20 if you board at Koropi, one stop away — so of course I had to walk there. I exited through the long-term-parking lot and followed the highway toward the city. There was a kind of ditch — probably mucky in rain, but a delightfully safe footpath in the sun, although it kept ending at a blockade that required me to climb up and back down to the next section.

I passed the service area — cafe, gas station, and Ikea — and went back down to the highway. There was no more ditch, but there was a wide gutter separated from the traffic by a breakdown lane. I'd walked worse. In a kilometer I'd take the exit and follow the farm road to Koropi station.

A striped vehicle pulled up beside me. "You can't walk here," the driver said in English once he established that Greek was not going to get us anywhere. "This is a highway."

"I'm just going to the next exit."

He pointed back. "Bus," he said.

It would have been silly to have to walk back; it was closer to keep going to the exit.

He punched some words into his phone and translated them, repeating what he had already told me. Since I didn't move, he asked me to type my response as well.

"Please, I'm just going to the next exit. It's only 300 meters."

He motioned for me to get in. He drove me 30 seconds and let me off at the end of the exit ramp.

This was a rural road that seemed narrow for the speeds its users attempted. Fenced-in dogs objected to my presence. I'm not sure what was growing in the small parcels of land, but the greenery smelled sweet. Twenty minutes later I reached the graffiti of the mid-highway Koropi station, urged faster by Google Maps' promise of a train. It was a suburban service, with plenty of seating, which I rode for a few stops before transferring to a packed subway.

The Titania Hotel was near Omonia, which, apart from the Acropolis, was the main image that remained in my mind from my 2012 visit. It's a melancholy circle with a pretty fountain, a few cafes, and a fair number of unhoused people. It's a dividing marker between the main tourist area and the seedier spots to the north. A couple of blocks back from the hotel was an alley with a tree canopy and numerous bars with outdoor seating, and I had a couple of Alfa beers and watched the pierced youth of Athens.

I needed to get a substantial number of euros, since a few of the Ikaria lodgings aren't set up for credit-card payments. And I knew it would be better to have gotten them yesterday, with the dollar's value plummeting faster than Icarus's dive into the Aegean. But the little ATMs in back of Omonia didn't seem like the right place in the evening.

This morning I turned on the TV. I found news from Beijing in English; they predicted that China's economy would be twice the size of the United States' by 2049. I'd be surprised if it took that long. On a lighter note, I learned that there is a basketball team called the Beijing Ducks and they're doing pretty well this year.

And I found Greek news. I didn't understand what they were saying, but I could make out four words in the caption: "problem" and "Blue Star Myconos."

Well, that wasn't good. That was the name of the ferry I was supposed to take to Ikaria in a few hours. I did some research: Apparently 220 people coming back from Ikaria after Easter found that the ship was sold out going to Piraeus, the main port near Athens, but they could get tickets as far as the island of Syros and hoped they could stay on unnoticed. They were made to disembark in Syros, but Blue Star supplied an extra ship at short notice to get everyone home.

I finally withdrew cash after a walk down to the Plaka this morning and a lunch of taramosalata and grilled sardines in the central market opposite the hanging sausages. Then I walked the whole road that starts at Omonia and ends near the Piraeus port.

It wasn't a particularly attractive walk; the prettier places for ambling in Athens are along the little back streets. It did take me past the back of the ancient Kerameikos cemetery, but by and large it was a dusty and frustrating hour and a half, with cars often blocking a sidewalk that was already too narrow and crooked. Occasionally a bakery's aroma put a smile on my nose. If I needed to repair or wash a vehicle, this was the place.

I passed another Eurobank. I wondered if I'd saved a few bucks by getting my cash an hour earlier: The falling dollar brought to mind a German's ordering two beers at a time during World War I to protect against the rapid inflation during his consumption of the first.

Near Piraeus, where the road ran next to the train line, the ground was strewn with trash. It started to rain. Among the huge harbor's various berths I found gate E7 and boarded the Blue Star Myconos, ready to welcome its designated number of passengers.

There seemed to be a scramble for good seats, with most of those by the window already taken. I found a seat next to one with a broken tray and behind a woman who was asleep and had hers reclined. Apparently all these seats were reserved — I didn't even realize they were numbered until a few passengers started comparing their tickets with the armrests — but no one booted me.

We stopped briefly in Syros, and then in Mykonos, and now, just before midnight, we are docking at Ikaria, almost eight hours after we departed from Piraeus. Will anyone be at the Pension Akti to receive me, and will they remember I was coming? They didn't respond to my confirmation yesterday.

Go on to day 1