I lived in Athens for several years, on and off, and I have the pleasure to have several good, sound, reliable Greek friends. I also had a relationship with two local women, one of which went a tad too far. That particular relationship enabled me to polish up on my Greek, which I used to staunchly oppose at the beginning. Learn Greek, what the hell for? It transpired to be a useful tool in the end, and nowadays I don’t regret the sexual embargo that I was subjected to (you must learn 20 new words a day or you’re not getting it).

Bless her! Greece is a lovely country and a great place to visit, be it for the island-hopping, mountaineering, history, culture, or even for the sex tourism down in Filaraki or Mykonos. Drunk and willing British, Swedish, Norwegian and German women aplenty, just go there and take your pick. I truly enjoyed my years in the country and I was delighted at the opportunity to return there. Not only to climb the mountain, but also to see some old friends and have a drink for old times’ sake.

Greeks are good folk, decent people. I mean, they are the only people on planet earth who have lost their marbles and actually want the whole world to know about that. Having said that, there is nothing more annoying and frustrating than meeting a Greek person for the first time, especially if you have lived there for a number of years and you have heard the same story over, and over, and bloody over again. They have this inherent biological trigger device that is immediately activated when they meet a foreigner. They have to tell you how Greeks came up with philosophy, democracy, this and that, and how Greek civilisation started everything. How every imaginable English word has Greek roots (Scotland is a Greek name, meaning Dark Land, and Scottish names with Mac prefixes, as in MacDonald, originate from ancient Greek Macedonia)".

The next thing that a man will tell you is that his mum makes the best moussaka. You call someone a "malaka" and he’ll happily return the compliment, but if you really want to upset someone, just tell him "your history means nothing to me" or "your moussaka is crap". Now, that’s personal.

Capital cattle ride
You may be surprised but Greek taxi drivers are the worst in Europe, bar none. Even in Bulgaria, once you’re in a taxi, that taxi is yours, the light switches to red, and that’s that.

No such chance in Greece. There the cabbies will force as many people into the taxi as possible; they would gladly put someone on the roof of the vehicle, if it weren’t for the marauding police. Their taxis actually operate like the marshrutki in Sofia. If you protest, the cabbie just looks at you angrily. "You’re malaka, he is also going your way, what’s your problem?"

Foreigners are subjected to "fixed rates" or the classic "the counter is out of order, endaxi re file?" Hence it’s funny when you get in a taxi and the bloke takes the longest route imaginable, thinking you are a silly tourist who has just arrived in the land, not knowing you know the place well as well as the language. Suddenly you start talking to him in Greek, telling him to alter course and stop messing about. And then it’s all bubble and squeak, his machismo deflates and his dream of getting 30 euro suddenly evaporates.

We spent two days in Thessaloniki, visiting the White Tower and doing the constitutional foot patrol across the old town and along the seafront, sampling its atmosphere, scent, sights and sounds. Thessaloniki is Greece’s second major economic, industrial, commercial and political centre, and a major transportation hub for the rest of southeastern Europe. Its traffic is worse than Sofia’s but a gem in comparison to the sheer madness of Athens. But this is not the only element that puts it head and shoulders above Athens, at least in my humble opinion. The town, because it is less congested, has substantially more green belts, it has a more European architecture than the capital, at least in the old town, and the people are more down-to-earth, a lot friendlier and laid-back than their Athenian compatriots. 

Resisting Hitler
It seems to me that Greeks and Bulgarians do share a lot of common traits. Both nations are humorous, self-critical and self-deprecating. Greeks are generally straightforward and will treat you the way you would treat them, although it must be noted that for all their legendary myths of Dionysus, they can’t drink to save their lives. A Greek will go out and nurse a beer for a couple of hours while a Bulgarian or a Brit would have processed half a crate in the same period. Greeks drink to enjoy themselves. Bulgarians, especially young ones, drink to reach a state of inebriated stupor and then brag about it, thinking they should get the Victoria Cross for it.

Not that this is a bad thing. In my time in Athens I saw many anti-government riots, but I never saw  mindless, alcohol-fuelled violence like you see in the UK, or even in Sofia. And I used to live in Ambelokipi and later on in Exarchia Square, Athens’ most notorious borough, known as the anarchist stronghold. You can enjoy your nightlife anywhere, anytime, and should you end up walking home at 3am by yourself it will never be an issue, unlike the UK, or even Sofia, where it would be advisable to look over your shoulder.

It is easy to understand, once you are in the town, why it has been an objective for so many Balkan countries to capture this "Princess by the sea" and have it within their own boundaries. Architecture in Thessaloniki has been a direct result of the city’s position at the centre of all historical developments in the Balkans. Aside from its commercial importance, Thessaloniki was, for many centuries, the military and administrative hub of the region, and beyond this the transportation link between Europe and the Levant. The city is beautiful, immense, full of proud history and people.

We had to leave it though and head south towards the Olympus Mountain where we had a date with the Gods, Zeus in particular, for a drink of ouzo up on the summit of Mitikas. One of the notable events that occurred while climbing up and down the mountain was meeting Andreas Galanos. In his late 30s, he was a long-haired, military history freak, who had splendid taste in music, Up the Irons file!

His father fought in the Greek army, which pushed the Italians all the way back to Albania during Mussolini’s invasion of the country in World War 2. It was a conflict that lasted from October 28 1940 to April 23 1941. It marked the beginning of the Balkans Campaign of World War 2 and from April 6 1941 with the intervention of Nazi Germany onwards, this conflict is known as the Battle of Greece. Andreas’ father was shot, hit by shrapnel, shot a second time and lived to tell the tale. Subsequently, Andreas had devoted his life to going all over Greece, from Crete to Macedonia, collecting World War 2 artifacts. A bit of a historian, a bit of an archaeologist, a massive enthusiast, Andreas was a hilarious bloke to be with and great company. I told him if he ever found an intact, original Bren light machine gun with sufficient amount of .303 ammo, that he should immediately send it to me. Fat chance.