We disembark from the ferry to Piraeus in front of a heavily laden yellow transport truck, a window frame delivery van and a fleet of stinking motorbikes and lurch towards the intersection. The grimy squares of sidewalk are so cracked and disarranged it’s like a moonscape. From the port to the Metro station with our hardshells, it’s more like wrangling dead cows than suitcases with big wheels. Our light turns green and the walk signal glows a vague yellow. At eleven in the morning, the air is thick with traffic haze and the clinging veil of ferry smoke, but it’s surprisingly odorless. Navigating six lanes of traffic should be a breeze, we think – there’s four policemen standing at the crosswalk, but they’re smoking…

+Read more