Up at 4:45. Actually for the second time, as seem accidentally have set one ipad alarm for 2:45. Other ipad alarm and mobile go off as (accurately) instructed. Downstairs by 5:25 as taxi ordered for 5:30. Unfamiliar Night Porter at desk, and the detective story writer in me wonders to whom we have given our key - while obviously leaving for some time - and what he has done with our usual night porter, husband of Maria the cleaner. Initially think that M's husband is asleep on the couch in reception, but appears that blankets on couch have been vacated, obviously by new, and presumably legitimate, Night Porter.
At 5:35 ask NP to phone taxi company to inquire, thinking it preferable to have him admonish them in Greek to finding that I am engaged in mutually incomprehensible dialogue. Loud conversation follows - loud at least on the part of NP, and knowing Cypriots probably at other end of phone as well - my standard line regarding Greek tone and volume being that I divorced a man without ever speaking to him like that. (Ex-husband's memory may, of course, differ). Taxi man wishes to talk to me. This is an emergency number. Resist saying that in that case it seems odd to have it as the only phone number on their business card, realising that he probably means that at ungodly hours like this the office phone rings through to his home. When did we book? Yesterday. Did we call the office? No, we walked in. What time did we order the cab for? Five thirty. How much did they tell us? Twelve euros. Don't bother saying that we chose them in part because they were the only company that did not quote more for coming before six. Grunts, followed by a promise to come now - in five or six minutes.
"I report?" asks the NP. Wonder to whom - hotel, police? In any case can't imagine the translation difficulties involved. Only when question repeated with plane soaring actions do I realise that the word was aeroport. Suspect that the five or six minute quote more appeasement than accurate estimate. Say to J that taxi man clearly unhappy about being roused from sleep, and will have to dress and probably shave and start the car. However when taxi arrives - in about fifteen minutes - see that the driver is bearded. Frequently useful in such crises?
Little traffic at this hour, which gets us to the airport earlier than any Cypriot would consider reasonable, or even sane. Hand driver the money, prudently in exact amount. Twelve euros?! That's what they told us. Can see that he regards himself as the injured party - called out of bed through no fault of his own. On the other hand, we are at our least inclined to tip - having booked well in advance for a service that was not provided until we had the hotel phone, and then only following extended argument.
So off to Athens. In by Metro, to Ommonia Square, changing at Syntagma. Happily, seniors are half price regardless of nationality, so €5 each and we're a five minute walk from the hotel. It's the Epidavros, and we've stayed there before. Surprisingly, considering that last time was over two years ago, the morning desk man remembers us. Check out the neighbourhood. It's still vibrant, friendly, busy - but seems more multi-ethnic than it did two years ago. Signs in Arabic, English and Russian, as well as what we take for Tamil. Money transfer establishments, the mainstay of the immigrant community supporting relatives with remittances. Pastry shops that are no more than a heated window on the street. Fruit and vegetable stalls with surprisingly good prices. Inexpensive clothing. A community somehow reminiscent of London - but maybe east end post war.