Breakfast included, and nicer than it was two years ago. Still the creamy strained yoghurt that meets J's test - you could (though we don't) hold the bowl upside down without losing any of it. Mediterranean standard. Fruit, tomatoes, cucumber, olives, hard boiled eggs, slices of meat and cheese. Bread for toasting. And a huge metal honey container. There's also some generically appalling looking cereal, but only once see someone - a child - taking any. Languages in the breakfast room as varied as those on the street, although not the same ones. More than one French speaker, including a thin man on his own who has turned the hotel into full board by virtue ( though virtue may not be the right word) of filling a plastic bread bag with about a dozen slices of bread worth of sandwiches, carefully prepared with butter and ham and cheese slices. No trace of embarrassment and certainly nothing furtive about the performance, which he makes no attempt to hide when the hotel girl is refilling platters and clearing tables. He's not the only one supplying himself for later of course, but most of the others are satisfied with an orange or an apple. People watching as interesting here as anywhere. J sees a boy of about ten make a breakfast entirely of half a dozen slices of marbled cake.
Our first visit to the port of Piraeus in many years. It's on the end of one of the Metro lines, and the senior fare is only sixty euro cents (94 cents CAD, 47p UK). We hear music and watch as a young man - presumably Romany - exits the carriage, swinging a little boy of no more than three onto the platform. Suspect that it's not simply paternal responsibility that leads to him bringing the child with him, but the little boy's value in attracting donations. It's illegal, of course, but common. He's followed by three singing boys accompanying themselves with various instruments. Here there's another problem: the oldest boy may have reached school leaving age but the younger two certainly haven't. Everything conspires against their getting an education, though - the schools don't really want the burden, the parents prefer to have them as earners, and the children themselves wish to be free.
Piraeus. No cruise ships in sight, though J has berthed here often on school cruises. Ferries for the islands though, and people waiting for them. There are also homeless migrants. We pass only a few who are obviously homeless, but there are plenty of signs of people sleeping rough. Our first realisation comes when we sit on a set of benches looking out onto the port and notice the number of blankets folded, stored in supermarket trolleys, under benches, marking places.
There's also a busy market in Piraeus. Fruit, vegetables, olive oil, meat, and - especially - fish. A little local café is serving fish but we're still pretty full from breakfast.