Stop at the bus station on my way to inquire about the hat I left on the bus yesterday. Hadn't been optimistic about recovery but the level of dysfunction here is ridiculous - and actually funny. Yes, I know which bus number (425) and which road and which direction the bus was going. And yes, I also know the time - quite precisely in fact. (And yes, with all this personal precision one would have assumed I could have managed not to drop my hat). Consultation between two of the three men in the little bus station office. Followed by much shuffling of paper. And two telephone calls, also in Greek, of which I understand only the word "oxi" - no. Slowly I realise that my man has been searching for the phone numbers of the drivers most likely to have been on the 425 at 12:45 yesterday. There is no lost and found box, there is no end of shift procedure, there is no assured way of identifying vehicle or driver. Any sixteen year old girl could have set them up in a day with a better system than they have been able to devise over the past several years. He does, kindly, ask for my phone number - in case - and I give it, but have clearly seen the last of the hat.
Stop at the little jewellery shop owned by the jeweller, Natalia, our Ukrainian friend, and meet up with J who's been on his own errands. Always a lovely place to visit. And she points us, after a discussion on Slavic food, to a tiny café recently opened by a Georgian girl and serving Georgian fast - and not so fast - foods. Not very different from Ukrainian. So we find it and go for coffee and try a couple of her small deep fried "pies" - one mushroom and one potato. Comfort food rather than health food, but nice. The café is called Titanic. Hope it doesn't go under.
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