After a week of going ga-ga over the architectural miracles of Dubai, it was time for us to move on to our next stop on this roundabout trek between volunteer positions. And the next stop is one that’s been on our buck list for decades: Athens. But we have to get there by way of Abu Dhabi, and that means taking a bus to the Abu Dhabi Airport from Dubai.

Both of us snag a decent night’s sleep the night before, which is a good things because we’d decided that we needed to jump out of bed at 5:00, and we’re awake enough to be able to do so without slapping each other. We finish the last-minute details of packing, and Kimberly almost forgets her thermos full of tea in the kitchen — an essential without which life simply cannot go on. She also is uncertain about whether she packed her sweater, so she has to check her backpack (affirmative). Our housemate, the fellow from France, leaves just before we do, and he seems a bit more cordial and considerate than he did when he arrived a couple of nights earlier at 3:00 in the morning.

When we get downstairs, the chariot we’d summoned is already waiting for us. It’s a local ride service we’ve never tried before, and it works out fine. For a fee of 30 dirhams (about 8 dollars), it gets us to the bus terminal pronto.

In fact, we arrive at 6:30 instead of 7:30 as we’d counted on, and decide to take an earlier departure than we’d planned. There is no booked time, because we’d been unable to arrange it in advance, even when we’d dropped by in person and talked to the two very helpful agents, who’d assured us not to worry, the bus would not be crowded. And it turns out they are right.

The driver is uncertain if we should pay another 5 dirhams on our tickets; it turns out the answer is no. And we’re off to Abu Dhabi, through the pre-dawn streets of Dubai still struggling to life. The driver is polite and helpful to his passengers, but rather aggressive in traffic. No need to be, because traffic is quite slim.

Arriving at the airport in about 90 minutes (which is way ahead of schedule), we stake out a spot to sit by ourselves until it’s time to check in. But we’re not by ourselves for long, as we’re soon joined by a group of rather loud women speaking Russian. Dennis finds an isolated little corner nearby to get in a workout unobserved. Might as well use the time constructively.

So far he’s managed to escape scrutiny, but that changes when he goes through security (the equivalent of TSA) and his water pack gets flagged because he forgot to empty it; and they’re afraid someone will baptize the pilot to death. When the agent asks what it contains, he replies “water”, and demonstrates by taking a sip. Unfortunately, he’s been having difficulty with the nozzle leaking, and after he sips, he spills water on the agent, who is not amused by this clever Laurel and Hardy routine. And as usual, Kimberly becomes quite frustrated with how her hubby totes enough gear in his pockets to equip a Navy SEAL lost in the mountains, and it takes him a long time to get it all out onto the conveyor belt and pull himself back together on the other side.

After passing through the gauntlet of check-in, screening, immigration and baggage check, we are free at last, and make our way to the gate to stake out a spot with an outlet until boarding time.

Meanwhile, Dennis scouts out a concession to score some of his precious decaf in exchange for some of our remaining metallic dirhams. Not only does he succeed in locating some, but it’s some of the best he’s ever had. And it’s his introduction to the term “flat white” coffee, which is basically what you get when you don’t order latte or cappuccino. It’s made with diluted espresso and steamed milk, which is sculpted on top of the beverage in an ornate design — perhaps in this case meant to resemble Palm Jumeirah in Dubai.

We’re running about half an hour behind schedule when we board. We booked seats 30C ( Dennis on the aisle) and 30 A (Kimberly at the window but when we get there we discover that a couple is sitting in B and C. They ask if they can change seats with us, so they can sit together. So we agree; but later, another couple trades with them. Musical chairs on an airplane.

Once we get underway, three women sporting traditional Muslim attire come and sit on the floor by the wing, in front of three similarly clad ladies who all seem to be having a big party. Throughout the flight, many people are standing. There is always a long line for the toilet; for some reason, everyone seems to be taking a long time in there.

The plane lands in Athens half an hour late, but the immigration process goes fairly quickly. After retrieving our bags and withdrawing 500 euros from an Alpha Bank ATM, we make our way to an adjoining metro station, where we purchase roundtrip tickets for 32 euros, and wait on a very crowded platform for about 30 minutes, as we’ve just missed a train.

When our train arrives, a young woman pushes ahead of us to get on first, and then heads to a couple of seats facing each other that we are just about to occupy. Shouldn’t be a problem, because there’s room for all three of us. But she carries a large suitcase, which she plops down in the seats. Kimberly tells her she should not put her bags there because people need to sit. She obliges and moves her bag, but is none too cheerful about it; the two of them exchange a few syllables. She has a European accent though she may or may not be Greek. But she speaks English rather well — well enough to tell Kimberly, a couple of times, to “f*** off”. Welcome to Athens.

It’s a most uncomfortable and crowded ride on two trains, until finally we get off and walk a few blocks to the apartment where we’ll be staying. We’re met by our host(ess), a charming lady in a wheelchair with limited English. She says she is from Poland, near Krakow (where we’ll be going soon). She turns on the air conditioner for us, which is a bit puzzling, since the weather is quite frigid — we never realized that Greece got so cold. (It will be a couple of days before we realize that the air conditioner also contains a heater. Duh.) In the meantime, we rely on the radiator; the problem is that it only functions from 7:00 to 9:00 p.m.

There is also a French couple sharing the apartment, staying in the room next to ours. They’re in the kitchen cooking, and the menu includes something with chicken, which creates an olfactory bombardment most unpleasing unto our nostrils. Our host back in Dubai would be up in arms about it.

It’s a quiet neighborhood and we have a comfortable bed — including, wonder of wonders, a top sheet, which is an unknown luxury in many of the countries we travel to. We do find ourselves craving another blanket, so we message the host(ess) and ask if she can bring us one. She says she will the next day (and she’s as good as her word).

So on this day we have been in two cities on our bucket list: one with unique jaw-dropping modern architecture, and one with decayed architecture many centuries old. Here’s hoping that in addition to historical splendor, we’ll find adventure, surprises, no packed trains, and no rude passengers.

Events occurred 2/7/2025