"Figoures kai Koukles" (translated literally, Figures and Dolls) is the Athens home of the traditional Kariagozi shadow puppet theatre in the Plaka district. Kariagozi, the Greek equivalent of Punch or Punchinello, is loved by children for his outrageously tricky antics, and by adults for the wry satirical humour of the shows.

The artist Francis Caruso, who has lived in Athens for many years, rightly points out that although thousands of tourists pass by Brettos wine bar every day, taking hurried snapshots of its interior from the doorway, few actually stop off here. A shame, perhaps, for them, but maybe a blessing for regular customers.

The Palas (Παλαs, Palace) is one of the oldest surviving cinemas in Europe that hasn't been converted into a multiplex or a supermarket. A splendid and inexpensive place to spend an evening. Despite its retro look, the seats are comfortable and it is equipped with modern technology, including genuine electricity and Dolby sound.

In Greece, films are often split into two parts, and a gong announces the "DIALEMMA", or intermission, during which the audience can go to the toilet, have a chat and buy drinks and snacks, in any order the wish. Greek pies and cakes are still at least as popular as popcorn. A very civilized type of cinema-going, and the revenue from the goodies sold during the interval helps these small cinemas survive.

Most foreign films are shown in the original language with Greek subtitles. This can be a bit of a problem for comedy films, as the subtitles for a punchline often appear on the screen just before the actor actually delivers it, and the Greek audience are already laughing so loud at the joke that you don't get to hear what is being said. You either have to learn Greek or go with a Greek friend with translating skills - and patience.

Many districts of Athens have such neighbourhood movie theatres, including outdoor cinemas - an even more civilized and pleasant way to see a movie between June and September. Pangrati's open-air cinema, Oasis, is about 3 minutes walk from the Palas.

There's been a lot of talk in the world's media recently about "lazy Greeks", with pictures of people lounging around at street cafés and evidently demonstrating the old adage "work is just a four-letter word". This, of course, is a baseless calumny and ignorant floccinaucinihilpilification: Greeks love work as much as any other nation, i.e. not a lot.

"I love work, I could watch it for hours." Whoever originally said that deserves plenty of overtime.

Here is evidence of Greek road repairers earning a crust with sweat and toil. And this was during the heat of afternoon, when most sensible citizens of Mediterranean countries were enjoying a siesta. (Why is there no word in Greek for siesta?) They were working with energy and good humour to fix the pavement of busy Athinas Street in time for the arrival of crowds of evening shoppers. Get a move on, fellas, they'll be waking up in a couple of hours.

Another happy worker, a colourful costermoger, gregarious greengrocer.

Those peaches are fresh, tasty, juicy, but they cost over 5 euros per kilo. Since the economic crisis spread from the USA to Greece, prices having been leaping ever upwards. Before Greece became a full member of the EU, most people could afford to buy homegrown fruit and veg, whereas imported luxury goods, from dairy products to fruit juices (before Greece developed its own juice packaging industry), were expensive, particularly with import taxes of upto 150%.

During and after the military dictatorship (1967-1974) the import of some products, such as bananas (also, curiously, matches and playing cards), were banned altogether, to protect the balance of payments as well as local monopolies and industries. Strange how much Communism and Fascism have in common.

Now it seems things are the other way around, with products leaching into the economy through huge EU-based multinational chains undercutting smaller Greek firms who have been saddled with higher costs and new taxes. It all seems very topsy-turvy, especially in a country which could be self-sufficient in terms of food. It cannot be denied though, that many Greek businesses all along the supply chain are shamelessly taking advantage of the economic chaos by radically revising their mark-up, upwards naturally.

The kind of prices Athenians now have to fork out for food would have northern European shoppers rioting in the supermarket aisles, or more likely Twittering in their Twingos.

When this shoemaker was in his prime, Athens districts such as the Plaka, Psyri and Monstiraki were full of small, open-fronted workshops in which craftsmen made and directly sold a variety of wares from leather, metal and wood.

Such workshops can still be found in Africa and Asia, but they have totally disappeared from Greece. From the late 1970s it was considered that the working conditions, smells and noise did not fit into the concept of a "modern shopping experience". New laws and taxes also forced divisions between production and sales. The rough-and-ready workshops have become glass-fronted shops, mostly selling plastic tat imported from the Far East. Those firms which still actually make things themselves have moved production to larger industrial premises.

This is all undoubtedly more efficient, cost-effective, better for the workers, neighbours, tourists and the environment, and so on, but I do miss some of those sounds and smells, and the opportunity of watching a craftsperson at work. (Few people, of course, mourn the loss of local abattoirs, tripe factories or leather curers, or their noises and stenches.)

In some places crafts workshops have become tourist attractions in themselves, and visitors are often far more likely to buy products they have seen created. This kind of feature is ideal for crafts such as jewellery, pottery and carpet-making, but probably unsuited for fast-moving Athens, where most visitors come for a day or two, visit the ruins and museums, buy a flokati and a bottle of ouzo, then rush off to the next location on their vacation itinerary.

Everywhere on the planet where there are streets you will find street vendors. It stands to reason that more of them are to be found in warmer countries, although adverse economic conditions force more traders out into the open in colder, so-called wealthier northern cities from New York to London, from Paris and Berlin to Moscow. In the aftermath of the most recent Asian economic crisis, bankrupt Thai millionaires found themselves selling sandwiches outside office blocks they used to run.

Mobility and next-to-zero overheads provide opportunites for baseline entrepreneurs to either make a living or climb up the slippery pole of ambition. The next step up in Athens is either a periptero (kiosk) or a small shop. For many people though, street vending is simply a profession in itself. Basta.

This pastry seller offers a range of calorie-bomb cakes and doughnuts, with flavours and fillings of chocolate, cream and cheese, to hungry shop and office workers, shoppers and people who just love these carbohydrate treats. He is dignified and quietly self-assured. He doesn't need neon signs or gimmicks to sell his wares, just hand-written labels with the name and price of the product. Most local people will know and trust him and the quality of what he has to sell - otherwise he would not survive here long. It's that simple.

I would really like to like the Telerifik. It is a good piece of engineering, and allows access for the disabled and not-so-fit to reach the highest point of Athens and enjoy the beautiful views over the whole city, including the Acropolis, and as far as the Saronic Gulf and the island of Salamis in one direction, and the surrounding mountains of Ymittos, Pendeli and Aegaleo inland. I never tire of these views.

There are many magnificent funicular railways in Euope - including the Snowden Railway in Wales and the Montmartre train in Paris, for which you can use a normal Metro ticket - but this is not one of them.

Unlike the other funiculars, the Telerifik tunnels through the hill's rock and is encased in concrete. This is discrete, but robs the passengers of the view and change in perspective offered by other hillside railways. They may as well have built an elevator. Somebody has done their best to brighten up the concrete walls with a mural of fluffy clouds, light panels have been added and the train itself has been painted yellow-orange (with subtle advertising for Metaxas brandy).

The 3 minute ascent costs 8 euros. This is obviously exorbitant by any standards. Unfortunately I have been unable to find out if there are any discounts for children or disabled people as the person responsible was indignant at being torn away from her gossip, was extremely rude and refused to answer any of my questions. So much for public relations. I was told, however, that it was forbidden to ascend the hill by the stairs either side of the railway (which would take an able-bodied person a couple of minutes) for "safety reasons" (in Greek safety and security are expressed by the same word), even though the train only goes every half hour.

Like most places in Athens, Lykavittos is not very disabled-friendly. The "able-bodied" tend to forget or ignore barriers unpassable for others. The top of the hill is covered with steps, stairways and steep slopes, challenging enough for feet, and unsuitable for wheelchairs.

Walking up the hill by one of the several winding paths from the Kolonaki district takes about 15-20 minutes. The super-fit can manage it in less. If you want to enjoy the perspectives as you go up, benches have been provided at various points to let you catch your breath, drink some water and wonder at the view. Take as long as you like, it costs nothing. The views are particularly spectacular in the light of sunrise or sunset, although at the latter the crowds can get overwhelming.

And here is one of the panoramic views from the top of 277 metre high Lykavittos Hill (or Mountain), looking southwestwards. To the left, the western end of Mount Ymittos (Hymettos) descends to Glyfada and the Saronic Gulf. Just to the right of the binoculars is the Panathenaic Stadium amidst a band of green which conitnues right in the National Gardens behind the Vouli (parliament) on Syntagma Square.

How do you spell the name of this hill? There are several ways in which the Greek name Λυκαβηττός is transliterated into the Latin alphabet - including Lycabettus, Lycabettos, Lykabettos, Lykavettos, etc., but Lykavittos is the closest to how it is pronounced by modern Greeks. And is it a hill or a mountain? It certainly towers above central Athens, and many other humps around the world under 300 metres high are referred to as mountains. Then again, compared to the 1,026 metre high Mount Ymittos to the south and Mount Parnitha to the northeast, which peaks at 1,413 metres, Lykavittos is just a mole hill on the Athenian plain.

The Areopagus is also not to be sneezed at as a hill. Although only 115 metres above sea level, this enormous lump of limestone provides wonderful views of the Acropolis to one side, and the Ancient Agora, the Pnyx and other sights to the other.

Perched on this rock in antiquity were an administrative assembly, a law court for murder cases and the barracks of a police force made up of Scythian bowmen. There is not much to be seen of these ancient institutions today. Saint Paul the Apostle is also said to have preached here.

Over the centuries the rocks have been worn ultra-smooth, and it is one of the slipperiest surfaces your feet are likely to encounter outside an ice rink. Sturdy footwear and extreme caution are advised, especially after dark - there is no lighting up there.

warning sign on
the Areopagus:

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