Expecting a horde of hostels to overwhelm the Plaka district below the Acropolis, I walked from the surprisingly tiny Larissa Station into the city centre.

To my dismay, I stumbled around for two hours in search for accommodation. I couldn't find any hostels at all, and the hotels that I called into wielded not one vacancy between them.

I feared that a night sleeping on the streets of Athens was in order. As soon as the sun shot itself down in a blaze of glory, the temperature plummeted, so any kind of roof over my head was bound to be preferable to a night open to the elements.

As a result, I trekked back to the station, hoping to sleep in its lobby. I ducked into every hotel on the way with my fingers tightly entwined.

By a sheer stroke of luck I was eventually offered a room by the proprietor of what at first sight appeared to be the dirtiest, dingiest hotel in the district, an Ionic Column's hurl from the station.

Too tired to try and drive his price down to one more suited to my budget, I paid my dues and hit the sack to the sound of a squadron of battered old buses revving up outside my window, preparing to depart for Albania.

I hunted down a hostel the next morning, and booked in for three days. It was Sunday, and a national holiday to boot.

Consequently, many of the city's attractions were free to enter, with the Acropolis complex understandably being the busiest.

Come midday, the area around the spectacularly ruined Parthenon crawled with visitors. As ever, large scale restoration work on the structure was in full flow, though the huge crane that towered over it did little to detract from the breathtaking scale of the Parthenon itself.

In all directions, Athens unapologetically sprawled with eye popping ferocity, with only the tips of its green hills devoid of buildings. As I sucked dry the majesty of the view, the atmospheric cobbled streets below pulsated with tourists, bargaining for souvenirs like no tomorrow.

In the mood for a day trip out of Athens, I headed west to Korinthos the following day. Home to some fabulous archaeological ruins, Ancient Korinthos lay some eight kilometres away from the modern city.

As it was, I'd dropped by for a different reason entirely. Hoping to be able to stand at one end of the gorge like Corinth Canal, I immediately struck out for the city's port area.

From the waterfront I scanned the coastline for evidence of an opening into the canal, which remains a hugely important short cut between the Gulf of Corinth and the Saronic Gulf for all manner of waterborne vessels.

Expecting to spy a colossal gash assaulting the coastline, I was sorely disappointed to see no evidence whatsoever of an opening of any nature. Undeterred, I set out up the coast on foot, hoping to eventually stumble upon the canal's northern access point. Since there was no path, I had no choice but to keep the main road company.