It all comes out at night

Having no clue what Athens' layout was going to be like, we booked our accommodations based on 3 criteria:

1. price
2. proximity to major attractions
3. travelers' ratings/reviews

$41CAD/night just couldn't be beat, people had written they'd had nice stays, and it was only 2.5km to the Acropolis ("I can walk that far!"). Hotel Aristoteles it was.


It wasn't until after we'd booked the place that we bought our copy of The Lonely Planet and did any research on the different areas of Athens.

    "Where are we staying?"
    "Hotel Aristoteles."
    "What part of the city is that in?"
    "Uhhh, it says...Omonia, why?"
    "Uh-oh."

From the Lonely Planet Guide Book:

The area of Athens that makes up Omonia is known for its pickpockets, prostitutes, and drug-users. Women should avoid walking here alone at night.

Our flight arrived in Athens at 8:45pm. The bus ride into the city was an hour long. Shit. On top of that, we weren't even quite sure of the way from the bus stop to the hotel.

Off the bus, we got directions from a lovely girl at Costa Coffee ("If you take metro--10 minutes. If you use your legs--30 minutes.") and got as close as possible by subway. We were ejected into Omonia Square and from there, it was going to be pounding the pavement along the side streets.

Obviously massive travel backpacks on our back, obviously tourist maps in hand, and obviously the only East Asian females around for miles, we dove right into the thick of it.

Winding through the unfamiliar streets, the walk probably felt longer than it was. Whether it was me being the over-optimist that I am, or whether or not it was the truth, or whether or not I was too busy concentrating on getting to our destination, I didn't notice prostitutes nor drug-users on our route, and my pockets were definitely not picked. All the men on the street did seem slightly shady to me, but I wrote that off to not yet being comfortable in the foreign country. I did notice the Police station and the number of cops loitering outside on one of the street corners we passed ("See? It can't be THAT dangerous.").

20 minutes later, we'd made it safe and sound. We even ventured out again and back for that awesome first-night dinner. Sure, there was an overall feeling of shadiness to the area, but I was fairly convinced that the Lonely Planet's description was just to over-prepare newcomers and the more pooh-pooh type for the dark atmosphere. For me, after a night's worth of accidental exploration, Omonia wasn't so bad. The next morning, the streets were even bright and bustling with activity.

And then it was night again.

Night #2 in Omonia, all the shadiness came out of the woodwork. More familiar by now with our neighbourhood, we took the main streets to get around. One street north of the police station, we nudged each other, chin-pointing towards a group of women on the corner.

    "Hey, are those...?"
    "H-O-O-K-E-R-S?"
    "Yeah."
    "Yeah."

One street south of the police station, a group huddled urgently into a small doorway. I didn't see much, but that little was more than enough. I saw a little bit of arm, a little bit of syringe, and a little bit of plunge.

    "Did you see...?"
    "Yeah."
    "And did he just...?"
    "Yeah.

The next corner, a man brought something to this nose and snorted. Across the street, a man on a motorcycle slowed to admire the merchandise of women.

By the time our stay was up, we grew familiar enough with Omonia to know which nooks held the drug users, which side of the street had the African selection of H-O-O-K-E-R-S and which had Caucasian. We even grew familiar with the sight of the man in the matching tracksuit, zigzagging back and forth across the street, checking on his inventory.

Well, at least we didn't get pickpocketed. And hey, it's all part of the adventure. :)