Our man on a budget

In truth, I could probably have afforded a little more luxury than I allowed myself. But call it an innate Yorkshire-ness, I just wanted to be as frugal as possible. It was the mobile phone bills back to Blighty that were crippling.

The journey starts in Athens, where I arrived one rainy November night, courtesy of a £49 easyJet flight from Luton.

Athens' gleaming new airport is symptomatic of the city's desperate need to look well prepared for the 2004 Olympic Games; the corridors gleam and the staff are almost American in their desire to wish you a nice day.

One especially obliging helpdesk gave me a list of budget hotels; I settled on the Festos.

Unpromising name but rooms at £14 a night and a free welcome drink clinched it.

A £2 shuttle bus takes you on the 15-mile journey from the airport to the city's hub, Syntagma Square. It was almost December, so the square was buzzing with Christmas decorations, topped off by a giant, artificial Christmas tree, which is said to be the largest in Europe.

The Festos was on Fillelinon, which connects Syntagma with Plaka, the bohemian taverna village at the foot of the Acropolis. The hotel was home to backpackers and inter-railers from across the globe, who would hold a jamming session at the drop of a hat, and whip up a lentil stew even faster.

The room itself was pretty basic; wooden slatted beds and lumpy mattresses being de rigeur in backpack hostels, but the place had character.

The next two weeks were mostly taken up with the work of following Andy Jenkins from prison to courthouse and back again, with a fair amount of time spent in Athens. But this routine left room for scenic stops en route.

The Acropolis, the ancient hilltop palace in Athens, is stunning and visible from almost anywhere in the city. It is the cradle of civilisation, a vast and awesome testament to the genius of Pericles and Plato.

These days, some part of it is always shrouded in scaffolding, but you still get the idea. I recommend an evening visit, when spotlights illuminate not only the Parthenon itself, but also the gorgeous gardens around it.

When you stop being gobsmacked by the architecture, the view kicks in, and it is all just too much.

Refreshments in the delightful snickleways of Plaka are called for. The Brettos caf is a great place. Its walls are made from shelves of bottles, and mein host will cheerfully scale a rickety ladder-on-runners to find your choice, looking like a merry librarian.

Another excursion came while I was staying in Nafplion, where Andy Jenkins was imprisoned. Hiring a moped (£46 for four days; not bad), I set off for the palace of Mycenae.

Hailing from a time long before even the Acropolis was conceived, Mycenae is a place of legend. According to The Iliad, it was the home of Agamemnon, the general who led the Greeks in the Trojan War. It was also here that he was rudely murdered on his victorious return by his wife, who was seeing another fella.

It's about the most ancient evidence of civilisation in the western world. The Lion Gate, topped by its huge tapering lintel, is stupefying, and makes you think: "Hang on - they could do this a thousand years ago. Am I really so chuffed with my digital watch?"

Nearby is the alleged tomb of Agamemnon. There again, the design leaves you dumbfounded. Could you build a tomb whose interior is shaped like a beehive, with nothing but a chisel and a nose-flute for company?

The whole Mycenae experience costs about a fiver, and is well worth the trek to nowheresville which is necessary to get there.

Nafplion itself is a lovely place. In the summer. Probably. This was November, so I don't want to be cruel, but the words 'wet' and 'closed' summed it up.

Nonetheless, the Palamidi Fortress, a citadel dominating the town, is worth a visit. You can drive up, but I was persuaded that a climb up the 999 stone steps to the gate made it more appreciable.

Damn, but I'm gullible. I barely survived. Take water and plenty of stops, if you're there in summer.

From the top, you get splendid views of the Argolid bay and plain, and of the town's other fortress, the Acronafplion, which tops a nearby peninsula.

Back down in the town, I found excellent lodgings at the Dimitris Bekas Rooms for £10 per night, and garnered some nice quotes on the case from Dimitris himself.

The port of Nafplion is a delight, where vast tankers roll past quaint old forts, and trawlermen fight their way out past the tourist boats. I did indeed sit on the dock of a bay, watching the tide roll away. When it wasn't raining.

Oh, let's not be unkind. There were two beautiful, scorching days. But I spent them both in Kalamata courthouse, waiting for verdicts on the case. It didn't even have windows.

Kalamata itself is drab, but allegedly there was a beach somewhere nearby that was worth a look.

Although my moped became a close friend, I don't recommend this form of transport, especially not for long journeys. The poor thing gave up the ghost after an all-night ride from Nafplion to Sparta, and that was without the help of the homicidal Greek motorists.

But I had so grown to love the budget nature of the trip that I almost felt guilty when I allowed myself two nights of (relative) luxury in Athens' Hotel Astor, for £32 a night.

Who needed satellite TV and an en suite room, when I could jam with the guys from Festos or listen to bouzouki music with Dimitris?

During the plane spotter saga, you may have noticed that some pundits became prone to a little "Greek-bashing", blaming the whole affair on the temperament of the Greeks.

I reckon that's unfair. Even out of season and in the wet, this country and its people can summon up the magic. That's true if you're on business, or on holiday, but especially if you're on a moped.

Updated: 09:22 Saturday, January 12, 2002