Last year, London Transport honoured 92-year-old Alfred Collins for 70 years’ service as a cabbie in the city’s streets. He drove his first passenger in 1937 and over the seven decades since then  he’s surely never followed up his “Where to, luv?” (or “Guv”, as the case may be) by asking his fare how to get there.
But visitors to the Greek capital would be wise not to expect the same from an Athens taxi. For a start, compared to their London equivalents, Athens cabs are dirt-cheap (sometimes quite literally).
Apparently, Greek taxi-drivers don’t have to learn the equivalent of “The Knowledge”, the detailed test of city streets and the best way to get there that every London cabbie has to commit to memory. You don’t tell London taxi drivers how to get there – they know. And if they don’t, they’re not the genuine article. But if you happen to find a Piraeus taxi-driver in the northern suburbs of Athens, you will have to tell him every single twist and turn along your route.
 Then, you must be prepared for the fact that you will probably share your taxi with a total stranger. You could be sitting happily in the back of a cab, when it suddenly stops and a granny loaded up with the week’s groceries climbs into the back seat with you. If this happens, it’s quite likely that you will be taken all around the houses so she can be delivered direct to her door. That could mean you’ll arrive half an hour late - and pay extra for the privilege.
Then there is the taxi-driver himself (or occasionally, herself). Alfred, our long-serving London cabbie, says that life is all about communication. Not so in the case of your average Greek ‘taxitzis’ (let’s call him Mitso).
Mitso will probably furiously puff his way through at least five fags during the course of your ride, despite the prominently displayed “No Smoking” sign. He may only communicate in monosyllabic grunts in between the wailing demotic clarinet blaring out off his radio – or he will take one look at your face, decide you’re a good listener and tell you his life story, including his trials and tribulations dealing with the ingrate public.
Then he’ll play the ‘Apo pou eisai?’ (‘Where are you from?’) game. Once he’s guessed your origins, you will invariably be berated for every conceived slight your country has ever dealt the Greeks (if you’re English, the Elgin Marbles will be at the top of the list), or subjected to a love poem dedicated to your homeland on the basis of a week Mitso spent there back in 1973, when he was a merchant seaman.
All this time, the meter is running……   Tick, tick, tick…
They say that the journey to get somewhere is as important as arriving. But it’s a matter of luck if you get there with Alfred or Mitso.