After months travelling through Southeast Asia, we had finally reached the European leg of our journey home.

There was, however, one important decision to make.

How to get back to France without going through Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport.

Now, I have travelled through CDG many times and have openly declared it one of the most frustrating airports I have ever experienced. It has achieved that rare combination of being enormous, confusing and somehow making you feel like you are inconveniencing the staff by wanting to travel through it.

A special talent.

Barcelona had previously been our preferred alternative, but even that was beginning to lose some of its appeal.

So we chose Athens.

And we were very happy with that decision.

We had fallen in love with Athens during our visit the previous September, and the thought of returning to the city was something we genuinely looked forward to.

We landed mid-morning and decided to take the metro into town rather than deal with taxis or traffic.

A simple plan.

What could possibly go wrong?

As we walked through the airport with our bags, I suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through my foot.

“Something is wrong with my foot,” I told AP. “It really hurts. I’m struggling to walk.”

AP looked up from checking the train timetable.

“Hmm.”

A thoughtful response.

A concerned response.

Or perhaps simply the response of someone calculating how much time we had before the next train.

Then suddenly he sprang into action.

“Quick! Run! If we miss this one we’ll have to wait forever!”

And off he went.

Jogging.

Through the airport.

Leaving me behind with a painful foot, a heavy backpack and a growing sense that perhaps concern for my wellbeing had not been his immediate priority.

I followed as quickly as I could, limping along behind him and muttering darkly under my breath. I’m fairly sure none of it was particularly complimentary, although fortunately the noise of the airport spared AP from hearing the full extent of my thoughts.

Across the sky bridge.

Down multiple flights of stairs.

And onto the train just as the doors were closing.

An hour later we arrived at Acropolis metro station, and fortunately our apartment was only about 200 metres away.

The moment we walked inside, we knew we had made the right choice.

It was spacious, comfortable and perfectly located. Close enough to walk to the Plaka and the Acropolis, but tucked away enough to escape the noise and crowds.

Exactly what we look for when renting somewhere.

A place where you can feel like you live there, even if only briefly.

After months of moving through Southeast Asia, Athens felt wonderfully familiar.

The days quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Mornings began with excellent coffee at Vanilla on Erechthiou Street, which soon became our regular spot. There is something satisfying about finding “your” coffee place in a city—somewhere you return to not because it is famous, but simply because it feels right.

Evenings were spent at Sfika, our favourite taverna on Str. Kontouli.

The food was excellent, the atmosphere relaxed and the kind of place where you can sit for hours over dinner without feeling rushed.

The weather was perfect.

Clear blue skies.

Mild temperatures.

The kind of winter weather that makes you wonder why anyone willingly spends months complaining about the cold.

On our second day, we returned to the Acropolis.

Our previous visit had been in summer, when the heat was intense and the crowds were overwhelming. This time was completely different.

On a beautiful winter morning, there were only a handful of visitors.

We wandered among the ancient ruins almost peacefully, taking in the Parthenon, the surrounding temples and the incredible views across Athens.

There was something special about seeing such an iconic place without the usual crowds.

For the rest of our stay, we simply enjoyed being there.

We wandered through old neighbourhoods.

We discovered little streets and cafés.

We ate long lunches and leisurely dinners.

We did not rush.

After months of travel, it felt good to simply exist somewhere for a few days.

And perhaps that is what we loved most about Athens.

It is a city with thousands of years of history, but it does not feel like a museum.

Life continues around the ancient ruins.

People sit drinking coffee beneath centuries-old buildings.

Markets spill into narrow streets.

Children play in squares surrounded by history.

Athens feels lived in.

All too soon, however, our journey home continued.

We packed our bags and headed to the airport for our EasyJet flight to Bordeaux.

Our final stop before returning home.

That evening, we checked into the Mercure Hotel opposite the station and went out for one last taste of France before actually arriving back there.

Dinner was at Bouillon Saint-Jean, a beautiful old-style restaurant serving classic French food.

After months of noodles, curries, rice dishes and tropical fruit, sitting down to a traditional French meal felt strangely comforting.

The journey was almost complete.

We had crossed continents, travelled through countless towns and cities, and collected another chapter of memories.

Now it was time to go home.