Thessaloniki at seven in the morning

The night train from Sofia arrives too early for anything except the sea, so that is what I did: walked from the station to the White Tower along five kilometres of waterfront while the city yawned. Fishermen, joggers, a man hosing down a café terrace, the mountains across the gulf turning from grey to blue.

By nine the bougatsa places were open and I understood the city. Thessaloniki eats late, walks its waterfront every evening and does not care whether you have heard of it. I have been back three times and always arrive at seven.