TOKYO/HONG KONG

Tokyo, and Japan more generally, are destinations both have yearned to visit for some time.

Initially, Seoul, had also been on the menu. Hong Kong originally a cheeky little appetiser betwixt the two.

However, time restrictions meant Seoul was dispatched. Hong Kong was not only reprieved but our stay extended. A tale of 2 cities.

Seoul, and South Korea, for another day.

It proved cheaper to fly via Hong Kong to Tokyo. Our stopover on our return would provide the opportunity, over 4 nights, to explore the city.

Heathrow to Hong Kong was seamless. ‘Hail Mary’ helped wind away a decent chunk of the eleven and a half flight.

We landed around 2pm Hong Kong time. Our connecting flight to Tokyo was departing a couple of hours later. Nope, it wasn’t.

Unfortunately, we confirmed – we’d had an inkling before actually leaving Ealing Broadway – that our flight was delayed until 2.30 am. I write this at around midnight in Hong Kong airport.

Frustratingly, no compensation was forthcoming. A typhoon – not ideal flying conditions – was to blame.

Not something you see often at Heathrow. Yet.

What to do. Sitting around an airport, even one with free WiFi, charging points galore and a decent and reasonably priced food court, would be excruciating.

Chatted to a couple of helpful tourist information types who suggested a few hours in Hong Kong. A sneak preview in lieu of our return in a week’s time.

As with the hugely overpriced and near redundant (for most) Heathrow Express, thanks to Lizzie Line, a similar service is pushed in HK.

It’s considerably cheaper (£26 day return for both), takes around 25 minutes, pausing in Kowloon prior to termination at HK Central.

A metro and bus deliver a similar service, albeit cheaper and in a more lethargic manner.

If so inclined, a large shopping mall, part of the station complex, tempts those with air conditioning. Once fully immersed said shopping mall could be anywhere in the world.

We did give into temptation and meander its corridors either side of our wander into the mean streets of HK.

We strolled to Victoria Harbour, a matter of minutes, marvelling at both the bay and the densely packed high rise residential and business buildings. The effect, though this may have been sleep deprivation, a little reminiscent of a huge mouth (bay) with jagged teeth (high rises).

Sus makes a friend.

Architecturally there’s little to become excited about but, as a vista, quite striking.

Next a wander behind Central station (we would return on our eh, return). Again, high rises dominate, with a splash of traditional establishments battling with modern upstarts such as Apple and Samsung.

Popped into an M&S. A tad surreal. Products echoed those of Ealing M&S. Just more expensive. A lot more expensive.

Landed back at the airport around 8pm. Wandered, queued, collected, ate food (a modern hunter gatherer me), wrote this.

Tokyo. Finally.

Our connecting flight to Tokyo finally departed as advertised. At 2.30am. Packed too. There’s nothing like 2am airport camaraderie.

Flight painless, entry process bureaucratic silliness. If not especially time consuming.

The self driving wheelchairs, possibly trying to escape, were a genuine delight.

Taxi, pre booked by Sus, waiting even after a near 10 hour delay. Impressive. Scenery industrial, both light and heavy with surprisingly copious, in places, of trash. Checked in, showered, slept. Tiredness conquered curiosity.

Nearly 3 hours later, and still battling tiredness, left hotel for a meander to the waterfront. When asked this might be achieved confused politeness from staff.

Armed with knowledge of sorts we somewhat underachieved. And then gave up. Supposedly possible though given the impression very little to see once discovered.

Returned to hotel and caught free hotel shuttle to JR Maihama Station. Resort hotels offer a regular – ours was every 20 minutes – free shuttle bus between the two.  JH Maihama Station speedily connects to Tokyo Central Station (aka Tokyo Station), the hub from which most Tokyo days commence.

We attempted to purchase a prepaid Suica Card allowing tap in/out access to Tokyo’s transport system. The Suica card is also accepted at many restaurants and shops.

We failed. It had been one of those days.

However, thanks to a kindly security guard, we realised our failure was down to lack of cash. The machine only took cash. One for tomorrow.

Otherwise, similar to London’s Oyster. Only with a broader remit. And once mastered, proved a convenient way to access Tokyo’s transit system. Look out for the black ticket machines located at most stations. Topping in up is straightforward though, oddly, cash is the preferred option. Not cards.

As with transit systems worldwide Tokyo’s, at first glance, appears to be an appealing image of colourful spaghetti. Thankfully, as with London, usage brings clarity.

Still caught the wrong train.

Thankfully, as with London the network is extensive. If you do dabble in routes not planned, usually straightforward to get back the right track. As it were.

Oh yes, if using escalators (and you will), stand to the left. Not right as we do in London. Either work. And, unlike London, unlikely to be trampled if you have the audacity to block the escalator.

The busy JH Maihama Station also connects to Ikspiari Shopping Mall. Constructed in the Disney style it’s perhaps an antidote to all those copy and paste malls. Same old, same old American chains are omnipresent though local shops and restaurants are plentiful.

We ate at one such local restaurant and rather chuffed we did.

Slept for 9 hours.

Meiji Jingu Shrine, Takeshita Street, Omotesando, Shibuya

This was to be a long day. And it rained most of it.

Though the drenching we feared never appeared. Tokyo rain is politer than London rain.

Unusually, both were underdressed. Sus, in particular, was feeling the chill. And so popped into a Uni Qlo (we were not alone) to purchase appropriate apparel.

Cheaper than their London outlets and tax free for those visitors from abroad. At their best, Uni Qlo clothes, are simply stylish, practical and without an awful logo. Or suggesting wearer had some connection to Stamford’s 1954 Athletic Department.

We were to return later in our stay.

Strolling, damply, along the main path (sando), before the temple proper, one comes across a wall of saki barrels (Kazaridaru) and, in what appears to be a face off, a wall of Burgundy wine barrels, one each side of the path.

Unfortunately, most are empty. Hic.

The latter represents the friendship between Japan and France. Supposedly, the Emperor enjoyed a cheeky glass of red with his meals. Fair play.

Said saki barrels are donated annually by nationwide saki breweries, similarly the Burgundy barrels. Saki is not one of my snobberies (basically I don’t know anything though have done tastings) but do appreciate a decent vino. I checked a few of the barrels. Not something you’d pick up for a fiver from Tescos.

A small entrance fee gains entry into the Inner Garden. The weather was not conducive, neither were we.

The Meiji Shrine, dedicated to Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken, is one of the city’s most revered. Constructed in 1920 (rebuilt after WW2) and set in the beautiful Yoyogi Park. It celebrates the Meiji Restoration (Japan’s first modern emperor), the end of a feudal system and modernisation of Japan’s political, manufacturing and education sectors. Amongst others.

And achieves an air of tranquillity even surrounded by tourist hordes. Did I mention the rain?

Harajuku Station (Yamamoto line) is the conveniently nearby metro.

If youth fashion culture is your cup of ripped jeans than Takeshita Street is the place to be seen. Along what appeared to be most of Tokyo. Absolutely jammed.

Trendy – or so I’m told – boutiques, along with a sprinkling of coffee, bubble tea and assorted shops, line the street. Highlight were a micro pig cafe (utterly adorable creatures) and a shop dedicated to the Grateful Dead. Sus’s favourite band. An easy stroll from the shrine there’s definitely a whiff of London’s Carnaby Street. Or vice versa.

If upmarket shopping is more your cup of Jimmy Choo make haste to Omotesando. Perhaps a kilometre of tree lined, mid to high end establishments. Plus Omotasando Hills mall. It’s an agreeable district to window lust or have a nibble to eat.

And a short walk stroll from Takeshita Street.

Finally into Shibuya, home to that infamous intersection. Amusingly, some Tokyo road crossings feature beeps reminiscent of Imperial Stormtroopers taking pot shots at tourists. We fired back.

The area surrounding Shibuya station is renown as a popular – very popular – shopping and entertainment hub. It’s in the midst of a multi decade redevelopment – apparent – toted for completion in 2032. Many of Japan’s fashion and entertainment trends were born, raised and nourished in Shibuya.

Centre Gai is the pedestrianised and perhaps epicentre of Shibuya with numerous boutiques, huge department stores and game centres.

Once evening takes over bars and restaurants become the main attraction.

If crowds, neon galore and noise are not your cup of relaxation then Shibuya will be painful. A madhouse perhaps, though less so than expected. And remember, Tokyo shopping and restaurants to not exist on one level. A line of neon signs, clambering up many buildings, indicate delights available on upper floors.

Nevertheless, it’s neither dangerous or threatening. It’s a must see if Tokyo bound.

And be warned. Many Tokyo neighbourhoods ban street smoking. Smoking therefore is rare, vaping more so. Dedicated smoking zones are quietly inconspicuous.

Tap and Growler was our Shibuya craft beer destination. Small, very small and not sure any outside space. Lovely staff, 18 taps, couple of fridges. Beer superb. Impressed.

Ended our evening in a vegan Sushi restaurant. Sus loved it, I was less enamoured. Eaten better vegan food elsewhere. Vegan options were surprisingly difficult to find, restaurants – unless only vegan – seem to lack a vegan option. Or, sometimes even vegetarian.

Trekked back to hotel.

Disney Sea, Tokyo

Never been to Disney, never had an inkling to do so. Nevertheless, when in Tokyo…..and Sus wanted to.

I’ve dragged her to enough craft beer bars across the world.

We have Disney Plus if that counts.

Disney Sea Tokyo is smaller than Disney Tokyo and aimed at a marginally older clientele. £45 each – booked before flying out. That includes all rides.

Bayside Station is part of the Disney Resort Monorail providing access (for a small contribution) to Disneyland, Disney Sea, resort hotels (including ours) and JR Maihama.

Jumped on, jumped off. Magically, Disney Sea appeared before us. Attempting to set the scene here.

Disney Sea opens at nine, we entered (efficiently) at eleven. Already busy with 2 to 3 hours wait for popular rides.

Disney does Italy.

We meandered between numerous zones managing to bag 4 rides – an immersive Nemo experience (surprisingly good), a Jules Verne ride through a seascape (OK) and 2 rollercoasters. One smaller (great fun) and a longer one with a loop (madness).

Disney does Disney.

We ate at one of the many, many food options. To my genuine surprise it wasn’t ridiculously expensive and food on positive side of palatable.

So, finally at 61, I experienced my very first Disney. Staff are courteous and helpful, attractions are efficiently policed and that second rollercoaster is a memory that will linger. Is it magical? Not especially. Impressive? Oh absolutely.

And a special mention must go to all those clothed in full costume of, one hopes, their favourite character. Wonderfully creative.

We left the park a little before 7pm, nearly 8 hours after entering.

An enjoyable interlude and new adventure for me. Would I ever return to a Disney Resort? Of course not.

Decided against an immediate return to hotel, JR Maihama first. And Ikspiari Shopping Mall. Foddered at decent pizza place and discovered a serviceable supermarket. Bought next day’s breakfast.

If you are staying within Tokyo’s Disney Resort – more of that later – I suggest giving Ikspiari a look see. Tourist generally arrive via JR Maihama and food is cheaper and similar quality to hotels.

From just another – albeit a pretty one – shopping centre to a bonus we came to rely on. Particularly that supermarket.

Ginza, Imperial Palace, Toranomon Hills

Our normal routine of free hotel transfer to JR Maihama. From there, the world, or at least Tokyo, is our oyster.

Ginza is a rather posh, upmarket shopping area located around Chuo Dori Street. It’s a steady 15 minutes stroll from Tokyo Central Station.

Initially, what we thought was Ginza, wasn’t. It was probably Marunouchi. Nevertheless, serendipity (we’re big fans) kindly deposited us in Ginza proper. High rises (of course, it’s Tokyo) plus all those posh brands you know and some you perhaps need to know.

Many, including Rolex and Louis Voutton, had 2 stores within a relatively short walk of each other. Bit showy.

Ginza doesn’t do restaurants. Ginza does bistros.

Suzuran Street, sat in the midst of this conspicuous, consumer consumption, is an anomaly. Pedestrianised, small shops and restaurants lining each side with tourists mingling with locals.

Neither have any interest in buying over hyped high fashion (Uni Qlo for us) but a fascinating to peek into all things designer.  Nevertheless, we did explore the 1930s Wako Honkan Department Store. Incredible food court very reminiscent of Harrods food court..

The Imperial Palace – an easy stroll from Ginza – is constructed on the former site of Edo Castle. Edo Castle dates back to the 15th century, the current Imperial Palace from the 19th century. The latter rebuilt post Second World War.

Defensive walls, moats and castle foundations all survive. War, earthquakes and fire did for the rest.

The charismatic Imperial Palace, which isn’t open to the public, is housed within the Kokyo Gaien National Garden. Approximately 2,000 manicured Japanese black pines, seemingly uniformly planted, make for a quite striking backdrop. Enveloped by Tokyo the park affords a welcome intermission from concrete.

Next up, a half hour walk to Toranomon Hills and Uchu Brewing, via Kasumigaseki district. Government offices dominate. The striking, red brick and former Ministry of Justice building, constructed in 1895, reconstructed post WW2, stands rather prettily amongst its much shinier modern peers.

And into Toranomon Hills dominated by both sleek residential and corporate skyscrapers.

Uchu Brewing have a tiny taproom, a couple of floor from street level. And oddly located on an outdoor thoroughfare of a modernly sleek shopping, business and residential complex. Not a railway arch in sight.

Six taps, 2 fridges, limited standing inside and further upright posturing outside. The latter sheltered from the worst of the elements by another covered walkway connecting 2 residential blocks. No seating. Genuinely a tad surreal. However, and most importantly, the beer is superb.

Smoothie sours and higher alcohol IPAs prevail. No food available but happy, probably delighted, for punters to source food from elsewhere.

Yep, beer. And 1 of your 5 a day.

Both loved Ginza, the Imperial Palace and Toranomon Hills. And, naturally, Uchu Brewing. My favourite Tokyo outing? I think so.

Back to the hotel. A little before 10pm.

Asakusa, Sensoji Buddhist Temple, Skytree

Left hotel before 10am and headed to Asakusa and the Sensoji Buddhist Temple.

We actually walked, for around a half hour, from another metro stop neither can recall.

Meandered through residential neighbourhoods before chancing upon Hisago Street. Not dissimilar to the above Suzuran Street. Though Hisago is more backpacking vibe, less ‘where did that Prada go?’.

This exploration meant not entering the temple via the traditional Kaminarimon Gate which spews never ending tourists onto Nakamise, the main shopping street.

From there, you pass through the Hozomon Gate into the complex proper. Sensoji Temple is not alone, neighbours, and one would hope friends, include a pagoda, shrine and those gates.

Parts of the complex date back to the 17th century, others rebuilt in the 20th century. World War Two at it again.

Once templed out explored the afore mentioned and teeming Nakamise. Plus the similarly teeming, neighbouring shopping streets.

Character, undoubtably. Quality unquestionably present. Unfortunately far too many establishments peddling same old, same old tired, tourist tat crap. Whether it be souvenirs, food or drink. All a tad naff. Not our cup of landfill.

However, that temple is undoubtedly worthy of your time. Quite magnificent. And in very much their own way, so are the accompanying streets. Part of the deal. And have been for many, many years.

By now, we were hungry. Let the ramen hunt commence. The Sumida River is only a short stroll and the riverside pathway easily found. Wandered a little way down riverside pathway, half heartedly contemplating a boat ride. Tokyo’s waterside appears under utilised compared with its European peers. Thinking London’s Southbank amongst others.

Skytree on left.

We sauntered past what appeared to be a closed pier before picking a bridge to cross. Naturally, a tourist boat paused, at that closed pier, 10 minutes after we’d strolled on by. Ah well.

Found ramen. Ate ramen. Messily. Local place, cheap and friendly. Perfect.

And, unintentionally, we’d wandered into Tokyo’s Skytree neighbourhood. The Skytree is Japan’s tallest tower incorporating 2 observation decks, a shopping complex and aquarium. A broadcasting communications tower – needing to be taller than surrounding high rise Tokyo –  is somewhat striking A genuinely handsome beast. Especially lit up.

The weather wasn’t kind to those with prepaid tickets. The higher of the 2 observation decks was utterly obscured, the larger and lower deck shrouded in mist. The views are undoubtedly spectacular, and worthy of the £20 (from memory) entrance fee. Just not today.

After briefly wandering around the base, taking advantage of the facilities and free wifi, we went to the pub.

Actually, a small neighbourhood brewery (Bathe Yotsume Brewery), tippled a couple of ales (me) before heading back to hotel.

Shinjuku

Shinjuku station, with multiple railway and subway lines, plus a bus terminal, is considered the world’s busiest transport hub. Numerous restaurants, shops cafes turn Shinjuku into a transit city. I suspect some tourists never leave. All a bit ‘Hotel California’.

Upto 3.5 million passengers use it daily escaping (eventually) via one of its 200 exits. Shinjuku is also one of Tokyo’s major business, shopping and entertainment hubs.

As you emerge from the station neon signs wave at you from every direction and height. After dark it’s almost mesmerising.

A little disappointedly, and perhaps unexpectedly, Tokyo is not litter free. Shibuya and Shinjuku both had their fair share. Other neighbourhoods were spotless. Graffiti, however, rare. Only spotted an occasional scrawl. Homelessness, though not as common – or from what we observed – as other cities (London included) isn’t absent. In Shinjuku, homelessness was increasingly obvious.

Another oddity is Tokyo’s affinity to plastic. Where in the UK alternative packaging is used, in Tokyo, plastic is the pollutant of choice. Weird. Supermarkets a noticeable example.

Anyway, wandered down Omoide Yokocho, known locally as ‘Piss Alley’. I won’t elaborate.

It’s actually 2 or 3 short and narrow streets packed with tiny eateries busy with locals. And ‘bought a tour‘ tourists. To be fair, enticing aromas seep from every establishment. Liked it.

Twenty minutes amble, in the midst of the Skyscraper District (more businesses, shops, eateries) one will find the snappily named Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. In the main foyer (level 1), look for a small queue, join queue, said queue is a lift transporting one and all to the 45th floor. And an observation deck.

Breathtaking vistas across Tokyo. And it’s free. Predictably, coffee, nibbles and alcohol all available.

Shinjuku Central Park lies behind the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. Sus had spotted before our 45 floor ascent. Wandered over. What appeared to be a Vietnamese cultural event was in full swing.

Grabbed a cheap and delicious Vietnamese sandwich and parked in the park. For half an hour.

Returned to Shinjuku station and then a little way beyond. To Golden Gai. Numerous short and narrow streets, lanes almost, hosting over 200 bars and restaurants. All are tiny, many have a cover charge.

We visited mid afternoon so fairly quiet. Suspect utter carnage ensues post darkness. Nevertheless, Golden Gai has a certain charm for those willing to partake.

Image below is from Golden Gai. Tokyo’s electrics, though unquestionably safe, didn’t always appear so.

Our final pause, before hotel bound, was Beer Bomb. The good, decent beer, on trend, and appetising food. The bad, a seemingly repeating cover charge and ridiculous ordering system.

Shibamata, Taishakuten Temple, Yamamoto-tei

Last full Tokyo day. Slept late, procrastinated, Shibamata beckoned.

Taishakuten Temple is a few minutes amble, through an attractive low rise neighbourhood, from Shibamata metro. The temple is an elegant, 400 year old temple with intricate and beautiful carvings. Our favourite temple. No crowds, peaceful, pretty.

The short, quaint shopping street is worthy of a stroll even though tourist trap shops overshadow their betters. A 10 minute walk from said quaint shopping street is Yamamoto-tei, a hybrid Japanese/ Western merchant house. Charming, the gardens are especially gorgeous.

Wandered to the Edogawa River, strolled briefly through manicured gardens before making for the station.

A charming interlude away from Tokyo’s concrete jungle. Go. We both loved it.

Forty minutes later, and back in Toranomon Hills, we ended our day with beer (Uchu, again) and curry. Very English.

Thoughts

Firstly, location. As mentioned, our hotel was located within the Disney Resort. If Disney your prime objective, recommended. Though suspect whichever hotel chosen, within the resort, offers a similar experience.

If, however, as with ourselves, Disney is only a day diversion, stay elsewhere. Travel into Tokyo is overly convoluted, options outside hotels and resorts non-existent.

Secondly, Tokyo. Both thoroughly enjoyed our time in this city, it certainly never overwhelmed (try India) or frightened. Our week was enough, though four full days should enable most to pick off principal tourist tick box sights. English is widely spoken, the natives invariably lovely.

And those famous Japanese toilets? I’m sold. Heated toilet seats, bottom sprinkler, dryer and sound affects covering any unpleasantries, all common. Free, clean toilets are omnipresent. Including in most stations. I often skipped one opportunity to sprinkle knowing another opportunity to sprinkle was literally around the corner. Living on the edge.

Our excursion to Ginza and the Imperial Palace, plus that final day in Shibamata were highlights. Two days that won’t disappoint. Throw in Shinjuku and/or Shibuya and a museum and there’s your 4 day itinerary.

Nevertheless, unlike close friends of ours, we never fell in love with Tokyo. Easily liveable, but with the exception of the odd temple and occasional modern skyscraper, architecturally Tokyo is a little nondescript. Perhaps lacking a little verve and chaos. It all felt rather controlled.

Nevertheless, Tokyo is a fascinating city and one undoubtably worth visiting. You will not be disappointed.

Hong Kong

Travel day. Contemplated hotel breakfast. Neither especially hungry, that curry was still very much present.

And, only rarely ventured into hotel public areas. Teeming with excitable and screaming children/babies, disgruntled and bored parents. The thought of breakfast amongst that annoying chaos quickly lost any appeal. Popped into the small onsite supermarket instead.

Not our cup of not that happy families.

And from what Sus had read, vegan and vegetarian options were severely limited.

Disney bus, at a surprisingly agreeable cost, delivered us to airport.

Flight painless, landing in Hong Kong around 8.30pm.

A bus, A25, dropped us 10 minutes from hotel in Kowloon. Actually, a tad more as we forgot to press the magic stop button. The A22 (same stand) was another option though deposited us further away.

As soon as one departs the airport humidity engulfs and smothers. Temperatures hovering around 30 degrees bring the joys of inevitable and continued sweating. Air conditioning becomes your new bff.

The air conditioned journey took – to Wampoa station – about 70 minutes. I had great fun with ‘Wampoa’, much to Sus’s chagrin. Mysteriously, on the upper floor, I was unable to stand upright. Low bridges? Small people? No idea. By now it was close on 10pm and the Hong Kong skyscrapers, residential and business alike, were illuminated. I would say for us but suspect they are every night.

Quite Entrancing.

Anyway, checked in, slept.

Peak Tram, Hong Kong Park, Central

Paid for breakfast – to my delight I was eligible for a discount due to my advanced years – before exploring.

Hong Kong is significantly smaller than Tokyo. Tiny even. And with its efficient, air conditioned transit system, simple to navigate. Purchase an Octopus card which operates in a similarly effective way to Tokyo’s Suica card.

We opted for an electronic version downloaded onto our phones. I’m of the opinion that all technology is really magic. Bluetooth? Magic. WiFi? More magic. Technology is just there, always. No clue to what exactly it is or how it works. Magic.

Admiralty was a 10-15 walk, dependent on your interpretation and mood of chosen map app, to the Peak Tram. A funicular railway, operated since 1888. Those original trams have been, mercifully, replaced with modern stock.

Taking less than 10 minutes the funicular is around 4,500 feet long rising about 1,300 feet. Oh, it’s steep.

Two options. Victoria Peak (presumably the original viewing site) or the mildly optimistically named Sky Terrace. We opted for the latter. Cost? Not an inconsiderable £18 each. Or there about.

Sit on the right on the ascent for best instawhatsit shots.

Case in point. Barker Road Station, about half way down. Or up.

An obligatory shopping mall selling the obligatory crap greets one on arrival at Victoria Peak. Numerous small escalators, via ever present mall, ascend to the Sky Terrace.

The views, are indeed, spectacular. And aptly demonstrate why Hong Kong is a vertical city. Many of the surrounding hills encasing Hong Kong were, in the main, unspoilt and pleasantly green.

Handily the ticket includes a return descent.

A short stroll from the Peak Tram brings one to the welcome green Oasis of Hong Kong Park. Though with 32 degrees temperatures and oppressive humidity no stroll is short. And Hong Kong is not level. Not at all. Our stair count, for each of those 3 full days, was 20 plus.

It’s a wonderfully, unexpected surprise and includes a small artificial lake, gorgeous planting and a t’ai chi garden. Spied, avoiding the fish, a nervous terrapin.

Perhaps the highlight was a free, walk through an avery. The older I become, the more birds fascinate me. Must be a thing. Spotted many an exotic feathered chum, many utterly disinterested in humans. Don’t blame them.

Exited the park, boarding an old school tram charmingly rumbling and jerking its way to Central. A return, to the Hong Kong district, from our typhoon enforced exploration a week ago.

We sweated our way to Hollywood Road, one of, if not the, oldest street in the city. The street, and its close neighbours, are antique central. Some of the shop windows resemble the British Museum. An expensive gift shop.

Serendipity strikes again. Ambling (and sweating) up Hollywood Road Man Mo Temple (constructed 1847) materialised. Defo worth a gander. The temple still very much part of the community (as it had been in the 19th century and beyond) with locals offering prayers. Good vibes.

Next up, fodder. Central hosts bar and restaurants, of all descriptions, galore. At random really, wandered into a small, probably family owned, Michelin guided spot. Both ordered dumplings and shared a plate of bok choi. Green tea accompanied the meal.

Obviously delicious, I even enjoyed the green tea. Tea isn’t my, eh cup of tea generally. Cost? Less than £20. Bargain.

Finally a couple of cheeky ales at Out of Beer. Another tiny beer emporium with 5 taps and couple of fridges for in or out. Beers outside of China, not surprisingly, ridiculously expensive.

Local brews proved to me a worthy opponent.

Chi Lin Nunnery and Nan Lian Garden

Another breakfast, another discount. Most marvellous.

A short walk from Diamond Hill station (connects to the deceptively large Hollywood Plaza) is Chi Lin Nunnery.

Originally constructed in the 1930s as a retreat for Buddhist Nuns, the nunnery was further developed in the 1990s. Comprising various halls, a library, school and pagoda, Chi Lin claims to be the largest, handmade wooden building without using a single nail. The courtyard features 4 Lilly ponds and a sculptured garden. As with many Buddhist temples Chi Lin conveys a sense of serenity. Helped by the lack of tourist hoards.

And when constructed, imagine skyscrapers were somewhat less plentiful.

The nunnery, via a bridge, is connected to the gorgeous Nan Lian Garden. Meticulously landscaped following Tang Dynasty design principles. A circular path leads worn out tourist over bridges, past a lake, waterfalls, pavilion and a teahouse. MacDonalds didn’t get that concession.

The nunnery and gardens are free and thoroughly deserving of your time.

Return to hotel, via our bestest new supermarket, for a cool down. And then up to the 20th floor for a rooftop paddle. Views weren’t too shabby either. The residential building adjacent to our hotel had at least another 30 floors. Never felt so inadequate.

Back to room, showered headed to Temple Street Night Market.

Hundreds of small stalls line both sides of the pedestrianised Temple Street flogging souvenirs, clothes, electronics and accessories. For peckish punters the foody bit is located as you manoeuvre from Jordan Street. Though busy, 7pm presumably too early for younger punters, able to quickly stroll through.

Temple Street, and surrounding thoroughfares, are a little less salubrious than Hong Kong’s posher post codes. Older high rise residential blocks dominate, wealth is much less obvious. Nevertheless, all those tourists can’t be wrong. Though hastening through, would have returned if time permitted. It didn’t. This time.

We had a date. With West Kowloon Cultural District. A park. And fireworks.

Apparently, today marked China’s 77th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China. A surprise to us too. We walked from Temple Street (about 20 minutes) to the West Kowloon Cultural District. A cultural, business and residential district showcasing striking architectural buildings. Waterfront promenades, metro options aplenty.

The district is still very much under construction. If one returned in a year or so, the continued transformation would become obvious. We’d buy off plan.

Wrongly or rightly we decided to quickly trek to the nearby, though not as nearby as we thought, West Kowloon Cultural District Park. With unequalled vistas of Victoria Harbour and those fireworks. Mmmm.

The trek was long. The trek was hot. Fireworks started. Sound, yes. Sightline, no. Fuck. Followed a surge of mildly desperate people. And discovered a splendid, albeit crowded, vantage point.

Lightening behind us, Hong Kong’s illuminated skyscrapers encircling us, water adjacent to us, fireworks battering the night. For 23 minutes. Some scene. Some setting.

Magnificent.

Fireworks finished and struck up a conversation with Tom, a lecturer, teaching in Hong Kong for a semester.

As we conversed a stream of pleasure boats, of differing sizes and presumably costs, steamed by. A flotilla, post fireworks, heading home. Quite a spectacle. Reminding me of first day tourists descending on included breakfast buffet.

Strolled and chatted with Tom before departing in differing directions. Though not before connecting on WhatsApp and Untappd (me).

Grabbed a late supper from supermarket before sleep.

Hong Kong Museum of Art, Tom

Last full day before London bound. Rain forecast, no need to add to step and stair count.

We’d wanted to pop in to Tokyo’s National Museum of Modern Art. It was closed for renovation. Inconvenient. However, Hong Kong Museum of Art (HKMOA) wasn’t. Nestled amongst neighbouring museums, free to enter and dry. Strangly, not located in the West Kowloon Cultural District but Tsim Sha Tsui.

Coffee and cake before meandering around the 2nd and 3rd floors. Calligraphy, painting and art for the European market dominate. Much of what we saw was genuinely exquisite. Highly recommended.

Exquisite. Tragically, ivory.

Metro back to Central, Dim sum at local eatery, beer at Draft Land TST. And Tom. Who’d we arranged to meet.

Twelve taps, again tiny, with a small selection in fridges. Beer at Out of Beer step above, nevertheless wiled away a most agreeable couple of hours.

Returned to hotel, toddled behind hotel, took final shots of Hong Kong lit up.

Thoughts

It might be obvious, we loved Hong Kong. Chinese it may be but western it appeared. Though Tom had mentioned friends of his, living in Hong Kong, detecting a tightening of everything since the protests.

Nevertheless, we still loved it. Hong Kong is lively, friendly and exciting. And architecturally more attractive than Tokyo. We’d live there. For 2 years.

London, Home

Showered, packed, checked out. Walked the 5 minutes to the bus depot, straight onto a A25 bus returning us to the airport the same way we’d arrived.

Our flight left for London at around 1.30 local time. And meant the return trip was in daytime. Some of the older residential blocks are perhaps best seen at night. Nevertheless, the huge container port and numerous docks was rather captivating.

Flight of some 14 hours relatively painless, trusty Lizzie Line brought us home.

Final Thoughts

Neither Tokyo or Hong Kong are ethnically diverse. Tourists and ex pats provide that diversity. Arriving in London, jumping on that Lizzie line, only emphasised that impression. Though both, certainly transport and eating out, proved remarkably good value. A surprise to both.

Nonetheless, both cities are incredibly liveable, safe and absorbing. If your ever lucky enough to have the opportunity to live in either, take it.

As always, many thanks for reading, Tony (October 2026).

​COLOGNE, BERLIN, WARSAW, VILNIUS, RIGA

I interrailed 40 years ago. Could say it felt just like yesterday. It doesn’t. 

And so, partly due to 2, dick swinging morons indulging in and perpetuating a war no one wanted or needed, partly trialling a future longer trip and partly inspired by chum Mike, we found ourselves on a Eurostar one Saturday morning. 

Plan was Cologne, Berlin, Warsaw, Vilnius and Riga staying between 2 and 4 nights in each. Trains, and one coach, depositing yours truly and wife into each chosen destination. Flight home. Otherwise, be still on our way back.

Trailfinders (TF) booked the trains and hotels, the rest was all us.

Eurostar can be expensive. Unless you’re able to book a decade in advance. Limited perhaps too in destinations. Nevertheless, for me certainly, fucks flying every time. Wonderfully civilised commencement to any continental journey.

And, what we didn’t grasp until we’d boarded, was TF upgrading our outward journey. A very pleasant purgatory between economy and first class. Entitling us to delectable breakfast pastries, yogurt and coffee.

COLOGNE

Arrival, Hotel, Wander

As one emerges from Köln Hauptbahnhof, Cologne Cathedral magnificently appears. It’s so close, a well judged stone could break a window. Please don’t.

Figured enough images of cathedral – which I couldn’t do justice to anyway – so instead, I give you a photo of train station.

The hotel was only five minutes away, ten as we, thanks to one map app or another, took an unwanted detour. Checked in.

With mid-afternoon fast approaching, time to reconnoitre.

Tragically, for both inhabitants and their architecture, Cologne was heavily bombed during WW2. 

The vast majority 15th to 17th century buildings were devastatingly destroyed leaving a mixture of survivors, reconstructions and post war buildings. Unfortunately, many of the latter are unworthy of the former.

Two large squares, both again central to the cathedral, and seemingly busy all day, offer restaurants and bars aplenty. 

Walked, walked some more, carried on walking until chancing upon Rheinauhafen, 19th century docks transformed into a modern, upscale waterfront district. Museums, galleries, cafes, restaurants and modern architecture all cohabit reasonably happily. Fascinating and handsome. Give it a whirl. Glad we did.

Hotel, sleep for 9 hours.

Cologne Proper

Post a lovely and leisurely breakfast popped into the cathedral (free). Sunday Mass meant only a brief visit. However, returned later to properly gawp.

Huge with scoring gothic ceilings and gorgeous stain glass windows make an impressive statement. What bits are gothic gothic and what bits are mock gothic difficult to decipher. Nevertheless, worth a gander. 

Behind the cathedral is the iconic Hohenzollern Bridge famed for its love lock multitudes. Constructed early in the 20th century it’s a vital railway bridge – 1,500 trains trundle across every day.

It also happens to be quite beautiful. 

Once across the bridge and the Rhein one happens upon Köln Triangle. Comprising of a short stretch of riverfront, a short meander inland to the attractive Köln Messe/ Deutz train station (Deutz being the district) and completed by a return to the river via a viewing platform.

The latter, offering genuinely 360 degree vistas of the city, is housed in an office block 29 floors up. Striking vistas across the city, the Hohenzollern Bridge crossing the river is especially memorable.

Pay the €5 entrance fee, you won’t be disappointed.

Those expecting the Köln Triangle to be a trendy food/vintage market (us) will be severely discouraged. It’s not. The viewing platform is a must, the rest easily and quickly forgotten. 

This was nice though.

Cologne does offer ample opportunity to ramble along the river. It’s just not as attention grabbing as other cities, including our own. 

The main shopping streets, close by the cathedral, are neither pretty nor ugly. Just meh. For those searching consumer therapy they will undoubtedly suffice.

One highlight was an Eau de Cologne shop. Surprising, as I’ve never taken to aftershave and Sus never to perfume. To put your minds at rest, both wear deodorant. It never occurred, probably due to a lack of interest, to put the city of Cologne together with Eau de Cologne. The dreadful, unimaginative, all the same ads for both don’t help.

Anyway, punters and voyeurs alike were able to sniff numerous perfumes and spray the occasional sample onto oneself. Or passerby. If particular hot.

Both were startled to discover liking many of said scents. Particularly the citrus forward fragrances. Undoubtably worth half an hour.

A second highlight was Sisu, a welcome pause for cake and coffee. The cake, homemade, was magnificent. A return a necessity if we hadn’t moved on. 

Our final stop was the Tipsy Monk, a Delirium Cafe. Thirty taps of German, Belgian and UK beer treats. Beware if chosen tipple a stronger ale, no thirds available. Large and lovely inside, no outdoor seating we could see. Probably the reason place was near empty on our arrival. 

The few surrounding streets (Salzgsss, Buttermark) reminiscent perhaps of earlier centuries. Atmospheric and worth a stroll even if beer isn’t your cup of La Trappe Dubbel. 

Cologne Thoughts

If I’m honest Cologne was, unusually for a German city, disappointing. Standout sights include the cathedral, Hohenzollern Bridge and, my favourite, Rheinauhafen. And it’s certainly not grim or dangerous.

Impressions are of an underdeveloped and undervalued city. Perhaps someone important decided the cathedral was enough.

Nevertheless, if a spare day you find, I’d encourage all to afford the city a chance.

BERLIN

Arrival, Hackesche Höfe District

Late the following morning found us on an ICE train to Berlin. A 5 hour trip. A brief panic when our TF app showed no inclination to open denying access to our tickets. Mercifully, a very helpful chap at the station helpdesk, printed out a copy. 

As with many a train journey the vistas consisted of various sized urbanisations, farmland and countryside. Agreeable in the main if not necessarily spectacular.

Quick shout out to our ICE train. Not quite Eurostar chic though perfectly pleasant. Reached speeds of 150 mph. Couldn’t tell. Sanitiser provided in the toilets. Classy. And we were in coach 31. Short platforms beware.

Berlin Train Station resembles a sci fi movie set. Multiple floors, multiple food outlets, people multitudes. Quite magnificent.

Unfortunately the whole sci fi analogy crumbles on entering the Berlin Metro. No tap in, tap out. We had to buy paper tickets and validate on entering and leaving the system. Seriously? This appears to be a common theme across German cities. I don’t doubt better options are available to residents but, certainly to us, appeared rather antiquated. 

Alexanderplatz, location of our hotel, and once part of East Berlin, is a huge, sprawling square housing 2 of Berlin’s most iconic structures – the Weltzeituhr (368 metre TV tower) and Weltzeituhr (world time clock). Ironically, both were designed and constructed to celebrate soviet supremacy.

Surrounded now by modern office blocks, a large shopping mall, restaurants and bars, both may be feeling a little confused. Alexanderplatz is also a major transport hub (ideal for tourists) and the core of modern East Berlin.

Checked into hotel before strolling to the Hackesche Höfe district. 

With its generous sprinkling of Art Nouveau architecture, upmarket consumer consumerism, all manner of interesting bars and restaurants, it’s rather charming. Even those establishments trying for gritty and real. The original Jewish quarter was especially attractive. 

Once foddered, we meandered the 15 minutes to Mikkeller Berlin. Though increasingly residential, the character of the district remained remarkably similar. 

Twenty four taps, predominantly their own, inside and outside bottom perching. Sus grabbed bench space outside overlooking an agreeable thoroughfare. Sipped, people ogled, struck up a conversation with a delightful Brazilian couple living in Germany. 

A delightfully charming evening.

BERLIN II – Oranienburger, Friedrichshain District

Slept long, breakfasted long, emerged from our hotel a little before 11 am. 

Sus fancied the David Hasselhoff Museum. I didn’t. I lost. 

Located a few minutes beyond the Mikkeller bar and housed in what appeared to be an upscale hostel with its own brewery. Apparently, hostels are not immune to gentrification.

Mercifully, the ‘exhibition’ was tiny in a space no larger than a en-suite commode. Couple of signed photos were the ‘highlight’. Free. Thankfully. 

An engineered (Sus, obviously) meander via the charming and delightful, predominately residential, Oranienburger district brought us to the thoroughfare that is Unter den Linden. Sober, or otherwise, I struggled not to rename the street after a deceased Middle Eastern terrorist. 

The Brandenburg Gate sits on Unter den Linden. Unfortunately, or at least the section we wandered, was deeply disappointing. Glance at the Brandenburg Gate, explore elsewhere. We did.

Jumped on the metro, alighted at Frankfurter Tor, for the Friedrichshain District. This mundane residential district, albeit boasting a splattering of Art Nouveau architecture, has somewhat and miraculously morphed. 

Independent shops, restaurants and bars dominate. Gentrification has arrived. Nearer the river, a light industrial estate, has cleverly transitioned into galleries, bars and techno clubs. And graffiti. Lots of graffiti.

One group of long, long ago retirees were exploring (slowly) this once industrial landscape. Gentrification. Literally.

And we loved it. I hope you do too. 

We continued our quest to see the Spree. A river not shopping mall. 

Once discovered (and conquered, obviously) we crossed the mock medieval Oberbaum Bridge into the district of Kreuzberg.

Not dissimilar to Friedrichshain, with that same mixture of surprisingly attractive Soviet era blocks and Art Nouveau, though perhaps a smidgen more upmarket. 

More metro madness – actually rather ordinary, just wanted the alliteration – to Kottbusser Tor. Basically a more Holloway, less Mayfair snippet of Kreuzberg. 

The reason, Biererei Bar and Vintage Cellar. Obviously.

Indoor, outdoor plonking places, 24 taps of quality ales (German, UK, USA). Lovely. The cellar, in reality a cooled, glass enclosed room, stocked some fabulous beers. Unfortunately, prices are equally fabulous. 

Both have previously visited Berlin. Both a couple of times. With tourist attractions long since ticked off an opportunity beckoned to better explore East Berlin.

Yes, gentrification is endemic certainly in districts we visited. As with other cities, where gentrification has taken hold, we believe, and hope, it offers more than it takes. I suspect most would to prefer to live in the new Friedrichshain than the old. Unless you’re buying a house of course.

And, for those searching for grittiness, realism, it’s still all here. Just packed a little differently.

Berlin is a proper city, an easy city to live in. We’re dedicated urbanites and loved it.

WARSAW

A new country for Sus, a new city for both. Relaxed breakfast before Berlin Hauptbahnhof and platform 11. Another 5 hour train journey. 

Podcasts, music, window watching, blog binges all helped time dissipate quickly. Noise cancelling headphones blocked out undesirables. Aren’t they fab? Both recently invested in a pair of Sony noise cancelling, over ear headphones. 

The train, or at least our carriage, had compartments each with 6 seats. Brought memories of travelling to and from SE London into the city many years ago. Nevertheless, clean, air conditioning and reasonably comfortable. And we had one of those 6 seats compartments to ourselves. 

Arrived, dragged suitcases the short distance to our hotel, checked in. And, did our usual, quickly departing to explore. 

We were half heartedly aiming for old town. That lack of commitment doomed us to failure. Nevertheless, we meandered down the elegant Wilcza lined with boutique shops, restaurants and bars. And trees. 

Architecturally resembling East Berlin with that odd but effective mix of soviet era blocks and Art Nouveau loveliness. More tree lined goodness in the shape of the boulevardesque Marszalkowska and completed our sojourn on the Wilcza resembling Poznańska.

Spellcheck is losing the will to live. 

Sus, quite deliberately, had brought us to Warsaw’s Central Square bordering, on one side, the modern train station. From which we’d emerged a couple of hours earlier. Events are obviously staged here – one now forgotten something was in its dismantling death throes. 

A collection of Romanesque buildings, plus a magnificent beast seemingly paying homage to New York’s iconic Empire State Building, host galleries, museums and a theatre. 

This striking architectural collection was constructed in the 1950s by Poland’s Russian overseers. Odd, perhaps telling, the architect mimicked such an iconic American building. And handsome to you and us perhaps, these structures are a symbol of Soviet repression and disliked by many residents.

Modern skyscrapers, some quite striking, dominate the skyline. For those not on foot, Warszawa Śródmieście (city centre) metro station, delivers tourists and locals into the centre of said square.

With the weather misbehaving a return to our hotel felt opportune.

Warsaw – The Old Bits

Post brekkie, via tourist information, a cold wind and occasional rain, we bravely braved the walk to the old town. Between 20 and 30 minutes, depending on route and coffee and cake intake, from the central train station. 

We actually landed on the ‘Royal Route’. Which, rather conveniently, wanders into the old town. The Royal Route dates back to the 17 and 18th centuries, the old town itself from the late medieval period. 

Tragically, the Nazis, partly in an act of spite, destroyed 85% of this historical architecture. Inhabitants, supported by the country as a whole, meticulously rebuilt the historical centre, beginning from 1945, and over several years. 

And, as with Nuremberg, the decision to do so was an undoubted success. Yes, many of the buildings appear newer than they should, nevertheless, there is a welcome level of authenticity.

Unlike Dubrovnik. Disneyland on a stick. With cruise ships.

Meandered contentedly for 2-3 hours before returning, by bus, to the central station. A short stroll brought us to Beer and Bones. Heavy metal and craft beer. That works. Was a big metal fan in my youth and, though my tastes have broadened, still love the rasp and shriek of a guitar.

Twenty four taps of almost exclusively Polish beer from lager to lethal IPAs and sours. Again, be warned, 300ml is the smallest pour. Interior is as expected (neither pink, nor Disney inspired cushions adorned) with numerous seating options. Limited outdoor seating complements indoor space. 

Rested, showered before meeting a Polish colleague of Sus’s, and his wife, for dinner. And a delightful evening it was to prove.

Warsaw – Praga and Lazienki Park

So delightful we slept in to well after 9am. After breakfast headed to Praga, an artsy district of Warsaw. 

The M2 metro, alighting at Dworzec Wilénski brings one close. Head to Ząbkowska Street or Stalowa Street. 

And may I point you towards Konesar. A former 19th century former vodka distillery, with many of the original booze buildings surviving. Enhanced with modern, and rather handsome buildings, the complex hosts galleries, museums, shopping, bars and restaurants. It’s most impressive.

Less impressive, perhaps, is Ząbkowska Street. Towards one end mildly trendy bars and restaurants have sprung up but the rest of the street is a tad nondescript.

A 162 bus safely delivered us to Lazienki Park. Alight at Agrykola. Lazienki Park is large, green with numerous follies and one palace. Water is strategically plonked. 

Meandering proved a pleasing way to spend a couple of hours. Or more.

Warsaw has, from our limited experience, a comprehensive, cheap and effective public transport system There’s no tap on, tap off but ticketing machines at train and metro stations are straightforward to use.

Similarly bus tickets though you may have to pay using onboard ticket machines. Not all bus stops have machines. We bought per journey though better value options, for public transport lovers, are doubtless available. 

Tomorrow, is 7 hour train journey day. Earlyish start so treated ourselves to take out pizza, beer and laundry. We know how to mix it up.

Warsaw, or the bits glimpsed, genuinely surprised us. Neither, initially undoubtedly, knew what to expect from this once soviet suppressed city.

Those expecting grim tower blocks, cars from previous eras and bread queues will be genuinely surprised. Or disappointed. Depending on your outlook. Warsaw is an ultra modern, attractive city, striving to lose any vestiges of soviet oppression. It’s working.

One very much feels Warsaw (and presumably Poland) is striving to rid itself of any vestige of Soviet repression and move closer, certainly with the current government, to its European neighbours.

I wish it every success.

VILNIUS

Up, breakfasted, checked out by 8.15. Again in compartments of 6 though conventional carriages existed. Odd. 

Initially started our journey in adjacent compartments until a kind, English speaking lady, offered Sus seat opposite me. Their eldest daughter – they were a family of 5 – had a job interview and unable to come. 

One small fact I hadn’t been aware of, until Sus pointed it out, was a train change at the border. About 5 hours into the 7. Differing track gauges, apparently. It actually decoupled twice with one change of direction whilst still in Poland. 

Vistas again comprised of variably sized urbanisations, farmland (mainly arable) and wooded slopes. An attractive threesome. 

Lithuania appeared similar, not surprisingly. Borders are a human thing, not a tree thing. There was perhaps more woodland, less farmland with the larger urbanisations retaining greater remnants of their Russian subjugation. 

And both noticed second (third? Fourth?) growth trees. Many were, presumably, fast growing conifers. Apparently, Lithuania has a strong tradition chopping down trees, flogging trees, replanting trees. Logging. 

A short bus ride – tap in enabled – followed by a short walk brought us to our fourth temporary home of the trip. 

Checked in, yep straight out. Discovered Baltas Tiltas Food Hall. Along with much of Vilnius. Indoor/outdoor seating, bar plus several food outlets. Greenery and river nearby. Food passable, value decent. 

Post fodder, calorie depleting stroll. It started to rain. Obviously.

Strolled around modern district, purchased chocolate, headed back to hotel. Rain had mutated from irritating to just wet.

Vilnius – Seven and a Half Mile Day

Post a most palatable breakfast departed hotel to explore the city. 

Unlike Warsaw Vilnius old town has been, mercifully, well preserved. UNESCO recognises as a World Heritage Site. 

Multiple invaders inevitably caused partial destruction of the city. Nevertheless, Baroque, Gothic, Renaissance and classical architecture all survived. Hoorah. 

We meandered here, we meandered there. A vague plan, oft deviated. Seven and a half miles of oft deviating.

Vilnius does churches. If churches are your cup of ecclesiastical, Baroque your cup of architecture, you may never leave. St Anne’s and Bernadine Churches are amongst the most beautiful.

Secular treats include the Bernadine Garden, Vilnius University, Palace of Grand Dukes, Presidential Palace, Town Hall and the evocatively named Gates of Dawn. 

Wandered into the Presidential Palace Courtyard, an agreeable space in its own right. And a captivating dancing fountain. Pop by, say hello. 

The self proclaimed Republic of Užupis is a mildly bohemian oddity and worth the short detour. Though a Vilnius district, Užupis leaves the impression of a small, well to do market town.

Litaratų Street is also mentioned in many a guide. We took a stroll down and not sure why. Remarkably similar to numerous other streets. 

A relatively, benign climb brings one to The Bastian of the Defense. Constructed in the 16th century, it’s since been fully restored. The afore mentioned Gates of Dawn are the only original surviving section. The walls are visible though a museum, not visited by us, does greater justice to the history of said Bastian. 

Additionally, the neighbourhood boasts a convent, pink church and expensive looking apartments. 

Gediminas Tower, easily visible from the old town, is the last remnant of Vilnius’ Medieval Castle. We declined the climb. 

Four pm arrived. Thankfully, so did Nisha Craft Capital. Indoor/outdoor seating, rock music, 22 taps plus fridges. Perfect.

Trakai – A castle, a lake and rain

Breakfast, bus back to the train station. This time without suitcases. That’s tomorrow.

Today it’s Lake Galvé and Trakai Castle. Today was also torrential torrent day. Trees and porches became our friends. Ducks wore ponchos. 

Train journey is 35 mins, then a relaxed 45 minute stroll around Lake Galvé. 

The final short stretch takes castle hunters away from the lake and into the attractive, predominantly clapboard village of Trakai. Signposted back onto the lake where stalls, restaurants and cafes await. None appealed. Many wares were landfill in waiting.

Two bridges separate tourists from the island Trakai Castle lives on. A 14th century, gothic fortress. Unfortunately falling into ruin in the 17th century the castle has since been reconstructed. 

And it shows. And only having recently toured Nuremberg’s reconstructed castle Trakai Castle didn’t appeal. The €14 entrance, though understandable, sealed the castle’s fate.

Strolled around the castle returning to Trakai village and Kyby Nlar. Surrounded by a Japanese tour group (today Lithuania, tomorrow France) ordered coffee and Kibinai. Both excellent. 

The kibinai is remarkably similar to the empanada which is remarkably similar to a Cornish pasty. Evolution or plagiarism? 

One oddity was a large, again reconstructed, wall, adorned with small defensive towers, enclosing a several football pitches sized area. Though located between Trakai village and the lake we saw no signposting, information boards or otherwise explaining what had appeared in front of us. 

Bizarre.

Anyway, Lake Galvé is glorious, Trakai village fascinating, Trakai Castle more miss than hit. 

We’d caught the 11.36 train returning on the 16.10 train. Specific trains need to be chosen before travel. As mentioned, the castle wasn’t our cup of reconstruction.

However, if it is, I suspect the same trains will suffice. Cost, €6 return. 

Once returned to Vilnius we opted to stroll the 25 minutes to a food hall spotted the previous afternoon. Closed. This being a Monday. Monday is the ideal day to traipse to a favourite restaurant or bar. Doors may not open until Tuesday. 

Finally foddered, sipped some fine wine at PODS Wine bar. Worth a look if in mood for the fermented grape stuff. 

Returned to hotel, packed, slept.

Vilnius Thoughts

Vilnius felt incredibly modern, young and efficient. And is undoubtably one of the cleanest cities ever visited. This, from my train widow watching, appeared to include the country as a whole. Love it.

Locals, though not especially ethically diverse, appear helpful and friendly. Both loved it, an easily recommendable 3 full days stopover for anyone. 

RIGA

There’s only one daily train from Vilnius to Riga. It leaves as 7.30am. Never going to happen. 

Alternatively, coaches leave throughout the day taking about half an hour longer (4.45 hours). Line up that leisurely breakfast.

We booked (ok, Sus did) a LUX express taking, in theory, four and a quarter hours. Only a smidgen longer than the train. Similarly priced at €25 though cheaper coach options are available. We chose an express service, only stopping once with a little more luxury. And I mean a little more.

Vilnius train station is modern, clean with a small variety of eateries. The coach station – visible from train station – feels like a throwback to an earlier era. 

I rarely travel by coach though always remember Victoria Coach Station seemingly scruffier than its train counterpart. Is this universal or only my perception? Are coach stations, railways stations’ poorer cousins?

Our route out of Vilnius drove through attractive neighbourhoods. One small district consisted of 18th and 19th century wooden houses. Riga would have similar such buildings.

Arrived slightly early into Riga bus station. We were never to set foot, or any other part of our

body, into Riga central train station, so my research will need to be continued elsewhere. Now, that’s a cliffhanger.

Walked to our hotel, checked in, left for Old Town (Vecrīga) exploration. Another UNESCO World Heritage site. 

The cobbled streets and medieval layout have largely survived wars and Russian occupation. Unfortunately, much of the medieval centre succumbed to time and the vagaries of humankind and underwent extensive reconstruction post-independence.

Nevertheless, medieval remnants do still survive – The ‘Three Brothers’ houses, Riga Dome, Gunpowder Tower and Riga Castle.

Tragically, late, late night bars, vape and tacky souvenir shops dominate parts of the old town. Nearby restaurants, offering similarly touristy menus, do nothing to inspire. It’s somewhat incongruous. Beautiful buildings, from throughout the ages, garishly vying for your money. 

Or, perhaps, just a return to their origin story. 

Whatever, it’s a tad grim. Unless 50 shots for €25 is your cup of evening entertainment. Stag and hen groups may, however, be wooed. 

A second ring beyond the old town showcases 18th and 19th century elegance. Miraculously, a sprinkling of wooden houses survive alongside numerous art nouveau structures. 

A large park prettily sits beyond this elegance offering tranquillity and green vibes. 

We ate (vegan) in an agreeable neighbourhood the other side of the park before retiring to our hotel. 

Riga – Art Nouveau and Central Market

Both emerged from the land of slumber unexpectedly late. Breakfast, showers, left the hotel about midday. We returned 9 hours and 8 and a half miles later. 

Much of Riga, outside the old town, showcases late nineteenth and early twentieth century elegance with Elizabetes Iela and Alberta Iela the pinnacle of Riga’s Art Nouveau architecture. 

I actually prefer the simplicity of Art Deco but there’s no denying the gorgeousness of these 2 small streets. 

Accidentally discovered Dzirnavu Iela, an attractive main thoroughfare. Unlike old town, tempting eateries are commonplace. Aleksandra Čaka Iela, more main thoroughfare pleasantness, herded us agreeably to old town. 

Average coffee and cake prior to Riga’s huge central market (Rīgas Centrāltirgus). Five pavilions (imaginatively repurposed 1920s Zeppelin Hangers) house fresh produce including meat, fruit, vegetables and fish. 

Ubiquitous landfill wares are also available. 

In case you’re struggling to find that perfect gift/ingredient there’s an outdoor market. Fresh flowers (popular in Latvia), fruit and vegetables dominate. Numerous food stalls dominate one half of one hanger offering local delicacies to hungry tourists and locals alike. Dinner sorted. Twice.

Neither can remember a larger market. Wikipedia also appears to be struggling. 

Ms&Mr Beer was our beer destination of choice. Though small inside, it’s marvellously imaginative. Outside seating is additionally available.

Eight taps and numerous bottles handily listed on a menu. Rock music on repeat. Lamentably, the beer was a bit rubbish. Sus, discretely (ish), poured a quarter of hers into the road. Never a recommendation. 

Little point in staying – the bottles and cans were of a similar quality (I checked) – and so we didn’t.

Walked to BEERA Bar. Twelve taps, fridges full of beer. A huge improvement. We stayed. 

Riga – Chum Gary

Post brekkie, a stroll across the Daugava River, at least twice the width of the Thames. 

After mild map confusion we found ourselves in the Kalnciema Quarter. Agreeable, mildly upmarket with restored and, hopefully, soon to be restored wooden/clapboard buildings. 

One map app finally directed us to the small square we’d been seeking. Pleasant, but suspiciously quiet. No market, no live music. That would be later. About 5 hours later. Didn’t hang around.

Kalnciema sported a middle income ambience. Agreeable if not spectacular.

Rested briefly before heading to Āgenskalns, another obscure website, recommended neighbourhood. We genuinely had no idea what to expect. Nevertheless, agreeably surprised. Not a market, not another overly ornate building. But a small neighbourhood of predominantly late 19th, early 20th century wooden/clapboard dwellings. 

Many had obviously been restored, others were in the process of restoration, a few awaiting benevolent new owners. Shared a commune vibe but really wasn’t. A community yes, a commune no. If a day to many booked in Riga, Āgenskalns would be a worthy diversion. 

Victory Park, a ridiculously short stroll from the ‘not a commune’, offers lush tranquility. 

Another ornate bridge – Riga has a number – brought a short respite back at the hotel. 

A return to Central Market to eat and meet chum Gary. Frustratingly, Gary doesn’t own a smartphone so only caught up with him at BEERA Bar a couple of hours later. With the kind help and intervention of one of Sus’s bestest chums. 

Jurmala Beach and Dzintari Forest Park

On checking in the lovely receptionist suggested, as an excursion, Jurmala Beach. Three days later we confirmed details with a second lovely receptionist. She suggested a small deviation. She suggested alighting train at Dzintari, one station stop before Majori, the stop for Jurmala Beach. 

Genius. 

Train station, return tickets (no need to specify return train) easily purchased from ticket desk, train departed quickly thereafter.

Cost? A meagre €10 for both. Journey time, half an hour. 

Dzintari Forest Park offers towering pines, a skateboard park and a seemingly non ending Tarzan (rope) adventure park. Clean toilets (sampled), a café (not sampled) with further attractions speckle the park.  Additionally, a viewing tower exists within the park. Unfortunately, we never viewed said viewing tower. 

For a relatively small space Dzintari Forest Park is genuinely remarkable. A fabulous resource for children, and to a lesser degree, their parents. Dzintari appears to be a wealthy area. Such a resource is unlike to appear in lower income city districts. Which is a shame.

A stroll down Jūras iela for a consumerism hit, predominantly restaurants and shops. 

In fairness, it’s all rather agreeable. A wide, pedestrian thoroughfare bordered by handsome late 18th, early 19th century architecture. A fair proportion, wooden or clapboard.  

Onwards to the beach. Another surprise. There’s a huge expanse of sand, a well behaved sea and multiple toilets and changing type cubicles.

Greenery skirts the edge of the beach, bars and restaurants are present but never overwhelm. We paddled in the Baltic (yep, cold) though a few hardy souls were somewhat braver. The water remains shallow a remarkably long way out.

Now, neither are beach people, preferring to swim than sunbathe. Nevertheless, this was as fine a beach as either have kicked sand. It could make a fantastic base, especially if children are part of your retinue, with Riga only half an hour away.

Jomas iela, running parallel to Jūras iela, showcases further late 18th, early 19th century architecture. Again much of which is wooden or clapboard. We zig zagged between the two to better get a sense of the neighbourhood. It’s strikingly elegant. Occasionally gorgeous.

By now, nearer Majori Train Station than Dzintari. Both in the same zone (B) so no issue jumping on a train there.

We adored this area and probably spent best part of 4 hours exploring. And a wonderful 4 hours it was. Made the old town look very ordinary. 

Brief hotel stop before popping back out for a couple of vinos. A return to hotel to pack, shower, chill. Reasonably early start the next morning.

Riga Thoughts

The old town is compact and quickly explored. It has charm somewhat ruined by a get pissed, eat crap and vape to we die vibe. Now, for those considerably younger, the old town may well be Valhalla. It had that feel. And who am I to disagree.

Nevertheless, Riga, for us, came into its own outside of the old town. Elegant architecture, bustling streets populated by appealing shops, bars and restaurants. Greenery abounds. Riga has a certain air of sophistication once removed from the old town.

And Riga, as with Vilnius, appears to be exceptionally well kept. Litter was rare, fly tipping non-existent.

And please do create a few free hours for Jurmala Beach, Dzintari and Majori. You will no t be disappointed.

FINAL THOUGHTS

What a tremendous mode of transport train travel is. Obviously, trains have formed an integral element of many of a foreign climes excursions. Though, perhaps never to the same extent.

TF sorting trains and hotels was an undoubted success. Self booking is undoubtably doable, and perhaps cheaper, though can be somewhat daunting. We would not hesitate to use TF again in similar circumstances. 

Train travel, especially on those lengthier journeys, offers a unique opportunity to relax, decouple (get it?) from the many problems of the world. Listen to podcasts, music, read a book or, controversially, chat with your companion. And as, a country not your own, flows conveniently past.

We loved the whole experience. And are planning a longer trip in the next couple of years.

HOME

We sacrificed a very early flight into Gatwick for a later flight into Heathrow. Idea was great, the stopover in Helsinki’s impressive airport made it less so.

Arrived home a little before 6pm with the following day (Sunday) enabling a little recuperation before real life resumed.

Perfect.

Thanks for reading, Tony (July 2026)

Rotterdam

Sus had 3 weeks off before beginning new role. I’m inbetween jobs. And rather enjoying it. If I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t work. Something I recognized in my thirties.

And so, a perfect opportunity for a last impertinent city break before Christmas. Marvellous.

Rotterdam, the lucky winner. Neither’s visited, plus attraction of direct city centre (OK, St Pancras) to Rotterdam Centraal. By Eurostar. 

St Pancras Eurostar terminal a tad tight – when multiple trains departing around the same time – otherwise perfectly serviceable. Journey delayed but pleasantly painless.

We decided to stroll from Rotterdam Centraal to our hotel (Leuvehaven), perhaps 25 minutes.

A modern shopping precinct, pleasantly pedestrianised, offers consumerism for the conspicuous consumers. The precincts appeared dated, but shoppers are offered local and international chains plus a surprisingly number of high end outlets. 

Arrived at hotel around 2pm, too early to check in. Dumped bags, went a wandering. For 4 hours.

Ambled, alongside one of several canals inhabiting Rotterdam, to Markthal. Apartments outside, food hall inside. It’s massive, modern, resembling a mutant Swiss roll. Food stalls galore, world cuisines, cheese purveyors, chocolate aficionados. Didn’t partake, this time.

Verdins Bierwinkel – apart from an amusing name – tempts beer tipplers with 500 plus beers. Mostly on shelves with one fridge. No drinking in, purely takeout. Purchased local brews for the hotel.

Lovely chap dispensing advice and wisdom.

Delfshaven, Fenix Food Factory 

Delfshaven, on the right bank of river Nieuwe Maas, actually grew up around Delft port, before being swallowed whole by Rotterdam. Yummy.

Lucky Delfshaven largely escaped the attention of the German Luftwaffe during WW2 and survives largely intact. It’s a charming mix of canals, traditional architecture (dating back to the 17th century) and converted barges. Oh yes, and a windmill. 

The burb was also where pilgrims sailed to both the UK and the US. Which local establishments have made the most of.

We meandered, parts not on the tourist tick box list, parts that undoubtedly were. Aim for Voorhaven and your sightseeing dreams will come true. Delfshaven is not Venice. Attractive rather than out and out pretty. Very much feels like a neighbourhood on the up, gentrification flowing through its watery arteries.

Nevertheless, it makes for a delightful Rotterdam excursion. 

Rotterdam has an efficient, clean and comfortable metro system. Trams complement the metro. Both transport modes are contactless touch in, touch out.

Not all systems are created equal. We’re spoilt with London’s travel infrastructure, mostly efficient, occasionally frustrating,  

However, one additional stand out feature was an ability to touch in, touch out when using trains. Certainly between Rotterdam and Delft and Rotterdam and Utrecht. Not sure that’s, as yet, widespread in the UK.

Said system smoothly conveyed both to Katendrecht, a Rotterdam district on the south bank of the Nieuwe Maas. The city’s dockland area. 

And home to the Fenix Food Factory. 

It’s a fascinating neighbourhood. Modern residential and office blocks, construction and empty lots, warehouses. Interspersed with waterways. Scruffy around the edges.

Museums, eateries and bars hope to entice and create a thriving community.  And appear to be succeeding. Some of the modern architecture is striking, however the warehouses are the highlight. One in particular was gorgeous. It’s reminiscent of London’s Canary Wharf with a sprinkling of Stratford and a pinch of St Pancras thrown in. It works.  

Fenix Food Factory lives in one of those warehouses. Brand Fenix perhaps feels a tad contrived encompassing warehouses, museums, public spaces and food halls. Utilising the old to appeal to the new.

Nevertheless, again it works.

We comprehensively failed to discover any mythical food hall. Nevertheless, we did discover Kaapse Brouwers. Think Dutch Brewdog. Decent fodder, ok brews, striking venue. 

A large outdoor space, overlooking the water, provides tipplers with a choice of street vendor. The mythical food hall. In the warmer months. Not December.

Leaving the warmth of Kaapse Brouwers we traversed one of the many waterways into Wilhelminaplein, a bustling Rotterdam neighbourhood. Situated at the southern end of the handsome and iconic Erasmus Bridge – witnessed from our hotel – Wilhelminaplein predictably consists of warehouses and contemporary buildings.

And Rotterdam’s Cruise Ship Terminal. Which perhaps explains the more upscale and upmarket feel vibe.

We enjoyed both these developing districts. Much preferring reconstituted docklands to not so reconstituted Delfshaven. We were able to visit both, if you have time for only one make it Katendrecht.

Zwaanshalskwartier, Centraal, Other Bits

Tram 7, alighting at Noorderbrug, deposits sightseers to Zwaanshalskwartier. Swan neck in English. It’s not often something sounds better in English.

Noordplein, with the ominously named River Rotte gurgling along one flank, is the main square of the area. Once famed for vegetables, wood and beer, today boasting a farmer’s market the odd Saturday. Gentrification for you.

The area is renown for boutique this, boutique that. And indeed fine examples of the genre are dotted around. Sus purchased sunglasses and a warm hat from one such vintage store. 

The area is culturally diverse which the high street – Noordmolenstraat – aptly demonstrates. It’s a welcome alternative to chain store massacre.

Coffee at Wolly, on one river corner of Noordplein. Busy with locals, would have eaten there ourselves if not too early.

Opted to meander our way back to Centraal. A 40 minute stroll. Handsome streets, shimmering canals, shiny people all make up these attractive north and north west Rotterdam neighbourhoods. Only an aversion to litter bins disappoint. 

The middle section of our meander was somewhat less attractive. A nondescript neighbourhood apparently and predominately populated with schools and schoolchildren. A Montessori Lyceum and international school dominate. 

A park and zoo abuts school central. Oddly apt. We hoped for an nature bathing amble through the park. Unfortunately, for us not necessarily the animals, the zoo was the park. €30 each. Politely declined.

Relief was the handsomely grand thoroughfare of Westersingel/Mauritsweg. Westersingel essentially is a 19th century canal built to improve sanitation. The stately canal side town houses and villas were constructed around the same time. And remains largely intact due to those WW2 bombers never popping by.

Mauritsweg is the neighbourhood. On leaving the street with 2 names (film in there somewhere) we continued to explore M‘hood. In striking contrast to Westersingel wacky, modern architecture transforms the skyline. Liked it.

Nearby, and our intended destination, was Witte de Withstraat. The street that has it all – art, food, clubbing,

It’s agreeable enough but appeared a tad tourist trappy. Eateries not to our liking, we searched (googled) the intrawebby and discovered the nearby Madam Saigon.

Yes it does remind one of a happy ending sauna but this Madam Saigon proved a delightful Thai restaurant. Not cheap – nothing in Rotterdam is – but deliciously large dishes. Recommended.

Utrecht

Arrived in Utrecht by 10.30 am. Surprised us too. We, by chance, picked a fast train. A smidgen beneath 40 minutes. Pick the slow train (nailed that on return) and looking at 3 days. An hour and a quarter.

The window vistas were neither urban nor countryside. In a state of somewhere in-between. Doing neither any favours.

Happily, Utrecht is an improvement. A beautiful medieval centre (other centuries are available), the highlight the 14th century Domtoren Tower. And one of the lucky survivors from an stupendously destructive storm of August 1674. 

St Martin’s gothic Cathedral, founded by an English monk, part of which survived the 1674 storm, is a close Domplein neighbour. A 500 year friendship. I’ve 40 plus year friendships. Puts human existence into context. 

DOMunder experience guides tourists underneath the square. Roman and later ruins offer insights into past times. It’s approximately 75 minutes which includes a 25 minute introductory chat. And priced at €15pp perhaps only for Roman ruin fanatics. Reasonably interesting though suspect better ways to forgo €15.

Foddered, strolled pleasantly through the town bringing us to De Drie Dorstige Herten. For an ale or two. Obviously. Bijou, 17th century, table service only. No standing allowed.

Ten taps, numerous cans tempt tipplers. Felt local and perhaps throwback to previous times. Each beer was delivered with brief tasting notes from the barman. And possible owner. Give them some love and pop by. 

Slow train back. Sus nodded off. Quick trip to a our new, bestest supermarket, Albert Heijn. 

Returned to our hotel 11 hours after departing.  

Utrecht is a beautiful and easily recommendable day trip. We spent perhaps 4 hours exploring ticking off the majority of major sites. To be honest, Utrecht is deserving of an overnight stay, perhaps a second if plans include beyond the old town.

Delft

Wasn’t originally in our thoughts. Both have previously visited. However, it’s only 10-12 minutes by train from Rotterdam so rude not too. 

Delft train station warrants a mention. In complete contrast to the old town, a homage to modernity.

Delft, renowned for blue and white pottery (Delftware), is canal ringed and the both birthplace and once home of Vermeer. Oddly, his daubs are predominately to be found in the Rijksmuseum. In Amsterdam. 

I know, I’ve been. Big Vermeer fan.

Canals again reign supreme, the Oude Delft Canal the most famous. Architecture encompasses the  12th century (Oude Kerk), 13th century (the then Nieuwe Kerk) and the Renaissance. It’s an easy town to love. And happily meander.

We’d discovered Het Klooster, serendipitously obviously, shortly after our arrival. And returned several exploring hours later.

Thirty taps, predominantly local with Brewdog, Guinness (London Black is much better) and other guests making an appearance. 

Charming indoors, with tippling pews upstairs and downstairs. Worth an ale or two. 

Return to Rotterdam, return to Markthal. Suspected, on our first run through, this might be street food by numbers. We were right. Neither meals was especially inspiring and none of the other stalls appeared especially appealing.

Windmills and a town called Kinderdijk

Our final day. A morning sauna (we turned it on) and a quick steam. Packed, left luggage with hotel and departed on our final excursion – Kinderdijk.

Another UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

Train and tram will land one in the town of Kinderdijk. It’s tad convoluted. And, depending on where you’re departing, slow. Our hotel was based in convenient Leuvehaven, the historic harbour of Rotterdam. Canals, much sought after and beautifully restored Dutch barges, old cranes all contribute to a fascinating district. The area also houses the Maritime Museum.

Obviously, being a harbour, it was a prime target for the German Luftwaffe. And destroyed. Today it’s not so destroyed.

However, even from Leuvehaven, we’d need over an hour to visit Kinderdijk. Not great for last day anxiety.

Alternatively purchase, for a most reasonable €20 outlay, an all-inclusive Kinderdijk ticket. Included is a high speed return water bus (30 minutes), entrance into 2 windmills and old steam pumping station plus others treats I can’t be arsed to mention. Bargain.

Water management of the Alblasserwaard, in the form of dykes and canals, instigated by the foresighted Graaf Floris V, actually began in the 12 century. 

The Het Grote drainage canal was the first to be extended to Kinderdijk. A second drainage canal, Het Nieuwe Waterschap, was also extended to Kinderdijk. Predictably, both canals had their own water authorities. Predictably, they argued. 

The windmills we see today were constructed in the first half of the 18th century to pump water from the Alblasserwaard and into storage reservoirs. No longer in use, a modern electrical, and infinitely more efficient pump, has made them long since redundant.

We spent maybe 2.5 hours strolling through reeds, windmills and popping in and out of attractions. The flat landscape bestows a fitting backdrop.

A small passenger boat (included, obviously), shadows the pathway, transporting those preferring water to walking. We walked. Partly, though not entirely, because we missed the passenger boat.

Beware, the return water bus sails to the city on the three quarter hour, every hour. And, the last one was early evening.

Kinderdijk was a genuine surprise. Enjoyable, instructive and striking. A fascinating time capsule into another time. Undoubtably merits a half day.

Back to our hotel ‘hood and a top notch curry (Atithi). Collected bags and headed home. Eurostar and Picadilly Line both on best behaviour and arrived chez us a little before midnight.

Final Thoughts

Rotterdam is not an especially pretty city. Blame the German WW2 Luftwaffe. Modern architecture dominates, and in the main, succeeds. Canals, and the wildlife they accommodate, are particularly welcome.

Being a port it’s thankfully culturally diverse, unlike Seville. Seville’s lack of diversity was actually a bit of a shock, particularly living in London.

And as with any large city, food, drink, shopping and entertainment options are endless. Green spaces are plentiful and the transport system efficient.

Both Delft and Utrecht merit day trips. Neither are arduous or especially expensive to reach. Sus preferred Delft, Utrecht edged it for me. Hope that helps.

Rotterdam, Delft and Utrecht are cycling towns. Cycle lanes are alongside major roads and become quickly populated during peak times. These ubiquitous cycle lanes, and the cities being relatively flat, undoubtably aid the cycle. And most appeared to be non-electric.

Forget and you may find a bike parked where the sun don’t shine.

London is a long, long way behind.

Would we choose to live in Rotterdam? Probably not. We both preferred the not too dissimilar Hamburg. Nevertheless, if you were to get deposited there, it certainly wouldn’t be a burden.

Many thanks for reading and wishing all a wonderful 2026 (Tony, December 2025)

Seville

A return to Seville. Visiting chums whose fabulous wedding we’d attended, in Seville, whilst Covid was still dominating world headlines. A Gatwick departure, flight and taxi to perhaps 15 minutes amble from Seville FC (where chums live) all trouble free. Ironically, neither of our hosts has any interest in the beautiful game.

Landing quite late meant, once gossip caught up, we retired to the guest boudoir.

Carmona

Breakfast and natter completed, an Uber to Carmona, a Renaissance town overlooking the central plain of Andalusia. Cost, around €30. Journey time, 25 minutes or so.

It was chilly and damp. Those weather people had been telling fibs. Wandering around Carmona’s Renaissance historic heart it’s impossible not to notice the abundance of churches, monasteries and other religious paraphernalia. Beautiful all, but surely an over indulgence? Bygone inhabitants must have been especially keen or especially naughty.

Prominent churches include Iglesia de Santa María de la Asunción (15th century, predictably constructed on former mosque); Iglesia de San Pedro (of tower fame, dating back to 15th century); Iglesia de San Felipe (another former mosque morphed into a Renaissance church); Iglesia de San Bartolomé (more 15th century churchyness).

All received later embellishments, Baroque much favoured. There’s a few Euro entrance fee to some.

The Alcazar fortress took us a little by surprise. We hadn’t expected it to be there. Brought into existence by the Carthaginians (possibly a planet conquering alien race in Star Trek), inevitably added to by the Romans, tweaked by the Moors and finally the Christians, this fortress palace is a mighty monster.

Sadly neglect, earthquakes and vandalism have left the fortress in an unhappy state. Nevertheless, it still projects power and control, dominating the landscape in which it resides.

More positively, the striking fortress gate is integrated into the luxurious Parador de Carmona Hotel. And, on our visit, thankfully undergoing restoration.

Do have a snoop into the hotel. It’s quite beautiful and acts as a viewing platform across the Andalucía landscape. Which is surprisingly flat.

Undoubtably beautiful the historic centre feels a little run down and scruffy around the edges. In its defence the chilly and damp weather and almost deserted streets did Carmona no favours.

A wait for return Uber afforded time for quick explore of the modern town. It’s an interesting contrast. OK, the weather was still rubbish but a bustling high street and attractive neighbourhoods left a positive impression.

Back to our hosts, who knowing of my craft beer fetish, kindly booked a table at a brewery a 10 minute walk from their home.

Unbeknown to them, Cruzcampo could never be my cup of saison. Nevertheless, the large bar is striking, live music always welcome and one IPA unexpectedly quaffable.

More importantly, and worth applauding, many of the staff are taken from less privileged backgrounds and given the opportunity to thrive. Our young lady was delightful. Worth a beer or two.

Friday morning, post brekkie, we strolled into the old town, perhaps 25 minutes from our hosts. The stroll, with exception of Estadio Ramon (Seville FC), offered little of note.

Not so the old bits. Old town Seville (Barrio Santa Cruz, a former Jewish quarter) is a heady mix of Islamic, Gothic and Renaissance architecture dotted with narrow passageways, pretty squares and grand churches. Having previously tick boxed, explored and quite possibly bought a fridge magnet, aimlessly meandering was our chosen option.

Wandered into the main university complex (mid 18th century), spotting anxious prospective parents being given the tour presumably before allowing their offspring to escape. Next, a riverside amble, the River Guadalquivir our soggy companion. Supposedly, the only navigable river in Spain and a significant factor in Seville’s trade success and subsequent development.

The new town, a mix of 18 and 19th century architecture, shouts elegance. With more modern influences, some unfortunately less successful than others.

Post welcome and excellent coffee and fresh orange juice pause, something a mite different. Standing in the Plaza de la Encarnación is Metropol Parasol, also known as the ‘mushrooms of Seville’. Supposedly the largest wooden construction in the world, opened in 2011, and an opportunity to revitalise the square. A meat and fish market lives below, stalls above. Roman ruins are cleverly incorporated into the structure. So cleverly I don’t recall spotting them.

A car park was the original fate of the square. I prefer the mushroom.

Plus, a bonus a bonus craft beer gaff lives in the meat market. Whoopee. La Joyeria. Open during day though appears to close late afternoon – presumably keeping market hours. 

A noteworthy venue, though the smell might not be to all tastes. A tad meaty. And chilly. Nevertheless, six taps and couple of fridges tempt punters. The chap (owner?) serving those tempting libations is helpful and friendly. Pop in, say hello.

That evening. bus and stroll to a wine bar – Pina Lola. Another chum of host. Conversation and wine flowed, food appeared.

A final alcoholic beverage, in cocktail form, was sipped atop a hotel rooftop terrace peering over the Cathedral.

Charming way to finish off the evening.

Cordoba, Courtyards and Long Lunches

The following morning a taxi delivered us plus host to train station, a train efficiently  to Cordoba in less than an hour.

Cordoba, renown for its courtyards (there’s a festival every year to prove it), is a city both have previously stayed and enjoyed. Guided by our host, and one his favourites, located in plaza de Don Gome, resides the charming 14th century Palace of Viana.

We paid only to view the 12 courtyards (believe €8.5) though other rooms can be added for an extra cost. Each courtyard is extravagantly decorated with plants and orange trees. Even, as it was, in winter. Other attractions are dotted amongst the courtyards.

The area surrounding Palace of Viana is a delightful collection of white painted terrace streets perhaps the equal of the palace itself. Leave time for a quick gander.

Familiarly nondescript neighbourhoods brought us to a Michelin recommended restaurant. Terra Olea and another host favourite.

Exquisite food, delightful company, decent wine. A suitably long lunch. One of the great pleasures of existence.

Museums and Planes

A smooth return journey followed by further tipples and conversation back at our hosts.

The next day was sadly our last. However, a late flight meant an opportunity for some art – Museo de Bella’s Artes de Sevilla. The 16th century building (though extensively remodelled in the 17th), was once a convent morphing into a gallery in the 19th century.

Spanish masters include Francisco da Herrera, Murillo, El Greco, Velásquez, Francisco Zurbarán plus a few non-Spanish interlopers. The ground floor hosts the Spanish chaps, the first floor the interloper chaps.   

Babies and children are not my thing. At all. Neither am I religious. The ground floor is a love fest of religious scenes, religious characters and, most disturbingly, cherubs. I’ve a particular dislike of these creepy figures. Especially those with only a head and wings sprouting from better not ask. Really not my cup of canvas. Or Sus’s.

Nevertheless, there’s no denying the artistry, and in some cases, power of these daubs. To many, in the 17th century, they quite possibly were terrifying.

The first floor offers respite. Helped by a little Dutch realism and moderated religious scenes. Whatever your worldview the Museo de Bella’s Artes is worth a gander. Entrance fee is a measly €3 and a hour and a half should amply suffice.

Lunch was a underwhelming affair. And so back to our hosts to collect bags and say goodbye.

Conclusions

Seville, Carmona and Cordoba are blessed with beautiful historic centres and architecture. Yes, the neighbourhoods we encountered lacked any visual appeal. Nevertheless, none were grim, all felt safe. And, of course, true of any city anywhere.

Insider knowledge, from our 2 hosts, proved invaluable. Carmona was on their recommendation and we experienced places not managed in past stays.

Perhaps 3 nights would suffice in Seville, 1-2 in Cordoba with Carmona being day trip material.

Would we live in any? Nope, not for us. Valencia or San Sabastian would be our preference. Nevertheless, all 3 are worthy of your time and consideration.

Thanks for reading, Tony Leigh (December 2025).

KENYA

Yet again, we left holiday plans to a month before departure. Japan, again not an option, we opted for Africa or the Middle East.

Kenya triumphed.

Trailfinders took the strain, and a considerable amount of our money. We were to fly into Nairobi, safari for about a week before a couple of days on the beach. A little under 2 weeks in total.

NAIROBI

Arrival

Gatwick. Not ideal though late morning flight, compensated. Nine hour flight passed pleasantly film goggling. A mild upgrade assisted. Tad more leg room, no unwanted guest sat between.

With Kenya 2 hours ahead of London, we escaped the airport a smidgen before 11pm. Martin, our TF driver, promptly picked us up, dropping us at the hotel and smoothed our Nairobi hotel check in. And mentioned, Nairobi, in the Masai language, meant ‘cool waters’. Apparently, dependent of who you spoke with, Nairobi has a number of interpretations. Though most appeared to agree ‘water’ was an important element.

Elephants and Beads

After an excellent breakfast Martin, our aforementioned driver, trundled us to KOBA, a non profit organisation, staffed mainly by women. Ceramic beads, crafted mud to bead in-house, and decorative leather accessories.

The charming Sarah showed us the process, then the shop. An entertaining interlude offered the opportunity to demonstrate our dancing skills. Alongside our the ladies working there. Perhaps the ladies were going through the motions, if enthusiastically. Perhaps we were still in London less than 24 hours away. Mortifying.

The shop showcased their wares. And beautiful those wares are if surprisingly expensive.

Elephants followed gems, the Sheldrake Wildlife Trust (https://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/). The sanctuary takes in orphaned elephants before releasing back into the wild – a process spanning an unexpected 5 years. And take a wild guess what is responsible for, in the main part, orphaning elephant. Yep, us. Poaching and territory encroachment being the main culprits.

Encouragingly, we were to later learn poaching is declining. Consumer pressure, and consumer choice, have led to a collapsing market for ivory. Yeh, a win for the humans.

Open only between 11am and noon it was unsurprisingly teeming with visitors. And tour group vehicles. Toyota particularly prominent. Martin slipped through the thronging masses. We sheepishly followed. And secured a prime vantage point.

A small muddy pool, two piles of red dirt, no elephants. Promptly at 11am 13 elephants exited the forest, ambled across a clearing, closed on the pool. Some almost skipping, anticipating treats.

Varying from a few months to 5 years old these magnificent creatures entertained the captivated crowd. And I suspect they knew.

Rangers fed them fortified formulated milk – milking a lady elephant is never going to end well – with greenery strewn for choice munching. A couple of younger elephants would squeal indignantly and chase rangers if believed short changed on the milk. Unbearably cute. Others rolled in the red dirt which helps to protect from sun and insects. They also happen to love it. Another relaxed, blissfully unaware, in the pool using its trunk as a shower head.

To the merriment of onlookers one opportunist male elephant mounted an embarrassingly relaxed lady elephant. Lady elephant, after enduring his enthusiastic if misguided attempts, clambered up and ambled off. Oh dear.

A few even wandered close enough to pet. Which they apparently enjoy. Their skin is rough and hairy. Wrinkles everywhere. A dermatologist’s worst nightmare.

Whilst utterly engrossed with these characterful characters we spotted numerous gazelle, a sole giraffe and a single snuffling warthog (warthogs were to become a favourite) traverse the clearing.

Do go, it’s a fabulous cause and is, as humans, the least we can do. 

Martin delivered us to our hotel. Rested, still drained from previous day’s 15 hour travel exertions. A shopping mall stood opposite. We ambled across. Ambled back. Little of interest with the exception of a food court. Where we were politely hassled.

We ate at the hotel, and discovered 3 channels dedicated to football. Oh, what joy. OK, that’s me. Champion’s League footy followed. Before 8 hours of sleep.

Walking Tour Day

Early breakfast – a common occurrence – before an Uber dropped us in Nairobi’s Central Business District (CBD).

The traffic was nasty, pollution was worse. Half the vehicles, justifiably, would be scrapped in the UK. Unfortunately, this would comprise much of any public transport and cargo hauling capacity. Fully electric vehicles were non-existent.

Police controlled roundabouts, lane discipline wasn’t, battle scarred buses menaced. Small capacity Uber motorcycles groped their way through traffic. Drivers wore helmets, passengers didn’t. Spotted one struggling with 3 passengers, another loaded up with veg.

People strolled between the lanes of motionless and not so motionless traffic selling everything from sweets, footballs and clothes. I’m not sure I didn’t see one lady selling insurance. We later learnt some had a cheeky side hustle – selling marijuana to supplement their land fill wares. For medical reasons. Obviously.

A golf course, complete with resident storks, lived alongside this madness. Those ungainly, but magnificent, birds also hogged the trees. They don’t appear capable of flight. Must use ladders. Remarkably, these ungainly giants, are graceful flyers. More remarkably, their touchdowns are tidy, utterly devoid of comical incident.

Nevertheless, chaos it may have appeared, organised chaos it actually was. Remarkably, horns rarely parped, blared or beeped. Road rage, surprisingly scarce.

Welcome to Africa.

Anyway, the walking tour. Our small group were a mixed bunch – Mexican, Japanese, Nigerian, Polish. And us. They proved to be wonderful, informative and fun companions. As was John, our guide, plus his 2 colleagues.

John, was late. We figured an hour, hour and a half tops for the tour. John mentioned 2 hours, though he was a tad vague. It took 3. The CBD hosts government buildings, businesses and the central Catholic Church and Mosque. The church probably does better business than the Mosque. Eighty percent of Nairobians are Christian.

Perhaps ironically, perhaps not, a majority of the older, attractive structures date from British rule. The British gained control toward the latter end of the 19th century with Kenya officially becoming a colony in 1920. Kenya achieved independence from Britain in 1963.

One such colonial building is the elegant library. And a mite odd it is. In need of renovation and housing books, in English, dating from no later than the 1990s. Most hadn’t been checked out since the 80s, others not at all. Wonder why. Nevertheless, WiFi appeared in working order. Students were using the library to study. If not the books. Bizarre.

We nipped into the indoor city market, an elegant early 20th century structure. It’s an odd place. Part tourist trap, with remarkably few punters. Plus a meat and fish market, a few eateries, both aimed squarely at locals. The market, with its high ceiling, might be mistaken for a church long since repurposed. It isn’t and never was.

Beautiful, intimidating hawks assembled on the roof, selecting lunch.

The Kenyatta International Conference Centre (KICC) is one of Nairobi’s most iconic buildings. Plonked up in the 70s and located in one of Nairobi’s city squares. Friends and neighbour include government buildings and the Supreme Court.  

Designated smoking areas exist across the city for the addicted. I don’t recall anyone vaping with smoking rare. Interestingly smoking is not only banned in restaurants, bars and other traditional venues but additionally on Nairobi streets.

A brilliant, informative 3 hours. The group learned from John, John learned from the group. Interestingly, this diverse group shared similarly commonsense politics and liberal leaning beliefs. It was that kind of group. There is hope.

Uber back to the hotel, in half the time it took us to get there. Rush hour is still rush hour the world over.

And before departing Nairobi for a spot of animal worrying, Nairobi National Park – all 225 acres – is worthy of a mention. Dating back to the 1920s, and only a few kilometres from the CBD, it hosts numerous wildlife. Many we would later encounter of safari. We weren’t to visit though glimpsed antelopes and giraffes as driven past. I questioned – briefly and quietly – the need for an expensive safari.

SAFARI

Masai Mara Drive Day

A 7.00am briefing, a 7.30am start meant a 5.30 alarm clock. I was beginning to appreciate the lure of a beach holiday.

Parked outside was a decade old – at least – Toyota Landcruiser. Suspiciously, resembling a Land Rover of similar vintage. Six of us, plus luggage and our driver Edmund, clambered aboard. Old school. The diesel engine had decided against a turbocharger. It showed on the hills. However, off-road, the green beast gobbled everything in its path. These Toyotas were standard tourist company fare. Ubiquitous. Tough and reliable mechanical beasts of burden.

Driving initially on a raised toll road we tootled through Nairobi’s upmarket and expensive business and residential district.

For contrast we next drove by the shantytown. Or slum if being unkind. We only briefly glimpsed the shantytown proper and we’ve experienced worse. The road sprinting past, the road we were on, wasn’t so lucky. Ramshackle dwellings and businesses, many with improbable names, with titanic levels of trash. Piles abandoned, piles burnt, other piles still burning.

Next onto the Rift Valley Highway. Upwards, a short vantage point halt, downwards. Into the rift valley proper. Over 6,000 kilometres long, welcoming 14 counties and formed by clever tectonic plates. Once a wilderness now colonised, if not completely, by humankind. It’s not an improvement. Animals used to roam freely across the landscape. Very few do so now.

Small, scruffy, plastic dominated settlements – shantytowns really – adorn the landscape. Wildlife replaced by plastic. Narok, the largest town and county capital, proved, in the main, a welcome exception. Once freed from shantytowns the landscape recovers.

Humans, trash. Less humans, less trash. No Humans, no trash. It’s not a Kenya thing, it’s an everywhere thing. And, compared with various developing countries visited, Kenya was a definite improvement.

We arrived, after about 6 hours, at the Masai Mara National Reserve. Gate traversed, wildlife miraculously appeared. It’s as if they knew.

Checked into our Masai Mara lodge, lunched and wandered to the hippo enclosure. Nothing. Then a rock yawned. What we believed rocks were beached sunbathing hippos. Too many to count. Smelly creatures. Noisy creatures. Marvellous creatures.

Relaxed before our first game drive. Masai Mara comprises of rolling grasslands, copses of scrubby acacia trees and undulating hills. Could have been Surrey.

The lone tree, an instathingy classic.

Told you.

The reserve is teeming. Over the following 2 hours we saw Zebra (numerous), warthogs (comically cute), elephants (dignified), water buffalo and various flavours of deer and antelope. Thousands of wildebeest (migration season) and 2 lady ostriches competing for one smug male. Lazily loping hyenas were distinctly familiar. Think self-assured dog.  

Highlight was a gorgeous lioness with 3 stupidly cute cubs.

The Sand River divides Kenya from Tanzania. And Masai Mara from the considerably larger Serengeti. Some CV. We spotted both wildebeest and zebra traversing the river. So had our lady lioness.

Wildebeest and zebra, when migrating, often hang together. Wildebeest possess keen hearing, zebras keen eyesight. Teaming up make predators easier to discern. Destination reached, each ghosts the other, until return migration.

Our lady lioness, leaving her cubs, went walkabout. Then a lie down. Our driver, plus one other Toyota parked perhaps 10 feet away. Ten humans gawking. She briefly glanced up, twitched an ear and ignored us. As if to say ‘bugger off’ I’m preparing dinner. Once I catch it. No supermarkets in Masai Mara.

Balloons, More Masai Mara, Crocodiles

A 4am alarm call is never welcome. Sus had persuaded me a balloon trip is what was needed. Though both had ballooned before. One of which was together in Egypt.

Unlike Egypt the trip was well organised and regulated. An hour soaring, often at no more than 20 -30 feet, above the Masai Mara. Fabulous experience. Nothing new showed but afforded a different perspective of the landscape. Worth considering. Though not cheap.

Champagne breakfast next. Setting, Masai Mara. London is many things, breakfast views of loping hyenas and migrating zebra isn’t one. An omelette added normal.

Edmund picked us up around 9am from where breakfast was camped. Until 4pm, including a couple of short pee and fodder breaks, we gamed drove.

We got lucky. Elephants, zebras, numerous deer types, migrating wildebeests herds plus the ever comical warthogs. And they’re equally comical young. Love Warthogs.

Nevertheless, highlights were a cheetah, leopard and 3 lions, one a lazy male, one younger wannabe lazy male.

The drivers communicate with each other, by mobile or stopping to exchange safari gossip. Suddenly you’ll spot a pride of Toyotas congregated around one small area. Our cheetah was discovered by this very safari grapevine. Along with 19 other Toyotas. Our cheetah chum, sat at the base of a tree, seemed utterly unconcerned. Probably mildly vexed. I would be.

He or she went walkabout, possibly hoping for an easy 2 legged lunch, before ambling into the scrub.

Authenticity, Toyota Time, Lake Naivasha

A 5.45am alarm call. And an early visit to a Maasai village. Welcomed, and reluctant participants, of a dance, demonstrated prior to village tour – a scruffy circular mud brick village. More mortification. I’m just not made to dance.

We learnt a little about Masai culture and able to enter one mud brick hut. Nevertheless, the experience, as we’d feared, never felt authentic. Even our initial guide, charming as he was, never truly believed in what was actually articulated.

Ended with a pushy tour and sales pitch of the village souvenir market. Promised the opposite. Fucked me off. I stalked out. Righteous in my anger. And dragged Sus with me. Our guide/salesman ran after us, offering a fair price on our chosen handmade ornament. We accepted. We’d grown fond of our little, stone rhino and the money goes – supposedly – to good causes such as schoolbooks.

Part authenticity, part 21st century, part sales pitch. My time again, wouldn’t bother.

Toyota time. A 5 hour journey to Lake Naivasha. Lake Naivasha is a fresh water lake situated in the ever encompassing Rift Valley. Covering 139km square, with a surrounding swamp of 64km square, this mischievous little lake has been encroaching year on year. Evidenced by the dead or dying fever trees. It’s a tad eerie. Our hotel had lost garden, a jetty and what was probably once a bar to lake creep.

The good natured fever tree still encircles the lake beyond the swamp. Even as their brethren were drowning.

Wildlife is abundant. Hippos, flamingos and 400 bird varieties. Crescent Island host African staples such as giraffes, zebras and waterbucks. Part of our package included an hour’s boat trip. The lake is huge, until the boat trip we hadn’t realised how huge. Crescent Island – with that small sanctuary, blocks the view of one half of the lake.

The hotel gardens, with lakeside views, made a pleasant haven. The Vaulet monkeys made it less so. Cuddly cute, terribly temperamental. Monkeys retrieved/stole anything discarded/unguarded. Their ingenuity, opening bottles of water and sugar packets, is undeniably admirable. Unfortunately, one enterprising individual leaped onto a table of 4 and enthusiastically engaged in a tug of war with a lady holding fruit juice. It lost. And promptly bit the lady.

Sod valour and views. Retired to the veranda where Brighton verses Spurs match was being shown. Cracking game.

As nightfall descends, wildlife ascends. Hippos, zebras and deer all magically appear on the lawn. Ealing Common will never be the same again.

Toyota Time, Amboseli National Park

Left the hotel at 7.30am. A 7 hour drive northeast awaited.

In actuality, it wasn’t especially arduous. Initially, the scenery similar to Masai Mara but gradually usurped by a drier, flatter landscape. Nicely finished with abundant small trees.

Trundling up and out of the rift valley was tedious. Trucks and lorries are Kenya’s life blood, bringing goods in and, via the port at Mombasa, exporting others out. Many struggled up the steep incline, overtake one and another 3 magically appeared. Truck Whacamole.

One particular truck had a chap jogging alongside trying to flog the driver corn. He wasn’t even running. Roadside stalls flogging cooked corn were common.

Same ramshackle, trash filled towns and, as we skirted Nairobi, Africa’s second largest slum. Soweto in Cape Town holds that particular accolade. Edmund mentioned many people choose to live there. It’s outside the control of local government so cheap. No electricity, water or service charges.

Our destination was Amboseli Reserve. The latter part of our drive to the reserve was a most welcome trash free. Lack of human habitation the undoubted reason. It felt part of the reserve without actually being so. Drier conditions delivered dust. Lots of it.

On entering the Amboseli desert confronted us. Miraculously, after all fooled by a water mirage, water did appear. The flat landscape transformed into a watery, green paradise. Palm trees replaced acacia trees with mountains encircling this relatively petite park. Mount Kilimanjaro, selfishly in Tanzania, dominates.

Checked in, quickly ate before our game drive at 4pm. Most game drives happened early morning or late afternoon. Wildlife is at its most obliging. And the lake and marshlands provide for abundant life

The usual peeps. Plus special guests. Flamingos and elegant wading birds. An abandoned hotel complex, testament to a higher water table, adds an eerie element. An enchanting place. That contrast between desert and marshland will live long in the memory.

Tsavo West, Two Pool Day

Left early, safaris not designed for those who enjoy a lie in and leisurely breakfast. We headed east towards Tsavo West National Park. Kilaguna Serena Safari Lodge our host for the evening. Overlooked by the captivating Chyulu Hills. About a 4 hour drive.

Same old, same old. Plastic strewn ramshackle towns, either side of an enchanting African backdrop.

We’d observed, on roads outside of the parks, a number of oddities. Many hotels – at least advertised as such – had a sideline as butchers. A splatterfest twist on Psycho perhaps.

Two telecom organisations (Airtel and Safaricom) dominate any advertising. Many a ramshackle town boasts single story brick constructs painted entirely in the logo of one or the other. Smartphone obsession, online persona, is a worldwide phenomenon.

Many other businesses and dwellings are constructed from corrugated iron and whatever else comes to hand. The small, diverse businesses, are improbably named. Occasionally with religious connotations, more inventively, and amusingly, with an overblown but optimistic monickers.

Churches, of varying dominations, are omnipresent. Some are makeshift, others appear more established.

And the terrain become noticeably drier, paradoxically with a greater concentration of small trees. Flat vistas surrendered to hills and mountains.

Undertaking the final 60 kilometres on an unpaved road wasn’t uncommon. The parks and reserves were predominantly unpaved. However, this 60km stretch, was a proper suspension workout. Pitted, crated with, in some places, innocuous ripple like furrows running across roads. These furrows were nasty, capable of shaking an unwary motor to little pieces. Astonishingly, a small Toyota Corolla passed in the opposite direction. And our front bumper fell off. Or would have if Edmund hadn’t bodged a temporary repair.

Otherwise, our Toyota made light work of it. The humans less so. Shaken and decidedly stirred. The so called ‘African massage’. And, as with Amboseli, this 60km of human blending shared a strong semblance of the park proper. Without actually being so.

After lunch, and much needed downtime, another game drive. A dry landscape of open grassland and unexpected tree frequency. Again usual wildlife chums, a highlight 3 lions chilling after their own late lunch.

Strangely, our lodge, was the main event. The restaurant/bar was a huge, vaulted space open to African vistas. Stunning in its own way. Two large ponds, presumably deliberately located, sat below the wine and beer drinking gawkers. Us included.

Rush hour ensued. Lone male elephants, elephant family groups, elephants en masse splashed, sploshed, played. Arguments were quickly settled, with a gentle push here, a gentle shove there. Why are humans incapable of such compromise.

Groups of elephants would stroll into the night only to return.

It was a mesmerising scene.

Elephants were not alone. Water buffalo, wildebeest, deer and antelopes captivated diners and drinkers alike. And let’s not forget that crowd pleaser, the always comical warthog

One newlywed lost her husband to elephants. Better than the bridesmaid.

Last Day of Safari, Day

An 8am departure. Rejoice. Didn’t know what to do with ourselves. And our final safari drive.

Tsavo West National Park is vast. Really vast. And there’s a Tsavo East National Park. Once one, now siblings divided by a long ago abandoned railway line. Still visible in places.

We drove an hour to escape the clutches of Tsavo West. Spent perhaps 10 minutes escaping only to be drawn back in via another entrance. Posh name, the Taita Hills Wildlife Sanctury.

Our residence for the night was Taita Hills Lodge. On stilts.

The lowest level, roughly 20 feet above terra firma. Or, the height of one adult elephant. Not that this, in the slightest, hindered gibbons in their quest for food. These implausibly agile apes make cats appear awfully clumsy. Clever, strong and unafraid.

Taita Hills Lodge resembles a medieval German castle. Without all that bashing each other over the head with an unwieldly weapon of choice. Similar scenery as across the road. The Taita Hills, part of the Eastern Arc Mountains, were ever present in the distance and near distance.

Wonderful vistas and, as with Kilaguna, manmade pools strategically located. A small crescent pool dwelt directly in front of our pseudo castle. Elephants loved it. Slurping a few feet from smitten tourists. One casualty were small fish. Poor buggers slurped up, slurped out. Often onto dry land. Not ideal. Casualties were high.

Our 4pm game drive, always captivating, was unfavourably quiet. Drier conditions were, supposedly, the culprit. We, plus many others, splashed out on a night game drive, this being an optional extra.

A lioness crunching and tearing through a wildebeest she’d killed is a sound unlikely to be forgotten. A near adult male lion lounged lazily on the roadside. Loving its heat retention qualities.

The night game drive proved an interesting diversion. Not an essential diversion. That is, unless like us, you live in a large city, and the stars and solar system are, seemingly, permanently elsewhere. Probably a first for me, the night sky set out in all its mystifying glory. Totally spellbinding. And recognising our utter insignificance.

And that was that. Our last game drive.

MOMBASA RESORT HOTEL

A five hour drive, unexpectedly swapping vehicles twice, brought us to White Sands Resort Hotel. A 1980s mildly faded dream. Nevertheless, an amicable companion for our last couple of nights. And a peaceful one.

Once installed on main road into Mombasa, one peculiarity was particularly noticeable. A distinct disparity between trash levels on the lefthand roadside and righthand roadside. The left was plastic peppered, the right, for the most part, wasn’t. Weird.

Kenya doesn’t have clean drinking water. A substantial amount of discarded plastic witnessed over the 2 weeks were plastic water bottles. One hopes clean drinking water is a priority.

Two days of swimming, sea and resort pools, relaxing and eating. Particularly eating. Enjoyable, perhaps even endured another day.

Saying that, vaguely flummoxed why anyone would extend their stay beyond 2-3 nights. We chatted to one group who’d booked a week. They also appeared vaguely flummoxed to why. Limited activities (the hotel complex was relatively small) and Mombasa is no Venice.

Meals become the main event. Or create your own murder mystery knocking off guests. Only the annoying ones.

We were picked up, as arranged, and delivered to Mombasa airport. Some confusion, but we survived security.

Twin prop (car engined) plane, seemingly half full of school children awaited. It was not a quiet flight. Mercifully, less than an hour.

Nairobi is a big city. Nairobi airport is not a big city airport. On landing on the domestic side, we looked in vain for obliging signs steering tired tourists to connecting flights. Nothing. Resorted to asking a security guard. Then across a busy road to international airport. More security checks and a guess to where passport control was. Inside things don’t especially improve. All in all, a bit of a mess.

One exception was Art Café. Good value food, a warm welcome.

And that is pretty much that. Apart from a 23 hour journey to chez us. Three hour delay and 4 screaming babies on an eight and a half hour flight. And we’d paid a small premium for the pleasure. London could not arrive quick enough.

SUMMARY

Cities

Both grateful we chose Nairobi to be a destination, not only a staging post. Both our Toyota chum couples flew in the night before the safari began. 

It’s not perfect. You’d struggle to call Nairobi pretty, pollution is rife, the discrepancy between those that have and those that have not is blatant and growing. Where isn’t it.

Nevertheless, Nairobi is a fascinating city, gradually transforming into a modern city. It’s East Africa’s central hub and will only continue to modernise. Highly recommend catching a CBD walking tour. Offers a perspective of one of Africa’s fastest growing metropolises you wouldn’t otherwise get.

Not for everyone though would encourage all to give Nairobi a chance.

Mombasa is another city determined to modernise. Expressed in massive infrastructure projects, popping up apartment blocks and the appearance of new shopping malls. Our journey to our hotel, and 3 days later to the airport, had afforded us a glimpse.

We also passed through pleasant, reasonably affluent neighbourhoods close to our resort hotel and, perhaps more traditionally, a huge open market. Engulfed by tuk tuks.

Safari

Was more a Sus thing than a Tony thing. Sus has wished to safari for years. And, though we’ve visited Egypt, neither as adults has visited Africa proper. Sus actually lived in South Africa from about 6 months to 7 years old and still retains memories of that time.

A safari certainly isn’t everyone’s cup of wildebeest. Early starts, inordinate amounts of time spent in a wannabe Landrover, rarely resting for more than a single night in the same place. We never fully unpacked.

Nonetheless, it’s an incredible and heart warming way to fritter a few days. To enjoy these gorgeous, gorgeous creatures in their natural habitat is both a joy and privilege.

Favourite animal? Akin to choosing between a scotch egg, sausage roll or pork pie (pork pie for the record). Elephants, marginally. Such gentle, dignified, all knowing beasts. Though that comically cute, and surprisingly adept, warthog wasn’t far behind. The weirdest, ostriches. By some distance.

None of the wildlife disappoints, even after repeatedly observing. There was always something else to marvel at.

A safari, as I’ve mentioned, is not for everyone. It’s expensive and not an especially relaxing approach to any vacation. Nevertheless, if undecided, I urge you to at least investigate further. A week is not a prerequisite. Borrow a day, or perhaps a couple of days, from another holiday. Include a short safari into a longer break.

You won’t be disappointed. Unless, of course, you dislike animals. Then you might be.

Final Thoughts

Kenya, as did many countries, struggled for an identity post-independence. One party rule, ethnic tensions, social and economic woes all played their part in a difficult transition. And still applicable, perhaps, to much of our world today. Including my own country.

However, today Kenya is a democracy and, certainly to our eyes, felt very much the modern state it is hoping to become.  

Jambo, in Swahili, translates as hello. This wonderfully welcoming and optimistic word perhaps best describes our experience of this magnificent country.

Many thanks for reading, Tony Leigh (October 2025).












































































Sent from my iPhone

Edinburgh

Arrival

Sus was working in Edinburgh for a couple of days so I, gallantly, offered to accompany her. I’m just that kind of guy.

Flight delayed, arrived into Edinburgh airport well after 10pm. Thankfully an efficient tram service into the city soothed annoyance.

Unfortunately, concert of someone I’d never heard of turning out at the time of my landing. Probably deliberate.

Tram jammed with predominantly teenage girls. With cowboy hats and tassels. Perfectly pleasant, if a thousand per square foot.

Hotel, Caught up with Susan, went to bed.

Roaming Free

Sus bringing home vegan bacon following day so roaming free for me. Princes Street beckoned. One side, gorgeous vistas of Edinburgh Castle and the Royal Mile’s derrière. The other, Edinburgh’s Oxford Street. Or London’s Princes Street.

Took a mild left onto Leith Walk. It’s quite a walk. Agreeable enough with, in the main, independent shops bars and restaurants. Came to South Leith, didn’t hang around. This was Leith before the gift of regeneration. Not horrendous, not great either.

Moved quickly through South Leith entering Old Leith, Edinburgh’s harbour district. The Shore, a street fronting Leith docks, houses architecture dating back to the 15th century. The 19th century harbour master buildings were especially gorgeous. Restaurants and bars entice locals and tourists alike. New flat developments entice estate agents.

Leith docks boasts a deep water harbour and still in use today. Redevelopment abounds with new flats, office and retail space.

The de-commissioned Royal Yacht Britannia is berthed here. And now open to the hoi polloi. For a cost.

Our hotel was nearby Haymarket and, to The Shore, took perhaps an hour and fifteen. One of Edinburgh’s efficient, clean and comfortable trams deposited me back there.

A brief hotel inspired respite before exploring the elegant, Georgian St Andrew’s Square and environs. The so called New Town’s origin story. Green in the middle hosting events such as the Fringe. Shops and restaurants are never too far away.

On discovering St Andrew’s Square I also discovered Rose Street. Designed as service road to the posh gaffs of the New Town’s in the latter half of the 18th century. Cheeky.

Traditional Scottish Pubs, independent eateries and boutiques dominate. Particularly the former. Additionally a UNESCO World Heritage Site. So getting pissed is culturally approved. Definitely merits a stroll even if afore mentioned culturally approved tippling lacks appeal.

Spent late afternoon and early evening, the latter with Sus, in the Wee Vault. A Vault City taproom. Twenty four taps, predominantly their own, predominantly modern sours. It’s their thing. One large fridge, and some shelving, showcase their own and guest beers.

Wee Vault is tiny. It’s not being ironic. No outdoor space either. Don’t arrive late expecting a seat. Enjoyed our time there and worth a visit if modern sours are your cup of sourness. Or to discover what all the fuss is about.

Royal Mile, Another Parliament, Arthur’s Seat

Was crowded, crammed, frustrating. Murder mile. The upper segment is mercifully pedestrianised, the lower segment is not. Edinburgh Castle, perched menacingly at the summit of the Royal Mile, is a truly magnificent beasty. Dating back to the 11th century with medieval embellishments (amongst others) the castle has jobbed as a royal residence, military garrison, prison and fortress. Retirement has seen it become a treasured tourist destination.

We spurned the opportunity to enter (visited before, long queue) though certainly not a reflection on the castle. If the occasion arises, do pop in.

Another historical treat lounges at the base of the royal Mile, the 16th century gothic Palace of Holyrood. Constructed in the grounds of the now ruined 11th century Holy Rood Abbey and renovated, by George V, in the 20th century. The Palace is both older and prettier than Buckingham Palace.

And spare a couple of glances for Abbey Strand, a small section around the Palace of Holyrood and leading up to the Palace gate. Renovated 16th century buildings dot the area.

Plus, the much maligned Scottish Parliament stands nearby. We both felt it was trying too hard, neither especially ugly or especially attractive. 

And what about that bit inbetween the castle and Palace of Holyrood, the Royal Mile itself? It’s tourist nirvana predominately packed with tacky tourist shops, overpriced restaurants and underwhelming bars. The usual suspects. Exceptions exist including St Gile’s Cathedral about half way down. Nevertheless, resist temptation and peek above the shop fronts. You’ll be rewarded with a mischievous mixture or architecture classics from the gothic to Victorian. Renovations from all eras thrown in for free.

The Royal Mile is a beautifully elegant and handsome thoroughfare. Take a moment to enjoy.

The weather, somewhat to our surprise, went against form and remained clement. Warm but breezy. A short hike seemed to be in order. Arthur’s Seat (eh) sits within 640 acre Holyrood Park, a short stroll from Edinburgh’s Royal Mile.

Arthur’s Seat, is actually an ancient volcano sitting 251m above sea level. Not that we noticed. It’s also the site of a large hill fort dating back 2,000 thousand years. Nope, not that either. And one clambers over the remains of said fort to reach the absolute summit. And a site of Special Scientific Interest. Nope, passed us by too.

What we did notice was the steep scramble – 50 plus flights of stairs according to our all knowing iPhones. It’s a slog and would be deeply unpleasant in rain. And tricky, treacherous even. Particularly descending.

Panorama views across Edinburgh, the sea and surrounding landscape are spectacular.

Once descended from the ruined hill fort greenery welcomes picnickers. No facilities as such but a delightful site for a pork pie.

On the way up, over the cacophony of ragged breadth, we’d noticed a grass pathway presumably used for emergency vehicle access. We were later to spot a ranger’s Land Rover plodding resolutely upwards. Not wishing to scrabble back down the rock and scree pathway this seem ideal for those of more mature years. Still steep, though less so than the scree pathway. And considerably less people populated. Always a bonus.

The only downside? It meanders gracefully around Arthur’s Seat. If you’re in a rush, take your chances on the scree pathway. Otherwise you’ll fail to rush to whatever it is you’re rushing for.

Five to ten minutes from our hotel was the Hanging Bat. Sus again. Eighteen taps tempt, including a single cask.

Weirdly, on our visit, Northern Monk appeared to be showcasing. Plentiful seating indoors, pavement seating outside. Food available from a small menu. One fridge and behind the bar provide takeouts. At a 15% discount from memory.

An agreeable and chilled evening.

Grassmarket, Victoria Street, Rain

Grassmarket, located in old town, sits directly below Edinburgh Castle.

Once a market place, once a hanging place, once a cattle market place. Now, with architecture ranging from 17th century tenements to 21st century offices, Grassmarket is a delightful square crammed with pubs and restaurants.

We bench perched, sipped coffees, munched coronary cookies whilst watched Edinburgh wander by.

Victoria Street, constructed between 1829 and 1834, is one of the most photographed and iconic  of all Edinburgh thoroughfares. Stretching upwards from Grassmarket, colourful shop store fronts are overlooked by darker, larger Victoriana. Picturesque indeed.

A return to Rose Street – Sus had yet to peruse – before a spot of lunch. Then rain. No complaints, the weather, to date, had been tourist friendly. The forecasts, before our visit, had been somewhat less optimistic.

Sus returned to the hotel, I returned to Hanging Bat.

Trip Advisor, Museum, Home

Our last day. Flying back to London late afternoon.

Before foddering we nipped into the National Museum of Scotland. It’s free – apart from certain exhibitions – hosting an eclectic and fascinating collection. The Victorian central atrium is an architectural jewel.

Makars Mash Bar (https://makarsmash.com/) is one of the most highly rated eateries – anywhere in the world – on Trip Advisor. Not necessarily an endorsement. Nevertheless, an Edinburgh establishment. Prepare to queue, prepare for a waiting list.

We’d tried to eat at Makers the previous day but times offered didn’t suit. Today they did. This is not gourmet fodder, this is Scottish comfort food. And surprisingly expensive. Nevertheless, both thoroughly enjoyed our haggis (Sus’s was vegan). Definitely merits a queue.

Hotel, airport, London.

Summary

Tourists herds dominate Edinburgh. With the exception of London I can’t recall a UK city with such a tourist invasion. Americans in particular. Europeans not far behind. A few to unearth their inner highlander. Tartan purveyors were suspiciously common in tourist hot spots.

Edinburgh would be an easy city to live in – large enough to provide all those must have amenities, small enough to not be overwhelming. Not necessarily for us – London still rules our hearts – but if you did end up posted here, it certainly wouldn’t be a hardship.

Edinburgh is a worthy Capital. It’s beautiful, elegant and fascinating. Easily walkable with friendly natives. Try it out.

LAUSANNE/GENEVA

Arrival 

A 3.30am alarm call. Not a popular choice. A dodgy wheel on suitcase. Unbounded joy. It was raining. 

Things quickly improved. Apart from that dodgy wheel. Lizzy line took us to Heathrow Terminal 2. This being well before 5am. Flight to Geneva, a hour’s train to Lausanne. Happy days. 

Brief History of Lausanne

Those roaming Romans founded what we now recognise as Lausanne. Roman remnants still exist though don’t recall bumping into, or trading upon, any.

Post Italian dalliance, and by the 6th century, Lausanne had morphed into a religious powerhouse thanks to a bishopric. Profitable and so on trend. The 14th and 15th were significantly less fun, the city succumbing to plague, fires and civil unrest. As did so many other great cities.

Protestant reformation swept the city in the 16th century. As did Bernese rule, noisy neighbours from up north. Napoleon booted the Bernese out with Lausanne gaining independence in 1803.

Lausanne again flourished in 19th century becoming both a cultural hub and the capital of Vaud. And a tick box destination for those on the Grand Tour. Lucky buggers.

Lausanne

The train into Lausanne was not especially cheap (CHF30 each). Mercifully, unlike incomprehensible German ticket machines, their Swiss brethren were straight forward. The exception, an American chap struggling a tad with the public transport concept. 

Our hotel was a steep climb away. On cobbles. With a dodgy wheel. Bit of a slog. Deposited offending bag – too early to check in – before heading out. Into the rain. 

Lausanne hotels offer tourists ‘Lausanne Transport Card’. Travel within the city, discounts into museums, buildings etc. We asked the price. Free. Concierge probably should have led with that. 

Jumped on the Croisettes/Ouchy Metro Line – our hotel a couple of minutes from Bessiéres metro station. Efficient, clean and very deep. Don’t sniff at the lift and take the stairs. I did. Not my best decision. 

The metro terminates at Ouchy, sadly not pronounced as some of you may be hoping. We alighted. 

Ouchy, skirts the monumental Lake Geneva, featuring parks, waterside promenades, a rose garden and a 12th century chateau. The latter now a hotel. Riff raff in their hotel? The original owners must be turning in their mausoleum, pondering how to charge rent. 

Cafes and bars sprinkle the promenade. As did an impressively large number of impressively large crows. Swans were also much in evidence. Scary buggers. 

Not many humans. Wet and windy conditions may have been a contributory factor. 

Squelched back to Ouchy Metro, alighted at CHUV, a couple of stops after Bessières. Thought a stroll through the Rues of Lausanne might be enjoyable. Thought wrong. Pissing it down. And stop for city hospital. Neither appealed. 

Jumped back onto metro, jumped off at Ours, one stop after, eh, ours. Ambled to hotel, checked in, slept. 

Emerged, a little dazed, a couple of hours later. Cathédrale de Lausanne was a short (uphill) walk from our hotel. It’s a gothic marvel with added 16th century gorgeousness. 

The organ, though modern, imitates an angel and quite spectacular. Some of the beautiful stain glass has survived from gothic time. Later centuries have seen ongoing renovation and conservation.

As a bonus, the cathedral courtyard offers dramatic vistas over Lausanne, Lake Geneva and onto the mountains. Selfie paradise.

The following 45 minutes found us meandering the old town, Lausanne Cathedral being the highlight. The old town is an agreeable mix of period properties ranging from the medieval to 20th century. Won’t necessarily send you into raptures of architectural superlative but very much merits a meander. 

Finished our day with an expensive but excellent Poke bowl. 

Montreux/Vevey

Out by 10am. And on a Montreux train by 10.30. CHF15 return. Each. This for a 20 minute journey. Switzerland is not for the budget minded. The train travels alongside Lake Geneva organising the occasional glimpse. 

On arrival, a less than glamorous route, via stairs and car park, deposited on Montreux High Street. 

Popped into tourist information, helpful lady planned our day. First up, old town. And up it was. The old town’s handsome, Belle Époque architecture make for a pleasant meander. 

The Church St Vincent, a little above the old town, offers stunning vistas from its grounds. Traces of its Romanesque roots can still be spotted though the current incumbent dates from the 15th century. 

We wandered back down to the Montreux Promenade which borders Lake Geneva. The Alps shout for your attention, rising as they do, from the opposite bank of the lake. This is as an agreeable stroll as you’ll likely to agree on. 

The medieval Château de Chillon (Chillon Castle) is, remarkably, built on a small island on Lake Geneva. Its origin story dates back to the 11th century, though much of what we now see, sprouted a century later. Later centuries, particularly the 15th century, brought updates and embellishments. Systematic renovations continued into the late 19th century. 

Châteaux de Chillon both defended and protected profitable trade routes. Basically a very pretty toll bridge. 

The Châteaux is deceptively tardis like. We paid €15) to explore the interior. Took us about an hour and 45 minutes. Time constraints permitting, merits a looksee. 

Caught the 201 bus (electric, bendy, air conditioned, loveliness) back to Moureaux. Meandered the promenade, sought out the underwhelming casino and fun Freddie Mercury statue. Six Queen albums were recorded in Montreux with Mercury divided his time between London and Montreux from the early 1990s. 

Montreux has a little bit of Monaco about it. Though prettier. With the exception of the Châteaux Montreux, though likable, was not our cup of casino chips.

Vevey

Vevey was. Instead of returning to Lausanne we stopped off in Vevey. And rather pleased we did. So was Charlie Chaplin. He resided in Vevey for 25 years until his demise in 1977. 

A short amble from Vevey train station is the huge main square welcoming, on one side, Lake Geneva. Spectacular Alpine vistas included. 

The old town, adjacent to the main square showcases medieval architecture (Église Réformée Saint Martin) and later architectural genres. Winding streets, artisan wares and those spectacular views all included. 

It is possible to swim from the main square. Plus, for added realism, a small artificial beach has been created. With deck chairs for added authenticity. 

Other beaches live nearby evidenced by damp dogs and humans squishing, happily home. 

We spent the late afternoon, early evening in Le Carre, a popular local and tourist bistro. People watched, ate delicious local produce and drank even better local wine. 

Vevey was a favourite. It’s elegant, beautifully located with a relaxed vibe. Recommend a half day, more if time permits. 

Lavaux Vignoble en Terraces

Is a UNESECO world heritage site. Culture and wine. Genius. 

The tradition of winemaking, in Lavaux, is all thanks to medieval monks. Getting pissed and making money more appealing, apparently, than a small, cold cell and self-flagellation. 

From Gare de Lausanne (central train station) board a local train (R train) stopping at Lutry. Alight, use underpass to access opposite platform. Turn left out of Lutry station and again left up the hill at the end of the road. Two minutes up the hill, on the right, you should discover a paved pathway. One entry point – of many – into the terraces. 

Don’t, as you leave the station, be fooled by signs pointing to information. Fake news. It’s a so called information board showing info easily eked out of google. Other search engines are available. 

Once happily embedded amongst the vines a number of paths  – marked with coloured arrows – present themselves. 

The route we followed, perhaps halfway up the terraces, was conveniently marked by yellow arrows and, occasionally, a yellow man hiking. We detoured from our yellow friend, both above and below, in our wilder moments. Our chosen destination was Epesse, perhaps two and a half hours from Lutry. Excluding wine time. And detours. 

Where pavements are available, our yellow chum, occasionally detoured onto a local road. And the paved pathway itself, for much of its length, is accessible to local traffic and cyclists. So beware, once the vino kicks in and common sense is kicked out. Water fountains (literally) are helpfully sprinkled along the route. 

You’re surrounded by vines, Lake Geneva is below, the Alps lurking beyond. Pretty villages (Aran, Epesse) dot the landscape. It’s utterly, utterly captivating. 

One minor issue. Nothing was open. And there’s no shortage of wineries. This was a Monday, around midday. Not an inspired choice of time or day. 

Nevertheless, one undoubted highlight, was spotting a reddish bird of prey (kite?). To our astonishment this magnificent creature literally hovered before diving almost vertically. An insect, perhaps searching for its own lunch, became lunch. Or, at least, a starter. 

Eventually, somewhat bizarrely, we came across a self service vineyard. A small shop showcased, amongst assorted edibles, the vineyard’s wines in a fridge. We picked a half bottle, left dosh in a cash box, sipped our bounty on a terrace overlooking vines and Lake Geneva. 

Epesse, probably the fairest of the Lavaux villages, also had a vineyard open. We ambled in, ambled out 2 hours later. 

To be honest, it wasn’t a problem. I suspect, if  more vineyards had been ouvert, we wouldn’t have completed our intended route. And that would have been a dreadful shame. 

Transport costs? Nothing. Covered by the Lausanne Travel Card. The wine? Sadly not free though reasonably priced. Lack of air miles. 

Tours, obviously are available. And a tad silly motorised wine train that winds through the terraces. Spotted it only the once. Full of bored Japanese tourists presumably heading for a Lake Geneva boat tour. 

Tours may well suit, and understandably so.  Our tip would be go DIY. Check wineries are open, especially if it’s one you’ve picked out in advance. Research routes, read a blog and trust Apple Maps to guide you. You’ll have a fabulous time. We did. 

Wandered down to Epesse train station – about 15 minutes from the village centre – and returned to Lausanne. Trounces the view from North Ealing station. Encouragingly, for North Ealing, the tube is far more frequent.

Supermarket (obviously), take out, writing this. 

Highly recommended. A must do. Plan a day. And perhaps the following to recover and eat fruit. As opposed to drinking it.

Coffee and suitcase

The Coop were having a sale. We needed a new suitcase. Happy ending for all. Celebrated with an excellent coffee. 

Returned to Lutry, only 10 minutes from Lausanne by train. Not for wine but for  a swim. The healthy option. Do take the time to explore Lutry. It’s a handsome town, with a well to do commuter vibe. 

The beach, a stone’s throw from the town centre, is stone. Doubtless all the stone throwing. And the sun was shirking its responsibilities. Nevertheless, the beach had a lovely local vibe with clean toilets, changing facilities and bbqing cafe. It just felt right.  

After initial trepidation, we spent half an hour in the lake attempting to get warm. Lake Geneva is fresh water not salt water. One emerges cleaner and fresher than one’s initial foray. Fabulous. 

Once out, dried out, warmed up opted to walk back to Lausanne. Paused here, lingered there taking a couple of hours to reach Ouchy. 

Micro beaches, handsome waterside pads, cafes and bars unobtrusively wander into one’s eye line. Lake Geneva and the Alps keep you company. A marvellous meander. Weather permitting, recommend you do the same. 

Metro from Ouchy to hotel. Grabbed a take out curry. From a supermarket. Where else. 

Spent the late afternoon/early evening in La Mise en Bière. Perhaps 30 taps of local and not so local beer treats. Plus, and owned by the same people, a bottle shop next door with a comprehensive selection of beery lovelies. Cloudwater, Track and Verdant all well represented. Great breweries but, when travelling, one should sample the local brews. 

Seating inside and out, cheese and meat boards also available. Helpful staff, relaxed atmosphere – this was a Tuesday – made for an enjoyable end of day. Might still be there if Sus wasn’t falling asleep.

Supped quality ale, observing folks wander by. Recommended for any craft beer fans. 

A mighty fine day. 

Lausanne 

Weirdly the only full day we were to spend in Lausanne. Wandered the handsome shopping precinct, encountered the very elegant and presumably very expensive Palace Hotel. Housing a 2 star Michelin restaurant. Presumably very expensive.

A little further along is yet more elegance in the shape of Palais de Justice and Casino. Encased in pleasant parkland greenery. 

Serendipity found Quartier du Flon. So should you. Apparently, once an industrial wasteland Flon is now a bustling, innovative and thriving district. Warehouses have been converted into theatres, art venues, bars and restaurants. The main thoroughfare is thoughtfully pedestrianised, seating is plentiful. 

Now we understood why so many passengers exited metro at Flon. 

Next metro adventure, Vennes for Lausanne Aquarium. It’s expensive (CHF32) though, mercifully, on our visit, mostly empty of screaming children. We actually checked before purchasing ticket. 

If you love fish, snakes, an occasional frog (and who doesn’t love frogs) and lizards of various sizes, this is for you. Otherwise, may I suggest La Mise en Bière. Probably cheaper. 

We emerged a most enjoyable 2 and a half hours later. Highlights, a Komodo Dragon that may have been at the fermented fruit, mating frogs, impossibly coloured fish and splendid snakes. 

Hotel for a short intermission. Post intermission food and beers (latter from Epiq) to enjoy back in our room. 

I wanted to catch The Germany/ Spain game. And discover who’d be the lucky recipient of facing England in the final. 

Spain as it turned out. Damn. 

Return to Geneva

We checked out, caught a train to Geneva. We’d scheduled a couple of days in the city before heading home. 

We’d checked in, deposited luggage and headed out to the old town all before midday. We were enveloped with a warm feeling of smugness. Mainly me really. 

The Geneva Transport Card offers complementary travel within Geneva. As with Lausanne your hotel should offer this benefit. If they don’t, ask. 

First stop, the International Monument to the Reformation, inaugurated in 1909. This being the 16th century Protestant Reformation , not a reality tv show depicting spare toilet makeovers. 

Located in the attractive grounds of the University of Geneva it depicts important Protestant figures from around Europe. John Calvin  – the chap who’d gave us Calvinism – settled in Geneva and one of those lucky enough to be depicted. A significant historical moment in Geneva’s development, if not our cup of worldview. 

And at 100 metres in length, a tad tricky to miss. 

Ambled into the old town, cobbles, elegance and peaceful. The 13th century Saint Peters Cathedral dominates Vieille Ville. Revisions and renovations have taken a little away from those long ago days though the organ is indeed a thing of beauty. 

Architecturally, Vieille Ville is a smorgasbord of medieval and later genres. And blended harmoniously together affording tourists a glimpse into numerous bygone days. The near absence of tourist tat trap establishment, replaced with artisans and tempting restaurants, only adds to a sense of charm and calm. 

Back to hotel to pick up keys, transfer bags to room and briefly recuperate. 

Yellow water taxis (Mouettes or seagulls) ply their trade across Lake Geneva. Lines 1 and 2 are free with the Geneva card, and plonk tourists at the English Garden. We get everywhere. The crossing is perhaps 10 minutes offering an alternative perspective of the city. 

The English Garden is an attractive small stretch of greenery hosting both a fountain and bandstand. Alongside, and beyond, is a lakeside paved pathway. A promenade. And busy with people promenading. 

There’s a boardwalk out to the 140 meter high, and famous, Jet d’Eau. A symbol of Geneva.

Small public beaches and grass expanses to picnic on. There’s toilets, showers and a restaurant incorporated into the largest of the 2 harbours. If we lived here, we’d be down here. 

Parc La Grange, across the road from the beach area, is a beautiful and tranquil spot resplendent with an 18th century villa. 

After ambling through a small slither we emerged onto Rue de Eaux-Vives. The neighbourhood, of the same name, is adorned with handsome 19th century architecture and a mite upmarket. Eatme supplied us with scrumptious food and delectable wine. 

On leaving, headed back to the hotel. Slumber time. We know how to party. 

Chocolate Day

After an excellent breakfast at our hotel we went in search of Tourist Information. We knew they lived in Geneva Train Station, and after numerous false starts, found them. Signage isn’t a Swiss strength. 

Once found a young lady proved most helpful. She mentioned they were searching for new premises as tourists struggled to locate them. Not a selling point for a tourist information

We purchased a Chocolate Pass from our young lady friend allowing tourists to visit and receive sample chocolates from 10 participating chocolatiers.  A map guides choco lovers on a self-guided tour.

Cost? CHF30. Which equates to, conservatively, 50 chocolates. Most of which currently reside in suitcase somewhere in the bowels of Geneva airport. Sus doesn’t eat milk chocolate so little point buying a second pass. One should be enough for most couples. Even, as we believe, good chocolate being one of life’s essentials.

A number of the chocolatiers gave a prepared spiel, others were happy to chat. All but one were helpful and friendly. Martel being the exception. We felt an inconvenience, not spending enough money to warrant their time. 

We sampled a few of the chocolates, all were delicious, this being quality stuff. Pride, in their chocolate, was obvious. Bit like McDonalds.

The pass covers any one 24 hour period. Activated at the first chocolatier reached. A number of the chocolatiers are to be found in the old town or nearby. Others require more effort. Many have a second or even third shop not participating. We decided to visit all 10, including the furthest away – La Bombonniere – which had 2 shops partaking. You decide which of the two you wish to visit.

Total time? Perhaps 3 hours. We neither rushed nor dawdled. And a marvellous way to acquaint oneself with the city.  

Geneva is not a huge metropolis and, as with most cities, discrete neighbourhoods blur into one another. However, not forgetting the old town, a couple of stood out – Rue-Basse and Eaux-Vives.

For posh shopping nirvana, have a stroll through the beautifully elegant Rue-Basses. Rue du Rhone and Rue de la Croix d’Or forms part of this elegant consumer paradise. Bon chance unearthing a bargain. Rue-Basses is more Gucci than Primark.

The hitherto mentioned Eaux-vives includes Jet d’Eau and one of the heftier neighbourhoods. It’s the neighbourhood for those who have a penchant for late 19th and early 20th century architecture. Stylish, liveable and difficult to avoid.

In our wanderings, we touched on numerous others. And we both preferred Rue-Basse and Eaux-Vives to the old town.

We occupied our late afternoon and early evening at La Tenuta Wine Shop, Bar & Restaurant (https://www.latenuta.ch/). A wonderful and stylish way to complete our time in Switzerland.

Observations/Tips

Take advantage of the free travel offered, in your hotel, in both Lausanne and Geneva. If not offered, ask and thy shall receive. And ensure you understand which areas are included.

Similarly, if you take a train journey outside of the free travel, buy a ticket. Tickets, for local and regional travel, are not always verified. There are no barriers as such. However, if you’re caught without a valid ticket, expect heavy fines. But for Sus’s quick thinking we’d have found ourselves CHF75 worse off.

Clean, free public toilets are seemingly omnipresent. As is drinking water. Most commendable. Signage is not as commonplace. Following said signage to clean, free public toilets, after sampling the ubiquitous drinking water, may not end well.

Litter is noticeable for its near absence. Fly tipping is non-existent. Certainly in our small, Switzerland sample. It does exist, the suburbs are a tad less cleansed than more touristy bits. Nevertheless, it makes many a European city, including parts of London, look rather dirty. I’ve always blamed ignorant morons for depositing litter, not the local authorities striving to clean up. My impression was less ignorant morons exist in Switzerland.

Geneva and Lausanne are not cheap. Eating out, drinking out, supermarkets, train travel were all more expensive than London. I suspect hotels are price comparable. 

Lausanne is a most agreeable city, friendly and easily navigated. Additionally, it’s is a wonderful base to explore the Swiss Riviera. Our recommendations, once Lausanne itself appropriately investigated? Lavaux Vignoble en Terraces an absolute must. As is Vevey. A stroll from Lutry to Ouchy another highlight. I would advocate at least 3 full days in Lausanne to allow, if nothing else, an outing to the wine terraces

Two days in Geneva wasn’t enough. I’d visited, 30 plus years ago, during the madness that is interrailing tick boxing. Another sojourn is entirely possibly. It’s a city we actually preferred to Lausanne.

Summary

Switzerland, or our Lake Geneva fragment, delighted us. Attractive towns and cities, affable inhabitants and pristine conditions. It’s safe (to be fair, we yet to visit somewhere that isn’t) and public amenities are second to none.

Yes, day to day expenses will be higher than those in Europe and the UK. Nevertheless, a winning combination of appealing conurbations and truly magnificent scenery is difficult to argue with.

The Lavaux Vignoble en Terraces will live long in the memory. And England ladies bettered Spain in the European Championships.

Thankyou Switzerland. We will return.

NUREMBERG, BAMBERG, REGENSBURG 

Our Ealing home to clearing Heathrow Terminal 2 security, one hour. Probably a record. And the reason we favour the Elizabeth Line and Heathrow for our jolly jaunts.

A robotic cleaner – with a sex upped name – was causing some amusement and curiosity. This clever, and surprisingly cute, machine asked travellers to clear its path in order to complete its cleansing duties. Initially politely. Reasonably sure I heard frustration creep in. 

Direct flights from Heathrow to London only operate for the Christmas markets period. Outside of these consumer binges 2 flights are needed. Into Frankfurt, out of Frankfurt. The actual flights were both short and painless. The in between bits, less so. One runway taxi reminiscent of an M25 traffic jam. 

Once landed, disgorged and happily reunited with one’s bag, we jumped on the U2, a cog on Nuremberg’s small but seemingly efficient metro system. To be fair, I only tested it once more. The return journey to the airport. Probably not a representative sample.

NUREMBERG – ARRIVAL

Our temporary home were the Brunnen Apartments. Central, comfortable complete. Equipped with a small but very serviceable kitchen. Invaluable for a week long stay. Check them out. 

Once in, we were out. Our local ‘hood offered numerous tempting food haunts, many Korean or Japanese. Plus, my favourite, supermarkets. Two within a 5 minute walk.

No set agenda, meandered, toying with the old down. And discovered Bierwerk.

Sat outside and sipped a decent lager. Characterful inside, perhaps 10 taps mainly local lagers and beer. Fair enough. Bottles and cans available, showcasing a greater variety. Food also available. Worth a stroll, if not necessarily a hop head destination. 

It was early evening, we were knackered. Back to the hotel, slept 10 hours. 

Brief History

Nestled in Bavaria, Nuremberg Kaiserburg (castle) first appeared in the 11th century. Constructed, not as an apparition. Both Free Imperial City status was granted and city walls were erected in the 13th century. Probably not a coincidence. Growing economic power, wealth and, presumably, taxes inevitably followed.

The 13 and 14th centuries saw the construction of gothic masterpieces such as St. Lawrence Church (1298), Frauenkirche (1361) and the Luginsland Tower (begun 1377).

In the 15 and 16th trade booms, wealth accumulates, city walls reinforced (wise). Nuremberg, centrally located, has become a European trade hub.

Early in the 19th century Nuremberg loses its Free Imperial City Status as Bavaria goes all ‘Borg’ and assimilates the city.

Ironically, parts of the original city walls are destroyed in the 18th century to allow expansion – sounds vaguely familiar.

Nuremberg, in the 19th century, witnessed a revival of interest in medieval art and architecture, leading to restoration of the castle. Many of the still surviving neoclassical building flourish during this period. Paradoxically, perhaps, Nuremberg also becomes a major industrial centre for mechanical engineering and electrical equipment.

NUREMBERG PROPER

Suffice to say, this wasn’t our earliest start. 

Sus Christmas marketed Nuremberg a few years ago. It’s is a tad warmer. As I write, just shy of 30 degrees. 

I’ve dallied with visiting both Nuremberg and Bamberg for too long. With chum Mike. For the beer. Bamberg, in particular, is a renown centre for German beer production. Numerous brewpubs dot the city. A tad ironically, a recent and fascinating  employment jaunt within the wine industry delayed my beery Nuremberg plans. Beer is in a few days, now is for tourist. 

As many will know, Nuremberg was tragically bombed, for the people who live here and the architecture they populated, by the allies during WW2. War, that’s a great idea. 

The old town has been restored to its medieval glory – 90% of the old town perished. The merits of which can be argued. It generates tourist pounds, dollars, euros. Perhaps even creating a more favourable environment in which to live. Certainly beats 70s tower blocks. Done that, didn’t work. 

After some searching we found Kettensteg (The Old Chain Bridge), constructed in 1824 and the oldest European example of its kind. 

Riverside vistas, the Pegnitz river is a constant and welcome companion, birdlife and the odd fish all add extra adorability. A remarkable transformation considering the river was once heavy polluted due to waterside industries. 

The Thames has undergone a similar transformation and now considered one of the cleanest metropolitan rivers in the world. Don’t be deceived by its murky appearance. Remarkedly, 100 plus fish species now call the Thames home.

Further directional confusion brought us to Weißgerbergasse (Tanner Lane). With its half timbered houses, cobbled street many consider Weißgerbergasse Nuremberg’s most iconic street. Built on the wealth of Nuremberg’s medieval leather industry Weißgerbergasse now hosts cafes, bars and restaurants. 

At the top of Weißgerbergasse is St Sebald’s Church. Constructed in the 13th century in the must have Romanesque style and supplemented in further centuries. Including the always popular 17th century Baroque. It suffered serious damage during WW2 and, like much of what we saw, has since been reconstructed. 

Sebald, the man, actually financed St Sebald’s and, literally, helped to build it. Buried there too. Must have loved that church. Popped in. Popped out. Worth a glance. 

There are no Cathedrals in Nuremberg. Likely due to the embrace of Protestantism. Over time most Nuremberg Catholic churches have been converted to Nuremberg Protestant churches.

Nuremberg Altes Rathaus (town hall) was again built in the 14th century including a great gothic ceremonial hall. Again it was smashed to smithereens. Again it was painstakingly rebuilt post WW2. 

Next up, Platz am Tiergärtnertor, a straight run from Altes Rathaus. An attractive square with classic medieval (reconstructed) architecture. The square is a popular place to enjoy a beverage or two and lively later on. 

One oddity is Das Hase, a tribute on an Albrecht Dürer picture of a young hare. Not something you would wish queueing behind you at Tescos. And hidden by the larger tree on left of photo. Some would say a positive.

Abrecht was born, lived and died in Nuremberg and is one of their most famous sons. It’s possible to visit the house he once lived in, one of the few surviving burgher houses from Nuremberg’s golden age. Now a museum.

There’s also tours of the WW2 art bunker where Nuremberg, sensibly, stored many of its art treasures during the allied bombing. 

The Kaiserburg (Imperial Castle) looms large directly above Platz am Tiergärtnertor. It’s a castle with baggage. Fascinating baggage. It has links to the Holy Roman Empires, assorted kings and the Nazis. 

Kaiserburg dates back 1,000 years. Trashed in the 15th century, rebuilt in the 19th century, trashed (yep, WW2) and rebuilt in the 20th century. Remarkably some Romanesque and gothic elements survived. You’re able to wander the large courtyard for free. Which we did. Payment grants access to inner rooms. Which we didn’t. Another time. 

Nuremberg was Hitlers favourite city. Not a ringing endorsement. He felt it was the most German of German cities. Hence the rallies. Hence the bombing. Hence the Nuremberg Trials. The latter to crush any symbolism Nuremberg might hold.  

We toddled into Bierothek, a craft beer take out place only. Both traditional and not so traditional ales though no refrigeration. Worth a look. 

Completed our Nuremberg exploration in a supermarket. Where else. Returned to hotel, rested before a short wander to Aztoria Wine. 

Then another supermarket, a sausage sandwich for me, something healthy for Sus. 

Large windows in our hotel opened affording a snoopers view of the pedestrian, shopping street one floor below – Breitegasse. A street for posturing, preening, chatting, sitting, watching. A place for teenagers, those from a decade later, friends and families. A wonderful spectacle. A human safari. 

We ate, people watched, watched people, people watch. No one looked up. They rarely do. A regular morning and evening ritual. 

BAMBERG

Brief History

Bamberg was largely spared the allied bombers as strategically irrelevant to the war effort. There’s an insult in there somewhere. UNESCO, those cheeky cultural curators, have awarded Bamberg World Heritage Site status. Deservedly. It has over 1,300 listed buildings. 

Bamberg, nestled in Bavaria, was first gossiped about in 902. A fort had been built exiting locals. Yesterday’s fort, today’s Cathedral Hill. Domplatz.

A century later (1007) Bamberg rose to prominence when Emperor Henry II established a bishopric. This transformed Bamberg into a spiritual and political hub of the Holy Roman Empire. Nicely played Bamberg.

By the 12th century the town had developed and flourished economically, architecturally and culturally. Its bishops becoming imperial princes in the 13th century, further cementing power and influence.

The 17th and 18th centuries again brought benefits to Bamberg. And though remaining Catholic throughout the Reformation Bamberg embraced the Enlightenment attracting original thinkers of the time. Baroque architecture flourished.

With its loss of ecclesiastical independence in 1802 Bamberg was indecently quickly consumed into Bavaria. Yummy.  

Nevertheless, the 19th century witnessed population growth and canal and railway expansion leading to improved trade and connectivity. And greater prosperity.

We were on a train to Bamberg by 10am. As we’re most of Nuremberg. Dressed in traditional lederhosen. Most supping on an ale. Probably not their first. It would shock a hardened footy fan travelling to an away game. 

I asked a lovely chap why. Apparently, a beer crawl across various cellar based drinking establishments in Erlangen. The train emptied at Erlangen. Some may not make it back. Possibly not out of the station.

The journey, around 45 minutes, was straightforward. The journey pretty in parts, non-descript in others. No airport exists in Bamberg, Nuremberg is the closest airport and city.

The ‘Bayern’ ticket, on advice the helpful Hapbahnhof staff, cost €25 for both, for 2 days. Unlimited travel within the Bayern environs. Bargain.

Our initial plan was to discover Maximilianplatz. This largely 18th century square, with the 19th century Maximilians Fountain centrepiece, is Bamberg’s largest and most significant. It appeared to be an ideal place to start. 

Didn’t happen. 

An unintentional detour deposited us in an agreeably local neighbourhood. A local cafe provided coffee and cake. We sat outside, watched local traffic, watching us, watching them. Buses wandered by at surprisingly regular intervals. Local bus services are alive and well and apparently living happily in Bamberg. 

Yet again missing the now mythical Maximilianplatz we discovered Domplatz. Where to start. 

Domplatz – or Cathedral Square as it’s sometimes known – hosts some of the most significant structures in Germany let alone Bamberg. It’s cultural, historical and really, really quite splendid. 

Bamberger Dom – Bamberg Cathedral – is perhaps the darling of the Square. Constructed in the 13th century in the Romanesque style with later Baroque additions. Due in part to fire. We did quickly visit, the sheer size is striking. Trouble is, it’s just another church. 

Neue Residenz, adjacent to Bamberger Dom, completed in the 17th century (hence the ‘new’) was home to the Prince Bishops of Bamberg until 1803. The rose garden is supposedly a highlight. It contains over 40 ornately magnificent rooms. Religion appears to have been replaced up extravagant living. I’m sure the poor would have approved. 

Alte Hofhaltung, or old court, constructed in the 16th century replaced older constructs lost to fire or demolished. It also house those lucky Prince Bishops before relocating to Neue Residence. 

Completed on 1733 the Diozesanmuzeum, next to the Cathedral, was once a Jesuit College. It now houses a vast collection ecclesiastical art spanning several centuries including relics and manuscripts. 

Some buildings are possible to visit. We didn’t as not our cup of ecclesiastical. However, if your cup of ecclesiastical, the museum will be deserving of your time.

From Domplatz, towards Kloster Michaelsberg, one might find oneself visiting the 1,000 year old Jacobskirche. Bit of a survivor this one. Renovated in the 13th century, sighted for demolition during Bamberg’s secularisation, it still welcomes visitors and worshippers to this day. 

Kloster Michaelsberg (St Michael’s Abbey) is, inevitably, a bit of a climb. Located on one of the 7 hills of Bamberg. The temperature was hovering at a skin frying 30 degrees Celsius. Those monks were a selfish bunch. 

It was undergoing renovation on our visit – a wedding held in the brewery must have wrangled a good deal. The monastery dates back to 1015 with the 12th century St Michael’s Church a particular highlight. Later Baroque buildings, including afore mentioned brewery, add to the architectural ambience. Though unable to enter, and with scaffolding inconveniently positioned, its magnificence is not diminished. 

Ambling down, desperately seeking shade, we spotted a stork nesting on a small tower of a large residence. Its mate was flying gracefully above and soon to join its wife/husband. The nest was the largest I’ve seen. The storks huge, beautiful with a hint of dinosaur. We even spotted beaks of the young being fed. An absolute privilege. Thanks guys. 

From storks to early medieval fabulousness. Bamberg Old Town. As smooth a segway as you’ll ever see.

Bamberg Altstadt is an architectural gothic mediaeval, masterpiece. With Baroque embellishments. Fairytale half-timbered houses, secular and ecclesiastical edifices all shouting ‘look at me’. There’s even the odd bit of Roman ruin. Remember to look up. This helps to negate the same old, same old restaurants, tourist tat shops and fast food joints. Classier shopping establishments also available.

One particular must see is the Altes Rathaus (Old Town Hall). Constructed in the 14th century and liberally coated in frescoes (very Baroque). It actually rests on an artificial island in the River Regnitz. That cheeky little sister of the River Pegnitz.

My advice is to just aimlessly wander. No set agenda. Just meander. Until you pass the Altes Rathaus for the third time. It’s that kind of place.

Brewpubs also dot the city. More on these cheeky chappies a couple of days on.

Finally Maximilianplatz. Oh dear, bit of a disappointment. It’s a large and attractive square – likeable even – but sadly lacks the character and personality of the rest of the town. If discovered first, perhaps with a market, we may have formed a more favourable view.

From Maximilianplatz we strolled back to the train station. It’s worth remembering Bamberg Altstadt is a 10-15 walk from said train station.

Bamberg is an absolute must see. A fabulous, fairytale masterpiece. And to any traditional German beer fan, this is mecca. The must see sights (Altstadt, Domplatz) can be seen in perhaps half a day. However, a couple of days would better do Bamberg justice.

REGENSBURG

Happened accidentally. And expensively. Our intention was to go to Furth, a mere 7 minutes away on our still valid ticket. And before you could say ‘wrong train’ we were moving. 

It was an ICE service. A cross continent train. Cost us £30 one way. Each. On the plus side, it was quiet, comfortable and fast. And the toilets were nice. Though I never worked out how to lock them. As one poor chap discovered.

A kind hearted passenger agreed to purchase tickets and we pay him back in cash. The guard had asked for volunteers. It’s bizarre no facility for onboard payment was available. Either for tickets and/or fines. Presumably, tickets need to be pre-booked. 

The calming vistas of rolling, wooded hills, farmland and pretty villages soothed away the financial pain. Sus was calmness personified. Once Regensburg came into view, chum guard made sure we knew. And quickly exited his train. We didn’t part friends.

Brief History

Regensburg was founded as a Roman fort called Castra Regina in 179 AD. The later medieval period was generous to the city. It became a significant medieval trading centre and Bavaria’s first capital.

In 1245 Regensburg achieved self-governance as a Free Imperial City. Go Regensburg.

From 1663 to 1806 Regensburg also served as the location of the Perpetual Imperial Diet effectively becoming the Empire’s political heart.

1810 saw Regensburg eaten by Bavaria. Bit of a muncher that Bavaria. Though damaged by a careless Napoleon Regensburg retained much of its medieval character and earned UNESCO World Heritage site status in 2006.

The rest is history.

Regensburg Rumble

As with Bamberg, strolling from the train station to the properly pretty parts takes between 10-15 minutes. The Old Stone Bridge, dating back to the 11th century, is oldest preserved bridge in Germany. A medieval masterpiece. Quite beautiful.

The 12th century, gothic St Peter’s Cathedral is a focal point of medieval Regensburg. We did have a peek. The 13/14th century stained glass windows are especially memorable. Even if the message is less so. The roof is gothic gorgeous. A Gothic ribbed vault was an 15th century addition.

Unfortunately, the dosh ran out in the 16th century and the twin towers were not actually completed until the 19th century. Whoops.  

Porta Praetoria is the remnant of Regensburg’s Roman gate. It’s been cleverly incorporated into a later building and easy to stroll nonchalantly past. I did. Sus spotted it. Perhaps a little underwhelming. Thankfully, Regensburg’s good bits are conveniently walkable, so equally simple to discover by chance. All hail serendipity.

The Altes Rathaus has both gothic and medieval elements. We actually explored a couple of the rooms that were open to the public. A more comprehensive tour is available.

The Historisches Museum Regensburg is housed in a 13th century monastery. Those mischievous monasteries get everywhere. We didn’t partake. Nonetheless, with artifacts ranging from the stone age to the more modern, given the time we may well have.

It had started to rumble with thunder. Huge rain drops menacing tourists. We made a dash back to the station. Arrived dry, caught the next train back to Nuremberg.

A couple of confessions. I’m scribbling my Regenburg musings a couple of weeks after returning. Everywhere else, notes were taken at the time or soon after. And, before this streak of honesty moves on, we probably didn’t do Regensburg justice. For example, there’s Schloss St. Emmeram, Thurn und Taxis. A Rococo castle built atop a medieval monastery. Sounds like a cake. Which we neither ate or saw.

Regensburg is deserving of your time. A few hours is all you need. However, to properly acquaint oneself, make a day of it. This medieval town will thank you.

NUREMBERG – PROPER, PROPER

A slightly lazy start, 3 days of heat and wanderings had taken its toll.

We weaved down the more modern Köningstraße and more modern market – fresh produce, artisan nibbles and obligatory sausage stand. The Pegnitz gurgles happily to itself close by. 

Narrenschiffbrunnen, or the less enticing ‘Ship of Fools’ Fountain, sits oddly on Köningstraße. It’s a modern sculpture based on a much older (1494) book of satires. Merits a glance.

We continued our weave down to Hauptmarkt of Christmas market fame.

Nuremberg was once 2 towns separated by one river. Naughty Pegnitz. Hauptmarket became the city centre of this particular universe when the 2 towns merged in the 13th century. As mentioned Nuremberg sat – and presumably hasn’t moved since – in the centre of Central Europe. And, during the medieval era, became a major trading hub. Location, location, location. The city even dabbled with the Silk Road.

Back in the 13th century, the idiots that be (men) of the time needed the land for a new town market. The Jewish settlers had turned a swamp into a settlement. They were banished, about 600 were killed in a pogrom in one night. Or 10% of the then population. 

Being the self-important men they believed themselves to be, this was easily justified. Isn’t it always. The fact the Jews had become the city’s main money lenders may also had a bearing. All debt was cancelled. And Frauenkirche, nearby, was constructed during the 14th century on the site of a demolished synagogue.

One of the most notable features of Frauenkirche is the Männleinlaufen, a mechanical clock celebrating the Golden Bull of 1356. Think Holy Roman Empire not an award for fibbing. A Imperial Diet was the deliberative body of the Holy Roman Empire. Power and prestige came to any city granted an Imperial Diet. Nurenberg was well chuffed.

Whilst admiring Frauenkirche – and waiting for the mechanical clock to put on a show – we spotted one of those popular free tours. We went over, asked if it was in English, it was, we joined. 

We spent an enjoyable couple hours plus with latest chum, Martin. And a small ground of similar minded souls from various bits of the world. One lady had arrived from India only the previous evening. 

Though much of the tour covered previous explorations, it added both history and useful context. Some I’ve since incorporated into this blog. It also introduced us to sights we’d missed or missed their significance. 

A WW2 survivor is Schöner Brunnen a 14th century fountain living in Hauptmarkt. It translates to Beautiful Fountain. Subtle. 

It’s modelled on a gothic spire dotted with statues of religious and town worthies. Tad presumptuous. Doubtless said worthies paid for the privilege. At 19 metres tall and brightly painted it’s easy to tick off. A gorgeous wrought iron fence was erected around the fountain, by a lovelorn local craftsman, in the 17th century. I’m rather fond of a bit of wrought iron. Preferred it to the statue. 

The wonderfully named, single arched Fleishebrücke (meat bridge), was constructed in the 16th century. It’s rumoured to be modelled on the Rialto Bridge in Venice.  It also miraculously survived the carnage of WW2. 

This area sold meat, good, bad and quite possibly lethal. A small river island, visible from the bridge, was where the nasty stuff was sold off cheaply. 

St Lorenzkirche (St Lawrence) church was begun in the 13th century, the magnificent west facade in the 14th century, the twin towers in the 15th century. The west façade survived WW2 as purposefully protected with concrete blocks. Much of the rest wasn’t so lucky.

We visited post tour. It possesses a strange juxtaposition of Catholic and Protestant (converted from the former to latter). It works. Genuinely one of the most striking church interiors we’ve seen. And we’ve seen a lot. 

The 3 piece organ is one of the largest anywhere. And who wouldn’t want a 3 piece organ. A chap was rocking some tunes (in an ecclesiastical kind of way) for a short time during our visit.

Anyway, did some light supermarket shopping before heading back to hotel. Out again, meandering mainly down by the river, for a couple of hours.

Our evening routine. With wine.

SUS’S BIRTHDAY

Was the following day, 17 June. Actually still is as I write.

Relaxed morning before a climb back up to the castle. There have been many harder castle climbs over the years.

Martin, our guide from the day before, had suggested climbing the Sinwellturm Tower and checking out the castle well. He appeared less enthusiastic concerning the castle interior.

Accordingly, we bought tickets for the well and tower only. And timed it perfectly for a well talk. Never realised a chat and demonstration relating to a 14th century could be so fascinating. Shout out to the lady guide.

Sinwellturm Tower is, miraculously, another 14th century survivor. One does wonder how they missed. It is a bit of a clamber up via wooden stairs though the offered vistas are fabulous. However, the most poignant moments came from period photographs demonstrating before and after the allied bombing. Heartbreaking.

Four Euros gains access to both. Recommend splashing out.

The afternoon was spent in Achtzehn97, a wine bar in a Nuremberg suburb. Decent wine, interesting food, lovely staff.

Walked back to hotel and relaxed.

SUS GOES HOME, TONE GOES TO BEER FESTIVAL

Post Brekkie, we walked to the train station. Sus left for the airport, I returned to Bamberg to meet chum Mike.

His first time so strolled the old town, and returned to the glorious Domplatz. Bamberg is undoubtably suited to a second visitation. Me and Mike strolled streets me and Sus hadn’t. The waterside Fisherman’s Cottages were a particular delight. Time well spent reacquainting myself with this beautiful city.

Brewpubs next. First up, Schelenkerla for their famous smoked beer. Surprisingly good. Very good in fact. Cynically, my first thoughts were a gimmick. Tempt tourists in, sell them an average product so they could take photos (OK, we did) and boast to chums back home (yep, did that too). I was wrong. Yes there was a touristy element but plenty of locals too. And most importantly, the famous smoke beer lived up to the hype.

Same result at second brewpub, Klösterbrau Bamberg. Another cracking ale. Very local, very good.

Only half litre served in both establishments. No tasters, no thirds or no halves. Probably too many tourists asking too many questions.

Rushed back to the station, returned to Nuremberg for the Fränkisches Bierfest. Said beerfest is convivially convened in the Imperial Castle moat. A most splendid, perhaps even baronial, backdrop.

Supposedly, one of the longest beer festivals anywhere. According to chum Mike. Having strolled the length of it I’m inclined to agree. Traditional beer dominates. Supped a couple, agreeable without being distinctive. And, as with Bamberg, half a litre only serving size option.

Oddly, and a little awkwardly, a deposit was paid for a glass. But said glass needed to be returned to the same brewery for said deposit. Same again with each following brewery. Each style has its own unique glass. As did some breweries. Mike was reprimanded for daring to be different and used the wrong glass for the wrong beer. Naughty boy.

We sank a couple of beers before going separate ways. Mike was staying with family a little outside Nuremberg in Erlangen.

CORPUS CHRISTI DAY

This year, falls on the 19th June. Today. My trip for a healthy breakfast was somewhat curtailed as very little – less than even a Sunday – is open. Including supermarkets. Where my healthy breakfast resided.

As the day progressed, a greater number of bars and restaurants opened their doors. Supermarkets and hight street shops remained closed.

Meandered accidentally (really) into the red light district getting a couple of half hearted hellos from the ladies. Not sure who was more surprised, them or me. Sus and I had toyed with the edges of the red light district a few days earlier. Without realising. Nightclubs, bars and pole dancing joints. Not my cup of entertainment.

Beat a hastily and welcome retreat to the less seedy part of town. Explored a little more before heading back to hotel and scrape together breakfast.

More meandering, a bratwurst bap, before a second visit to the bierfest. Connected up with chum Mike around 2 pm. Plus new chum Gregor, a relative Mike was staying with. Top bloke and, helpfully, knew his way around the breweries.

We saw a few punters with considerably smaller steins. Perhaps half a pint. Gregor asked and apparently these were available, and for a discount, could be filled halfway or to the top dependent on the brewery. Perfect.

We grabbed a couple and set about sipping. Guided by Gregor. Our very own German beer sommelier. Beer, conversation and bladders all flowed. A fabulous afternoon and early evening.

The beer festival was free, the toilets €0.50 a squirt. Probably made more money than charging entrance fee. Talking of water – kind of – no free wet stuff is provided. According to Gregor quite common though slowly starting to change.

Mike and Gregor went onto a rock bar for a couple of hours. I politely declined. My limit had been reached and flying home the following day.

Home

Not much to say. Checked out our Hotel, wandered hindered by large suitcase before U2 Metro and airport.

OBSERVATIONS

Most high street shops a supermarkets are closed on Sundays. As are many bars, cafes and restaurants. Nevertheless, plenty of bars, cafes and restaurants are open, particularly in and around the train station. 

Some stay closed on Monday. 

Metro tickets are purchased from machines. No barriers, no checks, a singular lack of interest, in whether we paid or not. We did by the way. Hamburg was the same. Fines for non-payment occur so best to purchase viable ticket. You know, the one time you don’t……

More people smoke, less vape. 

Public toilets are not free. Prices range from a pee inducing €1.50 to a more reasonable ‘let’s go again’ €0.50.  

CONCLUSIONS

We’re unapologetic Europhiles. Brexit, an awful name for a worse idea. So it will come as no surprise we rather enjoyed our time in Germany.

Nuremberg has an incredibly laid back and relaxed vibe. More than many other large cities we’ve visited. As already remarked, this may be related to the rebuilding its medieval heart. Whatever, it proves a delightful spot to stroll, sip a coffee or relax with an ales or two. A long weekend should cover most of the basics.

You may decide to linger in Bamberg or, alternatively, visit from Nuremberg. You should do one. Bamberg is a gem, worthy of an overnight stay. And for any beer buff Bamberg is mecca. I’m toying with popping back at some future point. Lingering for a few days to better study and understand the cities’ beer culture.

Regensburg is another worthy destination. Nevertheless, if only one can be visited, it should be Bamberg.

Many thanks for reading, Tony (July 2025)

Nice in Nice

Love the Lizzie Line. A civilised way to be transported to Heathrow. Even, as this was, at 5.30am. A civilised flight followed by an equally civilised early arrival. Marvellous. 

If the opportunity arises sit on the left hand side of the plane. Descending, the Pyrenees are a constant companion. As they gracefully faded into the background the pilot kindly flew over the Mediterranean along the Côte d’Azur frontage. Lovely chap. 

Uber from airport to hotel mildly irritating. Our original driver, presumably due to a more lucrative offer, deserted. According to Uber, we then became a priority. Unfortunately, the 2-3 other couples nearby had been made similar promises. A 15 minute wait ensued. 

Nevertheless, our driver was lovely, the journey short and cost reasonable. And the first time in a Tesla – a model Y. I know Musk is more obnoxious than Trump (an achievement in itself) but his cars are genuinely impressive. And I’m not a lover of SUVs. Range Rover excepted. 

After relinquishing our bags to a kindly chap at the hotel we wandered like a cloud. Or a tourist in Nice. Take your pick. 

The Promenade des Tony (Anglais) offers sparkly views over the Mediterranean. So named as promenade funded by British benefactors in the early 19th century. They, apparently, had a fondness for Nice. Not a difficult concept to understand. 

A pebble beach surprised. We both expected golden sands not Kent. Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful bay curving majestically and, on a sunny Sunday, populated by locals wearing just enough to be legal. 

The old town, more extensive than either were led to believe, dates back to the 16th century. Narrow streets, archaeological delights and diverse shopping opportunities (some good, some tacky) make for a wonderful wander. 

Rue Droite, embedded in the old town, has bars, restaurants aplenty. Plus the occasional church to wash away, if inclined, those guilty pleasures. Most tourist make for it, we’d walked down it, possibly twice, before realising this was the place to be seen. Oh well.   

The sizable Cours Saleya Market lurks a couple of block behind the sea front. It’s known for flowers and local produce and bustling with tourists and locals alike. Long queues had formed in front of the latest Trip Advisor sensation.

 

Finished our first day at Beer District. Serendipity arranged said craft beer emporium a few minutes stroll from our hotel. Loving that serendipity vibe.

Beer District doesn’t, unfortunately, open until 6pm. Every day. It closes 12,30am. Every day. Consistent. Fifteen taps of beery besties plus a sprinkling of cans in a fridge behind the bar entice. The vast majority were French – as it should be – with the odd European interloper.

Ale quality, for a wine obsessed country, was most palatable.

Loads of indoor and outdoor derriere alighting. That said, music inside a tad loud and a lot rubbish so outside beckoned. Though a smidgin past 6pm warm enough to enjoy the great outdoors. Marvelous.

MONACO/VILLEFRANCHE SUR MER

Monaco 

Monaco bound before 10am, I’d actually showered and was ready for breakfast by 7.30am. And thoughtfully woke Sus up. We were to reunite with our hotel room 10 hours later. 

I’d interrailed, with school chum Bush, to Monaco 40 years ago and have vague memories of disappointment. Recently caught up with chum Bush, and reminisced about that interrailing month. It’s amazing what each remembers and what each doesn’t.

Sus had never visited but keen to add another country to her list. 

We bought an SNCF day pass. Think of it as a hop on, hop off bus along the French Riviera. Though more train oriented. And at €12.50, rather reasonable.

Nice to Monaco is a meagre 20 minutes. The casino (built 1856) was the obvious place to start. Entry to the public spaces is free. Entry to the ‘should I sell the children’ gambling rooms costs €19. Having no children to sell we declined. 

The interior is a tad gaudy for my tastes but worth a gander. The exterior, on the other hand, is rather handsome. 

A stroll through a road tunnel (classy) brought us to Port Hercule and the Yacht Club de Monaco. And not a Agatha Christie detective to be seen. Huge and obscenely expensive super yachts preened. Monstrous beasts eliciting both feelings of superiority and of jealousy. Neither especially endearing. 

The main drag, Rue Grimaldi, is short but pretty. Buildings of a similar vintage to the casino elegantly line both sides.

Construction is alive and well in Monaco. Much, and most of more modern efforts, are mundane, unimaginative and, in a few cases, quite ugly. Few handsome 19th century building survive. 

Monaco is a petrolhead’s soggy dream. Expensive, beautiful cars roam the streets and showrooms. Formula 1 is ever present. An ad for latest Rolls Royce was being shot outside the casino. I, being a petrolhead, wasn’t immune. 

Monaco is not horrible. It’s clean, occasionally handsome, friendly with free toilets aplenty. Nevertheless, I struggle to understand the appeal. Do the few sights, move onto somewhere more interesting. 

Villefranche-Sur-Mer 

A short train journey, towards Nice, deposited us somewhere more interesting. Villefranche-Sur-Mer.

Villefranche is a classic French Riviera town. Pretty, historical, filled with tourists eating in overrated restaurants. The harbour is unnaturally deep making for a strategic base during 20th century conflicts. Always a selling point. 

From the train station we meandered onto the waterfront before the old town proper. Picturesque indeed.

The Citadel and Chapelle Saint Pierre both date back to the 16th century. The harbour, Eglise Saint Michel and many of the dwellings were constructed in the 17th century. And the Rue Obscure, a passageway burying beneath the harbour, originates from the 13th century. The latter is spookily atmospheric. 

The citadel house museums, the town hall, shops and an open air theatre. Probably. We never went in. Or realised it was there. We somehow contrived to walk past the main entrance without actually wondering what might be inside. Oh well.

Non of the tourist eating establishments appealed. After consulting chum google we headed to the compact modern centre, inevitably situated above the old town, and Lu Delici. No views, but delicious home cooked food. 

Whilst wandering these higher echelons of the town we’d spotted the 16th century Fort du Mont Alban. Perched, as one would expect, inconveniently on a hilltop. 

Curiosity overcame a dislike of steps. Initially steep steps cut through attractive neighbourhoods. Before deteriorating into a broken path. It’s a hard slog. According to our clever iPhones we climbed the equivalent of 40 flights. I’m not one to argue. 

The fort is not open to the public. Nevertheless, it’s a fearsome looking beast. Fight your way up the hill only to be put out of your misery by some bloke with a crossbow. No thanks. 

The views, however, are spectacular. Down into the bay and along the Riviera. Undoubtedly, the finest vistas encountered. 

The descent back down wound pleasantly through wooded areas and further neighbourhoods. 

On a brief shortcut into said woods we discovered 3 boules courts. The waft of weed suggested some were not taking it as seriously as others. 

A stroll along the Promenade des Anglais, a supermarket (Monoprix) stop all ended at Beer District. A very long and very enjoyable day.

Update. A case of the FOMOs meant a return citadel trip 2 days later. Rather glad we did.  The Citadel was being renovated, and though not especially large, is a wonderful glance into times gone by. The open air theatre is particularly charming. We both jumped on stage to release our inner Gielgud.

Nice Nice Day

Post Brekkie, strolling, we noticed a yellow bulldozer frolicking on the beach. Not really sure why. Perhaps a supervisor had asked Pierre to take the bulldozer onto the beach, wade in and out of the water, move a few pebbles around. It’ll amuse the tourists. It worked. We, amongst others, was captivated.

Another must see, another must climb. Really. Castle Hill. Sadly, in 1706 Louis XIV destroyed the fortifications, castle and cathedral. Bit mean. Remnants remain alongside landscaped gardens and walks, an impressive waterfall, cafes and the ever important panoramic views. School children abound.  

Back down in the town the bijou but beautiful Baroque Place Rossetti, considered the heart of Vieux Nice, houses the ornate Cathédrale Sainte Reparate. Construction began in 1650, was completed in 1685 with further additions over time. Fenocchio’s, an apparently famous ice cream maker, also call the square home. Location, location, location. Alternative restaurants and cafes proliferate.

We did pop into the Cathédrale though left no lasting impression. Not our cup of Baroque.

Garibaldi Square, in the North East of the old city, is the oldest large square in Nice. Though restored, and again Baroque  (1773 to 1784), the square originally smoothed trade and commerce. Now, indicative of our times, it teems with restaurants, bars and cafes. A huge fountain housing a (wet) statue of General Guiseppe Garibaldi.

We liked it. Garibaldi Square is an almost soothing spot for lingering (in a non-creepy way) and people watch. So we did.

Respite back at the hotel before Sus discovered (google helped) Allez Hops, an enjoyable 20 minutes stroll from our hotel. Allez Hops is part tap room, part bottle shop, part brewery. The holy trinity of beer. Nine taps delight with bottles and cans on shelves and in a fridge.

There’s inside seating shared with brewing paraphernalia. As should be. Outside pavement seating is shared with what appears to be an attractive neighbourhood.

The head brewer is American. Julie, also American and his wife, was on bar duties. We discovered both have lived in Nice for many years and have little intention of returning to the US.  

A genuinely convivial neighbourhood bar/tap room/brewery. Time constraints doomed us to just the one visit.

Antibes

Was a last minute decision. Èze (not the talented Crystal Palace midfielder) another option. Èze (not the talented Crystal Palace midfielder) was train, plus bus (or walk), Antibes was train. Twenty minutes. Destination decided.

Antibes has ‘welcomed’ the usual occupier suspects. Founded by those seafaring Greeks (5th century BC), taken on by the Romans, then numerous nasty marauders before flourishing under the French (15th century). Sea one side, snowed covered mountain the other. Well played France. Bit of a gem this one.

Antibes, as one might expect, has harbours for all tastes. If not pockets. Strolling from the railway station it’s difficult to miss Port Vauban, adjacent to the old town and overlooked by Fort Carré, a16th-century fortress. Star shaped apparently. On leaving Antibes we tried to get close and personal. Never did. The Fort was closed. For renovation. We admired from afar.

Port Vauban is a monster, as are many of obscenely large, gawp worthy, super yacht berthed there. By most a top trump metric it’s the largest marina on the Mediterranean. The port dates all the way back to those cheeky Greeks. I suspect both ships and amenities have had an upgrade. Though now a marina Port Vauban previously jobbed as both a military and trading hub.

Meander, chose your favourite, sigh wistfully and head to Vieille Ville d’Antibes. The old town. Conveniently walled (constructed in 16th century) against unwanted quests. We’ve all had them.

Built on both Greek and Roman underpinnings (an amphitheatre was still visible in the late 17th century) the present town dates back to 16th century. Meander the mazey, cobbled streets. Admire, perhaps indulge, the independents shops and eateries. We did. Enchanting.

Rue de la République, slicing through the centre of Vieille Ville d’Antibes, is the primary, pedestrianised retail street of the city. An eclectic collection of shops lends an attractive and bustling vibe. Marché Provençal, with its handsome 1920s architecture, entices visitors with fresh Provence produce and local handicrafts. Delightful.

Formerly the Château Grimaldi, originally constructed in the early 16th century, now houses the Picasso Museum. Renamed the Musée Picasso in 1966, two decades after Picasso had occupied a castle guard room there for a mere six months before the cold defeated him. Explains why Hastings doesn’t have a Picasso Museum.

Antibes Cathedral, a near neighbour, was constructed in the 12th century, in a Romanesque and Gothic style, before a Baroque-style facade was added in the 17th century. A handsome devil.

The city Ramparts, protecting Antibes from marauding mariners, again were built in the 16th century. By the Vauban of marina fame. He probably had help. These are now a popular promenade showcasing the Med and Antibes coast one side and the old town the other. The planting en route (that’s my French exhausted) is especially agreeable.

On leaving Antibes, FOMO hit. This was when we revisited Villefranche-Sur-Mer and it’s Citadel.

We both loved Antibes, genuinely exceeded any pre-conceived expectations. Unless you’re country bagging, and only have time for one, make it Antibes and not Monaco.

Observations

Nice locals, for the most part, are a friendly and charming bunch. 

Pedestrian crossings can be a little more exciting than perhaps they should. Drivers will studiously ignore those attempting to cross. Take care. 

Street names, in Nice old town, are in 2 languages. French and the local dialect, Niçois.

A canon fires in Nice everyday at noon – the boom at noon. Apparently, a wealthy Englishman, who wintered in Nice, and fascinated by the measurement of time, was the culprit. He sought and received permission to fire a canon at noon for the benefit of the residents of his adopted city. This was 1863. Smart phones were a little way off. 

The coast is surprisingly, and perhaps not surprisingly, built up. Assorted towns melding into one.

Conclusions

This is a splendid slice of France. Both Nice and Antibes are each worthy of a few days. Additionally, both offer great bases for exploring the French Riviera.

Being urbanite groupies we preferred the above cities though Villefranche-Sur-Mer is cute with spectacular vistas from Fort du Mont Alban. Monaco, less keen. Apparently, not everything changes in 40 years.

Thanks for reading. Tony (May 2025)

Toulouse

I was 60 on Monday 13 January. From 9.30am onward according to a reliable source. My mum. A 60th birthday party was considered. Briefly. Travel seemed the obvious way to celebrate.

Neither has visited Toulouse. A city with a rich history and the opportunity, by train, to venture beyond its city limits. And it would be warmer than London. It wasn’t.

Brief History

Toulouse, located in southern France, and the capital of the evocatively named Occitania, dates back to ancient times. Originally settled by the Volcae Tectosages, a Gallic tribe, before becoming an important Roman colony, known as Tolosa.

Over the centuries, Toulouse has ‘welcomed’ a motley crew of rulers including Visigoths, Merovingian and Carolingian Franks. During the Middle Ages it became the capital of the County of Toulouse. Today, it’s the capital of France’s Midi-Pyrénées region.

The production and trade of pastels (woad), greatly contributed to the wealth the city enjoyed during the 14th to the 16th centuries. 

Toulouse, often referred to La Ville Rose, due to distinctive pinkish terracotta buildings, boasts architecture from the Romanesque to Renaissance priods. Highlights include the Romanesque Basilica of Saint-Sernin, the neoclassical : A stunning example of Romanesque architecture, built between the 11th and 13th centuries Capitole de Toulouse, the neoclassical City Hall and National Theatre, the gothic Notre Dame de la Dalbade and the Pont Neuf, the oldest stone bridge in France.

Not a bad selection.

Saturday – Arrival

A 7.45am Heathrow flight to Toulouse seemed a splendid idea. Six weeks later, at 4.20am on a freezing Saturday morning, less so.

Nevertheless, once reasonably alive, the Elizabeth Line, a straightforward check in plus a flight landing 15 minutes early, and we looked akin to geniuses.

A 15 minute bus ride, through predominantly bland but tidy neighbourhoods, brought us to the Jeanne d’Arc Metro station.

Our hotel was a pleasant 5 minute stroll. Bags dropped, formalities completed, exploration commenced. It was a little after 11am.

It was cold. And insisted on remaining so. The south of France in January is not, weather wise, what we’d supposed or hoped.

The main square in Toulouse is an attractive affair dominated by the Capitole, a handsome building dating back to the 12th century. And richly embellished, over the following centuries, by successive important people.

Currently dressed in Neoclassical clothes it gazes benignly (one hopes in these troubled times) over the square of the same name.

Further wanderings brought us to the 11th century La Basilique Saint Sernin. Bit of a monster this one. Architecturally magnificent inside and out.

The centre of Toulouse is rather lovely, dating back to the sixteen hundreds. With numerous contributions from later centuries. The Pont Neuf, for example, was started in 1545 and opened in 1632. A money thing. Makes the High Speed 2 (HS2) look well managed.

We ate at the aptly monikered ‘Petit Voyage’ not far from the cathedral. Wonderful little spot discovered completely by chance.

And found a baby supermarket. A Carrefour City. And a regular haunt. Our hotel provided rudimentary and very welcome kitchen facilities including a small fridge. Without an overpriced, underwhelming minibar. Breakfast by Carrefour provided 6 out of 7 breakfasts.  

We meandered hither here and hither there before returning to our hotel. Then completed check in and unpacked.

Our day ended at Décapsule, a cheeky bottle shop a few minute’s walk from our hotel. Suspiciously convenient. I’d discovered our hotel.

For more on the excellent Toulouse beer scene please go to https://tonysbeersnobblog.wordpress.com/2025/02/13/toulouse/

Sunday – Carmes

Carmes is a Toulouse neighbourhood nestled between the Place du Salin and Place d’Esquirol. If that helps.

This city village is popular with tourists and locals alike. The pedestrian Rue de Filatiers and Rue Bouquiéres are a conspicuous consumer’s delight – small local shops, pretty cafes all in appealing surroundings.

Saint Stephen’s Cathedral is actually 2 churches amalgamated info one – a bogof kind of vibe. The architecture alternates between the Gothic and Renaissance. It’s quite magnificent with a striking interior.

We arrived as Sunday Mass was concluding. Neither are religious, neither are church goers. Nevertheless, we’ve explored many a magnificent church and never witnessed one so well attended. Fish and wine anyone?

And an insight into the power and awe such a Cathedral must have projected onto believers of earlier times.

We wandered the streets of Carmes for a couple of hours or so. With a similar mix of architectural genres to Toulouse, and village vibes, it’s a jolly nice place to discover.

We continued south, or so Sus said. She has an inbuilt compass, I have an inbuilt ‘that way’. We strolled by the 19th century Royal Palace – now a barracks – before discovering the attractive Jardin des Plantes and Muséum de Toulouse.

The latter – there’s a large foyer, thankfully with a toilet – modelled a full size tetradactyl. A modern day elephant modelled underneath – one not hunted for sport by an inadequate moron – would probably piss itself. As would the inadequate moron.

The wide, elegant boulevard alongside the gardens was hosting an expansive and busy market.

Briefly back to our hotel before a sojourn to the surprisingly pub like Bear’s House. Craft beer obviously.

Monday – Carcassonne

Toulouse-Matabiau Station was less than a 10 minute saunter from our hotel and a factor influencing our decision to stay there. Trips outside of Toulouse were always part of our grand plan.  

Carcassonne is an hour’s train trip from Toulouse. The first 15 an uninspiring journey through Toulouse’s outskirts. The second 45 offers hope with green stuff. And cows. 

Carcassonne, a Languedoc hilltop town, is famous for its medieval citadel – La Cité. Very 1984. A lively wind cheerfully greeted us. Fuck, it was cold. The ‘hilltop’ bit should probably have given us a clue. 

Again, though not especially prosperous (a successful wool and cloth industry long since departed), Carcassonne new town offers an elegant thoroughfare, attractive main square and a cathedral (Saint Michel) dating back to the 13th century.

Carcassonne is not as extensive, culturally or architecturally appealing as Toulouse. Nevertheless, it possesses a certain charm and shouldn’t be bypassed in a headlong rush to La Cité.

Exiting the new town one encounters  the petite, 16th century La Chappell Norte Dame de la Santé languishing prettily at the beginning (or end, depending on your view). The gorgeous 14th century (restored in the 19th century) Pont Vieux spans L’Aude River depositing tourists, drily, into Bastide Saint-Louis. Or Lower Carcassonne.

Merchant mansion houses date back to the 17th and 18th century with churches dating back further including the 14th century Cathedral of Bastide Saint-Louis.

Place Carnot, the central square, with its famous fountain, loved by Balzac a French writer I’d never heard of, hosts weekly markets. Not when we were there. Even the statues looked cold.

Bastide Saint-Louis is often missed, as with Carcassonne itself, in a headlong frenzy to reach La Cité before that annoying noisy and surprisingly numerous family in front of you. That would be a mistake. Though cold and, inevitably, blustery on our visit we enjoyed our brief exploration.

La Cité is considered by many to be the best preserved medieval fortress in the world. So there.

Constructed in the 12th century, restored in the 19th century, listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site in the late 20th century. Some consider the 19th century restorations in tad poor taste. A mediaeval fantasy, not necessarily a mediaeval reality.

Entrance to the fort is free. Payment will be taken if you wish to stroll the ramparts, meander the castle and peruse the museum. We paid. And strolled, meandered and pursued. Fifty two towers, 2 concentric walls totalling about 3 kilometres. On a hill. Not a place to volunteer to attack after a lager top or two.

A audio commentary was available. We declined. However, fascinating fact boards dotted the ramparts and castle. All included an English translation. We read those.

Remarkedly, a small mediaeval town nestles within the protecting wall of La Cité. With a small population residing there year round.

We returned to Carcassonne new town and that attractive main square. Had coffee, cake, warmed up before heading back to Toulouse.

The day was completed by an evening excursion to Décapsule. It was my birthday.

Tuesday – Market and Paintings

Was Marché Victor Hugo day. The man, not the market, wrote, amongst others, those cheerful little ditties ‘Les Misérables’ and ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’.

A market existed from when the square was originally constructed in 1827. In 1886 the square was renamed Victor Hugo and subsequently sexed up in 1892 and again in 1959.

Today Marché Victor Hugo is a large covered market sheltering around 100 stalls. Meat, poultry, fresh sea food and cheese assault the senses. With an almost apologetic concession to fresh fruit and vegetables.

Though smaller than London’s Borough Market the emphasis is on selling fresh quality produce to locals and tourists alike. Less on Borough Market’s street food vibe.

Several restaurants live on the second floor and take their ingredients directly from the market. Be rather silly not to.

We chose one, scoffed at one. I chose prawns. Big fuckers, unpeeled. It became messy. Quickly. The lovely staff kept arriving with napkins and wet wipes.

Overall, great value, good food, passable wine. A most agreeable experience.

I suspect the other second floor restaurants offer a similar experience. All have a lunch menu, most open around midday and close before 2pm.

Once foddered culture beckoned. Housed in the wonderful 16th century Hotel D’Assézat is the Georges Bemberg Collection. Once a private collection, since donated to Toulouse. Thanks Georges.



Daubs range from the Renaissance to the modern day and well worth a gander.

Popped back to hotel before a delightful evening supping fine wine at Nabuchodonosor. A genuinely lovely spot with welcoming locals. If you’re seeking a slick, modern, climate controlled environment this is not it. And there’s no sign. Nevertheless, please do pop in.

Wednesday – Foix

An hour and fifteen train minutes from Toulouse lies Foix, a charming town located at the crossroads of two rivers, the Ariège and the Arget. And snuggly nestled in the Pyrenees. 

The train was a double decker. I love a double decker. Our tickets were never checked. 

The journey passed through quickly forgotten small towns intermingled with pretty countryside backdropped by the Pyrenees and farms. 

Foix, for a small town, boasts a disproportionately large castle and cathedral. The former medieval, the latter 15th century. We admired the castle from afar, closed for a nip and tuck, and peeked into the striking cathedral.

The town still retains a sprinkling of medieval houses, some half-timbered. Plus architecture from the following centuries. 

Though not feeling especially prosperous the town woke up once the shops re-opened around 4pm. However, the Pyrenees setting, plus those 2 rivers, perhaps overshadow the town itself. 

Thursday – Albi

Our third and final  excursion was Albi, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

An hour from Toulouse, the scenery again comprised of uninspiring outskirts, quickly forgotten small towns and pretty countryside. 

More half-timbered medieval houses vie, for your attention, alongside Renaissance mansions. Woad, between the 14th to 17th  centuries, was must have modern equivalent to the latest iPhone. It paid for those Renaissance mansions. 

The historical centre comprised of houses and mansions predominantly between the 13th and 17th centuries. With approved guest appearances from later centuries. Many surviving mansions have been upcycled to hotels and civic buildings. 

It’s a most agreeable place to meander and window shop. And buy cake. We grabbed a spot of lunch. Before the 2pm curfew.  

Saint Cécile Cathedral, another of those Gothic masterpieces the French appear to be rather good at, is difficult to miss. It’s a monster. The daddy monster of cathedrals. Though, close up, vaguely reminiscent of Battersea Power Station. 

It’s huge, brick, with round bits. And turrets. Stunning. Inside, every wall, every ceiling is painted. One does hope the ceiling was double time. 

Alongside is the equally huge, equally brick, equally round bits old Bishop’s Palace Fortress. Or the Palais de la Berbie. Now part museum, part not really sure. 

We crossed one bridge, came back across another. My bladder discovered another beautifully medieval neighbourhood. We’d been following a ‘toilet’ sign. Good things really do come to those who wait.

Then back to the train station, onto a crowded train and into a cold Toulouse. And beer.

Friday – Michelin Birthday Nosh Day

Our last full day in Toulouse. And France. Before departing London we’d researched Michelin Toulouse restaurants. A 60th birthday is not a MacDonalds occasion. 

To be fair, for us, nothing is ever a MacDonalds occasion. 

Py-r is a 2 starred Michelin restaurant. Sus decided this was an appropriate destination for a milestone birthday. She was right. As she so often is. 

Whilst pursuing the menu, with the help of google translate, the door was unlocked. 

We entered. The manager looked a tad non plussed. Once reassured we knew this was a posh nosh establishment (my words, not his) and not the local pizza palace, he and his staff couldn’t have been friendlier. 

We chose the shorter of the 2 set menus. And grateful we did.

As one would expect the food, presentation and ambience was fabulous. 

The first course was ambiguously titled ‘Setting the scene’ or something similar. Some scene. Over 2 servings at least 15 dishes appeared, often elaborately exhibited. Only mouthfuls, but delicious mouthfuls. The French, apparently, very much enjoy understatement.

And there were 3 types of butter.

The wine, chosen by our rugby loving sommelier, was also rather fabulous.

Three hours later – we spent longer at the Fat Duck some years ago – it was time to leave. After paying of course. 

The next couple of hours passed in a mild and pleasant food and alcohol trance exploring streets we hadn’t yet explored. Or, in some cases, actually had and just forgotten. That’s a 60 thing. 

We ended up in Mosaic. A craft beer establishment. And a hop varietal. Our chosen wine bars were all closed until 6pm. It’s ironic, that in a country famed for wine, we ended up drinking beer. 

Saturday – River an Canal Day

Our flight wasn’t until 8.30pm. After checking out we strolled to and the along the river Garonne. Joggers and walkers, like ourselves, were numerous. Saturday was the warmest day our Toulouse week. Not annoying. At at all.

Apparently, the Toulouse Massive likes to brunch and lunch on Saturdays. Cafes and restaurants were packed. 

The Canal du Midi, flowing through Toulouse, was constructed in the late 17th century. Beginning inToulouse the canal ambles 240 kilometres finally gurgling out of existence in the Thau lagoon. Further canals were added a century later.

The couple of small sections we encountered were well maintained, respected and harbouring 20 species of fish. The Canal du Midi, and its later siblings, are a wonderful Toulouse bonus. As with the river, walkers were evading joggers, joggers were evading walkers. Cyclist were evading both.

We foraged fodder from a favourite patisserie, consumed back in our hotel’s comfortable foyer. 

Then another stroll. More packed cafes and a graveyard showcasing many an impressive family tomb. 

We can collected our bags and Ubered to a near empty airport. Our flight back to London was only a third full. 

Toulouse Musings
Wrought iron is omnipresent. Handsome stuff. I’m a big fan. Perhaps my Steel City (Sheffield) upbringing.

We never actually ventured onto the metro. Our only foray into public transport was the airport bus on arrival. On the advice of hotel staff an Uber proved a more efficient, and cost effective option, for our return airport trip. Though, I believe, the T2 tram does run to the airport.

Pancakes/crepes are a Toulouse favourite. Not such a fan.

Graphic comic stores are well represented. Again, big fan.

When buying train tickets, online of face to face, specific trains must be chosen. And buy train tickets beforehand, even if only by a day or so. Same day travel fares are expensive.

Smoking is far more prevalent than in London. Vaping less so.

Sunday and Monday. That favourite researched restaurant, wine bar or cafe may well be closed.

Similarly, lunch and dinner restaurant opening hours are quite short. Try eating after 2pm may well leave you hungry.

Streets are a remarkable and welcome litter free. Unfortunately, poo de chien, is splattered somewhat more liberally.

Toulouse – Final Thoughts

Three days in Toulouse should prove a delightful break. Unless you live there. Obviously. Meander the city, amble Carmes, stroll the Canal du Midi and River Garonne.

If day trips play a part in your grand plan, Carcassonne should be projected managed in. As should Albi. Foix perhaps the unfortunate casualty to time. Our favourite? Albi. Plan several hours for each.

And a special mention must go to the vast majority of French people we encountered. Almost without fail they were charming, generous of their time and annoyingly quite lovely.

We both prefer Toulouse to the perennially overrated Paris. It’s beautiful in parts, charming in others and walkable in all. And would have no reservations about recommending the city to those wishing an alternative to Paris or, another favourite, Lyon.

Don’t sideline Toulouse in favour of another Paris visit. It would be a mistake.  We loved it.

Many thanks for reading, Tony (February 2025)