Plitpicture, perfect

Every once in a while you come across a place that is so picturesque (read: all over postcard stalls across the region) that it is hard to do it justice with either words OR pictures. One such a place is Plitvice (say it with me Australians - "plitvitcha") National Park in Croatia. Waterfalls tumbling into lakes feeding waterfalls tumbling into more lakes, all criss-crossed by croc-friendly walkways. The ridiculous footwear that is, not the aggressive reptile - crocadile-friendly walkways would perhaps be a less tourist-friendly proposition. Not to even mention the cost of importing crocadiles for the walways to be friendly to. But I may be straying off-topic here.

At any rate, it is simply one breathtaking vista after another.

So I tried to go a bit different - looking at the details and how to use the colour in interesting ways, as above, and the translucency of the water, as below.

But I guess there has to be some kind of nod to the whole "vista of incredible natural beauty". I went with this one. To be honest I stopped caring after I got to #20 of 150 panoramas.

Old and new

An island somewhere

The first islands we visited were Cres and Mali Losinj, a short ferry ride from Istria, where we started our journey. Far from the opulant holiday villas of the 19th century Austro-Hungarian nobility found on the mainland coast, Cres is pure rural Croatian from top to bottom. Picturesque harbour towns and rocky coastline galore - and wild enough to be the only home in Croatia of the griffon vulture, which we kept an eye for but unfortunately could not spot.

The day was spent cruising from one end of the island to the other, with the loose eventual goal to spend the evening watching the sun set over the harbour of Mali Losinj. We managed to time our arrival in Osor, in the south of Cres, just in time to see, judging by the crowd, one of the most exciting things to happen on the sleepy islands each day. The two islands of Cres and Mali Losinj are seperated by nothing more than a canal around 15 metres wide. The bridge over this swings open for around 30 minutes to allow boats to pass from one side to the other, avoiding a lengthy sail around the south of Mali Losinj as they proceed either to the Istrian coast or to the islands to the east.

After 15 minutes of tinkering, the two bridgekeepers (I imagine a highly regarded position) gave up trying to fix the mechanism for swinging the bridge out and ended up pushing it, which I suspect might happen a bit. Through came the boats, their crew (or rather compliment of loungers) waving proudly to the crowd. The Panama Canal it's not, but I have to admit got a bit caught up in the excitement of it all and found myself wishing I had ticker tape or streamers or something to throw to celebrate the passage of these doughty seafarers.

And only a very small part of me wanted the boats to have to race through like the Argo to avoid getting smashed by clashing rocks...

Red and white gear? Check.

Within the first day spent across the border we'd had a great chance to see something of what makes Croatia tick - and it's the same thing that makes a lot of Europe get out of bed each morning and pull on their pants: football.

We'd managed to time our visit at either one of the best or one of the worst times, depending on your outlook. While not an avid follower of the round-ball game, I've certainly come to appreciate the passion it arouses in people all over the world - from horn-honking competitions in the streets of Lyon to celebrate their Olympique's topping of Ligue 1, to virtual rioting in the boulevards of a victory-mad Buenos Aires during the World Cup, to pubs erupting all over Australia when we finally qualified - without exception, there is nothing which engenders passionately emotional outbursts quite so consistently around the world as the beautiful game.

Water, water, everywhere

Guess where I went next? Going to Venice for the first time in ages was great - but greater still was getting to hang out there with a couple of very special ones, busted below being all cute. Meeting up with old friends or family in new places has become one of my favourite things - and I was fortunate enough to have the chance to do this a lot this summer (hold on for more updates).

We had a great time waxing all touristy. By and large it was fairly miserable weather - as much water in the sky as in the canals - but we did get a brief spell of sunshine on our second evening. We used this to head up the Campanile di San Marco (the bell tower in St Mark's Square) and get a bird's-eye of the city in the setting sun - the Basilica and the Doge's Palace looked amazing.

Like any destination city, however, some of the real gems are off the beaten track - and all the more enjoyable for being a haven from the crowds. This one was a wine and cichetti (Venetian tapas) bar, which I had been recommended by a local, but actually somehow ended up stumbling upon without meaning to. It was fantastic - the lovely wines and moreish bite-sized food were served up by the henpecked but amiable owner. The clientele were all local, and we were completely out of place - but what a great place to be so!

The rest of the stay was spent to-ing and fro-ing through the alleyways, which we actually managed to get reasonably familiar with. One of the highlights was getting a tour from a colleague who had retired to live here with her husband. They run these professionally, tailoring days around Venice to the taste of the people they are guiding, up to and including going to the markets and taking food back to cook in their home in a Venetian canal-side mansion. It's going deservedly well, with these "guided tour 2.0"s being booked many months in advance

A couple of nights out on the town rounded off our stay nicely, including a night of opera "highlights" with some classics from various operas being played in one of the scuole of Venice as well as a jazz night in a little bar beside the canal. A great way to spend a couple of days with much-missed friends from afar!

Gallic goodness

Time for another random trip out to the countryside - this one to celebrate the arrival of spring in Wales. It was a great weekend of wild country, and of course more country pubs. We stayed at a brilliant bed and breakfast, the owner of which had contributed to a brilliant book full of hearty celtic recipes - she sent me a copy, and with autumn now approaching I'm definitely keen to try some of them out.

And now, some photos - beautiful spot, no?

l'Angleterre

The day a good friend from Paris was over (the first time I'd seen him for 5 years, no less) was one of the few in a London year that the city woke up to a blanket of soft white snow. There is nothing snow cannot beautify, and this city is no exception. Regardless of this, our plan had been to escape London, and escape we did in a car borrowed just for the occasion.

Our target was fairly vague - west somewhere, maybe as far as Bath - but by the time we got had stopepd at Windsor to wander through the town and around the castle, marveling at the how the place looked in the snow (particularly with the trees in blossom), it was already looking like this was not going to be a day of long voyages, but rather something of an evolving ramble.

We were, soon enough, back in the car and heading further into the countryside; through Eton and past the lovely old buildings of the school, and onwards. The further we went, the thicker the snow lay; but the brighter the weather became, and, on the road to Oxford, we were treated to a an opening up of the sky, and the arrival of brilliant sunshine. This called for only one thing - lunch at a country pub. On a friend's recommendation, we made for The Trout, a riverside pub just outside the old university town.

It couldn't have been more perfect - great food and a few drinks with old friends, while we received alternating bouts of snow and sunshine over the garden of a lovely old pub; exactly what England is all about.

Turkey Rocks!

The main target for the trip outside Istanbul was a part of central Anatolia with possibly the most evocative name I have come across - the Phrygian Valley. It's name sounds to me something out of a Hellenic legend; and in fact, the Phrygians were contemporaries of the Ancient Greeks, their most famous King being Midas (he of the golden touch).


We headed for their eponymous valley with only the Lonely Planet Guide to Turkey as a navigation tool; this turned out remarkably well, thanks largely to one party Kamal Ataturc's policy of westernisation having been converting the whole country from the Arabic alphabet across to the Roman one. I cannot even imagine the effort this would have taken - but as with so many of these hard-to-imagine social changes, all it took was some good old-fashioned dictatorshippin'.


I also can't imagine the effort it would have taken to work out firstly how to get to where we wanted to be, and secondly how to find any of the things we were wanting to see. Despite having landscape "as beautiful as anything in Cappadocia", the Phrygian Valley is far less trafficked by tourists. In fact in the whole day that we pottered around in our little car, the only folk we ran in to were locals. Locals staring at us from the roadside, locals staring at us from their donkeys, locals grabbing us and refusing to let go as they declared their joy (I'm pretty sure it was joy) at seeing us there, locals putting their grandmothers into our car to get a ride to the next town. And not a soul that spoke English, refreshingly.

This is a very interesting part of the world. The rock dwellings that the Phrygians originally hew out of the stone here are far from gone - in fact, they are still incorporated into the lives of the people who inhabit the area today. Many of them are clearly still inhabited (with street numbers and all), and form the core residences of the little villages scattered throughout the valley. The place is a playground - we drove along, diving off the main roads whenever we saw a brown sign indicating an historic site - and as you can see, were not disappointed in the results.


One place in particular was truly amazing - we could only guess at what it had once been. Chambers upon chambers (literally one on top of another) were carved into a cliff. One large room had several large holes dug into the rock floor, along with seats carved from the walls. My theory was that it had been a communal baths; the large holes resembled nothing more than tubs, with two levels, the higher of which was shaped for sitting. I imagined Phrygians with pruned skin sitting on the surrounding seats, wrapped in conversation regarding the next door neighbours blasted hammering as they made themselves a nursery. One of the best bits of the whole complex (into which we just wandered - no ticket offices or roped off areas here!) was a small room at the very top with a hole giving access to a long fall down the cliff - a genuine rock-hewn, long-drop lavatory. I didn't need to go, unfortunately.

These couple of days out of Istanbul were the perfect counterweight to the time spent in the busy city, and meant when we finally flew out, it felt like I'd been in Turkey for a lot longer than the five nights we'd spent there. The other overwhelming sensation was that I couldn't wait to get another taste of the place - and writing this five months later, still can't.

Kutahya

Dusk on day one outside Istanbul fell on us at Kutahya, a large town towered over by its red fortress. Although not visible here, the large keep at the top hosted a rotating restaurant, providing us with a great view of the sun setting on the Anatolian countryside as we sipped sweet apple tea, and protection from the howling wind up on the hill. The taxi ride up was comfortable, but not nearly so much fun as the trip down, straight down the hillside and through the backyards of a few unsuspecting locals down to our quirky hotel overlooking the main square.

Warm welcome

The first stop we made outside Istanbul was Bursa. The thing that became immediately apparent in the countryside was that the great characters aren't limited to the capital. On stepping out of the car, the first person we encountered was a gentleman walking up the hill towards the market portion of the town. Walking at about the same pace as us, he asked where we were from - and soon enough, after a quick tour of the market, we were having tea with him in his textiles store, along with his son, an engineering student who commutes to Ankara. It was this sort of hospitality, which we came across throughout the trip, that was one of the things to make Turkey such a great experience.

Don't mention the "C" word!

As I write this it's been 5 months since I made my trip to the city famous for standing astride Europe and Asia - which is a testament firstly to how neglectful I've been with these updates, but also, given how clearly I remember the visit, to just how remarkable the city of Istanbul is. Unsure of what to expect when I arrived, I was surprised to find out that the place actually does conform in many aspects to the "East meets West" cliché, and in a mesmerising fashion.

Here you can catch a ride on a tram system identical to those of any large town in Northern Europe, a far cry from the petrol-oriented world of the Middle East. Many familiar features such as cobbled streets and crumbling stone lanes make you feel like you could be anywhere in the West. But then you are unmistakably reminded of where you are as the entirely, to western ears, alien call of the muezzin rises from the soaring minarets all across the city.

Like Rome and London, Istanbul has an indescribable energy and a palpable feeling of delights waiting to be discovered. The gorgeous Islamic modes of construction and decoration are breathtaking, with examples being endless. And just as those two other imperial monuments, the city is truly a sightseers playground, with every street bearing some beautiful testament to an incredible past.

The fact that we received almost constant drizzle from above did little to dampen (pardon the pun) our spirits as we explored, ate and shopped our way around the city. Each day concluded in a delicious local meal - particularly good were the kebap and Bosphorus seafood - and after a walk a sweet Turkish tea, a puff of nargile and a game of backgammon. The rhythm of the city is completely enchanting and addictive - punctuated by the calls to prayer and accompanied by the happy hubbub of the street vendors and market browsers, the scents of the spice stalls and the stunning sights of the greatest of Muslim cities.


Undeniably, one of the most vital components of this mélange is the stunning collision of architectural history. In the old town, not far from the palace of the muslim sultan of the Ottoman Empire, once the most powerful man in the world, is what was one of the largest churches in Christendom (now a museum); beyond that, it is easy to miss the entrance to the Roman underground cisterns (featured in From Russia With Love) as you stare at the stunning spectacle of the Blue Mosque.

Then, just when you think your senses could not be further overwhelmed, the most overwhelming of experiences awaits - the Grand Bazaar. Incredibly famous, it has a lot to live up to - which it does with ease. The crowds swirling around colourful stalls are solicited charmingly (stark contrast to the experience of Marrakech) by stall owners who have polished their one-liners and guilt-inspiring looks to a shine equal to that of their slicked back hair. They seem never to forget a face - from a two sentence exchange, we were remembered several days later - not only recognised, but identified as having looked at such-and-such a lamp or carpet.


By no means an exeption, but very special nevertheless, was the owner of Troy's carpets in the smaller Arasta Bazaar - a much smaller bazaar, with a single passage of stores in the shadow of the Blue Mosque (and, in fact, rented from the Mosque itself). Mustafa not only sold us brilliant carpets at a much better rate than his Grand Bazaar counterparts, but over 5 days became a fast friend who we looked to meet at least once a day for a tea or a game of backgammon (usually both). Through him, we got to know the other store owners, and even became familiar with aspects of their lives (for example, the storekeeper at the pottery store plays football and had a disappointing 5-1 loss one evening) and bazaar gossip (none of the store owners like the folk at the carpet store at the north end of the bazaar - they tried to fleece people and bring the bad elements of the Grand Bazaar with them).

The last, but by no means least, component of the infectious atmosphere of the city is provided by it's people. From people encountered randomly on the street, like the cheeky schoolboy below, to storekeepers and restaurant waiters, Istanbul is full of characters. Being there only a few days, it was amazing how quickly the locals developed a rapport, whether we were regular patrons or simply passers-by. This, of course, is a necessity for making money from tourism, and a familiar thing in a town so flocked-to - but when the attention is in the form of the easy charm seeminly bred into Istanbullers, somehow it ceases to be the dreaded hassle experienced in so many places, and all becomes part of the fun.

Just for the Fna of it

Returning to the Arabic world, albeit a continent away from my last experience, reminded e of all the amazing things which this wonderful people and culture has to offer. The first thing you notice is the hospitality; upon arriving at our riad, the first call of order is not to check the room, nor hand over passports as a deposit for the room - no, it is to sit and have a tea by the fountain and spend a few minutes getting to know your hosts.

Marrakesh is at once very similar and very contrasting to my experience in the middle east. Far from being a haven from the hordes of western travellers, as Damascus is, this equally intoxicating city is actually host to 1.5 million visitors a year - 50% more than the number of people that live here on a permanent basis. It is to Damascus that comparisons have to be drawn, as the bustling life of the souks and beautiful old town reminded me of no other place more than that beautiful city in the heart of Syria.

Like many of their counterparts around the Arabic world, the lives of the Marrekchi are hidden; behind tiny doors, leading off endlessly twisting and shoulder-grazingly narrow alleys, lie stunning courtyards and interiors (the above is that of our riad, whimsicially named "Chouia Chouia" - roughly translating to "little by little"). Most of the medina (city centre) is like this - save for the huge central plaza, Jamar el Fna, which, whether by contrast or in truth, was one of the biggest open spaces I've seen in a city. It is here the heart of the city beats - it seems that it is here that people find their entertainment, with thousands of locals converging on the street entertainers and food stalls every evening.

The city is in general one of contrasts; as is the tendency in any town over-run by outsiders, people on the street will by turn be friendly and hostile. The maniacal busy-ness of the souks and squares is counterbalanced with the calm of the restaurants and coffeehouses. Street vendors sell simple traditional fare, and nearby, western-influenced restaurants are making their mark on the international food scene.

There are few certains; just when you are sure that yet another person approaching you is going to ask you for money whether you accept their help or not, they genuinely and courteously go out of their way to aid you before walking on down the street, the "non merci" on your tongue making you feel quite silly and not a little bit guilty for behaving so suspiciously.

Industrial toursm?

Baltimore harbour is dominated by the huge Domino Sugar plant, which pumps out smoke, steam and a fairly distinctive sickly sweet smell around the clock. This is a shot from my hotel room on the water front aross the harbour at dawn.

Looking at places like these, I always wonder what goes on inside; I'm pretty sure there'd be some incredible machinery and processes going on, and while it wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea, I get the feeling there would be something of a market in taking people through these places in a sort of tour. Let's face it - these are amongst the biggest and most complex things we as a species produce, providing us with all the things we survive on each day. We don't make giant tombs or temples anymore, we make things like this - or the Trump Tower, below, which, when I stumbled on it in New York, I have to admit gaping at just a little.