Wherever I’ve been in the world I have of course found wheels. Simple cart wheels, bicycles and motorcycles, and of course cars, most of us rely on wheels to get around. Maybe wheels are yet another example of the many things that unify us, despite our cultural differences?
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How do you find peace in a city rife with crime and violence? During the 1980s and most of the 1990s Medellín had the reputation of being one of the most violent cities in the world.
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Strung out along a ridge in the Himalayan foothills lies the ancient town of Bandipur. It has only been fully accessible by road since 1998. The ridge is just 200 metres long and barely wide enough to accommodate the main street and the buildings that line it. Behind the houses the mountainside falls away steeply. The small market gardens farmed by the inhabitants are accessible only by steps cut into the hillside.
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Bhaktapur lies a little to the east of Kathmandu. At its heart is a series of lanes and squares that seem little changed for centuries. Here more than anywhere in the country I felt immersed in the ageless atmosphere of Nepal.
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Everyone will tell you that Thamel isn’t the REAL Kathmandu. It was once backpackers central, and today is home not only to hostels but to increasingly smart hotels. But between the tourist-focused delights is enough local colour to demonstrate that you are indeed ‘a long way from home’.
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Our visit to Indochina was only just over two years ago, yet in some ways it feels like a world away. A world barely touched by Covid, in which we didn’t question our ability to travel. Took it for granted, perhaps? Looking back at my photos I wonder why we didn’t realise that the disease already causing deaths and chaos in China would spread to engulf the whole world. Were we like ostriches, our heads in the sand? Or was it such an alien concept that we couldn’t envisage it?
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Bulgaria’s capital city intrigues and charms me. It seems to be in a state of constant flux, built on layers of history. One minute you are walking on a Roman road, the next staring up at 1950s Stalinist monoliths. Gold-domed cathedrals and churches dominate the vistas along wide boulevards while in side streets elegant villas sit side-by-side with their crumbling, neglected cousins.
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Jean Cocteau said that, 'In Paris, everybody wants to be an actor; nobody is content to be a spectator'. I disagree. For me, there are few more pleasurable ways to pass the time in Paris than sitting on the terrace of a pavement café watching the world pass by.
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The Marais is one of the loveliest and most fashionable districts of Paris. The name means ‘marshland’ because the original village here was built on a marsh, but there are no signs of that these days! Instead there are elegant buildings, pretty squares and of course the Parisian staples of great little cafés.
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Around a 450 year old fort on the edge of the Thar Desert a small town has grown up, consisting of little more than a market, some shops and a bus station. These serve the surrounding rural community and those who work in the fort, which is today is both home to the Thakurs, former rulers of the Kingdom of Khimsar, who built it, and also a heritage hotel.
