Browsing a flea market in East Berlin many years ago I came across an old postcard, with a pretty painting of forget-me-nots. Turning it over I found, to my surprise, that the message was in English. It was dated 19.6.17 and was sent from BEF France – the British Expeditionary Forces.
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In June 1940 France fell to the advancing Nazi army and was occupied. The British government decided that the Channel Islands, just off the Normandy coast, were of no strategic importance and would not be defended. The islands were effectively demilitarised, and the residents were faced with an impossible choice. Should they stay and face occupation or go, leaving behind families, friends and possessions?
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When I first saw Stokesay Castle I thought that a house had been built on to an older stone castle, but in fact it is an exceptional example of a crenelated manor house from the late 13th century. This is how the better-off lived in the later Middle Ages.
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When I saw Pie Town on the map I knew we had to go there! Any town named after food has to be worth a visit, yes? And while getting to Pie Town involves a long drive across the empty plains of western New Mexico, for us the effort was well rewarded.
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The first computer my husband and I bought had a memory of around 500 MB. The second seemed a huge advancement at a whole gigabyte! Today I have 32 GB in my phone, i.e. 64 times as much, and 64 GB (128 times as much) in the memory cards I use in my cameras. And yet that first computer of ours was of course a massive advance on the earliest computers.
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As we approached Santa Rosa on Interstate 40 the heavens opened and for about ten minutes we drove through a downpour so heavy that it was almost impossible to see the road or any other vehicle on it – scary stuff. Maybe the elements were finding a way to punish the road that almost destroyed one of the most iconic of all American cultural icons, Route 66.
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As much as the sights we see, it is the people we meet who make travel so rewarding and so memorable. Whether close to home or on the other side of the world, an interesting encounter can really bring a place to life. A few years ago we had just such an encounter in Seaton Sluice, a coastal village north of Newcastle in north east England.
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Koprivshtitsa is not a regular sort of town; all the buildings of the town centre constitute a museum. Together they form a sort of time-capsule, encapsulating the atmosphere of the Bulgarian National Revival period of the 19th century. Wandering its streets you can feel yourself transported back in time; and exploring its historic houses opens your eyes to a difficult period in the country's past.
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Standing here and looking out over the valley, you have the same view a Mogollon would have had, centuries ago. For thousands of years, groups of nomadic people had used these caves to provide temporary shelter. Until, in the late 1200s, some people of the Mogollon culture decided this would be a good place to call home. They built rooms, crafted pottery and raised children in the cliff dwellings for about twenty years. Then the Mogollon moved on, leaving the walls of their homes still standing.
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A short drive from bustling (and seedy) downtown Kingston, on a spit of land reaching out into the sea, lies the small and slightly shabby fishing community of Port Royal. Today it is hard to imagine that this secluded backwater was once described as ‘the richest and wickedest city in the world’. But its sleepy demeanour masks a notorious past.
