My least favourite part of a meal is dessert… unless there is something which awakens the sweet-toothed child that slumbers within. And there regularly is, no matter where we travel around Europe. […]
During the course of a neverending monologue from Marcia, with an “aye, that’s right” thrown in by Preston every now and again, she mentioned their suitcase was half-filled with tins of Spam. It snapped me out of the self-induced coma I’d retreated into. What sort of strange person would pack Spam in their suitcase? […]
The Portuguese, like the Spanish, are complimentary when you make an effort, telling us we can speak it well when we rattle of a few stock phrases when we’re appalling. […]
Enter a forest and an unseen entity gently detaches your problems and deposits them at the treeline to be collected, or not, when you depart with renewed spring in your step and a glow in your heart. […]
Overtourism isn’t new, it’s just taken some destinations time to stop seeing the dollar/euro signs ringing up on tills and start seeing the negative effects of what has often been partly their own doing. […]
It’s a convivial gathering, eight of us around a dining table at a rural hotel in a converted farmhouse. The food has been plentiful, the wine flowing. As the evening progresses we get to know one another better and tongues loosen. […]
After a couple of days in a purpose-built resort I get twitchy, and eager to leave. Their rhythm is out of kilter. In high season there are no weekends as such, each day is ground-hog Saturday night. […]
Ever since we took up walking in earnest, and starting monitoring weather conditions and their after effects, we’ve learned things about the weather we would once never had considered for a second. […]
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