Author: Stanfords

There are a lot of amazing festivals out there: Steve Davey should know, he is the author of a book detailing 500 of the best cultural celebrations around the world.

I have recently returned from one of the most breath-taking festivals I have ever visited. Breath-taking as it is an incredible traditional Buddhist festival held in a rickety monastery on the shores of the beautiful lake Tsomoriri; and breath-taking due to the high altitude. Tsomoriri lies at 4595 m (15,075 ft) and is primarily fed by the spring snow melt in this harsh, yet stunning region.

The dusty village of Korzok lies at the edge of the brackish lake, and is noted for the ancient Korzok Gompa – a Tibetan Buddhist monastery, which is home to around a dozen monks.

The annual festival, or Gustor, attracts Chang-pa herdsmen from the surrounding area. These devout nomads bring their yaks and Pashmina goats to the grasslands above the village for the Summer grazing. Many of the women wear elaborate headdresses, decorated with lumps of turquoise. Continue reading The breathless Korzok Gustor

By Debbie Valentine

The city formerly known as Leningrad is a place steeped in history, culture and vodka. St Petersburg feels as though it is still adjusting to not being a Soviet city, more than 20 years after the fall of Communism. With more than 200 museums, there are some fascinating places to see, and the queues and tourist shops will attest to their popularity, but equally you feel that crossing the street might lead you back to the seventies.

The city was founded in the early 18^th century by Peter the Great, who captured the land from the Swedes so Russia could have a sea-port, and promptly laid down the Peter and Paul fortress. The fortress is open to visitors and contains the final resting place of the Romanov family.

St Petersburg is unique because of its fantastic architecture, and this is the big draw for many visitors to the city. A decree in the mid-18^th century stated that no building could be higher than the Winter Palace (now the home of the Hermitage museum), which has led to the uniform look of the older parts of St Petersburg. The large number of aristocrats in pre-revolutionary Russia has meant that there are a vast number of baroque palaces along the River Neva, and it is a beautiful cityscape. The buildings of Soviet Leningrad create an odd dichotomy with the pre-revolutionary buildings. The functionalist buildings outside the centre of the city are definitely unattractive, but offer a glimpse into life in the USSR. Modern architecture is now making its impact on the city, and St Petersburg is now home to some skyscrapers, although regulations prohibit building near the historic centre. Continue reading St Petersburg

By Tim Cleary

The shape of my journey was a loop. The good thing about loops is that you begin in one place and return to it later, allowing you to experience your start point and end point – the same place – as a resolution in your mind, a lesson in experience.

My lesson began and ended in Tangier, fabled Moroccan city, known to many as the adoptive home of Paul Bowles and other members of the Beat Generation. I had wanted to travel to Morocco ever since I met warm-hearted Moroccan immigrants who had served me lamb tagine, couscous and mint tea when I was living in France. I had also become obsessed with Berbers, the indigenous population of North Africa. And, since Algeria was still a little risky following civil war and brutal killings since the 1990s, Morocco was the best place to go in order to meet them – other than Paris, Marseille and Lyon, of course.

Tangier is a Berber city to the core since many Tanjawis have their roots in the nearby Rifmountains, home to Riffian Berbers and Tarifit, the local form of the Berber language. I expected this port to be as welcoming as the low-lying, comfortable divan in the front room of the Ababou family home inFrance, where I had been waited upon like a reclining pasha. Continue reading The Moroccan Loop

by Gregor Swiderek

A couple of years ago with my cousin we decided to visit the Lake District and Hadrian’s Wall. Visiting the district was my cousin’s dream for many years while I was always fascinated by the wall. So it all looked like a great trip..

Our adventure couldn’t have started better. We drove from London and arrived at Windermere in the late afternoon. From there we drove the A595 over the spectacular Kirkstone Pass (at 454 m above the sea level the highest pass in the district open to vehicular traffic) then along the equally scenic Ullswater before stopping for a night in Penrith. It was a glorious day and we were looking forward to the next day.

Well, it couldn’t have started worse. It was raining, it was windy and it was foggy. Classic Lake District weather. Still, we didn’t give up and bravely drove into the hills hoping for the best. We were touring narrow lanes of the district with the heating in our car running on high trying to convince us that it was  actually warm. Obviously it didn’t work as any time we left the car for even the briefest moment the wind hit us with the full force of a hurricane, chilling us to the bone. Damn, it was just mid September, I don’t even want to know how it is there in January.

Finally we arrived at Honister Pass. Road B5289 leading there was as scenic as A595 the previous day but we couldn’t really appreciate the views as visibility was poor (actually, non-existent would be a much better description). At the top we stopped for a tea in a vain hope of trying to wait out the rain. It didn’t work and after an hour or so we decided to drive down and head to Carlisle when we had rooms booked for the night. Continue reading Romans and Rain

Debbie Valentine takes a trip around some of Scandinavia’s capitals, visiting Copenhagen, Stockholm and Helsinki.

Scandinavia summons up different images for different people. Saunas, pickled fish, flat-pack furniture – whatever it summons up in your mind, each of the capitals make a great place to visit for a short break and have lots to do and see (including saunas and pickled fish, but maybe you can leave the furniture until you get back).

Copenhagen

The capital of Denmark is a compact city, easy to get around and with a thriving cultural life. Whilst lots of tourists flock to have their picture taken with the Little Mermaid statue, out near the harbour, bypass those crowds and get stuck into the history of the city. The Rundetaarn – Roundtower – built in 1642 is a great place to see the city. A spiral ramp takes you to the top of the tower – up which, legend has it, Peter the Great ascended on horseback – where you get a great panorama of the city.

Copenhagen is home to seven castles and palaces. Of these, the most popular with visitors are the Amalienborg Palace, home to the Danish royal family, the Christiansborg Palace, home to the government and the Rosenborg Castle which is home to the Royal Collections and the Crown Jewels.

Copenhagen is a very green city, with a policy that all citizens must be able to reach a green space by foot within less than 15 minutes. The King’s Garden is home to the Botanical Gardens and serves as a sculpture garden.  The famous Tivoli Gardens is a pleasure garden and amusement park, home to rollercoasters and shows.

A trip to Denmark wouldn’t be complete without sampling a Danish pastry (called Viennese pastries locally). Food-lovers won’t be disappointed with the offerings in Copenhagen. Continue reading Scandinavian Capitals

by Brian Finch

On the outskirts of the resort of Viareggio, on the Tuscan coast of Italy, is Torre del Lago. Literally this is the tower on the lake but unless this refers to the little summerhouse construction in the shallows of the lake, the original tower must have gone long ago. The little town, and lake Massaciucoli  itself, is famous as the home of the great composer Puccini and host to a marvellous opera festival each summer. The approach is up a long and unprepossessing, though tree lined, street before, all of a sudden, the road opens up to a piazzale, an  open space on the edge of a big lake, and beyond the water lie steeply rising mountains. Just as you emerge into the open there is Puccini’s house, now a museum, on the right and a huge open air theatre on the left. You are drawn down to the waterfront to admire the view before picking one of the restaurants that line the street facing the lake for a pre-opera dinner.

Perhaps, if you are in-the-know you will have booked the Chalet Emilio, which is the only restaurant that is directly on the waterfront. Whilst there places to eat further into the little town that are more renowned for the excellence of their food the location here, overlooking the lake, is unbeatable. One year it provided us with the extraordinary view of aeroplanes dipping into the lake to scoop up water to drop on a forest fire in the hills behind but usually it is just calm and peaceful. This is despite those hills being slashed by the elegant white arched bridge of the autostrada to Florence: it is far enough away to be silent and the vehicles crossing it provide a slight sense of movement rather than disturbance. For a number of years the restaurant was closed, apparently due to an inheritance dispute, and we defected to Da Cecco, across the way, which is good, but contrasts with the calm of Emilio by being busy and boisterous.

After dinner comes a stroll around the piazzale, a look at the little boats moored there, perhaps an inspection of the artworks on display. For years there were towers of ceramic blocks on the green, the work of a local artist whose ceramics I first saw in a gallery along the coast and from whom we bought a number of pieces for our lounge wall. We encased them in plenty of bubble wrap and took them home as hand luggage. I am not sure the budget airlines would let us do that today. As the light fades you stroll to the theatre, passing over a small bridge and causeway across a small yacht basin and a stream that flows into the lake. I remember a night when the opera was Madam Butterfly and the bridge was lined with Japanese lanterns. It is dusk as you join the crowds to enter, summer performances in Italy typically start around nine at night, but dark when you leave, so pause for a moment to enjoy the lights of the villages across the lake.

Inside the amphitheatre it is typically Italian: noise, bustle, apparent confusion and argument but that is just how they talk here, they are just being emphatic and expansive. There are also tourists from all around the coast. The opera itself is never less than marvellous albeit I am not a big fan of the acoustics here. One year I was sufficiently disappointed by the sound being carried away by the breeze to overcome my British reserve and move forward into better seats at the interval. Although not in the very front rank of Italian opera houses this is still a pretty big deal and attracts rising stars. And the atmosphere on a sultry summer’s evening seems somehow fitting to the opera. Sitting there and seeing the full moon rise above the stage is an added extra. In the interval the bar staff seem to know half the crowd pushing for service and waving for attention and if they don’t know you service can be slow. Of course there are no queues, just a crowd. Are the customers neighbours or just regular attendees, have the bar staff been paid in advance to provide quick service? Who knows, this is Italy and there is always some mystery about how things really work.

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