Ireland, the emerald isle, one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world. After trying to organize a tour of it on a couple of separate occasions I finally succeeded just a few months ago.
And I have to say I absolutely loved it, so I decided to share some of my impressions. However, I’m not going to write about ancient ruins and monuments, or about the green and pleasant landscape, not even about tasty Guinness or lovely Irish pubs. No, I’m going to write about the most fun aspect of our journey, Irish roads.
Here, I have to admit that I am a road geek and I absolutely love driving (in case you hadn’t picked that up from my American journeys). I’m sure travelling by train is relaxing and travelling by bus lets you meet some fellow travellers but there is nothing better than your own set of wheels.
We started our trip in a car rental office in a suburb of Dublin. Nothing exciting or worth really writing about but in no time we were crossing the middle of the country on one of the new and empty Irish motorways. It was the first big surprise. Being used to busy British roads I just couldn’t believe how empty a major highway can be. There were quite long moments on our way to Cork when we couldn’t see a single car in front or behind us. Pure joy to drive.
Still, a motorway is a motorway, nothing really worth shouting about (maybe apart from some spectacular Alpine stretches in Switzerland). It was the smaller roads which provided some real fun. Our first encounter with a proper Irish road was R668 across the Knockmealdown Mountains linking counties Tipperary and Waterford. Due to inclement weather (to say the least) we couldn’t really admire the apparently great views but the drive itself was still fun with all the tight corners and moss covered branches hanging over the road. Continue reading An Irish Roadtrip
With the holiday planning season firmly underway, we’ve teamed up with Marco Polo to offer 10 lucky holidaymakers a set of 3 guidebooks to Lanzarote, Turkey and Tenerife!
The second part of our Montenegro trip was almost entirely devoted to the coastal landmarks. But first of all, we were desperate to plunge ourselves in refreshing water and get a bit of a tan. Once we found ourselves by the sea in a town called Petrovac, it turned out that the coast was so popular with the locals that finding accommodation, a room at a guesthouse, was a challenge. Each of the four of us set on a journey knocking on peoples doors (in this sort of places virtually everyone offers rooms to get some extra cash), just to find that they were fully booked. After about an hour of research, one of us returned with good news – there was a track.
It quickly turned out that we did not need to go back to the town to enjoy the beach; there was a small local one nearby. Happily, we set off with our beach gear. Even though the walk took us about 15 minutes it allowed us to familiarize ourselves with the vicinity and with the way people lived there. And it was not a posh part of the world. The path was dusty, along which modest housing or even shacks baked in the scorching sunlight. Litter scattered around, a barking dog in the distance, a lost hen looking for some lucky grain. Silence; not even one person around. It must have been that time of day, when all the locals made good use of the lazy weather at the beach. When we emerged from the arid and barren landscape, a complete change of scene welcomed us at the fresh and lively beach. Bunches of boys were jumping into the water from the rocks, children were splashing around, the bars and eateries enjoyed a good crowd of thirsty and hungry locals.
Last time I was writing about the excellent (if a bit geeky) maps produced by the 
On 4th July our Bristol store will be celebrating Independent Booksellers week with two unique events. In the morning come see 
The most immediate thing on my mind as the plane touched down at Iman Khomeini International Airport was at what point were the other women on the flight going to don their hejab? The plane taxied to the gate and stopped. Only then did women start casually flinging on headscarves and coats. I did likewise but already felt both self-conscious and an amateur in the art of keeping a headscarf in place…
I needn’t have worried, of course, because after a few hours in Tehran it was clear that hejab was about as loosely observed by some as it could be given the circumstances – coats barely covering backsides; scarves so far back on heads that I wondered if it really counted as wearing one (and how did they keep them in position anyway?); women wore make-up; coats and headscarves were colourful; couples held hands, and things seemed relatively relaxed.
We had just a day in Delhi. Both of us live London so we weren’t particularly excited by big cities and I left with no great fondness of the place. This was down to a couple of factors. First, many Delhi hotels have bedbugs and ours was no exception. They appeared when it was too late to find somewhere better so it was an itchy night. Second, we had not toughened up and could not say no to a taxi tour of the city. We handed over money for the day and got taken to the best sights. The Red Fort was nice, and I particularly liked the squirrels that live there. They take nuts right from your hand. The place where Gandhi was assassinated would have been more interesting if we had known what it was: our guide did not think to tell us. In fact he was much more interested in taking us to shops. They have these bazaars, you see, where you are sold carpets and sarees and scarves and statues and jewellery and… and the taxi drivers get commission for taking us there. When we said we didn’t want to go to another shop, he got all grumpy and wouldn’t take us anywhere else. He wasn’t our friend.
The next day was the must see of India. Agra and the Taj Mahal. You must get sick of hearing it but people do not exaggerate about the Taj: it is simply breath-taking. It is a perfectly symmetrical, glowing white structure that seems to grow suddenly, halfway through the elegant gardens. A trusty audio tour give you the whole romantic story about a mourning husband who lost the love of his life. It is interesting that his is the bigger tomb though.
But city maps are almost as old as the city itself – and for much of history, they were not designed to help people find their way around. Prior to the Industrial Revolution, few cities were large enough to make that necessary. Despite its accuracy, the great marble map that hung in the Forum in Rome was not intended as a guide for visitors (they would have had to climb a ladder to read its upper portions) but to proclaim the imperial city’s prosperity and power.