Category: We’ve Been There

The famous attractions of Barcelona are well known. My three personal favourites are: the interior of the church of Santa Maria del Mar in the Barri Gotic. It’s stunningly beautiful, the simple lines and soaring light appealing to our contemporary aesthetic values. I was lucky enough to visit when a family wedding was in progress – moving and exhilarating.

Secondly, I recommend wandering the quiet residential streets of the Eixample. The Time Out guide to Barcelona is a comprehensive, informed, up-to-date view of all aspects of the city, and contains useful maps. It also gives directions for a walking tour that points out some of the wonderful, eccentric details of the Modernista architecture. Soon you’ll find yourself looking at buildings differently.

Finally, when you find yourself flagging after miles of ambling the streets, seek out a granissats (I think that’s what they’re called!) – a long cool drink of intense fruit poured through crushed ice. Heaven in the heat!

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Author: Douglas Schatz

Douglas Schatz worked at Stanfords for more than 20 years, and was the company’s managing director until April 2009. He is now pursuing several exciting ideas in the world of books and digital publishing.

We’ve all got something with “Made in Taiwan” on it, but what about the country? You may be surprised by the modern, hi-tech society, fast catching up with Japan, and the rich, sophisticated Chinese culture, unaffected by the Cultural Revolution.

Twenty million people live on this not-so-large island. The cities are large, dirty and confusing, so it’s a blessing that the people are so friendly and helpful to a dumb foreigner like me. When the cities get too much, do what the locals do and head for the hills. The island’s interior has some 4,000-metre peaks and some lovely hot-spring resorts just a bus ride away from the chaos of Taipei city.

By the way, you haven’t experienced Taiwan if you haven’t tried ‘stinky tofu’.

The Lonely Planet guide to Taiwan is the best of only a few guidebooks to the island, essential for ex-pats and English teachers who make up the bulk of foreign visitors, while a Insight Guide to Taiwan have a beautiful pictorial guidebook that helps you plan ahead, or keep as a souvenir. a Nelle’s map of Taiwan publish, perhaps, the most useful map of the island. A word of warning about Taiwanese maps: the spelling of place names, particularly street names, is rarely the same twice, due to rival systems of translating Chinese into English.

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Author: Guy Bristow

First of all, let me reassure you that my gran’s ideas about what visiting a country like Malaysia would be like turned out to be entirely unfounded.

Admittedly, upon arrival luck was on my side and I was greeted at the airport by an old friend, Nic. He saw I was in serious danger of developing a hangover and immediately took me to a physician who specialised in such problems, (locally known as a ‘bartender’). Whilst partaking in the cure, we resolved to take a cheap flight north to the Perhentian islands. We made several other resolutions that evening as well, many of them clearly revolutionary, but lamentably these were stolen by the Ideas Police during the night, along with much of our money, dignity, and capacity for logical thought.

Fortunately, as is the case with most things in Malaysia, passage to the Perhentian islands was easily negotiated. It wasn’t, however, so easy to find a resort that wasn’t flooded with backpackers without spending more than Bill Gates earns in a second. Still, listening to people talk for a week about what the nightlife is like in Bristol, is a small price to pay for stunning beaches betwixt rainforests and frighteningly clear turquoise water, dedicated to the business of enticing you in to provide the fishes with entertainment.

The danger of losing my ghostly pallor quickly became a bit too clear and present, and so we were forced to return to Kuala Lumpur to continue our important work of ensuring the bars in Bangsar were up to government standards. Coincidentally, this sort of work tends to coincide with Happy Hour.

We were up again at the first light of dawn (six days later), this time to head for Tioman Island, a day’s travel almost due east from Kuala Lumpur by bus (you might like to try the boat as well for the last stretch of the journey, which can get a bit watery). This time, finding deserted beaches was spectacularly easy, specifically in Juara on the eastern side of the island. In fact, I’d say it was a bit too remote and idyllic; Nic’s girlfriend was accompanying us and I had to keep going on spectacular dives with the local unqualified lunatic in order to find respite from the sight of them nibbling on each other’s earlobes. They spent the evenings locked in their wooden hut. I think they were playing very noisy chess, but it was hard to tell for sure – like I say, they kept locking the door.

And so my gran’s ideas about my trip turned out to be quite far off the mark as well. Mind you, I did tell her I was going to Leeds.

You can’t go far wrong with the Malaysia, Singapore & Brunei Rough Guide, and of course Lonely Planet’s South-East Asia on a Shoestring set the precedent for backpacker’s guides. For mapping, the Rough Guide Map to Malaysia is, as ever, excellent.

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Author: Rob Hunt

As the cold and damp seeped into every aspect of my being and the rain permeated through my seemingly less than waterproof pack, I felt as if I’d made a terrible mistake. It seemed really unfair. It was supposed to be summer for god’s sake! Actually I wasn’t that surprised by the weather. I was in New Zealand, where the climate is best described as changeable. Yup, that sums it up. Changeable. I’d been spoilt rotten by the glorious weather over the preceding couple of months and had grown to expect nothing less than sublime sunshine. But I guess that you can’t have everything you hope for.

I was walking New Zealand’s nine designated Great Walks, and the Routeburn Track was the final challenge. I’d been tramping for almost three months and had covered almost 600 kilometres. The start of the trip in the hinterland of East Cape, on the North Island, seemed distant and unconnected to my immediate situation.

Throughout the early stages of the trip, the promise of big mountains and dramatic vistas in Fiordland had lured me on. Unfortunately these come at a price. Fiordland is one of the wettest places I’ve ever been. Somewhat amazingly, up to 7m of rain falls on Milford Sound every year.

  Tramping is the best way to explore the country and the most intimate way of experiencing the diverse range of landscapes found in New Zealand. The Great Walks, New Zealand’s premier walking tracks, traverse some of the most spectacular stretches of this part of the world. The routes capture different aspects of the country and offer a superb range of tramps for people of all levels of ability and experience. Among them there’s tramping the eerie forests surrounding Lake Waikaremoana or forging across the lunar landscape of the Central Volcanic Plateau. Or if that doesn’t appeal, there’s canoeing down the legendary Whanganui River, the only Great Walk on water. Or you could meander along the golden sands of the Abel Tasman Coastal Track or follow the Heaphy Track in the footsteps of early Maori in search of greenstone. How about tracking kiwi and wallowing in mud on Stewart Island? Or you could always try exploring Fiordland, or tramping the Kepler Track, or the legendary Milford Track, not forgetting of course the Routeburn Track through some of the most stunning mountain scenery in New Zealand.

I had climbed mountain ranges, skirted fiords and crossed high alpine passes. My memory held a whole country as I dragged my heels, delaying the end of the trip until I eventually crossed the final giant swingbridge that spanned the Routeburn. I danced a crazy little circle and then subsided into silence, awash with emotions.

There is always something moving about exploring a wilderness in its natural state, relatively untouched and untainted by human activity. The only addition here, a footpath so narrow that your elbows graze the ferns and boughs of the forest as you walk along it. Tramping on these tracks, dwarfed by mountains and assailed by the elements is a humbling experience. Whichever track you choose to tackle, you are bound to be thrilled and amazed. Just be prepared for weather of all kinds and check the quality of your waterproof pack before leaving home.

There are a number of excellent books and maps produced on New Zealand. Along with practical guides from all of the usual suspects, there are more specific activity guides and several of attractive, illustrated books. Stanfords imports a number of titles to the UK, among the finest of these are those published in New Zealand by Craig Potton.

Classic Tramping in New Zealandis a picturesque examination of 12 of New Zealand’s classic tramps – text and photographs in this oversize guide describe moderate three-day trips and tough multi-day expeditions. The book includes maps and route summaries that typify the essential New Zealand tramping experience and should open up areas of the country to further exploration. I can’t recommend highly enough my Trailblazer guide – New Zealand: The Great Walks.

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Author: Alex Stewart

There is nothing I can do about it now. I climbed Ayers Rock (Uluru in Aboriginal) and I wish I hadn’t. The red monolith that stands today as one of the most recognisable symbols of Australia is a sacred site to the local Aboriginal people, the Anangu. The Anangu don’t like people climbing the Rock for two main reasons: firstly, because the climb to the top follows the steps of their ancestors and has strong spiritual meanings associated to it; secondly, the Anangu feel responsible for anything that happens to visitors on their land and people have fallen off the Rock and died.

My sister and I had travelled from Melbourne and got to the Ayers Rock resort, just outside the boundaries of the National Park, on the 31st December. We spent an unusual New Year’s Eve stargazing just outside the resort. The sky was packed with stars and one of our fellow backpackers had a very worn out Collins Gem Guide to Stars that got passed around a lot.

On the second day of the New Year, very early in the morning, we joined a crowd of visitors, mainly Japanese tourists who had come to Ayers Rock equipped with gloves to hold on to the chain that follows the easiest path up to the top of the Rock. From far away visitors looked like a row of black ants climbing up a big red mound. I am in no position to say “Don’t climb it” so I won’t. What I will say is that the best part of my visit to Uluru wasn’t the climb but it was standing next to this giant piece of rock, looking at the shapes the wind has moulded out of its sides and the humbling acknowledgement of the Aboriginal people’s superior understanding and respect of this inhospitable environment.

Bruce Chatwin’s The Songlines is a great introduction to the Aboriginal mythology of Dreaming.

For a very good map of the park, use the Australia Survey map of Uluru – Kata Tjuta National Park and The Red Centre: Alice Springs to Ayers Rock by Hema Maps provides good mapping of the larger area around Alice Springs.

If you are planning to do some star-gazing, the Collins Gem Guide to Stars is backpack-friendly and has all the info to identify the amazing quantity of stars you will see in the clear Austral sky above the Australian Outback.

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Author: Marina De Santis

Northern Europe as we knew it was left behind on the chilly evening of 1st April as Stockholm Station platform rolled out of sight, leaving us on the overnight Express train to the Arctic Circle. This was a good time to head north as there were already 12 hours of daylight, yet plenty of snow and sub-zero temperatures! Two expedition-sized rucksacks, various kit bags and the all important snowshoes comfortably filled a six berth cabin. Central-heated sleep was followed by coffee in the Panorama Cabin, a ’50s-designed, all-angular-glass-and-brass-struts raised dining coach, a fine place to watch the endless snow-covered pine forests and frozen lakes flash past. After 17 hours the monstrous slag heaps of Kiruna rise out of the pine forests, home of the world’s largest mine, the only reason for the train line and our last stop. The severity of the air temperature 150 miles north of the Arctic Circle hit us as we stepped out of the heated carriage.

As if to compensate for the bleakness and cold, the heating in every building was on a tropical setting. From here a bus heads west for two hours towards the mountains. Roads aren’t cleared of snow Alps-style – the drivers just have tyres with studs and learn to slide. An old Sami boy from the indigenous reindeer herding population boarded, wearing red, blue and yellow striped clothing and clog boots and carrying strange luggage. He left at a koti (traditional grassed-hut) village.

Nikkaloukta, the coldest place in Sweden and the end of the road. Just a Sami trailer park, and some reindeer pens. From here on skidoos and helicopters are the only way forward by motor, but we were to use snowshoes underfoot and carry all our gear on our backs – not the normal mode of travel. After three hours ploughing through birch forests, the rounded granite heads of the mountains emerge. Digging into the snow we made camp at the end of a vast frozen lake, over which came freezing blasts of wind from the mountains, taking it down to -15ºC. As night fell our technical tops, down jackets and comedy-sized mittens proved their worth, allowing us to comfortably watch the unfolding of a true northern lights extravaganza, indescribably weird, like some encounter with the numinous and something the special effects guys at Dreamworks would have difficulty concocting.

A calmer morning followed, with concentrated snow-melting for coffee and a long, agonising haul up Laddjujuhka. This is an increasingly impressive valley leading into the heart of the Kebnekaise Mountain range, itself an extension of the Caledonian range that starts in Scotland, sweeping under the north sea to Scandinavia. Twenty painful kilometres further, perched on the valley walls is the well equipped Kebnekaise Fjallstation. Carrying this much gear even over the hardened snow of previous tracks was proving very testing! In the hut we met some wizened travellers who had the local solution to travel in this environment: all gear encased in a pulka (sledge), pulled by a husky and tethered to the human behind on skis, the classic mode of travel in the Arctic. There being no spare pulkas lying about and no stray dogs we were to do things the hard way.

After a day playing on a small mountain with crampons and axes we made our first attempt at Kebnekaise peak up a long snaking coloir around the back of menacing Doulbagourni (in the picture above), a thrusting conical peak with what looks like a crater blown out of the top. Behind this a steeper climb to a cloud encased pass, half way up which we found ominous avalanche debris and worrying instability in the snow. Three tests to see if a block would slide away with a little push proved frighteningly positive, and we rushed to get to the side of what was now clearly an avalanche waiting to happen. Meanwhile the cloud swallowed us, intermittently moving with unbelievable speed in apocalyptic gusts, instantly sending the temperature from a balmy -11ºC to below -30ºC. We retreated back into the barely visible shoot, sending us back into the valley at the base of Doulbagourni, a freezing cauldron of swirling cloud and spindrift stirred by shafts of sunlight, attended by squatting peaks. Exhausted but energised by such a show of natural forces, we retreated to the hut.

The next day we packed as many rations as possible and headed up Laddjuvaggi valley, towards the rear of Kebnekaise. Snowshoe crampons meant we could crunch over vast tracks of blue ice without fear of slipping. As we gained altitude predictably the weather worsened and a ghostly figure skied past in the cloud quizzically muttering: “How is it with the snowshoes?” as we entered the prehistoric-looking Skarttacohkka-massif, reminiscent of the foreheads and arched backs of slumbering dinosaurs. The valley narrowed and rose, to a pass at 979m, at the other side of which lay the magnificent Tjaktjavagge valley, the glaciated artery of the area. We dropped into a col at 840m and exhausted we dug the tent in and started the process of melting enough snow to re-hydrate. One pan of snow takes 5 minutes to melt and yields one small cup, so this takes much time and valuable fuel. Thirst quenched, and standing back from the tent, we realised we were in the direct avalanche firing line of a vast gully high up on Singicohkka, at whose base we were camped. Ah well, too tired to move the tent, I slept half expecting to be woken by the booming sound of cascading snow. The temperature inside the tent was -19ºC at the beginning of the night. It would be colder later on but the thermometer died so we never got a reading.

This base camp allowed us various lightweight trips. From higher up the tent was a tiny orange dot lost in a vast crumpled white sheet. Lower are deserted Sami summer encampments. Here were big hairy guys on big skidoos, often seen chasing errant reindeer at high speeds across the wastes. Again some skiers, bemused by our footwear, stopped to say that from a distance we looked like goblins. But we had lost our sense of humour – the effect of heavily rationing our dwindling supplies. Even with snowshoes, you still sink in to the snow losing valuable energy with each step. You need at least 5,000 calories daily for these activities in this environment, and any less leaves you easily drained and humourless.

So we arrived at our final summit assault, ate as much as we could afford and set off. Snowshoe technique perfected, we ‘goblined’ past some skiers without difficulty. Survival rations meant a quick lunch of a Snickers bar below the cloud base!!! Ignoring another tired and defeated group descending and claiming that the weather was too bad, we emerged above the clouds. A vista opened out to what apparently takes in nine-tenths of Sweden as we approached the solid ice pinnacle which marks the peak. It sits on a knife edge ridge, where glaciers cut back the slither of rock that divides them. To the east there’s a sheer 1,000m drop onto the Bjorling glacier. Swirling cloud came from the south-west, occasionally revealing the Sarek range in the south, whilst the most frightening throat of a sheer gully gaped in the west, the bottom of which was just black cloud. We kept our balance, took photos, realised how late it was and re-entered the impermeable looking cloud. Now we were to pay for not having skis/snowboards, and what should have been one hour’s blissful sliding was the most gruesome endless slog through deep snow. By the end we had walked/climbed for 10 hours with only three 10-minute stops and hardly any food.

Next day we sunbathed at -10º in down jackets, before a small evening excursion up Tjaktjvagge valley to Drakrygen ridge, neglecting to take the usual precaution of slowing down at the end to cool off and evaporating sweat – after stopping the sweat froze and my body temperature plummeted. Lying in my sleeping bag for an hour with all my clothes on I was still shivering. The only answer was to remove all the cold/damp clothes, generate some body heat and then get back into the bag. Finally I was warm again.

With food all finished we headed back to the food supplies at Kebnekaise Fjallstation, an agonising trawl through deep snow. Amazingly they could hire me a snowboard, so with this on my back – and with crampons and an ice-axe – I could reach the top of some spectacular powder runs. This culminated in a determined attempt on Kebnetjakka, despite forecasted and evident white out conditions and multiple avalanche risks on the steeper slopes. Having cross-examined the local guides, we dodged crevasses strangely achieving incredible speed whilst traversing avalanche slopes! Soon we were in a complete white-out but gripped by summit fever we took bearings and picked our way up. Somehow we arrived only 15m to the right of the peak! It was -15ºC. I dug a snowhole and sat in it for two hours hoping for the cloud to clear, but it got worse. We had to return soon so, with almost zero visibility we began the descent. Once we hit the steep glacier and found our original steps I strapped on the snowboard and dived into the cloud. The steepness and ice meant at times I was slipping unstoppably down into thick cloud and the unknown. Nonetheless, somehow managing to regroup, we came out of the cloud and I could achieve some speed down vast natural half-pipes, past 100ft ice walls, and into the main valley.

After these exhilarating last days, our thirst for long distance snow-plodding sated, we caught a skidoo next evening back out to Nikkaloukta for our return to Stockholm. Already the sun was setting over an hour later than when we arrived two weeks before…

For an overall country map try Sweden map by Freytag & Berndt at 1:600,000 or Sweden map by Kummerly and Frey at 1:800,000.

For detailed maps of the area you need the Swedish Survey map series – the most detailed map series, which for the northern highlands is 1:100,000. These are excellent maps, just remember that a few centimeters on one of these represents twice as much walking than on a 1:50 000 (OS Landranger) map. The one for this area is the Swedish Survey BD 8 Kebnekaise-Saltoluokta. As for books Rough Guide to Sweden and Lonely Planet guide to Sweden are both good guides for Sweden which cover the area.

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Sweden travel information

Author: Alex Webb

For some 10 years or more our group of friends have escaped the crush and inflated prices of a London New Year’s Eve to meet up with the Bristol mob in the West Country. This has allowed us to wreak havoc and mayhem in the coastal resorts of Devon and Cornwall and then party till we drop back at the cottages we have rented in the middle of nowhere away from the attention of neighbours and police.

This year offered a somewhat more challenging/unnerving/certifiable prospect. The last few years have seen an explosion in offspring and though we had gone away a couple of years previously with a few of the little darlings with mixed success, we wondered if our years of hedonistic pleasure were coming to an end. So how did 12 ‘grown ups’ and nine children under four years old cope with a week in converted barn cottages on a remote Devon farm?

Well, the weather helped. A whole week of clear blue skies by day and clear starry skies by night accompanied by a thick carpet of frost was a wonderful backdrop to our activities… and what an energetic and outward-bound time of it we had! From the top of our winding wooded valley our view enticed us down to the coast west and north of Barnstaple from the expanse of Saunton Sands past the surfing Meccas of Croyde and Putsbourough and the climbing cliffs of Baggy Point to the Exmoor coast of Lynton and Lynmouth. The whole of this stretch offers wonderful beach combing and scrambling around rock pools with the spectacular Valley of Rocks just west of Lynmouth, one to savour for the more energetic.

As if this wasn’t enough, we added pony trekking and cycling on the wonderfully flat Tarka Trail into the bargain. The older of the children thrilled to their first trot around the paddock and with a combination of baby trailers, child seats and tag-along mini bikes we managed a good four miles to the pub and back along the Taw estuary with its prolific bird life.

The indoor swimming pool attached to our cottages provided the final sleeping draught to our tired but happy brood at the end of their day and, with occasional blips, meant they slept soundly most evenings, leaving us to recreate in our accustomed manner.

On New Year’s Eve, armed with a battery of radio-controlled child listening devices alongside the normal cans of lager, the ‘grown ups’ descended on the pool and crammed ourselves into the Jacuzzi. The popping of champagne corks rang in to the still midnight air and we toasted the continuing success of our New Year adventures!

You may also want to take the Pathfinder Guide – Exmoor and the Quantocks Walks, OS/ AA Leisure Guide – Devon and Exmoor, OS Outdoor Leisure 9 Exmoor and OS Explorer map 139 Bideford, Ilfracombe and Barnstaple.

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Author: Martyn Bearfoot

I had never been to Africa before, and the prospect of arriving in Marrakech, at night, after a brief stop at Casablanca, was thrilling. The airport is hardly luxurious, and before long the dry heat began to make itself felt as we waited in line to have our passport stamped. We were almost the last of our party to leave the airport, and it seemed to shut down around us, the frenetic activity caused by the plane load of tourists dissipating away.

The journey from the airport to the hotel was ridiculousy romantic as the taxi jostled with an endless stream of cyclists, seemingly coming in all directions. After 20 minutes we arrived at our hotel La Maison Arabe, a small courtyard house with a dozen rooms situated in the medina. I cannot recommend this enough, in contrast to the world famous Mamounia. We did have a meal at Winston Churchill’s favourite haunt, and although the gardens are delightful, I have no regrets about not staying there: it is expensive, with mediocre service. Mere mention of the place seems to bring out the worst in people, as the taxi fare to the hotel was well over our expectations. This was the only time we were ripped off during our two-week stay.

We did use a local guide for most of our trips in Marrakech, and perhaps unusually it was a female guide, who was lovely, and spoke superb English. We only had 3 days in the city, so having a guide with a driver was a great help. At no time did we feel any undue pressure, though I understand that the authorities have cracked down on the kind of persistent ‘guide’ who tended to follow one around-all day. However short your stay, make time to visit Place Jemaa al-Fna, the heart of the city. From there one can discover Marrakech souk, the largest in the country. Walking round both these spectacles is an amazing experience, suddenly it is very obvious that you have left Britain behind and have entered a different continent. The gardens and courtyards of the Bahia Palace and the Sa’di tombs are architecturally and historically fascinating, while peace and tranquility can be sought at the Majorelle Garden and by walking through the 12th century Menara Park.

We also spent time an hour south of the city at Ouirgane, an excellent base to explore the Atlas Mountains. From here one can do some serious walking, or go horse riding and explore the stunning lunar scenary. A further hour’s drive south is the Almohad mosque of Tin-Mal, an extraordinary building, which non Muslims are allowed to enter. Tourists are rare here, when we arrived it was nearly mid day and blindingly hot, and the only other visitors were a couple of Dutchmen.

Morocco was fascinating, and I would love to return. Once you get there it is cheap, it is still not spoiled and the people were so very kind. Go there before it changes.

I used the Michelin Map of Morocco and recommend the Cadogan Guide to Morocco and Cicerone’s.

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Author: Andrew Steed

It is a very typically Balkan thing that the centre of Belgrade should still bear a Turkish toponym: Kalemegdan. It is today the most beautiful and largest park in Belgrade and it is where the most important cultural and historical complex of the city, the Belgrade Fortress, stands high above the Sava and Danube confluence. The view is breathtaking: both the rivers are very wide and from the high position of the Kalemegdan lookout you can see them arrive from afar, proceeding with great majesty, the Sava from the West and the Danube from the North. When their waters finally meet below the rocky cliff of Kalemegdan, theirs is a peaceful embrace. Beyond the rivers are Novi Beograd (New Belgrade), Zemun and the wide plains of Pannonia.

The name Kalemegdan actually applies only to the spacious plateau surrounding the Fortress, which was turned into a park in the 1880s. When the Fortress served as Belgrade’s chief military stronghold, the plateau was a place from which the enemy was kept under observation and where preparations were made for battles. Its name derives from the Turkish words kale (field) and megdan (battle). The Turks also called it Fichir-bair, which means “the contemplation hill”. The latter name better fits the state of mind the place inspired in me.

I spent three weeks in Belgrade on a language course and I thoroughly liked the place and its people. The student scene is lively, it organises gigs, events and it is politically very active. Three days after my arrival I went to a free concert night in the Kalemegdan Park and it was a magic experience: a great big stage had been set up at the border of one of the largest green spaces in the Park, people just sat on the grass having picnics, drinking and generally having a really good time, local indie bands played all night long and in the background – the silent meeting of the rivers.

All around Belgrade there are constant reminders of the troubled history of the city and of the Balkans. It is probably because the population has lived through new wars in the last ten years that every war and in particular the Second World War can still be felt as a memory more recent than in other cities of Europe that were equally affected by it, as if history were more difficult to dismiss in this city. The National Library, which hosts some of the oldest manuscripts in Cyrillic, was severely damaged during the Second World War so the new Library was built underground in a bunker. Memories of the Soviet block era are alive in the Museum of Ethnography, with its attention to folklore and traditional crafts.

But it is Kalemegdan that best conjures up the history of the place with the traces it bears of all the historical eras, dominations and battles the city has seen: sections of Roman walls stand below the Serbian which in turn stand below the Turkish and Austrian fortifications. Each era saw the addition of new towers, military ports onto the rivers and gates. Near the Dizdar Gate, by the road leading to what is known as the Fortress’s Lower Town lies the Fountain of Mehmed-pasha Sokolovic. Mehmed-pasha Sokolovic was a famous Bosnian-born Turkish Grand Vizier. He was one of the Serb children that were taken from their families to become Turks for what was called the Blood Tribute. His was an exemplary carrier and he became Vizier. He gave the fountain as an endowment to Belgrade. Sokolovic’s other famous endowment is the bridge on the Drina in Višegrad, at the centre of Ivo Andric’s great novel The Bridge Over the Drina.

Anybody interested in history should visit Belgrade, walk their way up through the layers of history of Kalemegdan and stop at the top of “contemplation hill” to admire the silent witnesses to the flowing of time, the Sava and the Danube.

The Belgrade Gizi Map is very good, as is the Gizi Map of Serbia. The only dedicated travel guide to the country is the Bradt guide to Serbia, who also produce the Bradt pocket guide to Belgrade. For more history, Tim Judah’s The Serbs (now sadly out of print) is extremely readable and well informed.

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Author: Marina De Santis

It was late September when I boarded the train from Stockholm to Kiruna in Swedish Lapland. Not quite Christmas, although the tinsel and crackers filling the shelves of the London department stores were trying to convince me otherwise, but I was conscious of the fact that I was moving into the alleged homeland of Father Christmas. I wasn’t looking for him however, having cruelly learnt the truth behind the myth at an early age. I was rather hoping to catch sight of some of the other big beasts that still roamed this Arctic outpost of Europe.

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