World Travel Guide Online

At Sixty degrees North, they are literally the UK’s “Top” islands.

The Shetland Islands aren’t just ponies and Fair Isle sweaters. Shetland is a magical, ice-carved archipelago thriving in the North Atlantic, with a unique history and culture. And with its northerly latitude, Shetland can enjoy up to nineteen hours of sunshine in midsummer. The twilight in this month is referred to as the “Simmer Dim.”

But what truly justifies the 12-hour ferry journey from Scotland?

1. Scenery & Walking

Shetland’s coast is spectacular yet varied. From vertiginous, storm-ravaged cliffs to sheltered beaches of pristine sand, Shetland has it all. And with nowhere on the main island further than three miles from the sea, the coast is where you will spend most of your time. Some of the finest walking in Europe can be found here. And because Shetland is part of Scotland – and has been since 1468 – there are no laws of trespass. It is perfect for walking.

Make your way quite literally to the island above all others – to Unst, the UK’s most northerly island. Be sure to pause at the infamous bus stop on the main road, which has become progressively more luxurious and quirky. This much-loved bus stop began with just a comfortable armchair, but now houses a computer, television (no electricity though) and even fresh flowers. On last inspection, there were even some bright pink shoes in a drawer. You cannot miss it; there is only one road! From here there is a panoramic view.

For those that love reaching the top of a mountain, or the end of a road, continue to Hermaness. From here it is a three-mile walk to the end of the UK – well, almost. On the most northerly hill in Britain, you can gaze over the small rocky island of Muckle Flugga to Outstack, Britain’s northernmost point. But you can’t actually walk to it. What you can do, though, is consider the charming folklore behind Outstack. The rival giants Herma and Saxa, battling for the attention of a mermaid, are said to have hurled rocks at each other, one of which landed in the sea.

The giants then set off to follow the mermaid to the North Pole. But both of them drowned because they couldn’t swim! Gazing in their wake, the expanse of Atlantic lies before you: to the north is the Arctic, to the west is Greenland, and 200 miles to the east is Norway. But wait, there is a sound carried by the wind…

2. Wildlife

Over 17,000 breeding pairs of gannets shriek noisily at Muckle Flugga – it is a twitcher’s paradise. But they are not the sole ornithological draw on the archipelago, not by a long shot. For those seeking cute, inimitable puffins – Shetlanders call them “tammy nories” – they can be found in numerous coastal areas; in Hermaness, between May and September, you can see 25,000 of them in one fell swoop. Iconic Sumburgh Head, a stone’s throw from the airport, also has cliffs littered with puffins, as well as kittiwakes, razorbills, guillemots and fulmars. Seabirds-and-Seals offer expert boat trip tours around one of the many seabird colonies.

The eastern island of Fetlar, with its fertile soils and green landscape, is known as “The Garden Of Shetland.” And it is home to 90% of the UK’s breeding population of Red-necked Phalarope. Each summer, these stunning, charismatic little waders have visiting ornithologists jumping for joy. But if you’re coming to Shetland seeking birdlife, watch out for the “Skooty Aalins” (Arctic Skuas) and “Bonxies” (Great Skuas) dive-bombing the unwary visitor! Nesting areas can be a like a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds – it may be worth carrying a stick.

Perhaps you’re more interested in mammals than birdlife? Well, “selkies” (seals) are to be found in many of Shetland’s “voes” – long, narrow sea inlets, found all over the archipelago. Often, sitting with a thermos flask on a remote beach, a grey or common seal will raise its head only a few yards away. They can also be found snoozing in the sunshine, hauled out on headlands all around Shetland. Sea otters, too, sometimes play along the beaches.

Because Shetland lies close to the European Continental Shelf’s edge, the water is nutrient-rich, providing a diverse and dynamic marine environment. Harbour porpoises (“neesicks”) frolic in the sea, as do Minke whales, Humpbacks and killer whales. Maybe you will be lucky enough to see the latter while taking one of the regular ferries between the eight served islands. May-September is optimal for whale sightings.

3. Crafts & Culture

Knitting is probably the best-known craft in Shetland. To that end, one animal you will certainly see plenty of is the sheep, an important island resource (and road hazard). Shetland sheep have exceptionally soft fine wool, used to produce gossamer lace, the famous Fair Isle knitwear, and fine tweeds. It is well worth taking a tour of the only mill on the isles.

From 17th – 20th June, Flavour of Shetland is held, a four-day festival of Shetland music, craft, culture and food. Be sure to sample the fresh fish and seafood on display, as well as unusual specialities such as seawater oatcakes and Shetland Black potatoes.

Although Scotland annexed Shetland in 1468, Scotland is spoken of as just another country that makes up the United Kingdom. Shetlanders are Shetlanders – an island nation, a people apart. Kilts and bagpipes do not play a part in the culture here. No, the influence is more Norse than Scottish. After all, Shetland was the first geographical landfall for 9th century Viking longboats. However, English – well, a version of it anyhow – is now widely spoken. And no trip is complete without a tale or two from one of Shetland’s outstanding storytellers.

Get two Shetlanders ’spaekin Shaetlan’ (speaking Shetland) together, however, and you may need a little assistance in deciphering the gist. Storytelling, traditional arts and crafts, music and dance all play an important role in the lives of Shetlanders. The only way to find out is to come and meet them! Will spooky stories of nocturnal goblins or “nuggles” (mythical water-horses that live under watermill streams) frighten you?

4. Music

Hardly a day passes without some sort of musical event in this vibrant community. And again, Norse influence is strong. Country dances and impromptu traditional sessions often take place, but there are a couple of major festivals too. Celebrating its 30th anniversary this year, the UK’s most northerly Folk Festival will be held 29th April – 2nd May. For those arriving by overnight ferry from mainland Scotland, the party starts on the 28th!

Violin playing is known as fiddling in Shetland. And one of the best times to visit is during Fiddle Frenzy, held 8th – 15th August. This festival is spread across the islands, and offers a chance not only to witness some outstanding fiddling, but to join a fiddle school during the day as well. Visitors can grapple with basic technique on Shetland’s most famous instrument, and learn of the culture and traditions that surround it.

2010 promises to be a special year – it is the centenary of the birth of Dr Tom Anderson, a man who saved and moulded the Shetland fiddle scene we know today. It is also the 50th anniversary of the Shetland Fiddlers. Fiddle playing in Shetland can be traced back to around 1700, and falls into three categories: listening tunes, ritual tunes and dance music. This is the year to try out your musical aspirations in a nurturing environment.

5. History

There are a number of very important archaeological sites in Shetland, one of which is thought to date from 4000 years ago. This can be found near the international airport, at Jarlshof Prehistoric and Norse Settlement, a complex of ancient settlements within three acres. Beginning with a Bronze Age village of oval stone huts, we slide through the epochs to an Iron Age broch (fortified tower). More recently still, there are remains of an entire Viking settlement, a medieval farmstead and a 16th Century laird’s house. The Jarlshof name comes from Sir Walter Scott – his novel The Pirates was inspired by the site.

Also in the south of Shetland is the finest of Scotland’s 500 or so Iron Age brochs. Remarkably well preserved due to its isolation – in fact, it is the best preserved broch in the world – Mousa Broch stands at a height of over forty feet. Taking the ferry from Sandwick, across to the island of Mousa, is half the fun of visiting. You can climb to the top of the tower between the two, thick, stone walls. Torches are provided in a box at the entrance – it is darker than you would imagine!

One place you really shouldn’t miss is St. Ninian’s Isle, reached via one of the very best tombolos in Europe. This is a spectacular bar of golden sand, traversable at all but the highest of tides, leading to the ruins of a 12th Century chapel. A hoard of 8th Century Celtic silver was found underneath in 1958. The buried treasure is now stored in Edinburgh, but replicas can be found in The Shetland Museum.

How to Get to the Shetland Islands & Where to Stay

The Shetland Islands are remote. There’s no way of getting away from that fact, but that doesn’t mean they’re inaccessible. Nightly ferries ply between Shetland’s port of Lerwick and Aberdeen on the east coast of Scotland. Boats also leave from Scrabster in northern Scotland via the Orkney Islands. Flights to Shetland leave from Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen or Inverness.

On arrival, it is certainly possible to travel to all the inhabited islands by public transport. There are bus services combined with ferry services, but it may be an adventure and require some planning! You can also hire a car, available for collection at both the airport and ferry terminal.

How cheaply can you stay in Shetland? Very, is the answer. There is a network of eight “bods”- buildings once used to house fishermen and their gear – at the time of writing, but you will need your own bedding. Managed by Shetland Amenity Trust, these unique historical buildings offer a real budget option. They range from £6-£8 (without or with electricity) per person per night. Check out camping-bods.com for more details.

A good budget place to start, though, is at the Youth Hostel in Lerwick, a fifteen-minute walk from the ferry terminal. There are a number of accommodation options in Shetland, but for those that really want to push the boat out, consider staying in one of the lighthouses. This is not cheap, but with a group of up to six people, it is affordable, and offers unrivalled views of some of the most dramatic scenery in Britain.

photos by Barnaby Davies and may not be used without permission

Source: bootsnall.com

A chill is in the air, and as the holiday season approaches, many travellers are starting to dream of their ideal winter ski holiday. Europe is a great choice, where you can get both stunning slopes and great culture all in one. Why not splash out this season with the best on offer at some of these ultra-deluxe ski resorts across Europe? As they say, champagne goes with everything – even snow!

Saint Moritz, Switzerland

When people think of luxury ski, they think of St. Moritz. It is the gold standard as far as high end resorts go, and for good reason: Moritz is so good it is one of only three cities to host the Winter Olympics more than once. It was featured in two James Bond films and in several books and television shows.

St. Mortiz is also the place to go if you want the ski resort atmosphere without even having to ski; you can visit the amazing Segantini Museum or go and explore the Morteratsch Glacier. Otherwise, strap on your gear and head down the incredible 8km (5mi) slope running down from Piz Corvatsch.

Getting There

Arriving by car in winter is not ideal, as only the Julierpass is open and parking is at a premium. The best bet is to arrive by train; connections are frequent and easy from all parts of Switzerland and neighboring countries.

Verbier, Switzerland

Verbier is one of the largest resorts in the Swiss Alps but it is also one of the most exclusive. It is the celebrity hangout, playing host to everyone from Richard Branson to Diana Ross.

Verbier’s claim to fame is the unreal opportunities for off-piste and semi off-piste skiing; Stairway to Heaven is a good choice if you want to try this out but worried about making a Bridget Jones-like scene as the slope has several gradients depending on where you start; ask around and do your research before heading up. If you want the maximum experience, head for Mont Gele, one of only a few mountains without any pistes at all.

Getting There

Verbier is difficult to reach by intention. The gateway city is Geneva, 160km (100mi) away. From there you can take a train to Martigny and then switch to the St. Bernard Express which will bring you to Le Châble, where you can take a cable car or bus to Verbier. Access by car is possible, though in snowy conditions this is not for the weak of heart. But if you’re splashing out on luxury trip, why not just hire a driver to take you?

Courchevel, France

If the pampered treatment is what you need, the Courchevel 1850 is where you should be headed. Courchevel is the largest linked ski area in the world, and the various parts of the resort are named after their altitude, with 1850 being the highest and most decadent.

The folk here have not overlooked a single detail – the heated pavements to avoid ice being one of the ultra deluxe features on offer. You’ll find some of the world’s most difficult black runs here, but don’t worry as there are slopes for all skill levels. Save some energy through for the blazing nightlife that one can find all around La Croisette, the central point of the resort. Les Caves is always a good start, and it’s open until 5AM, making it a good finishing point too if you can make it that far.

Getting There

Courchevel has its own airport, although takeoff and landing there is somewhat of a death-defying experience in itself due to the teeny-tiny runway. Otherwise, direct bus service to the resort is available from Geneva airport; most train passengers will find themselves making the bus connection via Moutiers-Salins-Brides-les-Bains station.

Val d’Isère, France

By many accounts, Val d’Isère in the French Alps is the most expensive ski resort in Europe. It is part of the “Espace Killy,” named after skier Jean-Claude Killy, self-titled as the “Most Beautiful Ski Area in the World.” It’s so high that you used to be able to ski here year-round, but unfortunately due to glacier shrinkage this isn’t as good as it used to be.

Val d’Isère has had skiing here since 1930, and today ultramodern chalets are the perfect home base for exploring the 300km (186mi) of ski slopes, not to mending endless off-piste options as well. Don’t miss the Firemoon festival, where ski mountaineering in the moonlight is followed by a night-time DJ party.

Getting There

The nearest train station is Bourg St. Maurice, about 30-45 minutes away via car or bus. Air options include Geneva, Chambery, or Lyon – all have bus or train options to connect you to Val d’Isère. Private transfers are available for those not ready to take on the snowy roads via car.

Grimentz, Switzerland

If you want unspoilt mountain territory with a splash of good nightlife and cosmopolitan atmosphere, look no further than Grimentz. Part of the Val d’Anniviers area, the skiing options are plentiful, from hardcore off-piste trails to endless snow-parks with easy blues and reasonable blacks. Don’t miss a trip up to the highest piste in Grimentz, where you’ll get 360-degree views of the “Imperial Crown:” Weisshorn, Zinalrothorn, the Matterhorn, Dent-Blanche, and Obergabelhorn – incredible if you get a clear day.

After a day of skiing, snow shoe walking, or tobogganing, get on your dancing shoes for a taste of real Alpine nightlife. Start with a filling fondue at any of the great après-ski bars found around the bottom of the slopes before heading to the local disco.

Getting There

The drive to Grimentz on the A9 motorway is simply stunning. However, you can also take the train service to nearby Sierre and connect via bus. The nearest airports are Bern (which has more flight schedules during ski season), Geneva, and Basel. Zurich and Milan are also connecting options.

Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy

Called the Queen of the Dolomites, Cortina d’Ampezzo is one of the most luxurious and expensive ski areas in Italy. It is simply gorgeous terrain year-round, but in winter it is a snowy paradise where you’ll find the Staunies, a legendary black mogul for only the experts. But it is more of the alpine charm that draws the luxury crowds to Cortina; the architecture, the cosy feeling of the resorts and village are arguably the main attraction.

You don’t have to ski either, snowboarding is hugely popular here, as well as dining out on Italian fare. And if you haven’t been, you can even arrange day trips to nearby Venice to really round out your Cortina experience.

Getting There

You have quite a few options for getting to Cortina besides driving, but all in the end are bus connections. Start your journey in one of these nearby airports: Treviso, Venice, Verona, or Innsbruck (Austria). You can also get direct bus service from Milan and Bologna.

Kitzbuhel, Austria

For wallet-emptying fun, the mountainous medieval village of Kitzbuhel should be your final destination. Narrow streets lined with painted houses make way for world-class restaurants, cosmopolitan clubs famous for their cocktails, and fantastic crash pads. Tucked away in Austria’s Tyrolean Alps, the skiing is fantastic of course, but don’t overlook other popular activities such as balloon trips, ice skating, sleigh rides, and even squash.

Top up your getaway with a trip around the boutique shops where jewelery and designer goods are the souvenirs of choice. And if you’re still short on things to do, go relax and soak up the warm goodness of the public baths – taking you right back to Roman times.

Getting There

The nearest airports to Kitzbuhel are Munich, Salzburg, and Innsbruck. From there, you can drive but a another enjoyable option is the train. Services run direct from Kitzbuhel to Innsbruck and Munich, while other cities provide connecting trains via Worgl or Bischofshofen.

When thinking of travel, one thinks of buses and trains, planes and even bicycles, but rarely – I suspect – of trucks. Yet, from four-wheel removal vehicles to eighteen-wheel juggernauts, they are synonymous with travel. The diesel engine ignites; the wheels begin to turn. The truck and driver are off on an adventure. That legendary allure of the open road may have rapidly declined with modern day traffic, but unknown roads, and even unfamiliar countries, still beckon.

Ever pondered the logistics of rock and roll concerts? Planes and ships may play their part on occasion, but – predominantly – the vehicles used are trucks. Depending on show size, there can anywhere from a lone 7.5-ton truck to fifty-four eighteen-wheelers (on U2’s 360 Degree Tour). But who are the unsung heroes that pilot them? Without the drivers, bands would look a little foolish standing in the dark without lights, sound and their instruments.

The drivers hail from all walks of life, and are both male and female. Women, however, are very much in the minority – through choice, rather than any physical hardship involved in truck driving. Some drivers are gregarious, others aloof. Some began as guitarists or drummers, or are die-hard rock fans; others simply enjoy driving, or are interested in exploring foreign cities.

The beauty for the latter group is the access to new cities that entertainment trucking offers. The venues visited are either in city centres, (club gigs, theatres) or within easy public transport of a city centre (arenas and stadiums). While general haulage drivers traipse speedily back and forth between say, Italy and UK – admiring the en-route vista of Mont Blanc, Western Europe’s highest mountain – rock and roll truckers succumb to a different pace.

When Bono plays in Dublin for three nights, what do the crew truckers do with their paid time off? Well, apart from drink Irish whiskey – as opposed to whisky, which is Scottish – they have the opportunity to travel. Some will take a bus tour; others may unload bicycles from their trailers and visit the Trinity Library with its infamous Book of Kells, written in the ninth century. Some will plod along the banks of the Liffey to the Guinness factory; others will dine romantically with spouses who have flown over for the weekend. Either way, it sounds idyllic, no? Well…

Remember how relieved you were to return home after a two-week holiday? Well, try going away for six months. Last year, tour truckers leapfrogged straight from AC/DC’s Black Ice World Tour (finishing in Glasgow) to the U2 tour beginning in Barcelona. There was no gap to visit families, wives or girlfriends. The other big fly in the ointment is that driving is chiefly carried out in the hours of darkness, which plays havoc with booking hotels. Consequently, drivers doze fitfully in their cabs in punishing summer temperatures, sweating and swatting mosquitoes. It certainly isn’t all glamour.

Smaller tours (one or two trucks) can be gruelling. Tour dates can be consecutive nights in cities several hundred miles apart: Paris-Frankfurt-Munich-Prague-Vienna-Budapest etc. Bigger tours (Paul McCartney, Rolling Stones) can involve Herculean journeys from say, Czech Republic to Norway, but then there is often time to explore a city’s attractions for a day or two upon arrival.

Simply driving between cities, though, can be an adventure in itself. Driving to beautiful Bergen on Norway’s coast may yield Northern Lights on a winter’s night. Or there is the intrigue of boarding a ferry from one of Germany’s Baltic ports, bound for St. Petersburg, one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Or driving into Cagliari on the island of Sardinia, wondering whether the Roman amphitheatre – Lou Reed performed there – can accommodate articulated trucks instead of chariots. It can’t!

There is always a sense of moving while on tour. Often it can be frustrating to visit a city when under restrictive time constraints. The driver has to unload in the morning, get some sleep, reload and drive again at night. Spending just two hours in say, the Louvre Museum, Paris – it will take you those two hours simply to find the Mona Lisa and exit again – is almost too heart-breaking to contemplate. It may take two or three visits to a city before you get any real time off to sightsee. But then there are the staging drivers.

Staging, or “steel,” drivers haul the stage around. However, regardless of distance between shows, there is no way of hastily erecting a stage in the space of a morning. Even a bog-standard stage – carried on around fifteen flat-deck trailers – takes a couple of days to rig. So how do the tours work, when Madonna is performing in Rome and then in London a couple of nights later? More than one stage is used. In fact, summer stadium tours almost always use three stages.

Staging could arguably be regarded as the dream trucking job. Drivers spend almost a week at every third show of a tour, twiddling their thumbs until it is time to drive once more. There is no choice of destination though: for five days, they could be gorging on paella in Valencia, or pintos (tapas) in the Basque region of Spain, or trying to translate a Polish menu in Warsaw. But isn’t unfamiliarity the attraction of travel?

Next time you see a truck clogging up the road, don’t regard him as a road hog. Consider where he might be going, and when he’ll next return home. He’s a traveller too, you know.

all photos by Barnaby Davies & may not be used without permission

We drove over 5,000 km through 5 European countries in our rental car – an Opel Astra – on our recent family holiday. The car worked very well, though it was hardly the performance vehicle that my husband was craving (he nicknamed it the ‘gutless wonder’), especially for the German Autobahn.

Driving in Europe has some unique advantages over driving here at home in North America. Not the least of which in my view, is the fact that there are rules of the road that people actually follow.

Here are some observations about driving in Europe.

1. No Passing on the Right

This is completely verboten in every country we visited, and the police will nail you with a serious ticket if you get caught speeding past another car in the right lane of the highway. The passing lane is the left lane, and as soon as you are done passing someone in that lane, you move to the middle or right lane immediately, or risk getting rear-ended (or worse) by that Ferrari or Mercedes whipping past you at 200 km (or more) an hour. Even when you may be going 160 km an hour!

Nobody ’sits’ in the left lane biding their time as they creep by to pass someone. Nor do they pass moral judgment on other drivers who are going faster than them, by sitting in the passing lane clogging up the roads. If only this tradition could be grafted onto our driving culture in North America!

I find that this system is safer in that you do not need to be worried about people passing you on both sides of the highway, which is the way of the world in the New World, and a recipe for road chaos and traffic disorder.

2. No Speed Limits

Now, the speeding issue is something else entirely. While many countries (Switzerland, Austria) have strict speed limits that are heavily enforced, others appear to allow more latitude. Germany is the most open, though Italy seemed absent of any traffic enforcement during our travels, even in construction zones.

If you love to drive and have a car that can match your desires, Germany is the driver’s utopia. While many roads and highways do have speed limits, when you are on the Autobahn and see 130 posted with a slash through it, move to the right lane and watch the drivers max out their high-end vehicles. Some of the speeds traveled are astonishing and not just a little frightening. The downside of no speed limits is of course that when car accidents happen, they are catastrophic and deadly. I don’t know if the risks are worth it, but then I don’t dream of being a racecar driver either.

3. No Right Turn on Red

Safer for pedestrians by far, and other drivers as well who don’t have to worry about a car sticking half-way into the intersection trying to turn on a red light. Many of our accidents in Vancouver over recent years have been caused by this practice, and while it is convenient for drivers, one wonders how much time is really saved on a journey by allowing right turns on red lights.

4. Priority of the Right – Belgium

Belgium has very aggressive drivers. Not only do drivers not facilitate new cars merging on highways by changing lanes (cars merging have to wrestle their way onto the highway), the priority of the right at intersections signifies that cars coming from that direction have priority over you, and will burst past you at high speeds with nary a glance in your direction.

You are responsible for ensuring that nobody is coming from the right (if the intersection is unmarked by yields or stop signs), hence the common sight of traffic mirrors to assist you in ensuring you are not t-boned in downtown Brussels. A comfortable drive in the city or country, this system does not make.

5. Cars and Bikes – Live and Let Live

On many city and country roads in the countries we visited, cars, motorcycles, and bicycles co-exist in harmony. While we give lip service to ’sharing the road’ in Vancouver, it is in Europe where this practice is truly honoured and respected. Part of the reason may be the maturity of the biking culture, which is strong and vibrant and well-respected. Commuters and students biking to work and school have priority. Bike lanes are separated from car lanes, or marked by coloured paving. Racing cyclists aren’t honked or yelled at when being passed by cars. It all seemed much more civilized and free of the anxiety and stress I experience when I bike on the ’shared’ bike lanes of Vancouver.

Travellingmom tip:

Research and pre-book your rental car (we used Europcar) from home before you leave on holiday. You will have a good choice of cars, be able to compare prices and find better deals than by booking at the airport upon your arrival. Also, booking a diesel vehicle will save you money on fuel costs, especially if you plan a lot of driving. Even diesel fuel, the cheapest fuel available in Europe, is more than double the price of our lowest-grade regular fuel in North America.

On our first afternoon in Gdansk, my boyfriend PJ and I take a walk by the river. Small pleasure boats bob and the autumn sunlight shines on the red roofs. We stop to read the harbour regulation notices, which warn of the biodegradable qualities of various types of litter. Across the water, incongruous among the other well-maintained buildings, is a roofless ruin overrun with plant life. A bride and groom pick their steps through the brush and rubble, followed closely by a photographer.

As we cross the bridge and head towards the Stare Miasto (old town), there seems to be a church on every corner. It is Sunday. We meet one crowd as it emerges from Mass: old people, families with children, even young adults who are conspicuously missing from the services of western Europe. The church is made of two types of redbrick, one older than the other, the join between them subtle but jagged.

We return to the pedestrianized Stare Miasto through an archway where two young women have just started to play their violins. Cafes serve pierogi (dumplings) and a type of rye soup with a boiled egg floating in it. Canopies advertise Tyskie beer. By the town hall there is a fountain of Neptune, where old people exchange gossip and small children chase pigeons. The painted stone buildings are one- or two- windows wide and four- or five-stories high.

PJ and I decide to climb the 200-plus steps of the ratusz (town hall) tower. By the time we reach the roof, my lungs and thighs really feel it. A notice proclaims a restriction of 15 visitors at a time, for the space is very narrow, but on this September day, there is just us and a German couple. We can see literally for miles. In one direction, giant iron cranes dip into the Baltic Sea. In another direction are the gray apartment blocks of the city outskirts, and after that the plains stretch out forever. The ratusz clock begins to boom and we have to cover our ears.

The German couple leave soon after the bells have finished, but PJ and I are only alone for a moment. A bride and groom, perhaps the same pair from the riverbank earlier, have risked scuffed shoes and snagged skirts to climb the narrow stairwell to the top. Of course a photographer follows close behind. On a church roof opposite, well-dressed friends and family wave and yell. The happy couple stay long enough for a few windswept, bouquet-clutching photos before they descend.

I can hear the gentle buzz from the street below. Almost directly beneath is the fountain, where a young couple sit and the high-pitched chatter of their small child travels directly upwards. A passing bicycle rings a bell. From here we can really appreciate the tall and narrow buildings of the Ulica Duga (Long Street). They are of varying heights and colours, their thin-windowed facades growing up from the street and topped by triangular or more stylized cornices. One proud edifice proclaims that it was established in the 1300s. The Stare Miasto is indeed an old town, a prosperous Medieval port and Northern Renaissance trading city.

Except – it isn't. I have seen photographs of Gdansk from 1946, when it was smashed more than almost any city in Europe, with the possible exceptions of Dresden and Warsaw. The Nazis, Soviets and Allies all had pot-shots at this strategic location. By the war's end, a building was lucky to have half a wall standing. All there is today – the town hall, the clock tower, the archway, the redbrick church – is a skillful reconstruction. Only the occasional ruin, like the one by the river, is a genuine reminder of what the city was 70 years ago. Nor did Poland's sufferings end with the war. The Solidarity Museum (based in the old Communist headquarters) and the Monument to the Shipyard Workers, bear witness to the petty cruelties of the Soviet era.

The landscape is perfectly flat here; not a mountain or hill breaks the horizon. If I look far enough, I can almost believe I can see the back of my own head. There is no shelter from east or west; invaders could run across that landscape from either direction, and often did.

PJ is taking photos of the elaborate spouts and cornices. A man of about 60 starts to talk to him, but unfortunately, he speaks little English and we speak less Polish. He points around the corner and PJ recognizes the word for other, as in other side, where the view is apparently better.

“Dzikuj?,” PJ says. Jen-coo-ya, thank you, one of the few Polish words we know.

Later, we descend to the street again. The voices are much louder at this level. Polish is a musical language, with its deep vowels and sibilant consonants gliding across each other. We sit on some steps opposite the fountain to eat our sandwiches. I wonder if the statue of Neptune is original or reconstructed, and then decide it doesn't matter. What is Poland but a country that has rebuilt itself several times and is in the process of doing so again.

The bride and groom appear on the street. At the coaxing of the photographer, the bride squats down and smooths her wide skirt as it billows out around her. The groom hands her breadcrumbs and she gracefully scatters them for the gathering pigeons. Another well-staged photo op. The autumn sun winks on the fountain, and the old people smile as they pass by.

Budapest enchanted me from the moment I emerged from the Deak Square metro station and started walking in the wrong direction in an attempt to find my accommodation. It announced itself with its name spelt out in life sized, red block letters – part of a display featuring Soviet era army tanks to mark the upcoming anniversary of the 1956 uprising against the Soviets.

I was quick to fall in love with the place. It seemed more human than many other European cities I had visited, such as Prague, with which it is always compared. Unlike Prague, where the tourist is drawn to one beautiful, but crowded "old city", in Budapest, you cannot miss the "real" city, as it is experienced by locals. En route to the castle, the baths, the delectable opera house and Statue Park (where communist era statues are on display), I delighted in the "ordinary" charms of the city: watching locals ice skating in the park behind Heroes’ Square, sipping coffee in an otherwise forgettable, everyday commercial street.

Outsider status
The place had such an ease. I felt I belonged there. I was reminded, though, of my outsider status; how oblivious I was to the real concerns of the Hungarian people, the day the riots took place. I was aware there had been previous riots after the Prime Minister admitted lying about the economy, however, I had assumed the situation had died down. I had no concerns about going to town to watch the 1956 uprising celebrations and accompanying the demonstrations with my American friend.

When we arrived at parliament, we were disappointed to find only a scattering of police and the occasional barrier, but no protesters. I had recalled hearing something about an unveiling of a monument in Heroes' Square, so we headed in that direction, stopping for some of Hungary’s infamous goulash and beer along the way. It was from the safety of this restaurant that we witnessed the riot. Initially, it seemed a normal protest march. The crowd was diverse: young and old, loud, but not particularly rowdy. Then the pace quickened. The simple orderly march transformed into a chaotic swarm. Some protesters stood still, waving their flags at the distant police, defiant. Others were running. Chants erupted into an incomprehensible noise, pierced by an even louder bang. As smoke arose from the crowd, the waiter quickly pushed past me to close the window – tear gas.

The American and I continued to watch from the window. We knew staying inside was the sensible thing to do. We agreed on this recourse for the moment. The temptation to take great action photos, and an unforgettable story for group emails back home, won us over. As we stood on the sidelines, the tear gas lightly pricked our eyes. We still tried to subtly take pictures of ourselves with the riot police in the background. As the riot moved back towards us, we sought retreat down a quiet side street, only to be faced by baton wielding police running towards us. Apparently, they were chasing one particular protester, but I was too busy running out of the way to pay attention. The next thing I saw was a number of police huddled in groups with their batons swinging. About this time we decided to have a beer in the comparative safety of my friend’s inn, via the metro.

We didn’t have tickets, but we figured the transport police had bigger concerns The tear gas had culminated in the underground stations, so we were eager to escape once we reached the Deak Square station. Having assumed the main riot action had taken place at the parliament end of town, we were stunned as we popped up from the metro, and found ourselves in front of the police line, surrounded by protesters. One of the display tanks was now in the middle of the road (we found out a protester had actually gotten in and driven it there). The red letters that had spelt Budapest were scattered throughout the street. It was a sight, but with only ourselves standing between rioters and police shields, we did not waste time contemplating the scene. We moved quickly to get away from the protesters and back to the inn where we could watch the rest of the action on television.

I tried to reach my inn later in the night. The protesters had been contained in one small area, but it happened to be directly in between my friend’s hostelry and mine. After walking around for a while with gas induced tears streaming down my cheeks (the air was still thick with it, long after the last tear gas canister was thrown), I conceded I needed to book a night at another place.

I returned to my accommodation early the next morning still tasting the tear gas in the air. The streets were a mess, but I had to smile as I walked past Deak Square station. The letters that had spelt "Budapest" had been resurrected – a final farewell from the city I was so fond of.