Once upon a time, when Seville was the capital of Al-Andalus, the ruling Almohade caliphate built a palace in the city which they named ‘Al Mubarak’ or 'The Blessed'. It was the hub of both the city's government and its artistic and literary life. Little of that palace remains today, apart from some foundations. On these, in the thirteenth century, the conquering Castilians built their own palace to serve as both seat of government and royal residence, a function the Alcazar performs to this day.
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From time to time while travelling I find myself taking photos on a theme, even if I hadn’t intended to when I set out. In Cuenca and Tallinn it was doors; in New Mexico it was Harley Davidson motorbikes. And in Indochina it was not only the motorbikes but the bike helmets.
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The most intriguing gardens to explore often feel like a series of rooms, each with a distinctive style of decoration. We wander from area to area, never knowing what might be around the next corner. We get glimpses through trees and over hedges, and sometimes wider views that draw us on, ever eager to see more. Such are the gardens of the Real AlcĂ¡zar of Seville.
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Sooner or later it seems, all paths in Marrakesh lead to the Jemaa el-Fnaa. The name (sometimes spelled Djemaa el Fna or Jamaa el Fna) means ‘Assembly of the Dead’ in Arabic; but a visit here suggests life in all its vibrancy. To call this the city’s main square doesn’t begin to do justice to it. This is a meeting place, a shopping centre, a performance space, a happening. It is surrounded by restaurants and cafĂ©s, each with a roof terrace to offer a ringside seat from where to observe all the action, but better by far to get immersed…
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Early morning by Lake Atitlà n. A lone fisherman drifts past, checking his lines. Volcanoes dot the horizon. In the distance a small motorboat speeds past; empty now but likely to be full of passengers when the lake’s ferry services start up soon. The jetties too are quiet, waiting for the lakeside villages to wake up.
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Plovdiv’s Kapana district is an object lesson in how to transform run-down into lively, neglected into loved. In this part of the city , a maze of small streets follows much the same pattern as the Ottoman souk which once stood here, although the mainly wooden buildings of that era are long since gone. The very name, Kapana, recalls that maze, as it means ‘Trap’; once among these streets it was hard to find your way out!
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Imagine an Olympic Games Opening Ceremony; full of spectacle and colour, involving tens of thousands of performers. Add a good dollop of political propaganda and unashamed messaging. Throw in hundreds of well-drilled cute children, all eager to please. Imagine too that this ceremony takes place every single night for several months. Now you have just a small idea of the scale of the North Korean phenomenon known colloquially as the Mass Games.
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In a previous post I took you on a walk along the River Tyne in Newcastle and introduced you to its famous bridges. But I neglected to mention all the public art to be found along the Quayside. So now I want to rectify that omission.
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The indigenous name for Victoria Falls is Mosi-oa-Tunya or The Smoke that Thunders, and it is a fitting name. The constant spray is as thick as smoke, and the roar of the water is indeed like thunder.
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Although we love to travel, we have always spent Christmas at home in England. Not for us the snowy ski slopes of the Alps, or the tropical shores of the Caribbean or Far East. Tempting as the latter sound, we save trips to warmer climes for February, when the long chilly season is really dragging. Christmas is a time for the comforts of home, and for family.
