I’ve been back in Paris again, one of my favorite cities on the planet. One of the advantages of repeated visits to a place is the leisure pace of awe and discovery while drifting slowly down the worn streets of the French capital. Just skip the Eiffel tower and endless queues to attractions, replacing it with whatever feels good at the moment.
I spent the weekend in the French Riviera. It’s always nice to revisit old favorites as well as discovering new locations. Even though many towns in the Riviera are all about money and luxury, most of them still have a few gems.
I recently visited Banff, the national park with the cutest name in the world. Even though the main town is surrounded by mountains with names such as Sulphur Mountain, it is as far away from Mordor as one could imagine.
Toronto may not be the first choice for aspiring travelers. It’s not hard to believe that the foodies goes to Montréal, the adventurers to Banff and the hipsters all the way west to Vancouver. Anthony Bourdain once described Toronto as “Soviet chic”, and while standing in the midtown madness of bland buildings, it may certainly feel that way.
Ah, Wales. The country with the most impressive and baffling language. It was even used in the Bosnian conflict, where a Welsh regiment used the language for as a way to “encrypt” communication.
As the sun set over the Lake Zürich, the wedding celebration is kicking into high gear inside the Stübli. It feels good to be back in Switzerland, and even better to experience the best kind of festivities with a lot of love in the air.
So I’m back in Portugal. Way down in the south region of Algarve, to be exact. The town of Faro is kind of sleepy, but since this is my fourth country visited in the last five days, I could use some rest.
There are few places where the winds of time are so ever-present, as they are in Seville. The cobblestones have been worn by countless people and the streets filled with people since ancient times. Not far away is the port of Cadiz, said to be the oldest remaining settlement in Europe.
The city of Algeciras have sometimes been called the most ugly town in Spain. Even though the harbor area is a disaster due to the refinery, I can think of far worse places.
I’m back in Morocco, a decade later. But this time I’ve arrived in the gritty city of Tangier. The old Medina is full of fascinating gates and narrow alleys, where I blend in like Moby Dick at a NIN concert. Under the watchful gaze of old men occupying the streets, I keep on walking along winding streets.