The world's most jawdropping drives, pt 1

We do a lot of driving as part of our guidebook research - rather, my partner and co-author Terry drives and I do the trip planning and navigating. So it's inevitable that some of the most memorable aspects of our trips are the roads we drive. I stumbled across Matador's The World's Most Spectacular Roads, which inspired this post. As I only write about places I've been, here's my pick of some of the globe's most jawdropping drives from the roads we've travelled over the last few years. I've categorized them by country or region, as some destinations are gifted with so many dramatically beautiful routes:
1. WESTERN AUSTRALIA: this colossal island's most stunning drives are in the West. Our favorites are in the Kimberley and Pilbara regions of the Northwest, especially those through the area's national parks, including Karjini, Purnululu (Bungle Bungles), Millstream-Chichester and the Kennedy Range National Parks. Empty roads run through flat arid outback landscapes sprinkled with strange wildflowers, incredible rock formations, and mountains sliced with deep river gorges. These are also the country's most isolated roads (pictured) where you can drive 900 kilometres between towns and not see a soul, so a 4WD with extra fuel, water and supplies is recommended.
2. MAINLAND GREECE: the country's mainland boasts some of the planet's most breathtaking drives. Those we've loved best are the road from Edessa via Florina and Pisoderi to the splendid Prespa Lakes and fishing village of Psarades, near the border with Macedonia and Yugoslavia, which boasts some of the most pristine country we've come across; the narrow roads through the high country of the Pindos range with their monstrous rugged snow-capped mountains, hills thick with shrubs in every shade of green, and grey granite rock formations around Vikos Gorge; and the wild ruggedly beautiful Mani region of the Peloponnese (read more about our Greek travels on our Lonely Planet Greece Trip Journal).
3. CRETE: yes, we know Crete is an island of Greece, but Crete has so many amazing drives with spectacular scenery it deserves a listing of its own. The high roads of the isolated southeast coast skirt the mountains offering virtually birds-eye-view sea vistas, scenic routes snake through the elevated rural plateaus of central Crete offering picturesque views of villages and farmland, while the views from the windy roads of the west coast are so awe-inspring you'll find yourself stopping at every turn to take photos.
4. CALABRIA: Aspromonte, Sila and Pollino National Parks in Calabria, Italy, offer breathtaking scenery. In all three national parks, high roads snake through thick forests that form canopies over the roads - the drives are spooky in parts (very dark and moody) and the air fresh and fragrant. But once out of the woods, the views are almost always stunning, whether it's a vista of a hilltop village cascading down a mountain or a field blanketed with wildflowers.
5. CYPRUS: good narrow roads criss-cross the central Troodos mountains through thick aromatic pine forests dotted with Byzantine fresco-filled churches and splendid monasteries, the most impressive being the serpentine road through Cedar Valley; in the northwest, from Pomos to Kato Pyrgos, pretty fishing harbours bob with boats while around Kato Pyrgos the road rises to majestic heights, where it's just the mountain goats enjoying magnificent coastal vistas; and in Northern Cyprus, the road through the Karpaz Peninsula takes you through pristine country where wild donkeys graze on green meadows, by pretty turquoise coves watched over by crumbling Byzantine churches, and to one of the island's best beaches, a wide stretch of sand backed by high dunes.
Read part 2 here.

Cherry blossoms blooming in Crete

The cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom in the countryside in Crete. Everywhere we drive we see them and when we do we're compelled to stop and photograph them. There's a delicate beauty about them that's so attractive. Perhaps it's because we know the life of their flowering is short. In Japan they celebrate the arrival of the cherry blossoms with hanami or 'flower-viewing' celebrations, with feasts under the trees and walks through parks to admire the blossoms. These contemplative strolls take the form of a retreat to renew the spirit. In Crete their appeal is also about their misplacement. What is something that appears so vulnerable, a tree we normally associate with Japan, China and the Himalayas, doing in a harsh, arid Mediterranean landscape of hardy olive groves, sturdy pines and eucalyptus trees? Though I have to admit that while I wonder about the history of their journey and how they came to be here, simply sighting them is sufficient an experience for me. I never cease to be surprised by how the simplest things about travel - like seeing cherry blossom trees in a Cretan landscape - can often be the most pleasurable. Yet why don't guidebooks tell us these things? Instead, they must send us to cherry blossom festivals or cherry harvests, tell us where to eat cherry pie or buy cherry jam. Why isn't it enough to describe the beauty of the cherry blossom and tell us when, where and how we can see them flower? That's enough for me, because, like the Japanese, I find my spirit renewed simply by gazing at the tree. In Japan, the cherry blossom carries loads of symbolism, its short blooming time signifying the transience of life. Good reason to give the festivals a miss and take time out to stop and smell the roses... um, cherry blossoms.

Traffic hazards in Crete

Like Thailand - with its stray ox sauntering along the road, its dreadful drivers, its food vendors, and moveable feasts - Crete has its fair share of traffic hazards too. We have revised our list of world's worst drivers, adding the Cretans (and Cypriots) to the top of the list, however, after human beings, the most hazardous things on Crete's road are its animals, namely its goats, sheep, donkeys, and dogs. We have been confronted with a herd of goats or sheep heading our way on a local highway on more than one occasion, with their shepherd strolling not far behind. Our strategy? Simply stop and enjoy the passing show. How often, I ask myself, do we get a chance to get this close to nature?

Observations on Cretan Village Life, or enjoying a bit of ethnographic travel

The people of Crete are proud of their villages, the village way of life, and their traditional customs. The image here of an elderly village couple hangs on the wall at one of Chania's chicest restaurants. City dwellers return to their villages every chance they get - for the olive harvests, religious celebrations, and their village's saints day. Drive around Crete and you'll inevitably pass through a few villages - right through their heart, where the highway has narrowed to a single lane and the walls of the old stone houses jut against the curb to form a canyon. Where you have to drive through at a snail's pace in case someone opens the door of their home, because they''ll be stepping straight out on to the road. If you're in the passenger seat you'll enjoy catching glimpses into people's houses, seeing the yellowed lace curtains on the windows, the embroidered tablecloths and vases of flowers on crooked wooden tables, the old framed black and white portraits of long-gone loved ones on the walls, and an elderly woman or man perched on a stool by the door so they can watch the passing traffic while taking in the sun. We see old men and women on donkeys riding through the main street and capped farmers driving tractors through town, their wives up there with them right by their side. Men less busy are seated around wooden tables playing backgammon and cards in the local kafenion (traditional cafe) while old women dressed in black, wearing head scarves tied beneath their chin, sweep the road with handmade brooms. Old ladies carry loads of firewood and olive branches on their backs or climb the rocky hills on the outskirts of town in search of wild herbs. Driving through Crete is an ethnographer's dream.

Living like locals

Two months ago we arrived in Antalya, Turkey, from Crete via Northern Cyprus. We weren't in Turkey to research or write about Turkey. We were here to hole up at our friends' villa in Kas and use it as a base for a month to write up the Crete and Cyprus books, write a tonne of travel stories for magazines, and plan our next trips. When it was time to leave Kas, we still had more to do, and more work had come in, so we returned to Antalya and rented an apartment for another month. It's a rooftop apartment in a renovated Ottoman house in the old town and we've been here writing, and living like locals. In some ways, it's a relief to not have the pressure of being a parachute artist. We've had no personal desire to play the traveller either, as we've been here before. So we haven't done anything touristy in our time here. In fact we've eaten out just a couple of times. After two months on the road in Cyprus and Crete, moving hotels every couple of days and eating all our meals in restaurants (and with another few months of the same ahead of us), all we wanted to do was eat at 'home'. We've still gotten to know the city. Just a different side of the city to the average traveller. We know every supermarket in town, and which one to head to for what products. We know the different words for lamb and beef in Turkish, and while our vocabulary reads like a shopping list, we know little more than the usual greetings and courtesies. Yet we've somehow built up a rapport with our butcher, who when he sees us looks pleased and smiles. And he seems pleased that we like him to prepare our lamb cutlets the Turkish way, beaten flat and tender and smothered in spices. We know all the courier companies as we've been sending and receiving contracts and manuscripts between here and London, with varying degrees of success. Let's just say that we know the Kaleici (Old Town) streets better than the couriers. We know Antalya is a college town although you rarely read that anywhere. It has a lively, youthful scene, and these kids, especially the arts students (the ones carrying the sketch pads) have the coolest haircuts we've ever seen, so cool they'd be right at home in Milan. We know where the locals go for their afternoon walks. In the seaside neighborhoods just outside the tourist area. And that in the early evening they like to take beers and food they bring from home and set up picnics on the wooden tables overlooking the water. In the same park young couples canoodle on the benches, parents play with their kids, and a lonely man stares at the sea. We see the man around town. He's missing part of one leg, from the knee down, and he moves about on crutches, balancing a stand hung with fluffy toys and Valentines hearts which he sells to earn his living. He usually wears a camouflage jacket although the other day he was wearing a clean new shirt. And he has tea in another park some days, staring at the sea. We may not know the tourist sights, but each day we're seeing little things that move us more than any museum display. Things most travellers wouldn't notice as they rush through a destination in a few days.

The ebb and flow of Crete's cafe society

Crete's cafe life is tidal. It ebbs and flows throughout the day and night. It follows a rhythm, a regularly recurring pattern of activity. But each cafe, in each different town, dances to a beat of its own. By day it's rhythm is directed by the movement of the sun and the cycles of the seasons. One cafe may be more popular at a particular time of day simply because of its terrace in the sun. It may be packed in the morning when the sun shines on the tables outside while the afternoon sees it empty when it's in the shade. In summer, it's a different story when the locals welcome the warmth of the morning sun but in the afternoon seek shelter from the sweltering heat. And then there are the winter cafes that only open in the evening when their patrons head inside to take advantage of an open fireplace. Unless you stay in a place at least a few days it's impossible to pick up the rhythm, to identify the time of the tides. You may follow a guidebook suggestion and wonder why you're the only couple lunching at 1pm. When the locals start to arrive at 3pm as you're finishing dessert and the place is packed when you ask for the bill fifteen minutes later you'll understand why. Our first night in Rethymno we went out around 10pm in search of a restaurant for dinner. All of the tavernas recommended to us by the hotel staff and listed in our guidebooks were empty. We took a risk at one anyway, only to find the place filling as we were finishing close to 11.30pm. The next night we went out at 11pm and all the tavernas were buzzing. It was much easier for us to make our choice. Midnight we were in the thick of the local action and able to gauge the scene so much better. By 1am we were enjoying our raki and sweets with the last of the regulars. A good case for slow travel and taking time to get to know the rhythm of towns.

Rural travel: the restorative powers of nature

We came across these sheep sleeping by the side of the road in the isolated north east of Crete and we spent some time simply taking pleasure in their peace. We’ve done this a lot recently, as we’ve travelled around Crete and Cyprus, pulling the car over to watch some ducks paddling across a creek or goats clambering up a hill, spending some moments taking in a bucolic landscape, a field blanketed with mustard flowers, or falcons gliding over a limestone gorge. The effect has been soothing, calming, even uplifting, and invigorating. In the Art of Travel, Alain de Botton writes about a trip he took to the Lake District, England. While the reasons for the journey were personal, he tells us, they belonged to a broader eighteenth century historical movement when city dwellers started to travel to the country “to restore health to their bodies, and more important, harmony to the souls.” De Botton ruminates about nature’s ability to heal and inspire, and about English Romantic poet William Wordsworth who would sit under a tree with a sublime landscape before him, writing about daffodils dancing in the breeze and other odes to the restorative power of nature. Admired for his ability to reveal the poetic beauty in the everyday, Wordsworth believed that nature was a requirement of happiness, and, as De Botton discovers, that birds, streams and sheep were indispensable in correcting the damage inflicted by city life. That nature helped us to seek out the good in life. According to De Botton, Wordsworth found instances of sanity, purity and permanence in nature, flowers were models of humility, animals the paragons of stoicism, and went as far as to invite readers to look at the world through animals’ eyes. De Botton also finds himself coming face to face with some sheep on his trip. It’s interesting to know that Wordsworth’s poetry (like films today) attracted travellers to the places that inspired it, so that, as De Botton tells us, by 1845 it was thought that the Lake District had more tourists than sheep.

Sweets in Crete: loving those little extras!

You love those little extras as much as I do, don't you? You know what I mean... a refreshing welcome drink (when you arrive hot and sweaty at a hotel), chocolates on the pillow with turn-down service (just when you're craving something sweet), an amuse bouche before dinner (when you're feeling hungry or just keen to have your appetite whet), or a liqueur after dinner (when you're in the mood for one drink more). Those small gestures of hospitality, whether they're innate to the culture as they are in Thailand or the Middle East, or whether they're a value-adding service, I don't care. I just appreciate that the host has gone that extra mile to make customers feel special. Whether it's about making us feel genuinely warm and fuzzy or about securing repeat business, it doesn't matter if it works and makes us happy. One independent family-owned hotel that recently impressed us with their attention to their guests was the Four Seasons Hotel Limassol, Cyprus (not part of the Four Seasons chain). On arriving in our room we found an enormous platter of fresh fruit and a bottle of Cypriot wine, the next day a small box of sublime chocolates and jellies left on our table, and on our last day, we were presented with a box of aromatic virgin olive oils (thyme & basil - yum!). We did return. And on our second visit, the departing gift was a delicious jar of local honey. The hotel's high rate of return guests is no surprise. In Crete, we've been eating at traditional tavernas and enjoying the complimentary little bottles of tsikoudhia (a clear raki-like brandy... ah, liquid travels can be so pleasurable...) and generous servings of plates of sweets at the end of each meal - preserved figs, oranges, and quinces, fresh local yoghurt, and tasty cheese pastries with honey. Can't help but love those little extras. Sweet.

Close encounter of the goat kind

One of the great things about travelling in Crete is the chance to get up close and personal with the locals, especially the four-legged kind. That's one of the reasons I prefer travelling by car over any other form of transport, for the opportunities it affords you to get off the beaten track. And the flexibility and freedom you have to stay as little or as long as you want in a place, to be able to stop and take photos, or simply take the scenery in. We recently did a drive on Crete's isolated west coast and had slowed down to capture the breathtaking views of the coastline below. We've gotten used to facing off with herds of goats and sheep on the roads, and used to the routine - as soon as they see the car they stop dead in their tracks, they wait a little to see what we'll do, and then, when they see we're no threat (because we've turned the engine off), they hurry past, often leaping and bounding in the air, to get on their way. But on this occasion we were surprised by the friendliness of this lone goat who appeared out of nowhere and came right up to my window.The goat went as far as to nuzzle my hand. He was curious and affectionate, more like a dog or cat, so we stayed a bit to enjoy his company. It's moments like these that make travelling by car cool for me.

Sleet in Crete and floods in Dubai

Last month there was so much rain in Dubai (for three whole days) that the city flooded and life in the metropolis ground to a halt. Whoever could have expected such weather in an Arabian Gulf city? When we first moved to the Emirates ten years ago it had been so dry that the imans in the mosques were calling for worshippers to pray for rain. Abu Dhabi hadn't see any decent rain in two years. In the guidebooks we wrote on Dubai, we'd tell travellers to visit between December and January when there was guaranteed blue skies and sunshine. These days the sky is often cloudy and grey and it's chilly enough to wear a sweater. Our advice has had to change: wait until February-March or go in October-November. In Crete, over this last week, we've had sleet, hail and snow. Not just in the mountains where this kind of cold weather is normally felt in winter, but in the waterfront cities and resort towns on the Mediterranean sea. We were stuck in our hotel room in Heraklion for three days last weekend while it blew a gale and the wild sea tossed the boats about in the Venetian harbour and snow gathered on our window pane. The locals said they couldn't recall seeing such weather before. Since then we've driven all over the spectacular, isolated, eastern end of the island, and some equally dramatic parts of the central interior and desolate south coast where the mountains meet the sea. We've driven in roads half-buried in snow and slippery with ice, in all kinds of weather - but not the weather one expects in the Mediterranean. And we've driven on pot-holed roads with two lanes that suddenly become one, or that give away entirely altogether, crumbling away to rubble, without guard rails or posts, and it's been a long way down, over a thousand meters above sea level. Believe me, I have dared not look down. I find it incredible that some still doubt that global weather patterns are changing. What's your take on global warming? Has it impacted how you travel?

Blue Chairs: imagining Greece, the perception & reality

I couldn't help but capture a snap of these bright blue cafe chairs at a taverna on the waterfront at Chania, Crete, yesterday. How often have you seen similar images on Greece Tourism television ads, in travel guidebooks, or on postcards? This is one of those quintessential scenes that creators of travel images and architects of representations have reproduced innumerable times in the media to feed our desire for postcard-perfect pictures of those destinations we dream of going to for that ideal vacation. This is how we imagine Greece thanks to clever branding, strategic marketing, unimaginative picture-editing, and our willingness to accept the perpetuation of myths. But, Greece's blue chairs aren't entirely a myth... we've seen them all over, from Santorini to Samos, and today in a small town on the south coast of Crete we saw taverna owners taking advantage of the off-season to paint their chairs - Mediterranean blue! And when you travel in Greece you can't not love the blue chairs. They just make those holiday snaps so pretty. But the reality can sometimes be very different to the perception. Visits to tavernas aren't always the idyllic dining experiences you imagine. There are the annoying touts who try to get you in. The menus in four different languages. The menus with pictures. The 'traditional' Greek menus that feature hamburgers and schnitzel. The poor and disinterested service once they've sat you down. The extras added to the bill (and not the kind we like). And I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. As we wandered by this taverna in Chania yesterday the female owner was making her small son lunch. As soon as she saw us she stood and started to call us in. Her voice was desperate. She was pleading almost. But the place was empty. Locals were heading to the tavernas on either side of hers. Tavernas with plain wooden chairs. I felt sorry for her and wanted to go in. But as a travel writer I knew there was a reason for the lack of local patronage (always the best indicator of where to eat) and it had nothing to do with her seating. A couple of hours later when we strolled by after eating an excellent meal at a nearby restaurant that was crowded with locals we saw that her taverna was closed. Sadly, I regretted not giving it a go. But in the end, it takes more than blue chairs to entice.

Our Calabria book hits the shelves!

The first edition of our Calabria guidebook which we wrote for Thomas Cook Publishing is soon to be released. We spent just over a month there last May researching the book and Terry shot the gorgeous images, and we spent another month or so writing it. It wasn't an easy book to do for a number of reasons, which makes us extra proud. And I was glad to find that I still got a little excited today when I opened the package from London. We've worked on more than 40 guidebooks so it's nice to still get a bit of a kick out of the achievement. But first editions tend to do that for you because they're so completely your own - you do preliminary research, write the outline and shot lists, go on the road and do the real research, in our case Terry also shot the pics, you then write the thing up, do your mapping, answer editor's queries, advise on photos, check the proof, and so on. So it's hard not to feel as if it's your baby.

Which is why I always find it curious when writers don't update their own books. With publishers like Lonely Planet you don't always get the opportunity to - editors move around so much, so by the time an edition needs updating someone else is managing the book and they don't know you from a bar of soap and have writers they like to use. But most publishers invite the original authors to update their books. I've already twice updated the DK Top Ten to Dubai and Abu Dhabi which I co-authored. Yet, along with our Calabria books, copies of Crete, Cyprus, Milan and the Lakes, and Sicily also arrived today - all books I updated during our time in Italy last year; all second editions of books written by other authors. Perhaps the timing wasn't right, there were clashes with other projects, or the job just didn't pay enough. Perhaps the challenges we faced on Calabria provide some insight. We haven't taken a close look at our Calabria book yet but already we've noticed a photo we don't recognise of a seaside restaurant in Cosenza. Cosenza, of course, is inland. And that's the reason Terry refuses to look at our published books. Hopefully the person who updates the second edition will pick that one up.

Keen to read more about Calabria? Take a look at my posts from last year:
On the road again... in Calabria!
Is Calabria the new Puglia?
Calabria: Europe's best-value destination
10 Reasons to travel to Calabria: part 1 & part 2
One more reason to visit Calabria: Liquorice!

Life of a Travel Writer: Italy and the tediousness of red tape

We've been on the road in Northern Italy since Tuesday when we picked up our Fiat Bravo from the car rental company in Milan. I'm not telling you which company because I don't want to give them coverage. After several problematic rentals with them in Cyprus, Crete and Rome, we gave them another chance after they reimbursed us for the expenses incurred from the last mess-up and assured us this would be a perfect hire. No such luck. Despite the UK customer relations guy re-confirming the booking with the Italy office, we had problems yet again, wasting hours in the Milan office because our voucher looked different to the normal vouchers according to the woman behind the desk. No matter that it was the only voucher that we were emailed, the wording was the same as her voucher, and it said "this is your car rental voucher". Yet still she wouldn't believe it was a voucher and we argued black and blue, wasted over an hour in the office, and we had to call the UK head office to get them to fax our voucher before she'd let us take the car. Italy isn't easy. Italians may have an easygoing nature socially, but when it comes to their professional life, they're sticklers for protocol and processes, and there's more bureaucracy and red-tape here than I've seen anywhere before. The delay at the rental office meant a delay checking out of our apartment which meant it was lunch time when were leaving and we were stuck in Milano traffic for an hour trying to get out of the city. Oddly enough our sense of humor returned and we began to joke about how these people got their jobs. We imagined their interviews: "Any IT skills?" "No." "Interpersonal skills?" "No." "Are you inflexible and a stickler for the rules, even when they make no sense?" "Yes." "Any kind of problem-solving skills or lateral thinking abilities?" "Of course not!" "Do you find that dealing with the public gets in the way of a good coffee break and gossip with your co-workers?" "Absolutely!" "Then you've got the job!"

Why I will never use Expedia again: part one

I've spent the last 730 days on the road travelling, bouncing across the planet from one commission to another. I book all our travel online - air, bus and ferry tickets, hotel rooms, you name it. It's been years since I've stepped foot in an agency and years since I held a paper ticket in my hands. Up until now I've not had a single problem. I've bought all my air tickets on airline travel sites - and I've taken scores of flights over the last couple of years - and up until recently I made many of my hotel bookings using Expedia. But never again... A week ago, after comparing prices on a number of sites, I decided to buy our air tickets from Cyprus to Crete on Expedia. It was my shopping mistake of the century! Firstly, Expedia emailed me to say that despite offering an electronic ticketing option, they were now not able to provide e-tickets. Moments later, an email arrived telling me they'd couriered my paper tickets to my billing address - in Dubai! But I was in Cyprus. When I emailed Expedia to redirect the tickets to Cyprus instead ,as I had no way of accessing tickets in Dubai, they sent me a meaningless email telling me to phone their USA sales staff. I was flabbergasted. An online agency instructing its customers to phone them? And to phone them on a 1800 number at that. Don't they realise that people outside the US cannot call 1800 numbers? And why on earth can't an online business resolve problems - problems that they have created - by email? I frequently travel with Emirates Airlines and when I want to change a flight, no matter where in the world I am, I send a quick email. They immediately email with confirmation. Easy. Why a major web travel business like Expedia can't do the same is beyond me, and 7 days and 19 ridiculous emails later, I am still left wondering. And if they must speak to me, then why can't they call me (particularly as they have created the problem), instead of them expecting me to phone them? Not only is telephoning often an impossibility when I'm travelling all day every day, especially in remote areas, but when I'm in a hotel room it's a costly effort - the cost of a ten minute call from one hotel I checked with to the USA would have been in the vicinity of US$100. The tickets are only costing US$200!

The graffiti pictured is on a wall in the old town of Nicosia, the world's last divided city, in the northern Turkish-speaking area of Cyprus. This is how I'm feeling about the thought of ever having to use Expedia again.

Memorable meals

The most memorable meals don't have to be Michelin-starred dining experiences, and I like to be reminded of that every now and again when I travel. Having said that, we've enjoyed some long leisurely lunches in fine dining restaurants where every dish is so divine it's inspiring, where every mouthful of food is something to be savoured, where the food is matched so well with the wine it's a revelation, where the decor perfectly complements the style of cuisine, and where the service is so good, so intuitive and efficient yet warm and friendly, that you leave the restaurant as if you're leaving a friends, and you're already planning your return. I love those occasions but they're all too rare these days unfortunately. And sometimes we just want a simple meal. But when those deceptively simple dishes - like this deliciously fresh Greek salad smothered in virgin olive oil which we enjoyed yesterday in Chania, Crete - please us as much as a seven course gastronomic tasting menu, you wonder why eating has to be complicated. And why we don't appreciate the simple things in life more? Because sometimes the simplest meals are the most memorable. Don't you think?

Sublime travel scenes

Sometimes scenery we come across when we travel can be so breathtakingly beautiful that they stop us dead in our tracks and make it hard to move on. It may not even be that the particular scene is something that is always stunning, like a natural landscape, but rather at that minute the play of light and colour are just so that the scene we set our eyes on is, at that moment in time, sublime. We grab our cameras quickly hoping to capture it forever, to be able to return to that special place and time some other day. Or perhaps we just stop in that spot and gaze a little longer than we ordinarily might in an attempt to imprint it firmly in our memory. Because we know that it can just as quickly disappear, perhaps with the appearance of a cloud or two, as quickly as it came. This is what happened the other morning in the Venetian harbour in Rethymno, Crete. I'm thankful for that moment, because it's the opportunity to enjoy scenes like these that really make travel cool for me.

Postcard stories: share your passion here

I was delighted to discover that Budget Travel asked readers on their forum the other day: Do you still send postcards? To which they received a whopping 300+ comments! Way back in February, starting on Valentines Day to be precise, I began writing a series of posts on postcards, inspired by seeing racks of faded cards during our travels in Crete, starting with Postcards: does anyone still send them? Then I wrote Postcards: our processes of selection and identity formation (about how we choose postcards that say something about who we are, or perhaps the person we want people to think we are); Postcards: to my Mum (about the cards I sent daily to my mother in 2006 while she was in a coma in Australia and I was finishing a job researching a book in Greece, and thinking about her on those long daily drives); Postcards: sending secrets (about Frank Warren's wonderful PostSecret community art project that has become a global phenomenon); and then Postcard stories, where, due to the positive response from my readers (of course I didn't get 300 responses like Budget Travel, but it was enough for my modest little blog!), I decided to write a feature story for publication on the resurgence in popularity of sending postcards. In Postcard stories I put out a call for comments and asked a number of questions that I hoped would inspire you to think about how you feel about postcards, why you send them, whether you keep them, and so on. I'm still developing that article and incorporating the many comments that I've already received (and quoting you, so please let me know if you don't want me to use your name), however, I would still love to hear from more of you, as I don't really think we've really got to the heart of it yet. Not even in the many comments over at Budget Travel. I'd really love people to think a bit more deeply about it. So if you love postcards as much as I do, please take a look at the Postcard stories post again, and leave comments at the end of that post or here. Or email me privately if you prefer to remain anonymous.

Oh, and Pam over at Nerd's Eye View also has a fun Postcard Revival Project underway, which you can read about here.

Spots of time and memory making

I’ve experienced so many ‘spots in time’ as we’ve travelled around Crete and Cyprus these last couple of months that my spirit if visible would appear polka-dotted. According to the poet William Wordsworth, ‘spots in time', discrete critical moments that we experience, such as a few minutes in the countryside taking in a bucolic scene, can number among some of the most significant moments in our lives. I'm more conscious of these 'spots of time' now than I used to be so when we have a "stop the car!" moment, I make an effort to fix the image in my memory. I gaze as long and hard as I can, I take a photo (or two or three) and I make notes about the light, smells and sounds around me.

Wordsworth wrote in The Prelude:
There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence–depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse–our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.

The film ‘Spots of Time’ explores Wordsworth’s ideas and attempts to translate his poetry into film while the ‘Spots of Time’ photography project captures images of the Lake District at night, when all the tourists have gone home, as it would have been in Wordsworth's time. Alain de Botton reflects upon Wordsworth and his 'spots of time' in The Art of Travel, and you can download Wordsworth’s poems at Project Gutenberg.

Life of a Travel Writer: when the travel writer comes to her senses

After only five hours sleep, a not so great day yesterday, and still feeling bleary eyed and in need of a few hours more, this weary travel writer nevertheless rose early this morning and went downstairs. Even before putting on the coffee she opened the French doors in the living-dining area (now their cluttered office) in the little Milano apartment (see here), and she looked out to see a cobalt blue sky. It was a relief after several weeks of dreary grey skies and occasional rain showers, punctuated by haze and fog, or, at best, blue sky with light cloud cover, none of which are optimum conditions for shooting books. Especially to photo editors and art directors who always want to see cerulean, no matter what Terry says about clouds being a photographer's friend. But as the writer watched the suited Milanese with briefcases in hand, the models carrying portfolios, and the students with backpacks slung over their shoulders, all rushing up and down the stairs of the charming bridges that cross the Navigli canal, on their way to work and school, she also felt relieved. Relieved that she didn't have a 9 to 5 routine (really 7 to 6, or even 6 to 7 when you count breakfast, shower and travel), that she didn't have to sit in rush hour traffic or on a crowded train, and then go through the monotonous motions of the day, which no matter how interesting a job is and how fascinating the people are you with work, still involves a routine. The travel writer decided she would rather go without sleep, food and showers, and have these periods of intense work and long days at a computer, to have the weeks when they're driving through stunning landscapes in places like Crete or Syria or enjoying sunsets over castles and beaches in Italy and Turkey. Especially if the computer is in front of a window looking on to the streets of Milan. And Amsterdam. And Buenos Aires. And Brussels... And so the travel writer came to her senses.

The photo? Our work space in Brussels two years ago. Grey skies there too, but we didn't mind with that view.

Places You Must Go This Spring: part 1

It's time to get out and smell the wildflowers! Pack your walking boots, grab your picnic basket, get on a plane, and prepare to drive through breathtaking scenery. See my previous post for the criteria for selecting these sublime spring destinations:
1) CRETE – the isolated eastern coast is dotted with tiny seaside communities of summer cottages peeling with paint and pristine sandy beaches; behind them colossal mountains cradle lush, fertile farming plateaus with quaint stone villages. In March the area is dotted with flowers, but in April there's an explosion of colour here and also on the equally isolated and mountainous western coast.
2) MAINLAND GREECE – the deep blue Prespa lakes and sleep fishing village of Psarádes near the Macedonian and Albanian borders, Meteora with its magical mountain-top monasteries (pictured), the magnificent Pindos Mountains and Zagoria villages where traditional grey stone houses cling to the hillside, the Pelopponese with its remote Mani, fertile Arcadia and wild Sparta, the dramatic Parnonas Mountains, and because I can't resist including one island, fragrant Corfu. For more ideas, see our Greece trip journal written during a Spring 2006 research trip for Lonely Planet.
3) TURKEY - all along the Mediterranean you'll find flowers blooming everywhere, especially in the countryside surrounding the beachside villages of Olimpos, Patara and Cirali, around the tomato-growing town of Kumluova, and in the woods around the ruins of Kaya. On a Sunday you'll frequently see empty cars parked on the side of the road - their owners, families of locals can be seen picking flowers in the fields or picnicking in the forests. You'd be wise to follow their example.