Sweet Nothings

Ok, I know I’m not meant to flaunting my ignorance by highlighting Asian place names, but Hong Kong has a district called Mong Kok. Mong Kok. Apparently it’s the most densely populated part of what is the most sardine tin-like place on earth, and you can certainly believe that as you come out of the metro station onto a narrow main road packed with shops and pedestrians and surrounded by overpasses and subways. Walk up a few blocks to the various markets and you feel a little less claustrophobic, but this is a relative term in this vertical city-state, where our hotel’s reception was on the 5 th floor due to lack of surface space and where giant hills lurk beyond any mid-skyscraper gaps. View from the Peak   Said markets, by the way, are technically rows of themed shops. The flower market is pretty standard stuff; the fish one less so, most of its wares being bulging bags of goldfish (considered lucky by the Chinese) plus the odd tank to put them in; the bird one th...

We didn’t actually do a lot in Phuket, other than get pathetically sunburnt in typical Englander-abroad style while lounging around beach/poolside at a hotel that in truth was far too swank for the likes of me. But here are a few pictures for you to cast envious glances at, and some general observations on our time on the island. Apologies in advance for banging on about how nice our hotel package was, but it really makes a difference to be welcomed at the airport by a driver waving a card with your name on it. The roads in Phuket aren’t quite as chaotic as Bangkok’s, but lane changing still triggered involuntary buttock-clenching and the number of helmetless youngsters on motorbikes was worryingly high. Once we got to our base in Kata, the roads became hilly, twisty and pavementless but still the bikes kept coming, many ridden by white folks. I could not think of anything less fun than hiring an exposed vehicle to zoom around foreign roads governed by a rudimentary highway...

Don’t start. Yes, Bangkok has a rude name and lots of unsavoury associations - ping pong shows, happy finishes, etc etc. But take your minds out of the gutter now, because as a sophisticated traveller I am above such lowbrow things. Pah - you people sicken me. Cultured though I am, this was actually the first time I’d been to Asia and therefore concepts like 30+ degree heat and saturation-level humidity were rather novel. I’d love to say that I got used to this immediately but that would be a massive lie, and instead the scorching blast every time I stepped out from the shade or onto the balcony of our lovely air-conned room always caught me by surprise. The other thing is, well… anyone who even slightly knows me will see through the above ‘citizen of the world’-style boasting as overcompensation for my safety-first, creature of habit personality. Making my way around a chaotic metropolis on the other side of the world without any language skills to fall back on was always goi...

The most photographed corner of Bruges. And proud of it. First things first – don’t come to Bruges with a wheeled suitcase. Yes, it’s easy to get there on the Eurostar and much of the town’s medieval architecture has been lovingly preserved, but this does mean cobbles galore, even on the pavements. The constant clack-clacking of those wheels even on the short walk from the station to our B&B pierced through the relative calm of the backstreets like the call of a particularly irritating bird.  Bordered by a ring of canals, the city centre is a beautiful little island-bubble reminiscent of Venice, and its station also sits on the edge of a canal, disgorging daily hordes of tourists (yes, many with wheely cases) to clog up the city’s narrow arteries. It’s very obvious to trace the quickest route to the heart of Bruges, as these roads are the ones lined with wall to wall gift shops and eateries specialising in waffles, beer, lace and general tut. The key difference is that ...

Saturday began with a leisurely breakfast followed by a visit to MOMA . If you think that website is cool, the museum itself more than lives up to it. The modern painting and sculpture galleries contained works by the likes of Van Gogh, Rothko, Giacometti and Warhol that even a relative artistic philistine such as myself could recognise and appreciate, and the lovely little sculpture garden seemed a fine place to relax. I, though, was off to Greenwich Village to meet up with cousin Steve and his wife Nancy. My great-grandfather and Steve's grandpa were brothers, so that must make us first or second cousins once removed, or maybe twice. Who knows, or cares? Because Steve and Nancy were fabulous, a bohemian older couple who lived in a wonderfully cluttered flat above a Cuban resturant in the heart of the village, and who seemed to know everyone . Yes, Greenwich Village (and West Village, which appeared to be two sides of the same coin) genuinely has a village atmosphere, where people...

It didn't start off so well. Upon arrival at JFK airport I eschewed the chance of taking a bus or the subway to Manhattan and headed straight for the cab rank. I was expecting the cabbie to be a garrulous Irish or Italian type who'd welcome me to their wonderful city by giving me all the proper patter. Instead, my driver was a taciturn black guy who barely uttered two words to me the whole way. The Pod Hotel was all funky and bohemian and my little pod-room seemed very cosy. I had a vague expectation that the lobby would be filled with young, attractive travellers who'd invite me on a four-day hedonistic party around the city, but oddly enough they didn't materialise and so it was that I headed off on my own for an initial Big Apple recce. I walked by the United Nations building and then down 42nd Street towards Times Square, and gawped around like an idiot trying to take everything in. The sheer size and quantity of skyscrapers is what you notice most, a very differe...