We made for Edinburgh first and arrived about four-ish on the Friday. The parents were duly deposited in a cosy B and B and Rae and I opted for the centre of town backpacker experience. Our place boasted the requisite amount of Aussies, assorted strange folk and loud colours to be called a proper traveller’s hostel and was comfy and well appointed except that it did smell like something has died in the washrooms. Being situated in the Cowgate (pronounced ‘Koo-gitt’) area of the city a few levels beneath the main high roads there were a few clubs nearby and it was quite a lively area which suited us and we weren’t far from the Royal Mile where a lot of the older and more atmospheric pubs were to be found. We were greeted by intermittent rain and cold winds but we pretty well expected that. The first day we did the castle and got lost in the bowels of this huge and imposing building that seemed to be at one with the rock it was manacled to. The castle was preoccupied with ancient heraldry and coronations and chronicling the various military regiments that it has spawned and we shuffled though trying to take it all in before being spat back out into the driving wind and rain and taking a direct route down from the hill through a series of winding and steep ginnels that Edinburgh is riddled with and making for a lunch venue. The night before we’d picked out a restaurant and were seated in a basement seemingly away from the other customers and this day the same thing happened – we were starting to think we needed to be segregated for some reason. This didn’t stop the food being really good and escaping the wind and rain for an hour to consume ridiculously good French food was a tough job but someone had to do it! We spent the afternoon wending our way down the Royal Mile to The Palace of Holyroodhouse at the bottom of the hill and attempting to ascend the crag of Arthur’s Seat that lay just beyond it. We never did learn exactly where we were supposed to go but felt as if we’d had some exercise and glimpsed some alternative views of the city before we repaired to a series of cosy pubs and a friendly little Italian restaurant for supper. Sunday was more successful and we found the camera obscurer just next to the castle. I’d wanted to see this ever since discovering the one in Bristol. This superb piece of Victorian invention allows you to use light and mirrors to spy on the city below you and get glimpses of the unsuspecting bustle nearby. The camera obscurer here was slightly superior to the one in Bristol in that its controls were more flexible and it was in better keep. It cost more to go in but then on the way up to the top floor the visitors were treated to chambers full of optical illusion games, puzzles, displays and holograms which were even more fun (if you do go, spare yourself the horror of morphing into your relatives – it was more than I could take!). We then grabbed a bit of lunch from a very trendy café that supplied you with colourful reception-class furniture and delicious shakes and wraps that Dad was highly suspicious of.  We had a good look round the National Gallery and then discovered a place that offered tours of the abandoned closes under contemporary street level. Since Edinburgh’s rapid development and lack of space had forced it to grow upwards and laws were in place preventing people  dwelling underground after it was paved over these endless passages and catacombs were deeply atmospheric and eerie, preserved pretty much the way they would have been, albeit without the sprawl and jostle of huge families packed into single rooms, stores and workshops, the endless flow of raw sewage along the main thoroughfares and the caverns stuffed full of cattle. The rooms were haunting with some apparently haunted aswell. The ghost stories were a bit hammy but some of the historical accounts were slightly chilling especially the plague element. We took ourselves off for a swift pint after that and found a superb seafood restaurant.

Next day we made for Glasgow and spent the afternoon doing a walking tour that our Lonely Planet suggested and finished up with a meal of haggis and veg and a nip of whiskey. Rae and I had a hostel in the west end by the university where most of the more stylish and friendly bars and shops were to be found. I knew that Glasgow would be much bigger but the more I looked round it I saw how much it had to offer and how much more of a functioning and kinetic city it was. The older parts boasted just as much compelling and complex architecture as it’s older neighbour yet felt as if they had made more of an effort to move with the times. The metro was also fun (and so ickle!). I just wish that we’d had longer to look round. Although both cities are less than an hour’s drive apart it still took the whole of Monday morning to sort ourselves out and get out of one hostel and into another and we only really had the Monday afternoon there. The Tuesday was reserved for seeing relatives and we had a good few hours catching up and reminiscing. The Tuesday was the only really decent day in terms of the weather which was helpful because we were by the sea so this made things that much more pleasurable, and gave us the chance to have fish and chips on the sea front. The whole break felt far too short but we packed a lot in as we usually manage to. I just hope it’s not another ten years before I can make it back.

I could spend a small eternity typing up my travels properly but it would take too long and I doubt anyone will want to devote the majority of their day to reading it.

Instead, in the spirit of Dave’s write up of California and Kip Pardue’s account of his trip to Europe in the awesome Rules Of Attraction, I shall attempt to recount my expedition as if I was telling you what I did in few breathless sentences.

Here goes (deep breath):

Took a train to Reading and had a final fish ‘n’ chips before flying out of Heathrow the next day, connected at Doha in Qatar and arrived into Bangkok’s new International Suvarnabhumi Airport where it didn’t look like the paint had dried yet. Saw the Wat Phra Kaew (Grand Palace), Wat Pho (housing the reclining Buddha, 46m long and 15m high), Wat Intharawihan (with its 32m standing Buddha), went to Siam Square, rode the sky train. Had a few all-nighters and met a lot of ex-pats who all had their horror stories and their Thai partners, drank in a lot of cool bars with a variety of tourists and Thais who ranged from very knowledgeable and interesting to self interested and xenophobic. Saw some Muay Thai and enjoyed a cold beer while the contenders punched and kicked (and kneed and elbowed) to frenzied live music. Split for Cambodia and found myself on the road (waterlogged dirt and rubble track) from Poi Pet to Siem Reap in a violent tropical storm where the lightning struck too close to our bus too often. Found a beautiful guest house set up by some friendly Norwegians who had purposefully neglected to put TV’s in the rooms. Saw some carefully recreated models of the Angkor temples in stone (the Khmer equivalent of Bourton-on-the-Water in the Cotswolds), chatted to some monks who knew more about premiership football than I did (not difficult) and we speculated where the money from the UN and tourism actually goes, visited local craft workshops and went drinking in Bar St. in the spectacular “Angkor What?” where I danced to a lot of Arctic Monkeys. Chartered a boat to a Kampong Pluk, a remote flooded village on stilts, took a bigger boat along the Tonle Sap river to the town of Battambang and back and spent a day with my mouth open walking around the temples at Angkor – especially at Bayon with its wistful faces gazing out into the jungle and at secluded Ta Prohm where it wasn’t difficult to imagine Lara Croft guiding me through the ruins.  Headed to Phnom Penh where I checked into another friendly guesthouse and saw The Killing Fields where, if you were unaware of the history, the tranquillity would only be disrupted by small traces of human bones and teeth in the dirt. My driver asked me if I wanted to pay to go and fire a selection of old munitions in a bunker somewhere nearby and I said no.  Saw The Khmer Royal Palace, The National Museum, one of the city’s orphanages and then went out drinking with some of the Cambodians who worked at my guesthouse, the beer was dangerously cheap and I was offered sautéed ants. Avoided the notorious “Heart Of Darkness” club but was dragged to a similar dive where I danced to the Macarena for the first time in years.  Took a bus into Vietnam where I saw my first gangster and his arrest for trying to bring a gun into the country. Hit Ho Chi Minh City on a sunny Friday afternoon where everyone rides motorbikes like they need to get to a hospital. Walked all over Saigon and saw the Fine Arts Museum, the late 19th century red brick Notre Dame Cathedral, the beautiful French post office, the Museum Of HCMC and its accounts of the American War, the War Remnants Museum which was intense, as I was leaving I was cornered by a man who had prosthetic legs and only stumps for arms. I got lost as it was getting dark and barely found my way back to the backpacker area. I took a day out to visit Dam Sen Water Park, hooked up with a Brit and two Swedish girls and we rode the slides and lazy rapids and barely noticed when it poured with rain. Went to see the nasty Cao Dai Great Temple (Graham Greene described it as “…A synthesis of the three religions …Christ and Buddha looking down from the roof of the cathedral on a Walt Disney fantasia of the East, dragons and snakes in Technicolor.”), and spent an afternoon avoiding man traps and scuttling through Viet Cong tunnels at Cu Chi. Again, refused the offer of firing live rounds. Dragged myself to see a few movies with a German girl. She was lovely but the films were Nacho Libre and The Wicker Man remake. I’d wished she’d been less lovely so I could have avoided the films. Next day took her to the zoo, bowling and for lunch followed by a few games of pool. No play. I told myself it was because I’d let my beard grow and how much can you really trust a man with a ginger beard? Rode north to lazy Mui Ne Beach and rented a beach hut. It was low season so hardly anyone about but I had good food and peace away from the hoards. Despite the place having the ‘Saint Kevin’s Stump’ standard of local landmarks, it was picturesque and the sand sledding was good fun. Stopped in Nha Trang further up the coast.  I signed up for a boat trip around a few islands but was gutted when they said we weren’t stopping at the islands and I realised I was stuck on a boat for a whole day’s booze cruise with a contingent of timid Japanese, a couple of Korean guys, an ageing Canadian and his Vietnamese ‘friend’ and that the only people I could talk to were four loud girls from Tazmania who looked like they were wearing badly-fitting fat suits. Next day I got scooped up by a local tour guide called ‘Eddie Murphy’ who was insane but he did take me round the cultural sites on the back of his bike including the Cham temple of Po Nagar, a local arts centre, the city’s French Gothic Cathedral and the Long Son Pagoda with a giant white seated Buddha on the hillside behind it. Made for Hoi An where most of the best French colonial buildings remain and drifted round the shady streets in a dream when not eating good sea food and drinking cool local beers. The labyrinth of little streets and alleys were lit by hazy sunshine by day and Chinese lanterns after dark. Got fitted for a jacket, a shirt and some boots in the afternoon and collected them in the evening. Boarded a coach and was deposited in old imperial Hue, chilled out in a few bars, got drunk in a Belgian bar and found more Norwegians to drink with in a bar called DMZ. Got lost in the ancient walled city but found an obscure garden restaurant where they offered a set menu of at least fourteen courses and the food was sculpted into various unlikely shapes. It looked a million dollars but cost ten. I spent the night on the bus to Hannoi where people drive more chaotically than they do in HCMC but you can’t use the pavements because they’re full of bikes and their owners who are gathered eating with friends. Found the best patisseries for breakfast, negotiated the slipstream to get round and saw the Hoan Kiem Lake where there are supposed to be giant turtles but no one’s ever seen them, crossed on to an island to explore the Ngoc Son Temple, saw the water puppets at the Municipal Theatre, and drank the bia hoi (brought in fresh daily and dirt cheap). Journeyed to Halong Bay in the north east where the endless rocks rival Krabi in Thailand, did some sea kayaking and swimming and spent a night on top of a boat staring at the stars. Took another trip on a sleeper train north west to the hill town of Sapa for a day or two of trekking along the mountainous slopes and rice terraces which was exhilarating both because of the spectacular views and because it was a lot cooler, I got mild food poisoning but it didn’t get in the way too much. Rode the coach from Hanoi to Vientiane which took 26 hours. We took three hours to get across the border from Cau Treo into Nam Phao and after the gorgeous jungles and hills of eastern Laos we broke down a few hours outside the capital but got rescued by another bus which gave us plastic kids seats so we could sit in the aisle. I spent my last few days in Vientiane being useless and lazy and sitting by the Mekong river drinking beer because I didn’t have time or the energy to go anywhere else before I had to leave for Bangkok. Laos was very easy going and friendly. But I realised that you do need to take your time as things happen slowly! My coach from Vientienne dropped me on Khao San road at 4:00am which is a strange place to be when you’re not drunk at that time. I crawled into a guest house and waited for it to be time to fly home.

By the end of his Euro trip Victor claims that “I no longer know who I am and I feel like the ghost of total stranger.” I can’t claim that. I feel like my own ghost.

But it was worth it.

My plan is to evoke a turn around to this Year of Woe and try to convert it into a gap year of sorts with the traditional travelling part at the end of it. I have actually accomplished a lot this year with one thing and another and I can add this expedition to my trips to Prague and Paris as part of my new discoveries. I was very envious of friends who had the chance to travel before university and it was only due to lack of funds and the danger that my work ethic would perish if I broke from my studies that I didn’t persue this dream when I was eighteen. Funds will be stretched and this will be far from a luxurious tour but I aim to make the best of it.

I hope to blog a bit on the road but I might not get the chance. I’m sure you understand!

I regret to announce, this is the end. I’m going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell!

Well, until December anyway…

We flew out from East Midlands on a cold and dank morning at Stupid O’clock for our flight (the parental units need to arrive at last an hour early for everything these days or they start to resemble a junkie in need of a fix and become very agitated) and touched down in Dinard where we experineced considerably warmer climes. We then proceded to the fortified coastal town of St. Malo for a walkabout. The parents and Jan and Mike took off in search of ice cream and I set about searching for Rob who had hopped a ferry over from Jersey in order to meet me for a beer or four. I had decided not to take along my phone because I couldn’t be bothered with activating roaming. If I had known what a problem this was to cause I would have gladly done it. I was due to meet Rob between three and four so got on with trying to find a phone to call the guy. Firstly there was the problem of finding a pay phone in a labyrinthine medieval walled city. Someone seemed to have neglected to include them in any of the main streets. Tabacs did not feature phones and after a good half hour jogging about and cursing I eventually found a couple of booths. The first one was not about to work for anyone and seemed to have expired. The second had no facility for taking coins. I asked a woman who was waiting for me to finish berating the phone how it worked and was told that I needed a phone card which I could buy from a tabac. Fine. Now this time the same person who had hidden all the phones thought that they’d now conceal all of the tabacs. Hunting round I found a great deal more phone boxes but nowhere to buy a phone card. It’s at least half four by now. Randomly I bump into the same woman and plead for her to tell me where I find a tabac. She tells me that she’s actually from Paris and holidaying but agrees to help me hunt down the closeted tabacs. Conveniently they were to be found on the other side of the town, as far away from the phone booths as they could get (without being in the sea). So having thanked the kindly Parisian tourist and apologised profusely for tarnishing her peaceful afternoon I trek back across town armed with a phone card. I’m looking out for Rob all this time convinced that he’s either walking around cursing my name or he’s on a ferry returning back to Jersey. I get to the phone booth and after the recorded voice has repeated its instructions three times in French a different voice can be heard in English uttering the legend; “For Eng-lish, per-ess ther-ee…”. Fair enough. After activating the phone card and dialling Rob’s number the same patronising voice tells me that it’s not possible to connect me to that number. Why not? The same thing happens again. And again. On the verge of causing an immense amount of damage to the telephone booth I leave and go for a walk around the city walls where of course I meet my parents and Jan and Mike who helpfully tell me that they’ve seen Rob several times. This would have been upsetting had they not suggested that I might catch up with him if I leg it round the top of the walls. I did eventually meet up with Rob and had those several beers in a shady bar that Rob must have picked out hours earlier. Stella Artoir has never tasted so good.

After a pleasant late afternoon we said goodbye to Rob and made the ninety minute journey south east. Mike and Jan were very familiar with the area having been holidaying in the region for over ten years on cycling tours. They had moved themselves over earlier in the year and bought a simple and very comfortable house in the sleepy and picturesque village of Levare in the top corner of Pays de la Loire within easy reach of the borders of Brittany and Normandy. After a hearty meal and plenty of wine and good tunes we were ready for our first night’s rest.

Next morning we were whisked off for a leafy walk through woodland that followed a stream around an impressive chateau that was aging in a distinguished fashion. In the afternoon our guides moved us on to the charming town of Fougeres which was about 24k from Livare over in Brittany. According to Jan the place is Brittany’s answer to Chepstow and it certainly seemed so upon arrival. We strolled through the more modern part of the town pausing for a huge baguette and a creamy raspberry flan thing. We ambled through the gardens which are next to an impressive church atop a hill which leads you down towards the old town and the castle. Part of me really wanted to run around the battlements of the castle but the older, more exhausted part of me pointed out that I’d just had a big lunch and I wouldn’t actually achieve much running about so I saved my money and took a few pictures instead. Pix are starting to go up now at Flickr.

The following morning saw us trip to nearby St Fraimbault, which is a gorgeous flower-obsessed medieval village. A large field had been given over to all sorts of flora-associated exhibits that although just starting to go over were still lively enough and provided much amusement. We then visited Domfront, another medieval town on a hill with fabulous panoramic views and a host of quirky and charismatic buildings and then in the afternoon we stopped by the spa town of Bagnoles de L’orne to see the lake, the casino, the extravagant houses and the famed le Roc au Chien (Dog Rock – so called because in no way does it resemble any sort of canine). We had just time to journey to Lassay Les Chateaux for an eye full of the finest castle we had seen so far. Whilst walking around the Castle’s lake I spied a secluded alley that lay tucked away behind an outer brook. The brook had several large stepping stones and it was just a question of traversing them to gain access to this little forbidden passage that led to a network of back alleys and rat runs behind the old houses. The maze duly spat me out on to the high street and I was left to wander along trying to find my way back to my party feeling like a small child whose curiousity has gotten the better of him.

We were catching the TGV to Paris from nearby Leval and so we spent a few hours in the hill town the next morning with open mouths gazing at the mismatched houses and shops that adorned the slopes of the town and the series of ancient but sturdy bridges that spanned the river. We were also in search of a decent lunch before we would be shot out of Pays de la Loire like the contents of your nose into a handkerchief. The countryside between Pays de la Loire and Paris wasn’t the most memorable and so it was fortunate that the 250k journey only took us about ninety mins. Upon arrival into Paris we were deposited into Gare de Montparnasse, south of the Seine. Our apartment lay waiting for us in Montmartre in the north-east so all we needed to do was get there. Thankfully we’d done a bit of research and knew we needed Lamarck Caulaincourt on metro line number 12 (the metro divides all its colour coded lines into numbers which are a bit easier to remember than the London underground names) which incidentally is the station that Amelie leads the blind man to in the movie. The journey proved surprisingly easy (even with Dad getting pinned between a set of automatic gates and nearly toppling over when stepping onto the trundling wheels of a walk-on conveyer) and very speedy. After gaining entry to our apartment our thoughts turned to food and after consulting our Lonely Planet guide we found that the best place in our vicinity was a place called La Maison Rose which happened to take us up the hill behind us past the legendary Le Lapin Agile and past a fantastic vineyard towards the Sacré Cœur. And all this within just over an hour of having arrived!

The first day proper was spent doing the “unmissables” so we hauled ourselves up to the first level of the Eiffel Tower (I struggled to get that far, my fear of heights had well and truly kicked in) and I was just able to get a brace of pictures of the city and properly orientate myself before I had to come down (which was not easy as it was harder to avoid looking down). I moved us on to the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysées, through the Tuileries gardens (complete with ridiculously white sand/grit that blinded you), and onto the Louvre Museum. We went inside but not into the actual galleries. Mum wasn’t interested and I knew I’d be coming back so I decided to save the Louvre for another occaision. Dad had a hankering to see Notre Dame so we wondered in the direction of the cathedral where I exploited all the gargoyle photograph opportunities that I could find. The splendour of the interior of the cathedral and the sense of wonder were slightly undermined by the disrespectful tourists babbling and snapping away but we had a good look round and then spent a very pleasant half hour sitting around in the park directly behind the cathedral.

Next day was the big expedition to Giverny to see Monet’s garden so we hopped a train from Gare St Lazare and sped east for the small town of Vernon where we could get a shuttle bus out to Giverny. The house and garden were really charming. I hadn’t realised that a rail track ran through the middle of the artist’s garden separating the beautiful and brilliant display of flowers and plants in the upper section nearest the house from the Japanese water garden with that lilly-pad filled pond. This has since been turned into a road and access between the two sections of the garden is only possible through a subway. The Japanese water garden is the more interesting section of the garden (though the displays of colours and shapes in the upper part of the garden is almost as spellbinding). The fact that this was mid September and it was trying hard to rain was keeping the crowds away and although we didn’t have the place to ourselves we were spared the anguish of too many tourists. The artist’s house was lovely too. Very airy and light and filled with masses of pictures by Japanese artists including Hiroshige and Hokusai. The whole experience was magical and Dad was so pleased to have made it there. The only trouble was that after we had been ferried back to Vernon for our train we realised that we had two hours to kill before our next connection. Vernon isn’t the most interesting of places and the weather had finally succeeded in raining by this time so we took ourselves off for a some refreshments while we did the whole postcard thing.

Saturday was a little vexing as we had planned to see the Conciergerie and St Chappelle but unfortunately owing to a combination of maintenance and a security alert they were both closed so on Marc’s recommendation we strolled through the Latin Quarter and the resplendent Luxembourg Gardens and back though Marais before our guide book suggested we visit a crowded restaurant/attic for dinner.

Sunday was spent bowling around Montmartre. We all went into the Sacré Cœur and Mum was able to light a candle for Grandma and Grandad. After battling with the throngs of tourists in and around the place du Tertre we left Dad painting while Mother and I hiked all over the hillside and did our best to cover the place. Such a beautiful area (if only you could get rid of the tourists!). Because we used a Lonely Planet guide it meant that for the most part we could avoid the masses, which is definitely a good thing at meal times when you want to eat authentic French food without paying the earth. On the way back to the apartment on the final evening we encountered a random piece of street theatre outside a fantastic little bar called Aux Rendez-vous Des Amis on Rue Gabrielle. It consisted of a workman in blue overalls having fallen asleep on a chair whilst a female sprite clad in bright white was dancing as if he was dreaming her. Music played from a stereo they’d brought along and everyone (who had spilled from the corner bar) was utterly transfixed. We had to stop for a drink. Then, unfortunately we had to climb back up the epic set of steps, we had tottered down earlier, to get back to our apartment on the other side of the hill to get to sleep so that we could catch an early flight out of Charles de Gaul at Stupid O’clock once again.

We were supposed to have had a few hours on the Wednesday night after we got into town in which to get acquainted with our neighbourhood but because our plane had been redirected via several Irish airports, it arrived in Brum almost four hours late so most things were shut by the time we arrived (which was GMT +1) and we were all exhausted (mostly through too much exposure to each other!) so we took ourselves off to bed.

The apartment was located in Mala Strana (Little Quarter) amongst a host of lovely bars, cafes and parks. On the Thursday morning we found ourselves wondering through some beautiful little back streets, shady squares and parks on our way to The Charles Bridge. Karlov most (Charles Bridge) must be one of Prague’s most recognisable attractions, due mostly to the many statues that flank the two walls of this handsome cobbled causeway. Sadly the statues of various saints and apostles have become blackened due to what must be industrialisation (fumes and possibly problems with acid rain) and much in need of cleaning. The bridge plays host to many street artists and musicians (some are good and some aren’t). The views from the bridge, however, are all good. For much of the break we had occasional minor showers followed by hazy near-sunshine and the temperature was warmer than in Worcs but the poor air quality (the slight intrusion of car fumes and the large number of smokers) made life a bit hard for Dad whose chest was playing him up. We took in the maze of Stare Mesto’s (Old Town’s) back streets and alleys before we happened upon the Old Town Square and hoisted ourselves up the Town Hall for the wonderful panoramic views. Considering the visibility wasn’t anywhere near its best we could see around much of the tangle of slated rooftops and spires all jostling for position. After getting lost in the more alleys and arcades we took a stroll through Josefov (the Jewish quarter) and ambled along the river back towards the Karlov most before a few beers and some food.

Czech beer is the true amber nectar. The Pilsner Urquell, Krusovice, Gambrinus, Budvar and Staropramen were all superb and really tasted wonderful on draught (the Star tasted noticeably better than that exported to us). Possibly the best thing I had to drink were the dark versions of the Pilsner (at 26 Kc – 63p) and the dark Staropramen (which went superbly with some wild boar I had in a Maltese restaurant’s cellar that was converted from an abandoned brick works). Disappointingly though, Stella Artois seems to have acquired a trendy status in Prague and most of the more fashionable and expensive places were shifting plenty of it. Apart from a few successes, we found the prices were actually not all that cheap unless you found somewhere not geared towards tourists, which is near impossible (hence only a few successes). Prague makes most of its money from tourism and since the amount of people visiting the city has grown steadily, so to have the prices; if it used to be really cheap then it isn’t now. This meant that once we left Mala Strana the number of Czechs we saw fell sharply – the main tourist areas are prohibitively expensive, and probably much more so to anyone living outside the city. There were table charges; hidden charges lying in the baskets of bread put out on your table; service charges that weren’t included in the bill. After two attempts to be adventurous and falling foul of tourist traps (and very underwhelming food) we stuck rigidly to our Lonely Planet guide getting great results and not feeling at all resentful when paying for the great food we ate.

Friday meant the castle and it makes for a grand adventure. It’s a tiring but pleasant trek up a hill with plenty to see (and spend your money on) along the way. The cathedral is magnificent and the terraced gardens are beautifully designed and fun to explore. The views again are worth the effort. The weather was also better for us and I got some good results with the camera. Because the zoom is so efficient on my camera I was able to get some good shots of the details on the cathedral (I have a thing for gargoyles and stone faces as you can see belowand from the rest of the pictures when they’re all up on Flickr). In the evening Rae and I tripped into town and found a great place called Zanzi Bar which must have the monopoly on serving you the city’s best cocktails whilst keeping your foot tapping with the finest tunes. It’s a smart little cloistered bar slotted into one of the alleyways by the Charles Bridge and the staff are well practiced at their flaring. We noticed its sharp logo graffitied onto one of the motorway’s otherwise clean underpasses near the airport on the way home. Cheeky!

Nove Mesto (New Town) proved to be a bit of a misnomer as we found out that we’d already stumbled across most of it on Thursday and the parts we were making for didn’t contain much (apart from the charming botanical gardens). New Town is essentially expensive high street shopping and chains. It was around this area that the bars and clubs that play host to visiting clubbers and stag parties are clustered and you get a sense of the real reason that so many other Europeans visit the city. Around Saturday mid afternoon you can witness the thrill seekers begin to move into Nove Mesto having soaked up the gentile charm that Old Town has to offer. And you can’t blame them.

On our day of rest we took a chance on the Petrin hill park. We strolled around these shady, steep paths until we discovered the funicular railway that could have brought us up the hill. This sort of thing never bothers seasoned hill walkers like us and we found that we enjoyed our half litre of Krusovice all the more. The beer garden of this little stall also afforded great views of the Cathedral in the castle grounds and Dad finally had his opportunity to do a sketch of some of Prague away from the tourist hoards and the car fumes. I left the family and had a wander further up the hill and happened upon a sort of bohemian walled garden, formal park areas and the city’s observatory with its telescope recoiled inside its open domed roof.

The day we left we did run around seeing stuff we’d missed but not without balancing it out with much resting in and around Stare Mesto. We were sad to leave but much beguiled by the place and convinced we would go again at some point. Anyone up for a trip there sometime?