“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.”

  • Have you ever ridden around the streets of Goa, with your only agenda being a plate of prawn curry and rice at every beach shack you end up at?
  • How does you feel when you’re sitting by a railway track, that overlooks a nine arch bridge, just waiting for a train to pass by – hear the rattle of the rails, the whistle of the engine and the wind in your ears?
  • Do you realize how slowly, yet enjoyably the hours go by when you sit at a cafe overlooking the Tungabhadra, sipping beers and digging into local versions of hummus and schnitzel?
  • Have you sat at a tapas bar in Barcelona, sipping wine after wine and indulging in calamari and croquetas, cloïsses amb pernil and chocos, gambas al ajillo and pimientos de Padrón?
  • Does a stroll through a barely taken trail in a bird sanctuary make you happy, getting to the other end, to a train station and hopping onto a train to come right back where you started?

Join me through my not-so-frequent holidays, and far less frequently documented (and delayed) accounts of them.

Through Belgium, Germany, Austria, parts of France and Spain

India and Sri Lanka