The West bank : Luxor, Egypt

The river that demarcates life and after life.

Luxor is divided by the Nile into two areas: the East Bank, where the modern city is, and the West Bank, known mainly for its ancient tombs and monuments. And that is where we are headed next but on a corporeal mode of transport. 

Lure of the lore

For me, an English Literature and Geography buff, a visit to Egypt cannot be complete without sailing the Nile. Didn’t Shakespeare's Cleopatra, ‘Serpent of the Nile’, sail with pomp and splendor, down the longest river in the world?

“The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, / Burned on the water”. 

( from Shakespeare's  Antony and Cleopatra)

Hence from the archaeological sites on the East bank we go up to the pier where ferries are waiting to take passengers across the river. There are a couple of Nile cruise ships as well. 

A ride in a felucca, the traditional Egyptian sail boat, would have been ideal but I had to settle for less. Ours is a small motorised ferry with padded seats and colourful cushions. As the boat glides gently along the river, the desert and green fields slide past on either side. We are protected from the sun by a canopy and a cool breeze soothes us.

A perceptive change

It's past midday and the sun is already moving towards the West.  How symbolically appropriate that we follow it! The greenery has faded, the harsh light has softened, the heat has abated somewhat,and the colour of the waters changes.

Entombed History, Resurrection

We alight on the opposite bank and it feels as though we have crossed not just the Nile, but a boundary between worlds. Suddenly everything is different: a vast desert plain, the mountains rising behind it, and scattered across the landscape, the remnants of a  three thousand year old civilization.

The distances are immense. Walking from one site to another is almost unthinkable, so we drive through this extraordinary landscape, passing colossal statues in various stages of restoration. Everywhere there is the sense of something long buried stirring back to life.

The first to greet us are the Colossi of Memnon, each towering 18 metres above us. They stand like ancient sentinels at the entrance to what remains of the enormous mortuary temple of Amenhotep III. Excavation and restoration continue around them. Fragments everywhere—broken limbs, fallen stones, shattered architectural details—waiting to be identified, numbered and fitted back into place. What patience this requires.

And then the Pharaoh, Amenhotep, himself appears.

He has been brought back upon his feet after 30 centuries of collapse. His enormous form has been meticulously reconstructed from fragments and re-erected.There is something deeply moving about it. These are not simply ruins. They are acts of resurrection. Besides him is his wife, the queen.

Further on, mud-brick structures emerge from the slope, cave-like and almost seamlessly blending with the barren landscape. They are the vaulted storerooms of the Ramesseum, and once again we are overwhelmed by the scale and sophistication of ancient Egyptian architecture.

 

The Enormousness of the necropolis

First the pyramids and then the vast tombs in the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens.

The caves are an introduction to the Valley of the Kings, where the magnificent tombs of ancient pharaohs were carved into the desert rock. The landscape hence looks pockmarked with entrances to tombs.This famous archeological site houses over 60 tombs of royal pharaohs and nobles, including that of  Ramesses V & VI and Tutankhamun.

We tend to associate ancient Egypt with pyramids: vast monuments rising high from the desert, built to entomb the dead and proclaim their power for eternity. But in Luxor,  these monuments descend into the mountain, through long, winding passages and chambers, their walls alive with brilliant paintings and hieroglyphics.

There is also a practical reason:  Kings stopped building pyramids because robbers easily stole from them. 

It feels less like entering a tomb than entering another realm. 

The walls tell stories of gods, death and rebirth, guiding the pharaoh on his journey into the afterlife. The treasures buried within were not simply possessions, but provisions for eternity—a carefully imagined passage from one existence into another. Is it really all silence and stone?

Where workers and nobles are not left out

We continue deeper into the West Bank of Luxor, the road carrying us into a world of rock and dust . The weathered limestone cliffs of Deir el-Bahari rise. This is the Valley of the Artisans. Some of the best workers that helped build the tombs are buried here. Understandably, these tombs are smaller and not as grandiose.

Hats off to Hatshepsut

Around the bend is the Valley of the Queens. The archeological site is where the wives of the royal pharaohs were buried. Most of the tombs here are rather small and not as impressive as those in the Valley of the Kings. However, the tomb of Queen Nefertari is located here and is said to be one of the best.

As we round the approach, the Temple of Hatshepsut suddenly comes into view. Three immense terraces rise one above another, their precise colonnades creating a striking play of light and shadow. Yet the monument fits perfectly into its surroundings, as though it was always meant to stand here.

We follow in the footsteps of countless others who came to honour Hatshepsut and the gods. One of ancient Egypt’s most remarkable rulers and its most famous female pharaoh, she built the temple as both a memorial to her reign and a sacred place connected with her journey into eternity.

Inside, surviving reliefs, with traces of brilliant colour, depict her divine birth and celebrated expedition to the Land of Punt. Ships, animals, plants and foreign traders unfold across the walls, offering a glimpse into a world of commerce, ceremony and belief.

Higher up, the sanctuary brings a sudden stillness. What stays with us is not only the monument’s magnificence, but Hatshepsut’s desire to place her story within a larger order of gods, life, death and renewal—a testament to the enduring human desire to be remembered beyond a single lifetime.

We watch stone masons at work on the restoration projects, and also get to see some traditional pottery.

Back to the Red Sea

Just as the sun disappears between the western hills,  the monuments awash with twilight, we make our way back to the port. This time we cross the Nile on a bridge. And as the road carries us away towards the Red Sea, the last light over the Nile seems to bring the journey full circle.

Reflection

In Hinduism, East represents new beginnings, light, and divine awakening, while West symbolizes culmination, reflection, and the evening closing of a cycle.The afterlife connection: In ancient Khmer and Hindu symbolism, the west—the direction of the setting sun—is also tied to death and the afterlife. Angora wat in Cambodia is the largest religious monument in the world faces west. It has been suggested that King Suryavarman II who built the temple intended Angkor Wat to serve as his royal mausoleum or funerary temple in addition to a state temple.

The East bank : Luxor and Karnak, Egypt

Safaga Port to Luxor

Destined 

We are at Safaga Port, and we have no plans. After our experience at Port Said, we are more than a little concerned about our safety. But our cruise friends have booked a minivan for six, and two of their group have withdrawn. Could we go with them? Why not? And so, we do.

As soon as we disembark, the person in our group who arranged the private transport manages, with some difficulty, to contact our driver. We are soon guided into an air-conditioned vehicle, and our journey to Luxor begins—approximately three hours from Safaga.

In retrospect, how easy it would have been had we stayed on the ship, played it safe, only to miss what was to become one of the most memorable experiences of our trip. Taking a chance and more led to a rewarding experience.

We were destined to make this journey.

Upper is not north. It is south.

That small geographical conundrum tickles me as we begin our almost three-hour drive south through Egypt. We are travelling upstream, following the Nile toward its source, and into what is hence known as Upper Egypt. Somehow, the farther south we go, the more the ancient geography begins to make sense.

At first, there is little but desert—vast, barren, and almost unearthly. Then, almost imperceptibly, the landscape begins to shift. Patches of green appear. Fields stretch along the river. The desert gives way to swatches of cultivated land, and suddenly there is life everywhere.

We pass through small villages with mud-brick homes. Cows graze, chickens wander across the roadside, and people go about the ordinary business of daily life. After the immense silence of the desert, these simple scenes feel almost miraculous.

The contrast is astonishing: endless desert on the one hand, a remarkably fertile landscape on the other. It is easy to understand why this narrow valley has sustained communities for thousands of years. Looking out the window, I find myself marveling at how such a slender strip of green could give rise to one of the world’s great civilizations.

We are now in  the ancient region of Thebes, the Greek name for the area around modern-day Luxor. The road continues south toward Aswan and the Aswan High Dam, but that is not our Itinerary today.

For now, the journey itself feels like part of the discovery. Desert, fields, villages and the Nile river unfold beside us in a landscape where the ancient and the everyday astonishingly exist side by side.

The reveal

As we near Luxor, modern buildings begin to appear alongside an excavation site, where a seemingly endless row of sphinxes stretches into the distance. This evocative first glimpse affirms our expectations: coexistence of the  everyday and the ancient.

Once the capital of ancient Egypt, Luxor is today a lively market town serving the surrounding agricultural region. The farmland and villages we passed along the Nile had already suggested what lay ahead: a city at the heart of this fertile valley. Yet I am struck by how completely modern life has grown around the ancient temples. Churches, mosques, restaurants, hotels, and bustling markets all share the landscape with monuments thousands of years old.

I had expected to encounter the remnants of an ancient civilization; I had not quite expected to find modern life unfolding so naturally around them.

Layers of time

We finally catch sight of the ruins of Luxor Temple. It is time to leave the comfort of air-conditioning and step into the afternoon heat.

Our first surprise is a domed, active mosque standing within the ancient temple complex, beside and partly above the massive stone pylon—the original Egyptian gateway. The mosque is obviously a later Islamic structure, while the pylon belongs to the much older temple. Roman alterations to the ancient stonework are visible as well. Standing here, I am even more struck by the extraordinary layering of history: ancient Egyptian, Roman, Islamic, and modern life occupying the same space.

Passing through the pylon, a massive gateway, we discover a narrow, remarkably steep staircase said to lead through hollow rooms and corridors to the upper levels and roof—spaces once used by priests, guards, and workers. Do we hear the muffled tones of people moving through these same passages thousands of years ago?

Beyond the gateway, the purpose of the temple begins to emerge. Despite being called a temple, Luxor Temple was not dedicated to a single god. It was the focal point of the annual Opet Festival, when divine statues were carried from Karnak to Luxor in a ceremony symbolizing the renewal of the pharaoh’s right to rule.

Before the pylon once stood two obelisks. One remains here; the other was presented to France in 1831, in honour of the French man who helped decipher the hieroglyphs, and now stands in Paris’s Place de la Concorde. It is strange to think of these two monuments, once standing together at this entrance, now separated by thousands of kilometres.

From here, we move deeper into the temple and emerge into the great peristyle court, surrounded on three sides by elegant papyrus-cluster columns. Their capitals imitate the spreading umbels, fanlike flower clusters, of the papyrus plant. After seeing photographs and drawings of ancient Egypt for so many years, standing among these immense columns is something else entirely. The scale and craftsmanship are overwhelming..

The Pharaohs’ echoes via ‘Sphinx Avenue’

We walk beneath the vast Egyptian sky along the Avenue of Ram-Headed Sphinxes, their weathered faces silently watching as we approach the Karnak Temple Complex. Then the Great Hypostyle Hall comes into view—a breathtaking forest of 134 colossal columns, their surfaces alive with ancient inscriptions and reliefs. Standing among them feels less like entering a temple than stepping into another age.

At the entrance, the remains of the monumental pylon of Ramesses II are flanked by colossal statues of the pharaoh. One restored black-granite colossus stands 11 meters high. Discovered in 57 fragments only 70 years ago, it was painstakingly reassembled and unveiled in 2017. At his feet, a five-foot figure of Queen Nefertari offers a striking contrast.

Surrounded by these ancient giants, it is easy to imagine Karnak not as ruins, but as a world still alive with echoes of the past.

The huge closely placed columns did offer much needed shade from the merciless sun

Reaching for the heavens

Standing within the Karnak Temple Complex in Luxor, I was awestruck by Hatshepsut’s magnificent pink granite obelisk, rising nearly 30 meters into the sky. Carved from a single block of granite quarried at Aswan, it weighs an astonishing 323 tons.

Nearby, the obelisk of Thutmose I rises about 21.7 meters and weighs roughly 143 tons.

These were far more than feats of engineering. Rising toward the heavens, the obelisks symbolized the sun and were dedicated to the gods. Standing beside them, I found myself wondering how people more than 3,000 years ago could quarry, transport, and raise stones of such immense size. The sheer scale left me humbled—and reminded me how much of the ingenuity of the ancient world still lies beyond our imagination.

Quiet Reflection at the Sacred Lake

Within the vast Precinct of Amun-Re at Karnak, the Sacred Lake rests peacefully among towering columns and ancient temples.

Created under Pharaoh Thutmose III, it served as a place of ritual purification, where priests prepared themselves before entering the sacred presence of the gods.

Today, its still waters offer a rare moment of quiet within the grandeur of Karnak. Standing at its edge, I felt a deep sense of respect for the countless generations who gathered here. For a moment, it was easy to imagine the priests walking these same shores thousands of years ago—and to feel the enduring presence of a world long gone, yet not forgotten.

Dung Beetle Charm

And then there is the irresistible pink granite scarab—a giant at 1.9 metres long and weighing five tons—perched at one corner of the lake.

So why are people walking around it? Folklore has the answer:

Three laps bring general good fortune.

Seven laps bring luck in marriage.

And nine laps—the maximum(?)—are for fertility.

The tradition has a fascinating connection to ancient Egypt. The scarab was associated with Khepri, the god of the rising sun and rebirth. Egyptians saw the dung beetle rolling its ball across the ground as a reflection of the sun being rolled across the sky.

Local folklore has given that ancient symbol a wonderfully practical twist: a good-luck charm.

A link to the next blog on the West Bank of Luxor.

This scarab was originally made during the reign of Amenhotep III for his mortuary temple on Luxor’s west bank, before being moved to Karnak. The ball rolls!

Le Havre, France(2): an identity

Cont'd from Le Havre, France(1):  Recovery or Restoration?

The lantern whose colours speak 

St. Joseph’s Church is a striking modern concrete landmark, dominated by its 107-metre octagonal tower, known locally as the “Lighthouse.” Built as a memorial to around 5,000 civilians who died in the war, the church combines remembrance with a sense of hope. Inside, thousands of stained-glass panels fill the space with changing colours rather than traditional religious imagery. The effect is calm and contemplative, inviting visitors to pause and reflect on the church’s history and memorial purpose.

Promenading the esplanade

And then we walk along the coastal Boulevard Clémenceau, catching glimpses of the pebbly beaches and the sea beyond. The day is becoming too warm, and I reluctantly abandon the idea of visiting the Hanging Gardens, with their flights of stairs, developed among the ruins of the fort once commandeered by Napoleon. It feels like a small loss, knowing that we will miss the gardens and their views, but the heat makes the climb seem less inviting.

Impression(ism) 

The coastal promenade takes me to The Signal, the distinct monumental concrete sculpture,like a stylized human eye, cantilevered in the ​MuMa (Musée d'art moderne André Malraux) Plaza. 

It seems appropriate for the museum houses some paintings of Claude Monet, Auguste Renoir and others. An 1872 painting by Claude Monet called  Impression, Sunrise depicting the port of Le Havre, Monet's hometown, is thought to have inspired the Impressionists movement.    

Symbols of wealth and success

And then a board that says Gold Coast grabs my attention. I don't see anything like the Australian Gold Coast. I have to go very close to the brick parapet and peer over the breakwater before I spot the glinting rocks,contrasting sharply with the colours of the sea.Had it been sunset or sunrise, or even moonlight,  I would have noticed it immediately. Again, this is an installation made of several rocks of hybrid material, painted gold. 

From there, in the distance, at the tip of a long breakwater, I catch sight of a statue of a father on whose shoulder sits his daughter. The father, an artist,  and the daughter are gazing out over the sea to a future? NY ( based on the imaginary line of the gaze)? the old transatlantic routes?

 Hut handed down 

And then there are the colourful beach huts . Interesting that they are passed down from generation to generation. 

The monuments referred to my previous blog:

The childlike figure captures the carefree joy of life by the sea.

Mr Gull seems to embody a longing for the ocean. With his seagull’s head, sailor’s peacoat and perch atop a ship’s mast, he becomes a whimsical symbol of the maritime world.

The iceberg provides a striking contrast to the volcanoes—ice against fire. Intriguingly, Saharan dust carried on atmospheric winds once settled on the sculpture, giving the iceberg a yellow hue: an unexpected, natural addition to its symbolism.

A tribute to maritime history and engineering

As we make our way back to our cruise pier we take a closer look at an astonishing upright chain link formed of colorful containers at the entrance to the port. The statistics are mind-boggling. Height: 28m. Weight: 248 tons.

 Back at Basin du Roi

All along we see that the quiet morning has given way to a vibrant evening with restaurants doing brisk business. The tide is in and the boats are available for rides. Families stand on the bridge admiring it all. Others walk along the banks.

A high rise building in the distance displays figures/apparitions, on uninstalled window frames The seafood stalls are brisk with business.

 After that it is a lonely walk back to the ship.

Why so many monuments?

To celebrate the city’s 500th anniversary in 2017, “A Summer in Le Havre” was launched, inviting international artists to create works inspired by the identity of this historic port city. Some of the installations became permanent fixtures, while the festival continues to take place every year.

A walk that turns the  pages of history

Le Havre is, without a doubt,a city you have to walk to understand. Its story unfolds with every step: the rigid grid leads you through a bold landscape of concrete, where streets, buildings and open spaces tell the story of a city reduced to rubble and reborn in the daring modernist vision of one man, Auguste Perret. It is no wonder then that the unique postwar reconstruction and architecture  earned the city center a UNESCO World Heritage listing in 2005.

And as you walk, the city’s gaze keeps returning to the sea. The streets lead towards a port that has connected Le Havre with the wider world for centuries—particularly Asia—and remains a powerhouse of trade and industry.

Trivia

• The AREVA has a factory for building wind turbines designed for Offshore wind power in Brittany, the UK, and Normandy. It created some 1,800 jobs.

• The largest industrial employer (2,400 employees) of the Le Havre region is the Renault public company 

Le Havre, France(1): Recovery or Restoration?

Harbouring hopes at The Harbour

Le Havre is the port closest to Paris, sitting on the English Channel – at the estuary of the river Seine –where France has long faced England across the water. That alone makes me curious. This was once a gateway for commerce, but also shaped by centuries of rivalry. Somewhere along this coast, William the Conqueror crossed the Channel on his way to claim the English throne. Centuries later, the Normandy beaches would see D-Day.

And yet, today, it is simply our port of call. The 21/2 hour journey to Paris, a city in which we spent a few days many years ago, is a definite “No”. We could wander through picturesque Honfleur, but somehow Le Havre itself is drawing me in. From the ship, the city looks unexpectedly modern, its architecture hinting at a past.

I’m eager to step ashore and see what lies beyond the waterfront. Perhaps there is more to Le Havre than first meets the eye—and perhaps that is exactly what makes it worth exploring. Maybe Le Havre will surprise us.

Not so simple

There are paid shuttles into the city, but we decide to walk—only about two kilometres, or 20–30 minutes. Easy? Apparently not. Almost immediately, we realize we have absolutely no clue.

Surrounded by acres of enormous wind-turbine blades, neatly lined up, the port is like a maze designed to discourage tourists. We follow the fences until we reach a swing bridge. The light is red. We wait. And wait. Nothing. Not our lucky day.

We backtrack, find another bridge and a crosswalk, and finally make our way through the working port and industrial docks. It’s a long, lonely walk—not the scenic grand entrance to Le Havre we had imagined!

A basin dug out of a bay

Still, we keep going, wondering when we would finally reach the city. At last, we come upon a beautiful stone bridge spanning the Bassin du Roi, Le Havre’s oldest wet dock, commissioned by King Francis I in the15 hundreds. The basin was actually dug out of the existing bay! The tide is low and so the sides are exposed. The colourful boats appear stranded in the middle.The stairs leading to the boats below are quite tall. There is no human movement at all. 

Near the beginning of the bridge, perched high on a building, is an unusual bronze sculpture of a girl which serves as a weather vane. But a closer look at the details suggests that she is a creature of the sea happily providing a refuge for marine life. Perhaps she represents the close relationship of the city with the sea. We are finally getting somewhere.

Are we going to have the city all to ourselves?

We walk along  a row of empty stalls stacked with crates. Some have stoves and ovens. I can almost imagine crowds gathering here for sea food. But where are the crowds?

Across the channel we walk along closed store fronts and then we turn into a residential area. 

Stark and solemn

We have wandered towards Notre Dame Cathedral and the older part of Le Havre. This cathedral sits in the heart of the city. We are in one of the oldest thoroughfares of the city. The cathedral was built in the 16th century but of the original only the bell tower remains. It and many of the older buildings in the neighbourhood were severely damaged in WW2.  Hence what we see around us are modern concrete buildings replicating some older features. The streets, in a grid layout, are broad as are the squares. The church itself was restored. Only a couple of people are up and about walking their dogs.

The city is stirring

Since we are already in the heart of the city we decide to find the town hall. We instinctively slow into an amble when we turn into a broad treelined avenue bordered by stark, modern residential apartment blocks. A lot more people are walking about either leisurely or business-like. A building hidden behind bushes draws my attention. It seems like a community centre and I take pictures from the little opening in the bushes lining the fence. We are looking at a public nursery school reconstructed post WW2 with the unique architecture of the city.  

Perked up:A vibrant atmosphere

As the sun climbs higher, the pace of the town changes. Almost before we realize it, we are swept up in a wonderful whirl of colour, noise and activity. It’s market day, and somehow we have wandered right into the middle of the weekend bustle.

We have stepped into Les Halles Centrales, the covered market hall, with the surrounding streets alive with stalls. Everywhere we look there is something to catch our eye—local arts and crafts, colourful clothing, jewellery, woven baskets and all sorts of treasures.

Inside the hall, butchers, greengrocers, wine merchants, cheesemongers, fishmongers and pastry stalls compete for our attention, filling the air with enticing sights and aromas. Outside, the cafés are packed and abuzz with conversation.

We pause for a moment simply to absorb it all. What a delightful surprise to stumble into such a lively, colourful slice of local life!

A welcome respite

Not too far away are St. Joseph's Church and City Hall. Knowing the church is closer to the port, we decide to continue walking toward City Hall, or Place de l’Hôtel de Ville. The original city hall was destroyed by British bombardment during the Second World War, and what stands before us today is its modern reconstruction.

The square in front is unexpectedly inviting, with tiered fountains, shady trees and neatly manicured gardens. After the slowly building excitement of the morning we are glad for a quiet place to catch our breath, take in our surroundings, and simply enjoy being here.

More wandering: is there a story?

A walk through the remarkably quiet neighbourhood leads us toward the old market square, where we come across a light-stone building that appears to have retained much of its pre-war architecture. This is the city’s Natural History Museum that stands out among the modern buildings around it. Standing nearby is a rather curious statue, adding an unexpected touch of character to the scene. He is Mister Gull. There must surely be a story to this one.

Cultural and shopping centre

The white structure that has been visible from the different streets now looms up before us. What I had imagined to be the top part of a boot has more beneath it, for the structure sits below street level. Yes, it is shaped like a volcano with smooth white sides. There are not one but two volcano structures. The larger Grand Volcan houses a 1,200-seat theater and a 350-seat cinema. The smaller, Petit Volcan,  is now a public Library.  Both were designed by a Brazilian architect called Oscar Niemeyer. The two buildings that form the cultural  center stand in stark contrast to the post war concrete buildings all around them.  Climbing out of the sunken area brings us into rows of eateries and bars preparing to open for the evening crowd. 

Apt war memorial

Our eyes are next drawn to a statue in a large square called Place Général de Gaulle. The square faces a pond lined with seats and benches. If the sun had been more merciful we would have sat there in the company of two others who were sunbathing on the boardwalk! In the middle of the park stands the enormous statue that pays homage to the lives lost in WW1 and  WW2 and other major conflicts.. The fountains were not activated the time we were there. 

The pond/basin also has a quirky artistic installation called the ‘Ice berg’.

To be cont'd in Le Havre, France(2): Monuments

Mitilini, Lesbos, Greece : Oh, my my, my!

Tender approach

Right after visiting Istanbul(Constantinople, the grand capital of the Roman empire),at the crossroads of Asia and Europe, we are back on the Aegean Sea, making our way toward the Greek island of Lesbos. We are tendered into Mytilini, the capital of Lesbos, with little in the way of expectations. After the intensity and grandeur of Istanbul, we are but mildly curious to see what this next stop might bring.

Hah!

As is our habit, we intend to walk to the farthest point first, then slowly make our way back, taking in the sights and soaking up the atmosphere. But then—wow!—an imposing church catches our eye (even as we approach the shore) and stops us in our tracks. Its striking architecture and five domes are simply breathtaking – Agios Therapontas, a Greek Orthodox Cathedral with 5 ornate domes. It is a magnificent example of Byzantine architecture. It’s unlike any other church in Greece. In the courtyard is Lesvos’ Byzantine Museum.

My! Off shore or downtown?

As we stroll along the paved Ermou Street, through the old Turkish Quarter toward the other harbour, it is easy to think of it as simply another street filled with souvenir shops. But this is no ordinary street. It carries layers of history.

Named after Hermes, the ancient Greek god of commerce, travel, and trade, Ermou elicits the spirit of an old agora—the marketplace where people once gathered not only to trade, but to meet, talk, exchange news, etc. In other words, it would have been a social and cultural hub. Pedestrianised in 2024, the street compels us to slow down and look around. Fish shops, grocery stores, little bookshops, convenience stores, jewellery, and souvenir shops spill their ware into the rhythm of everyday life. 

And then there is the story beneath our feet: 

Imagine!  Mytilene, on which the fortress is, was once a small island, lying just offshore from the much larger island of Lesbos. Between them ran a narrow channel of sea. Over the centuries silt and sediment accumulated little by little, the waterway growing narrower and shallower,making it feasible to build marble bridges across the remaining passage, binding the two shores together.

In time, the channel disappeared altogether. The little island of Mytilene became joined to Lesbos, and the sea that had once flowed between them gave way to solid ground. And so, we may have just walked over naturally reclaimed land on some of the intersections.

We pass by mansions. Further up the streets the architecture of the buildings shift. We are in the  Ottoman quarter which is flanked by Neoclassical merchant houses from the late 19th century. The city's Islamic history is revealed through the vestiges. The ruins of the 19th century complex that includes a mosque and hamam are an unmistakably  unique blend of Byzantine and Ottoman architectural elements.

Layers of historical significance 

Close by, rising above the surrounding streets, stands the 16th-century Metropolitan Church of Aghios Athanasios, which became the Metropolitan Church of Mytilene in the 18th century. We are struck by neo-Gothic bell tower that soars to an impressive 33 metres. Both the church and its bell tower were apparently built with chiselled stone brought from the quarries of Asia Minor, adding yet another layer of history to this remarkable landmark.

Leaving the church behind, we wander deeper into Mytilene’s quieter and older streets. Among the stucco-fronted houses and timeworn ceramic  façades another Orthodox church comes into view, partly concealed behind a wrought-iron gate at the bottom of a simple stone belfry, beyond which lies a peaceful courtyard.

A little farther on, another charming surprise awaits us. Tucked among the surrounding buildings is the small chapel of St. Eudokomis, with its distinctive red-and-white horizontal stripes. A reddish-brown dome crowns the chapel, while a tiny rooftop bell tower, with its solitary bell, completes its picturesque appearance. The chapel is thought to have been built by refugees from Asia Minor, giving this modest place of worship a poignant connection to the region’s history of displacement and resettlement.

Continuing our aimless wandering, we soon encounter yet another Byzantine Orthodox church. This time it is the Orthodox Church of St. Paul, believed to commemorate a historic stop made by St. Paul during one of his missionary journeys. Encountering these churches one after another, tucked into the fabric of the city, makes our walk through Mytilene feel like a journey through layers of faith and history.

My, my!

Lesbos is famous for its ouzo, the anise-flavored spirit that Greece is known for. But if the name Lesbos triggers another, more familiar association, you’re absolutely on the right track.

Lesbos was the birthplace of Sappho, one of ancient Greece’s most celebrated lyric poets. Born into an aristocratic family in the 7th century BCE, Sappho spent much of her life in Mytilene, the island’s capital, writing intensely passionate poetry—much of it exploring love, desire, and affection between women.

And here’s the concurrence: the word “lesbian” traces its roots directly back to this island because of Sappho’s poetry and her association with love

My, my, my!

Asia Minor has played a profound role in the history and identity of Lesbos, A mere six miles of water on a map can become, for those crossing it, an entire world between the life they have left behind and the life they hope to find. It has also been a passage between peoples, cultures, histories, and, at times, worlds in conflict.During the 2015–2016 refugee crisis, Lesbos once again became a gateway between Asia and Europe. Hundreds of thousands of people fleeing war and instability in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan crossed the Aegean, arriving on the island in search of safety and a new life. 

In Mytilene, these layered histories are reflected symbolically in the statues that stand along the waterfront. The figure of Mother Asia Minor evokes the memory of those who were displaced from the shores across the sea, while the statue of Sappho speaks to Lesbos's ancient cultural legacy. Nearby, closer to the port, stands a Statue of Liberty—reminiscent of the one in New York—offering another powerful image of arrival, freedom, and possibility.

On a lighter note

Before returning to the harbour, we make our way towards the Fortress of Mytilene, a massive sixth-century stronghold rising from a pine-covered hill between the island’s two harbours. We are content simply to admire it from below, taking in its scale and history without needing to climb any higher.

Then, as if to complete the day perfectly, we find our way to the crystal-clear waters of the Aegean. Perched on ancient stones beside the shingle beach, we dip our feet into the cool sea and sit for a while, quietly taking it all in. There is a wonderful sense of satisfaction in ending the day this way—surrounded by history, sea and sunlight.

A heightened appreciation:Stockholm, Sweden

A simple plan turns out to be an adventure 

It’s a 20-minute walk to the bus stop, and we’re trying to figure out which bus to take. We originally planned to take Bus 1 on the port side, but then we notice people heading across to catch the bus going the other way into the city centre—so, naturally, we follow! All we have to do to pay our fare is to tap our contactless bank card.

We pass by the Old Town, which we’ve already visited twice. Why not stay on the bus and see more of Stockholm beyond the familiar sights?

Almost everyone gets off at a busy shopping intersection, but we stay put, curious to see where the route takes us and it wasn't a good decision! We pass through residential neighbourhoods filled with high-rise buildings, with cafés tucked into almost every junction and small parks. Gradually, though, the city begins to thin out and the surroundings feel more and more remote.

Then we realise we have only 30 minutes left on our 75-minute ticket! Time to make a decision. We get off, wander around the neighbourhood for a little while, take in the local atmosphere, and then hop back on the same route toward the city.

A completely unplanned little adventure—and a fun way to see a different side of Stockholm! We had actually crossed into the residential area of  another island! After all, Stockholm stretches across 14 islands!

Join the crowd and be vowed

On the way back, we get off at a busy intersection and, almost without planning it, find ourselves wandering into a shopping street we have never been to before. There is something exciting about stumbling upon an unfamiliar part of a city, and we are immediately drawn to the first sight in front of us—a striking statue standing proudly in the open space.

We have arrived at the Orpheus Fountain, a monumental bronze sculpture of Orpheus, the legendary musician of Greek mythology. Why is the bronze bluish? Simple. It reflects the  cool, bluish tones of the Stockholm Concert Hall façade rising behind it. The whole scene has a wonderful sense of harmony, as though the sculpture and the building were meant to belong together. This is the home of the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra and, every year, the grand setting for the Nobel Prize award ceremony. Standing here, it is easy to imagine the excitement and ceremony that fill this place on that special occasion.

From the fountain, we make our way along Drottninggatan, or Queen Street, one of Stockholm’s best-known pedestrian streets. It has been part of the city since as far back as the 17th century, yet today it feels wonderfully alive and contemporary. With more than 20 intersections along its route, the street seems to invite us to keep walking, never quite knowing what we will discover around the next corner.

Much of Drottninggatan is pedestrian-only, which makes strolling here especially pleasant. We take our time, enjoying the shop windows, the colourful displays and the constant movement of people around us. There are familiar names and grand buildings along the way, including the Åhléns City department store, mixed with smaller shops and other city landmarks.

What catches our attention, though, are the concrete lions standing along the street. They are more than decorative sculptures—they serve as bollards, protecting pedestrians from traffic, while also carrying the Swedish symbolism of strength and protection. Somehow, they add a playful yet reassuring touch to the busy street.

We find ourselves simply enjoying the walk, with no particular hurry. The city seems to unfold naturally before us—blue façades, bronze sculpture, shop windows, passing faces and the gentle rhythm of people going about their day. It is one of those unplanned discoveries that makes travelling so enjoyable: we had only meant to be on our way back, and instead we have found another little piece of Stockholm to remember.

The heart of the city

As we make our way towards Stockholm’s Old City, we are led into Sergel’s Square. All of a sudden, the city opens up around us. The square sits below street level, and from above, we get a wonderful view of its unmistakable black-and-white triangular pattern, stretching across the pavement like a giant geometric design.

There is something fascinating about standing here and realising that beneath our feet lies Stockholm’s metro station and its network of tunnels, hidden below the busy city streets.

At the heart of the square rises a striking 38-metre-high glass pillar. Its glass catches the light, imagine what it would be like at sunset or at night. 

We pause for a moment, taking it all in. 

The square  feels like one of those places where Stockholm’s everyday life unfolds. Crowds gather here for celebrations, demonstrations and major sporting victories, turning this otherwise open urban space into a place of shared excitement and celebration.

Then, with the Old City still ahead of us, we continue our walk, leaving the bustle of Sergels square behind for the more sombre but majestic buildings.

A Reminder

Our route takes us past grand historic buildings, their ornate sandstone façades, decorated balconies, stone columns and sweeping arched windows reflecting Stockholm’s architectural elegance. Yet among this grandeur, we come across a poignant sculpture of a lone fox huddled beneath a tattered blanket—a quiet reminder of vulnerability and the hidden hardship that can exist alongside the city’s wealth.

Towards King's Garden 

We plan to take the bus back to the port from King’s Garden, so we begin walking towards the famous monument to King Gustav II Adolf near the Old Town. Along the way, we pass the uniquely red-and-green Saint James’s Church, a historic landmark with a distinctive character of its own. Behind it stands the Royal Swedish Opera, an impressive classical building and Sweden’s national stage for opera and ballet.

Soon, we find ourselves among tall willow trees, manicured hedges and winding paths, where locals and visitors alike come to stroll and enjoy the green surroundings. This is King’s Garden, one of Stockholm’s most popular public parks.

One of its notable landmarks is Molins Fountain, a historic bronze fountain adorned with swans and mythological figures. They surround a tall central pillar supporting a large, mushroom-shaped upper basin, from which water cascades gently into the pool below. After another hot day, the cool spray is especially welcome, offering a refreshing moment as we pause and take in our surroundings.

Saint James’s Church, the Royal Swedish Opera and Molins Fountain have deepened our appreciation of Stockholm’s architectural, artistic and cultural heritage. They also bring back memories of our previous visits to the Old Town, including the memorable changing of the guard. We watched both foot soldiers and mounted guards take part in the ceremony, accompanied by great fanfare, in a spectacular forty-minute Sunday parade.

Each visit seems to reveal another layer of Stockholm’s history and character. Today’s walk through King’s Garden is yet another reminder that the city’s beauty lies not only in its grand landmarks, but also in the way history, art, nature and everyday life come together so naturally.

We plan to take the bus back to the port from King's Garden. And so we walk towards the famous  monument to King Gustav 2 near the old town. On the way stands a uniquely red and green church, the historic Saint James’s Church. Behind it stands the Royal Swedish Opera, an impressive classical building that serves as Sweden’s national stage for opera and ballet.

Now we are among tall willow trees, manicured hedges, and walking paths enjoyed by both locals and visitors. It's King's Garden, one of Stockholm’s most popular public parks. One of its notable landmarks is Molins Fontän, a historic bronze fountain including swans and mythological figures surrounding a tall central pillar supporting a large, mushroom-shaped upper basin. Water cascades from the upper bowl into the pool below. The spray cools us for it has been another hot day.. 

Saint James’s Church, the Royal Swedish Opera, and Molins Fountain have added to our appreciation of the architectural, artistic and cultural heritage of the city we experience from  previous visits to the old town, including watching the changing of the guards, both on foot and mounted, with great fanfare in a 40 minute parade, on a Sunday.

What a treat!

Sailing out of Stockholm we are treated to an incredible sight. As we glide out of the harbour we sail through narrow passages and larger expanses of water connecting a labyrinthine 30,000 islands. We pass by forested coastal hills, cliffs, buildings, summerhomes, pine covered islets.  A fairy tale ending to our visit!

Visby, Sweden: ringed by roses and ruins

Picture perfect

As we step off the cruise ship onto the pier at Visby, we are greeted by a cheerful flutter of flags high above us. The town is welcoming us ashore. It is a lovely first impression. Beyond the harbour, the landscape stretches into gentle green ridges, where traditional windmills stand perfectly still, some partly concealed by the lush vegetation. Have we stepped into a postcard?

Reality vs appeal

Near the terminal, the scene is more practical. Buses, cars and taxis wait within the protected port area, ready for passengers who have arranged transport or simply prefer not to walk into town. But for us, Visby is tantalisingly close — we can already see the low rise skyline of the historic city ahead. That glimpse only makes us more eager to get there.

The caveat? The port has a simple terminal building and a long, 150-metre concrete pier, connected to Gotland Island's shore by a 140-metre access bridge. To reach the mainland, we have to cross a beautiful trussed bridge. It is not particularly intimidating, but it does make us slow down and pay attention to our footing. At the same time, there is something rather exciting about crossing it on foot, with the harbour and the Baltic stretching out around us.

Once safely across, we find the helpfully marked walking route leading along the coastline towards the old town. 2 km in about 30 mins — not really a stroll but anticipation gets us going. It's still a little early in the day. As we walk by the coast we see a ferry docked but there are very few people up and about. The day promises to get hotter. 

Bringing people and centuries together

Soon we reach an area where restaurants, cafes and shops are beginning to open. The cobblestoned square, streets and alleys are lined with flower boxes and concrete/stone sculptures of the horned Gotland rams that act as bollards and handy seating for weary legs. Timber-framed red buildings, and stone structures heavily draped in ivy and climbing plants surround us. We have just walked into Stora Torget: the historic main square. 

In the footsteps of history 

Having heard about the remains of the historic stone walls, we set out in search of them. At first, what we find is almost underwhelming: right before us stands a small, arched stone gate, but it doesn’t appear to lead anywhere. Then we realise that this is not a gateway at all, but a surviving fragment of the wall that once stood here. Their scattered remains make the discovery all the more intriguing.

Saint Catherine and Saint Nicolai

And so we continue, wandering through streets and narrow alleys where medieval and modern buildings stand side by side. Then, quite unexpectedly, towering stone arches rise before us. As we draw closer, we realise they frame great panes of glass, revealing a vast interior beyond. It takes a moment to understand what we are seeing: St Catherine’s church ruins now providing a space for private gatherings.

Nearby are the magnificent remains of St Nicolai. Standing among the ruins, it is impossible not to imagine how grand the church must once have been. The soaring arches, imposing stonework and sheer scale hint at a place that must have inspired awe. We learn that magnificent stained-glass windows once filled the interior with coloured light, transforming the stone into something radiant.

Now, the ruins are a perfect backdrop for  concerts, markets and other events, giving this ancient place a new life while still allowing us to glimpse something of its former magnificence.

A wall that resonates: ringmuren

From the church, we wander down a narrow alley of charming cottages, their façades laced and wreathed by roses spilling over fences and doorways. It feels almost like stepping into a storybook. Then, suddenly, the massive stone walls of the Ringmuren come into view.

Stretching 3.4 kilometres around Visby, this magnificent 13th-century city wall still stands with many of its original defensive towers and gates. It's 11 metres high in some places. Up close, its weathered stones seem to carry the weight of centuries, each gateway with its own character. One narrow gate creates a natural bottleneck for modern traffic, while beside it a steep path tempts us towards the ancient ramparts. We pause, wonder, and decide the climb looks a little too precarious.

So we continue at ground level, wandering through atmospheric alleys where, at almost every turn, another fragment of Visby’s medieval past appears—ruined churches, ancient pillars and stones that seem adamantly prevailing.

The Cathedral that's still alive

And now we have reached the cathedral—the same three towers we saw rising above Visby from afar. Up close, St. Mary’s is every bit as remarkable: a beautifully preserved 13th-century church that remains an active place of worship.

Originally built for the German merchants who came to Visby in search of trade and opportunity, it was partly financed by fees paid by arriving German traders. As many settled in Gotland, the church gradually became a place of worship for both the German community and local islanders.

Standing here, we are reminded of how trade, migration and faith shaped medieval Visby—a church that has witnessed more than 800 years of history and is still alive today.

Something more tactile

Just a few minutes’ walk away, another church ruin beckons. It is smaller than St Lars, but there is one irresistible temptation: stairs! And stairs, in a centuries-old ruin, are not something I can easily resist.

Tentative, I peer up at them. They are narrow, uneven and broken in places. There is no handrail—nothing to hold on to except the ancient stone wall. After all, this is an 800-year-old building, not a modern staircase designed with tourism and safety in mind!

Still, curiosity gets the better of caution, and I start climbing. I place one hand against the wall and gingerly feel my way up. At the landing, it is so dark that I have to grope my way forward. For a moment, my sense of adventure is winning the battle with common sense. Maybe I should go crawling.

But then common sense stages a comeback. 

I decide it is better to be safe than sorry and turn around. One careful, almost comically cautious step at a time, I make my way back down until I am once again on firm, well-lit ground. I made it, didn't I? At least halfway!

I have had a tactile experience of what used to be St Lawrence  Church.

And then, there's another story waiting right next door.

For the Germans, by the Germans: Drotten Church

Sharing a wall with St Lars is Drotten Church, built somewhat later. Today, very little remains of what was once the Rulers’ (or Lords’) Church. The old stone masonry has been slowly reclaimed by nature, with dense green foliage creeping over the ruins. A shaded pathway is almost the only clue that a church once stood here.

But Drotten has a rather different story from St Lars.

It was originally built by a German trader and served as a private parish church for the wealthy German merchants and citizens of the town. In other words, this was very much a church for the Germans, by the Germans.

But as the local population grew, where did the ordinary townspeople go to worship?

The answer:  just next door—St Lars, or St Lawrence.

So, standing among these weathered stones and tangled greenery, I realise that these aren't simply church ruins. They are traces of a town divided by wealth, community and perhaps even nationality—and all of it is still quietly telling its story, 800 years later.

   

Again. . .

The Church of Saint Peter is considered the oldest of Visby’s church ruins, built on the site of Gotland’s first church in the late 12th century. Saint John’s Church was built beside it in the 13th century as Visby’s population grew. Though they shared a wall, they remained separate places of worship. Initially, St Peter’s served the German population while St John’s served native Gotlanders. As the communities increasingly intermarried, the churches became divided more by social status: St Peter’s was associated with poorer residents, while St John’s served the wealthier.

Today, the few pillars and sections of magnificent stone walls that remain preserve not only traces of buildings, but of the communities and social divisions that shaped medieval life. 

School

The historic 19th century school building located within the medieval town was  originally a two-story structure built to house the local grammar school, Today it is an art museum.

Botanical gardens

The alley near the ‘school’ leads us to the Botanical gardens.

The entrance is a shaded pathway along stone masonry and architectural ruins covered with dense green foliage. A dramatic entrance indeed. The ruins are that of the 13th century  St Olof’s Church. What used to be the biggest church in Visby now seems like a Chapel.

The gardens do not disappoint thanks to its lushness and the abundance of roses that bloom during the sunny summer months. One of the most popular green spaces is the 2.5-hectare 19th century Botanical Gardens. Here you'll find a wide variety of rose species, exotic trees and plants that thrive in Gotland’s mild climate. enjoy the herb garden and the peaceful Gazebo Garden.

It's tempting to walk towards the wall that separates it from the sea but I do not see a break/entrance anywhere.

   

In the thick of things 

We are ready to call it a day, so we walk towards the Main Square and through a little gate — only to find ourselves suddenly in the middle of a huge crowd, with music, booths, speeches and free water bottles. What is going on?

We are in Almedalen Park( named for the elm trees), famous for Almedalsveckan, Sweden’s annual political and social forum. The park is alive with political groups, associations, temporary stands and even mounted police.

I escape the bustle and walk around the lake. In the quiet, I notice a tall building behind the red-tiled roofs, its distinctive step-gabled roof revealing its medieval past. Once a pharmacy, it is now modern apartments — a small reminder of how much this old city has changed.

From medieval buildings to modern politics, Almedalen seems to hold both past and present in one place.

The day has certainly evolved

As we make our way back to the pier, we walk closer to the coast and suddenly realise just how much is happening around us. More booths, tents and temporary structures are going up, while stages and sound equipment are being assembled. Rows of tiny cabins and changing rooms stand ready along the shore.

On the warm rocks, hordes of people lie sunbathing. From a distance, they look like colourful seals hauled out to soak up the sun. The whole shoreline is buzzing with activity.

Near the ferry pier, even more people are heading towards town, cabin bags in tow. Between the sea, the sun-warmed rocks and the pebbled shore, it feels as though the entire waterfront has come alive — a surprising transformation from the quiet town we had explored earlier.

Lasting Impressions: a remarkable UNESCO World Heritage site

Visby is a remarkable blend of medieval grandeur and everyday modern life. Its ancient walls, cobbled streets, ruined churches and Baltic  Sea beaches and cultural heritage create a town where the past is never far away. Yet it is the contrast between splendour and decay that stays with me most — a poignant reminder that buildings may fade, but the stories they hold continue to give them meaning.

Observation

One of the challenges of the old town is navigating its narrow, cobbled streets, ancient arches and historic gates. Traffic can quickly build up, and delivery vans often have to make long detours or find alternative routes.

Tidbit

Our onboard chef tells me that the mariners who have permission to go ashore would pick apples in the many trees in Almaden Park, enjoying the freshness. But this happened only in autumn. No apples for us for as it is still summer.

Zeebrug to Bruges & Worlds Longest Tram Route

A dim screen

The journey begins with a 500m walk from the port gates to the tram stop called Zeebrugge Kerk, located near a church. My first task seems simple enough: buy a day travel pass.  But the ticket machine's screen is so dark in the sun's glare that I can barely make out the options. It is no wonder that it took forever for the people before us to get their tickets. The tram arrives.  Hesitantly we  step aboard hoping to be able to get a ticket somehow. The machines on board will issue only single ride tickets. 

A guilty conscience 

Guilt settles in. We are so uneasy that we get off at the very next stop determined to make things right. Ironically, there isn't a ticket machine there. Experience prompts us to cross over to the opposite platform. Our hunch is right and, happily for us, the screen is finally visible. Relief. We are able to buy not one, but two day passes, with the same contactless bank card.

The unlimited travel pass costs €9.50—a small price for peace of mind and a day of freedom.

Winging it

While waiting, we overhear someone mention that the best way to reach Bruges is to get off at Blankenberge and catch Bus 40. Sometimes the best travel advice isn't found in a guidebook but in the conversations drifting around us.

A couple of stops later, the display confirms Blankenberge. We get off, find the bus stop, and wait with a handful of other travellers. After tapping our card on-board, the 30-minute ride to Bruges bus station begins.

Everyday life

The route takes us through several small towns, with more than twenty stops along the way. It is always interesting to share public transport with the locals who rarely glance out of the windows at the passing scenery. Perhaps they have seen it all before. For us, however, every view is new, and we are all agog, taking it all in.

 A famed ride and route

The experience is repeated on our return to Blankenberge. As we alight, instead of heading towards Zeebrugge, we decide to take the tram in the opposite direction. We still have nearly two hours to return to the cruise port, and it seems the perfect opportunity to experience more of the Belgian coast—and, in a small way, to slow down and simply observe.

The Belgian coastal tram is a remarkable piece of history: stretching 68 kilometres from De Panne, near the French border, to Knokke-Heist, close to the Dutch border, it is the longest tram line in the world. With 65 stops and a journey of more than two hours from end to end, it offers a fascinating way of experiencing the changing character of the Belgian coastline.

As the tram moves along, the scenery continually shifts. The coastline offers a surprising variety—busy resorts, family-friendly attractions, historic sites and open landscapes shaped by the sea. At some stops we glimpse the North Sea; at others, the coast is hidden behind buildings, dunes or streets. Cyclists pass by, families gather with beach bags and children in tow, and each seaside town has its own character. 

Had we stayed on till close to the French border we might have visited Dunkirk in France.

All is well

There is something strangely comforting about travelling this way, without any particular destination in mind. The tram becomes an opportunity to watch life unfold outside the window. After 45 mins we decide to get off and take the train back to the cruise port.On our way , a group of schoolchildren boards under the watchful supervision of their teacher. Within seconds, the peaceful tram is filled with youthful energy. They scramble for seats, squeeze together to make room for their friends, chatter excitedly and seem perfectly capable of entertaining one another without a single gadget in sight.The teacher, meanwhile, looks like a pro.

What strikes us most is the diversity within this small group of children. Different ethnicities, different backgrounds, yet here they are together—laughing, teasing, sharing seats and simply enjoying being children. There is something wonderfully innocent and reassuring about the scene. Watching them, we are reminded that the things that connect us are often much simpler than the things that divide us. On this little tram, for a few stops at least, the world seems to have got things just right.

With our departure still some time away, we find ourselves reflecting on how often, when travelling, we focus so intently on reaching the next destination that we overlook what lies between. This short detour along the coast reminds us that sometimes the unplanned journey, and the places we pass through almost incidentally, can become the most memorable part of the experience.

The Tricity of Poland: Gdansk, Sopot and Gdynia (2)

Should we . . .?

As we leave Gdansk, we can’t help but feel a pang of regret at having missed the 13th-century Malbork Castle, almost entirely destroyed during WWII. What a pity to have missed the world’s largest brick castle, its deep-red walls unfolding through courtyard after courtyard. Yet its decades of meticulous restoration offer a poignant reminder that, although the scars of war may never disappear, history can endure—and be painstakingly preserved for generations

Sopot: An Unhurried Vibrancy

Our return drive to the port takes us to Sopot, a seaside resort that turns out to be quite unlike any other place we have encountered. Our driver pulls up on the main street, close to a restaurant, and stops beneath the shade of a tree.

We trust him, but we cannot help wondering: What are we doing here? Is he taking us to a souvenir shop? Perhaps there is some tourist stop we have not been told about.

Our suspicions soon prove unfounded. The driver points towards a road beside the restaurant and tells us to take a look. He will wait for us.

Curious, we step onto the road and, almost immediately, our eyes are drawn in a dozen directions. Before us stretches a vast paved square, alive with possibilities. Where do we begin? What should we make of this unexpected place?

Right into the Baltic Sea

As is almost always our instinct, we decide to go as far as we can.

And there it is—the blue Baltic Sea, stretching towards the horizon like an open invitation. The sea seems to pull us towards it, and the long wooden pier makes the invitation even harder to resist. It reaches far out into the Baltic, and we learn that it is the longest wooden pier in Europe. Entry, however, comes at a fee, and with our limited time we decide to admire it from a distance. Still, I cannot help imagining how beautiful it must be at sunset, when the fading light settles over the water and the pier becomes a path into the evening.

Relaxedly vibrant

Around us, Sopot is full of life, but never seems hurried. There are activities for children, outdoor cafés and eateries spilling into the open spaces, and souvenir shops displaying local crafts.

The landscaping catches my attention too. Flowering plants soften the surroundings, while fountains add movement and sparkle. There is plenty happening, yet somehow the place does not feel noisy. Instead, there is an unhurried vibrancy to Sopot—a gentle energy that allows people to enjoy themselves without seeming to be in a rush to get anywhere.

Perhaps that is what stays with us most. A resort can easily become overwhelming, especially one filled with tourists, shops and attractions. Sopot, however, seems to have found a way of being lively without losing its sense of ease.

Yet another miss

There is, of course, the famous Crooked House, with its whimsical bends and curves, connected to a shopping centre. It is one of Sopot's landmarks, the sort of place that would surely have made a delightful addition to our photographs. But somehow, we miss it.

And perhaps that is the nature of travelling. We do not always see everything we are supposed to see. Some places announce themselves loudly; others reveal themselves almost by accident. Sopot is one of those unexpected discoveries—a place our driver led us to without explanation, where a simple turn onto a road opened up a whole new world.

Gydina! How different!

Gdynia — how different it feels from its neighbours: one steeped in history, the other shaped as a seaside resort.

As the youngest of the three cities, Gdynia carries a distinctly modern spirit. You can feel it in the clean lines of its streets, its architecture, and the sense of openness that runs through the city. There is something quietly refreshing about a place that doesn’t look back quite as much as its neighbours, but instead seems to embody a vision of what a city could become.

.Historic Gateway to the world 

At the waterfront, the retired destroyer ORP Błyskawica lies silent beside the graceful masts of the Dar Pomorza. Once they crossed oceans, carrying people, dreams, and duty. Now they remain still—weathered witnesses to the countless lives they once connected, and the history they helped protect.

What's the history?

The very first building as we sailed into the harbour was the  Emigration Museum, housed in the old Maritime Station—once Poland’s gateway to the world.

Its halls tell the stories of millions who left with little more than a suitcase and an uncertain future. Poland’s vast diaspora suddenly felt less like a statistic and more like a collection of deeply human choices: every departure a leap into the unknown, every arrival the beginning of a life not yet imagined. It explains the fact that Poland was one of the world's largest diasporas.

A hub indeed

The port is home to the Polish Navy headquarters, while also serving as a major passenger and cargo hub, with reliable ferry connections to destinations across Europe.

The Tricity of Poland: Gdansk, Sopot and Gdynia (1)

Respect for order

The parking area where our driver (refer to an earlier blog about Conflict and Cohesion) drops us off reflects Gdańsk's thoughtful planning and respect for order. As hired cars are not permitted to linger there, he parks neatly along the tree-lined approach road while we set off to explore the magnificent Oliwa Cathedral.

Treated to an amazing one-of-a-kind performance

The soaring Brick Gothic façade gives little hint of the wonder within. As we quietly step into the 107-metre-long cathedral (the longest in Poland), the haunting strains of  Shubert's Ave Maria envelope us. We have wandered into one of the cathedral's daily summer organ recitals.

As our eyes adjust to the soft mellow light, they are irresistibly drawn upwards to the cathedral's greatest treasure. Suspended above us is the magnificent Great Organ, a masterpiece of craftsmanship with 7,876 pipes fashioned from oak, fir, pine and tin. Once, it was the largest in Europe. When the recital begins, the cathedral comes alive with a spectacle to remember. Rich notes fill the vast interior as carved cherubs move, raising their trumpets and ringing tiny bells, transforming the performance into a magical spectacle. We are spellbound. For a few moments, we simply stand in silence, rooted to the ground, captivated by the beauty unfolding before us. And then we explore practically on tip-toe. The interior has more than 20 marble and rococo altars, a grand rococo pulpit, and old Renaissance portraits.

From an industrial community to peaceful gardens

As we exit the Cathedral we walk along the side, under the huge shady trees, that leads to the Oliwa gardens. Just behind is a huge building that was once an Abbey in a thriving community founded in the 12th century.  For centuries, the monastic establishment harnessed the waters of the Oliwa Stream to power more than twenty mills. Today, the peaceful gardens offer little hint of that industrious past, yet they provide the perfect setting to reflect on a place where history, faith and artistry have blended for over eight centuries.

The Botanical Garden is an oasis with its manicured lawns, tree-lined pathways, and the gentle murmur of a stream creating an atmosphere of serene beauty. A cascading waterfall tumbling over stepping-stone boulders, invites us deeper into tranquility. Around every bend, nature reveals yet another delight—magnificent magnolias, vibrant rhododendrons, and stately spruces. The elegant Palm House takes us into the tropics. And then there is the beautifully crafted rock garden.

One of a kind:6 centuries of history

We drive into Gdańsk's Old Town, where our driver drops us at St. Mary's Basilica and arranges to return in three hours. The vast church, the largest brick church in the world with room for a staggering 25,000 parishioners, dominates the skyline with its imposing Gothic grandeur. 

Inside, a soft kaleidoscopic light filters through 37 stained-glass windows illuminating the many chapels. As we wander through the cavernous interior, our eyes are drawn not only upwards but also downwards. Beneath our feet lie sculpted names and dates—we are walking across grave slabs. More than 300 tombstones, of which some are embedded in the floor, are a poignant reminder of 6 centuries of history. There are also artifacts in glass cases on display.

The pièce de résistance is the magnificent 15th-century astronomical clock, an extraordinary masterpiece that not only tells the time but also tracks the date and the phases of the moon. There are two others in Poland: one in Warsaw and the other in Wroclaw.

Gra(i)nary repurposed

Hunger soon catches up with us. As we leave the Basilica, we spot the waterfront and wander towards the embankment along the Motława River. Across the water, rows of handsome Hanseatic buildings reflect the city's rich maritime past.

Looking for a place to enjoy our muffins, we find nowhere to sit on our side of the river. So we continue to the Green Bridge, which leads us to the aptly named Granary Island. The old riverside granaries, reminiscent of Amsterdam's canal houses, have been beautifully transformed into restaurants and hotels. We finally find a bench, settle down, and savour our lunch while watching sightseeing boats glide gently along the river.

The Royal Walk

Refreshed, we cross back over the Green Bridge. The imposing Green Gate welcomes us into the Old Town, opening onto the bustling Long Market. The square is alive with people as we pause to admire Neptune's Fountain, one of the city's most enduring landmarks. It was hidden during WWII.

A little farther on, we encounter a considerable commotion—the very event I described in an earlier blog, referred to above. As a result, the Town Hall is closed to visitors today.

Before moving on, I photograph the imposing former Post Office, unaware at the time that the building has since been converted into a museum. It is one of the spots where WWII broke out.

Which is which?

There are so many towers and gates that it is difficult to distinguish among them. I walk towards what seems to be a gate. In fact there are two! The first gate I walk through is the gothic 13th century golden gate.

And then the Prison tower and torture chamber of the 14th century stand before me. I only take a peek even though they do not serve the original purpose anymore.Originally built for defense, it later served as a municipal jail, courtroom, and torture site until the 19th century. Then comes the 16th century stone gate, the actual starting point of the Royal Route.

Astonishing  Amber

A short stroll through Gdańsk's lesser-known streets brings us to a cluster of shops selling amber jewellery and ornaments, as well as the Amber Museum. Aha! We have wandered onto stone-terraced Amber Street , a charming old lane lined with small boutiques displaying raw resin nuggets alongside beautifully crafted jewellery.

The Amber Museum is said to showcase everything from insects perfectly preserved in amber to exquisite pieces of fine jewellery. Polish amber is estimated to be 40–50 million years old. During winter storms, cold Baltic Sea currents stir the seabed, freeing pieces of amber that are washed ashore, particularly along the beaches near Gdańsk.

Known locally as Baltic Gold, amber has long been one of Poland's most prized natural treasures. It fuelled trade along the ancient Amber Route and brought prosperity to the region for centuries. Even today, Poland remains the world's leading processor of Baltic amber, accounting for around 70% of the global market. Suddenly, these glittering shop windows are no longer merely souvenir displays—they are showcases of a remarkable legacy millions of years in the making.

A Medieval Marvel: The Largest of Its Kind

We approach it from the rear, where it resembles a fortified gateway rather than a crane. Historically, it served both as part of the city's defences and as a powerful lifting device for the bustling port.

Stepping inside, we find ourselves beneath two enormous wooden wheels, each 6.5 metres in diameter. Their purpose is astonishing: men walked inside these giant treadwheels to generate the power needed to lift cargo as high as 30 metres. The crane was also used to raise and install the masts of ships—a remarkable feat of medieval engineering driven entirely by human muscle.

A lasting impression.

Gdansk is a not so crowded walkable city that amazes with its  powerful modern history  that reflects resilience. Its  meticulous post war construction after being flattened in WWII is a reflection of its civic pride.

To be cont'd in part 2