Casablanca casts a blanket

Casablanca casts a cloud on our second visit after 12 years.

The worry

Our second visit feels charged with a new sense of excitement. We have arrived on the Muslim New Year, a public holiday, and I can't help but wonder: will the shops and businesses be open, or will the city be unusually quiet today?

The Hurry

The morning begins with a small rush of urgency. At 7:30 a.m., I receive word from our friends: they will try to secure a taxi for our tour, and we are to meet them at the complex exit at 8:00 a.m. That gives us barely half an hour.

My leisurely shipboard routine is instantly abandoned. There is no time to linger over breakfast or enjoy a slow start to the day. I cut my morning preparations short, gulp down a bowl of cereal, gather my things, and hurry ashore. The adventure, it seems, has already begun.

The fuzzy

To our surprise, we can no longer walk into town from the port. The sprawling complex is impressive and beautifully designed. At the exit, a lone officer checks our passports—no stamps, no delays, no fuss.

The Flurry

We are not allowed to walk around the port, and taxis are not permitted inside. Instead, shuttle buses have been arranged to take passengers to UN Square, where the bus terminal and taxi stands are located.

Unable to find our friends at the port, we board one of the shuttle buses. The 15-minute ride takes us through parts of the city that seem familiar, yet we do not recognise the square where we arrive.

What we do recognise, however, are our friends waiting for us. Standing among the crowd and scanning the passengers as they alight from the bus, they are eagerly anticipating our arrival so that the tour can begin.

The dizzy

They have booked a cab through a man called Sayed for a six-hour tour of Rabat and Casablanca for US$160, which is thought to be a bargain. It's a comfortable Toyota sedan. Our friend confirms the itinerary and agreed rate with him, and he enthusiastically agrees.

The general understanding is that we would drive to Rabat first and explore Casablanca on the way back. The fellow vehemently disagrees. This is an important day, he insists, and we must visit the floating mosque first. Surely he knows best? So off we go to the mosque.

He does not encourage us to go inside. Our friends are not keen on walking the considerable distance within the compound anyway. After taking a few photographs, we pile back into the car.

Now he tells us that the lighthouse is just nearby and that we should see it before leaving for Rabat. It is difficult to argue with that.

The switch 

The driver stops beside a grey Mercedes-Benz, from which a good-looking man clad in traditional attire alights. It takes a few minutes before we realise that we are to transfer to this sleek, air-conditioned car. We are told to pay him the agreed fee in USD.

At one point, the new driver mentions Euros. We remind him that we will pay only in USD. Although we remain sceptical, we are grudgingly convinced to continue. Something feels fishy, but Sayed keeps trying very hard to persuade us that we have secured a good bargain: his taxi carries only a Casablanca licence, whereas Rashid, the new driver, is authorised to take us to Rabat. Besides, he speaks much better English. 

The fragile trust.

Despite our reservations, Rashid's demeanour slowly wins us over, though not entirely. He takes us close to the lighthouse, a landmark that highlights Casablanca's significance as Morocco's principal port. From there, we are treated to a splendid view of the corniche.

We then drive towards Rabat, surprised to find ourselves travelling through the longest tunnel in Morocco, part of which runs beneath the bay. Casablanca is so sprawling that it takes nearly 20 minutes just to pass through the city.

We enter the toll highway to Rabat, a journey of approximately one hour. Starting from the stadium and continuing to the corniche, while taking in the other major sights along the way, takes about four hours. We then rejoin the highway via a different route for the one-hour drive back to Casablanca.

The Fret Begins

By the time we reach Rabat, it is already 2:30 p.m. Our friend checks to make sure that our driver-cum-guide will be taking us to all the tourist sites in Casablanca that were not covered in the morning.

He assures us, though with some irritation, that he will be done by 4 p.m. Our friend reminds him that we have booked him until 6 p.m. Our local guide is clearly unhappy.

"There is little to see beyond that," he claims, and I silently agree, having been here before. But our friends have not.

It is a Muslim holiday, and he is not supposed to be working today. His boss had pleaded with him to take the assignment. Still, we remind him that a deal is a deal.

Presumably, he calls his boss and they have a serious discussion. He then calms down and completes his task without much fuss.

The sting 

When we get off, we pay him. However, he claims that we should be paying him in euros. He turns a deaf ear to our explanation that the previous driver had agreed to the amount. He then returns the USD 100 note, insisting that it is counterfeit, and demands payment in smaller denominations. None of us has enough small change to cover the fare. To make matters worse, he also demands additional payment.

Outnumbered? Environment? Situation?

Our friend somehow managed to pay him. I have yet to find out how he appeased him. The queue for the shuttle bus was already long, and the passengers returning to the ship were concerned that we were being ripped off.

Fortunately for us, Rashid did not follow us to the line. Did he sense the mood shifting? Was he trying to save face? We can only surmise.

Walvis Bay, Namibia Revisited

To our astonishment, the port has been given a remarkable facelift. The wharves look neat and modern, yet one thing is conspicuously absent: there is no customs or immigration building. Instead, every passenger is cleared onboard, just as I described in my previous blog.

A Curious and Captivating Display

As we gaze from the starboard side, an intriguing maritime ballet unfolds before us. A small harbour craft approaches and begins unhooking a long length of broad, heavy-duty rubber boom. As it is slowly towed through the water, the undulating chain resembles a giant sea dragon gliding across the harbour, each link leaving its own tiny wake behind it.

At first, I puzzle over its purpose. Why is this strange floating barrier being drawn around the ship and extended to the opposite side? The answer soon becomes clear: it is an oil-containment boom, deployed as a precautionary measure. Should any oily discharge accidentally escape from the vessel, it would be trapped within this enclosed area, protecting the surrounding waters.

But the real surprise lies beyond the boom. Along its outer edge drifts an extraordinary gathering of hundreds of brilliant orange jellyfish. Gently rising and falling with the swell, they seem to perform a synchronized underwater ballet, each pulsating to an invisible rhythm. Against the blue-green harbour, their glowing forms create a mesmerizing spectacle—nature providing its own impromptu performance .

Shuttled to the Dunes !?

Private taxi operators woo us with glossy maps and enticing pictures, promising trips to the dunes and Swakopmund. Many of our friends take these tours, but few know what to really expect. Some report spending two hours simply driving around, stopping occasionally for photographs. It is not even the season for flamingos.

We are surprised to discover that there is now a shuttle bus to the Dunes. Boarding requires some patience and planning, as there are only two buses shuttling back and forth. Passengers are also not allowed to queue along the side of the entrance because heavy port trucks frequently pass through the area.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at the Dunes—not the desert dunes we could have imagined, but a gleaming new shopping mall filled with international brands and equally international prices. After a brief look around, we board the shuttle and head straight back to the port.

Where are all the people?

It wouldn’t have been too far to walk, but the spanky new roads are worth a try. The bus carries us along palm-lined avenues, past horse-riding paddocks, a vast and immaculately kept cemetery, and row upon row of housing backed by rolling sand dunes. Amazingly, these are not cookie-cutter homes; each seems to possess its own personality, as though every house has a story to tell. How astonishing it is to witness the scale of the city’s growth.

Yet not a soul is in sight.

Most residences appear shuttered, their air-conditioning units wrapped in burlap like carefully preserved relics. Succulent plants spill from gardens and yards, thriving against all expectation in this harsh, sandy landscape. Then a huge road sign appears: “No Prowling!” The words spark immediate curiosity. What happened here to warrant such a warning? One imagines tales of wandering intruders, desert mischief, or encounters now lost to local memory. Perhaps the explanation is more mundane—the heat, the sandstorms, the occasional housebreaker—but the mystery lingers.

The silence itself feels extraordinary. Where is everyone? Sheltering indoors from the fierce climate? Away on holiday? Or is this simply the rhythm of life in a place shaped by extremes? The empty streets give the city an almost dreamlike quality, as though it has been carefully constructed and then paused in time. It feels less like travelling through a neighbourhood and more like passing through the set of an unfinished story, waiting for its characters to emerge and reveal what lies beneath the stillness.

The Risqué

At the port, we take a risky shortcut to what was once a quiet esplanade along the lagoon. Yet again, we are caught by surprise. The port area has transformed dramatically, with broad multi-lane roads sweeping towards the harbour and new developments tracing the natural curve of the bay.

The new esplanade is a sensory assault. Vendors crowd every available space, their carved wooden animals displayed on sheets spread across the pavement. Topless women call out to passers-by, inviting them to pose for photographs while browsing the colourful menagerie and other curiosities. The atmosphere is lively, provocative, and impossible to ignore.

As we weave our way through the bustle, children latch onto us, pleading for a dollar. One appears, then another, then three more. What do you do when one has been indulged and a growing entourage begins to shadow your every step? The attention is relentless, and for a moment it feels as though escape may be impossible.

Determined not to be swallowed by the crowd, we press on towards the yacht club, putting precious distance between ourselves and the throng. Only then do we begin to relax.

The reward is worth the effort. What was once little more than a handful of waterside shops and simple eateries has evolved into a vibrant waterfront destination. Gleaming new buildings house stylish restaurants, a lively bar, an art gallery, and a welcoming coffee shop, all sparkling in the tropical light and giving the area an energy that was unimaginable on our last visit.

And the risk

The trip has us crossing working railway lines, where the warning bells and steel rails make us instinctively glance both ways before hurrying across. Brand-new gigantic trucks and other vehicles stand in long, silent rows awaiting delivery inland, their sheer size and number lending the dock an imposing, almost unsettling feel. They have replaced the marble chunks that lined the waterfront 14 years ago, a reminder of how much this place has changed.

Walvis Bay: Namibia Visa Hoo Haa

Prelude to Namibia

A week prior to our arrival in Namibia, guests who do not have the required visa are asked to apply online. It is unbelievable how 100s have not got their visa in spite of guests being told long before embarkation to get the necessary documents. The ' meeting' discussed in my previous blog on Cape Town also covered this nuisance/ complacence. 

Since Covid many countries have insisted on electronic visas for a fee. Frequent cruisers  were too complacent to even not bother. Some genuinely tried  and tried but gave up on the unreceptive website and took their chances. DrInk and I tried for several weeks before boarding and got nowhere. The only website we could trust was that of the Singapore foreign ministry which expressly indicated a visa waiver for us. Nevertheless, since it will always be Namibia's call, it would be subject to change. But the Namibian government website remained unresponsive and all we could do was print out the page from the Singapore Government website for proof of exemption. 

The ship's officers suggest that those who do not have the visa apply online while we are at port in Cape Town. Once we leave we have seven sea days before Namibia and no chance to apply unless you pay to be connected to the ship's WiFi. Guests become grumpy and garrulous about the ship not taking the responsibility for a fee as was normal before all the political turmoil. Some kind folk  who have Internet access and a few knowledgeable officers apply for those who approach them. It is a very slow process with the website sometimes responding only after a few hours. At least, it is declared that guests who do not have visas can remain on board even though we are in Namibian waters.

Drink and I and a few other Asian Nationalities get the clear from the ship's officers. We let out a huge sigh of relief.

The Namibian authorities  board the ship as soon as we dock. A huge line of shore excursion and private excursion guests make a long line that could take hours to process. We calmly wait till the line shortens considerably. The officer tells us to fill out a form. It takes only a couple of mins. Couldn't we have been handed the forms earlier? 

Many learn too late that the officers would issue a visa  manually too.. 

Cape Town, South Africa: a cautionary tale

Berth rights

The day before our arrival in Cape Town we have an unusual  presentation at the Theatre that seats 800. We are to be briefed about immigration procedures at the upcoming port. What could be so complicated that it would require 45 mins to explain? It is all rather fishy and strange. Conspiracy theories abound. First we hear that we will not be docking at the passenger terminal for it was occupied! We have permission to dock at the container/cargo dock. A rather inconvenient proposition. It would be about a kilometre from the passenger terminal and most unsafe because of the heavy equipment operating there. Only the cruise terminal has immigration clearance facilities. 

Mobility and red tape

Now, how can it be made more conducive to the mostly elderly passengers? With great effort from the ship's officers the port has agreed to supply shuttle buses between the docks. Each shuttle bus would make a 20 min trip inclusive of  boarding and alighting time. The officers at the cruise terminal would need at least 4 hours to clear all 4000+ of us. How long can older folk wait in line? Solution:Get the immigration officers on board. One of the lounges will be prepared for them with seats and tables to place the necessary equipment. Passengers can line up in the comfort of the ship's corridors.

The air clears

Incredibly, it is announced later in the evening that the passenger pier is available. And that means as we get off the ship we will queue up at the cruise centre. The lines could be long and the waiting could be agonising. Besides, we haveo consider those who booked shore excursions. Then there are the independent travellers besides those who are disembarking. Those who have flights to catch risk missing their flights because of the delays. Priority goes to shore excursions. Next come the independent explorers who have to hope that the transport and guide they have booked will allow for the delay. The officers do their best to accommodate all their needs. 

As it happened

We arrive in Cape Town in dense fog with 0 visibility. Only the lighthouse  beam is visible. Fog horns are sounding frequently. The port is closed and so our pilot boat and tug boats are unavailable. Our ship idles for nearly an hour before the fog hesitantly and gradually lets up. The moment we can make out the sea the said boats arrive and guide us through a narrow passageway that requires meticulous navigating between jutting piers and docked container ships.

We couldn't have gotten into the breakwater without them. Instead of docking at 7:30 am we only do around 10:30, All well made plans could easily be thwarted. So, most of us stay put, having a relaxed breakfast, and then lunch, before it is announced that the priority guests have already been processed. We have ours processed at 2:00 pm. 

The day is now quite sunny and bright. It's all looking up for us. The cloud over Table Mountain clears in the afternoon.

Weathering the weather

The next morning is rather cloudy and there's heavy rain to boot. We sit it out. It clears a little after 9:00 am and then the day is bright and shiny again. But table Mountain is covered in clouds and cable car rides have been cancelled.

At departure we see that the breakwater is agitated. We are experiencing strong winds that make maneuvering a ship in a narrow channel highly dangerous. Waves dash against the pier. We have to reverse and then turn into the channel into the open sea. The wind is so strong that besides the normal pilot boat and two tug boats we need a third one to help nudge us away from collisions with the other moored ships. Finally we are out in the open sea.

Do's and don'ts

We have been warned repeatedly about unsafe drinking water,  advised to dress down to avoid being mugged, as well as to avoid lonely streets,and about capricious weather.

At least two more people on the streets, a well dressed and well spoken woman of Indian origin and a friendly traffic policeman have given us the same advice. 

The Cape of Good hope: Something to celebrate and respect

There have been many other times when cruise ships have had to miss Cape Town mostly because of the fog and strong winds. The ship wrecks of explorers from past centuries caught in the cross currents of the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic while rounding the continent at Cape of Good Hope have tales of courage to tell.

Chiangmai, Thailand: hazed and bedazzled

A continuation of my previous blog: Attuning and reconciliating: Chiangmai, Thailand

Why Chiangmai in particuler

We have visited Thailand several times. The first was a guided tour with a company that took care of flights, local transport, boarding and lodging. The result was a rather cursory look at tourist spots in Bangkok, Ayuthia from a distance ofva few kilometres, Chiangrai and the Golden Triangle where we met tribal folk growing hemp, and then travelled a little further to cook eggs in a hot water spring and watch a border crossing at a small foot bridge across the river on the Myanmar-Thai border.

In the next trip we take a train from Bangkok to Kanchanapuri where the bridge actoss the river Kwai is, have dinner on a barge while watching a laser light  enactment of a train across the bridge accompanied by sounds of war, and then a wax museum depicting the hardships of POWs. Then  it was a walk to neighbouring  Rathnapuri with its hundreds of stalls selling ratna (rubies). I wouldn't be able to spot a fake and I'm not interested in amassing precious stones and so all the sales gimmicks are wasted on my deaf ears.

The third time was with the grand children riding the overnight train from Johore Bharu, Malaysia,  to Bangkok.

We had not been to Chiangmai, the cultural and historic capital in northern Thailand.  and so we planned for Chiangmai, Luang Prabang (Laos), and then Hanoi(Vietnam) – a triangle of sorts. Why we had to forgo Laos and make changes to our plans is explained in a previous blog mentioned above.

Smothered 

We are already exhausted by the time we enter our apartment. What best to do then to nap! it's already dusk by the time we leave the apartment in search of a grocery store. But the heat is still stiflling. At least the little supermarket is air conditioned. The night market stalls are being set up in the dimly lit streets. The smog still envelopes everything. We are not waiting around. As soon as the purchase is done we seek the refuge of our temporary home. 

Vestiges of walls and moats

The exploration begins early the next morning right after a quick breakfast. The non-genuine wares of the street stalls have been put away. We cross a bridge across a canal and almost immediately we are at the moat, lined with shady flowering trees on both banks. Some parts of the moat are covered with lily pads. As the sun rises into a smoggy morning the silhouette of the gates lends a mystical aura. Ancient bridges cross the clean moats at strategic points. Lining one side of one of the moats seems to be a row of modern cafes and eateries. 

At the main gate sturdy bamboo poles are lying about in huge clutches. Work is going on to build a two storey scaffolding to be decorated for the festival of Songkran. The pigeons are having a grand time gawking at visitors slyly hoping to snatch tidbits.

The walled city

We make at least two trips into the old city within the walls. Everywhere we turn are temples. I wonder how many permutations and combinations there are in the type of material used, the traditional motifs, the layouts, etc. We decide to start with a massive structure that bears a resemblance to stupas, abeit a crumbling in places. We are there at day break but only see a very bleary eyed sun. A few men are sweeping the broad paved courtyards. In the centre is a 4 sided base with a sanctum on top of each side. Steps lead up to them but most are blocked off. Some restoration work is going on. But all is quiet and serene for now. A very tall ancient tree watches over the ‘relic’.

Another temple that takes our breath away has ornately decorated white towers. Golden parasols and small bells adorn the top of the tall tower as well as around the smaller towers . What a dance and song! Adding to that, but also contrasting the white, are the roofs of the monastery and halls tiled in red and green. 

Here there is a particular shrine out of bounds to females!

We walk by at least 20 more, each with an immaculate courtyard, a unique entrance – one lined by a dragon on each side, another hung with colourful lanterns, some with walls embossed with  mythical beings and heavenly abodes, and yet another with bonsai or flowering bushes. Sometimes we enter the prayer hall and marvel at the murals whether motifs or tales.

Another has golden chedis with carved elephants. No two temples look alike. 

The one that stuns me more than any other is the teak temple with its elaborate carvings that could easily have taking years to be chiseled and perfected under skilled craftsmen.

In the middle of the old town is a square where stand the Three King's of yore.

Aren't the hill temples a must see?

I call up my new-found friend at the airport to see if she could arrange a ride for us to visit the temples on the mountains surrounding Chiangmai while getting a glimpse of the lush countryside. Unfortunately no one is willing to take us for it is not the season. More importantly the smog not only obliterates views but also harms. 

An evening along the river

Another evening we decide to walk to the river and then walk along it towards the markets. Along the way we see how the old and new coexist. In the narrower streets. We see multi-story mansions and also lean-tos and humble shacks.

The river is clean but there is no way to walk along the banks on our side of the river because most of the property there is private, a few of them taken up by restaurants.

So we cross the river. Now there is an esplanade to walk along. We come upon the very first church built in Chiangmai, and some government buildings. Then we cross the river on another bridge back to our side of the city.

Markets galore

The street lights are already coming up. The rays struggle to cut through the haze. We are now at the large market in the commercial hub. Alongside the road are hundreds of flower stalls and a Chinese temple. The covered market, now nearly empty of people, is dimly penetrated by daylight but I can imagine how bustling it would have been earlier in the day. 

We are assuming that The Night Bazaar would be behind this structure. By night it would be bustling with stalls serving Thai cuisine and others selling local handicraft for Chiang Mai is well known for its vibrant markets and food scene. 

On yet another day,a walk to the other side of the Walled City takes us to what we believe is another bazaar. We have no idea what it looks like. The walk is quite strenous taking us through several narrow streets and along and acrossva canal. Lo and behold,we are at Jing Jai Farmer’s Market! We are lucky indeed for this weekly farmer’s market is open only every Saturday and Sunday from roughly 6:30 a.m. to 2 p.m! It is a gloriousfeast for the eyes whether the fresh produce, the food, the pastries or the unique crafts: no gimmicky trinkets or elephant pants here! After the temples this is the most attractive part of Chianmai.

There is even a free electric car ride through the whole market so shoppers loaded with purchases or have tired out may move about with ease.

Once done we board a shared tuk tuk to take us to the bus station from where we know our way ‘home’. We spy a mosque on the way and practically ride all around the moats!

Lost and lonely in the dark

The day before we leave Chiangmai I venture out alone to find the Hindu temple indicated on the map. I sort of checked the map and found the general direction. Most of the streets are familiar because we have traversed them several times. It is still dark when I leave. I'm alright until I leave the moat area. And then everything becomes blurry because the road names do not match that on the map and some street names are only indicated in Thai.

Caution and confusion

There is one particular chicken noodle shop that we have passed by several times and that becomes my land mark. Not wanting to get lost in the almost empty street, with trepidation i approach a young couple getting into a car near a now closed restaurant. They are in deep discussion. Luckily the man speaks English and I tell him where I want to go. I have been going in the right direction. He says it's way past the night bazaar and that it is a circuitous long route that may easily get me lost again. Then he says he is headed in that direction and he would drop me there in his car. 

Ripe for abduction 

Should I trust this well dressed well spoken man? Will I be robbed/abducted?

The woman gets into  the front passenger seat. Who is she? How is she related to him? They are in deep discussion while he drives. I'm not sure if I should take a photo of them.will I be insulting them? I have not taken a picture of the car from the outside. How safe am I? As the sun slowly rises it struggles to penetrate through the haze. I begin to make out the streets and the buildings and try to register them in my brains. The car stops and the gentleman tells me we are just opposite the temple! Yes we are ! I breathe a great sigh of relief trying not to make it so obvious. I probably exaggerated my exuberance at seeing the temple so as to hide my unfounded fears. 

The relief: the anti-climax

Thanking him profusely I enter the temple but it is not open yet. I hang around until it does. The prayer hall is upstairs. The priest is going about with the rites and rituals. Two asian men dressed in shorts, all white, walk in and offer prayers at each of the images the older one praying ardently while also explaining to the younger. All I can do is watch in amazement at their debotion and then turn my attention to the beautiful white ceramic idols adorned in bright silks and costume jewellery. The murals, the rugs, the tapestry and the pillars enhance the ambience.

All's well that ends well.

Noted in the passing;:

A red telephone booth with apparently no purpose at all

Webs of wiring. Like in most developing Asian countries masses of coiled electric wires dangle from posts.

Recycling at Jin Shan market where the public washrooms are well kept.

Buddha-like: a calm and contented couple

In the old city an aged pleasant Indian couple sit in front of their shop selling prayer souvenirs. They are of Indian origin but they speak only Thai and English. They have offerings of fruit and rice for the monks that will come by– a daily happening in predominantly Buddhist countries.

Digital nomads

The eastern area along the Ping River where we are housed is the commercial hub filled with markets an high end hotels.. We meet many digital nomads who live here due to its affordable cost of living, cozy cafés, and slower pace compared to Bangkok.

To be fact checked

Overall, Chiang Mai is a balance of history, nature, and modern comfort, making it popular with tourist and digital nomads. But they had better do something about the smog said to be caused by Thai industrialists who support coal burning power stations in neighboring Laos thet tend to be cheaper than those in Thailand.

Ljubljana, Slovenia: medieval and modern charm

Jubilantly at Lyoo-blyah-nah ( that is how it is pronounced)

On our way from Opatija, Croatia, to Maribor, Slovenia, we stop by Slovenia's capital, Ljubljana. The route has been green and mountainous until we arrive at the gardens in the city. It is a Sunday.  There's free parking. 

Ljubljana: Where Dragons Guard a City of Stories

After checking several times that the parking really is free, we finally cross the grounds toward a quiet street where a museum and church stand side by side, the river glimmering just beyond them. What begins as a simple walk quickly turns into a journey through centuries.

A City Between Past and Present

The streets bordering the park feel like a conversation between eras. Sleek glass and steel buildings rise beside colourful facades that still carry traces of the city’s past. Ljubljana is modern and elegant.

And then, almost without warning, the city shifts. The banks of the river that runs through the city, leads us straight into another century. A quiet fascination engulfs us.  We could have been in Austria!

Defined by Pedestrian only bridges

We are on the famous Triple Bridge – one of the links between Ljubljana’s modern heart and its medieval soul. This 20th century bridge connects the bustling modern city to the enchanting Old Town, where cobbled streets, Baroque churches, and riverside cafés automatically slow our wandering pace and draw our gaze. How thoughtful of the authorities to add oblique extensions to an existing stone arch bridge that would have otherwise turned into a bottleneck

Guarded by dragons

Dragons everywhere –a green one perching proudly on the iconic Nouveau style Dragon Bridge, guarding the city with wings outstretched and fierce expressions.

More dragons watch over the city from Ljubljana Castle, high on the hill above the old town. Not surprising that with so many legends woven into its streets the dragon appears on the city’s coat of arms.

Love and Legend

Beyond the Triple Bridge and Dragon Bridge is the whimsical Butcher’s Bridge, covered in countless love locks left behind by hopeful couples seeking eternal romance,  not with the originally intended roof.

The Ljubljanica River winds beneath them all, threading through the city before eventually joining the Danube on its journey to the Black Sea.

Drinking song elevated 

At the center of the old town is Prešeren Square, named after Slovenia’s national poet, whose poem,originally conceived as a drinking song, is now the country’s national anthem. True to the song the square hums with life: street musicians, cafés, markets, and the constant flow of people crossing the Triple Bridge.

Baroque and Austrian

Nearby stands the pink Franciscan Church of the Annunciation, while a short walk away sits Ljubljana Cathedral, also known as Saint Nicholas’ Church,standing beside the town hall, with its impressive Baroque interiors and bronze doors added during a papal visit in 1996. The courtyard in the town hall charms with its fountain and its old staircase reminiscent of the Titanic.

A City Best Explored Slowly

What makes Ljubljana unforgettable is not just its architecture or history, but its atmosphere. There is a softness to the city — relaxed riverside cafés, open-air markets, hidden courtyards, and streets that seem to invite wandering without destination.One moment we are admiring sleek modern design, the next we are standing beneath a medieval tower listening to church bells echo across the river.

Markets: old and new

Nearby the Square is Galerija Emporium, the first department store in Slovenia, built in the art du Mode French style. The old market and a modern  farmer’s market do a thriving business especially of local handicrafts.

Hilltop castle dominates

The 12th century  Ljubljana Castle rises above the city, offering sweeping views over the rooftops and the river below. The walk up takes us through Medieval buildings lining the cobblestoned windy path upward and a series of stairs. 

The museum

A quick peek into the museum with its Art Nouveau masterpieces and we are ready to leave the city, to explore yet another.

From Medieval Bones to Baroque Beauty

The Ljubljana region has been inhabited for over 6000 years. The capital is also the largest city in Slovenia. In 1985 it faced  a devastating earthquake. Much of the city was rebuilt in such a way as to retain its charm while becoming modern.

Ljubljana is not a city that overwhelms. Being compact and easily navigable it is easily explored on foot. It has a quiet charm.

Cartagena, columbia: coffee, culture and drugs.

 

Cruise Ship Clashes in Colonial Cartagena

Our cruise liner and another are docked in Cartagena. At the dock we find a group of people trying to book a guided tour (always much cheaper than the ship's ’ shore excursions) of the Old Town. They have space for us. It is only after we board our van that we realise that we are a mixed group ( from both ships). Among us is an elderly passenger from the other ship whose priorities are very different from everyone else’s. Before the tour had even begun, she insists on being taken shopping first. No one else agreed. The driver promises to drop her at the shops after the tour, but she remains visibly grumpy throughout. History, architecture and culture hold no appeal for her — only shopping matters.

Reasons for visiting other countries: Shopping or culture?

It’s a familiar cruise-ship phenomenon. In Olympia, some passengers ignore the ancient ruins altogether, only to complain bitterly later when the shops are closed for the afternoon siesta. To them, the Greeks seemed lazy and uninterested in making money. They are,sad to say, missing entirely the rhythm and traditions of local life.

Wandering the Walled City

We are in The heart of Cartagena which lies within its UNESCO-listed Walled City, where thick coral-stone walls once protected residents from pirates and invaders. Cobbled lanes wind past brightly painted mansions with ornate balconies, now transformed into boutique hotels, galleries, restaurants and cafés.

Music spills from open windows while Colombian flags flutter overhead. History emerges around every corner.

Former beauty pageant winners are commemorated on memorial tiles made of dark polished stone, possibly marble, set directly into the outdoor pavement.

The bronze statues, representing local life, featured in Plaza de la Trinidad are part of a series celebrating Cartagena's culture and history within the historic Getsemaní neighborhood of Cartagena, Colombia.

The plaza is a popular gathering spot known for its lively atmosphere, street food vendors, and vibrant murals.

Fortresses, Pirates and Colonial Shadows

Towering above the city is Castillo San Felipe de Barajas, the largest fortress in South America. Built after Sir Francis Drake attacked Cartagena in 1586, the immense stronghold evolved over centuries into a masterpiece of military engineering.

We only see it from a distance knowing fully well that inside are narrow tunnels designed to trap and confuse invaders. It is easy to imagine the sweeping views of the old and new Cartagena from atop.

The gruesome shadow

Nearby, the Palacio de la Inquisición offers a darker glimpse into colonial history, said to display chilling torture devices once used against alleged heretics and witches.

Churches that Tell Stories

Cartagena’s churches are woven deeply into its history.

Cathedral of Santa Catalina de Alejandría is one of the oldest cathedrals in the Americas dominating the historic centre with its elegant dome and colonial grandeur.

Church of San Pedro Claver honours the Jesuit priest known as the “Apostle of the Slaves,” remembered for his compassion toward enslaved Africans.

Church of Santo Domingo is famous for its crooked bell tower and nearby Botero sculpture, La Gorda Gertrudis.

Church of Santa Toribio, the last church built inside the walled city, is also considered a colonial treasure.

Getsemaní: From Gritty to Bohemian

Just beyond the old walls lies Getsemaní, once a working-class district and now the city’s artistic soul. Narrow streets draped with colourful umbrellas and pennants burst with murals, music and nightlife.

The bronze statues representing local life featured in the Plaza de la Trinidad, in theGettsemani neighbourhood region are part of a series celebrating Cartagena's culture and history. 

The plaza is a popular gathering spot known for its lively atmosphere, street food vendors, and vibrant murals. We are aware that by night, the alleys transform into open-air bars and restaurants pulsing with Caribbean energy. Plaza de la Trinidad becomes a lively meeting point filled with street musicians, food vendors and people lingering over drinks late into the evening.

Parks, Sloths and Evening Strolls

Cartagena’s parks and plazas are perfect for wandering as the heat softens in the early evening. Walking from Getsemaní toward Plaza de los Coches leads through the leafy Parque del Centenario, surprisingly rich with wildlife. Monkeys leap through the trees while sloths and tropical birds hide in the canopy above busy city streets.

Coffee, Craftsmanship and Caribbean Flavour

Mornings in Cartagena begin best with Colombian coffee. At Época Café in the Centro Histórico, rich local brews come with notes of coconut, chocolate and butter, paired with traditional arepas or indulgent waffles topped with hollandaise sauce and bacon salt.

For art and artisan crafts, the Museo de Arte Moderno showcases Colombian and Latin American artists, while nearby Ajá Company sells beautifully crafted handbags and handmade products using natural fibres and raw materials.

Forget the drugs : remember an Empire 

Even though we have a skewed view of Columbia as a drug exporter we forget that Cartagena was once one of the Spanish Empire’s most important ports — exporting South American silver while importing enslaved Africans. In the 16th century it was a centre of immense colonial wealth and power, where Spanish colonisers, indigenous communities, European traders, enslaved Africans and later Middle Eastern migrants all converged.

Cultural collisions shaped the Cartagena of today: Afro-Caribbean rhythms, Spanish colonial grandeur and Indigenous traditions blend into a city alive with music, colour and flavour. Palm trees sway in the sea breeze, sunsets wash the sky pink and gold, and balconies overflow with tropical flowers

The Real Magic of Cartagena

Cartagena’s greatest charm lies not simply in its monuments, but in its atmosphere — the fusion of cultures, histories and contradictions. It is a city where colonial splendour coexists with painful history, where Caribbean music echoes through centuries-old streets, and where travellers searching only for shopping often miss the deeper riches surrounding them.

We did not perk ourselves with Colombian coffee, did not duck into tunnels and narrow spaces. Overall a very pedestrian friendly old town.

Athens-like Nafpolion: Greece's first modern capital

Where is it?

Nafpolion is a coastal town lying along the mountainous  Poloponnese region in the peninsula at the southern tip of Greece. Another city on its coast, Kalamata, is renowned for its olives. Nafpolion was the first modern capital of Greece. In fact, I found it easy to draw resemblances to Athens as you shall in the following paragraphs.

it is also referred to as the ‘Naples of the East’ because of the predominant Venetian architecture.

Venetian-Ottoman-Venetian-Greek: shifts and transformations

Our arrival doesn’t begin on land, but on water—the city exposes itself slowly as our tender glides across a glassy, calm sea. Then, almost dramatically, a lone fortress rises into view. Perched on a sliver of island just 450 meters from the harbor, it is close enough to attack and far enough to dominate. It is unmistakably Venetian with its geometrically graceful heavy bastions.

It has lived many lives having stood firm against Ottoman fleets, later taking on somber duties as a place of execution, and—unexpectedly—metamorphed into a luxury hotel in the 1930s. 

But the story doesn’t end at sea level. Looming above the town, the Palamidi Fortress sits atop a 200-meter hill with its legendary 900 steps or so. Just below it rests Akronafplia,which is older still—a Bronze Age stronghold that once enclosed the entire town. Invasion after invasion, empire by empire, the defenses evolved: the Venetians fortified, the Ottomans claimed, the Venetians returned and fortified again. By the early 20th century, these same walls had become a prison, their purpose once again transformed.What was built to repel and confine has softened into something far more inviting—its stones no longer braced for attack, but open to those curious enough to wander through centuries of reinvention.

The moat that was

The city’s moat is now filled with soil instead of water. We enter through the historic Land Gate, first built in the 18th century and rebuilt in the 1970s. A lion sculpture above—symbolizing Venice—still seems to guard the passage between past and present. Once the only land entrance, it was protected by the sea as a natural moat and a wooden drawbridge (now fixed). Those who arrived after sunset were left outside the walls for the night..

From the gate, we walk through a park at the base of the hill, where bursts of green vie against time worn stone walls above us. The path leads us along the coastline where the sea stretches out beside us, bright and inviting. Along the way we pass a stone-enclosed pool: a small, sheltered pocket of water that seems almost cradled by the land.

Eventually, we reach the public beach. Here, the grandchildren rush forward into the Argolic waters, which are so clear that the rocks at the bottom are visible through the shimmering surface. Their laughter carries easily in the open air as they splash and cool off. Afterward, they gleefully rest briefly on the pebbly shore, catching their breath before we continue.

We follow the coastline carved directly into the pinkish rock with red veins as it curves around the fortress. When we arrive at the staircase that leads up to the Palamidi Fortress, we pause but decide against the imposing climb. Instead, we take the longer but gentler 1 km route, circling the base of  the hill along a paved coastal walkway beneath the Akronafplia fortress. 

A Stroll Through the Naples of the East

The route leads us into the old town, where we almost immediately find ourselves wandering through streets that narrow into winding passages. They twist and turn, sometimes opening onto stairways that seem to invite us to slow down and absorb the historic atmosphere. Our pace naturally eases to a stroll as we become enclosed in a maze of charm and history.

All around us stand neoclassical two-storey houses, their arched doorways adorned with delicate Venetian Gothic details set against soft pastel walls. At times, an unexpected Ottoman feature catches the eye, adding another layer to the town’s rich architectural tapestry. Above, wrought-iron balconies overflow with flowers, bringing bursts of colour to the scene.

Every now and then, we come across quaint little shops tucked into corners and narrow spaces, each one adding to the old town’s quiet character. Along one sloping road, the view suddenly opens to the sea. The small, modest houses here hint at the area’s past as a fishermen’s quarter—some of those fishermen, it seems, still call these homes their own.

Domes, bells and towers

As we wander through the winding maze of narrow streets—past a fishmonger here, a greengrocer there—a tower suddenly rises into view, arresting the children’s attention. Its weathered brick base, worn and exposed by time, seems almost humble beneath the structure it supports. Above, the tower soars upward, tier upon tier of bells suspended in quiet anticipation, as though ready to echo across centuries. It belongs to the Church of Panagia, dedicated to the Virgin Mary—though the church itself, for all its history, draws only passing notice from the young.

Not far beyond, another bell tower appears, this one more restrained—a simple 19th-century belfry standing in service of an older, 18th-century church. Yet simplicity belies significance. This is the Church of Saint Spyridon, a place etched into history as the site of the assassination of Greece’s first governor. The air here feels heavier, as if the past has not quite loosened its grip.The character is unmistakably Ottoman, a quiet testament to the town's layered history. Inside, the space unfolds into a tapestry of faiths and eras: Byzantine icons glow from the walls, intricate paintings depict stories of devotion, and among them appear unexpected symbols—like the Star of David –acomplex heritage gathered within a single place.

By now, we find ourselves in the very heart of the old town. Ahead stands a building crowned with a striking roof—its surface unfolding into a series of shallow, flattened domes reminiscent of those in Istanbul. It was a mosque probably built in the late 1500's and one of Nafplio's oldest buildings. The building was once profanely used as a movie theatre by the name of Trianon. The occasional  theatre performance still takes place here.

A hub of activity

It's all foot traffic in the old town's  square. The roads are paved with marble that reflects light both night and day. Surrounding the square are neoclassical buildings. The palm trees demarcate various sections of the park right down the centre. There is no lack of outdoor cafes and restaurants. 

‘Sour’ oranges, cafes and hats, a school

The side walks along the historic facades are planted with orange trees that are heavy with fruit. Our mouths water. To our delight we find one that has fallen under the tree. Eagerly popping segments in our mouths we wince. It is not sour, but bitter! The abundance is stunning. Do they all go to waste? These trees are ornamental,and therefore, yes. But,No. In Greek kitchens they are transformed into marmalade, candied peel, or  delightfully sugary Greek spoon sweets. In cities like Athens or Valencia, the trees seem perfectly aware of their role—not as providers of edible fruit, but ornamental, offering fragrant spring blossoms and just enough visual appeal.

The boys are fascinated by a wooden fence beside a sidewalk cafe decorated with hanging flower pots and  reminders about how to make it a lovely day! It's a good excuse to hang around the cafe and smell the wafting aroma of coffee. Good food,and good vibes.!

With a skip and a hop the children wander through the  shops adding to the vibrancy of the town. Until  a shop with rows of straw and Panama hats catches their eye. They express an interest in these hats and we think they deserve them. .” What starts as a simple choice quickly escalates into an adventure. They try various hats for size and what they see of themselves in a mirror! the shopkeeper’s polite nods and encouraging ‘greek’ purchases are made. The satisfied customers now have a jaunty walk with their new possessions perched on their heads.

Just outside of the old town there is another draw. It's a school and young men are playing soccer. There's also a row of modern housing. But there is little time to explore this pRt of the city. We have to make our way back to the pier where a tender awaits uus.

Why is Nafpolion Athens-like?

Nafpolioni's old town with its picturesque cobbled streets, and neoclassical buildings are very like that in Plaka Athens, only bigger

Both are at the foot of citadels.

Both have Syntagma Square,  the main plaza, where all the government buildings are, Nafpolion’s being paved in marble.

Trivia 

Generally we associate Easter with renewal.

But, in Nafpoion, well-decorated coffins are placed in the churches to mark . On Good Friday the coffins are carried to Syntagma Square and then, of course, the party begins.

Athens,Greece: further reaches

The overlooked: Persitiri

Spelt  Περιστέρι in Greek. It is fun reading out street names and others spelt out in Greek using the alphabets we use in Math and Physics.

We find this place by accident when we spy a stadium while on a local bus from Syntagma towards the north. Then a church that  looks like that in Monastiraki comes into view.  And that's when we decide to explore Peristeri, for that is what this suburb is called. It's Greek for pigeon-dove. 

The area lives up to its name. It is quiet and peaceful as we walk up to the indoor basketball arena named for Papandreou, a former Greek prime minister.

The street is like a shopping mall in any suburb with bakeries and souvenir  shops – everyday markets and family businesses– selling olive oil, herbs and soaps. The stroll takes us towards  the  cathedral– the metropolitan orthodox cathedral – with its large central dome, symmetrical bell towers, and a cream colored stone and marble facade typical of Athens. The arched windows and decorative brickwork reflect Byzantine influence. 

Had we entered the church at an appropriate hour we would have heard Byzantine chants.

The thrill of discovery.

We are actually in the central square and beside us is a glass dome. What could it house?  The landmark is the sky light of the metro station below. Again we have the urban and the ancient existing in aesthetic harmony.  The skylight allows sunlight to the station levels. We find that it will take us to Piraeus and therefore we do.

Olympic Stadium

On another trip to Athens — this time with the grandchildren — the Olympic Stadium was high on their bucket list. From Syntagma Square we boarded the train, excitement building with every stop, until the great arches of the Olympic Stadium rose before us.

With its sweeping roof suspended from two colossal arches the immense structure seems to float above the arena, yet it is engineered to withstand fierce winds and even powerful earthquakes.

And then came the detail that left us speechless: even the lawn can move.It is not rooted in the earth but grown in 6,000 interlocking plastic capsules spread across the stadium floor. Automated sprinklers rise  water the grass according to a programme. When space for another grand event is needed, the entire lawn can be rolled away outside the stadium, transforming the space as if by magic.

Everything about the stadium speaks of scale and imagination. The roof stretches across 25,000 square metres, weighs nearly 19,000 tons, and glows beneath thousands of translucent panels. Standing beneath those soaring arches, with the grandchildren staring upward in wonder, it felt less like visiting a stadium and more like stepping into a monument to human ambition.

Watched over

A bus ride through the main thoroughfares reveals more modern structures with Greek embellishments housing universities and government offices. Everywhere the Acropolis looms fully into view—not just  a distant landmark, but something that watches over modern Greece in silence.

Doing justice to Piraeus

Not just a port

During our first trip to Athens, we begin our exploration of Piraeus, the port, only when we return to the port and we have a few hours before the ship leaves. Our bus drops us close to the railway station from which the port is along walk. We are astounded at the elegant 1920s railway station, where the historic overground Line 1 meets the modern Metro.  The station’s striking glass-roofed train hall and vintage ticket area before stepping into the atmospheric Old Market streets nearby, filled with local character and everyday Greek city life.

Just across the road lies the legendary Port of Piraeus, where ferries constantly depart for the Greek Islands. From the pedestrian bridge we enjoy watching ships glide in and out of the harbour. It is, without a doubt, Greece’s energetic gateway to the islands and one of the busiest ports in the Eastern Mediterranean. 

In a little park we find Poseidon astride with his trident.

On the edge of this neighbourhood, we notice the imposing Agia Triada, the cathedral of Piraeus, which faces the port. An original church on this spot was constructed in 1839, but was destroyed by a bomb in WW2, then  reconstructed in the 1950s in Byzantine style, using beautiful painted iconography and incorporating whatever remained of the older church.

More than just the harbour of Athens, Piraeus is a vibrant city with its own lively atmosphere

Athens neighbourhoods

Unbeatable views 

From atop the Acropolis we get spectacular views, stretching to the Aegean sea, of the various neighbourhoods of Athens: the ancient Agora, Plaka, Monastiraki and Philippopolis Hill.

The magnet:Agora

Beneath the revered hill of the Acropolis lies the ancient Agora, all in ruins —quiet reminders of what was once a vast and intricate marketplace. Here stood an assembly of administrative buildings, temples, altars, shaded arcades, and fountains around an open square. It was here that ordinary citizens gathered to debate, shape policy, and cast votes on the laws that guided Athens.

The Agora was not just a center of commerce and governance. The city’s mint, where silver currency was struck, operated here. 

Opposite the Acropolis

Another direction presents to us a conspicuous monument that sits atop  Philippopolis hill close to the Agora. It was built for a most beloved  man, one of Athen’s most important benefactors.

It is believed that Socrates, the philosopher, was imprisoned in the rock-cut chambers on the slopes of this Hill .

Not so ‘Little Monastery’?

Yet another reveals Monastiraki with its unmistakable church domes.

Plaka placates

The entrance gate we took to the Acropolis( right beneath it) is in  Plaka, the oldest section of Athens. Close by are the temple of Zeus and Hadrian's Gate. The whole area, being pedestrians only, is rather quiet. It's hard to believe that once it was a nightclub district. Strictly enforced government rules successfully reduced the racket of loud music. Now there are plenty of souvenir shops and restaurants. Even though the area has become commercial, it retains a quiet charm.

 Anafiotika: a secret island of defiance

As we climb, the air cools and the city noise tapers into a distant murmur. Whitewashed houses are squeezed together, their walls cracked with age, their paths uneven underfoot. Bougainvillea pours over in bright cascades over rooftops and balconies. The passages narrow into a disorienting maze. Have we wondered too far? Then, a dead end—and suddenly, it’s there. The Acropolis, the ‘high city’ rises above us.

Legend says Anafiotika was built in the 19th century by stone masons from the island of Anafi, who came to Athens to work and secretly constructed their homes at night, defying authority. Stone by stone, they recreated a fragment of their island life—hidden, resilient, and enduring.

Syntagma Square marches on with pom poms

We walk from Plaka to Syntagma Square, which lies at the heart of Athens, as the old Royal Palace—now the Greek Parliament – does. We see soldiers on guard and sense that something is going to happen as the crowd slowly swells. 

We are in for a treat. The guards, the Evzones,are moving! Within minutes a spectacular show takes place just a few feet away. The ritual of changing the guards takes place with meticulously choreographed  moves  synced to the marching band.

Their feet are clad in clogs topped with black pom poms,  Once they concealed blades!. Feet are raised high. When they descend with a cracking sound  the ground vibrates while the pom- poms sway every which way!

The rhythm continues to haunt us as we amble through the rest of the square in which parades and celebrations are held. It bustles with life. Behind the tomb is a garden, an oasis in the middle of a bustling area, which has an interesting story behind it.The event marked a turning point in history that made Greece what it is today.               

Monastiraki: tourist hot spot 

Yet another square that appealed to us from atop the Acropolis for its  flat domed building. We are surrounded by eager tourists, patrons of the flea market, roof top restaurants and cafes. The old meets the new. Not only are we treated to views of the Acropolis but also landmarks from the various eras viz Byzantine (Pantanassa Church),  Ottoman( Tzistarakis Mosque) and Roman(Hadrian’s Library).  

We pass by a hat shop that draws the attention of the grandchildren. We quietly steer them away so we have time to see the Olympic Stadium on their bucket list.             

Acropolis,Athens, Greece: History and Myth

We approach the foot of the rocky hill of pinkish bluish marble veined in red. The gentle slope takes us up towards the 3,300 year old citadel that variously served as a fortress,a shrine and a centre of political power. The place that reflects the ideas, art, and culture of the society that shaped world philosophy is breathtaking in more ways than one.

No match for a tortoise 

Physically the walk is steep and demanding as the morning heat intensifies. To our amusement, we find a tortoise climbing alongside us, retreating into its shell or into the cooler spaces under rocks every now and then. The grandchildren try to ‘keep up with it’ but after a few minutes they lose patience!Apparently the species thrives in the Mediterranean environment and sofrequently spotted living and wandering freely among the ruins of the Acropolis and its slopes, as well as nearby areas like the Acropolis Museum. 

Enthroned for a spectacle 

We emerge from distraction and lift our gaze—only to be met by ruins of staggering magnitude. Before us unfolds the unmistakable form of a theatre: rising tiers carved into the rock. Closest to the stage, throne-like seats stand in solemn dignity, once reserved for figures of great import—the honored, the powerful, perhaps even the Priest of Dionysus himself.

As we climb higher, the view expands into something almost overwhelming. The full sweep of the structure reveals itself, vast and commanding, a testament to a civilization that was built not merely for function, but for awe. From this lofty vantage, we can almost hear the echoes—voices that once carried tragedy, laughter, and biting satire into the open air, filling the immense space with the pulse of human drama.

Marble seating, a façade of looping stone: the world’s first theatre

Before us stands a grand structure on the slopes of the Acropolis, both imposing and ethereal. A vast wall with sweeping arches stretches across multiple tiers, more like portals than windows.

This is the Odeon of Herodes Atticus—an ancient theatre that once held 5,000 people and still hosts performances today. Dedicated to Dionysus, the god of theatre and ecstasy, it has echoed with human emotion for centuries.

Marble seats cascade in worn, graceful rows, tracing the theatre’s early origins. The façade once rose in three levels of arches. Now, only two remain.

It’s easy to imagine its former glory—a cedar roof overhead, statues in the arched niches, and audiences alive with anticipation. Even in ruin, the Odeon feels timeless—an enduring monument to art, gathering, and wonder.

An ascent into the ethereal: Propylaea

Our climb leads to a grand staircase and the monumental gateway beyond—a vast hall framed by elegant porticos and rows of slender columns beneath a lofty ceiling.

These columns, though delicate in appearance, carry the weight of the marble roof while keeping the passage open — an elegant balance of strength and grace.

Above, imagine marble slabs painted deep blue and studded with stars. Sunlight filtering through would cast a radiant glow, blurring the line between earth and sky—as if standing beneath a celestial vault of stone.

More than an entrance 

The awe-inspiring Propylaea has housed various occupants over its 2,000-year history. It served as a Byzantine bishop’s palace, a Frankish noble’s residence, and later an Ottoman governor’s home—testament to its enduring architectural significance. At one point, it was even used as a gunpowder store, leading to a destructive explosion.

The crown jewel: Parthenon

Built as a temple-treasury to celebrate victory in the Greco-Persian War, 200years later became a church, then, after another 900 years,an Ottoman mosque.

From afar, the columns appear perfectly straight and uniform—but up close, subtle variations reveal deliberate refinements to correct optical illusions.

https://www.history.com/articles/parthenon-acropolis-ancient-greece-engineering

Destruction, removal and preservation

All it took was a single blast that changed the fate of one of history’s greatest monuments.

During a fierce battle, the gunpowder store near the entrance gate ignited, unleashing an explosion that tore through the Parthenon.  Large sections of the structure collapsed, along with priceless sculptures that once celebrated the artistic and cultural golden age of ancient Athens.

What survived tells only part of the story. Some of these remaining masterpieces now reside in the British Museum, where they are known as the Elgin Marbles. Others remain closer to home, preserved and displayed in the Acropolis Museum—fragments of a legacy that once stood whole.

And then the Cariyatids beckon

A familiar porch, the Porch of the Caryatids, appears in our periphery. Six towering female figures, graceful and resolute, hold the weight of the structure.  Their elegance  blurs the line between sculpture and architecture.  We are actually admiring the replicas while the originals are at the museum. 

On closer inspection we realise that the temple is made of 3 parts each dedicated to  Athena Polias , Poseidon, and the founder Erechtheus( a legendary king) respectively.

A trace of myth colours the history: a hole in the rock roof is said to have been made by Poseidon's trident and Athena's olive tree  during  their dispute for the patronage of the city.

Nike, here we come

A lone structure distant from all the others in the acropolis stands out.  Four monolithic columns grace both the front and rear facades, while the sides remain open to showcase the inner cella.

A strategic location: The sanctuary served as a protective force, guarding the entrance to the Acropolis thereby defending the city as well as ensuring the favour of the gods. On the parapet, there would have been a marble statue of a wingless Nike (adjusting her sandal, and clothes slipping off her shoulder) which is now in the museum

As we walk down the hill checking out cordoned parts of the ruins we help but be dumbfounded by the sheer scale and history of the monuments. The Hercules pillar stands alone. There must be a story behind it!

Piraeus to Acropolis, Athens, Greece

Piraeus to Athens

Our first visit fills us with excitement—we are finally on our way to the Acropolis. We decide we would explore the port of Piraeus later, as soon as we returned. After learning that a bus to Athens city centre departed from just outside the port, heading toward the railway station, we set off on the short walk to catch it.

The port is overwhelmingly crowded. It isn’t just the presence of another cruise liner that day, but the sheer scale of Piraeus itself—Greece’s busiest passenger port, and in fact the largest in Europe, bustling with countless ferry connections.

The wait for the bus feels like an eternity while the crowd continues to swell. When the X-80 Piraeus–Acropolis–Syntagma Express finally arrives, there is some inevitable pushing and shoving. We squeeze in, finding standing room only. Thankfully, the ticket machine works smoothly, and with that small relief, we settle in to simply enjoy the ride. This route, we later learned, had only been introduced a few months before our visit. In about thirty minutes, we arrive at Syntagma Square, ready to begin our exploration.

Columns of columns of magnitude:ravages of nature and time

The Acropolis of Athens rises in quiet majesty above the city, visible from nearly every corner, a constant reminder of ancient grandeur—but our curiosity draws us beyond it, toward other ruins that look monumental with rows and columns of pillars, one solitary and another a pair. As we near these columns it is obvious that many have met their fate. At the entrance to the area we find the information board that tells us we are at the ancient  Temple of Olympian Zeus, once the largest of all Greek temples, a project so ambitious it took nearly a thousand years to approach completion— it was never truly finished. Originally boasting 104 towering Corinthian columns, only about 15 remain upright today. Their placement,  hints at the immense scale the temple once commanded. One column lies where it fell when it succumbed to a storm – proof that not even a colossal monument can withstand nature’s quiet power. This  column  is dramatic in that it lies in distinct, segmental, marble rings!

Inside the temple once stood monumental gold and ivory statues of Zeus and Emperor Hadrian, now entirely lost to time, much like the structure itself. 

Even more interestingly, over the centuries, its stones were stripped away and reused (including as far away as Rome), its purpose shifting from sacred site to quarry. In the early 1800s, a solitary stylite even made a home atop one of its columns, adding a strange, almost surreal chapter to its history. And yet, standing among the remnants today, one can still feel a sense of awe—because even in ruin, the temple endures as a powerful echo of the ambition, devotion, and imagination of the ancient world.

Surrounding the temple are remains of dwellings, Roman baths, the entrance gates and walls.

One or the other: entrance/exit

Just beyond the ruins, we come upon the aristocratic Arch of Hadrian, commanding our attention. Built in 130 AD to mark the arrival of Emperor Hadrian to the city the structure consists of three arched gates in a white marble frame. It once marked a symbolic threshold in the city—a passage not just through space, but through time itself. As we draw closer, its purpose begins to reveal itself: this was more than a decorative gateway: it may have divided two identities of Athens. On one side lay the ancient city of Theseus, rooted in myth and classical heritage, while on the other stood Hadrian’s newer, Roman-influenced Athens. The faint inscriptions seem to echo this division—one side proclaiming, “This is Athens, the old city of Theseus,” and the other asserting, “This is the city of Hadrian and not Theseus.” Standing beneath its three graceful arches, there’s a quiet thrill of discovery, as if we’ve stumbled upon a line once drawn between two worlds, now blurred by centuries.

Missed opportunity

Right down the street stands the Panathenaic Stadium—rebuilt entirely of marble in 1896 for the first modern Olympics, a place where tens of thousands once gathered under the bright Athenian sky. And yet, somehow, I only learned about it after the fact, as if I’d walked past history without realizing it was calling.

The draw

Rising up in a short distance from these ruins is the irresistible Acropolis ( the high city)majestically sitting upon a hill with its aesthetically pleasing columned structures.