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

La Coruna, Spain: cruisers' delight

La Coruna! Every cruiser and mariner on board expresses great delight for we are docked alongside the city! The mariners whose turn it is to go ashore for the two hours afforded them can make full use of the time!

Promenading and glinting!

As we get off the gangway its a hop and a skip to the bustling city centre with the old town to the right and the new to the left. The facades of multi storied buildings facing the cruise  center are all gleaming white, their innumerable historic glazed white wooden balconies reflect the sparkle off the bay. It is no wonder then that the city goes by the enchanting moniker ‘Crystal City’. The galarias built after demolishing the old city walls in the 19th century are architectural wonders and are one of the largest of its kind in the world!

One of the buildings, I later discover, is known as "El Diente de Oro" ("The Golden Tooth") because its golden façade glints in the sunlight, standing out against the surrounding white buildings.

Along the bay, broad promenades offer sweeping views of the harbour and marina, where boats sway gracefully with the rhythm of the tides.

Following the line of the wall

Continuing along the seafront at Parque da Marina, we reach the old city walls—the outer stone ramparts of a castle. Had we walked on we would have arrived at Castelo de Santo Antón, now a museum. We could have carried on to the Tower of Hercules, but with the day growing warmer, we choose instead to lose ourselves in the shady lanes of the old town.

Soon we come upon a striking multi-storey building with a stone façade and Galicia's signature glass-enclosed balconies. It turns out to be the old Military Hospital. Along the way, we also catch a glimpse of the very modern Maritime Control Tower overlooking the harbour.

Over the hill

As we continue up an incline along the 14th century walls we realise that we were actually at the base of the Garden of Carlos. It is very quiet here partly because the garden is set around the tomb of Sir John Moore, the hero of the Battle of Elvina, when the French attacked the British. The little park is divided into radial sections representing the various climatic divisions of the world with vegetation peculiar to them..  The vegetation is distributed in flowerbeds and it has a spectacular viewpoint overlooking the city's port. 

San Francisco church

After a short respite under an age-old elm tree we walk out onto a plaza across which is a church that is undergoing restoration/ renovation.  It is the Catholic Church of St Francis. The buildings around it must have been the monastery. We spy the sea ahead of us down an incline. We choose to continue to wander along the old city walls rather than go to a beach or another marina. 

Learning  and history intertwine

Following the old city walls, we discover that they embrace more than centuries of history—they also surround places of learning. Within the walls stands a university, a reminder that education continues to thrive in this historic quarter.

A little farther on, we come across the Pablo Picasso School of Arts.We pass another school, its frontage punctuated at regular intervals by the old castle's sentry boxes.

In pursuit of the copper dome 

The streets are still peaceful, with most of the shops yet to open, so we pause on a bench for a short rest. Then something catches my eye: a gleaming copper dome rising above the rooftops in the distance. Curiosity takes over.

I set off through a shady park towards what appears to be a busy arterial road. At first, the junction looks daunting, but to my amazement the thoughtfully designed pedestrian walkways guide me effortlessly across. Moments later, I walk down a flight of stairs and stop in awe. Before me lies an elegant square, a church standing to my right, and directly ahead the magnificent Plaza de María Pita.

A Square That Inspires Awe

The first sight is breathtaking. The magnificent City Hall rises with not one but three domes, one housing a clock whose bells mark the passing hours. Stretching 64 metres, its grand façade is adorned with statues and allegorical figures, a proud symbol of the city's civic spirit.

Facing it is the vast Plaza de María Pita. At its centre stands the bronze statue of the fearless heroine who defended A Coruña against the English in 1589. Elegant arcaded buildings with Galicia's distinctive glass galleries frame the remaining sides, their cafés and terraces filling the square with life and energy

Is there truth to the Scandal?

The church before me is the baroque Church of San Jorge. Built by the Jesuits, its twin towers and simple stone façade conceal a richly ornamented interior. A magnificent granite cross with magnificent craftwork draws our attention.

Then comes the astonishing claim: this church is said to have hosted Spain's first same-sex marriage in 1901. Could it really be true? The story certainly adds an unexpected twist to its long history.

Walk or climb? Stairs or granite slabs?

At one corner there is a long flight of stairs leading to residential areas. But we want to explore the streets that the other corners lead out to. There are more buildings with porticoed ground floors, continuous balconies, and triangular decorative motifs lining the streets. At one point we get a glimpse of the modern municipal market with its parabolic concrete roof. In the distance appears a cupola of what we believe ulis the collegiate .. . And we probably passed by the street where Picasso lived during his teens and got his headstart as an artist.

At one point we see the former prison which is now a museum.

We wander through the shaded Rua Real, soaking up the colours, aromas and lively buzz of cafés, boutiques and flower-draped balconies. Once closer to the shoreline before the promenade was extended, this 300-metre street has been the city's commercial heart since Roman times. Its stone façades and elegant white glass galleries make it one of La Coruña's most iconic and atmospheric streets.

Craving and normality

Our walk seamlessly leads us into the new city, where we stumble upon an obelisk with an unexpected story. The original, destined for France, was stored here before shipment. Inspired, La Coruña decided it deserved one of its own.

As office workers fill cafés and parks for lunch, we reach the theatre backed by a waterfall cascading down a sheer rock face. Then, we wander on to the gardens of Méndez Núñez. Shaded paths wind past rose beds, fountains  and a floral clock under maintenance. Nearby, the elegant casino recalls Monte Carlo, while an unusual sculpture in the plaza leaves us wondering about its meaning.

Trivia:

• The Tower of Hercules is a La Coruna symbol being the oldest lighthouse in the world.built during the Roman Empire it is now more than 2000 years. Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site the area has been inhabited since well before Roman times, with early Celtic tribes leaving

• The huge Plaza Maria Pita is named after the woman who helped save the city from the British forces.

• The narrow streets in the old town with colourful homes were once inhabited by the Romans 

New port in Adelaide(2): heartening and grim train tales,

Continued from Adelaide(1)

About 2 hours before boarding time we head for the Adelade city station to make our way back to the cruise port. It's a cautious interval since the train ride is going to take 45 mins plus enough time factoring for any incident that might cause delay

Doesn't help to be complacent 

The electronic departure board flashes our train and its platform. Relieved, we make our way over, find a pair of seats and settle in. We have about thirty minutes to wait.

Then, a nagging thought interrupts our comfort.

Wasn't there more than one port?

There it is on the board: Port Adelaide... but there's also Outer Harbor. Our ship is docked at Port Adelaide, isn't it? Or is the station nearest the terminal actually Outer Harbor? Suddenly, the certainty we'd felt moments earlier evaporates.

Rather than trust our own interpretation of the timetable, we approach a uniformed railway employee standing on the platform.

"Is this the train for the cruise terminal?"

He smiles politely before delivering the news we least expect.

"Wrong platform."

Our hearts skip a beat.

With no time to waste, we make a dash across to the correct platform. So much for a relaxing wait! It's a timely reminder that overconfidence and travel do not always go together.

Back on the right platform, we finally relax. One reassuring sign follows another as more and more cruise passengers appear, many recognisable by their lanyards and backpacks. We exchange knowing smiles. We are definitely in the right place this time. They must have felt the same.

At the expense of local passengers

When the train arrives, passengers pour out before we gratefully claim a seat each. After almost three hours of walking, our legs are ready to give in.

The relief is short-lived. At every stop more people squeeze aboard until the carriage is packed. Latecomers are left standing shoulder to shoulder. We can't help noticing that many of them are impressively tall and well-built. If anyone loses his/her balance, there won't be much room to fall!

A few stations later, an elderly woman clutching a shopping tote boards the train. She steadies herself as it pulls away, determined to remain standing. Only then do we notice the walking stick tucked beside her.

The hero

Before anyone else can react, the elderly gentleman seated opposite us rises and offers her his seat. Ironically, he looks several years older than she does and probably needs the seat even more as his wife quietly mumbles to me. A loud applause greets his gesture as he joins the standing commuters. Does he look inconvenienced? Far from it. He spends the rest of the journey chatting cheerfully with those around him while his wife keeps a watchful eye on him.

The grateful woman, a local, explains that she has been shopping and had had no idea the afternoon train would be so crowded. Her heartfelt thanks seems to embarrass the gentleman more than the standing itself.

This small act of kindness leaves a lasting impression. Oftentimes,the most memorable part of a journey isn't the destination—it's the people you meet along the way.

The wait

Boarding time has come and gone, yet the ship remains motionless. That is unusual. If our departure has been delayed for operational reasons, the captain would surely have made an announcement. Instead, there is only silence and growing curiosity. As usual conspiracy theories abound.

Wait, I'm on my way!

A passenger has contacted the port agent to say he is on the train back to the port but will arrive about twenty minutes late. Out of consideration, the gangway will remain in place. We wait patiently, assuming it will only be a short delay.

Ten minutes later,the captain blares out another message. The passenger is on the wrong train!

A grim realty

A moment of laxness has suddenly become a much bigger problem. He now has to retrace his journey, wait for the correct train, and then endure another forty-five-minute ride back to the ship. Depending on the connections, it could easily take two hours before he reaches the port.

It is remarkable to think that an entire cruise ship, carrying thousands of passengers, can find itself waiting for one person whose day has unravelled through a single wrong decision. Travel has a way of reminding us how easily the smallest misstep can grow into an unexpected drama.

There is no choice but to leave the passenger behind. We have a few sea days before we reach our next destination. The individual has to make his own way to meet us in Fremantle !

I assume he did join us there.

New port in Adelaide(1): shock and surprise

Caught Unprepared

I'm almost nonchalant about our stop in Adelaide, Australia. When we first visited it in 2016, it was one of the easiest cruise ports. We'd simply stroll from the terminal into the city centre—no planning, no stress. Once there, we'd hop onto the free City Loop bus that circles the main attractions.

At the tourist information booth, a cheerful, courteous lady hands me a city map and patiently answers my questions. Our main destination is the Botanical Gardens, a place I hadn't fully done justice to on my previous visit and was looking forward to exploring more this time.

But. . . . The "new" cruise terminal is no longer within walking distance of the city. It's about a 40 minute ride away. We can either take a train or catch a bus. The train departs every twenty minutes and takes about forty-five minutes, winding through Adelaide's suburbs. The buses take roughly the same time.

‘Poof’ goes our carefree plan. Our brains go into a furtive rethink.

Outside the terminal, two buses appear to be waiting. Almost at the same moment a train pulls into the station. Which one now? Do the buses leave immediately, or do they wait until they're full? Will the train get us there faster? For a few addled moments we stand there, map in hand, trying to make sense of it all. What had been the easiest port of call has become a head scratcher.

Global influence:Tactics to Reduce Fuel Consumption

We decide to take the train into the city. Buying a ticket proves less straightforward than expected. A long queue snakes its way to the ticket machines, and cash isn't accepted.

As we wait, we learn something interesting about Adelaide's public transport system. Australian seniors pay just A$4.60 for a single journey, and if they return within three hours, the trip back is free ( for this month at least). The catch? You need to be an Australian senior with the appropriate concession card. The local passengers are delighted by the arrangement.

The concession isn't simply an act of generosity. At this time, concerns over the disruption to global oil supplies caused by the US-Iran conflict has prompted measures to encourage people to leave their cars at home and use public transport instead. It is a reminder of how quickly events unfolding on the other side of the world can influence everyday life in a city thousands of kilometres away.

For visitors like us, the best option is a A$10 day ticket, allowing unlimited travel without time restrictions.

Once aboard, we tap our cards on the electronic reader. The train is crowded, so we count ourselves fortunate to find seats.

The journey is the destination

As the train rolls through Adelaide's suburbs, it offers something we would otherwise have missed. Instead of arriving directly in the heart of the city from the old port, we pass neighbourhoods of neat older homes standing beside modern developments. The journey becomes a revelation of how the city has quietly grown beyond the city and tourist centres. 

Another thoughtful touch

We emerge from the cavernous railway station and are greeted by a set of steps wide enough to host a marching band. For those with weak knees, there's a rather broad ramp leading to street level. Adelaide, it seems, believes in giving everyone options.

More than just a stroll

The city is a cheerful hive of activity. Trams and buses in bright green, yellow and red glide through the streets, each colour marking a different route. Add these colours to the traffic lights and it becomes a constant kaleidoscope of colour contrasting with the dignified older government buildings. Despite all the movement, nobody appears to be in a hurry.

Slowing down to appreciate 

The Botanical Gardens are about a 30-minute walk away. When we arrive our pace naturally slows to a leisurely pace. Some sections of the garden have begun to wilt. Only a rose or two clings to the bushes. Many patches are being reworked. Still, the beautiful conservatory, the arbours and the fascinating collection of plants keep us happily occupied.

The liveliest sight of all is a covey of wide-eyed preschool children enthusiastically discovering the wonders of plants. Their teachers point out leaves and flowers with great seriousness while the youngsters seem far more interested in running from one exciting discovery to the next. Their infectious enthusiasm brings a burst of joy to an otherwise wilting garden.

From quiet streets to busy boulevards

We check the time. All aboard is at 4.30 p.m., so if we're back at the station by 3.30, we'll have a comfortable margin. That gives us another hour to wander before retracing our steps. All we have to do is return to the major intersection, turn towards the old city square, and continue to the station.

Strange how familiar streets can feel so different only a few hours later. The quiet roads we walked earlier have come alive. The afternoon rush is in full swing, with office workers, shoppers, students and tourists all weaving around one another. Trams rumble past at regular intervals, buses glide in and out of stops, and the city hums with an energy we hadn't noticed before.

As we walk, we're struck by how effortlessly Adelaide blends its past with its present. Elegant sandstone buildings, reminders of another era, stand shoulder to shoulder with sleek glass towers. Neither seems out of place; instead, they complement one another, as though the city has found a way to embrace both history and modernity.

The city square is a hive of construction activity, fenced off as major upgrading works continue, so we don't linger. Instead, we turn towards the station, satisfied that we've seen a different side of Adelaide than the one that greeted us that morning, or in an earlier visit.

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Conflicts and Cohesion: Gdansk, Poland

Reflections on a recent visit to Gdansk, Poland

Ground zero—what comes to mind?

Hands down, the first image is of Nagasaki, Japan: the exact point where the atomic bomb exploded on 9 August 1945, an event that symbolised the end of World War II as Japan surrendered shortly afterward.

Today, the phrase is also inseparably linked with the site of the September 11, 2001 attacks in New York City, where the World Trade Center once stood.

Yet there is another, less familiar, symbolic connection.  Ground zero also evokes the place where war began: Westerplatte (Gdansk), where Germany launched its attack on 1 September 1939, marking the start of World War II in Europe. The first shots were fired here.

Book ends

Westerplatte and Nagasaki,stand as powerful bookends to one of history's most devastating conflicts.

Reshaping history

As we drive back to the port along a ship yard, a red coloured building whose facade of rust-coloured steel, resembling the towering hulls of ships once constructed there, draws our attention. It is The European Solidarity Centre, a museum that pays tribute to the resilience of the human spirit. This is where the Solidarity movement was born. 

It is humbling to realise that the Solidarity trade union and its peaceful civil resistance began with ordinary people who simply refused to give up their dream of freedom, dignity, and justice, eventually leading to the fall of communism and, hence,  reshaping the course of history in Eastern Europe. Towering crosses stand in memory of the workers who lost their lives during the 1970 protests against the Communist regime.

Recovery mission at the historic Town Hall

The day we visit, there's an air of excitement and mystery hanging over the Town Hall. The magnificent red-brick building, once frequented by Polish kings and now home to a museum, stands tantalisingly out of reach. I've been looking forward to seeing its lavish painted ceilings and enormous ornate fireplace, but the doors are firmly closed. The Hall, along with the neighbouring building, is sealed off behind security barriers.

Everywhere, impeccably dressed police officers stand watch. Sleek black cars glide in one after another, each arrival announced by the wail of sirens. Men and women in dark suits step briskly onto the cobbled streets before disappearing behind the guarded entrance.

Curious, I ask one of the police officers what's happening.

"A conference," he replies with a polite smile, offering little more.

It's only later that I discover we've stumbled upon the Ukraine Recovery Conference—a two-day summit bringing together thousands of European leaders, diplomats, and business delegates to strengthen long-term support and investment for Ukraine's post-war reconstruction.

The discovery gives the day's events an unexpected emotional depth. Our driver, who brought us from the port in Gdynia to Gdańsk, quietly tells us he's Ukrainian. His family home was seized during the war, and he found refuge in Poland. Speaking in hesitant, apologetic English, he carries himself with remarkable humility and grace. He's deeply moved that world leaders have gathered to discuss rebuilding his homeland.

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 port 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.