'Hear ye': Camden, London

Drawn to the Georgian past with fanfare

While exploring London we find ourselves taken to the past. We hear a loud voice booming across a river. “Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!” ( French for “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye!). Unmistakably he is a town crier for he follows the call by ringing his bell. Where is he? We look around and high and low. How could we have missed this rotund figure in the livery of  buckled shoes, breeches, a waistcoat, greatcoat and a cockaded tricorn hat. No question that a town crier has to be a visible presence as well as an auditory presence, for historically he announces public news or royal proclamations to the then largely illiterate public. This town crier has been hired by Camden Market to  ring about the wonderful things you can do and see at the Market.

Brawn and strategy at Camden Lock.

We find ourselves along the banks of Camden River right opposite where the town crier carried out his job while we watch the Camden Lock being operated. A boat carrying holiday makers ( probably from Little Venice to Camden Lock through Regent's Canal) is about to enter the lock. This traditional, paired set of manual locks is operated by boat crews using hand-wound paddles and massive balance beams to raise or lower vessels. Built in the early 19th century, these locks enable navigating the different water levels, often requiring teamwork to open the heavy gates and manage water levels efficiently. 

Buzz and punk

We’re already in Camden Market—lost in its maze of cobbled paths, where every turn bursts with edgy fashion and raw energy. Waterside cafés hum beside stalls of decadent treats, while multinational cuisine fills the air with irresistible aromas. Handmade jewelry glints next to vintage treasures, and everywhere you look, bold styles demand attention.

This isn’t just a place—it’s an experience. Loud, colourful, unapologetically creative. Punk culture pulses through it all, alive in every corner.

What was once an industrial pocket of horse stables and shipping containers has transformed into a daily surge of life—a thriving food hub and a fearless fashion statement, buzzing with attitude.

Trivia

Camden has been home to many famous people including John Keats, Charles Dickens, George Bernard Shaw and JB Priestley.

Candy, history, airport muddle, crossing borders: Hershey, Gettysburg,Canada

Ideals of equality

Pennsylvania earns its nickname, the Keystone State, for good reason—it stood at the very heart of America’s founding story. This is where the Declaration of Independence was brought to life, setting a new nation in motion. Decades later, its legacy echoed powerfully in Lincoln’s unforgettable Gettysburg Address, delivered on hallowed ground that had witnessed one of the Civil War’s most pivotal battles.

So it’s only fitting that we make our way to Gettysburg, a scenic mere half-hour drive from Harrisburg—a place where history lingers in every field and monument.

Spooky entry

We arrive at the visitor centre at the 6,000 acre Gettysburg National  Military  Park. We opt not to take a guided bus tour. The visitor centre is at the museum which has an indoor display dedicated to the Civil war. 

Down a staircase, a flicker of movement catches our eye—a couple slips past, dressed head to toe in Victorian fashion. A bonnet sways, a hooped skirt rustles, a corset is pulled tight; beside her, a waistcoat, suspenders, and a felt hat complete the illusion. For a heartbeat, it feels like encountering ghosts of the past.

They vanish as quickly as they appear, leaving only the reminder of the morning’s spectacle—Remembrance Day, when the military grounds come alive with a parade of devoted reenactors, marching and mingling in full Victorian dress, blurring the line between past and present.

Surviving a war

As we browse the war artifacts, the spiral ramp pulls us upward, each step heightening the anticipation. By the time we reach the platform at the centre of the cylinder, we’re surrounded. The curving walls close in with sweeping panoramic images—no escape, no protection. Battles erupts on all sides. Lights flash, sounds crack the air, horses seem to neigh in terror, fires flicker. We’re caught in a full 360° assault of motion and noise, the theatrical effects collapsing distance until it feels less like watching and more like being there, right in the middle of it. 

We leave with mixed feelings. Being at the center of a battle—even an imagined one—can be deeply unsettling. It is not only the danger that affects us, but the moral conflict as well. In the end, we are grateful it was only an enactment. We made it through.

Meet and greet

And now, we come face to face with the ever-recognisable Abraham Lincoln—one hand firmly clutching his speech, the other extended in a gesture that feels equal parts statesmanlike and unexpectedly welcoming.

What might have been a solemn, rain-drenched moment—heavy with the weight of his words—was instead given a touch of character, thanks to the quiet heroism of an umbrella, turning solemnity into something just a little more human.

Willy Wonka,here we come

Our host promotes a tour of the Hershey Chocolate factory. Milton Hershey who started the factory is of Pennsylvania  Dutch descent. We enter in the evening when it is quiet. We take the chocolate tour. The ride is a continuous loop each taking only about 3 mins. But it does  showcase how Hershey's milk chocolate is made. The tour includes agricultural scenes, a tropical farm setting, a warm cocoa bean roaster, and a finale with thousands of candies. It's a dream for children and the child in anyone. 

The seasonal adornment for Christmas serves to further enhance the atmosphere, cultivating an elevated sense of cheer, comfort, and collective togetherness.

A heavenly event

While we are there, Harrisburg is hosting a religious event at a local temple, and we take part. Interestingly, cushioned back supports are available for those who choose to sit cross-legged on the floor. We meet friendly strangers while sharing a meal served at the temple. It is certainly meaningful to spend time in a familiar cultural setting, even if only briefly, and it can have a positive effect on one’s sense of identity.

Gee-whiz

Drink has to fly out. He has the tickets. No room for error. Our host drops us at the terminal, and drives off to park. The moment she disappears, something feels wrong. Inside, the airport is unnervingly quiet. No lines. No movement. Just long, empty counters and the faint buzz of lights overhead. We walk farther than we should have to, unease building with every step.

At last, an employee. We hand her the ticket. She studies it. Looks up. Pauses. “You’re in the wrong airport.”

Really? A short drive away, she says—but time is already slipping through our fingers. Our host is parking… or worse, already on the shuttle back. Every second now matters. Panic sets in. We manage to contact her.

Miraculously, she hasn’t boarded the shuttle yet. Minutes later, she’s back at the curb. We throw ourselves and our bags into the car, urgency pressing in from all sides.

Apparently, Dulles Airport, where we are right now, is in Virginia, a state next to Pennsylvania.

Our driver remains calm and composed. She gently apologizes for not checking our departure airport beforehand, though it isn’t really her fault—most people she knows usually fly from Dulles.

We are now making our way toward Washington, D.C. the adjacent state. In the distance, across fields painted in soft autumn colors, the Capitol and the obelisk come into view.

Before long, we arrive at Ronald Reagan Airport, and everything feels settled again.

All’s well that ends well.

The drive back to Canada: Crossing states and countries

The journey begins at a scenic overlook at Samuel S. Lewis State Park, located atop Mount Pisgah, where sweeping panoramic views reveal the surrounding valleys and open landscapes of large grassy fields, wooded trails, and the distant Susquehanna River Valley below. From there, the trip continues as we drive through New York State, passing through steep, forested mountain terrain and crossing a roadway bridge over a wide body of water, probably the Mill Creek bridge over the Tioga Reservoir. Along the route, a quiet rural scene appears with a small-town residential street lined with single-family homes and patches of snow still lingering on the ground, suggesting winter. We arrive at the iconic Peace Bridge in Buffalo, making a major international crossing over the Niagara River.

Penn to Pennsylvania:Harrisburg

Into the bowels of New York City

After a few days in NYC we now head towards Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. 

Penn Station, NYC, is the pulsating heart of the region’s daily commute—whether it's a local trying to get to work or someone rumbling in from another city. Plonked right in the middle of Manhattan, underneath Madison Square ( there's  another story there)it’s impossible to miss (and sometimes, impossible to escape, as we found in yet another train journey a few years later).

Digging for information 

Where we go inside depends entirely on our train and so Drink and I make a dry run the previous day. We are taking Amtrak's Keystone Service and so we have to head over to Moynihan Train Hall, where the ticketing, baggage services, customer help, and actual places to sit are. But we have to stand because all the seats are taken!

Only 15 minutes to locate platform and board

Now, here’s where things get a bit chaotic: the tracks at Penn Station change constantly throughout the day because there are a lot of trains. So instead of assigning tracks early, everyone is kept in suspense. Big electronic boards around the concourse reveal our track number about 15 minutes before departure. 

We have to hurry. No time for dilly dallying. We move quickly to the elevator closest to the platform and in no time at all we are on board. 

At Penn Station, hesitation means missing your train and a frantic aftermath. The dry run made it all nearly tension free.

Urbanscape to farmland

Our train, entirely electric, has comfortable, quiet seating. We leave NYC , cross the Hudson River through a tunnel underneath, and roll towards Philadelphia, aka the Keystone State,  via Newark and Trent in New Jersey. We transition from urban landscapes to the Susquehanna River Valley and farmland. Our three and half hour ride takes us through historic towns, bridges, and rolling hills.

The farms are typical Pennsylvanian Dutch ( a corruption of Deutsch referring to German and so has nothing to do with the Netherlands). The Amish and Mennonites, two of the best known communities of Pennsylvanian Dutch, interestingly, are originally from the southern parts of Switzerland. 

The journey of discovery begins at the station

Stepping into the historic train station in Harrisburg feels like traveling through time. With its charming red brick walls and iconic barn-style roof, this National Historic Landmark is more than just a stop—it’s an experience.

The grand waiting hall is spacious and beautifully designed, with elegant columns and thoughtful spaces that make you want to linger. But the real holiday magic? A captivating model train display that had us completely mesmerized—pressed up against the glass like kids again. 

The Capitol is nothing but capital

Our host leads us through the State Capitol, and from the moment we step inside, we’re captivated. The architecture is breathtaking, the interiors nothing short of extraordinary. We’ve visited the Texas Capitol in Austin and Washington’s in Olympia—but neither comes close to this.

At the heart of it all rises the awe-inspiring dome above the main rotunda—an immense 26,000-ton masterpiece modeled after St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Below it, the first floor dazzles with intricate mosaic tiles that vividly tell the story of Pennsylvania—its history, wildlife, and industry woven into the very floor beneath our feet.

Each chamber feels like stepping into a different world. One evokes the elegance of the French Renaissance, with its rich green carpets, Irish marble, polished mahogany desks, and sweeping murals. Another transports us to the Italian Renaissance, glowing under ornate crystal chandeliers and anchored by a monumental painting. In yet another space, the lighting alone creates an unforgettable atmosphere.

Climbing the Grand Staircase, I feel as though I’ve wandered into a Paris opera house. Everywhere I look, Florentine bronze work and luminous stained glass add layers of grandeur and artistry—transforming this seat of government into something almost otherworldly.

A quiet day in the city streets heightens our senses

From the steps of the Capitol, the city begins to reveal itself—not all at once, but in layers. Glass and steel rise confidently into the sky, their reflections catching the light, yet between them stand quieter witnesses to another time. We notice how the modern world simply grew around it.

Just beside a towering skyscraper, almost as if sheltered by it, stands Pine Street Presbyterian Church. Built from solid limestone in 1860, it carries a weight that isn’t just architectural. During the Civil War, it became a place of pause and refuge—a rest station for weary Union soldiers. Even from the street, you can imagine the footsteps that once crossed its threshold.

As our eyes scan the skyline, more stories emerge. A tall steeple rises sharply into view—Grace Methodist Church—its vertical lines drawing our gaze upward. Nearby, a dome curves gently against the horizon, marking the Cathedral of St. Patrick. Each structure speaks in a different voice. They stand up for history and faith.

Our journey continues past Governor’s Row, where rows of historic homes line the streets with a sense of lived-in elegance. These buildings feel less like monuments and more like memories—places where daily life once unfolded, and perhaps still does.

Then comes Shipoke, a neighborhood that holds some of the earliest chapters of the area’s story. One of the first permanent European settlements stood here, long before the city took its current shape. It’s easy to pass by without noticing.

What starts as a simple drive becomes something else entirely becoming a lesson in history.

Divisive and impassable

The Susquehanna River is the longest on the East Coast—and one of its most storied. Once a boundary between North and South, it’s still wild upstream, where rapids make it impassable. Along the riverwalk, though, it’s all beauty: a striking 51-arch bridge overhead and a quirky cow statue left behind from the 2004 Cow Parade.

To be continued in the next blog.

Corfu: not your typical Greece

Sticking to a strategy

As our liner sails into the harbour we are treated to grand views of not one but two fortresses. The grandchildren are all agog. We will decide whether to visit either one or both depending on how accessible they are from the port.

A complimentary shuttle whisks us into town where we grab a tourist map — though we all know it’s more of a suggestion than a plan. We’ve never been the “checklist” kind of travelers. The real joy lies in wandering, in straying into side streets and rejoicing in the soul of a place beyond its famous landmarks. With only a few precious hours, we execute our usual strategy: go furthest first, then drift back slowly toward the ship. After all, missing the boat would be a story we don’t want to tell.

We could walk to the fortress, but the day is already warming up, the sun climbing steadily. Why not make the journey part of the experience? A nearby bus stop offers the perfect excuse. A small group of locals waits there, their smiles warm even if their English is limited. Somehow, with gestures, laughter, and a bit of help from the grandchildren, we piece together the bus route and fare. The short wait feels longer for the little ones, who fidget with anticipation.

History and vistas

Soon enough, we’re on our way — and in less than ten minutes, we arrive at the Old Fortress.

Crossing the narrow bridge into its walls and then through tunnels and up and down stairs feels like stepping through time. The air shifts, quieter somehow, as if the past still lingers here. Built by the Venetians, the fortress stands as a silent witness to centuries gone by. We climb higher, drawn upward by curiosity and the promise of the view. 

And what a view it is. From the top, the world stretches out in breathtaking layers — a sea of terracotta rooftops glowing warmly under the sun, set against the dazzling blue of the Aegean. On a day like this, clear and bright, we’re told you can even glimpse Albania across the water. We also have a view of the New Fortress sitting on the other side of town. The climb there seems hazardous. A flint and brick path we would have to negotiate if we had the time and energy left.

Venetian and British

Within  the Venetian complex is a building with a six-column facade. This is St George's Church built in 1840 to meet the religious needs of British soldiers who served in Corfu.

War and peace

Right next to the Old Fortress entrance is the Boschetto Garden. Several semicircular stone benches are surrounded by a colonnade, and busts and statues of prominent historic figures, including poets and writers. The benches in the welcoming shade and greenery with views of the blue sea  are occupied by a few elderly couples reading and enjoying the breeze. A picture of serenity beside a fortress that reminds us of wars.

Spianada Square and Liston: British and French 

As we walk towards the old quarters we cross Spianada Square. Here palm trees sway in the breeze. The spray from the fountains cools us. The cricket, yes cricket, field is a large open expanse. Apparently it is the largest square in Greece and the Balkans. The open space is an invitation to both locals and visitors to gather along the Promenade.

Now we are led to the elegant Liston arcade. The elegant vaulted galleries, colonnades,  house cafes and restaurants are  unmistakably Parisian. And, yes, it was built during the French rule and modelled after Rue de Rivoli..

Another oddity

We stroll over to a grand, regal building with an important looking gateway on the side. The verandah of the building is colonnaded throughout.   The signage tells us we are at the Museum of Asian Art. And where is it housed? In the stunning Palace of St. Michael and St. George.

The impressive neoclassical palace was built during British administration. I've been told that the collections range from Chinese ceramics to Japanese prints. The side gateway surprises us as it  opens into the palace gardens and offers a shaded retreat with spectacular sea views.

Are we trespassing?

Suddenly all is quiet. We've strayed into the roads left untravelled! We are right in the middle of a courtyard with a quiet vibe. Surrounding us is a maze of narrow alleys, stone staircases,shaded squares. The old  pastel coloured buildings with their weathered shutters, cute balconies and hanging laundry add a touch of a movie set. Are we inadvertently walking into people's backyards? Not at all.  These are actually public walkways.

Those were the days: UNESCO world heritage site

And then we are practically at the labyrinthine old town. Each narrow alley leads to another. Venetian buildings with their characteristic ochre and sienna hues stand alongside neoclassical mansions. The town is so compact that we head straight to the main walking street. But we have to get back to the ship. There are so many churches, and little time left that we have to choose. Our selection is Saint Spyridon Cathedral Holy Church of Saint Spyridon which wowed us with its painted ceiling. 

A quick look at the market is all I hope for now. The variety of shops offering local crafts, souvenirs, and traditional products are enticingly set against historic buildings. Strolling through the lively stalls,we  immerse ourselves in the local atmosphere 

Adio Corfu: Have mouth will ask

Dizzied by the maze and the attractive display of souvenirs we’ve completely lost our bearings. We probably need a bus back to the ship… somewhere, somehow. According to fragments of our sense of direction, we are actually close to the New Fortress—which, naturally, is a long, long way from the ship. At this point, “lost” is an understatement. 

. Plan A kicks in: One grandson bravely approaches a man smoking outside a cafe.  Hesitant, he asks for advice. The man—hefty, jolly, and smelling of smoke—throws an arm around the grandson’s shoulder. Panic flickers: will we be invited for a smoke or . . .? We know from previous experience that Greeks are very hospitable. We may be hard put to turn down an invitation.

Animated gestures follow: fingers point, hands wave, eyebrows jiggle and laughter crackles forth . After several tension-filled minutes, we are reassured—somehow—that the conversation is going well. Maybe the man was giving directions… or maybe just entertaining himself. Either way, we wave our thanks.

And just like that, our Corfu adventure ends: equal parts confusion, courage, and comic relief.

We wave. We trust in the kindness of strangers… and that’s how our Corfu adventure ends: confused, amused, and much closer to the ship than when we started

As we sail away the view sums up why Corfu is a popular holiday destination. The mountainous terrain, cypress trees, olive groves, crystal clear seas and excellent weather add to  the rich multi-cultural heritage(Byzantine, Venetian, French and British) lending it a vibrancy.