A heightened appreciation:Stockholm, Sweden

A simple plan turns out to be an adventure 

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

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

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

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

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

Join the crowd and be vowed

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heart of the city

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

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

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

We pause for a moment, taking it all in. 

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

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

A Reminder

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

Towards King's Garden 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a treat!

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

Visby, Sweden: ringed by roses and ruins

Picture perfect

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

Reality vs appeal

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

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

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

Bringing people and centuries together

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

In the footsteps of history 

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

Saint Catherine and Saint Nicolai

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

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

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

A wall that resonates: ringmuren

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

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

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

The Cathedral that's still alive

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

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

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

Something more tactile

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

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

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

But then common sense stages a comeback. 

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

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

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

For the Germans, by the Germans: Drotten Church

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

But Drotten has a rather different story from St Lars.

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

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

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

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

   

Again. . .

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

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

School

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

Botanical gardens

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

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

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

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

   

In the thick of things 

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

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

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

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

The day has certainly evolved

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

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

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

Lasting Impressions: a remarkable UNESCO World Heritage site

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

Observation

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

Tidbit

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

Zeebrug to Bruges & Worlds Longest Tram Route

A dim screen

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

A guilty conscience 

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

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

Winging it

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

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

Everyday life

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

 A famed ride and route

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

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

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

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

All is well

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

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

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

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

Should we . . .?

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

Sopot: An Unhurried Vibrancy

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

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

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

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

Right into the Baltic Sea

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

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

Relaxedly vibrant

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

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

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

Yet another miss

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

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

Gydina! How different!

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

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

.Historic Gateway to the world 

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

What's the history?

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

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

A hub indeed

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

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

Respect for order

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

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

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

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

From an industrial community to peaceful gardens

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

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

One of a kind:6 centuries of history

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

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

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

Gra(i)nary repurposed

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

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

The Royal Walk

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

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

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

Which is which?

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

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

Astonishing  Amber

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

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

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

A Medieval Marvel: The Largest of Its Kind

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

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

A lasting impression.

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

To be cont'd in part 2

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.

(

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.