New York - Wall Street, Fraunces Tavern and Broadway

What you never think of when you think of New York is history..

The angular tip of Manhattan is it''s oldest and most interesting part and stretches back 400 years. This was where the metropolis started and contains the most historic sights on the island. It was also the site of the most horrifying atrocity to hit the city in its history and the ruins of the World Trade Center will draw you in when you visit this part of New York. But I think the area is worth a mornings wander - rare old Georgian buildings barely survive amongst the glass and steel of the skyscrapers, two fascinating historic churches line Broadway and in the spring sunshine City Hall Park is one of the loveliest places in the city.

The best walk is between Battery Park and City Hall Park along Broadway. This area is the focal point of the United States wealth and contains such capitalist icons such as Wall Street and the New York Stock Exchange. From Monday to Friday the area is the abode of rushing, harassed stockbrokers, bond dealers and financial workers while at the weekend it is exceptionally quiet and just populated by tourists. The twisting non-angular streets of this district date from the time when this was the first part of Manhattan to be settled. Wall Street gets it''s name because it was built along the site of a wall when the city was a Dutch colony and the streets between this and here and Whitehall Street and are twisting turning enjoyable maze.To get to this part of town take the red line to Wall Street subway station, the green line to Bowling Green or the Yellow Line to Whitehall Street. Buses go to Battery Park and the #1 travels all the way up to Central Park along Broadway.

The best place to start is at the tip of Manhattan and work northwards. Battery Park is at the very southern apex of the island and has stunning views across New York harbour. It is also where the ferries land and disgorge their hundreds of workers that run the financial district. The Staten Island ferry (free) stands on the western tip of Battery Park and amidst the greenery the squat shape of Castle Clinton is where you buy your tickets to visit the Statue of Liberty. Not really a castle this is more of a fort built to protect New York from the British in 1805. But most people stand and stare at one of the most famous icons of America - the Statue of Liberty. The ''Green Lady'' looked small and fragile on her own out there. And at the moment, due to security, no tourists are allowed to alight on Liberty Island. The boat tours bypass the gigantic statue on their way to nearby Ellis Island. The tourists didn''t seem to mind - most people were happy to sit, eat hotdogs, buy pictures of New York, and stare out across the water to Brooklyn and Ellis Island.

Battery Park has it''s own charms with rippening cherry blossoum trees and the skyscrapers of corporate America. And theEast Coast Memorial was impressive carved with the names of those lost at sea in WWII on ten enormous megaliths and a giant bronze bald eagle statue watching over them. Then it is north into the financial district. This area, created by the British and Dutch, has the winding streets of Europe but it''s buildings have mainly been replaced by glass and steel skyscrapers. Not much of the old New York remains, but there is one survivor hanging on by it''s fingertips - the Fraunces Tavern.

This redbrick townhouse was built in 1764 and its old architecture really stood out against the glass and chrome around it (see photo). Nowadays, it is a museum and a restaurant, and although the structure dates from the 18th Century most of the building is a Victorian renovation. Once through the doors, it is up creaky wooden stairs to the museum ($3) which consisted of three rooms left as they were in 1783. This was where they hosted George Washington’s farewell retirement dinner. The main dining room consisted of a bar, oil portraits of the great man and rows of dining tables. Francis Fraunces was a superb chef and big-wig''s from all over the new US used to come and taste his syllabub according to the information sheet provided. Unfortunately the information sheet didn''t explain what a syllabub was....

North of here is the famous Wall Street. Around the world this tiny street epitomises the capitalist worship of Mammon. At its western end are the spires of Trinity Church. But before that is the marble portico of Federal Hall. From the steps you can see the New York Stock Exchange, where after 9-11 a 50ft high American flag is draped (see photo). But at the western end of Wall Street is the mighty Broadway. Get used to this street as it runs from Battery Park up the length of Manhattan to Morningside heights at the tip of Harlem. For a long time it is New York’s entertainment strip showcasing theatres, bars, music halls and hotels. Now it is the cities main artery and houses some of the cities churches including the superb Trinity Church. Surrounded by skyscapers it is in it''s own little green lawned oasis which is also a colonial graveyard. There has been a church here since 1694 and it is not baroque or medieval but Victorian gothic and the current version dates from 1836. Inside is gorgeous - it has colourful stained-glass windows, a carved altar and a fan-vaulted ceiling.

But further on along Broadway a slow chill settles on you. You are aware that the streets to the west are getting more tourist traffic then normal. At Liberty Street you can walk to the ruins of the World Trade Center - the site of the horror of two years ago. There is nothing left but a colossal hole in the ground protected by fencing. You move towards it as if you are hypnotised and the thought crossed my mind that I was travelling the same streets that on that day people fled for their lives. The crowds are very silent as they stand on the viewing platform. And it is not a conventional sight - there is nothing really to see except a Christian cross made out of blackened burnt girders. The viewing platform put up by Mayor Bloomberg was covered in pictures of the Twin Towers. People had written messages of support and some of anger "Never forgive or forget..." said one. But the overall atmosphere was one of respect.

Just as powerful is the nearby St Paul’s Church. How this 18th-century Palladian gem survived the collapse of the WTC is a miracle. And if it is familiar to Londoners then it is based on our very own St-Martins-in-the Fields in Trafalgar Square. What shocked me was the proximity of the disaster to the church. A photo showed glowing red embers only inches away from its ancient graveyard and looking like a vast lava flow. The interior provided rest, food and peace for the emergency services. And the white balconies of the church were hung with tapestries and flags from the fire crews (see photo) and candy, sleeping bags and firefighting gear were on show - it was like we had stepped back two years. These houses of god are created to provide shelter, peace and support for those who visit them. On that terrible day St Paul’s provided exactly this to the people involved in that terrible tragedy.

A few steps on Broadway opens up into a magnificent Square - City Hall Park. Looking gorgeous on a sunny spring day the Greek Revival City Hall towers into the air. The park itself was a gem with a gushing fountain, Victorian lamposts and pink cherry blossoms giving the place colour. This is one of the oldest parts of New York and was completed in 1812 and has more of an air of being in a city centre then any of the grand mid-town boulevards and the people were more natural. Office workers sit on park benches discussing colleagues and tuck into bagels and cokes, people walk dogs, and everyone had a smile on their face for the first day of spring.

Finally, there is one final sight you must see in this area. The northwest corner of the square takes Broadway northwards and a walk through Tribeca and into trendy SoHo takes you to 530 Broadway. What is so important about this address?

Why, it''s the IGOUGO offices of course. How can you come to New York and not visit them?

Nairobi - One of Africa's powerhouse cities

Nairobi’s reputation precedes it.

I found it to be OK, although many tourists pass through – it’s not really a tourist city.

It’s one of Africa’s powerhouse cities. A city of skyscrapers, crowds and shantytowns where money passes through the country. But the truth be told you won’t spend much time here. It’s more than likely that you will be here at the start and end of your safari. Which is a shame because it is a city with uniquely African attractions and it has a buzz and life to it that is worth experiencing?

You may not think so at first. Nairobi is exceptionally busy – traffic is at a standstill, people rush along the battered pavements and many of the buildings in the centre look as if they have decayed from their sixties heyday. But there is a sense of occasion here – a sense of being caught up in humanity. There are some bad areas and you must take the same precautions you take in any big city but at the same time there are some charming areas. The suburbs in the west are like green Elysian fields with mansions overlooking wooded canyons. Nairobi is a strange mix of have-seen-better days seventies architecture, modern skyscrapers, green parks, shanty towns and very heavy traffic.

But occasionally you get a flash of the exotic – a Maasai walking down the street wearing his red robes, marabou storks perching in the trees, safari vans roaming the streets and an African street market to end all street markets. Also, can you think of a capital city in the world which has a game park within its city limits? A stone’s throw from skyscrapers - zebras graze, giraffes browse and lions patiently wait for game.

Quick Tips

Nairobi entered my consciousness as a child. For me it was a place of landrovers, khaki decked rangers and bungalows where animals are hand reared (usually in films with Virginia McKenna). The reality is something different. It’s a big crushed city with the centre consisting of seven griddled roads in a square block. University Road is to the north. Uhuru Park to the west, the mighty Kenyatta Avenue to the south and infamous Moi Avenue to the east.

Everything you will need for your safari will be between these streets – Foreign Exchanges, safari operators, petrol garages, banks, clothing stores, supermarkets, Curio shops and government offices. Your hotel may be in this area (one of mine was) but more likely it will be in the surrounding green streets. Kenyatta Avenue is the main attraction and is lined with skyscrapers and impressive buildings. East of Moi Avenue is a supposedly dodgy area but you are unlikely to need to go there.

Nairobi has a reputation for crime. Nothing happened to me but it does help to take precautions such as leave all valuables back in the hotel like any other city. The worst thing you can do is let paranoia ruin your stay. The centre is perfectly safe in the daytime – in fact you will be ignored as another wuzungu (foreigner) as people move about their business. But if you take care to talk to Nairobi residents you will learn they are actually very charming and, occasionally, big fans of their city.

How to get about

Nairobi is most people’s first stop when arriving in East Africa.

Even if you are whisked off on safari immediately on touchdown you may need the city for those little essentials such as camera batteries and changing up money. Taxis are the best way of getting around and two good taxi ranks are Kimathi Street and the Muranga Road. The rates are reasonable costing about 1000 shillings out to the airport.

Most people get out to the suburbs in Matutus which are small buses which set off when there enough people in them. They are mostly used by Kenyans and are perhaps not the best way for visitors to get around. Intercity buses are in the notorious "River Road" area east of Moi Avenue and I would ask your hotel to purchase tickets for you rather then go to the agencies in River Road itself and also take a taxi to and from the station.

Interestingly there is a railway service from Nairobi down to the Swahili Coast. The train does a night service to Mombasa for about £60. It departs every two days and takes 14 hours, a slow but classy service which travels through Tsavo National Park just as dawn breaks. 

The airport is five miles out and is a pretty modern effort with tight security. Arriving is not much of a culture shock as it has all mod cons and a taxi to the centre costs about £11. If you are flying down to Kilimanjaro and the Tanzanian "northern circuit" then you have to go via Wilson airport. The road into Nairobi skirts the national park and early in the morning giraffes or zebra can be seen from the road. 

Nainital - The 'Tal' and its promenade

The Hill station is a uniquely Indian phenomenon. Built to escape the building heat of the subcontinent's dry season people gather here to enjoy the cool mountain air, and gaze at the sensational vistas of the Himalaya's.

Nainital must be one of the most beautiful, and is set around a dramatic crater lake 1938 feet up in the mountains. To come here offers a respite from the rigours of Indian travel as well as a festive air brought about by Indian families enjoying themselves. If you are travelling through northern India, make time for Nainital, it also gives me the excuse of showing some of my favourite photo's of India.

Hindu legend states that the Tal (lake) was formed from one of the eyes (Naina) of the goddess Sati as she was carried by Shiva up to the Himalayan high peaks. But the British were the first people so build up Nainital and it became a fashionable resort for them as they escaped the sweltering heat of the Gangetic plains. The bungalows of the 'mem' and 'burra' sahibs spill up the side of the lake. A promenade named 'The Mall' (very British) connects both ends of the lake. And at the southern end is Tallital (Foot of the lake) with its bus stops and tour agencies. And at the far end is Mallital (head of the lake) which contains most amusements and the yacht club. 

Wherever the Victorian British went, snobbery followed soon after and in Nainital it came in the form of the yacht club where the rulers of the Raj would moor their craft. The place was so exclusive that the hunter Jim Corbett, a native to the area, was blackballed for years. You can easily rent a boat to go out onto the lake and I would strongly recommend this as the views of the surrounding pine-encrusted mountains are amazing from its centre.

But for me the attraction is the atmosphere. There is a real jolly atmosphere formed by the Indian tourists enjoying themselves as they strolled along the Mall eating Candy Floss or corn-on-the-cob. We must have been the only westerners there and the other tourists were very friendly and we spent an enjoyable afternoon and evening getting caught up in it all. 

Lining the Mall were bookstalls, trinket-stands, music-shops, musicians, snake-charmers and dancing bears. When we reached the yacht club in Mallital the monsoon cleared and the clouds parted to real an impressive view of the Lake. The sun sank behind the Himalayas and the sky turned grey, then yellow and then pink. And as it finally disappeared; the crowds, bungalows and drawn-up boats were coated in a luminous blue as it slowly turned to night.

You may not have thought of Nainital as being on your itinery, but if you brave the journey to get there, you will leave with some fantastic memories. 

Mykonos - Pierros - the last stop on the trail

The morning at the hotel I was staying at we had an enjoyable discussion about which countries nightlife starts later? Greece or Spain's?

What prompted the discussion was the club Pierros which doesn't open until midnight, doesn't get busy until 2am and goes on till dawn. The Mykonian owner of my hotel said no Greek worth his salt would turn up before midnight for any night out and that "the trouble with you northern European countries (he pointed at myself and a Berliner friend), is that you start too early". A Turkish guest made the point that that's fine when you are sixteen, but what about when you are thirty-six? You don't want to hang around half the night waiting for the bars to start at that age? True, he grudgingly admitted, even he doesn't go down into Mykonos Town as much now that he is approaching thirty. Perhaps if they started earlier they would get even more custom.

But this is Greece and everything has to be fashionably late and on Mykonos more so. Pierros isn't just a club in the Greek islands, it probably is the most famous gay club in the world. It's been going since the sixties where Athens turned a blind eye to Mykonos emerging as a bohemian destination. First of all it is difficult to find, and your best bet is to latch on to someone already going there. It stands in the warren of lanes just south of Taxi Square. The easiest way is from the waterfront. The alley next to the ferry ticket office leads five yards in, then walk past the jewellery and icon shop to the newly named "Pierros Square".

This is absolutely tiny square and each of its three exits lead deeper into the maze of Mykonos Town. "Pierros" is on the northern side and is a three storey Mykonian building with seating outside. For its first 14 hours of life it is just a simple bar not much different from any other on the island. It has the usual Mykonian whitewashed staircases and balconies as well as blue shutters and doors so prevalent in this part of town. About 11pm people start to trickle in and by 1am there are so many gay men (and their straight friends) that the square and surrounding alleys are full to bursting. Inside is dance floor/bar with mirrored walls and those cheesy holiday hits that you wouldn't dance to unless you had probably far too many ouzos. And ouzo is once again your best bet for "Pierros" as it is about 4 euros compared with 6 euros for a beer and 10 euros for a cocktail.

And who won the argument between Spain and Greece? Well, we said Greece... but mainly to keep the hotel owner happy. After all he would be cooking our breakfast. 

The Meteora - Hotel Orfea in Kalambaka

Wherever you are in Kalambaka you will have a view of the Meteora. The monoliths loom hundreds of feet above the town. But there is something special about waking up in the morning, stepping out onto the balcony, and see the sun light them up with the dawn.

Hotel Orfea was a very impressive four star hotel. It came part of the package I had with CHAT tours which did an overnight trip from Athens for £100. It is one of Kalambakas better hotels and is only a few steps from the main street. Not to mention, as it faces north, fabulous views of the mountains. But if you have been hiking around the monasteries all day or have arrived tired from other parts of Greece it is a pleasant place to lay your head. It lives up to the notion of "Greek hospitality".

The rooms are beautiful. As well as featuring a north facing balcony it has white and navy blue decor and a walk in shower/spotless bathroom. Downstairs was a busy oval reception with multi-lingual staff and a small lounge area with bar and sofa. The whole downstairs had been decorated in white pine as well. They were going for the Greek antique look but with a fresh twist. 

The dining area was massive and caters to the tour parties with a buffet in the evening. The buffet was tasty with chicken, vegetable, and rice dishes. And all could be washed down with a bottle of retsina for another five euros. It caters mainly for tour groups and features conference facilities. And despite the fact we were there one night we could have taken advantage of the Olympic size swimming pool at the back. 

But it is the proximity to the nearby monoliths which give it its character. We were so close we could see the convent of Ayia Stefanou perched hundreds of feet up on its cliff. The elephant grey rock cylinders loomed over everything in the town. But they are Kalambakas 'bread and butter'. The reason you came to Northern Greece in the first place. And Orfea is an excellent base to explore these wonders

Melbourne - The Immigration Museum.

I got used to the "newness" of Australia.

You know the feel and smell of something when the wrapping has just been taken off--that was the feeling I got with this country. Everything is new and unused. This is made evident in the excellent Immigration Museum, which charts the movement of the worlds peoples to the blank page of Australia since its discovery in 1770. And since many people visit Australia and then decide to move here, it is one of the world's most relevant museums, its recent history given poignancy in the thousands who make this country their home each year.

Opened only in 2000 and given the thumbs up from Bill Bryson in his "Down Under" bestseller, I have to join the chorus of appreciation. To get there, take the train to Spencer Street station, step outside onto the aforementioned street and head right to the Yarra river. There on Flinders Street 2 blocks east is a colonial building, just opposite Melbourne Aquarium. Opening times are 9:30am to 5pm; cost is $6 (www.immigration.museum.vic.gov.au). Inside is a grand staircase connecting three floors of exhibits and on-site is a gift shop, cafeteria, and small cinema.

Australian cities are so new that the history is actually here and now. But the museum starts at the founding of Melbourne in about 1820 or so with Bradman and Hawkmen who traded shells with the nearby aborigines. But it was only from about 1830 onwards that immigration really took off. The British government would give you "assisted passage," paying for your trip around the world, with the promise of land at the end of it. A reconstructed ship showed conditions aboard ship in the 1830s (hammocks and oil lamps), the 1910s (overcrowded and mainly Irish) or the 1950s (spotless bunk beds and pyjamas). But the story of hope, expectation and nervousness applied to each experience.

As the decades progressed, it became obvious that some immigrants were more welcome than others. Fear of being swamped by the Chinese after "the gold rush" led to a "white Australia" policy that lasted until the 1950s. The experience of those who had arrived since the Second World War was still recent, and there were many photographs and testimonies from those people. You got a sense of adventure as they stopped off at Cape Town, Aden or Bombay and experienced a foreign culture for the first time. I was struck by the photos of those who came down the gangway on arrival and the expressions on their faces. Several showed worry, wondering if swapping their old life for a new one was such a good idea.

Melbourne got the majority of ship landings, as it was that little bit closer than Sydney. Station Pier was the main area of disembarkation and the exhibits showed its 150-year history. The colour photos from the '60s and '70s made those decades just seem like yesterday. A couple of my mum's relatives came over in the '50s (the blonde side of the family), and I found myself putting myself in their position. Could I live in Australia? What would it take for me to immigrate? The power of this museum makes you question things. 

Could Australia be your home? Could you immigrate?

Maasai Mara - Crossing the Mara River and the Nile crocodiles

I’m pretty bored by television these days.

The diet of predictable programmes means I’m pretty picky what I watch. While still having favourites I tend to lean towards history, travel and wildlife programmes. Over the years wildlife programmes, particularly by the BBC, have been an absolute pleasure. I’m not sure why it is? Whether after a hard day at the office I’d rather watch wild animals snapping at each other than human beings doing the same.

But a staple ingredient of these programmes is the crossing of the Mara River by the wildebeest migration. It adds that little edge of danger and drama as the gigantic Nile crocodiles come out of their stupor ready for a glut of dumb herbivores all trying to cross at the same time. With David Attenborough’s hushed tones they build up the tension as the herds gather on the bank – eyeing the water suspiciously while the crocodiles manoeuvre to the best places to catch the nervous animals.

After watching these programmes for many years the thought visiting the Mara River at migration time was just not conceivable. But on the second day of our trip to the Mara I found myself bumping down the track to said river with a sense of disbelief and excitement. Our guide, George, said during the rains we may not make as the tracks may be too boggy. Every rut was filled with water and it was a struggle but the four-wheel drive van got us through the forty or so miles down to the Tanzanian border and the Mara River.

On the way we passed thousands of zebras. They fanned out across the horizon in huge numbers. They would also take advantage of the flatness of our track. The zebra used it ahead of us like a highway. George would come up behind them in the van and wait until they realised something was behind them. They would sprint off the track or the exceptionally stupid ones would keep running until they realised getting out of the way was the better option. I could watch these magnificent creatures all day. I like the way the babies, who kept with their mothers, were a sort of chocolate brown rather than jet black.

We were now approaching the southern boundary of the reserve where it blends in with the Serengeti Plains. A little further on was a sign announcing g the Mara River. A small car park was coated in muddy hippo footprints and droppings. We scrambled over a few rocks to gaze at the river. It was quite wide at this point. It was muddy brown in colour and the other side had cliffs of sandy earth. The gaps in the cliffs had been trampled over hundreds of years by animals crossing en masse. Five hippos were in the water – grey backs contrasting with the brown water.

The hippos could be heard from the bank by much grunting and snorting. Armed guides were there to show us the hippo pools upstream. So we were led by one young man armed with a rifle along a cliff edge. It wasn’t an easy trail and at times we had to climb over streams, feel our way along slippery slopes and pull ourselves along by tree roots. But eventually we reached the flattened meadows surrounding the river. The compressed earth was where the herds gather/recover before and after a crossing.

But as we stood on the cliff and the guide picked out reptilian obstacles in the river. Laid up under the cliffs were the famous Mara Nile crocodiles. Huge brutes about 12 foot long. I could pick out spiny tails and flattened heads. The guide showed us a part where a crossing had occurred the previous week. The place was strewn with bleached bones and skulls.

On the way back across the plains we spotted a van with BBC decals on its side. We hailed it and it was a crew making a documentary on ‘The Rift Valley’ and getting some inserts. The whole crew had booked out the expensive and luxurious ‘Governors Camp’.

Glad to know my licence fee is put to good use.

Madrid - Phillip II and epic El Escorial

El Escorial is epic. 

The seat of the Spanish Empire in the 16-17th centuries this great monolith of a building sits on the edge of a plateau overlooked by the soaring Guadarrama moutains. Half-palace/half monastery/half cathedral, it was built to symbolize the power of Catholic Spain. Only twenty miles outside the Spanish capital and a good day trip - if you want to the Spain of power and intrigue come here...

To reach it is simple from the capital. The subway station Moncloa houses a bus station for northwest Castile. At its lower level is the Herranz bus 644 which departs every half hour to the village of San Lorenso de Escorial. The town itself is very pretty and perches on the edge of the Guadarrama mountains and the journey itself takes you past the infamous Valle de los Caidos - Valley of the Fallen - a giant cross that houses Franco's tomb.

To get a feel for El Escorial then you must remember it was the creation of the most powerful man in the world - Phillip II. The monarch of worlds first global superpower - Catholic Spain in an empire that stretched from Manila to Cuzco. This devout monarch seeked a refuge from his congested capital and built a palace where he lived a penitent hermetic existence. With treasure ships bringing gold and silver from South America - he could afford to indulge his whims. But his religious fervour is what always is remembered about him and his use of the inquistion.

From the outside, it looks like an austere rectangular prison topped by a baroque dome and towers. But inside it is built with cool Colemar stone and leads from green courtyards up to royal rooms decorated with pictures by El Greco and Titian. Each room is simple in its austerity and decorated with blue azulejas (tiles). The place is so large and winding that it is easy to escape the crowds and have pictures of Rivera and Degas all to yourself.

The royal apartments were the most decorated and overlooked the valley of Escorial on one side and directly onto the chapel on the other side. It was said that King Phillip liked to listen to mass from his bed. His gout chair stood nearby. More interesting was the Salle de Batalla. Great picture of Spanish battles adorned the walls usually taking place in the Netherlands. Then you follow the hordes down to the Pantheon Real - the final resting place of the Habsburg and Bourbon monarchs. Saicophagi of the Spanish monarchs lined the walls in little niches in a room decorated in gilt, red and black marble and jasper. And the tomb of the infantas was designed to hold the remains of sixty royal babies - it was already half full.

London - the Regents canal towpath walk

One of the most enchanting walks in London is from Little Venice all the way to Camden Market along the towpath of the Regents Canal. This is a city built for aimlessly walking. Sydney may have the sunshine but you can walk across its centre in 3 minutes. This walk will take you the best part of an afternoon and you will pass Baroque mansions, colourful canalboats, as well as giraffes, camels and zebras.

To reach it come out of Paddington Station and head north, taking the underpass under the Westway to the periphery of St Johns Wood and Little Venice . This was a phrase coined by the poet Robert Browning to describe the area. The Regents Canal opens up into a basin overlooking by Georgian and Victorian houses. The basin sports flower-strewn gardens and in its centre is a willow covered island providing refuge for waterfowl. The narrowboats themselves are very colourful and are usually inhabited (they aren't that expensive, about £30,000)and each Spring Bank Holiday the Canal cavalcade is held where narrowboats from all over England congregate for a festival.

Heading east takes you along the canal where the narrow boats are so packed together it resembles Amsterdam. Then across Maida Vale Road and along Aberdeen Place and past the pub down to the Regents Canal. A staircase descends to the canal bank where for the next two miles there is a pleasant walk to Regents Park where you can observe life on the river and watch the boats ply up and down. The banks of the canalbank are lined with trees and greenery and fisherman share the water with ducks and canalboats. On a summers day it is charming to walk along and see the residents sunbathing or enjoying a glass of wine.

Passing under a number of bridges you will arrive where the Regents canal slices into northern Regents Park and its grand baroque mansions. Nearby London zoo is cut in half by the Regents canal so you can have a free look at the animals without leaving its banks. Canal boats chug up and down looking at the giraffes and camels on the south bank and the vast expanse of the Snowdon aviary on the north. This aviary is huge and allows storks and ibis' to fly around.

Under a few more bridges and you are approaching the fun bedlam of Camden Market. The music from buskers is the first indication that it is not far away. And . Camden Lock itself is a sight to see and is a series of gates modifying water levels on the canal so that boats can pass up and down. . And when you have tired of the market tickets can be bought from the Lock Keepers cottage for canal boats to take you back to Little Venice.

All in all, an enjoyable walk, especially in the summer. But the highlight for me is peeking at other peoples lives living in the narrowboats and wondering how they manage to get power for their televisions without electricity.

Jaipur - the Maharajah's palaces

Remember those old portraits with the Maharajah dressed in a turban, dripping with jewels, and reclining on cushions watching dancing girls - well you can see where it happened at the city palace.

The Maharajah of Jaipur, Jai Singh, still lives there and his servants and retainers are still visible and move around the palace dressed in orange turbans and white costumes. For a while you can forget the chaos of Jaipur outside and lose yourself in a world of exotic architecture and ancient rituals.

To get perspective its better to get some history of the area. Jaipur is not an old city, it was built in 1727 on the orders of the great Maharajah Jai Singh who moved it away from the cramped conditions up at Amber. The city palace was the heart of the fiefdom and the all-powerful Jai Singh designed most of the city from scratch although it didn''t take on its salmon-pink colour until a visit by Prince Albert in 1856. 

During the Raj era it got on very well with the British and formed a buffer state between them in Delhi and the Mewar Rajputs down in Udaipur. When independence came they joined with Jodhpur, Jaisalmer and Udaipur to form Rajputana, which eventually became Rajasthan. Nowadays the Maharajah still maintains his fabulous wealth and respect, and his palace is open to the public as the Sawai Man Singh Museum.

It is easily reachable on foot from anywhere in central Jaipur as it forms the heart of the old city. The palace itself takes up around five blocks and incorporates the Hawa Mahal and the Jantar Mantar observatory. Auto-rickshaw drivers know the palace well and a fare shouldn''t cost more then 30 rupees. They congregate outside the entrance and may be very vocal on trying to get your fare when you exit. There are also beggarwomen and child hawkers waiting for visitors but the tourist police keep an eye on them.

The first place you enter is the epic Tripolia Gate(see picture) this takes you through to the inner courtyard. This first courtyard contains the Mubarak Mahal, an elegant ivory palace which housed the women of the court, generally the power behind the throne,the Queen Mother.

Then it is through the Sarbata Chandra Chowk which was flanked by elephant statues to the great courtyard. Bright pink walls soared above me leading to cool marble corridors. And in the centre was the Diwan-I-Khas - the hall of public audience. This pavilion was made of gleaming white marble and was where the Maharajah would greet visitors. Musicians would play nearby, and ladies of the court would look on wearing colourful saris. The columns, crystal chandeliers and great water jars were still evident. 

The great water jars were used to hold water from the Ganges for when Jai Singh visited England. He didn''t trust the foreign water, which I think is rather a sweet reversal of the English visiting India today.

If you follow the corridors behind the Diwan-I-Khas (which are adorned with exquisite miniatures) you come to the old audience chamber. The dusty exhibts consisted of guns, swords, elephant howdahs, jewels and the largest crystal chandaliers I have seen in my life. With the old servants carefully moving around the palace it was possible to imagine what life was/is for the Maharajah's of Jaipur. The palace is a piece of exotic history that is still living today...and well worth a visit.

Istanbul - The Eklektik hotel

There can not be a hotel anything like the Eklektik anywhere in Istanbul - actually, in the whole of Turkey.

The Eklektik is a brave move. It's a gay hotel in a city which has not tried this before. And it's not just a gay hotel, it aims high—its a boutique hotel. A hotel straight out of the style magazines in a city which fiercely observes Ramadan. A hotel that borders on camp in the middle of working class Beyoglu/Pera. It's brave, innovative, and I am pleased to announce, a massive success.

It's very new. The hotel only had its makeover back in 2005. It's positioning is perfect, at the southern end of Istikal Caddesi, and near Tunel Square. To get there from Istikal Caddesi, head along the southern stretch until you come to the gates of the Swedish Embassy. Next to it is a descending car park (adjoining the German school) and at the bottom, the narrow street of Serdar-i-Ekram. Walk past the grocery shop, and the first lane bending sharply to your right is Sahkulu Mah. Cobbles will take you up to a four-story townhouse whose doors are manned around the clock.

There are 10 rooms at varying prices and each one is decorated indivually. To reach them, you have to traverse a remodelled wooden staircase which creaks audibly. There is a reason for this creaking as pressure sensors activate the lights as you ascend. The bath/shower is generally up/down on another level. The rooms start at £40 a night for a single without bathroom to £90 a night for double with bathroom.

My room had a rose on its front door. But inside, ye gods! The campest room I have ever experienced. So camp in fact, I burst out laughing. I thought a gang of gay men had committed a decorative mugging. What struck me first? The parquet floor? The white sheets? The lavender walls? The oval mirrors? The bright pink sink/TV combo? Or was it the glass light globe dangling from the ceiling full of artistically arranged flowers? Well, ten out of ten for campness. I approve, though I suspect I was the butchest thing in there.

But the staff work hard to make it a success. The day assistants are Sabo and Ehan who serve the breakfast. Each morning, there is a spread of dates, bread, honey, olives, raisins, and steaming black coffee. I was there during Ramadan and they would often eat communally once four o'clock occurred. The guests were invited to eat with them. One more thing about Ramadan. This is traditional Istanbul and at 3:30 each morning, a muezzin strolled the streets wailing and beating a drum. It uncomfortably permeates your sleep, alerting you and the local faithful to first prayers. Local colour, I believe they call it.