It’s a good thing that the first stalls of the market are full of crockery and Provencal fabrics – it’s easier to hold onto your money knowing that if you buy the blood-red earthenware dish now, you will have to carry its weight for the next hour or so. By the time you pass the hat stall and the street corner flooded with woven baskets of every hue, you will be ready for some refreshment. Take cover from the heat of the sun under the yellow canopy of the bar, and line your stomach with an espresso and a pain-au-chocolat from the patisserie across the street – the one hidden behind the stall of paintings displayed on wooden easels. It’s best not to go further on an empty stomach, for as your nose will have betrayed to you by now, a feast of local delights awaits. It would be wise to go immediately to the rotisserie trailer, where you must put your name to a poulet blanche for dinner. It will be ready for you on your return journey. The bread stall next, where the most rustic pain is arranged alongside the most delicate pastry – line your basket with ...

"I left my heart in San Francisco" is exactly right! In 2007, I was in San Francisco for 10 magical and delightful days and nights! This is the same city where many years ago my parents went on their wedding anniversary. They told me they had driven down in my father's black Lovebug and ate grapes all the way because they had no money then. They gained 10 pounds in two weeks but they said it was worth every pound and they were right! So guess what? I got married in 2007, and we went to San Francisco on our honeymoon! Not in a Lovebug but the Amtrak! Now that was an adventure in itself. As I have always loved train traveling I thought it would be the perfect way to see the spectacular scenery and meet interesting people on the train. I did meet very cosmopolitan, worldly and extremely nice and interesting people on the train and at the dinner table. The train trip took even longer than expected as I did not know the Amtrak stopped at so many places because of freighters, etc. To top it all we did not have a sleeping car - just an ordinary seat! ...

To my young and naive self, Venice epitomised romance. Gondoliers singing romantic songs in the sunset, candlelit dinners at the side of the sparkling canals, bohemian artists, musicians and writers, pretty little streets; so much to delight the senses. I could barely contain my excitement when my husband announced that we were off to Venice.The day finally dawned, visions of the romantic time ahead of us swimming around my head, my newly practised Italian rolling off my tongue – well I could ask for a table for two, order a drink and say please and thank you at least. We crammed on to the vaporetto (Venetian water bus), the cool air of the water providing a welcome breeze in the hot sun, and headed straight for St Marks Square. Venice suddenly just hit me. No other way to describe it. My senses, instantly aroused with the hustle and bustle, street musicians, throngs of people, heat and most of all the smell. This wasn’t the romantic notion I had nurtured all these years. In my romantic dreams the canals were sparkling blue and not at all smelly, there weren’t hordes of tourists, there weren’t pigeons ...

The view from my bedroom window said it all; ducks swimming lazily past on one of the vast maze of canals that make up this unique city. I watched them in the morning, and then joined them later, using a canal boat pass instead of a bus pass, to go and experience the first day’s sights and sounds of Amsterdam. First day in any great city is always shopping day, and what girl wouldn’t love a city jam-packed with streets dedicated to diamonds, flower stalls, and chocolate? All in all it is a little bit of a romantic paradise, even if you are, as I was, only romantically dreaming. In the end I picked out some tulip bulbs for the garden back home (which came out a beautiful rich red in the spring). So I didn’t quite buy the ultra rare yellow diamond ring that weekend, but who knows, it might still be there when I go back. Day two was dedicated to a fine cultural experience. The Vincent Van Gogh Museum was in fact my main excuse for a visit, as I just 'had' to see Van Gogh's paintings for a research project. My theory was that Mr V. V. Gogh ...

New York, New York, so good they named it twice, New York, New York, all the scandal and the vice, I love it! So sang Gerard Kenny in 1978. I'm not so sure about the vice, but I love a bit of scandal and where better to read about it than in the New York Times? Sitting in one of NY's many diners, while knocking back endless cups of coffee and wolfing down a real Big Apple breakfast, is a pretty good way to soak up the city morning atmosphere. I started my affair with New York in 1971 when I visited the city for the first time at the tender age of fourteen, flying from London on my own. Too scared to disturb the passenger next to me, or to use the lavatory, I remained in my seat for the whole journey, listening to Tony Blackburn through crackly headphones, on a continuous one-hour loop. Emerging surprisingly unscarred from the experience of hearing the iconic disk jockey's cheesy jokes eight times, I was met at the airport by the American family with whom I stayed for one month. It was the time of flower power and the hippy generation, a movement I ...

Rio de Janeiro was where I rounded up my seven month trip, and perhaps that is why I still have a sense of having unfinished business with the place: I didn’t feel like it was really time to leave. Or, maybe it was one of these reasons:1- When booking our ticket we thought Great! August! Summer!, forgetting that Rio is in the Southern Hemisphere. Yes, we didn’t really think about that whole tricky hemisphere thing. I mean, you’d just assume Brazil would be warm, wouldn’t you? Well, it’s not. We had two days of sun during which we sat on the beach sipping coconuts and praying we’d get tans (we didn’t) so that we wouldn’t have the embarrassment of returning home after our epic journey with the same pasty skin we left with (we did). Also most of the major sights in Rio i.e. going up Sugarloaf Mountain, seeing Christ the Redeemer, paragliding onto Copacabana Beach... require sunlight and clear skies to do them justice. So we didn’t do them. Hence, we slipped into living a life of luxury...2- I didn’t get a full Brazilian Wax.So, instead of being cultural, we thought “When in Brazil...” and went to a nearby ...

Sir Walter Raleigh once said that 'romance is a love affair in other than domestic surroundings'. But as I passed winding canals and leafy streets with my lover, through a city that varied from fun and seedy; to cool and quirky with each turn, all I wanted was a life here, together in Amsterdam. To be part of the constant buzz created by the Dutch who cycle and eat and flirt on these streets. Now if you have visions of Amsterdam being all elegant tall houses leaning into each other, then first impressions will disappoint. The only things falling over on the main street Damrak, are the drug dealers and stags swarming outside saunas and souvenir shops. So head for the Jordaan. The Notting Hill of Amsterdam, this district has it all. The myriad canals meander around handsome houses, drawing you past windows displaying Mexican kitsch (Kitsch Kitchen, Rozengracht 8-12) and Dutch designer (SPRMRKT, Rozengracht 191-193); via antique shops where impossibly smooth owners languor over a Gauloises. And there are flowers everywhere: on rooftop gardens, hidden courtyards, covering designer houseboats.   The houseboats that sprinkle this area's waterways are a voyeur's dream. Many should be in Wallpaper* magazine, all floor to ceiling windows ...

"Are you sure this is Rio?" No sign of Christ the Redeemer atop Corcovado, Sugarloaf Mountain nowhere to be seen, a definite lack of spectacular vistas. This was Rodoviaria Novo Rio, the main bus terminal, and our guide book's description had summed it up perfectly. Seedy. This was one of Rio's faces not displayed in the glossy magazines. Our faces, on the other hand, must have shown disappointment; tired and confused after our long, cramped bus journey.We'd arrived at the start of Rio's 13th annual Gay Pride Parade. Not intentionally, but this was how it had worked out. As our taxi slowly made its way through the crowded streets of Copacabana we stared, speechless, at the throngs descending onto the beach along promenades awash with colour. Funk Carioca (dance music originating in Rio), techno, house, electro and pop music boomed from gigantic speakers loaded onto 'trios electricos'. Feeling rather conservatively dressed we joined the million or so people, the flamboyant paraders who'd 'come out' for this mammoth event. It was a case of 'anything goes' - the sculpted, tanned bodies of Rio's beautiful people scantily clad in resplendent costumes. Costumes which screamed 'Gay and Proud' for the world to see. ...

Kick off the weekend with a Friday night ball game at AT&T Park to watch the San Francisco Giants. Even if you don’t see a ‘splash hit’, the waterfront views of the Bay Bridge are unbeatable, and the super slide and mini-ball park are sure to be a homerun with the kids. Don’t forget a sweatshirt for when the fog rolls in! Saturday morning put on your walking shoes and take Bart to the Embarcadero terminal to sample California’s natural bounty at the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market. Hundreds of local farmers gather outside of the historic Ferry Building Plaza to sell an impressive cornucopia of seasonal fruits, flowers and vegetables, as well as artisan cheeses, smoked meats, pastries and breads. If you get a late start and are looking for lunch, indulge at one of the prepared food stands and treat yourself to homemade tamales or lox sandwiches on fresh San Francisco sourdough still warm from the oven. Once you’d had your foodie fix, hail a cab or take the N-Judah line from the Embarcadero Muni Metro station at Market and Main Streets to Golden Gate Park to check out the recently renovated California Academy of Sciences. A state-of-the-art aquarium, natural history ...

As your aircraft approaches Phuket island off Thailand’s south-western flank you observe at least three different shades of the water below. Just as you’re taking in this surreal sight, your partner, grabbing your arm, hisses, “I think we’re diving straight into the sea!” Thankfully, before she starts screaming, the plane lands on the runway barely 200 metres shy of the great blue yonder. After checking into your Patong Beach rental, the two of you do a brief recce of the place and find it chock-a-block with boutiques, eateries, pubs, massage parlours and the ubiquitous tour operators waving their mind-boggling assortments of Phuket experiences, bungee-jumping to scuba-diving. The same evening you decide to catch the much-ballyhooed Simon Cabaret. Now you’ve heard it’s performed by the famed Ladyboys of Thailand so you go in expecting close-shaven drag queens crooning in falsetto. But what voluptuous figures? What delicate faces and dulcet voices? Are these people really transvestites? For ninety minutes you sit spellbound by the choreography, the costumes and the lilting music. Lined up for the next morning is the Phuket city tour. Sharp at ten, a Toyota van picks you up from your hotel and races southwards, forging through thick tropical vegetation ...