I got an acute sense of time passing inside Rome’s Pantheon. Not only because it was built almost two millennia ago, but because its ancient architecture acts as a colossal sun dial.
From the 1620s Italy has attracted and rewarded the inquisitive. The Grand Tour, as it later became known, saw British youngsters of the upper classes travelling slowly into southern Italy from London. They often encountered treacherous alpine passes, terrible weather and disease on route.
Through the narrow windows of the cathedral’s bell tower, the landscape was split in two. Dazzling blue sky sliced across layers of terracotta rooftops and behind them, lay the Adriatic Sea.
The postcard A-lister, St John’s church stands over the small cove at Kaneo. It’s the final focal point on a peninsula that suddenly gives way to the blue waters of Lake Ohrid beyond, and has been for over eight hundred years.
With a characteristic scratch of his sun hat, Dimitri took a seat at the front of the boat and we chugged away from the fishing town of Peshtani. Lake Ohrid stretched out ahead: A beautiful hazy mess of still water and white sky that made the mountains of neighbouring Albania almost invisible on the horizon.
As I looked down from Samuel’s Fortress, I marvelled that its 11th century guards would have taken in a similar view. Misty mountainous slopes, seasonally snow-capped, plunge towards slithers of shoreline that border the city of Ohrid’s ancient lake.
Well before sunrise Angkor Wat is bustling. Loaded tuk-tuks pull up in front of the iconic facade of Cambodia’s largest temple and immediately cameras start clicking. This is always how another day begins at the famous complex.