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.
Better late than never. It seems that proper summer, as opposed to ‘that warm week we always get in May’ has finally hit England’s capital. Temperatures have inched over 25 for the first time this year, and the infamous Central Line has inevitably become a sauna.
I hadn’t expected it to start with a hill. As a lime green man-kini and its host buttocks pulled away up the gravel path, the tiny town of Reuil dropped away behind me, and I puffed my way through the first kilometres of France’s strangest sporting event.
Some places have to be seen to be believed. During my second month in South America I drove south from La Paz towards the town of Uyuni in southern Bolivia: A base for the world’s largest, and highest salt lake.
Many consider sun, surf culture and endless sprawling coastline to be synonymous with Australia. Of course, it has all the above in droves, but it also has frosty winter mornings, ski fields and snow. As we enter the deep dark depths of British winter, I look back at a colder version of the world’s hottest country.
A drizzly day in Vilnius can be deceptive. Rain hits the greys of dilapidated tower blocks and the cobbled streets of the old town are shiny underfoot.