A large, friendly zebra carefully took the hand of a small child before looking both ways along a hectic main road. Then, calmly and upright, the pair began to cross to the backdrop of angry horns and revving engines. Once safe, the animal left the child and turned to repeat the process with someone else.
Puno is an unremarkable town in southern Peru. It has some dreary tower blocks, a mall of sorts and, from personal experience, a shabby restaurant on a side street somewhere that cooks amazing fried rice.
“Give me your simplest fish”. I chirped nervously as I rolled onto the leather couch. In a narrow Cusco street I’d decided to get my first, and incidentally, my only tattoo.
Around the coastal city of Dubrovnik, solid ochre stone drops directly onto natural cliffs that plunge into the turquoise sea below. The ramparts of its protective walls once used for defence and embattlement, today stage thriving activity of a different kind.
I became inexplicably teary as I listened to the accordion’s brassy tones. I was perched underneath a bronze statue of Preseren; Slovenia’s most beloved poet. From across the main square, his ‘Juliet’ gazed back at us. As a mauve dusk settled over Ljubljana I realised that I was rapidly falling in love…and I don’t even like the accordion.
What is a country? As I walked towards the border I suddenly realised I had no idea what that word actually meant. A few minutes later I crossed into the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus; the first place I’ve visited that technically, doesn’t exist.