At the edge of London’s Zone 2 there’s a wilderness. The constant hum of traffic is replaced by nesting birds, damp ground underfoot and a thick canopy that drops dappled shadows onto the pale faces of long-forgotten gravestones.
I have some advice: Don’t holiday in Lithuania if you don’t like carbs, if you wince at the thought of loosening a belt buckle or if, for whatever reason, you don’t enjoy eating.
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.
From a thin slice of fertile land that extends into the lakes of Lithuania’s southeast, wooden jetties push into the still water dangling narrow fishing boats and colourful pedalos.
I was lost metres from the main road. The midday heat of early May in Croatia’s countryside drenched the material of my heavy backpack, and I started to daydream about passing the afternoon with an icy beer instead.