I accidentally timed my arrival in Antigua with the blooming of the jacarandas in its main square. No accident though, was my plan to see its Semana Santa celebrations, the most elaborate in Latin America.
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.
If you’re anything like me, travel isn’t just something you do but a way of life. The enjoyment I get out of researching, planning and generally letting others inspire me to travel is often on a par with the trips I end up taking.
In early autumn, Canberra’s political and cultural centre takes on a different hue. Even the deep reds and picturesque rustiness of the trees encircling Lake Burley Griffin can’t compete with the vivid glow of the annual Enlighten Festival.
I watched my first Grand Prix in 1993. Dad and I sat prostrate on the sofa of our French apartment, digesting a leisurely mediterranean Sunday lunch of mozzarella salad and copious amounts of baguette.