The only place I’ve travelled in the world where a fruit stall doubles as a bus stop, is just outside the mountain town of Tanah Rata in Malaysia’s north.
Thursday night was date night. And by date night I mean that my partner and I cooked together and ended up watching TV. Just as we have done most evenings since March 11th.
Whether you’re an espresso fiend, a daily instant drinker or merely a dabbler with the odd cappuccino, learning about where your coffee comes from is fascinating.
If I’m honest, I was drunk. The Chianti had gone to my head and the already glowing evening had taken on an ethereal quality, framed by a heavy Photoshop vignette.
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.
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.
The Trans-Siberian Express passes through countries renowned for their hearty cooking. Stewed meats, dumplings and some more peculiar feasts are on the menu.