From across the dark water, it looked like fairy lights had been flung against the jagged mountain slopes. Forming arcs and triangles, occasionally broken by backlit towers, Kotor’s twinkles put on quite the show. “You see…” Slavko my guide explained, “The lights form the shape of an old man. He guards this city”.
I was actually sunburnt. I’d expected to spend the weekend coping with such British staples as a sopping wet tent inner, blistered feet from drenched socks and that guilt we get from just wanting to give up and walk into the nearest hotel.
The heavy contrast of the Blue Mountains’ haze against the rich ochre of the ancient sandstone escarpments isn’t the only disparity in the Blue Mountains National Park.
Having recently returned from the famous, snow-covered landscapes of Mongolia, Eastern Siberia and Moscow, I wasn’t expecting much. When I heard that Pen-Y Fan had recently succumbed to a spattering of the white stuff, I smirked: “We’ll see”.