Tag Archives: Travel

Day 1 – Monterosso to Bonassola – A baptism of fire

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Sunday 14 June 2026 – I suppose Jane and I thought that we were well ‘ard, as we had elected to go on the harder longer walk, despite the warnings from Accuweather that the expected temperature of 25°C would “feel like” 30°C. We had a leisurely start at 0945, and we used the time beforehand to wander into the village to buy fodder for a packed lunch. I was hoping to get a cheese and ham focaccia, similar to the delicious one I’d had at the Caffé delle Rose the previous day; and Trevor had pointed out a couple of recommended focacciarie for us to try out. However, the process wasn’t as straightforward as I thought it would be (well, it’s Italy, after all). We walked into the first one and looked at the array of various slabs of focaccia laid out and weren’t quite sure how the system worked. So we went in to the second one, and it was exactly equally not obvious as to whether a ham and cheese focaccia might be available. Of course, being British, we couldn’t actually ask, so we simply looked for something that might be vaguely tasty (which meant all of the varieties on offer, let’s be honest) and pointed at it. Thus we walked out with an olive focaccia for me and a tomato and anchovy number for Jane. Not what I’d had in mind, but likely to be decent sustenance if it could withstand being jolted up a hillside.

Our lead guide, Rebecca, gave the whole group a briefing before we set out and the two groups, five punters in one, two in the other, split to their various walks.

(The chap in the white stetson lookalike, by the way, is Trevor, the tour manager.)

In any case, both routes started the same way, with a walk that went as far as Bonassola Station, just five minutes away.  Our group, led by Tomaso (in the blue and white check shirt above) took the train to the next town, Levanto, and changed to the grandly-named Cinque Terre Express in order to go one more stop, to Monterosso. This is the most northerly of the five Cinque Terre villages, and the plan was for us to walk thence back to Bonassola. Here’s a map of the area, thoughtfully provided by HF Holidays, which gives an overview of the essential geography.

The five Cinque Terre villages run from Monterosso to Riomaggiore

Monterosso is split between an old town and a newer part. We would see the old town later in the week, but we started off by walking along the front of the new town.

As you can see, the companies that make beach umbrellas have rich pickings in these parts. One wonders what the procurement process is like and whether there’s cutthroat competition between rival makers of umbrella cloth.  The serried ranks of identical umbrellas indicate private beaches, at which one has to pay for one’s shelter. The less structured umbrellas indicate a public beach area, where access is free of charge. Unsurprisingly, this was somewhat better patronised.

On the right hand picture above, the headland is the barrier between Monterosso and Levanto, over which our route would take us, so we headed off in that direction. En route, looking back, we could just catch a glimpse of one of the other Cinque Terre villages along the coast – Vernazza. More of that later.

We stopped to admire a feature of a villa that had quite cunningly been built into the hillside;

a giant statue.

We had originally thought that he was Hercules, but apparently he’s supposed to be Neptune. Interestingly, he is cast in concrete, rather than chipped out of stone. He looks angry, but actually he is absolutely armless.

Having passed Neptune, our path started on the uphill track that, sighing, we realised we’d have to deal with. As ever with the hard work, there are some decent views to be noted. And used for a rest stop to gather breath, of course.

Eventually, we arrived, panting somewhat, at a spot with a splendid view of Monterosso al Mare,

and, looking further along the coast, one could see the outcrops of other Cinque Terre villages.

Vernazza in the distance

Corniglia on the cliff top, Manarola and Riomaggiore beyond it

On one of our (frequent) pauses to draw breath, Tomaso drew our attention to the signposts that marked the route.

The figures shown are not (as I’d hoped) distances in kilometres but actually time (in hours) to the various destinations. Our first destination, then, was Levanto, allegedly one and a half hours away. What could possibly go wrong?

At first, not so much. We had a decent path, with small steps in it,

but these gave way to steeper sections with less regular steps

and it was a relentless, hot, sweaty and uncomfortable climb for some of us. Soon after the signpost shown above, we reached another.

If you check back, you’ll see that even after all that bloody sweating we had seemingly made no progress from Monterosso and yet Levanto was further away. Without wishing to attribute stereotypes to any nationality (perish the thought that a British person would do such a thing), this did seem a very Italian approach to distance estimation.

This morning brought home, in the most dramatic way, the first lesson of walking in the Cinque Terre.

It’s sodding hard work.

Further, if it’s warm, it’s hot, sodding hard work. Jane and I walked the Camino Frances, which was long and a bit tough in places. Then we walked the Via Francigena, which we found really quite hard work, particularly across Tuscany. This was another level; steep, sometimes actual steps, some of which were quite substantial, and sometimes just bloody tricky to get across.

But did we complain? Well, yes, actually, we did. There was quite a lot of swearing going on among the less fit among us and only some of it was under people’s breath. Yes, that included me. A couple of our group, Tracy and Douglas, were perfectly fit and springing along; the other three of us were, frankly, suffering. But we toiled on, and eventually got to what was pretty near the high point (geographically, rather than emotionally speaking) of the trail, where there were the ruins of a hermitage, San Antonio del Mesco,

which we thought would be a great spot to stop for a bite of lunch. Sadly, a bunch of others had had the same thought

but we managed to find a spot in the shade where we could sit, take a drink and a snack, and rest a while.

The trail after that was a bit up and down but, tricky parts aside, was more or less flat, which was a pleasant change from the relentless uphill,

and after a few moments we reached another place to stop and rest a bit more,

an Italian National Trust place called Podere Lovada, or Lovada Estate. Tomaso had mentioned that it might be possible to get a lemonade or some such, on surrendering a few Euro, so I was expecting some kind of rustic farm. It was much more formal than that – basically a National Trust Gift Shop, with its own produce and other souvenir items. And beer!

It also had a delightful place out the back

where we could sit and finish off our packed lunches.

That was a wonderful break, but all good things must come to an end, and so we eventually moved on into the hot end of the day – and the downhill end, too. There were a lot of steps to get down, once again, some of which were not inconsiderable in size. It was quite tough work, but I was pleased that my knees supported me OK – not without complaint, you understand, but also without actually giving way underneath me. Part of the route led through Holm Oak (or Holly Oak) woods

which provided some welcome shade as we toiled downhill. Before too long, we got our first sight of our first target – the town of Levanto.

As we approached it, we passed a quite remarkable house, whose architect might well have been taking some ideas from Gaudi. The first hint we saw of the property was a figure in the garden.

There were other idiosyncrasies: a fountain decoration;

a lamppost decoration;

a wall decoration;

and some very unusual architectural touches.

All in all, it was quite a mad place

and absolutely wonderful to see. It is clearly possible to rent it, as we had a chat with a lady in the grounds, who said that it was her last day there before she had to move on, so she was making the most of the surroundings.

Then, thankfully, we reached the outskirts of Levanto, marked by a  castle

and a church tower.

We went into the town past the church of St. Andrea, which is very much in what’s become known as the Florentine style – alternating green and white, which may be Carrara marble and Serpentine stone, or may just be a paint job.

In the case of this church, the façade is genuine but the tower is painted. Interestingly, the rose window has 14 segments, which is not the usual number.

We carried on into the town, past buildings which featured the local marble in their construction.

Tomaso explained (if I understood correctly) that this was local stone which, though it wasn’t the calcium carbonate that gives rise to true marble, it was a hard stone which it was possible to polish to a lovely shine, and hence was called marble anyway. One place was neatly named

but we didn’t stop there; we pressed on towards the centre of the town, where we stopped for a (very, very welcome) glass of something cold.

By this stage it was getting quite late in the afternoon, and we still had to get back to Bonassola in time for the all-important 6.30 gin and tonic briefing about the next day.  It would have been theoretically possible to walk over the headland to get back to the hotel – Tomaso estimated it as being about two-thirds the effort of what we’d already done. Fortunately, there was an alternative, which was a completely flat track through a tunnel. Even the fit guys thought that this was the preferable option, so, refreshed, we set off towards it

and had our last look back to Levanto

before disappearing into the tunnel.

As you can see, it’s a well-maintained, delightfully level surface, suitable for walking and cycling between the towns. It was originally the tunnel for the railway that had been built in Victorian times, and some sections of it were quite long,

but it enabled us to get back to the hotel with (just) enough time to get out of our sweaty gear, hose ourselves down and present ourselves for the replacement of essential fluids and the briefing about the next day’s expeditions. That over, we went once again to Si Và for dinner, after which we met our Italian/Arctic friends Agnese and Karlo for a very agreeable catch up over G&Ts in a local bar. It was lovely to hear about their escapades, which included camping out on a volcano in Guatemala and other madcap episodes. It was a latish night after a full day* and we were glad to get to bed to try to recharge for the next day’s exertions.

HF Holidays always make sure that there are two options for walking (as well, I suppose, as the third, which is to do bugger all), and Rebecca and Tomaso explained each of the options so that we could make the decision as to whether to go long or short – hard or easy.

Guess which one we went for? Even better, come back tomorrow** and find out.

 

*  It might have been only 13km, but the total ascent was over 500m; the first 300m ascent was achieved over just 1.8km, which represents an average gradient of 1 in 6. So there!

**  Erm…it might not actually be tomorrow, you understand. This week has been so full on that I haven’t been able to keep up with posting each day on the events of the day. I apologise for that, and will try to get updates to these pages as soon as I can after each expedition.

 

 

 

 

 

Chance favours the prepared photographer

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Friday 5 June 2026 – One of my favourite sayings in life is a quote from Louis Pasteur, which can roughly be translated (he was foreign, you know) as “chance favours the prepared mind”. In other words, you can sometimes improve your own luck by having the future possibilities at the back of your mind.

The following is a story about how this mindset enabled a photographic plan to come together. To quote The A Team‘s Hannibal Smith, “I love it when a plan comes together”. Photographically speaking, this happens to me quite rarely; normally a plan leads to a bitterly disappointing brush with reality. One exception was a visit to the lovely old city of Ghent in Belgium, where I planned ahead and got some very gratifying photographs around the canals by getting up ridiculously early one morning when the weather forecast was favourable for the reflections which I so love in a photo. That was the last occasion a plan came together – and it was 15 years ago. A few days up in the northern reaches of England looked like it might present another opportunity.

Ever since the fortieth anniversary of our graduation from university, a group of my now-graduate friends has met every year, each year choosing a different place to explore around a dinner. In 2026, the chosen site was the Settle-Carlisle Railway. Unlike one of our previous venues, the Gloucester-Warwickshire Railway, this is not a heritage railway, although it does have some historical interest, having been rescued from oblivion several times. It runs normal trains on normal tracks. Apart from the usual pleasant chance to catch up with my university friends, what really piqued my interest about this rail journey was that the line goes across one of the great pieces of building work in the country – the Ribblehead Viaduct. I had long wanted the chance to see and photograph this impressive construction, and particularly to get some aerial shots of it with my drone, that area being not in any way restricted for flying. Perfection would be to get a shot of a steam train on the viaduct, but I would, I decided, be content with any old train if that were possible.

The itinerary for our day out involved taking the train from Settle to the Ribblehead Station, getting off there, admiring the viaduct and then carrying on to Carlisle for the rest of the day. I wasn’t sure that this would give me enough time to set the drone up and get the shots I wanted, so I hatched a complementary plan which said I would get up early and drive out to the viaduct, getting the shots I wanted and joining the rest of the group as they were shooting through.

The bugger factor was the weather. The forecast weather on the Monday evening before our trip was dreadful and for the trip itself not encouraging.

The actual weather we had on the evening before was not too bad, so I thought I might get away with my early morning plan.

Wrongly, as it turned out.

I drove through some drizzle, low cloud and actual heavy rain, trying to think positive thoughts, but when I arrived at Ribblehead, this is as much of the viaduct as I could see,

and what I could see was through fairly persistent drizzle. Not a chance of flying in those conditions, then. Sighing, I returned to the hotel, the only consolation being that at least I arrived back in time to get some breakfast before our trip to Carlisle.

As we departed the hotel to catch the Carlisle train, laden with camera and tripod for an attempt at a group photo at Ribblehead, I thought I might as well take the drone along, just in case – perhaps I might get a quick chance at a flight when we arrived at Ribblehead.

Hah!

This was the view walking from the station towards the viaduct. There is a viaduct in this picture, I promise you.

Again, not a candidate environment for aerial photography. Or any photography, really, though I did try for a few shots of the viaduct as we walked to it.

I had brought my Sony RX100 model vii with me as a convenient camera for catching snapshots around Carlisle, and, of course, had the phone, too.  So I thought I’d do some photographic nerdery and take comparative shots of the same scene with each camera.

Phone, out of camera
Sony, out of camera
Sony, processed

The only processing I’ve done is to correct the keystoning, i.e. make the verticals vertical, and crop the Sony images to be the same shape as from the phone.  The middle one is how the shot came out of the Sony (I took care not to overexpose it), and I have tweaked its light levels for the one on the right to make it comparable with the phone results. It shows what an impressive job your mobile phone cameras can do these days, doesn’t it? Of course the Sony can match it, but the phone scores heavily for convenience – no processing necessary to get a decent image.

Actually, my preferred processing of the Sony image for the shot would be this

which shows the benefits of taking a RAW image to get maximum quality. The downside is that every photo needs to be processed.

We stumbled damply back to Ribblehead station and took the next Carlisle train, and there was something of an improvement in the weather as we bowled along through the very lovely North Yorkshire countryside,

and it was seeing this that made me change my plans for the rest of the day. I decided that it might be worth taking an early train back from Carlisle to see how the weather was back at Ribblehead; current plans have me visiting Carlisle again next year. So that’s what I did. And I’m glad I did, because the conditions back at Ribblehead had somewhat improved.

This was the view from the station.

(noting, however, that conditions weren’t perfect).

I walked up the road to recreate the scene which had been so dismal that morning, and the difference was striking.

Although the same scene one minute later had changed somewhat.

I was therefore faced with a brisk wind which was whipping the conditions through quite quickly, but it was clear that it would be worth having a go with the drone – which my prepared mind had ensured that I had with me, allowing chance to favour me.

It was quite tricky trying to work whether the weather was going to traduce me, so I hastened to a point quite near the viaduct and whizzed up the drone to scope out what the scene would look like.  At that point I heard a lovely sound – the two notes of a train horn!

I quickly whizzed the drone over to its maximum 500m distance and stationed it where I could get a clear view of the viaduct,

and the train obligingly came through while there was still some life left in the drone’s battery.

Having scored that small victory, I set about trying to take some other shots I had visualised. The changeable weather made things a bit tricky, and it was breezy with some very significant gusts. I had learned my lesson some years ago when I very nearly lost a drone into a strong tailwind, so I made sure that I was stationed downwind of the drone at all times and went to the middle of the viaduct to set up some photos, the nicest of which I think is this,

and to take some more video.

My original thought was to take footage as I reversed the drone through an arch. The first time I tried this, the drone had just got backwards through the arch before a gust of wind suddenly smacked it forwards. I’m glad I’d centred the drone on the arch, otherwise the wind might have smashed it into the brickwork. I did get arch footage in the end, but it was ruined by a berk walking into my shot as the drone flew back through the arch.  Since he was there doing his own drone work, this counts as unforgiveable, but because I was focussed on watching the drone, I didn’t realise what he’d done until I reviewed the footage later. So I have to content myself with the plan B footage I also took, which I quite like.

All in all, I’m very happy to have got the shots, although I’m disappointed that my “reverse through the arches” didn’t come out as I would like. I’m really impressed that a 250g drone (a DJI Mini 3 Pro)  could (by and large) still operate in strong gusty winds and still give smooth footage. It was amazing to watch it thrashing about in the breeze whilst it delivered rock steady video.

What really pleased me was my decision to take the drone with me even though the weather prospects were poor. Chance does indeed favour the prepared mind; I doubt I’ll ever get back to Ribblehead and I’m content to have made the best of the day as it offered itself.

 

 

 

Day 7 – The journey home and valedictory thoughts

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Thursday 14 May 2026 – Breakfast in the hotel was a chance to say cheerio to some of the group. The journey to the airport would be the opportunity to say our farewells to some of the others. All in all, the trip has been an affable social affair with like-minded souls all trying to get to grips with the complexities and subtleties of Istanbul’s chequered past.

Our transport to the airport was planned, at a relatively comfortable 9m, for three hours before our flight’s departure time, so I was expecting the traffic to be bad.  It wasn’t, but there was one unexpected phenomenon.

Seçkin had many times commented on how lucky we’d been with the weather, but I hadn’t really believed him, thinking that rain was relatively rare at this time of year. But it hurled it down with rain for much of our journey to the airport; so we had been lucky, after all.

We got to the airport with two and a half hours to go before our flight.  Another surprise awaited me. You have to go through security to get into the airport.

All bags went through the scanner and it was a more thorough security check than I’d seen anywhere else. We got to the BA check-in desk, and they told us very politely that we should come back in half an hour, as they were taking check-ins for an earlier flight.  We took this as an opportunity to get a coffee, but when we went back to the desk, this is what we found.

In a matter of moments, the queue had gone from nothing to quite a substantial thing.  Fortunately, I spotted that, being still a Bronze member of the BA Club, I was allowed a priority check-in, so that saved my blood pressure. And going through security was fairly swift, as, being a modern airport, they had the scanners that don’t require one to take out laptops and tablets.

I said that on arrival I was boggled by the size of the arrivals duty-free area; the departure lounge duty free area is an order of magnitude bigger. It’s so big that staff are on tricycles and Segways to get around. There are even electric wheelchairs to cart assistance-needing customers around the place.

But there are some elegant décor touches to leaven the relentless retail landscape.

Very nice Art Nouveau touches in the departure lounge

The signs in the departure lounge were telling us to go to our gate, so we did; there, a nearly-polite man told us to bugger off for 15 minutes as they weren’t accepting people at the gate yet. We looked around for somewhere to sit, and there were no seats in sight, but ol’ jobsworth at the gate was adamant – bugger off and come back in fifteen minutes.

So we wandered around in search of somewhere to sit, and eventually found a not particularly comfortable perch, where, directly in front of me, was this massive sign.

Not bloody yet, they don’t.

We waited the obligatory 15 minutes and, when we got back to the gate

there was, of course, a queue. We joined it and although Jane was allowed to go in and sit down, I had to go and join another queue,

for, would you believe it, a security check. This would thus be the third security check I’d been through. And it was exceedingly thorough. And slow. Not helped when someone on their electric wheelchair jumped the queue.

It’s ableist, I tell you.

So I had to wait while people in front of me basically had to entirely unpack their hand baggage so that one of the two staff there could check it over, and put detector wipes through a machine for all tech items and footwear. So I had to remove my laptop, my tablet, both cameras and my power banks whilst this chap did his checks, and then put them all back in again afterwards. I suppose it’s just a random security check and I should be grateful that they’re paying attention; but I was struck by the difference in attitude to security between here and the very peremptory observance of it in downtown Istanbul.

The flight was entirely uneventful, and I was able to get on with some photo editing for the four or so hours we spent getting back to the UK, where

the sun was shining! We deplaned and headed through the passport gates to the baggage area to our carousel.  After some moments the bags of a handful of passengers on our flight came through, but then….nothing. I’m normally quite patient when it comes to doing the baggage stare thing, but 45 minutes is asking too much of me, so I went off in search of a BA Assistance desk.  There was one not too far away, but

it was bugger-all use to me, so I kept on walking, pretty much to the other end of the baggage hall, where there was a BA desk which actually had some staff. And, of course, a queue. Jane hurried across to give me the baggage receipts so I could discuss the situation should I ever get to the head of the queue, and then, about an hour after we first got to the baggage hall, technology stirred itself from its slumbers and the BA App told me that our bags were about to be delivered – but on a different carousel. I have no idea what had been going on in the interim*, but I was glad that the systems were sufficiently joined up that I didn’t have to wait in that queue any longer.

Our taxi driver was remarkable phlegmatic about having had to wait, and took our bags to his car (a Dongfeng; I’ve never come across one of them before), and paid his ticket. When we got to the barrier, though, it stolidly failed to lift, so our guy had a chat with the chap on the other end of the help button, who sounded as if he was in a call centre in Bangalore somewhere; eventually we were allowed out of the car park and, with a single bound we were free – to join the rush hour traffic on the M25!

It was lovely to get home, make ourselves a nice cup of tea and gather our thoughts about the last week. It was an intensive schedule and there was a lot to take in. Perhaps I should have read things up more before I departed thither, or maybe the Peter Sommer schedule should have included some kind of preliminary get-together with everyone to give a basic historical briefing so people would be better able to understand the blitz of names and dates that whizzed past as we went round the city. I certainly feel that I’ve learned a huge amount about the history of the city and the Ottoman culture. One thing we didn’t get from the week was to do with the reason we came here. We’d thought that by coming to GHQ of the Orthodox Christian Church we might come to understand the flow of the Orthodox religion and related iconography that led to what we saw in Romania. We didn’t. That’s not particularly a criticism of the Peter Sommer agenda, but a reflection of the complexity of the history of Constantinople. We would have needed to visit the Patriarch’s Church in Istanbul and understood that part of its history, and that religious aspect simply wasn’t the focus area of the itinerary we were following.

So: while I enjoyed the week, learned a lot and am glad I went, I don’t feel an urgent need to go back to Istanbul. It’s a bit too hectic and crowded for my comfort. Having said that, we’re entertaining thoughts of visiting India, and I wonder what I’ll make of that?

Once again, then, these pages will go dark for a few weeks. We have a short-haul European trip with a bit of walking involved in it in about a month’s time. I hope we’ll have your company then, but for now, cheerio and take care.

 

*  PS. It seems we were lucky. The following day, 20,000 bags went missing in Heathrow Terminal 5, according to The Times, the fifth time this year that there has been a baggage issue there. One could infer that the problem was building up as we were travelling through – or that it’s a perpetual potential problem.