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In Secrets of Paris, Vernon Coleman writes, ‘London invented coffee houses but abandoned them. Today, only Vienna has cafes which match those of Paris.’ Well said, Vernon – I shall take a brandy immediately, to fortify myself for the day ahead. First stop, Cafe Leopold Hawelka, a dimly lit cafe in central Vienna. It’s perfect…
Normally, a man needs an excuse to visit a zoo – perhaps in the form of a child needing a chaperone. Or maybe a simpering girl, treating you to a glimpse of her petticoats and whooping at the cute little penguins. Of course, it might simply be a judgement muddied by drink. What’s my excuse?…
A Strauss waltz plays unobtrusively in the background. Tourists drift onto the grand, stone-balustraded balconies; horses trot elegantly through the sawdust below, their riders sitting regally astride in brass-buttoned tunics. ‘Stallions, Barn, not horses,’ corrects Crazy Sandra. ‘The ones when they have a shot and it doesn’t work.’ She is pressing her hands together, colouring…
Have you heard of Walking With Dinosaurs? It’s a corking Arena Spectacular, well worth shelling out to attend, if only for the unmitigated joy of frightening your children. Yes, you’ve guessed correctly – I’m involved in the trucking. To be specific, I have an Ankylosaurus in my trailer. ‘She won’t bite,’ I say to bothersome Customs…
I’ve been interested in East Germany for a long time now. It started perhaps when a guide on a free walking tour of Berlin pointed out “smell jars”, in which the Stasi – the GDR’s secret network of police and informers – hoarded people’s sweat by wiping their seats after interrogations. Meticulous, calculating captivity thronged…
There is a certain protocol to be observed when a man is taking a piss. Yes, a conversation can be held – e.g. ‘Have you found it yet?’ or ‘Hurry up; more than three shakes is playing with yourself,’ – but one must conduct this discourse in a certain fashion. That is to say, eye…
‘Do your buttons up,’ barked a stentorian voice. Looking down at my blue overalls – I bore a tenuous resemblance to an Austrian salt miner – I obeyed. Outside the window, fairytale clouds obscured Halstatt’s prehistoric burial ground and hung like impenetrable curtains to the lake’s edge. It occurred to me, as I looked slippy…
She’s a big thing, whitish at the top. And, at more than 3,400 metres, one could argue that the Eiger is difficult to miss. Yet our driver, convinced that simply aiming in its general direction was a cunning precept, sat irresolute and harassed at a junction in Interlaken. ‘You know where it said “Buses Only”…
It’s easy to spot tourists in Italy. We’re the ones ordering lasagne and cappuccino at lunchtime. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but you might notice a slight snicker suffuse the waiter’s features. And it’s no good saying jingoistically, ‘Look here, Luigi, didn’t we own Italy once?’ We didn’t; I’ve already tried that line. The…
The die is cast, the social experiment of the century firmly under way. Yet the words of a Helsinki stagehand begin to look decidedly shaky. Girls don’t seem to be approaching. ‘You take a beer and stand awhile,’ Kari had said earlier, as we loafed beneath an azure sky at the Olympic stadium. ‘Seem a…
