Korean adventures, London culture, and thirty-five years of celebrating together.
Week commencing Monday, 28 September 2026
The colourful hillside houses of Gamcheon Culture Village in Busan, South Korea, with their brightly painted rooftops and narrow streets stretching down towards the harbour.
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 5/7; Exercise 5/7 and Move 6/7. (75%). Holiday time Total steps: 76,009.
Monday started at a railway station, where we met a bus for the drive to Haeundae Blueline Park. We’d booked a sky capsule tour, one of the things we’d seen on Instagram before arranging the holiday. The capsules are colourful monorail cabins that run along an elevated track on the coastal cliffs. The track follows the route of a former railway line.
Busan’s Gamcheon Culture Village is known as the ‘Machu Picchu of Busan’, but thankfully without the climb. Local artists chose the French novel The Little Prince as a central motif to symbolise hope. Statues and paintings are everywhere, with queues of people waiting to have their Instagram photo taken with the character. I liked the view over the rooftops.
Also on Monday, we visited the observation tower in Yongdusan Park, Busan, for impressive city views at sunset. The lack of crowds made it easy to get a window spot.
Back in Seoul, PY surprised me by asking if I fancied trying noraebang, the local equivalent of karaoke. It literally translates as ‘singing room’.
Related, we realised the remote was entirely in Korean. Our translation app couldn’t make sense of the buttons, so we spent most of the half hour randomly pressing them to get something to happen.
Tuesday’s dinner was at Ten Billion Salon, where we were the only customers. The food was delicious, so I assume they’re not empty every night.
The flight home took almost 14 hours and, as it was from daytime to daytime, I tried to stay awake. That’s why the Media section has so many movies.
We had Korea in London on Friday, with the British Museum’s Korea: 2,000 Years of Creativity, which opened on Thursday. We both downloaded the audio app to listen to explanations of some of the artworks. It’s interesting because, although various Korean museums now hold the works, most came from the private collection of the late Samsung chairman Lee Kun-hee. Many had never been seen in the UK before.
Sunday, we went to see Nataylia Roni’s cabaret, billed as Divas: Celebrating the Sounds & Songs of Dionne & Diana. She’s a very talented singer, but the show itself was hard to follow and lacked cohesion. The actual Dionne and Diana songs didn’t appear until the last 15 minutes, which may have disappointed some, although I enjoyed the collection.
Media
In-flight entertainment:
Pressure (Dir: Anthony Maras) turned out to be my favourite film of all my flight movies. Who knows if Michael Fish would find the meteorological content accurate, but the drama is well done and, given the British obsession with the weather, you’d have thought we’d get that bit right.
In the Grey (Dir: Guy Ritchie): The relationship between Bronco (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Sid (Henry Cavill) is what keeps this movie interesting. It’s a bit like Ocean’s Eleven, with an enjoyable, if slightly ridiculous, set-up.
Fuze (Dir: David Mackenzie) looked a bit like a film version of Trigger Point to me, and in some ways it is. It comes with a nice twist.
Wicked: For Good (Dir: Jon M. Chu) was one I watched because I’d seen the first film but missed the follow-up in cinemas. Although the plot, with its links to other films and darker themes, might make for a better script, the songs fell flat for me. And by the end, I was willing it to finish.
Finally, I went for Border Hunters (Dir: Joaquín Islas), which looked like another shoot-’em-up action movie that would pass a couple of hours. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit the mark, and I was glad when it was over.
Despite navigating the city and technology throughout the trip, we struggled with the noraebang remote and eventually settled for whatever songs appeared on the screen.
The Korean-language controls of a clothes-care machine in our Seoul hotel room, showing the rapid cleaning programme paused with 20 minutes on the display.
On our final full day in Seoul, PY surprised me by asking if I fancied trying noraebang, the local equivalent of karaoke. We don’t normally do karaoke, so I was a bit taken aback. Noraebang translates to “singing room”. Unlike the more familiar (to me) karaoke, where you perform in front of a crowd of strangers in a bar, a noraebang is a private, soundproofed room rented by the hour, or, in our case, by the half hour. I very much hope it was soundproofed for the sake of those around us.
At some point at the start of our half-hour in the room, PY tried to turn the volume down and instead slowed the song’s tempo. We didn’t realise this until we were about to leave. We were busy trying to sing Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow at a speed that gave us more time to think about the order of the words than was intended by the writer.
The remote control was a very large box, with a few bits taped up. As you’d expect, the buttons were entirely in Korean, and our translation apps couldn’t make sense of them under the subdued disco lights, and neither could we. We had all the other karaoke prerequisites: microphones, a private room, and we’d accepted we might embarrass ourselves (a little). What we lacked was the ability to choose a song. So I pressed random button combinations, and not much happened. At least I didn’t call the staff or set off any kind of alarm.
By this stage of the holiday, I thought we were getting quite good at navigating South Korea.
On day one, our first attempt to take the Seoul metro was less confident. We needed a T-money travel card, which sounded straightforward until we got to a station and couldn’t figure out where to buy one. After a long flight, with the heat and humidity becoming obvious, we retreated to Starbucks.
When I travel, I tend to pride myself on avoiding the recognisable big-name brands from home. I suspect I would have been disappointed in myself if someone had told me that one of my first stops in Seoul would be somewhere I could visit in Wimbledon. But familiarity, and air-conditioning, gave us time to regroup. I ordered a latte. Ahead of us, two large groups had ordered a colourful assortment of drinks. Mine was easy to spot: it seemed to be the only hot drink being made.
At the next metro stop, we found a 7-Eleven. Buying the travel card turned out to be easy. Then we went into the station, used a machine that spoke to us in English, added 10,000 won, and headed to a train platform. What had appeared a bit much at first was now done, and we could get on with the holiday.
The hotel room had a washing machine, a small kitchenette (which we didn’t use), and an electronic steaming-and-drying cupboard. We weren’t sure what the cupboard device did, but it seemed worth trying simply because it was there, and who doesn’t like trying new technology? I spent about ten minutes photographing the symbols, pasting the images into an app, and pressing electronic buttons to figure out what it did and how to operate it. And I was glad we did, because Seoul was much more humid than I imagined, and it was good to get some washing done and dried. What an amazing machine; do we have these in London?
The hotel also had a roof garden. It took a little effort to find the way up, and the garden itself looked rather neglected, but the views were good. Operating the in-room equipment wasn’t the only challenge. Sometimes we just needed to find the right door to an unsignposted roof terrace.
At Kyochon Pilbang, even that was part of the fun. PY had arranged dinner without telling me much about it. We opened the entrance by pulling down a large brush, like ringing a bell, then were led through a series of doors that were impossible to spot if you didn’t know they were there. It really did seem like the wall had just opened. Beyond one was a five-seat counter where a chef prepared a delicious eight-course chicken dinner.
Across our holiday, screens did much of the work. At Jeju Airport, I ordered a spicy rice bowl from a machine in a busy restaurant. I didn’t speak to anybody. Orders came in, food came out, and tables filled again almost as soon as somebody left. It was impressively efficient.
But I did have to ask how to get water from the machine; elsewhere in the airport, a vending machine defeated us.
We wanted a drink. The machine had buttons, a card reader, and, I guess, a sequence we needed to follow. Whatever that sequence was, we didn’t figure it out. After successfully navigating flights, restaurant menus and public transport, we had reached the limit of our abilities at a machine selling cold coffee.
While screen-based ordering systems were common, I was surprised by how often technology appeared where I hadn’t expected it. At Bulguksa Temple, donation points with tap-and-go card readers sat within the temple building, and our guide sent meeting times to everybody’s preferred communication app, which meant repeating the same message across several different systems. It seems that keeping a coach party together requires as much knowledge of messaging platforms as it did of the places we visited.
Translation apps helped, although they had their limits. At a small Japanese restaurant in Jeju, we used one to choose dishes from the menu. Communication wasn’t easy, but dinner was outstanding and worth all the effort. We watched the restaurant prepare a grilled rice ball and brand it with a hot rod. We still didn’t fully understand everything, but it was fascinating to watch, and the Internet told us it was their signature dish.
But the noraebang remote was the least forgiving piece of technology we encountered.
We eventually got Madonna’s Beautiful Stranger playing at what seemed to be the correct speed. Then we somehow got it again and couldn’t find the cancel button. Extra minutes mysteriously appeared on the clock, and even now, back home, I have no idea whether I pressed a button to pay for them or not. PY selected Adele’s Hello, which didn’t seem like an obvious karaoke choice, but by then we were going with whatever came up on the screen.
The original frustration had become increasingly funny. More time appeared in the top right of the screen, but we decided we’d had enough. We left without mastering the remote, and although we had managed some singing, I don’t think we mastered that either. Perhaps you were in the next booth and heard us!
That same day, we had travelled back from Busan on a smooth, quiet high-speed train and taken the subway to our hotel because we knew how it worked and still had money on our travel cards. We had come quite a long way from that first retreat to Starbucks.
We could travel at high speed, but finding a karaoke song we wanted to sing was just a bit too much.
An adventurous week exploring Korea’s remarkable heritage, beautiful scenery and delicious food.
Week commencing Monday, 21 September 2026
Changgyeonggung Palace glows beneath the dusk sky.
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 7/7; Exercise 7/7 and Move 7/7. (100%). Holiday time. Total steps: 123,385.
Life
I am in South Korea. It’s really interesting. And very humid.
Our first hotel was very strict about check-in, so we went to buy a travel card, lost our way, regrouped in Starbucks, eventually bought the card, saw the Starfield Library and Psy’s hands, and searched the Toys ‘R’ Us Pokémon display. We failed to find what we wanted.
In the DMZ, we entered the Third Infiltration Tunnel and ended up underground less than 200 metres from the North.
Related: getting out is hard work. It’s back along the tunnel, hunched over to get through it, and then up a very steep incline to the surface in a hot, stuffy environment. I had to stop several times, which definitely made me feel very unfit.
Relatedly related, we peered across the border from the lookout. I think we saw people.
I unexpectedly saw the changing of the guard ceremony at Deoksugung Palace, which is all very traditional, then saw far too many images of Hechi, Seoul’s official cartoon mascot.
At Gwangjang Market, we saw a woman who’d been in a Netflix food series and ate dumplings and octopus. Although the octopus is dead, residual nerve activity makes the tentacles and suction cups squirm, twist, and stick to the plate, triggering a range of reactions. Very odd.
Saw the Seoul Millennium Time Capsule, buried in 1994 to commemorate the 600th anniversary of Seoul becoming the capital of Korea and set to be opened 400 years later on 29 November 2394, to mark the 1,000th anniversary of Seoul as the capital.
On Thursday, we flew to Jeju during the Chuseok holiday; everything ran smoothly.
On Friday, we explored the scenic 1100 Highland and Hallasan Mountain, visited Cheonjeyeon Falls and enjoyed ice lollies after climbing lots of steps; we shared a lively lunch at what could only be described as a service station, and in the evening, we dined at a Japanese restaurant with delicious food and not much English.
Saturday: visited Dongmun Market and saw, but didn’t buy, local delicacies; enjoyed coffee and local tangerine juice at the very stylish D&DEPARTMENT café; saw the Dragon Head at Yongduam Rock; and experienced a two-hour flight delay for the journey to Busan.
Sunday was a tour from Busan to the UNESCO sites in Gyeongju. We visited the 8th-century Seokguram Grotto and its impressive seated Buddha.
Also, we explored the Daereungwon tomb complex, a historic park with 23 grass-covered burial mounds of Silla kings and nobles. One of them, Cheonmachong, was open to visitors, so of course we went in.
Before we entered the tomb, we went to find the Cheomseongdae Observatory, which is the oldest surviving astronomical observatory in Asia. It’s fascinating to see how they looked at the stars in the 7th century.
Related, we ended the week at Donggung Palace and Wolji Pond. Lovely lighting.
The barbecue grills at Daol Charcoal Grilling, on Jeju Black Pork Street and at the unnamed restaurant in Busan were all excellent (even if the latter’s ‘black spaghetti’ dish was way too spicy for me). The Chef’s Table at Kyochon Pilbang in Itaewon is a remarkable multi-course chicken feast.
Watched Tuner with Leo Woodall on the in-flight entertainment. It’s about a piano tuner who has a hearing condition but perfect pitch. When he needs money, he breaks into safes because he can hear the locks clicking into place. It causes all sorts of trouble in the end. I really enjoyed it, though I was a little unconvinced by the ending.
Four days in Porto: hills, bridges, port tastings, river cruises, good food and a trip into the Douro Valley.
A rabelo boat glides beneath the Dom Luís I Bridge.
We got to Porto with a sightseeing ticket, a last-minute book club, and no clue about how many hills we’d end up walking over the next few days.
In Porto, it felt like everything involved going uphill at some point. Even after a downhill walk, there was always another climb. There were steps, steep streets, and plenty of moments when I had to stop and catch my breath. I wondered if anyone actually lives in the centre and manages all that climbing. Did I mention the hills? At least the good wine and, of course, the port made all the effort worth it.
Besides the hills and the port, two other things really stood out: the bridges and the river they cross. The Douro runs through the centre of Porto, separating the city from the area across the river, which is actually Vila Nova de Gaia, though most tourists probably just call it Porto. We crossed the river by bus and on foot, sat by it eating pastel de nata, watched local kids jump in, took a tourist cruise, and eventually followed it all the way into the Douro Valley, though we did that part in a Mercedes minibus.
Our first proper view of the water came by accident. We had pre-bought tickets for the hop-on hop-off buses and, after finally finding the right first stop, promptly forgot to check which route it was running on and got on the wrong one.
The bus crossed the Ponte do Infante Dom Henrique, which gave us our first look at the Dom Luís I Bridge. On one side, colourful buildings and terracotta roofs climbed the hills, while on the other side were the port lodges of Gaia. We drove down roads that seemed too narrow for a double-decker bus, passed the cable car and port houses, and eventually ended up back where we started.
After that, we found the right bus and took the longer route past the Palácio de Cristal before reaching the Atlantic at Castelo do Queijo. Near Matosinhos, the smell of sardines grilling outside the fish restaurants was overwhelming. I wanted to get off and eat, but we didn’t. Still, it made me want to find a place serving fish right away.
The stereotypically touristy sightseeing bus is an excellent introduction to any city, and that was the case here. Thoroughly recommended.
The Dom Luís I Bridge is one of those landmarks you can’t escape. We saw it from many different angles. Opened in 1886 and designed by an engineer who had worked with Gustave Eiffel, also a man no stranger to inescapable city icons, it’s no wonder you think of the Eiffel Tower when you look closely at the ironwork. Whatever way you bump into it, it’s impressive.
One of my favourite views came from an unexpected spot. We had lunch at Ponte de Ferro, on top of the Vincci hotel on the Gaia side. The name should have been a clue, but I didn’t realise where we were eating until we arrived. We sat by a window, right next to the bridge, looking down at boats and jet skis on the river. The restaurant was nearly empty, even though the setting was amazing, and the €25 set lunch was a great deal, even without the view.
We saw the bridge again, this time from the water during the Six Bridges Cruise. The trip lasts about fifty minutes and supposedly goes under six bridges, though I didn’t count to check. Since it’s a popular tourist activity, I assume the number is right; otherwise, people would complain online. Dom Luís I is the most famous, but the newer bridges further along the river also look impressive from the boat.
The Douro winds through terraced vineyard hillsides.
On Wednesday, we were back on the Douro, but the scenery was completely different. Locals sometimes call it hell valley because it can reach 50 degrees, but our day trip to Quinta da Roêda wasn’t quite that hot. At the Croft wine estate, rows of vines climb up terraces from the river. Winemaking has shaped the Alto Douro for centuries. UNESCO says wine has been made here for about 2,000 years, and port production has been regulated since 1756. That made me wonder what Croft were doing between 1588, when they started, and when they began in the Douro. All I know is they weren’t making sherry, and they made sure to point out they’re not the same business. Apparently, the port company uses a bigger ‘C’.
After walking through the vineyard and sampling some of its ports, we took a short train journey through the valley and then boarded another boat. This time there were no city buildings or iron bridges. Instead, vineyards climbed up both banks as we travelled along the river for about an hour, being served Prosecco, which in hindsight seemed like a bit of an insult to all those vines that we were looking up at, or were looking down on us, depending on your point of view.
Of course, following the Douro upstream was really just the next step in a journey that started in the dark, sweet-smelling, cool port warehouses. I’m not sure they’d call them that back in Vila Nova de Gaia, or Porto, as most of us say.
Our first tasting was at Burmester, almost underneath the Dom Luís I Bridge. We walked through the cellars, saw the barrels where wine from the aforementioned valley ages and, naturally, finished with a tasting. It was our first proper introduction to port on the trip, and it was all delicious.
Rows of ageing port barrels fill Cockburn’s cellar.
Cockburn’s was a bigger experience. We walked through more halls filled with oak casks and enormous vats, with the smell of port hanging in the air. There is a working cooperage too, although unfortunately nobody was repairing barrels while we were there. The tasting list I photographed featured a fine white, a 20-year-old Tawny, and Quinta dos Canais Vintage, each paired with a different chocolate. Passion fruit, yuzu and cinnamon, and raspberry made the whole thing feel considerably more sophisticated than simply drinking three glasses of port before lunch.
Quinta da Roêda was our third tasting, and it took us to where the grapes actually grow. The tasting itself was the least impressive of the three, but honestly, by this stage, I’m not sure I could have told the difference between the ports.
That wasn’t our last glass of port, though. On our final afternoon, we sat by a first-floor window near the hotel with another glass, watching tourists walk by below. I have no idea what the port was, but it felt like the perfect way to toast the holiday.
Of course, what’s a holiday without putting on a little weight? Plenty of eating went with all the drinking.
At breakfast on our first morning, I found pastel de nata on the buffet and joked that I could have a custard tart with every meal. I didn’t quite manage that, but I did have another by the river after lunch, and then orange and chocolate versions at a café in Gaia.
Two perfectly caramelised pastéis de nata, straight from Porto.
The biggest hit to my holiday diet was the francesinha at the Time Out Market. Porto’s famous sandwich stretches the meaning of sandwich in a way the Earl may not have intended: bread stacked with meat, ham, sausage, and linguiça, all covered in melted cheese and surrounded by a rich sauce. It reminded me of a lasagne made with bread. It was delicious, but definitely not a light lunch.
On the other hand, Porto also has some surprisingly cosy restaurants. Bartolomeu Bistro & Wine had fewer than thirty seats and served sharing dishes as they were ready. My favourite was the burrata with roasted aubergine, though the cheese and spicy sausage fondue was less subtle and more of a flavour punch.
At Gruta, hidden down an alley, we started with oysters topped with shallot and jalapeño vinaigrette, then moved on to fish. Wild croaker for me and cured codfish for PY. Cod was everywhere, which was something that I hadn’t really thought about before arriving.
In the Douro Valley, the duck-and-rice lunch also came with codfish. I ended up talking for much of the meal stop to a medical artist sitting beside me, who taught student doctors how to draw. At one point she produced a crayon and gave me an impromptu lesson in drawing three-dimensional shapes on the paper tablecloth.
What else did we see? São Bento Railway Station was just a short walk from our hotel, but its tiled interior made it unlike any station I’ve seen at home. You need a timed ticket to get into Livraria Lello, the famous bookshop, which sounds silly until you see the crowds. The current building opened in 1906 and, according to what you can read online, mixes Neo-Gothic architecture with Art Nouveau details. Its stained-glass ceiling and central staircase have made it a big attraction. The entry fee can go toward a book, so at least you can leave as a customer, not just another tourist taking photos of the stairs.
São Bento Station’s azulejo-covered hall in Porto. Livraria Lello’s ornate shelving, Porto’s famous bookshop.
Speaking of books, we started the holiday at Gatwick by deciding to read the same one. PY went to the airport bookshop and picked out Adam Kay’s A Particularly Nasty Case, which gave us something else to talk about between all the sightseeing, eating, and drinking port. I finished it on the flight home. It’s a funny murder-mystery farce I’d recommend if you want something light to read. You don’t have to visit Porto to enjoy it.
Porto turned out to be a great city for a short holiday. Four days were enough to get a feel for the place, but not enough to get used to all those hills.
Theatre, music, museums and kindness outweighed boiler and train frustrations.
Week commencing Monday, 1 June 2026
Blackpool Tower blazes in Pride colours under the Saturday night sky.
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 4/7; Exercise 4/7 and Move 4/7. (57%). Morning walks: 0/4. Office days: 1/5. Total steps: 62,668. 14.3 hours in meetings.
Life
Monday was definitely a day of two contrasting customer service standards.
First, British Gas was scheduled for the boiler service. I was up early to make sure I was ready for their text or call, which came just before noon. I emptied the cupboard around the boiler so they could get in to service it and watched their van arrive on the street. A few seconds later, I watched the van turn around in front of our house and drive off. It was followed by a text stating they couldn’t access the property. No follow-up call; nobody got out of the van.
Then, I called the insurance company about the jammed front door. They sent a locksmith, who took one look at the door, confirmed they had a replacement mechanism, got the required approvals, and, within twenty minutes, we had a new, fully functioning lock. And very friendly service.
I learned this week that news isn’t getting preserved in the Wayback Machine anymore because major media outlets are blocking it. This is bad for the future. Stop, and sign the petition.
We saw a ticket offer for Dark of the Moon at the Charing Cross Theatre on Wednesday — a new-ish musical based on a 1945 play, with a preposterous but interesting supernatural plot about a witch boy and a human girl whose love is undone by small-town intolerance, a theme that feels no less relevant today. The staging was clever, the score impressive given the pedigree of the songwriters, and Glenn Adamson as John the Witch Boy was the standout — all rock-god energy with real emotional range.
Thursday, to the pub that’s opened up in place of Dear Grace. It’s called BloomsYard (without a space!). Fancy.
Friday was all about delayed trains on the way to Blackpool. I’ve written about that too.
Saturday, in Blackpool to see Beverley Knight’s Born to Perform tour. The show itself was two full sets with an interval, taking us on a journey through her career in soul and on to her musical theatre work. Every song had a story, which is just how I like to see artists, and she told them all beautifully. The whole room was on its feet by the end. A brilliant night.
Sunday, to Showtown, a museum dedicated to Blackpool’s history as a holiday destination and a place to be entertained. It was a wonderful way to spend ninety minutes. On the way out, they asked us to write a review, so I did a longer one on my blog and a shorter version for review sites. I hope more people get to enjoy it.
Argentina travel journal — from the clouds of El Chaltén to the roar of Iguazú Falls, four remarkable days between sky and water.
We’ve been back from Argentina for a few days. I am currently coping OK with the remnants of the jet lag. I feel sleepy in the late afternoon, but I am not sure that’s very unusual. I should get up and have a walk; instead, I make more coffee.
I wrote about the first part of the trip, which was centred on Buenos Aires, and before it all becomes a distant memory, I want to write about the second part of the holiday.
This second week was much less urban and more about discovering two different regions. At one end, we were on the border with Chile; at the other, with Brazil. Both were incredible. If we include the first part of our trip, it was three holidays in one. I can’t pick a favourite place, as they were all so different.
Monday, 15 September 2025 — Condors, Clouds and a Canine Companion
A solitary refuge stands dwarfed by the dramatic Patagonian wilderness near El Chaltén, where ancient rock formations meet snow-dusted peaks in Argentina’s trekking capital.
We spent the day exploring Los Glaciares National Park from El Calafate. After an early start and a coffee stop, we hiked up a hill near El Chaltén for views that were mostly hidden by low cloud but still impressive. I was nervous about the climb but glad I didn’t skip it. Rain arrived for our visit to Chorrillo del Salto waterfall, and we ate our hotel’s packed lunch in a hostel while others took the set meal. Back in town, I had another excellent steak while one of the local dogs rested his chin on my leg until my plate was empty — perfectly normal here, if unimaginable at home.
Tuesday, 16 September 2025 — Early Flights and Empty Lounges
An Aerolíneas Argentinas jet receives attention from ground crew at Aeroparque Jorge Newbery
The alarm went off at 5 a.m. for a long travel day from El Calafate to Buenos Aires and on to Iguazú. Check-in opened at 7 a.m. for the only flight of the morning, followed by a cramped plane, repeated security checks and a crowded lounge during the connection. Our second flight was delayed but arrived by sunset. The Iguazú Falls Hotel and Spa was beautiful, though its dinner buffet — served oddly in a conference hall — proved more quantity than quality. The mosquitoes stayed away, so our repellents were unnecessary.
Wednesday, 17 September 2025 — Iguazú: The Power and the Falls
Visitors crowd the walkways jutting into the Iguaçu River for a front-row seat to one of nature’s most spectacular performances, where hundreds of cascades thunder into the gorge below at Brazil’s magnificent Iguaçu National Park.
We spent the day at the Iguazú Falls on both sides of the border. Our tour took us first to Brazil for the sweeping views and then across to Argentina for the Gran Aventura boat ride that drenched us completely but was thrilling nonetheless. The ecological train and Devil’s Throat walkway at the end were unforgettable. That night we took a taxi into Puerto Iguazú, had steak and Malbec, and arranged our return by WhatsApp — a surprisingly efficient local system — before finishing the day with cocktails at the hotel when wine wasn’t available by the glass.
At one point, we ordered sandwiches that turned out to be hamburgers, and that’s noted in my diary.
Thursday, 18 September 2025 — Three Countries, Two Beers, One Perfect Pizza
Colourful monuments representing Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil mark the tri-border area at Hito Tres Fronteras, where the Iguazú and Paraná rivers converge to create one of South America’s most unique geographical meeting points.
We had a relaxed morning before visiting the Triple Frontera, where Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay meet. From the Argentinian obelisk, we looked across the rivers to the other two countries, then enjoyed beers and the view from a nearby restaurant. By afternoon, we were flying back to Buenos Aires, and my luggage arrived on the carousel. For our final evening, we joined the pizza queues on Corrientes Avenue and found a table at Güerrín, sharing a half-and-half pizza — olives and peppers on one side, pepperoni on the other — a fitting end to the trip.
I’m still trying to process the holiday. There was so much involved. We didn’t depart until a Monday, after finishing work on a Friday. I wish we’d been bolder and taken the late plane on the Friday. Assuming there were no delays, we’d have had three extra days. Who knows what gems we might have discovered?
Adventures, airports, waterfalls, and re-entry — travel tales beautifully grounded.
Week commencing Monday, 15 September 2025
Tourists aboard a boat excursion approach the thundering cascades of Iguazu Falls on the Argentina-Brazil border, where getting soaked is not just likely—it’s the entire point.
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 6/7; Exercise 4/7 and Move 6/7. (76 %). Total steps: 77,891
Life
The week started back in a Patagonian national park with a hike up for a view that was lost in the clouds. The other English speaker on the bus didn’t seem that interested in the tour.
In the evening, I ate my steak while one of the local strays laid his head on my lap for as long as the steak was on my plate. As soon as it was gone, he lost interest. Nobody seemed concerned. Can you imagine the health-and-safety implications in the UK?
Tuesday was a fly day: fly back to Buenos Aires but don’t leave the airport before taking off again bound for Iguazú. The views from El Calafate Airport were great. In Buenos Aires the lounge was packed, and it was dark by the time we landed in the north.
PY’s ‘bucket list’ used to include a trip to see the Iguazú Falls. It’s not on the list anymore as we crossed it off on Wednesday.
Friday was a return flight. Iberia seats were more exposed to the aisle so I didn’t sleep well. Or maybe it was the hours of turbulence that kept me awake. I was very ready for the landing.
Related, on Saturday morning we were almost first in the lounge and first in the shower queue. I had a little bottle of plane wine on the last leg of the holiday back to London, even though it was only 10 a.m. It felt like yesterday.
Sunday brought a gentle re-entry to London life. In a bid to keep busy, we decided to visit the This is Oxford Street event, where the street was closed to traffic and given over to music, food, fashion pop-ups, and other entertainment — a glimpse of what full pedestrianisation might mean.
Related, if this is what it means, it’ll be a bonanza for the retailers: the place was packed.
Media
I finished The Janson Directive and can confirm that it was meaty enough that the other books were unnecessary baggage.
Lost luggage, perfect steaks, tango nights, glaciers, and joyful discovery.
Week commencing Monday, 8 September 2025
Proof that Buenos Aires is literally growing on you.
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 7/7; Exercise 6/7 and Move 7/7. (96%). Holiday time. Total steps: 105,183
Life
We’d done twilight check-in. We woke at 3 am. All was on plan until the email explained our first flight (to Madrid) was cancelled and everything had to be changed. We opted not to go back home, but spending an entire day at Heathrow was harder than I expected, even with lounge access.
Related, I imagine if I were in corporate espionage, I’d sit in the BA lounge listening to all the calls.
The flight stopped in Rio, where most of the passengers disembarked, while only a few continued. Somebody had left duty-free items in the overhead locker above me, and they had to be removed before we could depart.
At baggage collection, it soon became clear that I wasn’t going to get a suitcase. I was remarkably calm. They were remarkably good at getting it to me.
Day one: after clothes shopping, dinner was Parrilla Don Julio, a steak restaurant ranked number 10 on the World’s 50 Best Restaurants list in 2024. It’s obvious why. This will not be a meat-free holiday.
On day two, even though we’d just arrived, we crossed the Río de la Plata to Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay. Easy to travel. Beautiful old town.
Thursday: a tourist bus ticket took us to La Boca, specifically El Caminito, the little street that has become one of Buenos Aires’s most distinctive sights. The corrugated-iron houses, splashed in bright reds, yellows and blues, felt like they had been painted to lift the mood of anyone passing by.
Dinner was a tango show at La Ventana — powerful, elegant dancers paired with live musicians, singers and even bursts of Argentine folk. We were surprised by the Don’t Cry for Me Argentina portions, having been told the country didn’t really take Andrew Lloyd Webber’s interpretation of its history to heart.
Birthday Friday was a lot of great things, but the chef’s counter at Fogón Asado — a twist on Argentina’s traditional barbecue, with about ten guests seated around the open fire as each cut of meat is prepared in front of us — was a real highlight treat. It’s very up close and personal with the chef and the sommelier. Luckily, they were both lovely.
Saturday: a flight south where my luggage kept pace with me. It wasn’t beef here; it was lamb.
After boarding, before sleeping, I watched The Salt Path and The Amateur. They passed a few hours of the flight to Buenos Aires.
I am not reading as much on this holiday as I had assumed. On the 14-hour flight I read nothing. At least I’ve started The Janson Directive, and it’s a meaty enough book that it might last the trip and mean the other books were unnecessary baggage.
What began in chaos turned into a celebration of Argentina’s food, warmth and effortless charm — proof that even the most delayed journeys can lead to perfect adventures.
It’s always been a goal of mine to visit South America, but I’ve never managed it until now. Somehow, we acquired enough Avios points for a return flight to Argentina, so we booked a trip that would allow us to explore the country — from the vast, bustling capital city, south to the glaciers and north to the hot, humid waterfalls.
This week we started the journey, and I kept a diary: my own anthology of travel tales. Unfortunately, the collection opened with delayed flights and missing luggage, but it quickly morphed into steak and fine wine. Buenos Aires, it turns out, rewards patience with Malbec and charm in roughly equal measure.
Day One: Lost Luggage, Found Malbec
Buenos Aires’ transformed docklands meet modern luxury.
The journey began with more drama than you really want when flying. British Airways cancelled, rebooked, and generally conspired to keep us in Heathrow longer than any sane traveller should be. By the time we reached Buenos Aires, my bags had apparently decided to see the world on their own schedule. But a bottle (or two) of Argentine red at, officially, one of the world’s best restaurants did wonders for morale. I’m not saying wine solved everything, but it certainly softened the edges. Somewhere between The Salt Path on the in-flight entertainment and late-night Buenos Aires jet lag, I started to think this trip was worth the chaos.
Lighthouse photobombs a perfectly good street scene.
As the second proper day dawned, we headed for the Río de la Plata and a day trip across to Uruguay. The Buquebus terminal was far slicker than the internet had led us to believe, and passport control was remarkably more efficient than the tales you can read elsewhere. Colonia del Sacramento turned out to be all cobbles, calm and colonial charm — the sort of place that exists to make Instagram jealous (but I was so taken with the place I didn’t post a picture). We paid for the hotel pick-up, only to discover later it would have been fine (and cheaper) to walk. Consider this information a small donation to your travel guide. In the evening, we discovered the vibrant energy of Avenida Corrientes and Buenos Aires’ theatre district. And no, we didn’t queue for tickets for a midnight performance, but next time we just might.
Day Three: Buses, Bonhomie and Buenos Aires’ Brightest Streets
Corrugated iron never looked this fabulous.
We gave our feet a break and let the tourist bus do the work — an unexpectedly efficient way to see a city that sprawls as confidently as Buenos Aires. From the leafy calm of Palermo to the bright murals of La Boca, we ticked off the postcard highlights without ever breaking a sweat. Every stop offered something different: the solemn beauty of Recoleta Cemetery, the grandeur of the Teatro Colón, and the kind of boulevards that make you wonder if Paris might have borrowed a few ideas from here rather than the other way around. It was the perfect combination of adventure and sightseeing, capped off with a tango show that had enough energy to power Greater Buenos Aires’ ten million people.
Day Four: The Fire, the Feast and the Fifteenth Course
Front-row seats to carnivore’s dream show.
The finale of this leg of the trip came, appropriately, with fire. My birthday dinner turned into a culinary marathon that blurred the line between “meal” and “endurance event”. Fifteen courses later, I concluded that Argentine chefs possess brilliance, an ability to withstand the heat of a volcano, and a slight disregard for the human capacity to eat perfectly cooked meat. Earlier, there was time for a little history: the grandeur of the El Ateneo bookshop, the stories of Plaza de Mayo, and a reminder that Argentina’s beauty is matched only by its complexity.
We ended the first leg of this trip full — of food, of stories, and of gratitude for every minor inconvenience that somehow made the whole thing better. Because if travel teaches anything, it’s that a lost suitcase is just the first chapter of a much better tale.
Tomorrow we’re heading south. There’s so much more to explore in Buenos Aires. We’ll be back briefly next week.
Exploring Basque culture, art, coastlines, and football—memorable Spanish adventures.
Week commencing Monday, 4 August 2025
Quantified Self
This week: Stand /7; Exercise /7 and Move /7 (%). Morning walks: 0/4 (days in the office don’t count). Office days: 1/5. Total steps: 125,093
Life
We spent Monday acclimatising to Bilbao; it’s a lovely city. Although a chunk of the day was spent trying to acquire tickets for a trip out on Tuesday. We found the bus station, saw the queues, and were directed straight to a window where nobody was waiting. It was our lucky day.
Achievement unlocked: I’ve always wanted to visit Bilbao’s Guggenheim Museum. It’s the reason I suggested adding this bit to our trip. It’s renowned for its revolutionary titanium-clad architecture designed by Frank Gehry that has become an iconic symbol of the city’s urban regeneration. It did not disappoint.
More surprisingly, the exhibitions were every bit as impressive. I usually get quite impatient in galleries, but I could have stayed longer.
Tuesday, we took the bus to the beautiful seaside resort of San Sebastián. A leisurely stroll along La Concha Bay culminated at “El Peine del Viento” (The Comb of the Wind), Eduardo Chillida’s iconic trio of nine-tonne steel sculptures anchored into the rocks. A beautiful walk in the sun.
On the return walk, a tinto de verano on the terrace of a tennis club bar called Wimbledon was very welcome in the heat. Before the return bus trip, we tried a Gilda, a classic Basque pintxo of a green olive, a salted anchovy fillet, and one or two pickled chilli peppers, on bread. I looked up the name: it’s named after the 1946 film Gilda, starring Rita Hayworth. The pintxo is said to embody similar characteristics—green (guindilla), salty (anchovy), and a little spicy—just like the film character.
On Wednesday, PY and I did a half-day tour: Bizkaia Bridge (the historic transporter bridge spanning the Nervión River), Gaztelugatxe (views of an island linked to dry land by a two-arch bridge known as Dragonstone in Game of Thrones), Bermeo (authentic Basque fishing village), and Gernika (home to the sacred tree where Basque assemblies have met for centuries and Picasso’s Guernica commemorating the 1937 bombing).
The famous Tree of Guernica is depicted in the stained-glass ceiling in the Assembly House (Casa de las Juntas). It’s one of the most impressive stained-glass works I’ve seen, and you have to look up.
When we returned to Bilbao, we took the Artxanda Funicular to the summit of Artxanda Mountain for the views over the city.
On our last morning, Pete, Mark, and I went on a tour of Athletic Club Bilbao’s stadium and museum. The tour is a behind-the-scenes look at its impressive architecture, history, and the pride the city takes in its team, with the highlight being the dramatic moment of stepping out onto the pitch, where the sweeping stands rise around you and you get a player’s-eye view of the arena. It must be pretty intimidating for visiting teams.
When we returned to the UK, the weather matched what we’d experienced on holiday, so we spent three days walking and relaxing.
Media
Still managing to stay mostly off social media, except for a couple of Instagram posts; no television in Spain (although a little when we got back). I completed Richard Osman’s The Last Devil to Die, which is another lovely book—if you can ignore the murder—in the Thursday Murder Club series.
I also completed Off the Rails, number eight in the Peculiar Crimes Unit books. When I started it, I realised I’d missed number seven, so that was ordered while I was away, and I’m now reading the origin of the Mr Fox story.
Joyful travels through Spain with friends, food, wine, and discovery.
Week commencing Monday, 28 July 2025
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 7/7; Exercise 4/7 and Move 7/7. (86%). Morning walks: 0/2 (days in the office don’t count). Office days 1/2. Total steps: 89,762
Life
Tuesday was my last day before a week in Spain. I was in the office for a workshop on a big new project. I won’t be involved very much, but I did have some input into the planning. I suspect this will progress quickly while I am away.
Home to pack and head to the airport. PY had some work to do before we left, which meant we arrived later than I’d imagined. We stayed at the Thistle hotel near the autonomous pods ahead of an early flight.
R&M were also staying nearby. Around 9pm they joined us for dinner in the restaurant with (almost) a view of the runway.
Next morning, the flight was at 7:50am, arriving in Madrid just before lunch. E’s suitcase didn’t appear on the carousel at arrivals, but thanks to AirTags, we knew it was in the airport. Very little help from the airport staff, but it appeared as soon as the next flight was loaded onto the luggage belt.
Thankfully, we’d factored in a long time between arrival and the train, so – when we got to the station – there was time for a refreshing Spanish beer.
The train to ‘Valladolid – Campo Grande’ was fast and smooth. The hotel turned out to be a very short walk from the station.
The rest of the day was spent exploring. The canapés (tapas) we had at Jero Catedral are highly recommended.
We walked 8 miles around Valladolid on Thursday: the riverside walk was wonderful, there’s even a small manmade beach on the riverbank, and every food stop along the way was delicious. The squid ink risotto at Hasta la Peineta taberna was very tasty.
In the late afternoon, we were the only six people on the hop-on, hop-off sightseeing bus. We didn’t hop off.
It was Pete’s birthday. The meat at Vinotinto for his birthday dinner was perfectly prepared. The octopus dish was excellent.
E took us to a cocktail bar to end the evening. La Sastrería is sewing-themed. It’s an amazing place in a hidden arcade. Look out for it if you are ever in town.
Friday was Pete’s gift day. Abadía Retuerta is a stunning vineyard with the most beautiful hotel and spa on site. Sadly, we only did the tour and wine tasting, but if you take the virtual tour you will see how stunning the monastery’s conversion into a hotel has been. I raved about the Tempranillo and decided to splurge on a bottle. It may be the most expensive wine I’ve ever bought.
Saturday, to León. The flaming chorizo tapas were a food highlight, the bus tour was a welcome break from walking through the tourist crowds, and the Convento de San Marcos (Parador de León) was another very impressive convent-to-hotel conversion. The city had a very touristy feel.
Sunday, time to pack and move to Bilbao, which feels like a much bigger city than either Valladolid or León.
Media
I’m avoiding social media and television while on this holiday. I have finished reading The Wrong Hands, a crime thriller that had me hooked. I haven’t read the first in the series, but I am thinking of getting it.
Enjoyable experiences in Paleokastritsa and crime dramas explored.
Week commencing Monday, 14 October 2024
Butrint National ParkOld Fortress, CorfuPaleokastritsa, CorfuPaleokastritsa Sunset
Quantified Self
This week: Stand 7/7; Exercise 7/7 and Move 7/7. (100%). No office days as I am on vacation. Total steps: 92,938
Life
A week in Paleokastritsa. The hotel might be dated, but the weather was hotter than expected; the food was great and the view wonderful.
Corfu Town was a comfortable bus ride away. The Old Town has been a World Heritage Site by UNESCO since 2007. We were served a kumquat liqueur at the end of the meal: a strong-flavoured, sweet orange-coloured drink which we both thought was delicious.
The donkey trail was very hard going, but the view from the top was worth the pain. Down was a lot easier than I imagined.
On Friday, the waters were too choppy for a boat but lovely views. Around 4pm we set off for the climb to Paleokastritsa Monastery. It’s on a cliff at the end of the bay. We saw a cross in the distance on the edge of the cliff. We decided to take a look and made our way along the path. I feel modern health and safety rules would have the path improved and add railings. The view was lovely but debatable if it was worth the effort.
The bar on Saturday afternoon was a hundred steps down to a rocky outcrop. The beer was nice, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d drop something over the edge.
The Sunday morning minibus had pickups in some lovely areas down winding roads. They felt a bit cut off to me.
The return flight was late, but home before 5pm meant we had an evening. We kept the holiday vibe with a kebab.
Media
Last week, the Internet Archive was hacked. This isn’t good for our collective history. Related, must remember to submit these notes.
A bunch of crime drama for my holidays: The Bingo Hall Detectives (I thought it was going to be a bit basic, but it turned out nicely); We Solve Murders (Richard Osman’s new crime-fighting team has a bigger landscape than the Murder Club series and is entertaining as a result); Bryant & May Investigate the Victoria Vanishes (always wonderful, again filled with such detail about London).
Through London in the early morning: did somebody fall asleep with the light on? Who’s awake at this hour?
The day’s first light has not quite made it above the horizon, but the dawn sky says it’s coming. The city’s suburbs are stretching themselves awake from their slumber. I’m travelling at just the right moment: the morning’s engines have not quite started, and the only thing slowing me down are the red traffic lights on the way, mainly stopping me for imaginary vehicles or invisible people.
Yet there’s light all around, but it’s artificial. As the morning yawns, announcing a new day, all the lamps seem unnecessary, yet turning them off would make it feel nighttime eerie. There’s a strong pulsating white headlight from a bike coming down the hill; a cyclist adorned in orange high visibility. You can’t miss it, although the beam might be blinding. As we cross over the bigger highway with empty lanes waiting for the morning rush, there’s the throb of an orange warning light sitting atop of a recovery van while more people in high visibility scurry to attach a vehicle to the back. Travelling through the suburbs, there’s a momentary flash of emergency blue from a police car, but I have no idea why he’s pulled over, alone, on the side of the road.
There are lights in the block of flats to my left, but with curtains drawn, any movements are invisible. Did somebody fall asleep with the light on? Who’s awake at this hour? There’s a lamp in a hotel room creating a shadow of arms dressing – no curtains, but more anonymity. Passing an office block, the lights of the third floor illuminate in a sweeping movement ahead of a shadowy figure with a machine sweeping the floor in preparation for the arrival of the worker’s feet. There’s a fully-lit supermarket with lines of lifeless shelves waiting for the day’s first shoppers and the dancing movement of a man and a mop. And there are more shops, partially lit, yet locked up to all: their night-lights highlighting a small portion of the retail space, with a focus on the empty cash-registers, seemingly saying ‘there’s nothing here’ while lighting the wares.
Every car we pass has a brightly lit dashboard that’s announcing the route or the currently playing track. The mid-80s music playing from the easy-listening station is more alive at this time of the morning than it’s been at any point since it was originally heard 30 years ago. There are a couple of people at the bus stop; their faces lit by a combination of the countdown screen announcing the next arrival and the faint glow of the mobile screen. The white headphones suggest music accompanies their journey too.
As time ticks by, we drive in the opposite direction to the arriving bus. It’s empty now, I can see the security screen taking a continuous picture of unoccupied seats. I know the automation will be announcing the stops to nobody except the driver. I wonder if she’s listening – checking she is running to the timetable – or if the repetition of the ‘next stop’ and ‘stand clear of the doors’ has rendered her deaf to the voice.
We speed past a group of young people, laughing. Those of us who remember that mid-80s music the first time wonder if they’re coming home or leaving for the day. Where do the pretty young things go at this hour in the middle of suburbia? The idea of an early-morning house party seems at odds with the neat driveways and solar-powered garden lights of this part of town. I see the smiley face of the speed-check sign showing we’re travelling within the allowed limit: the language of the smiley and the emoji is more from their generation than mine, yet the sign is aimed at me. A digital sign-face that provides a reminder that, even in dawn’s first light, the machines are still watching us.
And through the tunnel to the airport: a tail-back of traffic through a strangely uniform light beneath the ground, emerging, after just a few minutes, into the crisp, bright morning light. The sleek glass buildings reflect the early morning rays as the morning finally wakes. Yet the purple glow of the airline’s colours can still be seen high in the vaulted entrance through which I pass into a different world. For the next few hours, it could be day or night. Inside the terminal, it can be hard to tell what time the sundial might show, but finally, time has passed, and we board. For once, there’s a blue and cloudless sky through which we climb, seemingly, towards the burning, never-dimming rays of the sun.
One of the amazing things about Japan was the food. And such a variety of tastes and styles. Oh, and the rice.
Each day I looked back through the photographs I had taken and tried to find one that summed what we had seen or done. Some days that was very easy because the day had a big goal – the Mt Fuji visit, for example – but other days it was much harder to select a single picture that summed up the visit.
Looking back over the collection, however, I see that it’s a nice overview of our trip. However, there is one major element missing: food. I have not captured the variety of amazing meals that we had. Japanese cuisine was definitely one of the highlights of the trip; no wonder it has been given UNESCO heritage status in order to protect it from the onslaught of western dishes and fast food chains.
From conveyor-belt lunchtime sushi to a high-end fish-market fresh version; from teppanyaki (accompanied by a Japanese improvised comedy show) to high-end tempura and soba noodles, ramen, sake & delicious wagyu beef. In the UK it would all be in one restaurant labelled ‘Japanese’ but each place we visited specialised and was delicious. There were no bad meals, most were incredibly cheap and service was outstanding.
Breakfast seemed the most different to my British palate: fermented soy beans, dried and grilled fish, pickled things of all sorts (labelled vegetables, but I wasn’t always sure) and dried seaweed and all served – like every other meal – with white rice. I never saw another type of rice and didn’t really get an answer as to why it was always steamed white rice alongside every meal.
I can’t wait to return to try more.
—
My Japan retrospective (so far) is available in two earlier parts: Tokyo and Kyoto.
It’s a brilliant experience to see the conservation work of the park up close. If you’re thinking of somewhere for an unusual night, surrounded by the sounds of safari, then Port Lympne comes highly recommended.
The Barbary Lion is extinct in the wild.1 It was the lion that battled with Roman gladiators in the Colosseum and was, at least according to Wikipedia, kept in the menagerie at the Tower of London. But the Atlas Mountains, where they once roamed, are no longer home to any of the animals.
Science, being a mysterious and wonderful thing, is attempting a breeding program that may be able to breed back the lions by finding descendants of the original creatures.
I learnt about Barbary lions on a visit to the Port Lympne Animal Park in Kent, where there’s a pair of lions housed near one of the cafes.
The Animal Park is owned by wildlife conservation charity The Aspinall Foundation2 and is known for work to breed rare and endangered species for release into the wild. It’s also home to the world’s largest ‘gorillarium’ -which is a word I can only find in relation to Port Lympne – yet watching gorillas & lions in their cages is a strange experience. I know they’re effectively extinct and therefore the charity’s work is invaluable, but these animals are still in an enclosure – large as it may be. On balance, though, the work has got to be worth it.
I spent a night in one of Port Lympne’s amazing ‘treehouses’3, which feature unforgettable views across the park and across Romney Marsh, with what I think was the wind farm in the far distance. A complimentary golf buggy allows you access to the park after the day crowds have gone, when, at dusk, some of the animals seem to be more awake. You can get quite close to some animals and watch them in fairly natural habitats. Many of the 600 acres are devoted to the African Experience where, from the safari vehicles, giraffes & black rhinos can be seen wandering the park.
It’s a brilliant experience to see the conservation work of the park up close. If you’re thinking of somewhere for an unusual night, surrounded by the sounds of safari, then Port Lympne comes highly recommended. The accommodation and the staff were superb and, if the thought of the 35 steps to the treehouse and to see the amazing balcony views is a bit daunting, take the golf buggy around the back.
About BEWA 2016
BEWA (Blog Every Wednesday in August) is a project aimed at getting me writing in a blog style again. The 2016 season featured cycling in the city, fascinating maps, and an underground tour of Clapham South Deep-level Shelter. There is a page with the #bewa collection (including those from last year). Fingers crossed I am back next week. I’m sure @curns will mention it.
