Calling on Kittelsen – demons, ghosts and ghouls (Norway)

Four metre waves batter our ferry on the fiercest piece of water in the world. We’re 100km west of the Norwegian mainland and this is the Maelstrom, first mentioned by the Greeks 3000 years ago and immortalised in the iconic writings of Edgar Allen Poe and Jules...

Clarisse of Arabia – teaching the children (Helsinki, Finland)

Outside the station I squint in late summer sun, a grand entrance clad in grey Finnish granite and guarded by lamp-holding titans: stern-faced stone men far too serious to be the animated rap stars of railway advertising campaigns. At their feet, there's a kid busker...

Bells and Whistles – mothers and fathers (Tuscany, Italy)

Dragano is an editor initially from up north. He’s tall and rakish, the wisp of a moustache and sleek brown hair; has the habit of whistling unexpectedly, as he ponders the ways of an unjust world while stroking a precocious black cat. His villa is classic Tuscan, the...

Lofoten Lost Dogs – back from the brink (Lofoten, Norway)

“Puffin dogs?” Hege shakes her head. “You know, there are none on the island at this point in time?” I’m speechless with disappointment. “Yah,” she adds, “but there were hundreds here last week.” It seems we’ve just missed the Norwegian Lundehund Club 50 Year...

Faces of Fame – an ode to John Wilson St

A face stares out from my PC screen: a suited-up man about 30yrs old, the boyish face round, the hairline receding. I see a clean face, but for the sparing outline of a beard.  I see a thin mouth, the eyes narrowed and slightly turned, the face of a man who killed...

The Real Wild West – inside the Arctic Circle (Vesterålen, Norway)

The narrow road is a roughed-out, potholed track gouged from ragged Norwegian mountains. Winding alongside a grey Arctic Ocean, it’s graced with the occasional passing bay and kept in place against northern tempests by discarded mountain boulders. Turning a last...

Touching the Sky – Spanish castle magic (Granada)

I meet Candelaria at a café on the slopes of the Albaicin – the old Moorish quarter – and sip peppermint tea from petite porcelain cups. She orders almond cookies and apologises for her Spanish. The courtyard is open, with large paved flagstones, the tables squarish,...

Of Music, Madness and Fame – one week in Prague (Czech Republic)

On my last night here, I’m dining with Bohdan at the Jindrisska belltower; a rustic restaurant occupying the top three floors. Panoramic views span the famous `one hundred spires’. Just above us hangs the c1518 St Mary’s Bell, our tiny table and chairs tucked between...

Meeting Saint Louise – a Nordic sense of deja vu (Trondheim, Norway)

We had passed by here before, tall and ornate, diamond timber-panelling on grand double gates, always shut; the name in sweeping letters across the arched pediment above. This time – en-route to Nidaros cathedral – I pay little attention, until my girlfriend stops....

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