A selection of photos to illustrate why Paul and I seriously considered moving to Whitstable recently (see my I Heart LDN post for an explanation of why we stayed…). There’s still a good chance we might move to the north Kent coast one day though, so I hope you’ll all come to visit if we do!
I Am Not A Wall
Springtime in Greenwich
I’ve waxed lyrical about Greenwich before (see I Heart LDN post), but given it’s one of my very favourite places in the city I thought it only fair it should get an entry all of its own. The recent “heat wave” (easy now, over-zealous weathermen!) provided the perfect opportunity for me to grab my camera and head over. I followed a well-trodden route, starting at the top entrance to the park on Shooter’s Hill Road and making my way to the lookout near the observatory, where I stood for a good hour taking in the view (and eating ice-cream).
Having satisfied myself that London was all present and accounted for, I made my way down through the park, admiring the spring flowers, chasing squirrels, dodging rollerbladers and smiling at happy picnicers, until I reached the National Maritime Museum, in the former home of the Royal Hospital School, and the equally impressive buildings of the Royal Naval College. I wandered around for a while, appreciating the architecture, popped in to the Painted Hall and the Chapel, and waited patiently for tourists to get out of the way of my pictures. If you wait long enough you can get sit in perfect silence admiring how the shadows fall on the columns and how the light dances off the glass. I love it!
Next came the familiar stroll along the riverbank and a quick circumference of the mighty Cutty Sark, before I decided I deserved a banana milkshake and some sushi from the market (yes, the combination works well). I concluded my visit with another pass through the park at dusk – a beautiful time and the colours that day were perfect – before dipping down for a view of the Millennium Dome across the water. Another lovely day in my favourite borough! *Contented sigh*
Bohemian Rhapsody
People usually refer to Prague’s history dating back to the 9th century, but it has been a city of note for much longer than that: the capital of Bohemia since 1300 BC and an influential city during the reign of Augustus Caesar. But Prague really flourished during the 14th century reign of Charles IV. As King of Bohemia and the Holy Roman Emperor, he transformed Prague into an imperial capital and the third largest city in Europe (after Rome and Constantinople). Charles did many great things (more on that later), but his son, King Wenceslaus IV, was not nearly so good for the city. Under his rule, almost the entire Jewish population died under orders of the city clergy, who burnt the Jewish quarter to the ground. Prague survived this dark period, however, to became the capital of European culture under King Rudolf II, whose court was full of artists, scientists, musicians, astrologers and magicians.
A little more history and then I’m done, honest…. As we know, World War I ended with the defeat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the creation of Czechoslovakia. But this new country would not survive the century. The Velvet Revolution in 1989 put an end to communist rule and created a parliamentary republic, and then in 1993, after the split from Slovakia, Prague became the capital of the new Czech Republic.
Which brings us to present day (well, 2007 actually), when an intrepid traveller (yours truly) visited this glorious city on what has become widely known as a “mini-break”. Now, I need to make clear right away that this entry will – unusually – dispense with lengthy descriptions of food and omit rave reviews of restaurants… I know, I know you’re disappointed. As great as Prague was – in so many ways – my meals were, truthfully, uniformly bad. Ok, I retract that already; I’ve just remembered the amazing patisserie. And the hotdogs. But otherwise, I’m afraid I was not a fan of the dumplings and soups and failed to sample a guláš or stuffed palačinky from which I could accurately determine the meat. So I would not recommend the city as a great gastronomic destination.
However, please do visit for the wonderful sights. The city sits astride the Vltava River, with the Hradčany district (castle area) on one side and Staré Město (Old Town) on the other. Spanning the water is the majestic Charles Bridge. Charles IV personally laid the first foundation stone for this bridge and we know this was on the 9th of July 1357 at 5:31 because the palindromic number 135797531 is carved into the bridge tower, the royal astrologists and numerologists having determined this to be the best time to start construction.
Whilst we’re talking about Charles, the king also founded the city’s university, now the oldest standing in Central Europe, and the impressive St. Vitus Cathedral. The cathedral stands in one of the many courtyards of the castle, perched on a hill overlooking the city. Interesting factoid: the Guinness Book of Records lists Prague Castle as the largest ancient castle in the world, occupying as it does almost seventy thousand square metres. The vast rampart contains elements of practically every architectural style of the last millennium: it started life as a Romanesque palace, before morphing into a Gothic fortress; and after being damaged almost entirely by fire in the 16th century, it was reconstructed with new renaissance buildings under the Habsburgs, before finally undergoing renovation in the 20th century in order to become the seat of government for the new republic. Try to time your visit with the changing of the guard at the entrance gates, before wandering around the different museums and ecclesiastical buildings to your heart’s content.
All that said, and as dramatic as the castle inarguably is, I personally preferred spending time in Staré Město, with its remarkable Old Town Square. The plaza contains the Church of Our Lady before Tyn and the City Hall with its beautiful astronomical clock. Large crowds gather to witness the hourly “Walk of the Apostles”, a parade of Jesus’ companions, a skeletal death figure and other sculptures striking the clock. Installed in 1410, it is the oldest astronomical clock still working. This part of town is also home to the Old-New Synagogue and Jewish Cemetery. I’m not usually a fan of visiting cemeteries (with some notable exceptions: Glasgow’s Necropolis, for instance, and Nunhead’s cemetery in South East London), but this is worth a visit. Over ten thousand gravestones with carefully chiselled Hebrew script protrude haphazardly from the earth.
Whilst visiting the city, you won’t regret the 45-minute trip out to Hrad Karlstejn. The 14th century castle was originally built as a treasury to hold the crown jewels and relics of the Holy Roman Empire. It was initiated by Charles IV (him again!) and, as with Prague castle, is an eclectic mix of styles, ranging through the different Gothic periods (high, late and neo), renaissance and beyond. You can take a guided tour of the Imperial Palace, Hall of Knights, Chapel of St. Nicholas, the Royal Bedroom, and Audience Hall. But to be honest, the interior isn’t all that impressive, it’s the exterior – enjoyed best on the winding path through the kitsch German market – that people come to see.
So, my visit to Prague taught me two things: 1) I can enjoy a holiday without being pre-occupied by thinking of where to go for my next meal; and 2) I don’t always need to be surrounded by my favoured and more exotic Mediterranean and Moorish architectural styles to feel that I’m on holiday.
All Creatures Great and Small
The lion stood there: waiting;
She did not move – she was not dead, but as if turned to stone.
Muscles taut but motionless;
Eyes fiery and alert, unblinking.
And then –
Slowly, very slowly, she began to stalk;
Advancing quietly, reeds parting to let her through.
The power, the focus, the majesty –
She did not doubt that victory would be hers.
But I did not flee; I did not flinch.
For I was safe with my kind –
In the Antelope House.
– Victoria Wood, Age 10
Reflecting on the Situation (Sydney: 2011)
Calm and Collected (Kent: 2011)
I Will Be Heard! (Mudchute City Farm: 2013)
You Looking at Me? (Port Lympne: 2011)
Italia Due: Sicilia

Buongiorno. Mi chiamo Vix. Piacere! Abito a Londra con mio ragazzo si chiama Paolo. Lavoro in un ufficio. Ho 33 anni. Ho una sorella più si chiama Jennifer e mio nipote si chiama Noah.
I’m learning Italian. Some of that may not be right. Anyway, on with the blog…
I have an email saved for posterity that still reduces me to tears of laughter whenever I read it. In the message, my friend Nick lists all the possible places in Europe you can fly to from Edinburgh, going into an incredible amount of detail about times and connections. It’s about two pages long! And this is before we’ve even discussed where we might want to go on holiday. He even suggests – the delirium really taking hold now – that we have the option to pay for a taxi from Edinburgh to Liverpool (an extortionate fare) for a flight in the early hours of the morning…to Liechtenstein, if memory serves. Someone was really in need of a break! After Paul calmly suggested in reply that we might want to pause and compile a short-list of destinations – places, y’know, we might actually want to visit – some semblance of sanity returned.
By way of further explanation, we needed to depart from Scotland because Nick was performing at the comedy festival over August and some of us were visiting him on the final weekend…but I now forget why we couldn’t have just come back to London before flying out. We couldn’t. Just go with it.

The research fever having subsided, we eventually settled on Sicily, with Laura and Rob finding a great villa in the hills above Taormina, a small town on the east coast of the island. It’s a very well-heeled little place, with plenty of good restaurants and designer shops, a beautiful central piazza, and nice little coves reached by aerial tramway. Tourists tend to visit the town on day trips, primarily to see the Teatro Greco – an impressive ruin with stunning views of the Ionian coastline through crumbling archways – but we found it a great base for a longer stay. The villa was beautiful, with a decent-sized pool, outdoor space for enjoying Laura’s famous aubergine parmigiana, and great views of Mount Etna in the distance. It was a half-hour walk from our villa into town, via a series of steep stone stairways: pleasant but sometimes hard work in the heat. Understandable then, that we tended to need a gelato (or two) at the bottom…and that we invariably hailed a taxi home in the evenings. We did however brave the walk in the opposite direction one evening to Castelmola, a tiny village at the top of the hill. The hamlet has an oversized Duomo and a precipitously perched castle. The walk, I quickly decided, was foolish, as every muscle in my legs protested, but luckily the charming cobbled streets were worth the effort and the bar atop the tower in the main square provided liquid medication.

The weather was fabulous. Hot and sunny every day of the trip. Plenty of opportunity for sunbathing and swimming, at the aforementioned coves in Taormina and at Giardini Naxos, a short bus ride away, and nearby Isola Bella. The unwavering sun also allowed us to eat al fresco every evening, at great places like A’Zammara and Trattoria La Botte, where we had great shellfish and grilled squid (“sea monsters”, according to Nick), delicious arancini and plenty of pasta.
Despite the great setting, we were able – luckily – to pull ourselves away for some amazing sightseeing. The trip up Mount Etna was the highlight for me. And all the more so because our little hire cars survived the journey! Having been forced to unload all of our luggage half way up the hill to our villa on the first night and push the cars, fearful all the while of the increasingly strong smell of burning rubber, we were not at all confident in their ability to make it anywhere, let alone up a 10,890 ft active volcano. But make it they did. Obviously not all the way up…there were cable cars and 4x4s involved too…but we were still quietly proud of them. The mountain itself is breaktaking. In Greek Mythology, the deadly monster Typhon was trapped under it by Zeus, and it certainly looks worthy of the attention of the gods: an imposing, stark, black moonscape with steaming vents and a towering peak that regularly spews forth angry, dark smoke from its depths. Gorgeous!
Another trip saw us kitted out in wetsuits and helmets, body rafting through the frigid waters of the Alcantara Gorge. Many people, having seen the photos on our return, teased that this was no more scary than sitting in a bubble bath, but let me tell you that my bruised butt was testimony otherwise. It was a lot of fun, despite the bumps and panicked submersions. And the cafe at the gorge made the best arancini of the holiday.
On the final day, Paolo and I took a boat trip to the Aeolian Islands, a volcanic archipelago in the Tyrrhenian Sea north of Sicily. The overcrowded boat wasn’t the most relaxing way to travel, but the spectacular scenery quickly made you forget your sweaty companions. First we sailed past Vulcano, the chimney to the Roman god Vulcan’s workshop; a cute little place with less than five-hundred inhabitants and the perfect backdrop for a refreshing swim.
Next was the well-to-do Lipari, the largest of the islands – with a population of around 12,000 – and studded with beautiful villas.
According to Greek mythology, it was home of Aeolus, god of winds, who gave Ulysses a bag of winds to assist him during his ten-year odyssey around the eastern Mediterranean Sea. The longest stop was on Panarea, considered the most stunning of the islands. We pulled into a little harbour and, after a giant bowl of prawns, walked up and around the picturesque town taking dozens of photos of the contrasting white-washed houses against the dark black sand and turquoise sea. I could have stayed there for much longer…but wouldn’t have wanted to miss the pièce de résistance: Stromboli. Still active, Stomboli – which takes up most of the surface of the island – is the only volcano in Europe that permanently erupts. After a walk around the island, observing with note the ominous warning signs about tsunamis (basically, you should run up – not down – the mountain!), we re-boarded the boat at sunset to circumnavigate the island, waiting for the lava to flow. Having almost given up hope, we were eventually treated to an exciting firework-burst of orange and a simultaneous lightning storm…nature at it’s most terrifyingly beautiful.
Grazie, in Sicilia. Ci ritorneremo!






Portals and Passageways
Lobstering in P-Town
Our American mini-odyssey ended with a few days on windswept Cape Cod. Very much peak season inland, with the maples attracting tourists from far and wide, it was decidedly off-season at the coast, with most places ready to shut down completely for the winter. In fact, we were told repeatedly that certain shops and restaurants had been closed since Labor Day weekend at the beginning of September! I’m sure, therefore, that we didn’t experience the area at its best and would like one day to return in the summer, but there was a certain charm in walking across the dunes in the drizzle and passing ice-cream shops desperate for their last bit of trade. It felt like being at the British seaside…particularly when we were tucking into a cream tea in Sandwich.
Our time on Martha’s Vineyard – the affluent island a short ferry ride south of the cape – was definitely the quietest part of the trip. We’d driven to Woods Hole for our crossing to Vineyard Haven and then spent a day pootling round plush Edgartown, the clay cliffs at Aquinnah and Oak Bluffs, where we stayed in a grand but rickety B&B next to the gingerbread cottages of a Methodist religious community. Apparently a favoured vacation spot of the Obamas, as well as other past presidents and celebrities, we found the ghost town quite eerie at this time of year. After one drink in a spit-and-sawdust bar and a fish supper, we retired early to the inn to watch the Red Sox battle to win the World Series. Having never really understood baseball, we got quite into it once the rules were explained by a friendly American couple, and were pleased to learn on our return to England that the Sox had eventually been victorious over the St Louis Cardinals. Boston Strong!
While we weren’t overawed by the Vineyard, come rain or shine you can’t help but love Provincetown! Home to artists and writers, amazing pubs, beautiful homes, a delightful harbour and beach, and some of the best seafood restaurants on the east coast, the little town is such a great place to hang out. It’s famous mainly for being two things: the location of the signing of the Mayflower Compact in 1620, the first governing document of the colonists arriving from England; and a popular gay holiday destination, with its population swelling from 3,000 to close to 60,000 in the summer.
This is a thriving community that still manages to enchant on a chilly October day. We stayed in a lovely boutique hotel called 8 Dyer and enjoyed walking the streets, popping into little shops and galleries, racking up ideas for decorating our new flat. Think Whitstable, but multiply by ten. After driving around the National Seashore Park (First Landing Pilgrim’s Point, Herring Cove Beach and Race Point, with their little boardwalks and lighthouses), it was great to return to P-Town in order to sample the great food. Lunch one day at Lobster Pot, a New England institution where I enjoyed clam chowder, pan roasted lobster in sherry sauce and cod morney; dinner at The Mews, a sweet waterfront restaurant; and finally a great meal at the Squealing Pig where we shared Wellfleet oysters and a delicious pulled pork burger. My mouth is watering at the memory!
I’d recommend P-Town in a heartbeat. And I’d also recommend a diet when you get back!
Long Walk to Nowhere [Credit: Paul Adnitt]
Fall in New England
I’ll pick up from where I left you last, waving forlornly as the train pulled out of New York’s Penn Station on its journey to Boston. Despite the upset of having to leave The Big Apple (see previous post), I was excited about the next leg of the trip. It began in style with a comfortable and sunny four-hour ride through Connecticut and Rhode Island into Massachusetts, all the while watching the colours of the trees become more impressive and the people outside become more warmly dressed.

My dad was waiting to greet us at Back Bay station when we arrived, having flown in a couple of days earlier. He’d already visited nearby Salem and was excited to show us round the sights of Boston. After checking into our guest house on fashionable Newbury Street, we orientated ourselves to the city with a Duck Tour. Londoners will be familiar with the set-up: a trip on land and water aboard a replica WWII style amphibious landing vehicle, complete with an enthusiastic guide – this time dressed as one of the Minute Men. The tour takes you past the golden-domed State House to Bunker Hill, along Boston Common and Copley Square, past Quincy Market and the towering Prudential Tower – and splashes down in the Charles River, where we enjoyed a sunset ride around the bay.
The next couple of days in Boston flew by. The city is actually quite compact and easy to walk around, so we felt the amount of time we had there was just about right. Enough time to stroll down Commonwealth Avenue, take in the grandeur of the homes on Beacon Hill, lunch at Quincy Market (clam chowder and a Boston Barker chilli dog), visit the stunning Trinity Church with its William Morris stained glass, and pop into the spacious library. We also visited the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum with its new annex designed by Renzo Piano. The museum is pretty bonkers: Venetian architecture packed full of an eclectic mix of art, jewellery and furniture, with works by Botticelli, Titian, Rembrandt and Raphael haphazardly hung on walls. Isabella was a patron of the arts and travelled the world collecting pieces. She had the building commissioned specifically to house all her works and created an endowment fund to support the museum after her death, stipulating that the layout of the permanent collection could not be altered. It’s a fascinating place to spend a couple of hours.
And – of course – we walked the Freedom Trail, a two and a half mile brick-lined route – not yellow brick unfortunately – that takes you to sixteen historically significant sites, including Faneuil Hall (where in 1764 Americans first protested against the Sugar Act and the Stamp Act, setting the doctrine that would become known as “no taxation without representation”), the Old State House (scene of the 1770 massacre that galvanised public opposition to British authority) and the Old South Meeting House (scene of the heated debate in 1773 that led to the Boston Tea Party). The city is steeped in American revolutionary history and its people are clearly proud of it. These are the haunts of Samuel Adams, John Adams (no relation), Paul Revere, John Hancock and the many other men (and women – there were some important women too!) who were so influential in making the US what it is today. I felt annoyed with myself for not having watched the Paul Giamatti mini-series that my dad had lent us, as I’m sure I’d have had a much greater appreciation of the sights with more background on the conflict. Luckily my dad – the human version of Johnny 5 – was on hand to regurgitate facts and fill the gaps in our knowledge. I wish I could keep him in my pocket, so I’d have him to hand wherever I go.
Boston is also famous, of course, for being one of the foremost seats of learning in the world, home of MIT and Harvard (ranked number 1 and 2 in the world respectively). Well, actually they’re next door in Cambridge, but that’s only about five stops away from Boston on the subway. The Harvard tour, ours delivered by a funny but precocious sophomore named Jess-Lucy, is worth taking. We were shown around the grounds and regaled with stories. Did you know that a student killed on the Titanic, whose mother made a generous donation to the university library, still haunts the book stacks? Or that there are three lies connected with the John Harvard statue in the main quad? No? Well, I recommend an hour with Jess-Lucy, valedictorian of her high school and budding theatre producer.
As always, I need to mention some notable eateries in the city: Island Creek Oyster Bar, where we enjoyed some delicious fish and sampled Boston Cream Pie (a kind of soft cake with a custardy filling and chocolate on top), and Pomodoro in the North End Italian quarter. Two very nice meals!
After Boston, we hired a car to drive into New Hampshire, where we stayed three nights in the Spruce Moose Lodge in North Conway. It was here, in the White Mountain National Forest, that our New England leaf-peeping could really begin. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I have literally hundreds of photos of trees and leaves! I usually relish editing my photos when I get back from holiday, but I was actually starting to go a little square-eyed by the time I finished this time. In my defence, the scenery really is breathtaking and even though we suffered quite a few overcast days, the colours were still incredibly vibrant…demanding to be snapped at every opportunity. Sugar maple, yellow birch, mountain ash, beech, red oak and red maple dominate the landscape and you never fail (to the chagrin of your long-suffering boyfriend) to wonder in awe at the reds, yellows, pinks and greens…and whip out your camera for “just one more”. It’s a good job that I’m so loveable. Or is it that he’s so patient?
We drove along the Kancamagus Highway (or Route 112, to give it its more boring title) through the heart of the forest, stopping at the Swift River, Albany covered bridge, Lower Falls, Rocky Gorge and Sugar Hill overlook. The road is named after the grandson of the Native Indian chief who united the tribes in the area, although the grandson himself had to move them all north when the white settlers pushed them out. Still, they named a road after him, so no need to complain. The various stops provide amazing vista after amazing vista, with multi-coloured forest as far as the eye can see. But it’s not all leaves. A group of nuns (is there a better collective noun?) provided plenty of amusement, hopping between boulders on the river and giggling into their iPhones. We seemed to follow them around all day, spying them at every beauty spot. I really wanted to see one of them fall in the river, but chided myself for being mean spirited. It would just have been for the comedy value, I assure you!
A trip on the world’s first cog railway, up Mount Washington – the highest peak in New England – was pleasant, though the bright sunshine at the base did not prepare us for the thick cloud on top. At least we enjoyed the views on the way up and down, because you really couldn’t see anything at all at the summit! The drive to Mount Washington, through Crawford Notch, was very pretty, with stops at Silver Cascade and Ripley Falls, where we had a mini-ramble through the forest. Flume Gorge in Franconia Notch State Park was also impressive: a well sign-posted walk through the dramatic scenery, with plenty of chipmunks to spot. Our only disappointment was that, despite eagerly looking out for them at every place marked on the map, we saw neither a moose nor a bear during our stay.
The fourth leg of the holiday was in the lakes region. Saying goodbye to Nellie and Leon at the Spruce Moose, and – more distressingly – bidding farewell to their delicious pumpkin pancakes (see previous post), we headed to the lakes via Lucknow Estate (“Castle in the Clouds”). The arts and crafts house overlooks Lake Winnipesaukee and the views are – again – majestic. This was not, however, the reason for our visit. Paul had spotted that the (2nd) biggest horse in the world can be found there and had gotten very excited! Zeus is a 3000lb, 21 hand Belgian draft horse and is – admittedly – a fine animal. I was just glad that the views made the detour worth it.
From there we drove to Holderness on Little Squam Lake and went to the Science Centre of New Hampshire. Here we saw amazing birds of prey, mountain foxes, bears, bobcats and deer. Much more thrilling – I would argue – than a horse, no matter how big. From Holderness we joined a boat ride on Squam Lake, shooting location for the film On Golden Pond staring Katharine Hepburn and Henry Fonda (of which the locals are very proud). The lake is the second largest in the region and surrounded by dense forest. Little islands of trees – summer vacation spots for rich New Englanders – provided a rare and exciting opportunity to see nesting American Bald Eagles. Aiming our binoculars in the general direction of the pointing passenger with his dog-eared ornithology guide, we could definitely make them out. A very pleasing day all round!
Our accommodation was at John and Cindy’s Lake House at Ferry Point in Sanbornton on Lake Winnisquam. The guest house brags that it’s the only B&B in the region to actually sit on the edge of a lake. I don’t know if that’s true, but I would really recommend it if you’re in the area. The rooms were really comfortable, the hosts are lovely and the house has its own jetty and wooden gazebo. Perfect for sunset (and sunrise) strolls…and a good place to spot a beaver collecting sticks. Bonus! John – like all the innkeepers on our trip – was a fantastic cook and we enjoyed a substantial breakfast of eggs rancheros, strawberries and cream, and lemon and poppyseed muffins. Yum! No wonder I’ve come home half a stone heavier.
The next day it was onward to Cape Cod. Tune in for the next exciting instalment…
NYC Streets
It would be a travesty to fail to post some of my pictures of Street Art in New York. Sorry to those who continue to think this is just obnoxious graffiti. You’re wrong. But sorry anyway.
So, here are some snaps taken mainly around Williamsburg, the Lower East Side and Meatpacking District:
At Least I Know I’m Free






















































































