Winning Over the Airlines

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Every once in a while, the universe tips in your favour.

Let’s be honest. Nobody wakes up in the morning thinking, “I really love the airlines.” Between ancillary fees, shrinking seats, questionable food, and on-time percentages that seem more aspirational than actual, the airlines have earned a special place in our collective frustration. And yet, here we are. We keep flying. Because travel enriches us, opens our eyes, and occasionally — just occasionally — gives us a story worth telling.

The Setup

In early 2026, Meg and I booked our main flights for an 85-day trip through Europe. Flying from Victoria to Porto, Portugal was straightforward enough. But the return trip was a different beast entirely. We needed to get from Copenhagen, Denmark to Moncton, New Brunswick — not exactly a major hub-to-hub route.

Air Canada offers what’s called a multi-city fare, which lets you fly into one city and out of another without paying the punishing rates of two one-way tickets. WestJet and most U.S. carriers are generally more reasonable on one-way pricing. Air Canada? Not so much. But a multi-city booking was the workaround, and we took it.

The Routing… Oh, the Routing

The only way Air Canada could get us from Copenhagen to Moncton involved three flights: Copenhagen to Toronto, Toronto to Montreal, Montreal to Moncton. Layovers at each stop, up to three hours each. A very long day by any measure. But there was no better option in sight, so we held our noses and booked it.

We paid a little extra — about $100 Canadian — to arrive at 9 PM instead of 11 PM. For the sake of our health and general will to live, it was worth it. The total for that return leg came to $850 CAD.

Getting “Rouged”

About a week later, Air Canada sent us a cheerful email. Our Montreal-to-Moncton flight had been transferred to Air Canada Rouge — their discount carrier. This phenomenon is so common among Canadian travellers that it has its own verb: getting rouged. And to add a little extra sting, the flight would now arrive an hour later than originally scheduled.

Since the change fell within Air Canada’s three-hour window of allowable schedule adjustments, there was nothing we could do. Had we waited another week to book, we might have made a different choice. We did not wait. We noted this information and carried on.

It Gets Worse (Temporarily)

Fast forward to mid-April. Another chipper email from Air Canada. The flight had been pushed back another hour and a half, now arriving at 11:30 PM. Arriving in Moncton at nearly midnight after a transatlantic travel day stretching back more than 24 hours is not what anyone would call a good time.

Interestingly — and this is where things got curious — Air Canada noted that this time the flight was eligible for a full refund.

The Search Begins

Armed with that information, we started looking for alternatives. Direct flights between Copenhagen and Moncton are, shall we say, not a crowded market. We explored flying Copenhagen to London, spending a night there, then continuing to Halifax. The math worked out to roughly the same price as the Air Canada flight, even with the extra hotel. But the logistics — fly, check in, check out, security again, fly — felt brutal.

Then Meg had an idea. What about Copenhagen directly to Halifax?

I hadn’t even thought to check. I assumed the flight options would be the same thin pickings as Copenhagen to Moncton. I was wrong.

Enter WestJet

It turns out WestJet launched a brand-new route for summer 2026: Halifax to Copenhagen, four times a week. Direct. We’d have to spend one extra night in Copenhagen — not a terrible hardship, though hotels there are eye-wateringly expensive — but the flight itself was something else entirely.

Premium economy, Copenhagen to Halifax direct: $150 Canadian less than coach on Air Canada’s routing. Flying coach with WestJet would be half the price of Air Canada. And the timing? We’d leave Copenhagen an hour earlier and arrive in Halifax at 2 PM local time — a full ten hours earlier than the Air Canada itinerary.

Let that sink in. A better seat. A direct flight. Ten hours earlier. For less money.

Where do we sign up?

The Art of the Transaction

I confirmed with Air Canada that the refund was indeed available and, the moment I had that confirmation, I went to book both WestJet seats. This is where things got even more interesting.

One premium economy seat: $750 CAD. Two premium economy seats: $4,500 CAD. That is not a typo.

Now, some people might have paused here to question the logic of airline pricing. I simply adapted to it. Chivalry, as I explained to Meg, is not dead. I encouraged her to book the one seat at $750 for herself and I would fly in the back of the plane with the other peasants. She protested. I pointed out that we could get her into premium economy for less than our original coach tickets cost. The second seat at $2,200 versus $400 for coach was not a real decision. Reluctantly — and with some justified scepticism about the wisdom of travelling on separate booking numbers — she agreed.

With Meg’s seat secured, I went back to book mine. I carefully confirmed the same flight number, same date, and sure enough: one seat in premium economy was still available for $750. I backed out. Tried to buy two seats. Back to $4,500. Backed out again. Bought one seat at $750.

So there we were. Two premium economy seats on a direct flight to Halifax, both purchased individually at $750 each, for a grand total still less than what we had originally paid for coach on a three-stop itinerary arriving at midnight.

We chose our seats. We’re sitting together.

The Scorecard

Air Canada: Lost our business. Issued a refund. Will, I imagine, survive.

WestJet: Sold two premium economy tickets — via two separate transactions — for less than the price of one coach seat on their competitor’s routing. Whether their pricing logic made sense to anyone is a separate question. It made sense to us.

Cam and Meg: Flying direct. Arriving in the afternoon. In premium economy. Ten hours early.

And airlines wonder why people are sceptical of them.

Quote ” It only takes two things to fly: airspeed and money.”

Thanks for reading! Do you have a story where the airlines did something that made you go grrrrrrrr? Or maybe you managed to pull one over on them? We’d love to hear it — drop a comment below or reach out to us via the link above.

— Cam and Meg

🇵🇱 Three Days in Kraków

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Old Stones, Deep Mines, and the Best Ice Cream of the Trip

The Cloth Hall (shown above) has been conducting trade in Kraków since 1257.

This article is written by Cam and Meg with help from AI. All photos were taken by Cam and Meg.

Day One — Finding Our Feet in the Square

The sun finally made its first appearance in Poland as we dragged our bags across Wrocław toward the train station — Google Maps insisting, somewhat improbably, that walking beat transit. The train left late and arrived in Kraków even later, which we were beginning to understand was simply the Polish train (PKP) way.

After settling into our apartment, we headed straight for the old town. Kraków’s main square, Rynek Główny. It is often described as the largest medieval square in Europe. Standing there, it certainly feels enormous — although the grand Cloth Hall planted squarely in the middle does shrink it somewhat.

Saint Florian’s Gate, where Rulers would enter Krakow after battle.

Just after the bells rang on the hour, a lone trumpeter appeared high in the tower of St. Mary’s Basilica and played a short melody that ended abruptly mid-note. We later learned the tune commemorates a 13th-century watchman struck by a Mongol arrow while sounding the alarm. When the trumpeter waved from the tower, the crowd waved back instinctively. It felt less like a performance and more like a ritual the city has quietly carried forward for centuries.

Dinner was at a sidewalk pasta restaurant just off the square — warm air, clinking glasses, and a steady stream of people drifting home with shopping bags and souvenirs in hand. A lovely way to arrive somewhere new.

Day Two — Towers, Tunnels, and Freddie Mercury

We had intended to join a walking tour that morning, but Kraków proved distractingly good at pulling us off course.

The first distraction was the old Town Hall Tower, standing alone in the square since the rest of the building was demolished centuries ago. Cameron decided to climb it. Meg exercised better judgment and stayed below with the camera.

There are roughly 200 steep stairs to the top, and although the outdoor balconies are now closed, the views through the spotless windows were still worth the effort. Along the climb, an interpretive display included a replica of the city lord’s ring from the 1500s — a reminder that even seemingly modest museums in Poland tend to contain something unexpectedly fascinating.

Looking out over Kraków’s rooftops from the Town Hall Tower — earned one step at a time

From there, we descended underground into the Rynek Underground Museum, an archaeological site excavated beneath the square as recently as 2005. The museum traces more than a thousand years of Kraków’s history through buried roads, merchant stalls, graves, and medieval artifacts. One of the more surprising revelations was just how valuable salt once was — in the 1500s, half a ton of salt could buy a ton of gold.

The museum brochure suggested allowing an hour. We spent more than two and emerged considerably better informed than expected.

That evening brought one final surprise: a candlelit concert at the Royal Chopin Hall featuring piano, cello, and violin arrangements of Queen songs. Some translated beautifully into chamber music. Others felt slightly like Freddie Mercury had wandered into a conservatory by mistake. Either way, it was memorable.

Candlelight, chamber music, and Queen — not the combination we expected in Kraków.

Day Three — Salt, Jewish Memory, and Ice Cream

We were up early for the Wieliczka Salt Mine, a short commuter train ride outside the city.

More than two million people visit the mine each year, yet the operation runs with remarkable efficiency. English-language tours depart every thirty minutes, visitors wear headsets so guides never need to shout, and the entire route moves with near-clockwork precision.

Deep underground in the Wieliczka Salt Mine beneath chandeliers carved entirely from salt crystal.

The tour itself covers 3.5 kilometres and more than 800 stairs downward before a merciful elevator ride back to the surface. At 135 metres underground, we found ourselves standing beneath chandeliers made entirely from salt crystals in vast cathedral-like chambers carved directly from the rock.

Cam discovered that standing directly beneath one of the chandeliers creates a convincing halo effect in photographs — possibly the only halo he’ll ever claim.

Salt has been extracted here for at least a thousand years, with commercial production only ending around 1990. The carved chapels, underground lakes, and salt sculptures are genuinely astonishing, even if parts of the experience now lean heavily into tourism.

One guide told us between the 16th and 18th centuries, once a week, each worker could take home as much salt as they could hold in their hands. It was said, local ladies would seek potential husbands based on the size of their hands. We took that story with a grain of salt 😉

Our advice: book early and go first thing in the morning.

A Local Experience

Krakow from our rooftop bar

Back in Kraków, we stumbled onto a local farmers market with almost no tourists in sight. Google Translate handled most of the negotiations, cash was strongly preferred, and for approximately twenty minutes we felt extremely local.

Later that afternoon we wandered through the Jewish Quarter, eventually finding a rooftop hotel bar overlooking the neighbourhood’s red rooftops and church spires.

Then came Heroes’ Square.

The square commemorates the liquidation of the Kraków Ghetto between 1942 and 1945 and is filled with empty metal chairs scattered across the plaza. It is quiet, restrained, and deeply affecting. Some places ask for photographs. Others ask simply for pause.

On the walk back, we discovered what may have been the best ice cream of the entire trip. We ordered one scoop each. The woman behind the counter responded with cheerful disbelief and gave us two flavours apiece regardless of our protests.

It was far more ice cream than either of us needed.

We have no regrets.

Day Four — Planty Park and the Train to Warsaw

St Anne’s Church – A lovely church with an amazing organ.

Our final morning in Kraków was spent wandering Planty Park, the long green belt that traces the outline of the old medieval walls and moat. We drifted through the sunshine, ducked into a few churches, and enjoyed the rare luxury of having nowhere urgent to be.

Then it was back to the train station, where our train to Warsaw departed late and our reserved seats faced backward despite specifically booking forward-facing ones.

PKP, consistent to the end.

Kraków rewarded us more than we expected. Three days only scratches the surface — but what a remarkable surface it is.

Thanks for reading, please feel free to leave comments or contact us.

Quote – He who returns from a journey is not the same as he who left

Cam and Meg

Wroclaw: Poland’s Unexpected Gem

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We arrived in Wroclaw by train from Prague — five uneventful hours and, disappointingly, no RegioJet-style conductor appearing with Prosecco. Meg took the downgrade personally. Arriving in Wroclaw, we faced the classic traveller’s dilemma: bus or walk? The math said walk — barely a difference — but the cobblestones and construction sites made us earn it. Our host was waiting to greet us, patiently guiding us through two keypads, a lockbox, and the sort of apartment entry system that makes you question your own competence before we could finally dump our bags and meet our first Polish city.

The City of a Thousand Dwarves

We stopped counting after 45 dwarf photos. The dwarves did not stop appearing.

Wroclaw’s most whimsical claim to fame is its collection of small bronze dwarf statues — over a thousand of them scattered throughout the city, each going about some miniature business. We found our first on the walk from the station. By the end of day one, the novelty had settled into a comfortable rhythm: spot, photograph, move on. We managed 45 dwarf photos before declaring the project complete — or at least temporarily suspended. That evening, we tracked down pierogies — Poland’s great culinary promise.

Wroclaw by the Numbers

– 45 dwarf photos
– 0 complimentary train Proseccos
– 1 milk-bar pierogi disappointment
– 1 spotted lamplighter
– Too many pastries

The first spot was a traditional milk bar with a menu board like you would see at your high school in the 1970’s, no English, and no pierogies available. Plan B brought us to the main square and an upscale option where they’re made to order. Results: the seasoned pork and asparagus dumplings in cream sauce were excellent; the classic potato and cheese, a bit doughy; the raspberry and white chocolate dessert version, more wrapper than filling. A fine first meal regardless.

History Rebuilt

Wroclaw’s main square – the kind of square that makes you stop every twenty metres for “just one more photo.”

Day two brought a walking tour that proved illuminating, if repetitive. Our guide focussed heavily on the architecture — and with good reason. Nearly everything that looks old was rebuilt after 1945. Wroclaw was devastated in the Second World War, and what you see today is largely a painstaking reconstruction. After the third or fourth ornate facade accompanied by some variation of “…destroyed, …painstakingly rebuilt”, we quietly pressed some banknotes into our guide’s hand, thanked him sincerely, and slipped away in search of something more aligned with our interests: food markets. We found our way to the traditional market, very much our style. Cheese vendors, fruit stands, a bakery — and one cafeteria lineup that rewarded us with schnitzel, potatoes, and two salads for the price of one plate of last night’s pierogies. We could not finish it between the two of us.

Night of the Museums

One of those rare artworks that photographs poorly because your brain cannot process where the painting actually ends.

As luck would have it, that Saturday evening was Night of the Museums — an annual event where Wroclaw’s galleries open free of charge until midnight. Despite the rain and a 45-minute queue, the Panorama Racławice was worth every minute. The painting is 80 metres long and entirely circular, depicting a 19th-century Battle of Racławice in such masterful detail that the painted canvas and the three-dimensional foreground merge seamlessly. Even standing inches away, your eyes struggle to locate the seam between painted illusion and physical foreground — and in photos, it is simply impossible. This national treasure was rolled up and hidden during the war, very nearly lost forever. We followed the Panorama with a tour of the National Gallery — the kind of place we likely would have walked past on any ordinary evening.

The Lamplighter

One of those wonderfully specific travel moments you could never have planned and would hate to miss.

Sunday morning gave us quiet streets and perfect reflections. We wandered Cathedral Island with no crowds, capturing facades and statues in the early stillness. But the evening was the day’s true highlight. One corner of Cathedral Island still uses gas lamps, and each night around sunset, the lamplighter makes his rounds. Dressed in a black cape and hat, propane tank on his back and a long torch in hand, he moves from lamp to lamp — turning the gas, touching the flame to each of four mantles. His route changes nightly and people try to find him. We happened to be standing in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. We followed him to the end of his route and managed a photo together to mark the moment.

A Day Trip to Sobótka

A day of birdsong, forest trails, and lily-of-the-valley discoveries — exactly the reset we needed after city wandering.

Our fourth day felt like enough of a foundation to venture further afield. The small town of Sobótka, about an hour away by bus, promised hiking. Getting there required navigating PolBus — a website in Polish only, resistant to Google Translate, and not entirely current. We went on instinct, arrived at the bus station, and caught a bus within five minutes. On board we met an American missionary, on a two year Polish posting, who shared local observations as fields and villages slipped past the window.

The woods around Sobótka were everything we needed: birdsong, forest trails, and a pace entirely unlike the cities. Meg spotted lily-of-the-valley, which brought back childhood memories. Getting home involved a kind Ukrainian woman who — entirely through gestures and Google Translate — walked us through a construction zone and pointed us to the relocated bus stop. We made the bus with minutes to spare, grateful for the reminder that communication transcends language.

Farewell, Wroclaw

Still water, empty paths, and one last quiet loop around the islands before the train.

Our final morning rewarded an early start. Blue skies and still water on the river meant buildings reflected perfectly in the ponds as we walked the islands in a long loop. No one else about. We said quiet farewells to the dwarves we’d grown fond of, stopped at the bakery for brown paper bags of pastries we probably shouldn’t have eaten, and made our way to the train station. Both of us agreed:  Wroclaw is the kind of place that sneaks up on you. The signage can be opaque, English surprisingly scarce, and tourist crowds refreshingly absent. Somehow those very things become part of its charm. The bike paths, the waterways, the green spaces, the layered history, the quietly eccentric dwarves. By the time we boarded our train, it no longer felt like a stop on an itinerary. It felt like a city we’d happily return to.

Prague in Four Days: Astronomical Clocks, Monastery Beer, and Communist Cola

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🇨🇿 Four days in Prague brought us unexpected train cuisine, a deeply overachieving medieval clock, monastery beer, and proof that Czech beer logistics operate on a different scale entirely.

Day One: The Train, the Clock, and the Communist Cola

The journey from Vienna to Prague took just under five hours, and we loved every minute of it. Trains remain a firm favourite — downtown to downtown, no security theatre, proper seats, and actual scenery rolling past the window. What’s not to love?

We travelled with RegioJet, a Czech independent train company whose reviews are, shall we say, spirited. We’d booked months ahead, paid a reasonable fare, and felt quietly pleased with ourselves. Then, a few days before departure, we received an email saying our carriage had been changed — same class of service, no big deal. Then, the morning of departure, a second email: another change, and this time a downgrade. A refund, apparently, was on its way in five business days. We have heard that before.

Moving platforms…again

We arrived at the station in good time, positioned ourselves confidently at our platform, and watched — with increasing unease — as everyone around us suddenly picked up their bags and walked away. A glance at the departures board confirmed our suspicions: the train had shifted platforms. We schlepped our luggage up and down stairs and arrived at the new platform with minutes to spare, joining the mild chaos of a couple of hundred people trying to board at once.

Despite the preamble, the train itself was genuinely excellent. Our “Relax Class” seats were leather, in a two-and-one configuration — just that bit more generous than regular coach. The class comes with a bottle of water, unlimited tea and coffee, and table service for food. We had, of course, packed snacks, operating on the reasonable assumption that train food would be overpriced and underwhelming. We were wrong on both counts.

The menu was cheap and surprisingly diverse. Between us, we managed: cappuccino, mint tea, prosecco, a ham and cheese croissant, a sushi tray, potato chips, apple cake, honey cake, pop, and water — the whole lot coming to around $18 CAD. Cam’s ginger shot, ordered mostly out of curiosity, turned out to be the best he’d ever had. The sushi was, in fairness, firmly in the grocery-store tier, but for under three euros it was hard to object. The ham and cheese croissant was excellent.

🥤 Meeting Kofola

And then there was Kofola.

Our snacks on the train with Kafola front and centre!

If you haven’t heard of Kofola, here is the condensed history: during the communist era, Coca-Cola was capitalist and therefore bad. Kofola was Czech and therefore good. It is dark brown, fizzy, sweet, and comes in plastic bottles. That is where the resemblance to Coke ends. When Cam ordered one, the conductor — a man of excellent English and admirable patience — fixed him with a look that suggested this happened more often than it should. He warned, diplomatically, that Czech people liked Kofola but visitors sometimes found it difficult to take. Cam replied that he was a guest in the country and wanted to try local things, which earned a genuine smile and, shortly afterwards, a glass of Kofola.

The verdict: somewhere between Coca-Cola, Dr Pepper, root beer, and something faintly herbal that nobody could quite identify — Vimto, perhaps, after a long day. Meg, fresh from her fermented tea adventure in Albania, elected to stick with prosecco and made no apologies for this. Cam is glad he tried it. He will not be seeking it out again.

A Fairytale City

Historical and narrow streets, they felt like a Disney set.

The train pulled into Prague on time, which felt like a minor triumph after the morning’s adventures. A light rain was falling — our remarkable streak of good weather quietly ending — but we dropped our bags and set out anyway. Old Town Prague is a labyrinth: cobblestones, alleys, facades that look as though they were designed by someone who had read too many fairy tales and decided to simply build one. In places, it really does feel like a Disney set, which sounds like a criticism but somehow isn’t. There is a quality to it — particularly on a cool, damp evening in mid-May, when the crowds have thinned and whole stretches feel almost deserted — that is genuinely unworldly. We hadn’t felt it in any other city on this trip.

We found dinner in a traditional tavern just beyond the main tourist radius. There was a twenty-minute wait for a table. It was entirely worth it.

Before bed, we stopped to watch the Astronomical Clock — more on that tomorrow, because it deserves more than a footnote.

Day Two: Walking Tours, Gas Lamps, and a Clock That Does Too Much

The walking tour ran nearly four hours. With hindsight, this was ambitious. The first two hours were excellent; the second two were the mental equivalent of trying to pour water into a full glass. We nodded, we noted, we absorbed considerably less than we intended. The Jewish Quarter section, in particular, deserved more of our attention than our flagging concentration was able to give it.

What stuck, though, stuck well.

Prague’s history follows a pattern familiar from our weeks in Central Europe: alliances, betrayals, occupation, and Hitler. Always Hitler. But the tour surfaced a few details that set Prague apart. One was the gas lamps. The city converted its old town streetlighting to electricity in the 1980s and almost immediately regretted it. By the early 2000s, the gas lamps had begun returning. Today, from the Old Town Square to the Charles Bridge, the streets are lit by faithful replicas of the originals — and every night, a lamplighter makes the rounds to light them by hand. It is a choice that says something nice about the city.

The Clock That Refuses to Be Normal

The other thing that stood apart was the Astronomical Clock, which we had already seen but now properly understood. The hourly show — the twelve apostles parading above the dial — is the thing that draws the crowds, but it is honestly the least interesting thing about it. The clock itself was built in the 1400s and tracks, simultaneously: three different time systems (modern time, old Czech time, and Babylonian time), the current zodiac sign, the height of the sun, sunrise and sunset, and the phase of the moon. The feast day appears as well, along with which saint is celebrated — at least one for every day of the year. All of this was engineered without computers, without precision machinery, without anything we would recognise as modern tooling. It has been doing its job for over six hundred years. The 9 AM showing, we discovered, is the best: the full performance, the fewest people.

Prague Astronomical Clock in Old Town Square – six hundred years of celestial multitasking

Prague’s Slightly Mischievous Side

Floating down on an umbrella.

Prague also has a playful streak in its public art. Beyond the famous rotating head of Franz Kafka and the Dancing House, we came across whimsical statues scattered through the streets — mushroom umbrellas, figures floating above the pavement à la Mary Poppins, automated aeroplanes with butterfly wings. It gives the old town an additional layer of surprise, as if the city occasionally winks at you.

Lunch on this day was a genuine find. Our guide pointed us toward a cafeteria-style restaurant — a proper Czech cafeteria, not a café in disguise. You collect a tray and an order slip from the cashier, work your way along, have food written down as you go, eat, and then pay at the end. Cam described it as eating at IKEA, which is accurate, and meant as a compliment. The prices were genuinely remarkable for central Prague.

🍺 Day Three: Uphill Both Ways, Monastery Beer, and the Beer Delivery

We set out on the morning of May 14th with a plan to do some walking in the wooded hills above the city. The destination was Petřín Hill and its lookout tower — a scaled-down Eiffel Tower built for the 1891 Prague Jubilee Exhibition, with commanding views over the old town.

We took the bus to get close, which helped with most of the climbing. Most of it. The remaining ascent still took a solid half hour and covered 150 metres of vertical, which is enough to reclassify a casual walk as a hike, particularly when you hadn’t entirely planned for it. At the top, we looked at the tower, looked at each other, and agreed to take the elevator. For fifty extra Czech koruna, it seemed a reasonable investment.

The views were worth it. The city spread out below in that particular way that medieval European cities do — layers of red rooftops, stone bridges, the river curving through it all.

Beer as Motivation

Coming down through the forested paths of Petřín, we noticed a large building on the map: the Strahov Monastery. Right next to it, almost as an afterthought: the Strahov Monastery Brewery. It was approaching lunchtime. The brewery had exceptional reviews. The decision required very little deliberation.

The food was good. The beer was exceptional — the best of the entire trip, and we have been covering some ground on this particular metric. Made on-site, sampled with the appropriate reverence, it made the uphill slog feel entirely worthwhile. Perhaps more worthwhile than it strictly was, but that is what good beer does.

Beer Delivery, Czech Style

You need a firehose to supply Czech pubs with beer!

Later that afternoon, back near our hotel, Cam witnessed something that tied together a theme that had been running through our Prague days. A truck pulled up outside the pub on the ground floor of our building. The driver climbed out, opened the back, and began feeding a large hose — the diameter of a fire hose — through a small opening in the basement wall. Cam, curious, went over and asked if this was a beer delivery. The driver looked at him with a broad grin and said with a heavy Czech accent: “This is the Czech Republic.” He waved Cam around to the side panel of the truck, which opened to reveal six tanks. Each tank held 1,000 litres. He would be delivering 3,000 litres to this one pub.

The Czechs take their standing as the world’s highest per-capita beer consumers very seriously. Kegs, it turns out, are simply not sufficient to the task. Earlier in the trip, our Bratislava guide had told us that the old town sat atop miles of beer cellars — tunnels and caves running beneath the streets. Prague is the same. Many of those cellars are now restaurants: small and apparently modest at street level, then descending through a staircase or two into dramatically atmospheric spaces with exposed stone walls and copper holding tanks. On our first visit to one, we watched group after group disappear through a door that looked like it should fit perhaps thirty people. We were eventually led through that door, down one flight of stairs to a larger room, and then down again to the second basement. The tanks, Cam had assumed, meant the place brewed its own beer. They are, in fact, holding tanks. The beer arrives by hose from the street.

For dinner, we found another traditional Czech restaurant away from the tourist drag. It was, again, excellent. We are beginning to suspect that Prague simply does this well.

🌅 Day Four: Early Morning, Empty Bridge, and On to Poland

On the final morning, Cam rose early and walked to the Charles Bridge before the city had properly woken up. In high season, the bridge is perpetually crowded; at that hour, in mid-May, it was nearly empty — just the bridge, the statues, the river, and the light. Worth the early alarm.

We then made our way to the train station, luggage in hand, for the journey to Poland — the country where Cam’s mother was born.

Prague surprised us. The reputation for beauty is entirely deserved, but it is also a city with a sense of humour, a willingness to invest in its own history, and a serious commitment to beer that goes well beyond the performative. We arrived sceptical of train food and left unexpectedly converted. We arrived vaguely aware of the Astronomical Clock and departed genuinely awed by it.

One of many statues on the Charles Bridge at sunrise.

We would not hesitate to return.

Travel Quote – Life is a journey. Make the most of it.

Thanks for reading, feel free to leave any comments or reach out with the link above.

— Cam and Meg

🇦🇹 Three Days in Vienna

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🇦🇹 Schnitzel, Palaces, and a Well-Earned Café Stop 🇦🇹

May 9–11, 2026 – Our three days in Vienna, Austria – Written by Meg with help from Cam and AI. All photos by Cam and Meg.

🚂 Day One: The Transit Tax

Travel has a way of humbling you. No matter how short a journey looks on paper, getting from one place to another frequently consumes far more of the day than logic would suggest. Today’s one-hour train ride from Bratislava somehow swallowed five hours whole!

Blame check-in and check-out times — the quiet tax of traveling without hotels. With no front desk to stash our bags and no gracious early check-in, we simply had to improvise. Luckily, with cooperative weather and a decent grocery store nearby, we made a picnic out of it. There are certainly worse ways to spend a Viennese afternoon. 😊

Fountains at Belvedere Palace with a happy duck!

Once the flat was finally ours, we ditched our bags and headed straight for Belvedere Palace. Distances in Vienna are deceptive — much like Paris, things look much closer on a map than they actually are on foot. The journey by public transit took around 40 minutes, with some local Saturday demonstrations adding a bit of color to the delay.

The palace, unfortunately, greeted us with scaffolding across most of its façade. Taking photos was largely futile, and the grounds — though expansive — were less manicured than we had hoped. Belvedere is clearly a place that deserves a return visit under better circumstances!

🍽️ Dinner in Vienna: There is Only One Option!

Weiner Schnitzel tastes better in Vienna!

Dinner made up for the rocky start entirely. We found a quiet neighborhood restaurant well away from the tourist orbit of St. Stephen’s Cathedral. It was the kind of place where the menu is humble and the cooking is honest. When we asked whether the schnitzel was good, our server replied with magnificent conviction: “Of course!”

He was absolutely right. This Wiener schnitzel was fried in clarified butter, not oil — resulting in a golden, crisp, and deeply satisfying meal. The warm aroma of butter arriving with the plates was half the pleasure! As they say, Wiener schnitzel simply tastes better in Vienna. 😋

👑 Day Two: The Palace That Earns Its Reputation

An early Sunday start paid massive dividends. We secured tickets for the first entry slot at Schönbrunn Palace and walked straight in without waiting in a queue.

Meg on the red carpet at Schonbrunn – worth every early alarm!

The visit opened with a well-produced audio-visual presentation through about ten rooms, beautifully setting the historical stage. Interestingly, the storytelling leaned more heavily on Franz Joseph and Empress Elisabeth (Sisi) than on Maria Theresa. This shaped a considerably poignant, emotional tone — there is something deeply melancholy and cinematic about Elisabeth’s story that the curators clearly know how to highlight.

What we saw covered only about 2% of the palace’s staggering 1,441 rooms — yet it still took us an hour and a half to explore! Heading up the grand staircases into the Palace, Meg even had the red carpet all to herself for a quick photo. 💃

Our audio guides allowed us to explore at our own pace, though we could feel the crowds heavily building around us as we moved through. By the time we reached the exit, the line just to collect audio guides stretched well out the door. Arriving early was easily one of the best decisions of the trip!

In the end, Schönbrunn is very reminiscent of Versailles — sharing the same overwhelming scale, gilded interiors, and architectural attempts to make imperial power feel inevitable. If you have been to one, you will instantly recognize the design language of the other. That is not a criticism; it is simply the universal grammar of an empire.

🏃‍♂️ Wandering the Grounds & An Evening Stroll

The palace grounds were incredibly lively for a different reason today: a “Run for Life” race was scheduled to begin in the early afternoon. With 13,000 runners expected to swarm the grounds, we happily made our exit well ahead of the tide. 🏃‍♂️💨

The afternoon brought a long, relaxing stroll along the Donaukanal in the late sunshine. For dinner, we opted for wurst and schnitzel again — we are nothing if not consistent! — wrapping up a genuinely satisfying day.

☕ Day Three: Coffee, Clocks, and a Well-Timed Storm

Outrageously priced. Completely worth it

Now, those who know Cam will appreciate what a momentous occasion this was. He does not drink coffee or tea. Getting him to sit at a café and simply watch the world go by is a minor diplomatic achievement. Today, it actually happened! 🎉

We snagged an outdoor table at a small café right beside St. Stephen’s Cathedral — the absolute epicenter of tourist Vienna, with its famous colorful tile roof and soaring Gothic spires.

From our perch, we watched tour group after tour group trudge past, each trailing obediently behind a colorful flag. No one looked particularly engaged; if we’re honest, it looked like a rather sad procession.

The coffee was outrageously expensive, but completely worth it. If this was to be our one proper café stop of the Vienna stay, we could not have chosen a more quintessentially Viennese setting.

🕰️ The Anker Clock: An Art Nouveau Timepiece

From there, we stumbled upon an unexpected discovery: Vienna has its own remarkable astronomical clock! While we knew all about Prague’s famous timepiece and were looking forward to seeing it, we had no idea Vienna was hiding one of its own — the Anker Clock (Ankeruhr) in the Hoher Markt square.

Vienna’s Anker Clock – an Art Nouveau Masterpiece

We missed the noon show because we didn’t know to look out for it, but we lingered to admire its design nonetheless. The clock is fantastical and whimsical. Apparently, at the strike of noon, twelve historical figures parade across its face while music plays over the speakers.

The Anker Clock is not nearly as famous as Prague’s, which means it doesn’t attract massive crowds, making the experience feel far more personal. Next time, we will make sure to be there at midday to listen for Mozart and other great composers! 🎶

We made it back to our accommodation just ahead of a magnificent thunderstorm, which provided a dramatic Viennese backdrop that felt almost scripted. ⛈️ A short walk through a nearby park between rain showers and a quick chance to catch up on emails quietly wrapped up our three days in Vienna.

💭 Final Thoughts on Vienna

Vienna deeply rewards patience and good timing:

  • 🏰 Get to the palaces early to beat the massive crowds.
  • 🧈 Eat the schnitzel — especially if it is fried in clarified butter!
  • ☕ Sit at the café, even if one of you doesn’t drink coffee.
  • ⏰ Always keep an eye on the clocks.

We would happily return. Next time, perhaps we’ll bring bicycles; the city has a wonderful way of making distances feel manageable once you stop fighting them on foot. 🚲

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment below or get in touch with us — we’d love to hear from you! 👇

✈️ Quote: “Airplane travel is nature’s way of making you look like your passport photo.”

Up next on the blog: Prague, its famous astronomical clock, and whatever else we haven’t thought to expect! 🇨🇿

🇸🇰 Two Days in Bratislava: Soups, Spires, and Secret Vineyards

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🥣 Day 1: Historic Streets and Edible Bowls

This lunch of soup in a edible bowl was great!

Our introduction to Bratislava came in a conical bread bowl. Hungry and ready to explore shortly after noon, we stumbled upon SoupCulture, a quirky café serving rich, hearty soups inside edible hollowed-out loaves. It was a clever, delicious discovery that set a wonderful tone for the entire city.

Meg sitting down chatting with Napoleon. She was taller than he was 😉

After checking into our hotel, we joined a walking tour for a crash course in Slovakia’s layered past. Our guide seamlessly walked us through the country’s complex history: the amicable split from the Czech Republic, WWII German occupation, decades of communist rule, and the liberation following the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Along the cobblestone streets, we paused at the ornate Franciscan Church, spotted the famous Napoleon statue watching over the main square, and stopped near the city museum to learn about the poet Pavol Hviezdoslav.

🏰 A City of Two Worlds

The tour culminated at Bratislava Castle, perched high above the Danube. It was here that the city revealed its most striking contrast.

Looking one way, we saw the graceful old town with its historic spires and rooftops. Turning toward the opposite bank, the view shifted entirely to a dense horizon of rigid, square, communist-era tower blocks. Seeing these two worlds simultaneously from one vantage point made the history we’d just heard feel powerfully real.

⛪ Day 2: Fairy Tales and Five-Euro Wine

Inside the “Blue” Church – a lovely building.

The morning began gently with a visit to the Church of St. Elisabeth, known simply as the Blue Church. It is exactly what it sounds like: a dreamy, powder-blue Art Nouveau confection that looks more like something out of a fairy tale than a place of worship.

From there, we wandered along the riverfront, pausing to look at the various sculptures before heading to the train station for the day’s main adventure: a wine-country side trip.

🍇 Finding a Foothill Oasis in Pezinok

The rolling hills of the Little Carpathians make for excellent hiking and wineries!

A short train ride brought us to Pezinok, a town sitting at the foot of the Little Carpathians. We set off uphill on foot, winding along lanes flanked by rows of vines stretching up the slopes. Because it was May 8th—Victory in Europe Day—most of the vineyards were closed for the holiday.

Just as our plans to sample local wine seemed to be slipping away, we rounded a bend and found one small, family-run vineyard open for business. We settled into the sunshine with glasses of crisp white wine, looking out over the valley.

It was one of those quietly perfect travel moments—unhurried, unplanned, and utterly wonderful. The best part? The entire experience cost just five euros for the two of us. An absolute bargain.

🍷 Slovakia’s Best-Kept Vinous Secret

Wine tasting in the foothills of the Carpathian Mtns.

We made our way back down the hill to the station and caught the train back into the city, but the wine exploration wasn’t finished. Back in Bratislava, we ducked into a cellar wine bar to sample more Slovakian varieties.

What struck us was a point made with unmistakable local pride: Slovakian wine almost never leaves Slovakia. The country drinks essentially everything it produces and must actually import wine from elsewhere just to satisfy domestic demand. It’s the kind of secret that makes you feel privileged to have found it at the source.

A traditional meal – you will not leave hungry!

Dinner that evening took us to Bratislava Flagship, a sprawling restaurant dedicated to traditional Slovak cuisine. The place was enormous, loud in the best possible way, and humming with a convivial energy that made the meal feel like a celebration.

The food was hearty and deeply satisfying—honest, unpretentious cooking that reflected the soul of the country. We left full, happy, and grateful for a day that had delivered far more than we’d expected, from the vines above Pezinok to the last bite of a very fine Slovak dinner.

🥐 Day 3: Market Treats and Nostalgic Flavours

Our final morning in Bratislava began at the old town market, arriving early enough to be among the first through the doors at nine o’clock. The stalls were a lovely jumble of breads, cheeses, wines, and homemade specialties.

The doughnut we eventually chose turned out to be one of the finest either of us has ever eaten—fresh, light, and impossible to regret. From the cheese merchant, we sampled several varieties before settling on two, including a walnut cheese that stopped us both in our tracks. It was unlike anything we had tasted before, and it disappeared long before it probably should have.

Bratislava’s indoor market – fresh wonderful food and treats!

We also picked up poppyseed cakes that bore a striking resemblance to the ones my Oma used to bake—a warm and unexpected moment of nostalgia in a foreign market.

The wine stall, though we didn’t purchase, was a highlight in its own right. Enormous stainless-steel vats lined the stand, and the system was beautifully simple: buy an empty bottle, point to your wine, and watch it get filled and corked on the spot. “Civilized” hardly covers it.

With bags in hand and full hearts, we made our way to the train station bound for Vienna. Bratislava had surprised us at every turn, and we left already looking forward to coming back.

Budapest Itinerary 8 days

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Our Budapest itinerary 8 days includes six full days in Budapest, divided between Buda and Pest. It also covers an overnight trip to Eger which is well worth the diversion. We feel it is two cities that reward

Day One: Budapest on Foot

Budapest rewards the walker. Our first full day in the city we gave ourselves over entirely to its streets. We joined a walking tour that wove us through the grand bones of Pest, block by revealing block.

We began at St. Stephen’s Basilica but only for a glimpse. Our plans had us going back for a tour and concert in a few days. We pressed on into the city’s layered history. At the Memorial for the Victims of the German Occupation, we paused. The installation is not subtle, nor should it be; it makes you think and demands something of you. We stood quietly with it for a while before moving on.

Finding Our First Kolodko Statue

Liberty Square brought unexpected delight. Budapest, we had been told, hides small bronze figures throughout its streets. Referred to as Kolodko statues, after the artist who created them. They are whimsical and easy to miss if you’re not looking down. We were looking. And there, tucked at Liberty Square, was Kermit the Frog, presiding with his usual air of cheerful bewilderment. We crouched beside him and laughed.

The Hungarian Parliament – impressive with its spires.

We paused by the Parliament Building, all spires and symmetry, glowing in the noontime light. We found a good angle, handed the camera to a stranger with a smile. The result was exactly the photograph we wanted. The two of us, and one of the most beautiful buildings on earth behind us.

The section below is a difficult subject about the Holocaust. Anyone who does not feel comfortable reading it should carry forward to the next section labelled Chain Bridge. click here to skip ahead

Shoes on the Danube

We had been warned, gently, by our guide before we approached.

Shoes on the Danube – haunting.

In January 1945, Hungarian Arrow Cross militiamen — the fascist collaborators who did the Reich’s cruelest work in its final desperate months — came in the dead of night to the Jewish Ghetto. In temperatures of minus thirty, they marched their prisoners down to the river’s edge and issued a simple, devastating instruction. Remove your shoes, and place your valuables inside them.

The shoelaces were taken. Ankles were bound together in groups of roughly thirty people. Then one shot was fired. The person who fell was, in the most haunting calculus imaginable, the fortunate one. Being tied together as they were, they all went into the Danube. The river, cold and indifferent, was meant to carry them away and simply erase them from memory. There was no way anyone could survive. It was -30C. The river, what parts were not frozen, was dark, black and freezing cold. It was the middle of the night, no light anywhere. Blackouts were in place due to the threat of Allied bombings. Once in the river, people would have struggled but would be pulled down by their collective weight. A terrible and terrifying end.

The bronze shoes cast along the embankment today number sixty pairs, rendered exactly as they were in life. There are work boots beside elegant heels and most devastatingly, children’s shoes. In bronze, they refuse erasure. They hold the ground those people were made to leave. We stood among them without speaking. Some things don’t resolve into words. You just bear witness, and you carry it with you.

Chain Bridge

Our walking tour came to its end at the Chain Bridge, Budapest’s most iconic crossing. A fitting place to pause and take stock of everything the city had already given us.

Before we dispersed, our guide produced something charming and entirely unexpected — a Hungarian food bingo card he had designed himself, listing the local dishes and specialties we ought to seek out during our stay. It was exactly the kind of insider touch that no guidebook thinks to offer, and we studied it with genuine enthusiasm, already mentally planning our meals.

We crossed the Chain Bridge on foot, the Danube broad and grey beneath us, Buda’s castle quarter rising on the far bank. We wandered the waterfront for a while, letting the afternoon slow down around us, before making our way back to the apartment to rest.

That evening, we ventured out in pursuit of a Hungarian essential: goulash soup. The bowls arrived modest in size but generous in everything that mattered — dense with tender meat and potatoes, warming in the way that only a dish built by centuries of cold winters truly can be. A quiet, perfect ending to a day that had asked a great deal of us.

Day Two: May Day — Into the City Like Locals

Budapest has a way of making you feel, even as a visitor, that you belong to it. May 1st — Labour Day, a national holiday — gave us our best chance yet to test that feeling.

We made for City Park, where a sprawling open-air celebration had taken over the grounds entirely. Food stalls stretched in every direction. At the other end, a large dog show occupied a portion of the park with canine seriousness. Around it all moved Budapest’s families and couples, unhurried and content, spreading blankets on the grass, laughing with children. People were living the day exactly as a holiday is meant to be lived. We fell in among them gratefully, simply two more people on a park bench, lunch from the food trucks in hand, sun on our faces. It was a great day.

After the park we drifted through the surrounding streets with no particular agenda — the best kind of wandering — letting the city show us whatever it chose.

Margaret Island – an Oasis in the City

As evening came on, we crossed to Margaret Island. The island has its own quiet logic — a green ribbon in the middle of the Danube. We walked its full length along beautifully kept paths, the city a respectful distance on either side. At the far end, we found the musical fountain and settled in for the seven o’clock show. The water rose and fell in surprisingly moving choreography, set to music, lit against the darkening sky. From the classics to contemporary, including Michael Bublé, to make us proud at the Canadian content.

A perfect sunset over the Danube River.

Leaving, we paused on Margaret Bridge and saw what postcards are made of. The setting sun cast itself full and warm against the Parliament Building’s façade — the spires and pale stone lit, but the shadows beginning their slow, inevitable climb. Inch by inch the light retreated up the walls, the golden warmth shrinking upward until, at last, it released its hold entirely and the building passed into the blue of evening. It lasted perhaps ten minutes. We didn’t move or speak much. There are moments that ask only to be witnessed, and this was one of them.

Day Three: Market, Bridge, and Ruin Bars

Budapest’s Great Market Hall is one of those places that arrives with considerable reputation, and on a Saturday morning it delivered on most of it. We wandered in as the stalls were still finding their rhythm, the lower floor coming alive with vendors arranging their displays — coils of sausage, wedges of cheese, vivid ropes of dried paprika, fruit stacked with evident pride, butchers setting out their cuts with practiced efficiency. It was genuine and sensory and worth every minute. We stopped at a bakery and, even though we were in Budapest, sampled a Bratislava pastry.

The upper floor leaned more heavily toward the tourist trade. Souvenir stalls and quick meals jostling for attention. The building itself, for all its undeniable beauty, wore that slightly self-conscious air that great market halls sometimes acquire when they know they are being admired. We appreciated the architecture sincerely, then slipped back out into the morning without any paprika or embroidered tablecloths, which felt like the right decision.

On the way out we admired the Liberty Bridge. We stood on it for a while and said what we both already knew: we liked it more than the Chain Bridge. It is greener, quieter, less performed — a working bridge that happens to be beautiful rather than a beautiful bridge that happens to work.

Ruin Bars – A Concept that Invites Celebration

That evening we made our way to one of Budapest’s celebrated ruin bars — those improbable, glorious experiments in which the city takes its abandoned buildings and breathes chaotic, creative new life into them. Arriving early meant we had the rare pleasure of a table, a drink in hand, and space to actually look. Umbrellas hung overhead in clusters, their colours mismatched and wonderful. The décor was deliberately, cheerfully unresolved — odd objects placed with a conviction that they belonged together. It worked. Budapest has a particular genius for this kind of reinvention, for finding the poetry in what other cities might simply demolish. The ruin bars are its most joyful expression of that instinct.

Day Four: Miniature Mysteries, a Charming Village, and Goulash Worth the Wait

Our morning unfolded at a leisurely pace, map in hand, hunting for Budapest’s beloved Kolodko miniature statues. These tiny, whimsical sculptures are tucked into the most unexpected corners of the city, and tracking them down proved a wonderful excuse to wander neighbourhoods we might otherwise have missed. By late morning we’d found four of the little treasures — each discovery earning a proper moment of delight.

A cobbled lined street in Szentendre with umbrellas.

From there we caught the train north to Szentendre, a village that felt almost too picturesque to be real. Cobblestone lanes wound past brightly coloured shops and alleyways strung with cheerful umbrellas, all bathed in warm afternoon sunshine. We settled into an open-air café, ordered ice cream, and happily watched the world stroll by. The return journey was even better — a ninety-minute riverboat cruise down the Danube as the sun dipped low, painting the water gold. An absolutely magical way to re-enter the city.

Beef Goulash

That evening we set out for Hungary’s iconic dish: beef goulash. The meal itself was wonderful — rich, deeply flavoured, and entirely worth writing home about — though getting it proved an adventure of its own. Forty minutes after ordering, we’d watched entire tables around us arrive, eat, and leave while our food remained a mystery. When we gently flagged down our waiter, the manager appeared moments later looking genuinely mortified. He apologized sincerely and insisted the meal would be on the house. We protested, he refused, and his parting request was simply that we leave a kind review if we felt so moved. We did, without hesitation.

Day Five: Castle Views, Sacred Music, and More Hidden Statues

We spent our morning crossing to the Buda side of the city, climbing through leafy parks until the castle grounds opened up before us. After several days exploring Pest, we both agreed that Buda held a quieter, more unhurried character — and, it must be said, noticeably cleaner streets. No slight intended toward Pest’s many charms, but the litter there had been a recurring disappointment. From the castle heights, however, none of that mattered. The views across the Danube to the Pest skyline were breathtaking, particularly with the day’s brilliant sunshine turning everything golden. We lingered longer than planned before eventually making our way back over the bridge to freshen up at the apartment.

A mini sculpture with Meg’s hand for scale

Our afternoon was anchored by a visit to Saint Stephen’s Basilica, timed deliberately to coincide with the 4:30 organ concert — a 50-minute performance included free with admission every Monday. It was a genuinely captivating experience, the great instrument filling that soaring interior with remarkable depth, complemented beautifully by a trumpeter performing alongside the organist. One of the Basilica’s most extraordinary features was a small chapel depicting the crucifixion. Regardless of where you stood, Christ’s knees appeared to point directly toward you. It was so striking that I photographed it three times, half convinced I was imagining it. I wasn’t.

As evening settled over the city, we headed back out into the streets — not for any particular destination, but with our statue map in hand and the quiet pleasure of the hunt ahead. We found several more Kolodko pieces tucked into corners and alcoves, each one a small reward for paying attention. It was the perfect gentle close to another full and memorable day.

Day Six and Seven Had Us Heading to the Town of Eger

We headed to Eger, which is covered in a separate post.

Final Evening: Budapest, Signing Off

Returning from Eger, we spent our last Budapest evening simply — unwinding, packing, and preparing for the next morning’s train to Bratislava. No grand plans, no restaurant reservations. Just the quiet pleasure of a city we’d grown genuinely fond of.

If Budapest was the grand centrepiece of our time in Hungary, Eger was its quiet highlight. The wine cellars of the Valley of Beautiful Women, the castle’s storied ramparts, lángos in the park — it had an unhurried authenticity that stayed with us. If you’re planning a Hungarian itinerary, do make room for more than a day trip. An overnight there is something you will not regret.

Hungary had exceeded every expectation. Warm, generous, endlessly interesting — a country that rewards the curious traveller. We’d return in a heartbeat.

If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask or send us an email using the link.

Thanks for reading

As travellers, we leave you with this quote – Tourists visit. Travellers explore.

Cam and Meg

Two Days in Eger

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Hungary  ·  Spring 2026

The journey began the way the best Hungarian adventures do — aboard a train. Rolling eastward out of Budapest, the city’s rooftops giving way to sunlit plains and the gentle swell of the Northern Uplands. Eger arrived with the unhurried charm of a town that has never needed to announce itself. We found a park bench, unwrapped our lunch, and ate with the easy contentment of travellers who have nowhere to be but precisely where they are.

Arriving at our…Ahhheeemm…Accomodation

Our accommodation, however, tested that contentment. Generous in its use of the word “hotel,” it was a hostel in all but name. Four rooms perched on the top floor, each with its own bathroom. A shared common area anchored by what was diplomatically labelled a kitchen. In practice, this meant a microwave and a hot plate. We unpacked with tempered expectations and took it in good humour. We were fortunate that we were the only guests that evening. I think we all know that, sometimes, reviews are a bit misleading.

“Ninety-seven steps, spiralling upward in the dark — the minaret’s reputation preceded it.”

One of the wine cellars in Eger

The minaret stood nearby our lodging, its Ottoman silhouette rising against the blue sky. It was ninety-seven steps coiling upward in claustrophobic darkness. We considered it seriously, debated, and ultimately declined. This decision felt entirely reasonable and only slightly like cowardice. Instead, we sought out the Valley of Beautiful Women, Eger’s celebrated wine district. The local shuttle, however, would only accept Hungarian Forint which we didn’t possess. So we walked, and the twenty-five minutes passed pleasantly enough beneath the afternoon sun.

The Valley of Beautiful Women

An afternoon in the sunshine on an open air patio in Eger, Hungary.

The valley more than rewarded the effort. We settled into three different wine cellars, drifting between patios dappled in shade, a balmy twenty-five degrees lending everything the warmth of a long, unhurried afternoon. Crisp white wines arrived in succession — local varieties, honest and expressive. We closed the afternoon with two reds that lingered richly on the palate. For €15 for all three caves, it was also incredibly reasonable. However, much like our visit to Porto, we drank more than we planned to. I’m sure everyone does. (see our earlier post on Porto)

Dinner followed: al fresco, candle-lit, lovely in every sense of the word.

Religious artifacts from the castle

Our second morning belonged to Eger Castle. We spent three hours wandering its ramparts and halls, absorbing centuries of siege and defiance layered into every stone. Afterwards, lunch in the park — a lángos, golden and pillowy, the kind of street food that asks for no accompaniment. Then the train, westward this time, carrying us back to Budapest with full stomachs, wine-warm memories, and the quiet satisfaction of a journey well spent.

Getting to Eger

If you go, trains run every hour from Budapest to Eger or vice versa. There’s no need to book in advance as trains rarely sell out and seat reservations are not required. Do validate your ticket onboard. The train ride is approximately two hours. The Eger station is about a 25-minute walk to the Tourist Info centre/central square. There are also buses and taxis.

During the summer and on weekends, it is advisable to have hotel reservations. We were there at the beginning of May during shoulder season. A few of the wine bars were closed during the afternoon we visited, but most were open. During the weekends and on holidays and through the summer all wine bars are normally opened. The walk from downtown Eger to the Valley of Beautiful Women is approximately 25 minutes at a gentle pace. A shuttle will take you there for 1,400 Ft ($4.50 USD), Hungarian cash only.

Eger is a city you should make time for, and an overnight would be much more rewarding than a day trip.

To read about our time in Budapest, see our 8-days in Hungary post

✦   ✦   ✦

Eger, Hungary, Overnight  ·  A journey remembered

Albania Travel Guide and How we Dealt with an Accident

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Our Travel Diary

We spent eight days in Albania and loved it. Our Albania travel guide shows the warmth of the people which can only be described as amazing. We had a small hiccup at the end when our rental car was in an accident but that did not change our view on this lovely county and its people. This Albania travel guide was written by Cam with help from Meg and Claude AI. All pictures and videos are property of Cam.

Tirana — Days 1 to 3

We flew into Tirana from Manchester, touching down and clearing the airport by early evening. The original plan had been to pick up a rental car at the airport, but we’d thought better of it. Neither of us felt confident enough about Albanian roads or the city itself to dive straight in behind the wheel. A taxi it was.

We loved Tirana and Albania – warm people and great food!

The fare was 2,200 Lekë, around €22, cash only. We would hear that a lot over the next week. The thirty-minute drive into the city was an education. Albanian drivers, it turns out, operate by a set of rules entirely their own. Lanes are suggestions. Horns are punctuation. And yet, somehow, it all flows. A kind of organised chaos where nobody seems to know quite what they’re doing, and yet nobody seems to crash either. As we peeled off the main road and threaded into the narrow street where our apartment was located, we genuinely marvelled that a car could fit down it at all.

Our driver eventually stopped at an intersection, climbed out, and announced with admirable candour that he had no idea where the house was. A quick message to our host sorted it out. He appeared from a side street moments later and walked us the rest of the way.

Our Apartment – Close to Mother Teresa’s Birthplace

The neighbourhood had a certain roughness to it, though not from the people. It was the buildings that gave it an edge. Their facades weathered and worn. But step inside, and the apartment was a revelation. Beautifully appointed and a genuine surprise after the chaos of getting there. We headed out for a light dinner and called it a night.

Albanian Street Food

Albanian street food – byrek. We ate a lot of it.

Day two began with a find. A local grocery store, where we had our first introduction to byrek, arguably Albania’s most beloved street food. Layers of flaky phyllo pastry wrapped around fillings of cheese, spinach, or onion. Simple, satisfying, and the perfect fuel for a morning of wandering. We made our way to the main square, then on to the Museum of Secret Surveillance — better known as the House of Leaves. The name conjures something botanical and serene; the reality is anything but. What began as a OB-GYN clinic was quietly converted during the communist era into a surveillance centre. It was used to spy on ordinary citizens. The museum comes highly recommended. We left, it must be said, rather unmoved.

On the morning of day three, we collected our rental car from Enterprise and set off on the road to Vlorë. The pre-inspection was something to behold. Where most rental cars carry a scratch or two, this one wore its 81,000 kilometres like a badge of dishonour — dented, scraped, and battered on every panel. It had been ridden hard and put away wet. But it ran, and that was enough. We pointed it south toward the coast and didn’t look back.

Vlorë — Days 3 to 5

After the sensory assault of Tirana’s traffic and cramped streets, Vlorë felt like a long exhale. The coastal city has a pace entirely its own — unhurried, sun-warmed, and refreshingly unconcerned with impressing anyone. We arrived in the afternoon, found our feet quickly, and made straight for the beach to catch the sunset. It did not disappoint.

That first evening we found a small family-run restaurant for dinner. It was the kind of place that feels like someone’s dining room with a few extra tables squeezed in. The food was wonderful, and the hospitality warm — perhaps a little too warm. A complimentary round of raki arrived at the table before we’d had a chance to protest. I declined. Meg, ever the adventurer, took a cautious sip and spent the rest of the evening unwilling to be seated near an open flame.

Wonderful Bakeries 

We settled quickly into Vlorë’s rhythm. The bakeries, it turned out, were exceptional — the kind that make it very easy to abandon any pretence of a healthy breakfast. We found ourselves returning each morning, emerging with paper bags and no regrets, before ambling down to the beach. Sunsets became something of a ritual, the sky doing increasingly theatrical things over the Adriatic each evening.

The view from the castle – a lone poppy overlooking the mountains.

On our second full day, we attempted a hike to the local castle, perched invitingly on the hillside. According to the map it was a mere 5 kilometres away. What the map neglected to mention was the 400 metres of elevation gain involved in getting there. We set off with optimism and returned with humility. Although we made it far enough to enjoy some genuinely lovely views, we collectively decided that the castle had likely looked the same for several centuries and could wait. Dinner that evening was at a more contemporary restaurant, modern in feel but rooted in Albanian tradition. The highlight being a deeply satisfying lamb in cheese sauce, the kind of dish that makes you wonder why it isn’t on every menu everywhere.

On the morning of day three, we packed up and pointed the battered Enterprise rental toward Gjirokastër.

Gjirokastër — Days 5 to 8

We didn’t leave Vlorë without one final detour. The castle of Kanina, perched on the hillside above the city. This was the very one we’d attempted to hike to a few days earlier and abandoned in favour of our dignity. This time we had the car — which was just as well, as the road climbed steeply enough that even our battle-worn Enterprise rental occasionally seemed to be having second thoughts. At the top, the effort was rewarded handsomely. The castle itself is a ruin in the process of being reclaimed, its foundations and remaining walls enough to conjure what must once have been an imposing stronghold. But it was the view that stopped us — the city of Vlorë spread below, the Adriatic glittering beyond it. A fine send-off.

Another UNESCO Site

Gjirokastër announced itself as a city of two distinct personalities. The old town, a UNESCO-listed tangle of Ottoman architecture and covered stone streets, was unambiguously geared toward visitors. The requisite touristy shops, the occasional incongruous Thai restaurant, and a steady stream of camera-wielding travellers making their way uphill. We were staying well away from all that, in a part of the city that felt entirely local, and the contrast was marked. The old town is undeniably beautiful, its history written into every cobblestone and overhanging façade. We spent a lazy stretch of time on an open-air terrace watching the tourist parade drift by.

It was dinner, 50 metres from our front door, that was the evening’s real highlight. This restaurant roasted everything over an open charcoal fire and happened to share a wall with the butcher next door. Every order sent the proprietor jogging between the two establishments to collect whatever was needed. The meat was about as fresh as it gets.

You Never Know What You Will See on The Road

Our second day took us to the Blue Eye, one of Albania’s more celebrated natural attractions — a vivid, almost impossibly clear spring that wells up from an unknown depth. The drive there offered one of the trip’s more unexpected pleasures. A shepherd moving his flock along the road, entirely unbothered by the concept of traffic. We stopped, watched, and eventually were waved through. Worth every minute of the delay. (for a video of the encounter with the sheep, see our YouTube video at https://youtube.com/shorts/0KeXYA2ExOQ )

An abandoned stone church on a mountain side – the history must be amazing.

The Blue Eye itself is striking, though perhaps not quite equal to its considerable reputation. We were glad to have seen it. On the way back, a roadside sign lured us to park and hike up the side of a cliff to a small stone church. We found it locked, apparently long-abandoned. Peering through the window we could make out a picture of the Virgin and Child and a couple of dusty chairs. It had to be two hundred years old at least. Some places ask more questions than they answer.

Day three was given over to the fort, which rewarded three hours of exploration through ramparts, tunnels, and caves. The following morning, we loaded the car and set off toward Berat relaxed and happy. It wouldn’t stay that way.

Somewhere Between Gjirokastër and Berat

We had left Gjirokastër at ten in the morning in good spirits, with a few hours set aside to visit Berat — another UNESCO site — before the long drive north to Tirana and our flight to Budapest. The strawberry stands along the roadside were too good to pass up, and we pulled over to buy a box from one of the many farmers selling along the route. It felt like a perfect Albanian moment. It was the last uncomplicated one we would have for some time.

Our Albania rental car accident. We would not be driving on this tire!

We were back on the road, strawberries on the seat beside us, when a grey Mercedes appeared in our mirrors. In Albania, overtaking often works by a kind of unspoken agreement — one car eases onto the paved shoulder, the other sweeps past. This driver had a different approach. He came up aggressively, pulled out, and clipped our rear driver’s side as he passed. I signalled immediately to pull over. So did he — and then he didn’t. He slowed, seemed to consider the situation, and accelerated away. I followed, long enough to get a screenshot of the licence plate and our GPS location, before he reached a larger road and was gone.

We pulled over and assessed the damage. The rear tyre was deflating, the bodywork was hit, but the car could still be driven, only on a replacement tire. 

Then the attempts to get help began.

The Kindness of Strangers

The police, when we finally got through, hung up when we asked if they spoke English. Then an elderly man cycling along the highway stopped, surveyed the situation with quiet concern. Despite his not speaking English, we managed via Google Translate, to explain what happened. He said he was heading into the nearby town of Levan, where there was a tire shop. He would send someone. Then he got back on his bicycle and pedalled away. 

Shortly after, a taxi pulled up. The passenger climbed out, spoke some English, listened to our story, and called the police on our behalf. The police, he told us, were on their way. Then the taxi left. The tyre shop employee arrived next, he also spoke no English. Diagnosing the problem he quoted 10,000 Lekë — around €100 — cash only. Google Translate mediated the entire transaction.

Being told how to write out my statement. The police were nice, but they have a format.

The police arrived with their supervisor in tow. Enterprise was called. A great deal of conversation then took place in Albanian, the substance of which we could only guess at. When asked to give a formal statement, I agreed readily. What followed was not what I expected: They wrote it in English on their phone in the format they wanted. Then they made me write it out in English. Then copy it out again — in Albanian. I signed a document in a language I cannot read, on the strength of Google Translate. I have chosen not to dwell on this too much.

Options, None Of Which Were Good.

Enterprise offered a tow truck from Tirana: €150, four to five hours away. Or a replacement car: same wait, plus three more hours to the airport. Either option meant missing our flight to Budapest. We called the tyre man back and had him fit the new tyre. Enterprise had advised against this — mismatched tyres, they warned, meant we’d be liable for a full set of four. We weighed that against spending the night in Albania involuntarily, and made our decision.

As a parting gesture, the police issued me a ticket — roughly €50 — for leaving the scene of the accident. The fact that I had been following the car that hit us was not, in their view, a mitigating factor. In Albania, you stop, and everything stops with you until the police arrive. I paid it.

Berat – We Missed Most Of It 

We made it to Berat, walked the city of a thousand windows in something of a daze from our Albania rental car accident. We then drove to Tirana and returned the car. Enterprise noted the damaged tire, inspected the vehicle, and presented a bill for €1,130 — covering bodywork damage that, in several cases, we were quite certain had been there when we collected it. There was little we could do. When we were told that declining to pay would prevent us from leaving the country, we paid.

We made our flight to Budapest.

Albania Is Lovely, We Hope To Return

For all of it — the chaos, the paperwork in a language we couldn’t read, the bill we couldn’t contest — we came away with two things we wouldn’t trade. Neither of us was hurt. And Albania, despite the accident at the end, had struck a chord with us. We hope to go back one day.

Our quote – given all we went through on our last day in Albania, we reflect on the saying…“Everything will be alright in the end and if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.”

Thanks for reading

Feel free to reach out via the link above or leave a comment

Cam and Meg 

England

April 2026 Written by Cam with help from Meg and Claude AI. All photos are from Cam.

Birmingham · Liverpool · Manchester · Wetherby · York

We arrived in Birmingham after our Spanish cruise and delayed arrival. It had been a long day so we took it easy and really did not do much that first evening. The next morning, we saw Birmingham’s waterways unfolded before us with a quietness we hadn’t expected from England’s second city. 

Birmingham’s Canals

A Historical Canal Marker – Bringing History to Life

The morning was still, allowing us to see the canals mirror the ironwork bridges and redbrick warehouses above them. Each reflection trembling only slightly at the passage of a mallard or a slow-drifting leaf. We walked the towpaths reading the cast markers that named each bridge and stretch of water, small monuments to an infrastructure that once powered the Empire.

It was a volunteer historian who brought it all alive for us. A man of genuine enthusiasm and salt-and-pepper knowledge. He actually lives aboard a canal boat — which lent his words a particular authority. He walked us through one of the Industrial Revolution’s great secrets. Birmingham didn’t merely use these canals, it weaponized them. Threading iron and coal and ambition through two hundred miles of engineered water to fuel the workshop of the world.

The Hawthorns: West Bromwich Albion vs. Millwall

We came to The Hawthorns the way proper football supporters do, by public transit. Weaving through the Friday evening streets of the West Midlands with scarves and anticipation. Before the gates opened, we found ourselves drawn into a tailgate gathering outside. The smell of charcoal and grilled meat cutting through the cool spring air. A burger in hand, surrounded by Baggies faithful in their navy and white stripes, felt like the right way to begin.

Inside the ground, we discovered something we hadn’t quite expected from a Championship football stadium: a genuine community gathering. We settled at a picnic table in the concourse, apple ciders in hand, and fell into easy conversation with locals who wore their club with the unselfconscious loyalty of people for whom West Brom is simply part of who they are. There was warmth in the banter, and a generosity toward two obvious outsiders who had turned up for the love of the game.

From Our Seats to the Match – Expectations Exceeded!

Five rows off the pitch – you could clearly hear the thunder of cleats and the sound of the ball being put into play.

Our seats were extraordinary — five rows off the pitch, positioned between the offside box and the centreline. At that proximity, football becomes something different altogether. You hear the crunch of tackles, the shouts of instruction, the collective exhale when a chance goes wide. The match itself was electric. Both sides probing and pressing with genuine intent, Millwall defending with the gritty organization that has always defined them. West Brom creating just enough danger to keep the home crowd on edge. In the end, the scoreline remained goalless. Both sides claimed a clean sheet. The contest felt far richer than any scoreboard could suggest.

What awaited us afterward was unexpected. At the train station, police had formed a careful choreography. Millwall supporters corralled on one side; West Brom fans on the other. Each faction loaded onto alternating trains to prevent the evening from curdling into something uglier. It was a reminder that beneath the camaraderie of the beautiful game, old rivalries still carry an edge. A reminder English football, even in its lower tiers, takes no chances with that.

Birmingham: History and Theatre

The day after the match, Birmingham revealed a quieter, more contemplative face. We wandered through the city’s historical heart, tracing the civic ambition of a place that had once declared itself the workshop of the world. Grand Victorian architecture sitting comfortably alongside modern redevelopment, each layer of the city telling a different chapter of the same restless story.

The evening brought an unexpected delight. Spotting a flyer for Death on the Nile at the Alexandra Theatre, we made a spontaneous decision that proved inspired. It was, as it turned out, the production’s final night. From our lower balcony seats, the drama unfolded with all of Agatha Christie’s delicious intrigue intact. Poirot and the cast commanding the stage with evident relish. A perfect last act to our Birmingham days.

Liverpool

Paddington Bear, with a marmalade sandwich!

Liverpool announces itself with the kind of confidence that only cities shaped by genuine history can muster. We began at the Albert Dock, that great curve of restored Victorian warehouses along the Mersey waterfront. Our self-guided walk set the rhythm of the day. The waterfront rewarded unhurried wandering. Spotting the Fab Four, immortalized in bronze. Four familiar silhouettes caught mid-stride against the grey river light. Later, rather unexpectedly, we found Paddington Bear, marmalade sandwich in hand and every bit as endearing in statue form as in print.

A Journey to the Early Beatles 

Our second day brought a private guide, and with her came the Liverpool that guidebooks rarely reach. For two and a half hours she walked us through the city’s layered story. The maritime wealth, the immigration waves, the music, the football. The particular pride of a place that has never quite seen itself as simply another English city. It was the kind of insider knowledge that reframes everything you thought you already knew. We left the tour considerably more enlightened for it.

Penny Lane in the pouring rain. It seems like it was scripted!

That afternoon we made the pilgrimage to Penny Lane. It would be too neat to say we planned what happened next. As we turned onto that famous street the sky obliged with a steady, committed Liverpool rain. The barbershop was there. The shelter in the middle of the roundabout. And there we were, walking up and down in the drizzle, thoroughly soaked — or rather, one of us was. Meg had the good sense to come prepared. I did not own a mac, and since this was not my home or business, I could not rush in anywhere from the pouring rain. Apparently this struck Meg as not merely impractical but faintly baffling. She was right on both counts.

From Penny Lane we made our way to Strawberry Field. The famous red gates overlooking the grounds where a young John Lennon once played as a child. It was a dreamlike landscape that would eventually become one of rock and roll’s most beloved songs. Standing there quietly in the aftermath of the rain, it was easy to understand why the place never left him.

Manchester

The train delivered us into Manchester with the efficient abruptness that rail travel does best. Within minutes we had found our way to Mackie Mayor, the city’s beloved Victorian market hall repurposed into a cathedral of food and drink. We settled in with something adult and restorative, watching the city introduce itself at its own pace — animated, unpretentious, and quietly proud.

The rest of that first day was given over to simply absorbing the place. Manchester wears its industrial past visibly, in the bones of its architecture and the width of its streets, built for the movement of goods and people on a scale that once made this city the engine of a global economy.

Learning the Difficult History

The following morning brought a group walking tour, led by a guide who proved equally at ease with medieval history and contemporary social fault lines. Manchester, we learned, is a city in honest conversation with itself. It grapples openly with questions of inequality, identity, and regeneration that many cities prefer to leave unexamined. It was a refreshing and occasionally uncomfortable portrait.

Vimto – a delicious drink invented in Manchester. We tried it and loved it!

That afternoon, the Science and Industry Museum delivered the Industrial Revolution in full and unsparing detail. The story of the cotton mills is one of almost incomprehensible human cost. Workers, including children as young as five, enduring conditions that the museum presents without softening or euphemism. The noise, the heat, the hours, the toll on small bodies: Manchester does not look away from any of it.

Nor does it flinch from a more troubling thread. Britain abolished slavery decades before the United States, yet Manchester’s merchants continued purchasing cotton harvested by enslaved Americans. Their mills humming with the profits of bondage by proxy. The museum names this plainly and without apology. At its height, we were told by an interpreter, Manchester produced roughly eighty percent of the world’s textile goods. A staggering figure that reframes the entire city you’ve been walking through, casting its grand Victorian facades in a considerably more complicated light. It is precisely this willingness to look honestly at its own history that makes Manchester one of England’s most compelling cities to visit.

Wetherby and the Yorkshire Countryside

We collected a rental car and pointed it north into Yorkshire. Doing so, we traded the urban cadence of Manchester for something older and quieter. Wetherby announced itself without fanfare. A medieval market town that has been holding its weekly market for five centuries, and sees no particular reason to make a fuss about it. We wandered the stalls and cobbled streets as people have always wandered them. Unhurried and attentive, and felt the particular pleasure of a place that has not been polished for tourism.

At the end of our wandering, we ducked into the Red Lion Inn, and the Red Lion rewarded us handsomely. A proper working-class pub of the old school — warm, unpretentious, presided over by a barkeep of genuine friendliness. It is exactly the kind of place that reminds you why English pub culture, at its best, is worth travelling for. We sampled the wares and felt entirely at home.

The Moors

The following day took us up onto the North York Moors, where the landscape opened into something vast and melancholy and beautiful. The clouds were low and heavy, but rather than diminishing the famous view they seemed to deepen it — lending the moors a brooding quality that felt wholly appropriate. We captured the white horse cut into the hillside, half-swallowed by mist, and agreed that the grey skies had given us something a sunny day never could.

A Historical Abbey – Completely Abandoned, Except for Us

Byland Abbey – no one there except us and memories of Monks from almost 1,000 years ago.

Then we found Byland Abbey. It was built in the twelfth century under the Benedictine rule and surrendered — like all the others — to Henry VIII’s particular brand of theological acquisitiveness. Today, it stands in magnificent ruin across an open field. What made it extraordinary was the solitude: we were the only visitors. A volunteer host showed us how to read the mason’s marks cut directly into the stonework. The quiet signatures of the men who built this place eight hundred years ago and never expected anyone to look for them. The interpretive signs throughout the grounds painted a vivid picture of monastic life. Standing with one hand against those ancient walls in the grey quiet afternoon, it was possible to feel, without any effort of imagination, the weight of the generations who had prayed here.

That evening we walked Wetherby’s bridge at sunset. As we did so, the River Wharfe was catching the last of the light below us — a moment of stillness after a day spent among ruins.

From the Moors to the Dales

Yorkshire Dales the next morning brought us to Bolton Abbey, substantially larger than Byland and considerably less deteriorated. It was handsome and well-tended, and we appreciated it as it deserved. And yet… perhaps it was the crowds, or the manicured grounds, or simply the memory of standing alone at Byland with the wind and the mason’s marks — but Bolton Abbey, for all its grandeur, could not quite compete.

Where the Magna Carta was Written

Our final Yorkshire excursion took us to Spofforth Castle, where history of the most consequential kind is said to have unfolded. It is here that rebel barons, among them Richard de Percy, are believed to have gathered in 1215 to draft the terms of what would become the Magna Carta — the document that would reshape the relationship between crown and subject across the centuries. The castle is abandoned now, open to the public without charge, its stones warm and accessible in a way that great history rarely is. We touched those walls too.

We ended the day as the English do it best: a traditional Sunday roast at a local pub. Enormous portions, honest prices, and the deep satisfaction of a meal that asks nothing of you except appetite.

York

We left Wetherby and pointed the car north, making a worthy detour through Ripon first. The cathedral there is a quiet marvel — and inside, the Ripon Jewel and a chalice dating to the 1500s stopped us in our tracks. Small objects carrying an almost unreasonable weight of history. Continuing on, we pulled over at Hetchell Woods for a stretch of the legs, following woodland trails until we reached a river crossing made entirely of stepping stones. The challenge was accepted, the crossing was made, dignity more or less intact.

York received us with the easy confidence of a city that knows exactly what it is. We marked the occasion with the obligatory photograph at the York sign, then found our way to a historical pub overlooking the Shambles. That impossibly preserved medieval street of overhanging timber facades and overrun by Harry Potter fans. We settled in with a well-earned pint watching the world go by.

Paddington Appears (Again!)

Paddington in York – he keeps showing up. I think he has a crush on Meg 😉

The following day brought a guided walk that filled in the city’s extraordinary layering — Roman, Viking, Norman, medieval, all of it stacked and interwoven beneath your feet. Paddington Bear made another appearance, as he seemingly does everywhere on this journey, and we obliged him with a photograph. But it is the Minster that commands everything. Massive and imposing in a way that photographs simply cannot prepare you for, it rises above the rooftops of York like a medieval argument for the existence of something greater than ourselves.

That evening gifted us something entirely unplanned. The bells of the Minster began to ring, and the bell choir rose beneath them. The sound carried through the entire town — across the cobblestones and through the narrow lanes and over the ancient walls. Standing outside the imposing building made the centuries feel briefly, beautifully thin. As the bells faded, we walked the ramparts in the lingering light, looking down upon rooftops and spires and streets that have witnessed hundreds of years of unbroken human life below.

The ghost walk, alas, was cancelled at the last minute — the guide unavailable, the spirits uninterviewed. No matter. York wears its haunted reputation in every shadowed alleyway and crooked medieval lane (known as snikleways), and no formal tour was needed to feel it. We left with the distinct sense that York’s ghosts are perfectly capable of introducing themselves.

Thanks for reading

Feel free to reach out via the link above or leave a comment

Cam and Meg