Favourite places

On my last trip, a student asked me where was my favourite place to go. It’s a question I’m frequently asked but one I always fail to answer. Usually, I don’t have time to really think about it, so I say there are so many places I love, I couldn’t possibly choose one. With time on my hands I started to wonder. If I did have to choose a favourite place where would it be? Could I choose? Would it be a city or the countryside, a whole country or just a region? What would be my criteria for choosing? No wonder I always sidestep the question. It’s a very complicated one to answer and demands an exploration of the things that are most important to me and what it is I like or dislike about the places I go to.

What began as a simple question with an apparently simple answer was, I suspected, about to take me on a long journey and one with possibly no answer at the end or perhaps many.

The first difficult question was where to begin. To choose a favourite place, I would have to revisit in my mind the many wonderful places I’ve been.

So, where indeed to begin? As the song says “ let’s start at the very beginning”. I’d then let my mind roam freely and see where it would lead me.

I started travelling at a very young age. So young I have virtually no memory of those first trips abroad. My childhood holidays were spent in the south of Spain, Marbella, visiting my grandparents. They were idyllic sun filled holidays spent in swimming pools, on beaches, in mountain streams, exploring whitewashed villages. There’s a mountain called La Concha behind the town. We could see it from the house and driving from the airport my brother and I would always want to be the first to spot it. Then my grandparents returned to the UK and we stopped going to Spain on holiday but we never stopped remembering it as a huge part of our childhoods, of our lives. Years later, I would return. I was leading a tour to southern Spain. Seeing that mountain again had a profound effect on me. I realised I had a deep emotional attachment to this place, I would always want to come back to it. Sitting once more in the Orange Square, in the shadow of that mountain, basking in the warmth and the light, surrounded by the memories of those blissful days, I thought this was perhaps my favourite place.

But those days had gone, this place had changed. I had changed. You can’t live in the past so, looking longingly over my shoulder and leaving a little piece of myself behind, I followed my thoughts out of the square.

My first job after leaving university was in Paris. I already knew London well, I liked it. It was a place to go to have fun. I often went to the theatre or to concerts and of course to pubs. I realised Paris was different the first time I walked out of my little studio flat onto the street to start exploring. I fell immediately in love. Everywhere you looked was beautiful. There were shops and bars and restaurants and markets. People were going about their everyday lives. Buying flowers and baguettes, smoking and drinking in cafés. They were in deep conversation and everyone seemed so sophisticated. I was captivated. I walked for miles and miles immersing myself in every part of the city desperate for it to absorb me, desperate to be a part of it. In that year I learned the art de vivre. Paris was in my blood, I would always be at home there.

Of course, I now go to Paris often. When I do, I feel the excitement of that first time. I think, perhaps, Paris is the one place in the world that has contributed most to who I am today. It was in the museums of Paris that I developed my love for paintings and sculpture. It was there I was first acquainted with ancient civilisations. It was in the bistros and cafés of the Marais and the rue Mouffetard and Montmartre that I learned to love French cuisine and to learn about wine. There too, that I learned to question and debate into the small hours.

Just as I’m on the point of deciding Paris is my favourite place, my mind wanders again and I’m in Florence, standing in Santa Maria Novella marvelling at the frescos of Ghirlandaio and Filippino Lippi. I’m spellbound by Giotto’s crucifix and Masaccio’s Holy Trinity and I walk dreamily out into the cloister and smell the cypress trees and look up at the deep blue sky. I wander over to the central market and eat delicious food, pasta flavoured with truffle, sauces made from wild boar, cured meats and all washed down with fruity Tuscan wine. I walk past the stalls in the leather market and haggle over the price of a new belt. In the evening I cross the river and walk up to Piazzale Michelangelo to watch the sunset over the city. There are lots of people from all over the world but there’s a sense of community, a common feeling that to be here contemplating the great achievements of humanity, Brunelleschi’s great dome, the towers and palaces and churches, is a huge privilege. We are pilgrims at the shrine of culture. The sun sets on the achievements of man and, beyond them, the glories of nature. It’s perfect. Might I be in my favourite place?

Looking beyond the city to the beauty of the Tuscan landscape, my thoughts take flight once more.

As I get older, I find I’m increasingly moved by the splendour of nature. I crave the outdoors, mountains, the sea, vast open spaces. Recent travels have provided a bonanza of such places: the National Parks of Arizona and Utah, the Alps from France to Slovenia. Scotland and Ireland. The mountains, fjords and islands of Norway. Iceland.

I’ve found moments of deep serenity. I’ve challenged myself to climb to the top of high peaks. I’ve felt the satisfaction of standing at the summit of those peaks surveying the surrounding countryside. I’ve sat on high sea cliffs. I’ve questioned our stewardship of the world. Regrettably, I’ve picked plastic off the remotest beaches, beaches I thought would be pristine. Of all of these extraordinary places, I begin to settle on Norway. I loved the constant presence of water and for me, most importantly, the sea. I recall the colours, the grandeur, the other worldliness, the abundant fauna and flora.

I will never forget those landscapes or the feelings they aroused. But I’m essentially a human lizard. I come alive in the sun. I crave warmth. There was a sober, serious side to Norway which was reassuring and calming but I also like a little chaos. I like hustle and bustle, so reluctantly I leave a little piece of my spirit there and turn towards warmer climes. My mind alights in a hot, smoggy, noisy, exciting street.

Bangkok and Thailand were a revelation to me. I had gone there for work without any great expectations. Once I had adjusted to the culture, I was entranced. I adored the sights and sounds and tastes and smells. The people, the temples, the beaches, the markets. I can’t wait to go back and explore and experience more. My trip to Thailand was certainly one of my favourite work trips. I learnt a lot about a culture of which I knew very little, I met some delightful people and saw some amazing things.

Like the great bells in the temples Thailand resonated and vibrated in me. Unexpectedly, I felt at home there.

From the water bus speeding me through the canals of Bangkok, it was just a short mental hop to the Vaporetto rocking and bumping its way down the Grand Canal in Venice.

Unlike Paris, I didn’t immediately fall in love with Venice. That first visit was a day trip from the mainland and all I can remember were crowds, a mediocre and very expensive lunch and tacky souvenirs. Yes, it was beautiful, but I already knew that. Gradually, over the years, Venice has worked its way into my heart. It’s one of the places I crave and miss when I’m away from it. The romance of its setting, the shabby beauty of the buildings, the tranquility of the lagoon, the whiff of adventure, the remains of its exotic, historic trade, silks and spices. Venice always seems to hold secrets, secrets hidden behind masks, down dark alleys and gloomy canals. Secrets hidden behind church doors, great works of art, Giorgones and Tintorettos and Titians and Veroneses. Venice invites you to get lost, and then when you think you’ll never find your way, she reveals a jewel you didn’t know was hiding there. A square, a church, a garden, a view. You’ll never find those places again but you don’t mind because the next time you let Venice take you by the hand she’ll show you new, different treasures. It is in those backstreets of Venice, where the children play, that real life takes place and it’s there I’ve eaten the finest meals of my life, drunk delicious wine and lived some of my best moments.

And yet, despite all this my thoughts drift out to sea and travel on. The currents of the Mediterranean propel them from one place to the next. Towns and cities dance before my eyes: Ravenna, Padua, Lucca, Voltera, Assisi. I continue drifting eastwards to Greece, the ancient sites, Delphi, Corinth, Olympia, Epidaurus. I wander through the Plaka in Athens, the Acropolis above me. Now I’m in the lap of the gods, I’m soaring like an eagle. Swooping down, circling the Colosseum, flying on over the Palatine hill into the Forum, onwards over the Campidoglio, the Pantheon. How did it take me this long to arrive in Rome? As always in Rome, I’m overwhelmed, I’m speechless and almost overcome by emotion. Everything is here, the remains of an ancient civilization, the clash of cultures and religions. Amazing museums and churches stuffed with fabulous works of art. I see myself pushing open the doors of Santa Maria del Popolo, San Luigi dei Francesi, San Pietro in Vincoli, Santa Maria Maggiore and standing in wonder. In the Capitoline Museum I am dumbstruck in front of the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius. I drag myself away and walk into the beautiful square designed by Michelangelo and start down the steps, heading for a little place I know for lunch. I imagine myself there, a plate of small fried fish, a mixed salad, a glass of cold, slightly sparkling wine. Is it Rome, my favourite?

And then, I’m home. Sitting on the terrace surrounded by birdsong. A dog barks somewhere in the village. I’m brought back to myself. I try to make sense of this crazy voyage that started in childhood and will inevitably continue on. Thoughts of new adventures keep interrupting my musings. I force my mind back to the present.

This started with a question. Do I have a favourite place? Do I now have an answer? Yes, I do. My earliest memories are of the Mediterranean and it is almost as if I’m attached to it by an umbilical cord. Thailand was serendipitous, I loved it but when I think about it, the things I loved are the same things I always love: art, culture, food, colour, warmth and the sea. Actually, it was the things Thailand had in common with the Mediterranean that drew me to it and allowed me to feel at home there. Paris, so important to me, was, I see now, just a stepping stone back to the sun drenched shores of my childhood. The things I learned there enabled me to better understand myself and the world I would inhabit. Paris was an essential part of my education. Paris is still an essential part of me.

To my surprise during this exploration my mind did not go to many of the places I find fascinating and really enjoy visiting. I might have expected it to swing by Berlin, Amsterdam, Vienna, Prague to name just a few but it kept wanting to travel south.

All my life I’ve been drawn back to the Mediterranean. It doesn’t seem to matter where but when I’m close to it I’m at my happiest. I am at home. It is my favourite place.

Visit my other pages: