How many columns can you see in this picture? (Keep your answer to yourself.)
Vicenza is the city of Palladio, which means it is also the city of columns.
The Greeks possibly thought of them first, then the Romans copied the Greeks, then in the 16th century architect Andrea Palladio copied the Greeks and Romans and for hundreds of years thereafter every designer of a major public building in the western world copied Mr Palladio. Continue reading
Of course where there’s a tower, you have to climb it. This is the view from the top of the Lamberti Tower.
I know, I was a little critical of all that Romeo and Juliet stuff in my previous post on Verona. That was largely for comic purposes, though I was pleased to see people shared my hatred of the 3D graffiti that is love lock mania.
There is of course much to love about Verona. Continue reading
Believe it or not, this the the REAL balcony, the ACTUAL place where Juliet REALLY said ‘Wherefore art thou Romeo?’
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for love. It’s what the world needs now. Love, sweet love; it’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.
Expressing love is also important. I’m regularly accused of not doing it often enough. I believe less is more in that department, but maybe I sometimes overplay the strong, silent type role.
What I don’t need to see is others publicly declaring their love in pathetically unoriginal ways. For far too many visitors, that seems to be what a stay in Verona is all about. Continue reading
Welcome aboard, madam.
Fairfax Media recently published my article on our fabulous trip on the train rated the world’s most luxurious. So now here on the blog is the full story on our envy-breeding adventure… Continue reading
The Ratekenstation (Rocket Station) Hombroich – a missile base no more.
Mr Karl-Heinrich Muller is now my favourite German real estate agent. Who else buys a NATO missile base and turns it into an art museum? Continue reading
Shona Kinloch’s ‘As proud as…’ And so he should be. Particular parts of his anatomy have been very well polished by admiring passers-by.
When I spent some time in Edinburgh in the 1970s, Glasgow was a city to pity, fear and hurry through on your way to somewhere else.
Edinburgh was elegant buildings, the Castle, Holyrood, the Tattoo and the world’s most prestigious arts Festival with its mighty Edinburgh Fringe. Glasgow was people vomiting in gutters at Hogmanay and stupid sectarian riots at Celtic/Rangers football matches.
People who claimed to know better told me Glaswegians were funnier and friendlier than that snooty, stuffy Edinburgh crowd. Continue reading