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Paradise Isn’t Always Quiet
A loud rumble of a vehicle passes close to my right side as I walk along the dusty, dry street, narrowly avoiding uneven slabs of pavement and stepping over open drain covers.
Welcome to the hustle of southern Sri Lanka. A place where beautiful seas and beaches sit in uneasy tandem with the overcrowded coastal road. Where nature is in direct competition with humanity’s relentless pursuit of growth at all costs.
A loud rumble of a vehicle passes close to my right side as I walk along the dusty, dry street, narrowly avoiding uneven slabs of pavement and stepping over open drain covers.
Welcome to the hustle of southern Sri Lanka. A place where beautiful seas and beaches sit in uneasy tandem with the overcrowded coastal road. Where nature is in direct competition with humanity’s relentless pursuit of growth at all costs.
A simple walk to the shop for water often turns into an assault course for the senses. A Leyland Ashok bus hurtles through town at unnecessary speed, brushing the already heavy air across your body with even greater intensity, as a seemingly endless fleet of tuk tuks passes by asking if you need a ride.
After almost two weeks away, the prospect of returning to the beach brings a flicker of excitement.
It doesn’t last long.
Ashok Leyland Bus - A Sri Lankan menace
I’d read the beach would be busy with people drawn by the turtles, but I hadn’t expected quite this. Masses of people huddle around the giant animals at the shoreline, lured in by food bought from beach vendors and tossed into the shallows. Visitors crowd around, phones raised, inappropriate poses readied and edging closer and closer.
On one occasion my wife pulls a plastic bag (used for the aforementioned food) from the water, left drifting where a turtle might easily have swallowed it. Nearby, she gently but firmly tells a woman to stop pushing one of the animals for a better photo.
It feels wrong. Upsetting. A little hollow.
A circus, not the quiet encounter with wildlife I had imagined.
It reminds me that travel isn’t always soft edges and easy beauty.
Relaxation at Ahangama Secret Beach
Two days later we finally find a beach that ticks the most important boxes: quiet, safe and calm. We decompress almost immediately. Each sip of the chilled king coconut from the nearby beach hut a literal tonic to the heat exhaustion.
The repetition of sea-sunbathe-sea-hydrate becoming a seductive mantra for relaxation and unwinding. The day passes slowly and upon returning to the main road, there’s almost a feeling of the outside world being one of calm. And then it hits you again - the offers of a tuk tuk ride, hurtling blue buses and weaving mopeds. The sea breeze is behind you and it’s a race back to the comfort of the air conditioned room for respite.
The cycle continues for a few days and we settle into a nicely compromised daily ritual. Morning light and walks. A cafe. Then to the beach before returning for a rest and then braving the busy streets once more for our evening meal.
Respite at The Kip, Ahangama
We depart the south coast and head to Udawalawe National Park and the following day take a safari.
Our jeep crawls through winding jungle roads past tropical birds and groups of monkeys who look like that incredibly ugly bloke we all know. Over bumpy tracks into vast watery plains with colourful peacocks and gurning water buffalo (there’s the ugly man again!).
And finally, the king of Udawalawe. The elephant.
We see a few lone males and small family groups along the way, but nothing beat the final roll of the dice when we turned down a quiet back road and stumbled upon a small herd eating and bathing in the muddy water.
Total bliss just sitting in silence. The only sound being the spraying of water and mud onto their hot brown skin, watching these beautiful creatures go about their day peacefully from touching distance.
And at that moment I realise just how much noise we had been carrying inside and what paradise really means to me.
Elephants bathing in the mud, Uduwalawe
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A Change of Pace
I am now in Koh Kood and shifting here has been a change of pace.
After the bustle of Bangkok, and the constant movement of travelling through Australia, it’s been quietly comforting to spend a couple of weeks in one spot. To wake up without needing to think too far ahead. To let the days arrive as they are.
I am now in Koh Kood and arriving here has been a change of pace.
After the bustle of Bangkok, and the constant movement of travelling through Australia, it is comforting to be spending a couple of weeks in one spot. To wake up without needing to think too far ahead. To let the days arrive as they are.
The good life: sunset at Bang Bao beach
Decision fatigue can creep in, even in the fortunate circumstances of travel. Eating out is a perfect example for us. In every new city, we seem to accumulate lists as long as our arms: places we’ve saved, restaurants we’ve read about, spots we don’t want to miss.
And then comes the strange work of it all. Checking menus. Opening hours. Availability. Mapping it onto the shape of the day. In bigger places, even dinner starts to feel like logistics and a chore.
I’m not complaining. We love it, genuinely. Seeking out the revered little trattoria, the neighbourhood bistro, the place that everyone swears is worth it. But after weeks of living that way, it becomes tiring in a way you don’t always notice until it lifts.
Only since arriving in Koh Kood have I felt that weight fall away.
Here, the choice is simple. Two or three places nearby, all serving good food, all more or less the same. The decision is made on mood rather than optimisation. You eat where you feel like eating. And that simplicity is oddly refreshing.
It’s a small reminder of how much quieter life is now.
Living out of a 47-litre backpack reduces the noise also. It narrows the options. It makes the essentials clearer. That doesn’t mean I want to live forever with so little, but it has shifted something in me: a renewed appreciation for how little is actually needed, and how much freedom there is in less.
I used to think freedom meant more options. More possibility. More control. But I’m starting to suspect it might be the opposite. Freedom might be fewer decisions, fewer distractions, and the ability to simply be where you are, without needing to maximise it.
A simple meal that will literally put a smile on your face
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The Pink of Passeggiare
If you’ve been wondering about the splash of pink across Passeggiare, here’s the story.
The inspiration comes straight from Italy’s most iconic newspaper: La Gazzetta dello Sport. I didn’t want this to look like just another blog — the choice of pink was deliberate, a nod to something uniquely, unmistakably Italian.
If you’ve been wondering about the splash of pink across Passeggiare, here’s the story.
The inspiration comes straight from Italy’s most iconic newspaper: La Gazzetta dello Sport. I didn’t want this to look like just another blog — the choice of pink was deliberate, a nod to something uniquely, unmistakably Italian.
My first memories of La Gazzetta go back to childhood, catching Football Italia on Channel 4. For many of us of a certain age in the UK, it was a cult show — Saturday mornings meant James Richardson in some sunlit piazza, tiny espresso at his side, holding up the latest Gazzetta to the camera. He’d translate the bold headline, sprinkle in some humour, and suddenly Italian football felt exotic, witty, and a little bit glamorous.
It was also my first memory of watching football outside of the UK — a window onto a different style, a different culture. In fact, Football Italia was probably my first real introduction to Italy (unless spag bol counts!). That early spark grew into an obsession in adulthood, and one of the gateways to why I’m even writing Passeggiare today. It helped form a curiosity that isn’t just about places, but about the finer details of life that reveal something deeper (such as knowing which tifosi and curve make up the boot).
James Richardson, doing his thing
Since then, whenever I’ve gone to Italy on holiday, it’s become a ritual: pick up a copy of La Gazzetta dello Sport, find a good piazza, and strike a James Richardson–style pose. A silly little tradition, maybe, but one that makes me smile every time. These days, after years of Italian lessons, I can actually read chunks of the paper — though I’ll admit, it’s still more prop than page-turner.
One of many photos of your author reliving the Football Italia dream
So yes, the pink of Passeggiare isn’t random. It’s a small tribute to those early memories, and to the quirks that drew me toward Italy and made me realise there’s a bigger, more colourful, more interesting world beyond these shores. And if it also gives me an excuse to keep striking the odd James Richardson–style piazza pose, well… I’ll happily take it.
Captain Teebs
Tony Soprano once said a nursing home was basically like a hotel in Cap d’Antibes. We put that line to the test with a day split between Cannes and Antibes — one felt like a film set, the other like a place you’d actually want to stay.
Who is Captain Teebs? Fans of The Sopranos might recall Tony arguing with his mum, Livia, about the Green Grove nursing home. Tony insists it’s a “retirement community,” while Livia stubbornly calls it a nursing home. In frustration, Tony badly paraphrases Dr Melfi, who claims places like Green Grove are “basically like a hotel in Cap d’Antibes.” Tony instead says “it’s more like a hotel at Captain Teebs!”.
That odd little line stuck with me — and it’s what came to mind when we found ourselves in that very corner of the Riviera. So, consider this post a slightly convoluted homage to Captain Teebs.
Cannes
We spent a morning in Cannes and, if I’m honest, I found it underwhelming. The wealth is impossible to miss — rows of designer shops, gleaming hotels, and marinas stuffed with yachts, all basking in the afterglow of the annual film festival.
But having just spent three days in Nice, Cannes felt bland. We walked for a while, then stopped for a coffee at an expensive beach bar. A bit too comfortable in the setting, we followed it up with a spritz each — €20 apiece. Nice enough, but a regretful cost. The place was full of apparent models, retired CEOs, and a bloke who could have stepped straight out of a Netflix documentary on an Albanian mafia fugitive.
We thought about heading up to the old town, but in the end, the place never clicked. So we bailed and caught the train down the coast.
Antibes
Almost immediately, Antibes felt different. Buzzier, warmer, more interesting. We strolled the old streets (just missing the market as it was packing up), then slid into full tourist mode and ordered croque monsieur/madame for lunch at a little café in the sun. Basic, yes — but exactly what we wanted.
The real highlight was the Picasso Museum, housed in the seaside Château Grimaldi. For six months in 1946, Picasso lived and worked here, and since 1966 it has displayed his art in the very rooms where he painted. I’ve always liked his work, and spending an hour in that space was the perfect balance of culture and atmosphere.
Yes, Antibes is touristy, but it gave me that rare instinctive feeling of a place you want to come back to. Cannes I could take or leave; Antibes I’d happily explore again in more depth.
If travel teaches anything, it’s to trust those gut reactions. And mine say I’d happily return to Antibes, suitcase in hand, to see if Captain Teebs has a room waiting.
Simple Pleasures
The warm morning sun is just rising above Saint-Jean Cap-Ferrat and is starting to glisten on the azure Mediterranean Sea. The bay, littered with yachts and fishing boats, looks perfectly still at this hour. With very few people around, I always find it the best time to take photographs, uninterrupted.
The narrow red and yellow hued streets of Villefranche-sur-Mer cling to the steep slopes heading down to the bay, providing a perfect setting for capturing some archetypal scenes of a town on the French Riviera.
The warm morning sun is just rising above Saint-Jean Cap-Ferrat and is starting to glisten on the azure Mediterranean Sea. The bay, littered with yachts and fishing boats, looks perfectly still at this hour. With very few people around, I always find it the best time to take photographs, uninterrupted.
The narrow red and yellow hued streets of Villefranche-sur-Mer cling to the steep slopes heading down to the bay, providing a perfect setting for capturing some archetypal scenes of a town on the French Riviera.
A calmness hangs in the air, and a sense of possibility for the day ahead lingers, along with the unmistakable aroma of baked goods coming from each boulangerie that is passed.
The church bells ring, and there’s a slight hubbub of activity down by the fishing boats. A small gang of locals, clutching café au lait, spectates from a nearby brasserie.
I finish my little circuit of the town and head back up the hill to our pink hotel, which wouldn’t look out of place in a Wes Anderson film, and feel grateful to have started the day with such simple pleasures.
A Welcome
“Passeggiare”. A perfect analogy, for why I’ve decided to do this blog.
“Passeggiare”. A perfect analogy, for why I’ve decided to do this blog.
The Italian verb “to walk”, but with no real purpose. A meander, if you will and a perfect summary for what this blog is. A need for exercising. In this case; creativity, expression and an offloading of the internal thoughts. Mainly of places visited and food eaten. But, following the intent of a passeggiata (noun), there’s no ultimate end goal, other than to enjoy the process and take each instance at face value.
Whilst it’s an Italian word and whilst anyone who knows me will know that I am bordering on obsessed with Italy, it won’t be an Italian blog.
Nor is the intent of this blog to be a travel, or a food guide. Other things shall be written of (football, music and being in the outdoors). Other people and places do a far more concise job than I’d manage. I hope to share my thoughts, views and ideas on a broad spectrum of topics that I know and live.
It’s a place of open and honest thoughts. Of expression. And sticking to the theme of honesty, an outlet for personal creativity, which may just be an oblique way of saying it’s a personal folly. However, even if a handful of people enjoy it from time-to-time, it shall be worth it.
For now, goodbye!
The omnipresent ‘passeggiata’ of Italian towns, in motion.
When travelling, there’s a long list of advice people give about how to find a good place to eat:
Eat where the locals eat
Avoid menus with photos
Look for short menus
Check Google reviews
Avoid restaurants with someone trying to pull you inside
All of that can be useful. But there’s another signal that’s quieter and surprisingly reliable.
Look at the plates.