Writing
My legs tighten. One last push. Over another bump in the gravel and the climb finally gives way, opening out into a plateau. A stretch of green rice fields ahead, the sun catching on the flooded plains. Zebra doves make their mechanical whirring sound overhead as a worker in a conical hat walks past.
After enough time on the road, travel stops being about places and starts becoming about perception. Not what you see, but how it quietly rewires what you thought you knew.
Having a third space is having a place outside of your home or workplace to convene or to relax. It might be purposeful, like a pub or a café. Or it could be something less obvious, like a park or a beach.
On a flight from Kuala Lumpur to Cebu, I look down and spot a cluster of small tropical islands off the coast of Borneo. All green jungle, ringed by white sand and clear turquoise water.
The ceiling fans whip above our heads at an alarming rate, trying to keep pace with the mid-afternoon humidity as those of us sampling afternoon tea on the veranda at the Amangalla Hotel in Galle attempt to tread the fine line between refinement and simply keeping cool, all while downing cups of hot tea.
When travelling, there’s a long list of advice people give about how to find a good place to eat. But I’ve never seen anyone say what I am about to reveal…
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.
Long before the crowds and chaos, there is a moment of calm. A stillness. An unexpected beauty.
It’s hot and humid and we are stood uneasily inside a badly lit shop. Sharp knives are carelessly left on any flat surface that can be found. A large spider crawls up a wooden beam directly behind my wife and settles, part-camouflaged beneath a heap of pineapples.
Each day, everywhere in the world, the sun will set (extreme solstice points notwithstanding). Sometimes it’s visible, other times it’s hidden behind a thick blanket of overcast sky. On the motorway, outside your home, or at the beach.
I interrupt my usual travel writing (no, this is not a travel blog) with something closer to home. Pizza.
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.
Familiar unfamiliarity is often a feature of travel. A trip to New York turns a lifetime of television and film into reality. Manhattan becomes a walking set of “wasn’t this in…” and “isn’t that where…”. Paris and Rome carry a different kind of recognition, the inherited romanticism of the Seine or the Trevi Fountain, places we feel we already know long before we arrive.
The sun rises above the horizon, spilling gold across the sea and over the hundreds of pilgrims gathered at the Byron lighthouse. A middle-aged Italian man begins singing the opening lines of My Girl. Not an obvious soundtrack for a warm, cloud-free January morning, but a welcome one nonetheless.
Usually, a rainy day would put me in a bad mood. Perhaps surprising, given I come from the north of England, but it’s never something one really looks forward to, especially when travelling in the hope of sunny climes.
Eating out is one of the great joys of travel. I love food and I love trying as broad a range of things as possible while away, ideally local and ideally seasonal. We spend a lot of time planning what and where to eat on our trips to make sure we experience the best and most authentic food a place has to offer.
We take a left from the busy streets of the market. Catania is as edgy as I recall - the dark grey buildings, narrow streets and looming Mount Etna giving it a totally different feel to the baroque hillside towns of the Val Di Noto, where we have just come from.
Of late this blog has gotten a little travel heavy and that’s because of course, I am travelling. However, I’m acutely conscious that this is not a travel blog. There’s no intent to unseat Lonely Planet in telling you where to go, what to do, or what to think.
Some foods find you. Others you have to hunt for. Scaccia belonged firmly in the second camp. I first came across it years ago, in a newspaper article I read.
Departing town and dodging Fiat Pandas making illegal, yet excruciatingly slow, turns. A BMW fails to stop at a stop sign and I am grateful to be on high alert. Cars sit double parked along the pavement, blocking a lane of traffic. It is apparently fine because the hazard lights are on.
We’re driving through the outskirts of Trapani. A rain shower passes over as quickly as it came, a common theme for this part of the north western Sicilian coastline in late November. The windscreen wipers begin to slow and the sun shines bright, glistening off the road.
Anthony Bourdain once said that the real heart of a place is found in its markets and that if you want to understand a culture, you should go where people shop and eat every day. I have always agreed with him. Whenever I travel somewhere new, the market is my first stop.
Our plane begins its descent into Palermo. The curve of the bay glows on our left, a soft necklace of lights against the dark water, while the mountains stand brooding around the city.
Never Trust A Hotel Review
As most people probably do, we always ensure we check reviews before we book to stay somewhere. A bit of due diligence before parting with hundreds of pounds is surely a reasonable thing to do?
As most people probably do, we always ensure we check reviews before we book to stay somewhere. A bit of due diligence before parting with hundreds of pounds is surely a reasonable thing to do?
However, one thing I’ve become aware of having stayed in such a large number of places, in a short period of time, is that you can never trust a hotel review.
One person’s idea of a delicious breakfast, was my idea of what you’d imagine getting served as an inmate in a South American prison.
A tropical paradise - surprising one guest who was shocked to find one insect.
Likewise, someone’s horror story 1 star review, just because they found an insect (in what is effectively a jungle), leaves me wondering why they wanted to holiday amongst nature at all.
Or negative feedback for a hotel, because the nearby sea, yes that natural force of nature, had too many waves.
These are extremes of course, but I’ve also seen many 10/10 booking.com reviews where people have then gone on to add some negative feedback and it leaves me wondering why some people don’t understand the concept of scale.
Surprisingly no mentions of the toilet being in the shower cubicle, for this hotel.
So here’s the part I’m meant to tell you what you should do to avoid any disappointments. A list of hacks. A top 10 list for guaranteeing a perfect stay every time.
The problem is that there is no magic formula. Travel inevitably involves discomfort, compromise and occasionally realising that your idea of somewhere doesn’t quite match reality.
The longer we travel, the more I realise people are often reviewing their own expectations as much as the hotel itself.
Hotel reviews tell you less about the hotel than the person writing them.
If you enjoyed this, you might like the below too…
When travelling, there’s a long list of advice people give about how to find a good place to eat. But I’ve never seen anyone say what I am about to reveal…
As most people probably do, we always ensure we check reviews before we book to stay somewhere. A bit of due diligence before parting with hundreds of pounds is surely a reasonable thing to do?