Going Dutch

For the last ten months, I've been publishing posts on my backpacking odyssey through Europe in 1990. This is my twenty-third post, covering the final leg of this epic journey from Paris to Delft in the Netherlands. This was to be our final stop in Mainland Europe, before travelling to London, where we'd activate our working holiday visas and spend a year or two in the UK.

On 19 October, we caught the train from Gare du Nord to Rotterdam, where we transferred for the final leg to Delft. After more than five months on the road, it was a bittersweet moment watching the conductor stamp the final flexi day on our Eurail Youth Pass. However, our last Eurail journey didn’t go as smoothly as planned. While waiting for a train in Rotterdam, Dean’s daypack was stolen.

Our trusty backpacks came with detachable components, including day packs. Dean had removed his to grab a few items. As he momentarily turned to talk to me, an opportunistic thief swooped in and whisked it away. Fortunately, nothing of real value was lost, unless you have a fetish for used socks and underwear. However, we did lose a sentimental souvenir, namely some small, colourfully painted chunks we’d chipped off the Berlin Wall months earlier.

Despite this setback, we made the most of our brief stop with a walk into town to explore central Rotterdam. The port city was badly damaged by heavy bombing during World War II. As a result, the inner city is relatively modern, filled with largely uninspiring, functional buildings. There are some exceptions, including a series of colourful, cubical homes built in the mid-1970s, and a house designed to look like an upright pencil. Go figure!

We based ourselves in Delft, rather than Amsterdam, for easier access to some of the nation’s most iconic sights. This included its traditional windmills, its endless dikes and canals, and its famous Delft porcelain-ware. Delft was the last time we pitched our pup tent. Although we soon discovered that camping season was well and truly over. The campground was nearly empty and scheduled to close the following week. We also endured rising damp that penetrated the tent’s porous fabric floor every night.

Our first full day in the Netherlands was devoted to a day trip to Kinderdijk. This quaint village is known for its iconic 18th-century windmills, many of which stand aligned along a picturesque waterway. In all, 19 mills and 3 pumping stations, plus dikes and reservoirs that control flooding in the polder (low-lying land) surround the village. If ever you want to see lots of old-fashioned windmills, this is the place to go. Although, it took several hours to get there and back by public transportation.

The following day, we caught another bus south along the coast to see one of the nation’s most ambitious engineering feats. Just four years earlier, the Oosterscheldeking, or Eastern Storm Surge Barrier, had been  completed. This massive nine-kilometre-long structure spans a tidal opening across the Rhine-Meuse-Scheldt river delta. It was originally conceived as a closed dam. However, after public protests, a four-kilometre section was converted to open sluice gates that only close during adverse weather conditions.

We got off the bus at Neeltje Jans, one of two artificial islands built along the barrier. Here we toured the visitor centre and enjoyed a stunning view of its sluice gates disappearing across the open sea. It was pure geek heaven. On the way home, I picked up a treat for Dean’s birthday, a chunky uppercase letter D-shaped chocolate.

Our last full day in the Netherlands was spent exploring Den Haag. We started the day with a tour of De Delfse Pauw, the largest of Delft’s porcelain factories. These distinctive blue and white products were developed as more affordable alternatives to Chinese porcelain in the 17th Century. 

Dean and I watched as clay was moulded into plates. These were then kiln-fired, dipped in an opaque, white tin glaze and hand-decorated, usually with cobalt blue, before a second and final firing. The factory’s skilled artists hand-paint just four plates a day. No wonder Delftware is expensive!

On the way into Den Haag, disaster struck again. This time it was my turn. My wallet fell out of my pocket on the bus. I didn’t realise it was gone until the bus drove away. Fortunately, I kept large domination banknotes and my credit card in a pouch around my neck. 

As a result, we lost some loose change and a few small banknotes, but nothing of significance. In hindsight, this unforced error, along with Dean’s daypack theft, was driven by fatigue. Six months of relentless travel was clearly starting to take its toll.

Den Haag is a relatively compact and quaint coastal city filled with traditional buildings. We ticked off its main sights in a single afternoon, including the Hague and the iconic Peace Palace, house to the International Court of Justice. A note I made on the back of the photo above referenced the constant stream of bicycles we encountered everywhere we went. The Dutch really do love their bikes.

On outskirts of city we toured the Flora Holland Naaldwijk, a satellite branch of world’s largest flower auction house. Flower auctions take place most days in a building resembling a lecture theatre. As bidders watch from tiered seating, auction lots trundle past on motorised pallets in quick succession. Overhead, a giant clock with a single hand counts down to zero. The successful bidder is first to stop the clock. The pricing setting hand moves surprisingly fast, taking less than 20 seconds to reach zero. However, it’s a surprisingly calm, almost silent affair, yet breathtaking efficient.

On 23 October, we packed up our tent for the final time, made our way to Rotterdam, and caught a bus to London. You can learn more about our rather unusual crossing of the English Channel here.

The City of Light

Time for another retrospective post. Visiting Paris for the first time was the fulfilment of a childhood dream. For as long as I can remember, I was mesmerised by images of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. I finally got to see them with my own eyes in October 1990.

At the time, I was nearing the end of a three-month backpacking odyssey through Europe. Dean Keiller, a sheep-farming friend from Victoria, and I had leveraged a Eurail Youth Pass and travelled as far north as the Arctic Circle in Norway, and as far south as Morocco. Our final two weeks on the road were devoted to visiting Paris, the Netherlands and then making our way across the Channel to London.

Getting to Paris was another bucket list moment. On 13 October, we caught the 15:52pm TGV service bound for Paris in Avignon. As a civil engineering geek, I’d always dreamed of riding a high-speed train. The TGV had entered service just nine years earlier on a new high-speed line from Lyon to Paris, reaching a top speed of 270 km/h.

As a result, the train we caught travelled on a regular rail track until it reached Lyon, where it transitioned onto its dedicated line. You know immediately when the transition has occurred as the train’s speed increased dramatically. Dean and I were like kids in a candy store as the French countryside began to blur past the window. It was definitely worth the extra surcharge we paid on our Eurail tickets.

However, this wasn’t the only unique rail travel moment we experienced. Earlier in the day, we’d crossed the border into France after catching a train from Barcelona. Back then, Spanish trains ran on Iberian gauge tracks (1668mm width), while France used standard gauge (1435mm). As a result, when the train crossed the border near Perpignan, it had to transition onto the narrower French rails.

Carriages on the Spanish train featured an adjustable boogie that allowed their wheels to be slowly pushed together or pulled apart using a gauge-changing device. However, the train engine’s wheels were always fixed, so it was always swapped at the border. Converting the entire train took about ten minutes. These days, the high-speed train network in Spain runs on standard gauge, so its trains travel seamlessly across Europe.

After travelling continuously for almost 18 hours from Seville, we finally arrived in Paris mid-evening. Here we transferred to the local rail network and made our way to a campsite in the outer suburbs. For the next five days, we explored the City of Lights from top to bottom.

Naturally, our first full day in Paris was devoted to visiting its most iconic sights, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. We climbed both structures. The Eiffel Tower was particularly challenging. You could climb the stairway from the ground to the second level for seven francs or spend 11 francs and climb the stairs to the third level. As budget-wary backpackers, we elected to climb the stairs all the way. I’m glad we did, as it gave us a more intimate look at the tower’s structure and engineering. I loved it.

I had the same reaction to a scale model replica of the Statue of Liberty standing on an artificial island in the Seine. The original statue was designed by French sculptor Bartholdi, and its innovative iron skeleton by Gustavo Eiffel. It was built and assembled in a workshop in Paris before being shipped to New York as a gift to the American people in 1887. The local replica was one of the workshop's working models. Parisian expatriates living in the United States bought it and gave it to Paris in 1889.

Our remaining days were filled with many highlights, including a trip up the hill to Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre, the iconic white-domed church offering uninterrupted views of the city. At the base of the hill I still recall my first glimpse of the faux windmill atop the equally iconic Moulin Rouge cabaret hall. Although we never ventured inside.

Dean and I also visited Hotel des Invalides to see Napoleon’s tomb, marvelled at the crazy pipework cladding on the Pompidou Centre, and gazed in awe at the interior of Notre Dame Cathedral. A note on the back of the photo above reminded me that I took it while sitting on Dean’s shoulders. It was the only way to get a shot with plenty of Autumn colour in the foreground.

The collonaded building shown above is La Madeleine. It’s actually a regular Catholic Church, surrounded on four sides by soaring Corinthian columns. This rather unorthodox design reflects its origins as a royal showpiece. Louis XV commissioned it as the focal point of the new Rue Royal, leading to the new Place Louis XV, the present Place de la Concorde. It’s easy to understand why the French eventually overthrew their king when you see one indulgent building after another around the city.

We spent at least half a day exploring the Louvre from one end to the other. Like all good tourists, we stopped to admire La Giaconda, better known as the Mona Lisa, and like so many before us, came away surprised at how small and unassuming the portrait really was. I also loved seeing the Venus de Milo sans her arms and the equally iconic Winged Victory of Samothrace.

Once again, much like our experience in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, we couldn’t believe the endless stream of iconic artist names on display throughout the museum. As an aside, Dean and I visited the Louvre long before its glass pyramid entrance opened. This famous structure didn’t start greeting guests until 1993. 

On our final full day in Paris, 18 October, Dean and I ventured out of town to explore the Palace of Versailles. This former royal residence was easy to reach by train, about 18 km from the city centre. Commissioned by King Louis XIV in 1661, it became the seat of the royal court the following year and remained so until the French Revolution.

The palace is an extraordinary complex. Its statistics are mind-boggling. The palace itself sits on an estate of more than 800 hectares (8 square kilometres). The main building boasts 2,143 windows, 1,252 chimneys and 67 staircases. Within the grounds sits an equally impressive building, a French Baroque-style chateau known as the Grand Trianon. It served as a less formal retreat for the royal family.

Without doubt, the most famous room in the entire palace is the iconic Hall of Mirrors. This 400-metre-long gallery links two wings of the palace. It features 17 windows facing west towards the formal gardens and parkland, while the opposing wall has 17 equally large mirrors. These mirrors reflected the king’s wealth as mirror glass was an expensive luxury in the 17th century. It could only be made with considerable effort, which took time and money to complete. 

As you can see from the image above, which I’ve pulled from the web, the ceiling in the Hall of Mirrors is also richly decorated. One final fun fact: the infamous Treaty of Versailles, which ended the First World War, was signed here. It was the most opulent palace that Dean and I had ever seen. Decades later, I’d get to explore royal residences in London, St Petersburg and Vienna that rival Versailles. However, as my first experience of European royal decadence, it made a lifelong impression. 

On 19 October, Dean and I packed our bags and headed for the Netherlands. This was to be our final destination in continental Europe before making our way to London. However, we decided to base ourselves in Delft, rather than travel further north to Amsterdam. 

We chose this southern town for its proximity to iconic locations, including Kinderdijk and the nation’s dike system. In particular, we were keen to see the engineering marvel that is Oosterscheldekering, the enormous storm-surge barrier which had opened just three years earlier. Not sure what I’m talking about? Follow this post, which explains everything.

To London by Hoverspeed

Riding a hovercraft across the English Channel was always a childhood dream. As an engineering fanatic, I simply loved the futurist look and feel of hovercraft transport. I finally fulfilled my dream in October 1990, when I caught a Hoverspeed craft from Calais to Dover. This trip was the final leg of a six-month odyssey travelling through Europe. At the time, Dean Keiller and I were on our way to London. We’d just finished a three-month Eurail backpacking adventure around Western Europe and were running out of time to validate our UK working holiday visas.

On 23 October, we caught a bus from Rotterdam to Calais, passing through Belgium along the way. We’d just completed a four-day whirlwind tour of southern Holland, exploring its dikes and windmills. I’ll share more about this experience in a separate post. We’d bought a combined ticket that included a bus to France, a hovercraft crossing, and a bus to London.  

The bus we caught to Calais had originated in Amsterdam. At the time, much like today, this Dutch city was renowned for its liberal regulation of marijuana. As a result, the French border guards in Calais took one look at Dean and me with our heavily laden backpacks and casual track pants and decided we were prime drug-smuggling candidates.

They searched our backpacks from top to bottom, quizzed us relentlessly about our assumed drug habits and our potentially illicit intentions in the UK. They were understandably flummoxed by our stories of travelling through Eastern Europe preaching the gospel and the Bibles in our bags. They eventually let us pass, stamping our passports and directing us into the Hoverspeed departure lounge.

The arrival of the Princess Anne, a Mountbatten-class (SR.N4) hovercraft, was an awe-inspiring sight. Watching it glide up the hoverport’s gently sloping beachside ramp was simply breathtaking. At the time, it was the world’s largest commercial hovercraft, powered by four massive Rolls-Royce engines that drove four equally impressive propellers. It could carry up to 418 passengers and 60 cars (loaded from the front) and cross the channel in less than half an hour. You can see her in the opening photo above.

Dean and I were booked on a slightly smaller vessel, the Swift, which carried 278 passengers and 36 cars (loaded from the rear). I recently learned that it was taken out of service and scrapped less than a year after we rode it. The Princess Anne continued operating until 2000, when it was finally retired, thus ending all hovercraft services across the channel. Apparently, the Swift held the record for the fastest crossing until Princess Anne surpassed it with a 22-minute voyage in 1995. That's the Swift arriving in France, shown above.

The ride across the channel wasn’t as expected. We’d anticipated a smooth ride, gliding, effortlessly across the water on a cushion of air. The reality proved very different. The day we crossed, the sea was rather choppy with small white-capped waves. As a result, the hovercraft bounced, or rather crashed, its way through the cresting waves, resulting in a bone-jarring trip across the channel. It would be fair to say that a fast crossing that was this uncomfortable wasn’t something I wanted to repeat anytime soon.

Upon arrival in Dover, we transferred to another bus that took us into central London. We then transferred on the Tube to London Bridge station and caught the train to Catford Bridge to stay with my Auntie Shirley and Uncle Tony. Dean and I based ourselves on their lounge floor for the next few weeks as we explored London and debated our working holiday plans. I’ll share more about our time in the UK in future posts.

One final observation.  Our bus to Calais stopped for a mandatory driver's rest break in Belgium. This was my first time in Belgium.  However, the stop didn't meet the minimum criteria required for me to mark it as a country I've visited. It would be another 18 years before I'd finally return to Belgium.

 

The Eternal City

Time for another retrospective travel post. This time we’re off to Rome, the venerated capital of Italy. I first visited this city in September 1990. At the time, I was backpacking through Europe with Dean Keiller, a Victorian sheep farmer. For three months, we used a flexible Eurail Youth Pass to visit 12 countries (and a few more after the ticket expired).

Our journey to Rome began in a rather unorthodox manner. Weeks earlier, Dean had discovered that his cousin was travelling in Italy as a Contiki tour guide. We scheduled our time in Florence to coincide with her arrival in town. Much to our surprise, when Dean caught up with her, she offered to collect us from our campground and take us with her to the Eternal City.

Her bus, filled with fare-paying travellers, duly arrived shortly after breakfast on 15 September. She greeted us with strict instructions regarding a cover story she’d shared with the group. We were Contiki staff tasked with researching facilities for camping-based tours. Once on board, Dean and I gamely played our part, regaling the curious crowd with stories of our detailed research, aka, our Eurail adventures to date.

Dean’s cousin subsequently arranged a complimentary hotel room for our first night in Rome. She reassured us that the hotel regularly offered free rooms to Contiki staff under an annual contract. We then transferred to a local campground located some distance out of town for the remainder of our stay. Thanks to Dean’s cousin, we spent our first full day in Rome visiting Vatican City. She took us with her tour group to the Vatican Museum, where we placed our backpacks in storage and spent the day exploring the museum, St. Peter's Basilica and neighbourhoods north of the Tiber River.

The Vatican Museum was an eye-opener. The artwork and precious items on display were beyond belief. It quickly became apparent how wealthy the Catholic Church had become as century after century passed. Room after room hosted all manner of priceless Renaissance artwork, including The Transfiguration by Raphael, a stunning four-metre-tall masterpiece.

We both loved the spiralling Bramante Staircase. If you look closely, you’ll spot me at the bottom striking a pose. This staircase is a double helix, featuring two staircases that facilitate uninterrupted pedestrian flow. People can ascend via one spiral without meeting people descending on the other. Very clever!

Equally memorable was the Sistine Chapel. Nothing prepares you for the majesty of this fresco-covered sanctuary. Our visit coincided with the final stages of a massive decade-long restoration project that began in 1984. During our visit, the chapel’s altar wall was completely enclosed by scaffolding. The temporary structure was clad with a reproduction of The Last Judgement, the stunning artwork hidden from view. I finally got to see this masterpiece 13 years later when Garry and I visited Rome in 2003.

The chapel’s ceiling was every bit as magnificent as posters and reproductions would have you believe. I couldn’t believe that I was standing there with a kink in my neck, looking up at the Lord’s outstretched hand, the most iconic scene in the Creation of Adam, possibly one of the world’s most recognisable works of art. The three images above were all taken years later, when Garry and I visited.

However, the most memorable moment for me came as Dean and I walked through the gift shop. Dean pointed to a postcard depicting the Creation of Adam, commenting that he’d missed this iconic image. I turned to him and said, “It’s in the middle of the ceiling.” He responded, telling me that he hadn’t looked at the ceiling. He thought the artwork on the walls was the chapel’s focal point.

I was stunned. I marched him back to the exit door, explained to the security guard on duty that he’d failed to look up at the chapel ceiling and insisted that he let him back in to see it. The guard relented. I waited half an hour for Dean to retrace his steps and enjoy the ceiling in all its glory. To this day, I still regale others with the story of my friend who never saw the chapel’s ceiling.

The rest of our afternoon was spent exploring St. Peter's Basilica and the dramatic, collonaded surrounds of Piazza San Pietro. The size and scale of the Basilica were truly breathtaking. However, the opulence of the entire complex beggared belief. I couldn’t fathom how centuries of everyday followers of Christ could reconcile such decadent displays of wealth while they lived harsh and impoverished lives.

We collected our backpacks from the museum cloakroom, paid one last visit to Piazza San Pietro, and then headed 8 km out of town to the local camping ground. We based ourselves here for the next three nights, catching a bus into town every morning and back again late afternoon. We ran into a nun as we were preparing to leave the Vatican. It was her first visit to Rome, having dreamt of this moment her entire life. We invited her to join us for a photo with fellow newbies. That's the image which opens this post.

Like all good tourists, we spent the next few days ticking off one iconic sight after another. This included a visit to the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, and Palatine Hill. I loved Palatine Hill, largely because we got to walk around Circus Maximus, the city’s former chariot racing stadium. Dean and I imagined ourselves as gladiators in the spirit of Charlton Heston in the Oscar-winning movie, Ben-Hur. 

Visitors could pay a fee to explore the ruins of former Roman palaces that dominate Palatine Hill. However, as budget-conscious backpackers, Dean and I passed on the opportunity. Garry and I would finally visit this complex years later.  However, we did fork out some hard cash to explore the interior of the Colosseum. Standing in its upper tier, looking down over the exposed undercoft was undoubtedly another one of those unforgettable pinch-me moments.

Likewise, I still recall marvelling at the engineering prowess of the Romans while exploring the Pantheon, and like so many before us, we visited the Trevi Fountain. I can’t recall if we tossed a coin, hoping to return someday. I guess we did, as I ultimately returned 13 years later.  Likewise, we visited the Spanish Steps, climbed Janiculum Hill to enjoy its panoramic view, and wandered the eclectic streets of Trastevere.

On 19 September, Dean and I packed up our tent and headed for the station. Our next destination was Greece. I’d mapped out an ambitious itinerary that would take us to Pompei, then on to the southeast coast of Italy, where we’d board an overnight ferry and visit Corfu, before finally reaching the shores of Greece. You follow these adventures, starting with Pompei, by following this link.

Although I will share one quick anecdote about this marathon journey. The ferry to Corfu was an adventure of its own. The cheapest ticket you could buy gave you a hardback seat on the outdoor deck.  However, the crew allowed passengers to sleep on the deck as they crossed the Adriatic Sea. As a result, Dean and I joined forces with a group of other backpackers, scouted out a secluded, sheltered spot on the open deck, unfurled our foam sleeping mat and spent the night sleeping under the stars. A quick internet search reveals that you can still do this more than 35 years later. I'm surprised EU regulations haven't outlawed this practice years ago.

Firenze

Let’s step back in time again. Florence has always been one of those “must-see” destinations on my bucket list. I finally got to experience this world-renowned epicentre of Renaissance art and culture while backpacking through Europe with my friend Dean in 1990. Florence proved every bit as memorable as we’d hoped.

On 12 September, we leveraged our Eurail pass to secure discounted train tickets that took us across the Italian peninsula from Venice to Florence. After an uneventful journey via Bologna, we reached Florence early afternoon and made our way to a camping ground on the city’s outskirts.

For the next three days, we explored the city’s iconic highlights. This included a mandatory visit to Galleria dell'Accademia, home to Michelangelo’s awe-inspiring statue of David. This imposing 5.2-metre-high marble figure is every bit as spectacular in real life as it is in books and magazines. It’s hard to believe it was carved from a single slab.

The statue is in surprisingly good condition despite spending 369 years standing outdoors in Piazza della Signoria, the seat of civic government in Florence. It was moved indoors in 1873 after fine cracks were discovered in its left leg and foot. Experts attributed them to an unstable foundation, placing uneven stress across its limbs.

David attracts quite a crowd. Despite visiting during the shoulder season, the elegantly domed hall displaying this immortalised biblical figure was constantly abuzz with people. Dean and I waited patiently for some time before capturing the crowd-free images you see above. I’d hate to think what it’s like at the height of Summer.

We later discovered a replica statue of David standing outside Palazzo Vecchio, in Piazza della Signoria. This knockoff was installed in 1910. It was one of several replicas we encountered around the city during our stay.

Our next stop was the Uffizi Gallery, undoubtedly the world’s most famous museum of Renaissance art. We spent more than half a day exploring its iconic courtyard, gilded rooms and hallways, marvelling at one masterpiece after another. Room after room read like a who’s who of Italian Renaissance artists, with works by Giottino, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael and Titian, plus Rubens and Rembrandt.

Without a doubt, the most memorable work of art was The Birth of Venus, by Sandro Botticelli. I couldn’t believe I was seeing his newly born goddess standing in all her glory with my own eyes. The work is enormous, spanning 2.79 metres, and 1.72 metres high. The giant scallop shell she stands in is almost a metre wide.

I also recall how deeply appreciative I was of my Christian missionary adventures up to that point. Biblical themes dominated much of the artwork on display. As a result, a deep and rich knowledge of the bible and its stories brought many of these pieces to life in a more meaningful way. For example, Caravaggio’s dark and confronting Sacrifice of Isaac was far more compelling, having studied Chapter 22 in the Book of Genesis many times.

Equally memorable was Duomo di Firenze, the striking candy-striped Cathedral of Florence, which dominates the old city’s skyline. Its construction, started in 1296, was finally completed when its eye-catching, red-tiled dome was installed in 1436. I found the concept of a multi-generational construction project utterly fascinating. It’s hard to conceive of this kind of enduring commitment given how swiftly most modern structures are built. Wandering through its unbelievably ornate interior, you quickly appreciate why it took more than a century to build.

We made the most of our time at the Duomo by buying tickets to climb its massive dome. To reach a compact outdoor balcony atop the dome, we had to climb a leg-numbing 463 steps. However, the route to the top is amazing. It takes you to an internal balcony offering a head-spinning view across the central nave, and then up to a breathtaking 360-degree panoramic view of Florence. That’s me at the top of the dome in the image that opens this post. If you look carefully, you’ll see Giotto's Bell Tower (Campanile) in the background.

Nearby, in the Basilica di Santa Croce (another church with an equally ornate neo-Gothic white marble exterior), we stumbled upon the tomb of Galileo Galilei and the unbelievably elaborate tomb of Michelangelo. Both tombs are shown above. It was mind-blowing to find myself standing before the final resting place of these historical giants. Even more so, considering we’d just witnessed Michelangelo’s unforgettable statue of David. We also spotted the tomb of Machiavelli, one of Italy’s more pragmatic historical figures.

Ponte Vecchio was equally fascinating. It’s known best for the Vasari Corridor, a secret 16th-century passageway that runs along the top of the bridge, linking Palazzo Vecchio with the Palazzo Pitti. It was designed to allow Duke Cosimo I de' Medici, the city-state’s ruler, to move undisturbed between both palaces. The secret corridor also passes through the Uffizi. Dean and I passed on the opportunity to walk it from the Uffizi to the south bank of the Arno River. The experience cost extra money, which we decided was better spent on other things. Although the view of the bridge from inside the Uffizi was a decent compromise.

No trip to Florence is complete without crossing the River Arno and climbing the hill of San Miniato to Piazzale Michelangelo (Michelangelo Square). This broad terrace offered an unforgettable panoramic view, plus another replica statue of David. The view is iconic, with easy-to-spot landmarks like the Duomo, River Arno, and Ponte Vecchio. Looking out across a sea of red terracotta roofs was another one of those pinch-me moments.

On 15 September, Dean and I packed up our tent, ready to move on to Rome. However, the transport we organised was rather unorthodox. Weeks earlier, Dean had discovered that his cousin was travelling in Northern Italy. At the time, she was a Contiki tour guide and was escorting a group from Florence to Rome. She offered to collect us from the campground and take us with her to the Eternal City.

Her bus, filled with fare-paying travellers, duly arrived shortly after breakfast. She greeted us with strict instructions on a cover story she’d shared with the group. We were Contiki staff tasked with researching facilities for a camping-based tour of Italy. Once on board, Dean and I gamely played our part, regaling the curious crowd with stories of our detailed research, aka, our Eurail adventures to date.

Dean’s cousin subsequently arranged a complimentary hotel room for our first night in Rome, followed by a subsidised tour of the Vatican Museum the following day. My brief stint as a Contiki researcher certainly had its merits! 

Learn more about our adventure in Rome here.

Ovenight in Seville

It’s time for a final retrospective post about my backpacking adventures in Spain in 1990. Regular blog readers will recall I spent three months travelling through Europe on a Eurail Youth Pass with my friend Dean, an Australian sheep farmer. You can read more about our Eurail odyssey here.

After spending four days in Northern Morocco, Dean and I caught a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar from Tangiers to Algeciras on the morning of 11 October. Two hours later, we docked in Spain, where we leveraged our Eurail ticket to buy a discounted ticket to Seville. We stayed overnight in Seville before continuing to Paris via Barcelona in a marathon train journey covering more than 2000 km.

Seville was a last-minute addition to our itinerary. I added it in part because it offered the most efficient route for getting to Paris. At the time, we had just two travel days left on our flexible 15-day Eurail pass. I worked out that we could catch an overnight train to Barcelona, then transfer to Paris, arriving early evening the same day. At the time, Eurail rules let you catch an overnight train and only count the following day on your ticket. This meant we could spend two days travelling north while only using one day on our Eurail pass.

This itinerary also meant we'd finish our time on the road near the English Channel. We both had UK Working Holiday visas that had to be endorsed before the end of October. We debated options for squeezing in a second stop along the Spanish or French Atlantic coast. However, we decided to head for Paris and use the last remaining day on our Eurail pass to visit the Netherlands. Dikes and windmills ultimately held more appeal than anything in regional France. In hindsight, had we been a little more prudent with our time in Scandinavia, we could have squeezed in a stop in Bilbao, San Sebastian or Bordeaux. Decades later, I’ve yet to visit any of these cities.

Dean and I both agreed that, in hindsight, had we known more about Seville before arriving, we’d have adapted our itinerary and stayed longer. At the time, Seville was preparing for Expo 1992, an international exposition celebrating the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas. As part of its preparations, the city had refurbished many of its stunning tourist attractions. It was also building plenty of new infrastructure, including two soaring, sculptural road bridges: the Puente de la Barqueta and Puente del Alamillo.

Both bridges span Canal de Alfonso XIII, a manmade diversion of the River Guadalquivir, which divides the inner city. Puente de la Barqueta led directly into the Expo's main entrance, while Puente del Alamillo carried traffic past the site's northern boundaries. The images above were pulled from the web to illustrate this post. The first shows the Barquet Bridge, followed by the Almaillo Bridge. Both were still under construction during our visit, so I've yet to see them in their finished form.

Dean and I spent barely 24 hours in Seville. We stayed overnight in a cheap youth hostel in the heart of Santa Cruz, the city’s historic neighbourhood. This bustling, rambling district is filled with character. It was once Seville's medieval Jewish Quarter until its residents were expelled by royal decree in 1492. You could spend days exploring its labyrinth of narrow streets, whitewashed houses, and orange tree-lined squares.

For example, on our first afternoon in town, the stunning Baroque facade of Iglesia Colegial del Divino Salvador caught my eye. Translated, its name means the Collegiate Church of the Divine Saviour. It’s Seville’s second-largest church, surpassed only by the city’s famous cathedral. It sits on the edge of Plaza del Salvador, a central hub in Santa Cruz. I love the Lonely Planet’s description of this quirky building, “Its Mannerist red-brick facade masks a cavernous, light-filled interior crowned by a soaring dome and filled with extravagant gold altarpieces.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The following day, Dean and I explored as much of central Seville as time would allow before catching a train late in the evening. This included the iconic Parque de María Luisa, a public space created for the Ibero-American Exposition in 1929. The park includes two major plazas, the iconic Plaza de España and the Plaza de América, and several monuments and museums. Plaza de España was breathtaking. This semi-circular plaza is marked by tall towers and a series of benches covered in painted tiles dedicated to the 48 provinces of Spain. The overall experience is unforgettable, as you can see from the image opening this post.

Equally memorable was the Lonja Palace. Parts of this 16th-century building are still used by the Spanish royal family. Inside, a series of publicly accessible rooms is filled with maps and documents relating to the discovery of the New World. It was fascinating to see these yellowing parchments on display, including some created by Christopher Columbus during his four voyages to South America and the Caribbean. It's hard to believe that the world map, filled with continents and landmarks we take for granted, was once completely unknown. 

Next door to the Palace stands the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the See, colloquially known as Seville Cathedral. It’s considered the largest Gothic cathedral in the world and one of the largest cathedrals in general. The main nave is an unbelievable 126 metres long, with a ceiling rising to a dizzying 36 meters. Outside, its bell tower is an impressive 105 metres high. As with many other religious structures in Southern Spain, parts of the city's former Almohad mosque, once its primary mosque, have been integrated into the current structure. For example, the cathedral's prominent bell tower, the Giralda, was once the mosque’s minaret, minus the Renaissance-style bellfry added in the 16th century.

Inside, much to our surprise, we discovered the ornate tomb of Christopher Columbus. As you can see, the tomb is an impressive structure, sitting in Capilla Antigua (or Ancient Chapel) alongside the central nave. For many years, there were questions over its authenticity. His remains were moved multiple times over several centuries, travelling from Valladolid to Seville, then to Santo Domingo, Havana, and finally returning to Seville in 1898. As a result, when we saw his tomb in 1990, this debate was still raging. It wasn't until 2006 that DNA analysis finally confirmed that the remains in this tomb are truly his.

As is traditional in many Spanish cathedrals, Seville's cathedral features a verdant, immaculately maintained internal courtyard filled with orange trees and other citrus fruits. It's another of those repurposed elements from the original mosque. In this case, the sahn, or traditional Islamic courtyard. I recall how wonderfully calm and contemplative its surroundings were, in stark contrast to the inner-city hustle and bustle beyond its cloister walls. It was a memorable way to end our time in Andalusia.

Follow this link to read about our week exploring Paris and nearby Versailles.