Spanish Winter Sun

This year, the thought of spending the Christmas holidays not on holiday seemed ludicrous. My job leaves me so restricted with annual leave that it would be a wasted opportunity to not travel during the only five days of the year that the office is officially closed. 

Therefore, just moments after gobbling down my last slice of Yule log, I was in the car on my way to the airport with my mum – the thought of spending the Christmas holidays not with her seemed ludicrous too. 

In a matter of hours, we’d landed in Valencia and whilst it wasn’t the traditional Christmas setting, I was more than happy to swap the festive pines for exotic palms and catch a few days of Spanish winter sun. 

We began the way I like to begin all city breaks; with a historical walking tour. I usually find this gives a good overview of the city and the chance to note down places to return to later on. Thanks to our guide Helena, a Spanish-Dutch girl studying in Valencia, this tour was amongst the best that I’ve taken. From the very outset, she diverted us away from the traditional tourist route and instead uncovered the secrets of the city which would otherwise have gone unnoticed. 

For example, we passed the Palace of the Borgias which from the street, appears to be like any other grand building built for a wealthy family in the 15th century. However, Helena led us down the neighbouring alleyway to reveal that whilst the ‘Palace’ is impressive in terms of its height and width, it’s in fact the narrowest building in the city – only six strides deep! In a sense, this is an accurate representation of the Borgia family who hid a life of organised crime behind the grand front of being holy men of the church. 

Later we stopped to admire the intricate architecture of the Silk Market which does well to distract from the master-bating gargoyles  (yep genuinely) poised on the surrounding turrets, as well as the Towers of Serano, the sole survivors of what once made up the city wall, and San Juan hospital where all Valencia’s want their children to be baptised. We also visited the old wheat factory but I have to admit the story behind it was a lot more entertaining when Helena’s strong accent had led me to believe she was talking about weed. 

After four hours of walking, we’d worked up quite an appetite which was fortunate considering the paella we ordered for dinner arrived in a dish the size of a small spaceship. It tasted pretty out of this world too and we finished it off with little trouble. 

The following morning, we set off on a mission to find bikes to hire in order to cycle through the Turia River. Yes, through! The Turia River, as it is still known despite no longer holding any water, was emptied and transported to the other side of the city following a devastating flood in 1957. There was much debate over what should be done with the dried up riverbed, the most likely option being a highway. However, the people of Valencia came together and successfully pitched an idea to the government for this space to be transformed into one very, very long park! The 25km route is now home to numerous sports grounds, playgrounds, cafes, restaurants, fountains and even a zoo!

Over the course of the day we covered the majority, stopping for lunch at the epic Centre of Arts and Sciences which is so futuristic, it looks as though it belongs in Dubai. It’s completely stunning but in an entirely different sense to the rest of the city and quite bizarre to stumble across on route to the beach. 

In the evening, we had a date with a Valencian man called Gabi who’d arranged to meet us just outside the Cathedral after sundown – a romantic start to our Spanish Tapas Tour! 

We began at a small restaurant just off the main square but before he let us tuck in, he insisted we know the history behind what we were eating. Gabi explained that this Spanish style of eating was born of the need in previous times to cover one's glass of wine with a slice of bread or meat to deter fruit flies. In fact, the very word 'tapa' is derived from the verb 'to cover.' Bartenders soon realised that the meat, whilst served initially as a practical measure, was very salty and so was simultaneously helping to increase their alcohol sales.  As a result, they invested in finding dishes which complimented their wines in this way. 

A secondary theory is that a law was introduced during King Alfonso's reign which dictated that alcohol served in public houses must be accompanied by food. The reason behind this law is widely believed to be that the King was tired of calling upon his army to fight, only to find them completely drunk. 

Respecting the King's law, we accompanied our meal with wine, arguably a little too large for the small pintxos on our plate; two slices of bread topped with croquettes and soft cheese. 

We finished these quickly and followed Gabi deep into the maze-like streets of the Old Town. Along the way, he pointed out his favourite shops, cafes and corners which he recommended we return to, should we ever find (or more likely stumble upon) them again. 

At the second restaurant, we dined alfresco with typical tapas including patatas bravas, garlic shrimps, calamari and more. As we ate, we shared stories of our lives back home and listened to Gabi's account of the city where he was born and bred. The fact that we'd just met this man and yet conversed with ease between picking at the plates spread out in front of us highlighted the sociability of this way of eating. Though I'm sure the second gigantic glass of wine accompanying it helped too. 

Despite being completely stuffed, we still had one more stop which Gabi assured us was completely unmissable. He certainly did save the best till last. The moment we sat down, our table disappeared beneath a large platter of toasted bread and intriguing dips. My favourite consisted of goats cheese, scrambled egg and courgette - three ingredients which I would never normally place together but it tasted delectable.

Just as I thought the evening was coming to a close, Gabi ordered not a glass but a pitcher of wine for us to try. It was a dessert wine and is traditionally consumed by tipping back your head, positioning the spout at an arm's length from your mouth and pouring it in. It vaguely resembled something we used to do on sports socials at university but the delicate Spanish porron from which it flowed somehow added a touch of class.

I woke with a slightly fuzzy head the next morning but nevertheless made it up to the rooftop of our hotel in time to watch the sunrise over the city. Our immediate surroundings were rather unattractive high rise flats but casting our eyes a little further on, we could see the beautiful spires and domes of the Old Town piercing the pink and lilac sky.

On our final day in Valencia we took the bikes and cycled to the very centre, keen to cover every inch. I was pleased to realise that certain routes were beginning to feel familiar and I was gradually getting to know my way around the city, guided for the most part by the memorable street art on every corner. We soon found ourselves on top of the world again, this time in the midst of the scene we'd admired earlier and gazing out from the middle on the balcony of the bell tower. It was a different perspective but equally as perfect. 


With just hours left, we returned to the beach and dined at Panorama, a beautiful restaurant on the peninsular with an incredible view out over the ocean. I was very sad to be leaving that day and was so taken in by wanting to stay, that we came very close to missing our flight. 

Looking back on it, it wouldn't have been the end of the world. 

New York, New York!

Never before have I felt so familiar with a city that I've not yet set eyes upon. New York has existed in my conscious for so long that despite this being my first trip, I felt instantly at home in my surroundings. When I felt the ground rumble beneath me, I already knew it was the Metro. When I saw the steam rising from the sidewalks, I knew it was the drains. I wasn't even surprised to see the spiral staircases wrapped around each and every building; I already knew what they were for. All of my questions had been answered before I'd even voiced them. 

The only slight oddity was not seeing the familiar faces I'm so used to seeing roam these streets on my television screen; Brad Pitt, Courtney Cox, and Blake Lively were nowhere to be seen but there was at least one friendly face there to welcome us ; the lovely Hannah who had kindly offered to put us up during our stay. Hannah's little studio flat oozes New York City style with its vintage décor and exposed brick wall. Though it consists of just one room and a bathroom, it was perfect for the four of us to huddle in together and play SATC for a long weekend.

It's also situated directly opposite Chelsea Market so it made sense for that to be our first stop. This urban, underground court reminded me a lot of Brixton village with slightly less edge and a little more sparkle. We weaved in and out of the shops and stalls, picking up snacks, taking snaps and making note of the happy hours at each and every wine bar. Then, as if by a gravitational force, we found ourselves being pulled towards the flashing lights at the centre of Times Square. It’s absolutely mental; like Piccadilly Circus on ecstasy and we placed ourselves in the very centre in complete awe. The clock chimed eight but I have no idea how much time had passed before that point. We were completely lost in the madness.

After a brief visit to the gigantic Forever 21 in the square, we headed in the direction of the gigantic Christmas tree outside the gigantic Rockerfeller buiding for the turning on of the gigantic Christmas lights (all nine-thousand-and-ninety-something miles worth, ahem Sophie!) Unfortunately, we were also faced with gigantic crowds and never actually made it to the event, despite Bianca's best efforts at playing the 'I'm lost and British and speak like the Queen' card with the policemen guarding the entrance.

We turned away defeated, not all that fussed until the next morning when we heard whispers of Michael Buble performing alongside Sting and other A-list stars at the opening. We should've known that New York would do nothing by halves and certainly should’ve remembered that fact just a few hours later when we foolishly ordered two stacks of pancakes and a Full American breakfast between us at Bubby's. I'm not sure which is more of a wonder; the fact that we finished every scrap or that we managed to walk out afterwards and continue our day.

We didn't stop walking in fact; after an extremely brief encounter with the Metro which didn't see us even getting to the other side of the turnstile, we decided to explore the city by foot as much as possible.

Our first leg was along the High Line, the old railway which follows the riverfront and has since been transformed into a beautiful boardwalk. I imagine it to be even prettier in the summer months when the flowers are in bloom, breaking up the city concrete with colour. 

Once we'd reached the end, we took a turn towards the centre estimating that it should take us about half an hour to reach the very heart. In reality, it took us almost two but we can blame Zara for that. And Tiffany and Macy, and all the other old friends we just kept stopping to greet. 

It was exhausting work and by the time we made it to Grand Central station, we were ready to crash despite it being just midday. Cue our first prosecco pick-me-up of the day! One glass turned into two bottles which we polished off whilst people-watching from a balcony under the twinkling stars of that giant dome. We must've seen more than a hundred thousand people storm past beneath us; everyone in a hurry, everyone with somewhere to be. It was rather refreshing for once, to be so far removed from it all; to be the ones with no agenda. We could sit here all day if we liked and believe me, it was tempting! 

Nevertheless, we eventually tore ourselves away and rejoined the rat race below. I'd been warned previously about the chaos of New York and the skyscraper-induced claustrophobia which so many people experience but somehow I found it the contrary. Though the crowds of people easily compete with those in London, the excessively wide streets and overwhelmingly large buildings gave me a sense of infinite space which could never be filled. They say that you stop being a tourist in New York when you can walk down the road without looking up but I could live there forever and still find my gaze drawn towards the tallest spires. It's difficult to feel suffocated when you're continually reminded of the endlessness of the skies above you. 

On that note, I was pleased that our next stop was one of the tallest buildings of all - the Rockerfeller. The sun had set when we reached the 70th floor and the city in darkness was quite something; hardly dark at all in fact, but alive with thousands upon thousands of sparkling lights in every direction for as far as our eyes could see. We quickly found our bearings and identified the Empire State; a building which was once so famous for being enormous but now sticks out little more than the hundreds of other sky high towers surrounding us. At the very top, we were completely exposed and the sheer distance between ourselves and the ground suddenly felt very real. As did the hammering wind edging us forwards like a less than gentle nudge from a passive aggressive friend. What truly amazed me was the size of the cars on the road - even those typical American SUVs seemed no bigger than my fingernail. It occurred to me that this was the only time I could recall in the last few days thinking that something was small. 

As the lift descended, I felt on a literal comedown. Perhaps it was all the walking, or perhaps it was the overwhelming events of the day but after a couple more proseccos (which in hindsight could also have been a factor) we gave into exhaustion and called it a night. 

The next morning was a whole other story. I woke up feeling completely refreshed and so rather than focusing my energy on another gigantic stack of pancakes, I decided to go for a run along the Hudson. Somehow, I managed to convince the girls to join me and we were soon out in the crisp December air stretching and pulling Usain Bolt poses on the pier. The river, just like the roads, is extremely wide and shockingly blue. It struck me as sad that this surprised me, having become so accustomed to the dull grey shade of the Thames. The route was so beautiful that we'd smashed through 8 kilometres without even realising. 

Following a quick shower and green goddess smoothies, we then returned to walking pace and ambled back towards the centre again, this time to Ground Zero. Having never seen the Twin Towers whilst they were standing, I was unsure what to expect from this memorial site but I soon realised that it made little difference to the effect it had on me. The contrast between the vast open space and the cluttered life surrounding it is devastating. Two gaping holes now lie where the towers once stood, with water trickling down the sides and into the depths beyond view. It's a peaceful feature but one that, at least in my interpretation, signifies a continuous sadness. Beneath the exuberant positivity of New York, the water will still always flow, like the city's endless tears for those who were taken from it. 

Before we left, we took a moment to note some of the names inscribed into the border of the fountains and admired the white roses which had been laid upon those who would have been celebrating a birthday on this day. We left the site wondering who these people were and what could have been, our hearts breaking for each and every one. Though they’re one in three thousand killed that day, each one has a story and they deserve to be remembered as more than just a statistic. The memorial stands as a strong depiction of this. 

Moving on, we felt it appropriate for the Statue of Liberty to be our next stop. Rather than paying for a tour, we hopped onto the free commuter ferry to Statton Island and passed by the lady herself along the way. Though we didn't get too up close and personal, her beauty was evident from afar and the iconic representation of an incredible city.

Upon our return to the mainland, we were suddenly struck with hunger and though still miles from Brooklyn, had our hearts set on a pizza from Grimaldi's just over the bridge. It was a long while before we made it (the bridge alone is a twenty minute walk!) but the size of the pizza served once we sat down was more than enough to compensate. 

Unbeknownst to us, the day was disappearing to night outside. Whilst we'd been busy inhaling pizza, the sky had darkened to a midnight blue and as we crossed back over the bridge into Manhattan, we just caught the final glimpse of the sun on the horizon turning the skyline pink. It was absolutely stunning. 

Back at the flat, we met Hannah and popped open the champagne to mark the start of pre-drinks. Tonight, we were going out out! 

Once sufficiently tipsy, we walked down a couple of blocks to Catch where we were met by Hannah's friends and another few bottles of prosecco. It was a fairly reserved start to the evening but the guys explained that a lot of the clubs here are restaurants and hotels and that they 'pop off' later on. That, they did. 

How we got there is a little hazy but we ended up at the Jane Hotel where there were more people dancing on tables and sofas than on the dance floor itself and the music resembled an old school garage/rnb/hip-hop compilation. Basically as soon as the diners dispersed and the tequilas made a timely appearance, it all took a turn for the better, or worse judging by my hangover the next morning. 

Worse still, we woke up twenty minutes before our brunch booking at Paradou which just so happened to be unlimited mimosas. Oh god. 

The only option was to power on through it and by midday my hangover had been replaced by a warm and fuzzy state of merry which was much better for my head but less so for the shopping which followed. Goodness knows what I bought (seemingly everything) but it was enjoyable nonetheless. 

For the remainder of the afternoon, we wandered through the city, making frequent coffee stops to simultaneously sober up and warm up as the prosecco blankets abandoned us and the winter chill hit. It felt very much like any ordinary Saturday afternoon and I realised how quickly we'd adjusted to life here - we were already referring to Hannah's place as 'home.' With my best friends in tow, I truly believe I could live anywhere but New York definitely sits at the upper end of the list. 

There was still one last thing we needed to tick off before leaving so on Sunday morning we headed out early in the direction of Central Park. We'd hoped to cover it all but had once again underestimated the size of all things American. We managed about half, passing the reservoir, lakes and Alice and Wonderland memorial which all contribute to its wonderful character. 

Before we knew it though, we were flagging our final yellow cab for the airport and reminiscing on our favourite parts of the trip. We covered so much in our short stay and yet it still feels as though there's so much more to see. In a city like New York, there will always be more and we're certainly not done with it just yet.

Budapest Spas & Bars

Landing in Budapest, we quite quickly realised we knew nothing about the city. One of our party (though she'll remain unnamed) thought it was a country, I'd thought the currency was Euros and none of us had any idea how to go about even saying 'hello'. We'd booked the trip a while back but life seems to have run away with us as a little lately and we'd found virtually no time to do any research. Well, this should be fun. 

Our first pleasant surprise was that the exchange rate coupled with the low cost of living made us really rather well off. The taxi from the airport cost the equivalent of just a couple of pounds each and within less than an hour of landing we were outside our Airbnb in the city.

Two Hungarian guys were there to meet us and showed us up to the room via a rickety lift that looked as though it belonged in the 1920's. Fortunately, the apartment itself was considerably more modern with two double bedrooms and a spacious living area which was more than sufficient for the five of us for the weekend ahead. 

We wasted no time in changing out of our plane clothes and pouring our outrageously cheap vodka concoctions. Despite finishing the entire bottle, we thought we were relatively sober until we couldn't work out how to get out of the building. Looking back on it, we were also blaring out Justin Bieber and playing sardines in a cupboard so it really should have been more obvious. 

Having eventually cracked the Fort Knox code (i.e. pressing the exit button...) we were finally free and jumped into a taxi to Szimpla, one of Budapest's most famous Ruin Bars. 

Embedded within what remains of Budapest's original flats and factories, the Ruin Bars are the epitome of understated cool. Whilst they should have long been condemned to destruction, the buildings were instead filled with rejected furniture from the depths of the city bringing a retro feel to the place and soon after an unstoppable wave of young people to enjoy them.  

Lost amongst the neon lights and crowds of unfathomable accents, it was difficult to believe that we'd been sat at our desks that very morning. That same thought also brought on a sudden tiredness and despite our best intentions, by 3am we were shattered and called it a night. 

Consequently, we were up at a fairly reasonable hour the following day and headed out straight away to make the most of our short weekend in the city. Our apartment was conveniently situated right next to the Central Food Market so we wandered over there for what was supposed to be a light breakfast. What it turned into, however, was langos; a gigantic deep fried flat bread topped with virtually anything you ask for from, vegetables, to Nutella! We could easily have shared one between the the five of us but somehow smashed through one each (plus an obligatory strudel...)

Recognising the need to to work off the 9,000 calories just consumed, we dodged the Metro and instead walked all the way into the centre of town. It was a relatively long distance but the journey took far longer than it should have, had we not been continually distracted by sights along the way. The first was the Chain Bridge which we did not need to cross but very much wanted to. The view from either side was incredible with pastel coloured buildings lining one side of the river and tall green hills with the remains of castles peering out from within the cliff face of the other. It was exactly how I'd imagined it to be but better, and made better still for the fact that we had a bright blue sky to frame it all in. 

After an hour or so we reached our destination; the Széchenyi Thermal spa. It felt bizarre to be stripping down into our bikinis in single figure temperatures but the steam arising from the baths themselves promised warmth. We began inside where there were dozens of pools in a long line, allowing us to hop from one to the next, dipping our toes in those that were only lukewarm and fully plunging into those that were dreamily hot. Some were bubbling, others still and each contained a variety of minerals which are meant to perform miracles on your skin. 

I was hoping to emerge from the waters feeling an entirely new woman and perhaps I would have if I hadn't been entirely numbed from head to toe; cold is the only thing I felt as we sprinted from the indoor halls to the large outdoor pool in time to catch the last glimpse of sunset. 

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, the sky turned a deep mauve and the pool's lights glowed like stars from beneath the surface. With such beautiful surroundings, it was difficult to muster the motivation (let alone the courage) to ever leave the pool again. 

Once we finally made it back to the flat, however, we had a cheeky power nap followed by an extensive MI5 operation to carry out, as we thought our apartment was being broken into (which it wasn't), so we were somewhat delayed for dinner. 

Without any real reasoning, we'd just assumed that Hungary would follow the same routines as the likes of Italy and Spain when it comes to eating late but it soon transpired that they do not. Our dreams of the cheapest Michelin Star meal ever eaten were soon shattered when we struggled to find a single restaurant still open close to midnight. My mind was already starting to wander back to the 4am Pad Thai we'd had the night before but fortunately we stumbled across one nice looking establishment still willing to welcome us in just before I was forced to find out how terrible drunk food tastes sober. 

This place was an absolute find and for less than a tenner, we had starters, elaborate mains and a lot of wine before moving swiftly onto Instant where we'd heard promises of a great night.

As soon as we arrived it was immediately obvious why people rave so highly about this particular ruin bar. The rooms appear infinite and lead off in every direction, with each one slightly darker and considerably stranger than the one before. To give you an idea; the entrance has flying bunny rabbits stapled to the ceiling and a glittering pig disco ball, and that's only the beginning. 

The people we encountered inside were no less strange but it was amusing for the most part. My favourite by far was one particularly high guy who's opening line to every girl who had the pleasure of his forthcomings was 'Can I have your drink?' Not usually how it works but I rate his efforts... 

The beauty of such a big place is that there's a whole range of music but nevertheless, we struggled to find much that resembled hip hop. Luckily, just as Instant was starting to die down, we caught wind of an RnB club down the road and decided to swing by on our way home. It was a little like a smaller, grimier Oceana but it still kept us amused for a further two hours until we'd heard virtually every Pitbull song we could stomach. 

After just a few hours sleep, we were up and out again, this time returning to the Christmas markets that we'd passed the previous day for a better look around. The plan was to pick up some gifts to take home but the strong scent of mulled wine proved rather distracting and we soon found ourselves huddled in a log cabin sipping steaming drinks and gobbling down traditional Hungarian food. We ended up with quite a mixture of sorts but thankfully all avoided the rooster testicles; I'm all for trying local delicacies but I was still feeling pretty fragile from the night before and that did not sound appetising. What did sound appetising, on the other hand, was the chocolate and cheese strudels on our way out – a delectable combo and the perfect way to end our weekend in Budapest!

A Trip to Eataly

The moment I passed my probation at my new workplace, I stepped straight out of the office and onto a plane. Having not been allowed to take holiday for my first three months, I couldn't want to break the cabin fever and travel again. I also couldn't wait for a rest so it seemed sensible to make my first stop Lake Como, which conveniently happens to be both my dad's home and the most relaxing place on Earth. 

That is, when you're not setting an alarm for 4am to go mushroom picking. 

This ever-so-unrelaxing activity wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my first day of holiday but having recently developed an intrigue in the Italian side of my family's fascination with mushrooms, I appreciated the invite to tagalong. 

For the twenty-five years which preceded this curiosity, I'd pretty much just written them off as insane and as we clambered up the steep mountain terrain, fighting through the brambles in complete darkness, I was quite sure I'd been right all along. Surely I'll never find any if I can't see? Or even worse, I'll pick one that's poisonous! 

When I did, however, find my first porcini it was nothing short of momentous. Never have I ever experienced such parental pride from my dad; my university graduation, multiple championship wins, even my very entry into this world, all of which he was there to witness, felt overwhelmingly insignificant in comparison. The enormity of the mushroom just about matched the size of the smile on his face and my own sense of achievement as I ripped it from the ground and held it up to the sky. 

I was one hundred percent hooked and my enthusiasm only grew in the hours that followed (and we were there for hours.) I suddenly felt like the mad one for not jumping on this craze years ago. Who wouldn't enjoy this? It's essentially a treasure hunt for adults and a lot of fun!

Only once we found our baskets, backpacks and every available body part overflowing with mushrooms did we finally call it a day. Back at the house, Dad and Stefy got straight to work cleaning and slicing our winnings whilst, I on the other hand, went straight back to bed. Hours later, my rumbling stomach woke me and the strong fumes of the drying fungi filled my nostrils. Tip-toeing over and around the dozens of racks which now filled every corner of the house, I went to find my dad, Stefy and their friend Claudio who was staying with us for a few days. 

The four of us decided to toast our success at Cantina Follie, a beautiful wine bar in Tremezzo which specialises in cheese and meat boards. I devoured far too much before realising that this was only the aperitivo and we still had pizza on the menu for later in Santa Maria. Having been to Italy more times than I can count, you'd think I'd have learnt by now but perhaps it's a subconscious decision not to. Contented in my food coma, I retired to bed relatively early that evening, soothed by the sound of the waves lapping outside my window. Bliss. 

A far less welcoming sound woke me the next morning; the cat, scratching persistently on my bedroom door. She wanted to be let out and despite virtually every window in the house being open, insisted she leave in a more dignified manner suited to the absolute princess that she is. It was 5am and as far as I was concerned, we were no longer friends. Unfortunately, the feeling wasn't mutual (or perhaps it was?) but either way, she came clambering back at 6am, this time clawing against another closed window to crawl back into bed with me. I was destined never to have a lie in. 

Wide awake, I suggested a long walk through the mountains to fill our now rather extended morning. It was a cloudy start to the day though, so rather than climbing too high we instead meandered through the hamlets above our own village, covering a long distance but ascending slowly. 

Despite the lack of sleep, I felt entirely relaxed. There's something about this place which is almost enchanting in the way it draws you into its slow pace of life and makes you appreciate the moment for what it is. There are few occasions in life that I can vividly remember being able to simply stop and breathe but the majority all seem to be here. 

By the time we reached San Martino, the skies had cleared and we were awarded our view after all. We enjoyed a late lunch and a well-deserved carafe of red wine before making our way back down. As it was Claudio's last night with us, there was no question of where we'd be taking him; Fabio's, of course. Without so much as glancing at the menu I ordered a melanzane pizza and left the drinks  order to my dad (which is always a safe bet.) 

We drank enough at the restaurant to know that we'd be continuing back home and the four of us (plus the cat) stayed up way into the early hours putting the world to right over whiskey and Nutella. We spoke of love and war and everything in-between, and when we'd exhausted conversation, we sung of it instead. Claudio, a psychiatrist by day but musician by night, whipped out his guitar and treated us to an entire set of Italian classics before taking requests. I was pleased to be able to then singalong in my mother tongue. 

For my final full day, we'd booked tickets to the World Expo which is held in a different city every four years and focuses on a current affair. This year, it was held in Milan and the theme was food! Absolute win. 

Considering I fly to Milan so regularly, I've spent very little time in the city so we made the most of the trip and travelled in early to explore. The metro took us to the main square which is home to the grand cathedral. It looked stunning with the backdrop of the bright blue sky and kept our attention for quite some time before moving on into the heart of the capital. 

Surrounded by Milan locals, I suddenly felt incredibly under-dressed. Every street is a catwalk runway with perfectly styled mannequins poised in the front row. The shop windows scream expensive but the in the classiest of whispers behind the marble stone frames. 

I could easily have stood for hours in the midst of Milan simple people watching, but it was time to head to the expo. The first room we entered introduced the concept of food from around the world; where it comes from, how it's processed and what's produced in each region. There was a strong focus on World Hunger and the fact that there's sufficient food to feed the entire population if only it were distributed more evenly. We now produce 17% more food per person than we did 30 years ago and yet close to 1 billion go to bed hungry every night. 

With that in mind, what followed felt a tad oxymoronic. The rest of the park was filled with exhibitions from every country in the world from America, to Burma, to Iran and Papa New Guinea. Each nation had been allocated a plot of land to represent their cuisine however they pleased and the results were quite astounding. The UK had chosen to focus on their production of honey and constructed a giant beehive from honeycomb laced fairy lights. In Malaysia we found an interactive rainforest, in China an impressive fountain display, in Brazil an assault course, and in the USA a grand entrance of glittering stars and lights. Of course Italy had the largest space of all to play with and had a mini village called 'Eataly' filled with all the best restaurants and an epic Nutella bar. 

With so much on offer, we were cautious not to commit to any one cuisine so picked up little bits from as many countries as we could. It was all divine and whilst it was served with a twinge of guilt on the side, all profits were at least donated to charity to help fight World Hunger. 

As always, it was a fantastic trip and I was very sad to leave.  For me, I suppose Italy is a break without the hectic planning of a real holiday and a home without the responsibilities of real life; for me, it's perfect. 

A Weekend in Geneva

I'd just about had enough time to unpack and re-pack (and fight off dengue fever) and I was back on a plane again – this time to Geneva!

We were met at the airport by my Auntie Liz who whisked me, my mum and my best friend Hana back to her beautiful home situated in a rural area just over the French border. The house is instantly impressive both in terms of size and setting but the interior is even better; I felt as though we'd arrived onto the set of an Ideal Home Magazine shoot!

In fact, I was so distracted by the modern feature walls and striking artwork which decorate the space so beautifully that I almost didn't notice the view beyond. Sliding open the glass doors, Liz led us out to a glistening swimming pool overlooking the snowy Alps. Even in the fading sunlight, we could just about make out the peak of the Mont Blanc. I was quite sure this was going to be an awesome few days.

The evening ran away with us as we caught up over wine and nibbles and before we knew it, it was time for bed. The following morning, we woke late and had a leisurely breakfast by the poolside whilst making a plan for the day. Midway through, we were joined by a welcome surprise - my cousin, Sian! 

Sian lives and works in Africa and my travels are yet to take me to that part of the world so we're rarely in the same continent, let alone country. I felt very lucky to have her with us for the weekend and having listened to her incredible tales of Chad and Sierra Leone, I don't imagine it will be long until I do spend some time that way.

Though we could easily have spent the whole day by the pool, we were keen to make the most of our short few days so got ourselves sorted and headed out to Annecy. My Aunt told me that I'd been before as a child but my memory was hazy and I certainly didn't remember it being quite so stunning. The lake is almost impossibly blue with fountains  at the centre which cast rainbows in the ripples.

All five of us wanted a closer look so we hired a pedalo and made our way into the midst of it all. The youngsters pedalled whilst our mums took pics (not a fair deal) with all of us pointing at the marvels passed along the way. In particular, I loved the turreted castles high up on the hills which struck me as quintessentially French and really rather beautiful.

The Frenchniess continued into the afternoon as we settled on a Creperie for lunch, indulging in a mixture of savoury and sweet, from entree through to dessert; at least some of us had earned it after our work-out on the lake! Soon after we headed back, fighting the temptation to enter every Swiss chocolate shop in our passing and instead settling for pink champagne on the terrace at home. 

Over dinner the bubbles continued, unveiling more and more hilarious family stories. My favourites, however, were those from before my time when my mum and Liz toured the States together and got up to all kinds of mischief. It reminded me a lot of mine and Hana's own tales except that ours are arguably a lot more tame!

On our final morning, Liz took us along to a typical French market which we fell in love with instantly. Wandering between the stalls, we soon found that our sense of smell was far more reliable than our GCSE French skills in leading us to the best vendors handing out small portions of cheese, fruit and freshly baked bread. Unsurprisingly, the tasters did the trick and we found ourselves leaving with an armful of baguettes amongst macaroons and all sorts else.

This all made for an epic lunch spread back home and there was a genuine concern that if we stayed still for too long afterwards we'd fall into a food coma and miss the flight home. Instead we swiftly (but sadly!) packed our bags and headed out to Geneva for one final stop in town before the airport called. 

It was a whirlwind of a visit but so worth it. There's nothing better than escaping the city for a weekend and immersing yourself in the beautiful European countryside – with a flight time of little more than an hour, it really is at our fingertips!

Flying Solo in the Philippines

There wasn't a single moment during our trip around the world when I wished I'd been travelling alone. The idea terrified me and yet it's that very feeling which enticed me to try. If there's one thing which travel has taught me, it's that life begins outside of your comfort zone and so rather than flying home with the girls, I waved them goodbye and prepared myself for a short solo stint in the Philippines. 

I have to admit, however, that my enthusiasm had wained from the point of booking this trip to the point of actually boarding the plane to Borocay. Having just spent the most amazing ten days with some of my best friends, I had to question the likelihood of this second phase living up to it.  

Energy levels dropped further after a close to twenty four hour journey and by the time I set foot onto the island, I was exhausted. There were dozens of potential people to meet at the hostel bar but I couldn't even contemplate making conversation. 

Escaping the backpacker madness I instead wandered down to the beach to watch the sunset. It was here everything changed. As the sky began to turn pink, I thought about my friend Hatti and quickly remembered two things. Firstly, I'm never truly alone and secondly, make the most of every moment. What would Hatti do if she were here on a paradise island in the Philippines with four full days ahead of her? I as good as heard her voice in my head as the sun disappeared behind the horizon: 'Suck it up Chiara, go and socialise.'

And from that moment on I was never alone. Admittedly I was surrounded by strangers at first but it's surprising how quickly they turn to acquaintances, and later to friends. Back at the room, a girl named Vicky had moved into the bed next to me and we soon found we had a lot in common; she's from Surrey, studied English Lit, loves to write and obviously loves to travel. There were at least four reasons right there why we should go and get dinner together. 

On our way down, we got talking to a group of Irish medics and they joined us too. Whilst Vicky and I had just arrived, the Irish clan had been there four nights already and so promised to take us to the best bars later on. I still wasn't feeling up for a massive night but nevertheless had a couple of rum and cokes out on the balcony with our now significantly larger group. I don't remember consciously making the decision to go to the beach but it turns out a couple is all it took (I later learnt the rum out here is 80%!) 

With the sand between our toes we danced for hours at various bars along the beach. When it started to monsoon, we took cover in a club and Grace and I somehow ended up in a VIP room at a table with a load of Malaysians. It was hardly the West End but it was pretty cool. Once the rum started to taste like sambuca, I took myself home. 

The intense heat and sunshine glaring into our dorm room burnt out any signs of a hangover. Vicky and I were both up and at the beach by eight o'clock, working up a tan. Given the time and the unreal scene in front of me, it would've been reasonable to assume that I was still dreaming. It was the first time I'd seen it in full daylight and I just couldn't believe how perfect it was. Through the shadows of the palms trees which line the coast, the shallow water glows fluorescent turquoise, blending to a royal blue as the seabed suddenly drops and the beach itself (aptly named White Beach) boasts the finest white sand I've seen outside of the Caribbean.

The pristine condition is quite remarkable considering the vast number of people who come here to enjoy them. Borocay is undeniably very touristy and plays far too well to Western culture. You can quite literally stare out into the horizon and feel fully immersed in a paradise island, but turn back around inland and find you're on the doorstep of a Starbucks. I was both shocked and disappointed come lunchtime when I struggled to find a single authentic Philippino dish on the menu of any restaurant in close vicinity to White Beach. 

Luckily, a few people had recommended Puka Shell Beach as being far quieter and more authentic. Therefore, in the afternoon I hopped on a trike (a glorified tuk tuk) to see it for myself. Vicky had booked a massage but I met the Irish clan there and we stayed until sunset, watching the sky transform this time from the comfort of the warm shallow waters. 

When I arrived back, we had another new addition; a girl called Sharon who's been living in Singapore and is soon to move to New Zealand - definitely my kind of girl. We instantly got on and she joined Vicky and I for dinner at a back street restaurant where I had my first proper taste of Philippino food. It's not a touch on Thai or Malaysian, but it was still delicious and half the price of the burgers and pizzas they're serving up at the beach. 

The Irish were on it again but the three of us, slightly older and less accustomed to drinking until we drop, called it a day. Not that we got much rest. The room was so hot and without the aid of air conditioning or 80% rum, it was impossible to sleep. I counted mosquitos for most of the night and was up and out again by sunrise. 

After another full day of sunning ourselves and sipping coconut water on Puka beach, we needed a change of scenery. We’d heard whispers at the hostel of a bar on the peninsular which is a great place to watch the sunset. 

Spider House lived up to the hype. Built on wooden stilts, this bar hovers above the water and gives the perfect view of the endless horizon. It was whilst we were on our third or fourth round of cocktails that we realised we were surrounded by familiar faces. Everyone at the bar was a fellow guest at our hostel and so we soon joined forces and spent the evening together, which culminated with a game of ‘How many Frendz kids can we fit on a trike?’ (Answer: Seven.)

Though I’d had the most amazing time at the hostel, I was yearning for a quiet night in a nice hotel before facing the long journey home. With the luxury of living on a non-backpacker budget, I waved goodbye to the girls and checked myself into a fancy place up on the hill. As my bag disappeared from my shoulders to a porter’s and I was welcomed in with a fresh drink and flower garland, I was rather pleased with my decision. The hardest choice I now had to make was between the big double bed in my air-con room, or the cushioned deckchairs by the beautiful infinity pool. Bliss. 

My final day disappeared with the sun but it did not slip away discreetly. From the poolside I watched in complete awe as the entire sky came alive, alight with oranges and pinks so fiercely bright that I can make no comparison. That image will stay with me forever. 

Not one to be outdone, I attempted an exit as spectacular as the sunset. Overnight my skin took on a fluorescent tone and when I woke I was quite literally glowing. Heat stroke struck me hard and back in the UK I added dengue fever to it too. It wasn’t the best of souvenirs to take away from my beloved Asia but I’m thankful to have a wealth of memories to add to it too. 

Travelling alone was certainly an experience and one which I'd comfortably repeat again if thrown into the situation. However, given the choice, I'd still prefer to holiday with my friends. Whilst I met some truly awesome people who I'd perhaps not have spent time with otherwise, they're now all back on different sides of the world out of reach to reminisce with. One of the best parts of travelling for me is reliving the memories afterwards but moments such as falling off the balcony and launching an island wide search party for Vicky's shoes were all 'had to be there' scenarios and nobody around me was. For this trip, I'll just have to laugh along to myself and accept the insane looks but for my next trip, I'm dragging Hana back along with me.