City – Page 2 – HotelmEE

Santa Fe

Posted on February 21, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

The scene in this corner of Santa Fe could be straight from a Quentin Tarantino film. On the porch of a bar called Cowgirls, people are enjoying vast plates of barbecued meat while hypnotised by the smooth gyrations of a beautiful dark girl in a shimmering white skirt, who seems to glow in the velvet night. Inside,men in wide-brimmed cowboy hats sit at the bar drinking beer and bristling with masculinity.Santa Fe, New Mexico, is exactly as I imagined it: a frontier town in the wild South-West. In daylight the city is less easy to define,more a melting pot of cultures, characters and styles. Driving into the city from Albuquerque along the modern highway, I’m surrounded by the harsh inhospitable terrain that greeted the Spanish when they arrived here in the seventeenth century,endeavouring to extend an empire that stretched all the way from Tierra del Fuego,at the end of the world.

The desert landscape their horses crossed still stretches for miles, strewn with small bushes of piñon (or pine) and purple juniper. Santa Fe perches in thin air at an altitude of 7,000 feet.The desert can freeze for eight months of the year,and snow caps the southern Rockies even when the temperature is rising in the valley below.A hailstorm can appear out of nowhere to cut through the searing summer heat. Cutting through this extreme environment, the Santa Fe Trail was an important nineteenth-century trade route,passing from the forests and prairies of Missouri and Kansas, through Indian territory, to end in Santa Fe’s Plaza,where traders still ply their goods outside the Palace of Governors, the oldest public building in the usa. These days, only Pueblo Indians from the local Native American villages are permitted to trade here, in the heart of the city.The sellers sit in the cool shade of the porch, their intricate silver and turquoise jewellery laid out for sale. Across the road,Mexican enchiladas are sold from carts, and a five-and-dime store sells cheap goods and greasy burgers beneath its adobe facade. In the midst of this intriguing blend, it can be hard to distinguish what is authentic and historical and what is a modern-day recreation.Even the McDonald’s is modelled on local adobe architecture.There are only two styles allowed in central Santa Fe, the adobe and the New Orleans style, with its whitepainted wooden pillars and decks.

As a Californian-turned-local dryly remarked, “Santa Fe has uniform architecture,but total lack of uniformity in everything else.” St Francis’Cathedral is one of the only buildings in the centre to depart from the conventional style of architecture its solid stone structure still soaring above the soft, curved mud walls of the surrounding buildings,hundreds of years after the conquistadores swept in with their Catholicism. But Mother Earth still has a hold on the population,and Buddhism has crept in with an influx of Tibetans,who seem to feel at home in the high altitudes, and have been embraced by an accepting hippie community.A local Buddhist woman whispers of a double prophecy: Tibetans were told that they would meet with red men in a distant land and,strangely,Native Americans also predicted that red-cloaked visitors would come from the east. Santa Fe residents are not only spiritual seekers, though. Here you’ll find a heady mix of business-savvy Native Americans, Hispanics,South-Western folk in cowboy hats, and bohemian artists from around the world.

By day this disparate throng go about their separate business,but by night everyone flocks to the atmospheric El Farol for drinks and live music, to sit on the porch where the breeze is cool and scented with piñon. It’s a popular spot on fashionable Canyon Road,somehow squeezed in between the many art galleries – filled with creative offerings, from Native American art on buffalo hide, to modern conceptual art in bare white-walled rooms – that are scattered along the old Indian trail. They say that it’s the clarity of the light that draws so many artists to tiny Santa Fe, in the forty-seventh state of the Union and largely forgotten by its own country. The skies are wide, bright and blue,and for the best part of the day the ristras – bunches of dried red chillies that hang from every building – cannot cast a shadow against the mud walls, though their spicy aroma spikes the air right across town. New Mexican cuisine uses chillies to flavour almost every meal. Breakfast omelettes are filled with green chilli and cheese,lunchtime tamales are steamed corn meal stuffed with ground pork and chilli.At dinner I try the chilli rellenos, a whole green chilli stuffed with cheese and battered. Soft fried bread called sopaipilla is served, to be dipped in clear honey, offering a sweet and cooling contrast to the rest of the menu,which is as hot as the weather. It’s hard to imagine,in the scorching summer heat, that winter will ever reach dusty Santa Fe. Sitting on a porch again, this time at an out-of-town convenience store, I sip a blood-orange margarita from a jam jar.A flurry of cotton buds swirls around my head,caught in a gust of wind,and it could almost be the first snow coming in off the Sangre de Cristo mountains, dusting the city like the icing on an adobe cake.

Hotels and Resorts in Santa Fe

La Posada De Santa Fe This 157-room retreat set within six acres of landscaped grounds, in the heart of Santa Fe,has a spa with a heated swimming pool, whirlpool and fitness centre.Many adobe-style rooms have kiva fireplaces and shady patios.
Inn of the Anasazi Just off the old Plaza, this 58-room boutique hotel is beautifully decorated with large handcarved doors, sculptured stairways and sandstone walls.The cosy library houses a great collection of books about South- Western art, history and culture.
Encantado Set against the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, there are 62 secluded casitas with stunning views of the Jemez Mountains and the Rio Grande River.The main lodge has a restaurant, lounge and courtyard with fireplaces for outdoor dining.
Hotel St Francis Built in 1880, this lovely hotel has a delightful old-world elegance, featuring leather armchairs, oil paintings and sweeping staircases. Rooms have high ceilings and mountain views.An afternoon tea of scones and finger sandwiches is served in the lobby, while the wood-panelled Artist Pub serves drinks from a copper-topped bar looking out onto downtown Santa Fe.

Top destinations in Santa Fe

Institute of American Indian Arts The only museum in the usa devoted to contemporary Native American art, it houses over 7,000 works within its adobe walls,and a sculpture garden.
Loretto Chapel Completed in 1878, this neo-gothic building is famous for its ‘miraculous’spiral staircase which completes two 360-degree turns with no visible means of support.
The Plaza Central hub of the city and end of the famous Santa Fe Trail. The Palace of Governors dominates one side of the square – the oldest public building in the usa,an impressive adobe structure where Native Americans sell beautiful turquoise.
Georgia O´Keeffe Museum O’Keeffe’s paintings focus on the landscape of New Mexico,often transforming its contoured rocks,bleached bones and fragile flowers into powerful abstract or sensual images.The museum’s collection includes more than half of her total works.

www.santafe.org Photogalleries and history offer an overview of the city,supported by events information and listings for restaurants, hotels and museums.

Edinburgh

Posted on February 21, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

Edingburgh often comes as a surprise to visitors. It may be a British city, just over four hours by train from London, yet it is strikingly different from just about every other city in the United Kingdom. As Robert Louis Stevenson, one of its best-known writers, once wrote, it is a ‘profusion of eccentricities, a dream in masonry’. Yet it is not one of those cities that has become a theme park, a fate that hovers over towns that are too pretty for their own good; Edinburgh is very much a lived-in city, one of the most vibrant and exciting places in the world, home to the world’s biggest arts festival, one of the most important financial centres in Europe, and a place of science. And, to top it all, it is a city of great character, that sometimes unidentifiable quality that is becoming increasingly elusive in our globalised world. At the time when Mary Queen of Scots occupied Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh was not much more than a cluster of unsanitary buildings running down from the Castle to the palace. Mary was one of the most intriguing and romantic of monarchs, and those who are interested in the turbulent history of her reign will find much to see in Edinburgh.

A short walk down the Royal Mile takes one past the site of the old Scottish Parliament to the house of the Scottish religious reformer, John Knox, who harangued Mary for her Roman Catholicism, but who still admired the character and strength of this ill-fated queen. A further walk leads past the new Scottish Parliament, where the same feisty tradition of Scottish rhetoric continues, and on to Holyrood itself, where one can see the chamber where Mary’s husband, the young and handsome Lord Darnley, assisted in the murder of her Italian secretary in the middle of an intimate dinner party that the Queen was holding – not the most successful of Edinburgh dinner parties, one would have thought. But Edinburgh’s history is not just one of intrigue and dark deeds. This may be the city of Burke and Hare, the famous murderers who so selflessly helped Scottish anatomists to further the city’s reputation for medical education: it is also the city of the Scottish Enlightenment, that extraordinary flowering of the intellect in the seventeenth century that resulted in Edinburgh’s becoming the European centre for philosophy and the newly-emerging social was said that one could stand at a point in the centre of Edinburgh and shake hands with 50 men of genius as they passed by.

That suggests a somewhat huddled metropolis, and it was to escape this concentration of people in the Old Town that the city decided in the second half of the eighteenth century to cross the Nor’ Loch and expand to the north. The result was Craig’s splendid New Town, a great swathe of classical architecture laid out in handsome squares, crescents and roads. And this, to Edinburgh’s great good fortune, survives, and is still lived in and worked in to this day. Although the New Town expanded the city, it did not destroy its fundamentally intimate nature. Even today you can walk from one side of the city to the other without risking exhaustion, and, if one lives here, that walk will probably involve seeing faces that you know. For Edinburgh still has a strong sense of civic identity; as Jean Brodie reminds her young charges in Muriel Spark’s great portrait of a spinster schoolmistress of the 1930s, those who live here are citizens of the city. For the literary traveller, Edinburgh is particularly rewarding. Robert Burns, by far and away the bestknown of Scotland’s poets, lived in Edinburgh for a while, and if one goes to the interesting Canongate Kirk (the Parish church of Holyrood Palace) one can see the gravestone that Burns erected in memory of Robert Ferguson, another eighteenth- century Edinburgh poet whose work inspired Burns himself. And there are other landmarks of literature. Poking up from Princes Street Gardens, not far from the National Gallery of Scotland, is the Scott Monument, one of those peculiar, spiky Victorian structures that does very little other than provide elaborate shelter for a statue.

It reminds one that this is the city of Walter Scott, that energetic writer who inspired an entire generation with enthusiasm for the romantic Scotland of Rob Roy, Redgauntlet and all the rest. Then there was Stevenson, whose house in Heriot Row in the New Town may still be seen and, on occasion, visited; and Compton Mackenzie, author of Whisky Galore, who lived around the corner in Drummond Place. Scottish literary figures have a reputation for enjoying whisky, and there are a number of literary pubs in Edinburgh, including Milne’s Bar, where Hugh Macdiarmid gathered with his friends, and the Oxford Bar, where Inspector Rebus, the hero of Ian Rankin’s popular detective novels, drank to drown his various sorrows. And if that is not enough whisky, your final port of call might be the Scotch Whisky Heritage Centre near the Castle. Or perhaps your penultimate port of call: dinner will be needed, and the fact that Edinburgh is said to have more restaurants per inhabitant than anywhere else in the United Kingdom means that the choice is a wide one. For a real treat, try Prestonfield House, where peacocks strut the grounds and the strain of the bagpipes is often to be heard. Romantic? Of course. And why not ? This is, after all, a very special city.

Where to stay

The Glasshouse Boutique hotel in the heart of Edinburgh, a fusion of centuries-old and cutting edge-new, and the trendiest place to lay your hat. With plenty of sunny patios and verandas, its highlight is the lavender-scented roof garden.
Prestonfield Sumptuous hotel, chock full of antique four-poster beds and lavish decorations, with plenty of hi-technology discreetly hidden away. Voted the AA’s Hotel of the Year for Scotland and Northern Ireland 2005.
Apex City Hotel Chic and contemporary hotel located in the heart of the old town, with spectacular views of the castle. The Royal Mile, Holyrood House, and Princes Street are on the doorstep.
The Scotsman This conversion of the old Scotsman newspaper building retained the beautiful wooden panelling of the old reception area to become the bar and brasserie, and the marble staircase that leads to utterly gorgeous bedrooms upstairs.
The Witchery Seven theatrical and opulent suites in a collection of historic buildings near Princes Gate, offering the most luxurious and indulgent of stays. Dannii Minogue called this place ‘the perfect lust-den’.
Balmoral Another five-star hotel with landmarks on its doorstep – but this doorstep is a landmark in itself. The rooms are modern and stylish, and there is a choice of restaurants, between Michelin-starred Number One, Hadrian’s, a brasserie, and the Palm Court for cocktails.

Edinburgh Top sites

The Castle This Edinburgh landmark dominates the city it looks down upon. Only reachable from one direction, its position on the rocky outcrop has kept it protected for over 1,000 years.#
The Royal Mile This route links the castle to The Palace of Holyroodhouse, taking you past John Knox’s house, St Giles’ Cathedral and Parliament Square.
Palace of Holyroodhouse & Holyrood Park The Queen’s official residence in Scotland, dating from 1128. Next door is the park, where Arthur’s Seat, an extinct volcano, gives unparalleled views of the city.
Museum of Scotland The story of the land, people and culture of Scotland is told through the museum’s
rich collections. The museum itself is a fine piece of modern architecture, built from golden sandstone.
Royal Yasht Britannia (not on map) Having sailed a million miles, Britannia now rests in the port of Leith.

Tokyo

Posted on February 20, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

The station sign on the unfashionable side of Tokyo Station is one of my favorite things about the city. The sign is simple and nondescript, just a handful of letters tacked low on the station facade. Utilitarian and humble, it looks as if it might have come from a different time and country. It’s an apt welcome to a city that contains a multitude of times and places; a city that wears a hundred different versions of itself, versions that follow upon other versions, like variations on a theme long forgotten. As if the city were subject to mood changes, the temperature of the place shifts from one moment to the next, and spending a day in Tokyo can sometimes feel like galloping after a rapidly shifting, eternally elusive daydream of a city. Anybody who has visited Tokyo will know that it can sometimes be a hard city to see. A hard city to see because it is steeped in ideas of the past and present and future; a hard city to see for maybe more literal reasons, because of the flow of its architecture, the distillation of sunlight bouncing from building to building, an alchemy of angle and perspective that is difficult to articulate. And, sometimes, it seems as if it’s a hard city to see simply because there are so many different dreams floating across its countenance. Tokyo carries a lot of dreams, and as with any cosmopolitan city, the people who come to the city are the carriers of that dreaming.

My mother always says that nobody is really from Tokyo, and one of the first things that strikes me whenever I’m there is the way that the Japanese spoken in the city is typically without accent, as if every newcomer had prepared for their arrival by hammering out any audible traces of the region from which they arrived. Each person who comes to the city arrives with their own version of Tokyo to pursue, and it is maybe that sense of hopeful ambition and driven necessity that transforms the visitor into the city native. But this is just to say that people come to Tokyo to enact a certain version of themselves, and in this sense the very multiplicity of the city can be seen most clearly in the capital’s inhabitants themselves. Look at the city streets and you will see young boys and girls dressed in outlandish outfits, costumes more than outfits, Raggedy Ann and Elvis and Alice In Wonderland appearing on street corners, chatting with friends or bent over their mobile phones. Turn the corner and you’ll see a flock of suited businessmen, their anonymous uniform performing a function not unlike the costumes of their youthful counterparts; in both cases there is an element of theatre, of self-invention and disguise. I love people-watching in Tokyo, on the streets and in cafes and shops.

There is something intoxicating about the vivid cacophony of character and display. But I also love those parts of Tokyo that are more anonymous, and seemingly devoid of personality. I like the great wide streets you will sometimes find, in areas as unlikely as Shinjuku, unexpectedly emptied of pedestrians. I like the barren desolateness of the new developments in Tokyo Harbor, mammoth projects in various stages of incompletion. I like these places not just because they are the opposite of the many received images of Tokyo – as a bustling metropolis, as a futuristic techno dreamland – but also because in some ways they provide a very honest sense of the city. It’s a version of the city that is quiet, a little lonely, and in a perennial state of incompletion and uncertainty. It’s a version that exists behind the wild costumes and the uniform suits, beneath the confident bustle and the tremendous sense of productivity; it’s a version that can be drawn through the whole of the diverse landscape of the place.

I think probably there are plenty of people who are born-and-bred Tokyo dwellers – my mother’s whole side of the family, for example, have always lived in the city – but I like the way the city accommodates that feeling of transience and uncertainty, blankness and anonymity. I like the fact that while people all around the world have the city pinned down as the place where ‘the future is happening now’, most of the people in Tokyo are more concerned with navigating the present. But that, of course, is always what has made the city and its inhabitants so alluring, from the outside: the nonchalance with which Tokyo natives inhabit this brave new world of futuristic technology and convenience. The dreamer who doesn’t see the dream – that’s probably why the idea of Tokyo continues to hold fast in our imagination, a perpetually
elusive wonderland.

Where to Stay

Park Hyatt The setting for Lost In Translation, this luxurious hotel occupies the top 14 floors of the Shinjuk Park Tower. Its stylish rooms afford breathtaking views of the city and Yoyogi Park, while great views can also be had from the New York Bar, where international artists perform live jazz.
The Conrad There are 290 rooms and suites in this ultra-lavish hotel close to Ginza district, with panoramic views.
Park Hotel Situated in the Shidome Media Tower, this was the first hotel in the city to join the Design Hotels group. It offers 274 individually designed and decorated modern rooms, and professional pillow-fitting staff to ensure you a good night’s sleep. It also has a great view from the lobby on the twenty-fifth floor.
Palace Hotel A tranquil retreat in the heart of hectic Tokyo, this fine hotel overlooks the Imperial Palace and gardens. It has 389 rooms, six restaurants and its own shopping arcade.
Cerulean Tower Hotel An elegant deluxe hotel with a spectacular view. It features special Japanese rooms for those who wish to experience a traditional stay, plus fitness club, beauty salon, jazz club, Christian and Shinto wedding chapels and a Noh Theatre.

Top sites

Tsukiji Fish Market The largest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world. Open Monday-Saturday between 5 and 9 am, this market handles more than 400 different types of seafood.
Ueno Park A beautiful public park and favourite spot for Hanami – cherry-blossom viewing – in the springtime. It’s also famous for its museums and zoological gardens.
Asakusa Famous for its temples – most notably Sensoji, Tokyo’s oldest Buddhist temple, which is said to date back to the seventh century. This is one of the few districts to preserve a sense of the old Tokyo.
Akihabara This neon-splashed district is one of the world’s largest shopping areas for electronics. Its shops stock every new gadget imaginable.
Imperial Palace Home to the Imperial family. The inner palace is closed to visitors, but the ancient Nijubashi Bridge is probably the most photographed bridge in Japan.
Ginza Prominent shopping and dining district, once destroyed in the air raids of World War II, but now a glitzy entertainment area.

San Francisco

Posted on February 20, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

Hidden among the many collages and photographs plastered across the walls of Vesuvio, a bar at the heart of San Francisco, I spotted a quote by Paul Kantner of the Sixties’ psychedelic rock group Jefferson Airplane. It read, ‘San Francisco: 40 square miles, surrounded entirely by reality.’ I’d spent a day wandering among the neighbourhoods and districts that make up the city, and now, beer in hand, I couldn’t help but agree with his slogan. There was an atmosphere here that was decidedly different from other American cities. For one thing, its weather is most beguiling. Its geography – on a hilly peninsula, surrounded by the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco Bay on three sides – means that it has a weather system all its own, notorious for producing a fog that hangs over the city in the morning before it is whipped away by afternoon winds. But more than that, it is the people of San Francisco that really set the place apart. The number of different sub-cultures in various districts makes the city seem schizophrenic. I was staying in the Phoenix Hotel, a small, simple affair just beyond the fringes of both Downtown and the Civic Centre, in a kind of no man’s land.

Originally a 1950s motel, it is now San Francisco’s ‘rock hotel’, graced by the likes of David Bowie, Nirvana and Norah Jones, to name but a few. Two floors of rooms surround a courtyard scattered with surreal sculptures and an outdoor pool with a mural on its floor. For those that come to bask in the San Fran vibe, there is no alternative. Spurred on by my night there, I headed down to Haight-Ashbury, the crossroads that once formed the epicentre of the hippie movement, to see where the love affair with sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll had begun.

The streets were lined with independent stores that sell used clothes, tie-dyes, jewellery and bongs, but the authenticity had been lost. Smiling tourists, punks, hippies and literati ambled along, clutching Starbucks coffees. Reality was creeping in. Even so, Haight Street was something to behold. The Victorian houses were gloriously decorated in vibrant colours, lamp-posts were a vivid concoction of flyers and posters, everyone was smiling – heck, even the buses were decorated with flowers. And when I delved a little deeper, in the used record and book stores, I found things hadn’t changed so much. They were still staffed by the same friendly owners, some in their twilight years, who were here in the heyday. These are the gentle people that Scott McKenzie sang about in 1967, when he suggested that you go to San Francisco with flowers in your hair. A cable-car took me up to Fisherman’s Wharf in the afternoon.

The fishermen had mostly left since lending their name to the northern waterfront, and it was now a tacky tourist crowd-puller. “Hurry, hurry, hurry, now boarding. Alcatraz, Golden Gate Bridge. See the home of Al Capone. Only $10,” called out the cruise boat captain at one end. At the other sat Pier 39, home to the most gimmicky of tourist shops and restaurants. A street musician sang ‘Only fools rush in’, but the irony seemed lost on the crowd. The best attractions here were the Bush Man (a local who hides behind leafy branches and startles passersby), the colony of 300 sea lions that live on platforms floating between piers, the huddle of breakdancers, and the sight of brave locals swimming in the harbour.

A walk along the harbour wall yielded spectacular views; in one direction the Transamerica Pyramid, in the heart of the Financial District, dominated the city’s skyline; in the other, the Golden Gate Bridge was slowly being shrouded by evening mist. The skyline enticed me back into the city. I headed toward the Transamerica Pyramid, straight down Columbus Avenue, to North Beach. Home to the city’s Italian community, the European atmosphere drew the 1950s Beat writers to the area. Though the Beats who turned the city into a guiding light for other counter-culturalists have since left, the area retains its links to the past. Among the pastry shops, eccentric bars, superb restaurants and dreamy hotels I found Caffe Trieste, where Francis Ford Coppola wrote the script for The Godfather. It continues to serve the best espresso, hold performances of opera on Saturdays, and attract people to write their novels and scripts while the strong smell of coffee beans lingers in the air. Meanwhile, the City Lights Bookstore, which had a major role in publishing the works of the Beat poets, has retained its legacy of antiauthoritarian politics and insurgent thinking – its top floor continues to be well stocked with well-known and lesser-known works by the writers and thinkers of the Beat movement. As I sat next door in Vesuvio, among the pork-pie hats that line the bar, discussing the purpose of life with bar-flies eager to meet today’s curious tourist, I surveyed the scrapbook history on the walls and concluded that this city’s Bohemian spirit would not be kept down.

Where to stay

Claremont Resort & Spa A relaxed haven of swimming pools and spa treatment rooms nestling in the Berkeley hills, 19 km from downtown San Francisco and close to the Berkeley university campus.

The Clift A high-design and highconcept hotel in the heart of the theatre district. Proportions of scale
have been played with inside the grand lobby, where an enormous chair upholstered in antique tapestry takes pride of place. The hotel also houses the post-modern Redwood Room bar, a venerable San Franciscan drinking hole.

Hotel Bohme An intimate hotel in the heart of North Beach, decorated in art deco style. It’s full of character and features gauze-draped canopies covering queen-sized beds, as well as black and white photographs of local heroes hung on the burnt orange walls.

Mark Hopkins InterContinental This grand hotel at the top of Nob Hill was once a haunt of writers and
movie stars. It now has a more corporate atmosphere, but retains its charm. The Top of the Mark cocktail bar affords wonderful views across the city.

W Hotel Part of the Starwood group, this modern and comfortable hotel has great views of the Bay Bridge and is situated in the revitalised Soma district, right next door to the Museum of Modern Art and the city centre.

Agronaut Located down on the waterfront, this intimate boutique hotel has a nautical-themed and modern décor.

Top sites

Alamo Square Catch impressive views from this park, whose panoramic vistas of the entire city – including the row of fastidiously restored Victorian houses known as the Painted Ladies – are quite gasp-inducing.
Chinatown Sample dim sum in one of the many restaurants, or wander along Grant Avenue to admire the brightly coloured balconies and search for souvenirs.
Mission Dolores Worship at the simple church and oldest building in the city, dating from 1791. It survived the fires that followed the 1906 earthquake.
Golden Gate Park Explore the lungs of the city, stretching three miles from Haight-Ashbury to the beach. It’s home to museums, Japanese tea gardens, windmills and even buffalo.
Alcatraz Visit the isolated island prison, now a museum but once home to America’s most famous criminals, including Al Capone, Machine Gun Kelly and the Birdman.

Naples

Posted on February 19, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

As you steped out into the centre of Naples, your senses are attacked by a cacophony of sounds, smells and sights. On these streets, all manner of life plays itself out. It has always been so. As far back as 1844, Charles Dickens wrote that Naples ‘woke again to Policinelli and pickpockets, buffo singers, beggars’ rags, puppets, flowers, brightness, dirt and universal degradation, airing its harlequin suit in the sunshine, next day and every day singing, starving, dancing on the sea shore’. Today, while the poverty is not quite as wretched, little else has changed. These days Naples is the capital of the scooter: young and old – even entire families – ride on rasping Vespas that obey no rules of the road. In the evening, when the whole of Naples takes to the streets, the young lean against their beloved scooters as they congregate in the piazzas, while on Sundays lovers can be found intertwined on the waterfront, still perched on their mopeds. But the centre of the city is a reminder of what Britain’s bland homogenised town centres have lost. No chain stores here, but small, beautifully presented, individual shops selling pasta, chocolate, wine, antique books, wedding dresses and a treasure chest of other goods. The markets overflow with fruit, vegetables and every kind of seafood imaginable.

Neapolitans are rightly proud of their food. This is the home of the pizza. My favourite pizzeria was the Trianon Da Ciro, a no-frills place where workers come for lunch to order huge pizzas which they wash down with beer. As I ate, a couple of large men each demolished two of these pizzas, barely raising their heads to talk as they ate. I ate at a trattoria in the poor Quartieri Spagnoli neighbourhood, where the waiter, proud to have a tourist in his establishment, ordered for me. I enjoyed a delicious feast of vegetables, pasta and fish, accompanied by a local wine, in the equivalent of a greasy spoon café. The Quatieri Spagnoli is the most atmospheric neighbourhood in Naples, a dense, claustrophobic set of narrow streets and alleys. Washing is hung out to dry like flags between the tenement blocks, boys play football, old men play cards and elderly women in the top floors hoist shopping up to their flats in buckets that dangle from a length of rope. Around every corner, a shrine to a saint, often adorned with photos of loved ones, is set into the walls: there’s even a shrine to Diego Maradona, with a strand of his hair enclosed. He received such ‘sanctification’ by bringing Napoli its only championship ever, on a day on which, for once, Naples could lord it over the wealthy northern teams of Juventus and Milan. Maradona makes a fitting latter-day saint for a city that combines the beautiful with the ugly. The Neapolitans are deeply religious, in a superstitious, pagan way; a fact that is hardly surprising, given the looming presence of the still-active volcano Vesuvius. Evidence of macabre practices can be found outside the church of Santa Maria del Purgatorio ad Arco, whose entrance is adorned with bronze skulls. The ritual of adopting skulls of the unknown dead was once practised here.

In return for praying for them, polishing their skulls and leaving them gifts, the dead souls would bless their benefactors once they reached heaven. In 1980 the Catholic Church banned this cult, but it is still believed that a dwindling few continue the practise. One of the most famous skulls is adorned with a bridal veil: it is said that the skull belonged to a woman who died on the eve of her wedding. Newly-weds used to visit the church to receive her blessing. Neapolitans love a wedding. This being Naples, the photo-shoots can take hours, while the couple are photographed in a whole array of theatrical poses in front of statues and outside shops. I came across one couple and, although I did not want to intrude, I was encouraged to take pictures. Neapolitan weddings are very much public exhibitions. As I wandered around taking photographs, concerned Neapolitans constantly warned me to take care. In a city where unemployment reaches 50 per cent in some neighbourhoods, it is not surprising to find that many people turn to crime.

Naples has its own version of Sicily’s mafia, the camorra, and a recent drugs turf war has resulted in the deaths of over 150 people, including many innocent bystanders. It is the gangs of petty criminals that are, however, of more concern to locals. One woman I met had had her handbag stolen on seven occasions. I witnessed one pickpocket at work. A teenager sauntered up behind a group of elderly tourists and calmly put his hand in one of their handbags. He then skipped away, weaving through the traffic. Once across the busy road, he caught my eye and gave me a wink, before disappearing down a labyrinth of alleys. I was amazed at the sheer audacity of this Neapolitan artful dodger. Leaving for the airport, my taxi was late. As my driver raced through the traffic at an even more breakneck speed than usual, it occurred to me that this was what was meant by the phrase ‘see Naples and die’. With one hand on the steering wheel, he leant over to retrieve a book of DH Lawrence’s poetry, and we discussed poetry and Dante before moving on, inevitably, to football, Maradona and the hand of god. It felt like the perfect way to finish a visit to this most enrapturing of cities.

Where to stay

Hotel Parco Dei Principi Stylish hotel designed by Italy’s most famous twentieth-century architect, Gio Ponti. Fresh and funky, it’s perched on the edge of Sorrento’s spectacular cliffs. In style it resembles a modernist beach cabana, all blue and white.
Grand Hotel Cocumella Formerly a Jesuit monastery, this elegant hotel overlooking a pretty cliff-top park in Sorrento is furnished with antiques. Guests can take advantage of the hotel’s own tall ship, used for day trips along the Amalfi Coast and to Capri.
Grand Hotel Vesuvio Since 1882 this seafront hotel has been the local home for royals, celebrities and politicians visiting Naples. Most of the rooms have balconies or terraces overlooking the Mediterranean, Capri, Vesuvius or Sorrento. It’s a case of old-world charm meets modern comfort.
Hotel Excelsior A splendid palazzo overlooking the promenade. Its rooms are all different and furnished with antiques, creating a fin-de-si?cle feel.
Grand Hotel Quisisana Traditional and elegantly furnished hotel on the island of Capri, surrounded by enchanting gardens and pretty terraces that overlook the sea and gardens.
Parker´s Set on a hill overlooking the gulf of Naples and Chiaia beach, this grandiose hotel has catered to the likes of Clark Gable, Bernard Shaw, Boris Yeltsin and David Bowie. Its rooms are decorated with original antique furniture, art and a historical library.

Top sites

San Carlo Theatre Enjoy an evening at the opera at the San Carlo Theatre, one of the most important opera houses in Europe, built in 1737, 40 years before the Scala.
Duomo Cathedral Crane your neck back to take in the imposing central nave of Duomo Cathedral, dedicated to San Gennaro, and built at the end of the thirteenth century.
Palazzo Reale Wander through the Palazzo Reale, built as an imitation of the Palace of Versailles in the fifteenth century. It was home for the monarchs, and remains one of the city’s best examples of Baroque architecture.
Castel Nuovo Rise early and head to the Mercato dei Fiori at sunrise, an aromatic flower market held in Castel Nuovo – the thirteenth-century castle that dominates the waterfront.
POMPEII Jump on a train and head for nearby Pompeii, the Roman city buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in AD 79. Once a week, visitors can come for a night-time view of the ancient city and its still active volcano. (Not shown on map.)

Hong Kong

Posted on February 18, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

When I think of Hong Kong, I think of rain. Not just any old rain,but the monsoon of wui gwai – the lashing storms that washed out the handover ceremony in June 1997. The ceremony offered my first impressions of the former British colony, long before I had visited Hong Kong:live television images of a lone bugler in a white tunic playing the Last Post, as the standardwas lowered over Government House for the last time; heartbreaking pictures of Governor Patten, his head bowed in sombre reflection, the shoulders of his crumpled blue suit buckled by tropical rain. That night, people talked of Hong Kong changing beyond recognition,of the island and its three million inhabitants being lost forever to the brutality of Chinese rule. What would become of the place? The happy answer is that very little appears to have changed.It is a tribute to the vigour and perseverance of this pearl of the South China Sea – and also,perhaps, to the policies of its rulers in Beijing – that Hong Kong continues to flourish.

You can see this from the Star Ferry at night, as she chugs across Victoria Harbour like a faithful dog. I stood at the stern of the ship, en route to Kowloon, looking back at the coathanger lights of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, at the fading neon of Causeway Bay,and marvelling at the staggering us$40-billion International Finance Centre, the third tallest building in China. This sky-piercing monument to the twin gods of money and land reclamation was completed long after the British departed. In its bowels is a shopping mall practically the size of Texas,where Hong Kong’s elite can gorge themselves on white Burgundy and foie gras,designer clothes and underwear from good old home.This is the neighbourhood of theMarks & Spencer. In some senses,of course, the British have never left.The bars and restaurants of Lan Kwai Fong, for example,still heave with boozy, carefree twenty-somethings who have made east Asia their temporary salesman and the billion-dollar broker, the accents Cockney or cut-glass. In one subterranean nightclub, I encountered a gorgeous,slim-waisted Brazilian modelwho was earning her fortune as ‘the face of the West’in Asia. A Canadian man of indeterminate age was chatting her up, boasting that he had arm-wrestled Jackie Chan.Towards two in the morning,drunk and out of luck,he hailed a cab eastwards, to the brothels of Wan Chai.

There is,of course,another Hong Kong, away from the glitz and the ceaseless hum of downtown money. There is the Hong Kong of Mongkok, on the Kowloon side,where the cramped alleyways of the bird market are lined with cages fashioned from varnished bamboo.There is the Hong Kong of Happy Valley,where a week’s wages can be lost on a single bet in the madness of a Wednesday night’s horseracing.The Chinese are ravenous gamblers,boarding night boats from Shun Tak to nearby Macau, to lose themselves in the labyrinth of the Lisboa Casino, their every bet and gesture monitored by close-circuitTV. It is on water that I am happiest – in Hong Kong,buzzing out to restaurants on Lamma Island,pointing to a snapper in a tank and waiting just ten minutes before it is brought to my table, grilled to perfection.In summer, the humidity of southern China pins your shirt to your back, it brings you out in a damp, fever-sweat just seconds after leaving the air-conditioned sanctuary of a shop or office: all of this is blown clear away by the sea air. But I also love the crush of the city, the traffic and the crowds, the smells of five-spice and soy sauce in doorways and yards.

Is there a better lunch than dim sum at the Luk Yu Teahouse,an Art Deco throwback to the Hong Kong of old? Why do Indian curries,why does Japanese sushi, taste better here than almost anywhere else in the world? Perhaps because Hong Kong is a melting pot of races and creeds,a gateway to China that is neither Chinese nor British. As I became more familiar with Hong Kong, I ventured north, into the New Territories, spending a lot of time walking in the lush highlands to the east of Tai Po, between Plover Cove and Starling Inlet. Looking across the land border at the endless,characterless high-rises of downtown Shenzhen,it felt as though Hong Kong had no more in common with its booming neighbour than it does with London,New York or Madrid.Hong Kong in fact is unique. Long may it remain so.

Hotels in Hong Kong

The Peninsula Hong Kong’s most famous hotel is unrivalled for colonial-style luxury.It has sumptuous rooms,a selection of elegant bars and restaurants, and the service is impeccable. It’s located just off the garish bustle of Tsim Sha Tsui’s streets.
InterContinental Hotel Lavish hotel with fantastic views of Hong Kong Island from its position on the edge of Victoria Harbour in Tsim Sha Tsui. Uniformed doormen are constantly polishing the brass and there is a fleet of Roll Royces that can be hired out – complete with chaffeur.
Mandarin Oriental Central Considered by many to be Hong Kong’s best hotel, on account of its old-world charm and excellent service. Rooms are filled with antiques and Chinese textiles, while the luxurious spa includes private treatment rooms, couples’suites and Chinese herbal steam rooms.
Island Shangri-La Situated in Pacific Place, this is as close as you can get to Hong Kong’s best shopping while staying relaxed.The hotel has 771 chandeliers, and the world’s largest Chinese silk painting spans 16 storeys in the atrium. The hotel also offers great views of the Peak and Victoria Harbour.
Langham Place Hotel Elegant hotel in the heart of the Mongkok area of Kowloon. Its impressive spa specialises in traditional Chinese medicine, while guest rooms feature 42-inch LCD screen televisions and oversized baths. Dining options include Cantonese specialities,which can be enjoyed under mango trees on the hotel’s al fresco terrace.
Lanson Place Small boutique hotel in lively Causeway Bay,within walking distance of Victoria Park. Facilities include a fully equipped,24-hour gym and a library.

Top Sites

Star Ferry Atmospheric way to get between Central and Tsim Sha Tsui. A Hong Kong institution that’s been running since 1898,the seven-minute ride provides great views of Central’s skyscrapers,and at night the boat is adorned with strings of lights.
Tian Tan Buddha The world’s tallest outdoor,seated bronze Buddha is an impressive sight and weighs as much as a jumbo jet. It’s accessible by way of 268 steps up to the Buddha’s platform, from which great views of the rugged mountains of Lantau Island can be had.
Victoria Peak The air is clear and cool,the views of Kowloon and Hong Kong are spectacular,and the Peak Tram ride to the top is so steep it’s an experience in itself. There’s a mall at the top and several restaurants.
Temple Street Night Market The goods are largely tourist tat,but the buzz and the neon surrounding this famous attraction make it worth a visit.
Hong Kong Park Wedged between mountains on one side and skyscrapers on the other,this lovely park includes an aviary with over 100 species from South-East Asia and New Guinea. It’s a good place to relax in the midday heat,or to watch t’ai chi in the morning

www.discoverhongkong.com Handy information from the city’s tourist board, including sections on shopping, restaurants and travelling around the city.

Peshawar

Posted on February 9, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

Peshawar: It was November and cold winds were beginning to sweep down from the mountains. A photographer and I were heading up to the valleys of the legendary pagan Kalash tribes,near Chitral. I needed a chaddar, one of the rough woollen shawls that Pathan men wear around their shoulders and sometimes round their heads.These double as blankets, pillows, tarpaulins and even as swaddling for babies. I wanted one partly for the cold nights in the valleys,but also to make me less conspicuous as a foreigner on our drive north through Pakistan’s rugged tribal areas. This meant a trip into Peshawar’s Old City, from our guesthouse on Railway Road. The modern bazaars in the University and Cantonment areas of Peshawar are fine for buying batteries, sim cards or books,but for traditional Pathan clothing you have to enter the strange medieval world of the Old City. We went at night.Peshawar has long been in the grip of what the local papers call ‘the late night shopping craze’,which they blame for shortages in electricity.

The racket of poorly maintained motorcycle engines and vehicle horns is incessant. Unlike the ordinary shopping precincts of the city,here almost everyone is bearded, and no one wears Western clothes. Women,a rarity in the daytime – and all but invisible then beneath burqas – are completely absent by nightfall. Peshawar is not only the capital of the North-West Frontier Province, it is the headquarters of Pakistan’s pro-Taliban fundamentalist party, the mma,and place where ultra-conservative Islam and harshly ascetic tribal tradition sit uneasily with the modern world of cinemas, tourism, stores selling music CDs,and even Chinese restaurants where unveiled women serve male customers. All of the latter have provoked demonstrations and bombs in recent years. In the Old City, the bristling masculinity of the Pathans colours every encounter. Testosterone fogs the air, alongside diesel fumes and the aroma of kebabs darkening over glowing coals. If you are a guest of a Pathan, it is his duty to protect and provide for you:and sudden acts of generosity can cut through the atmosphere of suspicion. As I looked longingly at a stall selling figs and nuts, the owner thrust a heap of samples into my hand. Looking for a chaddar stall,we passed a spice bazaar,and another where all the stalls sold pots and pans.

The most famous bazaar of the Old City is the romantically named Qissa Khwani, or Storytellers’Bazaar.Most of the teashops, or khawe-khanas,where travellers once told tall tales,have gone,replaced by tatty luggage stores.But behind the lurid signage and thick bunches of telephone and electric wires, there are finely worked wooden balconies, and the shape of the bazaar is still as laid out by an Italian mercenary general for the Sikh kings before the British came in 1849. Itinerant carpet sellers wander among the stalls, their wares slung across their shoulders in the same way as so many of the Pathans sling their rifles, once they are beyond the gun ban now enforced within the city limits. Beyond pots-and-pans alley we found an open shop on a corner, shawls piled up in shades of brown and grey.The smell of lanolin filled the stall, the woollen mounds rising up to the ceiling, lit by naked bulbs.The grey-bearded owner adjusted his cap as we entered, and his younger assistant looked up at us from where they sat barefoot and cross-legged on the floor.A boy of about 12 sat guard on a chair outside the store. As we unfolded the long,wide shawls, the assistant took a series of calls on his mobile, pausing only to order the boy around. The owner, the assistant and the boy did not smile during inspection or purchase. It was only when I tried to wrap one of the shawls around my shoulders, Pathan-style, that they laughed. We did too,and the temperature changed.

As we left the Old City, driving past the massive Bala Hissar fort built by the Moghul emperor Babur, then the calm gardened precincts of the Britishbuilt cantonment, and finally onto the road that heads out to the Khyber Pass, Peshawar’s history felt very much alive. Unfortunately the visual evidence of Peshawar’s romantic past is under threat. Heroin money, remittances from the Gulf, and the rapacious ‘frontier timber mafia’ are rapidly transforming the face of the city. New shopping plazas go up every month.The fort, the cantonment and the biggestVictorian Gothic buildings, like the Peshawar museum,are probably safe from demolition.But the smaller structures that give evidence of Peshawar’s past are not. City gates, Mughal gardens, the old Afghan Jewish serai,ancient papal trees and the oldest British cemetery,have all disappeared in recent years.Virtually the only greenery left in a city once famous for its flowers and gardens is in the cantonment area, and even that is under threat.Deans, the city’s famous colonial-era hotel,a notorious haunt of spies and journalists during the Soviet-Afghan war,was knocked down almost overnight in 2006 to be replaced with yet another shopping mall. This provoked a stalwart group of Peshawaris to form preservation organisations like the Frontier Heritage Association. It has saved the Mohfiz Khana, a 150-year-old court building still piled with yellowing property deeds,and the trees along the cantonment’s wide mall.But preservation laws go generally unenforced,and anyone who wants to see Peshawar’s remaining Raj and pre-Raj monuments should go soon.

Increasingly Peshawar looks,smells and sounds like any other noisy polluted South Asian city:low-slung concrete blocks,luridly coloured,hand-painted hoardings,and dust that turns into mud after the rains. But Peshawar does feel different. Somehow you always know that you are at the end of the line.Peshawar is the terminus of the ancient Great Trunk Road that runs all the way from Calcutta, the final stop on the main branch of Pakistan’s railway, and the last city under the control of a functioning state for hundreds of miles.There is a palpable sense that this is the furthest reach of settled civilisation and the gateway to a genuinely wild west.The comforts of Peshawar may not be much,and there may be the occasional bomb or riot, but compared to what lies beyond it represents order, safety,even luxury. This has been so for centuries – the name Peshawar means ‘Frontier Town’ in Persian – and will be so for as long as the tribes along the Afghan border remain armed and unconquered.

Top destinations in Peshawar

1] Qissa Khawani Bazzaar Fruit stalls provide vibrant colour in this busy market. There are also aromas of bread, kebabs and tikkas sizzling on hot coals.

2] Peshawar Museum The imposing building displays collections of Gandhara sculptures,images of tribal
life, coins,manuscripts, copies of the Koran,weapons, dresses and jewellery.

3] Bala Hissar This mighty fort, built by Babur,the first Moghul ruler, is positioned on the approach to Peshawar from Rawalpindi and the Khyber Pass. Foreboding battlements and ramparts kept angry hordes at bay.
4] Mahabat Khan´s Mosque A small entrance in the middle of Ander Sher Bazaar leads to this beautiful Mughal structure built in the 1670s.Two minarets look over an open courtyard with an ablution pond.

5] Chowk Yadgar Old Peshawar’s central square is a great place to meet friends and regain your bearings after wandering the small streets. The central monument commemorates the 1965 war between India and Pakistan.

Khan Club Hotel Located in the oldest part of the city and dating back 200 years, the recently refurbished Khan Club is luxurious and well loved for its food.

Greens’s Hotel A centrally located hotel that goes easy on the wallet. Drinking tea in the enormousatrium, where vine s dangle down the walls, is a nice way to end a hard day exploring the city.

Rose Hotel Situated at the Khyber Bazaar, this is one of the best and most luxurious hotels in Peshawar, with well trained staff, good food,as well as conference and meeting room facilities.

Pearl Continental Renowned for its service, this six-story hotel is close to the famous Bala Hissar Fort.

Vancouver

Posted on January 27, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

Hours from its final destination, my train slipped silently down through the canyon of British Columbia’s Fraser River, carefully negotiating the last hairpin curves and precipitous elevations. Hell’s Gate and the Kicking Horse safely behind us, the river’s flood plain stretched out toward the ocean. And the Pacific North-West emerged in all its grandeur. If you are unable to get there by wagon train or Haida canoe, it is with VIA Rail’s iconic service, which sets out some 4,500 kilometres away, that the approach to Vancouver makes most sense. As you cross the Rocky Mountains, which separate this part of the world from what lies to the east, it is its proximity to nature that remains Vancouver’s outstanding characteristic. I recall being impressed by this the first time I camehere, as a student in 1951. My first instinct upon arrival had been to make for the harbour, which lies next to the railway terminus. A light aircraft, water spraying from bulbous pontoons, was lifting away from the waterfront pier, its noisy single engine racketing around the bay. Within seconds of the plane’s takeoff, its sound had been completely swallowed up by the surrounding mountains, forests and inlets, all veiled in a seemingly permanent mist. The coastal Indians – the Haida, Tsimshian, Coastal Salish and Kwagiult – have had good reason to maintain their bond with nature.

The view that greeted me more than half a century ago, when only two buildings had any claim to size, is fundamentally unchanged today. True, the district is now densely colonised by high-rises, where open spaces once allowed unimpeded views of the surrounding mountains and water. And with the facilities for the Winter Olympics of 2010 already under construction, the end of building work is not in sight. But the setting is as grand as ever For a comprehensive bird’s-eye view of the city, I boarded the sightseers’ trolley in Gastown. Nowadays aproperty developer’s dream location, this was, until recently, a decaying district that dated back to frontierdays. Local history records that within 24 hours of arriving in 1867, John Deighton opened the Globe Saloon. His nickname, Gassy Jack, gave the district its name – and the saloon he opened still stands. Our singing driver steered us past the converted railway yards in Yaletown, another focus of high-rise fever, to Stanley Park’s Prospect Point.

From here the spectacular Lion’s Gate Bridge soars across Burrard Inlet toward the mountains beyond. Although there are many forest trails by which to explore this third-largest of North America’s urban parks – an amazing 20 per cent larger than New York’s Central Park – my instinct took me towards open water and the nine-kilometre pathway, the Seawall, that runs along the shore. You can spend time watching harbour seals, herons, cormorants and grebes in their thousands, or simply enjoy the walk for what it is: a hub of the city’s social life and a magnet for hikers, cyclists, anglers and romantic couples.In 1886, the City Council turned a 1,000-acre chunk of downtown land into a park, which it named after Canada’s then governor-general, Lord Stanley. Thankfully, little has been done to change the space, right down to its crop of native Indian totem poles. Free public access to virtually the entire shoreline is also preserved. It is possible to walk at water’s edge unimpeded from the Bayshore Inn to Spanish Banks and as far as the University of British Columbia. Further evidence of the city’s dedication to preserving as much as possible of its natural habitat may be found at False Creek.

As its name suggests, this is not a creek but an inlet, and it lies on Granville Island – which is a peninsula, rather than an island, and is also, arguably,North America’s most successful revitalisation project. Zoned for massive development in time for 2010 and the Winter Games, it ranks among the city’s most popular neighbourhoods for dining and recreation. This popularity can be explained, at least in part, by its comprehensive access to open water. If there were one single thing to see in all Vancouver, apart from the park, my advice would be to make it the ‘island’s’ market. It is, as they say hereabouts, to die for. My most recent sojourn here ended in the far-distantpast. I heard that the salmon had returned to the shallow pools and inlets surrounding Horseshoe Bay to spawn – an annual miracle that takes place on the city’s doorstep, and one that I was determined not to miss. Bald eagleshad also gathered, in their hundreds, to scoop up and dine on the exhausted fish.I arranged with a local marina to be taken out onto the open water. What I was privileged to see, thanks to idealweather and my boatmen, was a phenomenon of nature that completed, in the most natural way possible, a vision of Vancouver that is shared by all who come here.

Marrakech Atlas Mountain

Posted on January 16, 2009 | by bekim | 1 Comment

It doesn´t take long to get from the heat and hustle of Marrakech into the clean, heady air of the Atlas Mountains. I’ve gone from souks to serenity in the space of an hour, stepping out after a winding journeyto feel a welcome breeze whisk away the last lingering traces of city life into the peaks. The setting for Kasbah Tamadot, Richard Branson’s Moroccan retreat is pretty spectacular. Perched high on the edge of the Ourika Valley, near the small mountain town of Asni, the Kasbah forms a little kingdom of its own. It’s a kingdom of visual riches and total relaxation. Formerly the home of celebrated antiques dealer Luciano Tempo, this is a place filled with Arabic treasures and paintings and artefacts from India and the Far East. Branson inherited a warehouse filled with Tempo’s extensive hoard when he bought Tamadot, and it shows. From the lions at the front door to the astrolabe in a courtyard and individual pieces in the rooms –including exquisite inlaid Indian tables and Oriental sculptures – there is something to delight in at every turn. There are just eighteen rooms and suites here, each different from the next, each with a Berber name to reflect its main feature. Lemri, meaning mirror, has a ceiling full of them; Tafkout, or ‘sun’ boasts an engraving of the sun on an exterior wall and a splendid suntrap of a terrace with a blue tiled dome. I’m lucky enough to be in Atri, meaning star, because the raised terrace topped with an antique Indonesian casibo is a superb place to sit and watch the stars, which burn bright over these mountain peaks. From this terrace I can also see the vast infinity pool, seemingly dropping off into the valley below, where the river glints like a silvernecklace. The Berber village of Tansaghart appears as an abstract mosaic against the slopes. From a lower terrace, I look out over a reflecting pool, tiled in deep blue and full of rose petals, set into a tiled courtyard. The third pool at Tamadot is indoors, but the floor-to-ceiling windows that run alongsideensures that mountains remain in sight. Just off the pool is a hammam room in traditional style, with stars cut out into the domed ceiling and a series of tranquil treatment rooms. After a pretty blissful facial here, I could have slept until it was time to fly back. But that would have been a waste of the glorious surroundings, and an evening swim in the vast pool invigorated the senses intowakefulness. There was a softness to the air, the pool was lit up, a turquoise expanse under a sky turning purple behind the mountains as the moon floated between the peaks. The magic here certainly comes from the setting. While all the creature comforts are present and correct – well-appointed rooms, charming outdoor spaces, internet access, an extensive menu, tennis courts – the setting is the special ingredient.

That setting and the remarkable warmth of the local Berber staff make Tamadot a truly enchanting place. Richard Branson and his mother Eve – who persuaded Branson to buy the property because she’d fallen in love with the location and its people – have consistently made sure that the surrounding area benefits as much as possible. Every single member of staff I spoke to during my stay told me how their lives had improved. “Life was hard here,” said one. “I have four children. But now, it’s better, they can study, and I can still see them.” He was a man of the mountains and said he’d hated the idea of moving to a city to make a living. Sitting out on my terrace the next morning,I could see his point. It was early, and I watched the mountains unfold in the growing light, their outlines appearing one by one. It was like a drawing from a child’s fairytale book, and as powerful as one, beckoning to be explored. There are ways of doing this – treks and horse riding are available, but withthe stables a drive away, saddling up a Tamadot mule was the speedier option. Riding into the scenery did nothing to dispel the magic. We climbed in silence, bar the sound of hooves and the rustling of eucalyptus leaves. Butterflies fluttered past, and in the distance strings of horses and donkeys made their way to Asni for market day. With more time, we could have joined them, or riddenhigher into forests of juniper and oak. As it was, we turned back, Pepper the mule picking up pace at the thought of being re-united with Pumpkin, Pickle, Pudding and Plum, the dromedaries and donkeys that live content by the orchards at Tamadot.

Dubai

Posted on January 15, 2009 | by bekim | Leave a Comment

Dubai Ibn Battuta Mall: The world’s largest themed shopping mall is divided into six main courts, whose architecture reflects ‘the most influential places’ Battuta visited on his 29-year epic journey. I began in the China Court (complete with lifesized junk), proceeded to India Court (with a huge, vaguely Mughal pavilion) and eventually reached Andalucia Court whose Lion Fountain replicates the one in Granada’s Alhambra. Aimed at children, so-called ‘edutainers’ in ethnic costume lead free Learning Adventure Tours that explore Battuta’s travels and uncover some of the Islamic world’s ingenious inventions, such as elaborate water clocks. Despite the glitzy shops and chi-chi boutiques, I was reluctantly impressed. Tunisia Court’s market-cum-medina seemed reasonably attractive, while Egypt’s was mock-Mameluke with pharaonic touches. In the heart of Persia Court, I gazed in near admiration into a swollen dome with majestic archways whose arabesque and geometric mosaics echoed the venerable masterpieces in Isfahan and Shiraz. And then, slap bang in the middle, I noticed a Starbucks. Today’s Dubai is all swagger and big bucks, the biggest this and the largest that. Here size really does matter, luxury is the norm, and first is fab. Its proud construction boom has all kinds of manifestations that waver between the marvellous and the ludicrous.

Prestige projects began with the Burj al-Arab, the world’s first seven-star hotel, complete with gold taps and Rolls Royce taxis. Then came The Palm, a man-made island shaped as a haloed palm tree, which will be ribbed with villas and fringed by marinas when complete. Its DNA was so fecund that various further Palms are sprouting, along with another island playground called The World, where the super-rich can buy a country if they don’t already own one. Environmentalists groaned when Ski Dubai – among the world’s largest ski domes, black run included – opened nearly two years ago. So they must be having kittens at the prospect of the new Snowdome, allegedly the largest free-standing transparent structure in the world, with no supporting columns. It will be more than 200 metres across, house a snowboarding mountain, a penguin enclosure and flats called Iceberg Residences.

It never occurred to me that man even built freestanding transparent structures without columns, but then Dubai excels at these things. Take, for example, Infinity Tower. It will be 330 metres tall and – drum roll, please – will be the world’s tallest building to feature a 90-degree twist. Designed, I imagine, by Esher & Magritte Partners, this is the sort of radical approach my three year-old child often attempts with Plasticine. In propertyspeak it’s ‘a masterpiece of contemporary style and spiralling design’. Meanwhile they’re busy with Burj Dubai (to be the world’s tallest building), Hydropolis (its first underwater hotel, 27 acres no less) and – my personal favourite – the gestating Mall Of Arabia.

According to developer Mustafa Galadari, this will be the world’s largest mall. “Even if someone comes up with a bigger one, we will just add more space to our mall to retain the top spot.” It will be just one part of the City Of Arabia development, comprising Wadi Walk (Mediterranean-inspired architecture plus water taxis), 34 tower blocks, and Restless Planet – a dinosaur-based attraction with five giant glass domes and 108 roaring, life-size animatronic dinosaurs that will ‘interact’ with visitors. Like sport ? Head for Dubai Sports City, with the world’s first ICC Global Cricket Academy. Want some sea ? Dubai’s boating berths will increase from 1,000 to 40,000, with the help of Dubai Marina (yes, it’s among the biggest ever maritime projects). Lakes? Try Jumeirah Lake Towers (up to 80 skyscrapers set amid 250,000 square metres of winding canals and lakes). The list goes on and on, and for all their boys-with-toys quality, the numbers are important. Dubai’s master plan aims to at least double tourist arrivals to between 10 and 15 million by 2010. But arguably it is environmentally unfriendly – if not unsound. It already has one of the world’s highest water consumptions per capita and, according to the World Wide Fund for Nature, a huge energy footprint: think of all that air-conditioning and desalination.

The human cost, too, is gaining attention. In a population of around 1.5 million, about 80 per cent are immigrant labourers, mainly from India, Pakistan and the Philippines, with lives far removed from the glamour of showcase Dubai. Workers’ grievances centre on low pay, harsh working conditions and poor accommodation. Last year, thousands of workers at the Burj Dubai site rioted. Airport labourers promptly downed tools in sympathy. And, most unsettlingly for the authorities, a whiff of organisation hung in the air. There have been mutterings that, in order to gain more impact, protests could be taken to the malls and the beaches. In the midst of all this construction chaos, one of the city’s most important structures is still the 1799 Al Fahidi Fort – now Dubai Museum – because it retains a sense of the older Dubai. Within its mud walls there’s an old photo showing a few huts, the fort, the Creek and plenty of empty desert: it is from the 1950s. Much as one might deride Dubai, its vision and drive are impressive. Meanwhile, I’ll stick to making my largest ever sandcastles on the sweeping Jumeirah Beach.

Dubai has a hot and humid climate, with little rain year-round. Temperatures can often reach 40 degrees or higher, especially in the mid-summer from June to August. October to April are much more bearable. Sporting events are important. Highlights include the Dubai international rugby sevens, the Dubai Desert Classic golf tournament (May), and the world’s most expensive horse race – the Dubai World Cup (March).

Hotels and Resorts in Dubai

The Burj Al Arab Iconic 28-storey hotel, once dubbed ‘the world’s first seven-star hotel’, housed in a unique sail–shaped building on a man-made island. Private butlers attend to guests in the grand suites. Grosvenor House Hotel Ultramodern tower building in the Dubai Marina, which features an extravagant marble-floored reception hall, an exquisite spa called The Retreat and an outdoor rooftop pool. Its sister hotel, Le Royal Meridien , is well suited for families and longer-stay guests who wish to relax by the outdoor pools or stroll along the hotel’s private stretch of Jumeirah Beach. Al Maha Desert Resort Exclusive hotel designed to resemble a traditional Bedouin encampment and set within a desert conservation reserve, with panoramic views of the Hajar Mountains and the surrounding dunes.

Top destinations in Dubai

Dubai Creek Lined by dhows and crossable by water taxi, the creek offers a glimpse of Dubai’s
trading heritage.
Dubai Museum Housed in the Al Fahidi Fort, built in 1787, exhibits show how far Dubai has changed in the past century from small fishing village to glamorous metropolis.
Deira Gold Souk Selling every conceivable kind of jewellery, this vast market is considered to be the
largest gold bazaar in Arabia.
Ski Dubai High outdoor temperatures didn’t deter the building of the world’s third-largest indoor ski slope in Dubai, coated with 6,000 metric tons of manufactured snow.
Jumeirah Beach Once a quiet stretch of sandy beach, now lined with luxury hotels and soon the fantasy peninsula of Jumeirah Palm and the island, ‘World