Four days in Belgica, one Bier at a time

It took three distinct modes of transport to get there – including a pit stop to find a locker for my bags – but make it there I did. With an hour and change to spare. A long day that started in Lisbon, with the timing of my arrival in Belgium hardly coincidental – being the last operating day that week for the Brussels Tram Museum. Worth it? Absolutely. Up there amongst the best transport museums I’ve had the privilege of visiting, the museum boasts over a hundred trams; each one lovingly preserved, and most of them in working order. It was an outright treat. And getting there was half the fun.

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Timur, Talgos, and a side of Non

Astana, the start of my 3380 km (2100-mile) adventure through Central Asia, is not a place most people would elect to visit. Largely devoid of history, monuments of note, and even semi-interesting topography, Astana has very little to offer relative to the many storied Silk Route towns and cities spread across the various Stans. It was certainly not my first choice of city to embark on such an endeavor from, but looking back, I’m more than glad I did.

Formerly known as Nur Sultan, and the present day capital of Kazakhstan, Astana is located in the north of the country, within a flat, semi-arid steppe. Astana strikes one as a very modern city at first, with a certain degree of Middle East envy. Architecturally, that translates to everything from the whimsical to the bizarre, with some internationally acclaimed talent thrown into the mix. But while Astana’s mostly futuristic aesthetic may not appeal to everyone, it is the sheer thought put into the layout and planning of the city that is hard to ignore. The parks, the landscaping, the riverfront, the generously sized boulevards, the integration of walking and biking into the streetscape – the Kazakhs have spared no effort in making Astana an incredibly pleasant city to wander through. They started with a blank canvas, sure, but like too many cities I know, didn’t squander that opportunity. And they did so for a city that has one of the most short-lived summers on the planet. I was mighty impressed.

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The Zephyr to California

The plan had always been to start in Chicago. Not one but two itineraries were drawn up. None materialized. Time intervened. Then Denver beckoned – I had never been. Others who had journeyed previously between that pair of cities convinced me there was nothing to see but the Prairies. Apologies, Midwest! Welcoming, unfussy and visually exciting, the Mile High City took no time to impress me. Amongst its lengthy list of attractions – Denver Union Station. Perhaps one of the most desirable venues from which to catch a train. A stunning mash up of historic and contemporary. A model for urban renewal and transit-oriented development. And one that’s brought the oomph back to a much-maligned mode of transport in this country. A fitting place then, from which to start our journey.

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Taipei, Trains, and Towering Trees

Finding my way out of Taipei Main took a lot longer than expected. Not because there was any shortage of signs, but because I was constantly distracted by the number and sheer variety of eateries crammed into that station. And when you’re as hungry as I was, being spoiled for choice is not necessarily a good thing. Not to mention the massive FoMO that comes with it. Instead, I soldiered on to my hotel, walking past a corner Portuguese egg tart stand, and meters away, a family-run business hawking irresistible pepper buns. No matter what I’d end up eating that night, I knew I was in for a treat. Taiwan had already found a way to my heart.

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The Ocean to Halifax

Thanksgiving Day ’24 and we’re off to a gloomy, wet start; the rain gradually turning to snow as we approach Albany-Rensselaer. Our leisurely halt there includes the customary locomotive swap, and by the time we pull away, there’s a full-blown snowstorm in the making – the season’s first, apparently. The mighty Hudson is crossed, and we get up to line speed eventually, but ~30-minutes later, in the middle of nowhere, we grind to a halt. The snow, meanwhile, showing no signs of abating. Back in the summer of ’09, I had attempted to take this very train from New York to Montreal, but my plans were thwarted by “track work north of Albany”, with Amtrak offering a sorry substitute for the onward journey, a bus. After all these years, surely I wasn’t out of luck again? The PA system finally comes alive and our conductor explains the hold up – there’s a lengthy freight train ahead of us, switching over to a siding to let us through. Twenty excruciating minutes after halting, we’re rolling north again. I breathe a sigh of relief.

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The Ordinary Passenger to Mbeya

The “First Class Lounge” at Tazara’s Dar es Salaam terminus has certainly seen better days. Not every seat that’s empty is actually useable. The ceiling fans haven’t worked in a while, I’m guessing. A long queue forms for the only working power outlet. Broken blinds offer a glimpse of the platforms, where there’s no activity to speak of. It’s well past our 1350 departure time and a single announcement, barely audible, is made in Swahili. No one stirs. An hour or so passes, and gradually, porters begin filing onto the platform, with loaded carts in tow. After an unexplained delay of a little over two hours, we’re finally on our way to Mbeya.

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No Snoozing on Zanzibar

If Kholle House is anything to go by, I’m already smitten by Zanzibar. A ten-room boutique hotel today, the gorgeous property was built in 1860 by Princess Sayyidat Kholle, the daughter of the first Sultan of Zanzibar. With Swahili and French-Creole influences, Kholle House oozes charm in every nook and cranny, from its lush courtyard to its tasteful interiors. It is also, perhaps, a microcosm of everything Stone Town has to offer, and I couldn’t be more pleased with my decision to stay here.

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Pole Pole, to the summit we go

In the first half of October ’24, six of us friends took a giant leap of faith by attempting to summit Mount Kilimanjaro. What follows is a day by day account of our trek, which for many of us was the climb of a lifetime.

Asante Sana to guides Michael, Vincent, and Pascal. To the cooks, servers and the innumerable porters, who’s names we never even got to know. Without every single one of you, we could never have done it.

In memory of my Sister. A tribute to my maternal Grandfather.


Day 1: Machame Gate to Machame Camp

Twende Twende, Michael exclaims. We’ll pick up more than a smattering of Swahili by the end of our trek, but for now this is an important one. It’s our guide’s way of urging us to get a move on. It’s 1130 am local time and as we begin our hike, we leave the relative comforts of Machame Gate (5900 ft / 1800 m) behind. Ahead of us lies a magical canopy of ferns, lichens and clinging mosses; giant Camphorwood trees, and the occasional sighting of a Colobus Monkey. Through it all, seven grueling miles of a relentless uphill ascent. The Rainforest is the first of four distinct ecosystems we will experience over the course of our climb, and as beautiful as it is, we can hardly do it any justice; focussing instead on the drudgery of the first day’s incline, and the hours of walking that lie ahead. A break for lunch couldn’t be more welcome.

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The Night Riviera to Penzance

In the world of engineering, there are few individuals as distinguished or prolific as Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Perhaps one of the greatest contributors to the Industrial Revolution, Brunel left his imprint on everything from bridges and tunnels, to shipping and railways, his rich legacy of innovation and design long outliving his rather short lifespan. Amongst his many great engineering feats, there are few that match the sheer utility or grandeur of London’s exquisite Paddington station. A cathedral of transportation, Paddington imparts a sense of occasion to the mundane act of departing or arriving.

Over the years, I’ve had the good fortune of patronizing Paddington several times, but tonight’s journey is different, momentous even. On platform 1 stands the Night Riviera, an overnight sleeper train, that in some form or another has been operated continuously by the Great Western Railway or GWR since 1877. It’s one of the last two sleeper services left in the UK, and the only one to have eluded me thus far. Tonight, I depart Paddington in style.

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Segue to San Diego

La Jolla living

On a first visit to San Diego, your unlikely to start with La Jolla, but this tony seaside community, which lies 14-miles to San Diego’s north (technically a part of it), is a fine introduction to west coast living, or at the very least, to life in Southern California – one that is decidedly laid back, and comes with an endless supply of sunshine, or at least the promise of it!

If you can hack the lines, start with brunch at The Cottage (7702 Fay Ave), which offers free coffee and plenty of eye candy as you wait. There are stores aplenty on Prospect St., the main drag in La Jolla, but instead head down any of the steep roads that lead off it, revealing tantalizing views of the Pacific. Walk the winding stretch along the promenade, from La Jolla Cove, past Scripps Park, to the Children’s Pool, and you will be rewarded with breathtaking vistas of a turquoise ocean, pods upon pods of Seals basking in the sunshine, gorgeous wildflowers adorning the bluffs, and all along, a cool breeze in your face. By the end of it, you would surely have forgotten the arduous coast-to-coast flight you just came in on.

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Panorama_LaJolla

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