<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398197279664958699</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:56:42.819-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A-Z TRavel Snapshots</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-ztravelsnapshots.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4398197279664958699/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-ztravelsnapshots.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bristol Book Publishing</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00592739586451396613</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4398197279664958699.post-5287347658965854850</id><published>2009-03-16T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-01-03T22:32:31.742-08:00</updated><title type='text'>AACHEN to AVEIRO</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;AACHEN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  When I saw the road sign – Achen/Aix-La-Chapelle – I immediately wanted to pull off the motorway and go in search of Charlemagne’s city. But it was dark, it was late, and I was on my way somewhere else.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;AIGUES MORTES&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt; I have been there and I bought a postcard of it. The postcard has had a more lasting impression. It shows a mounted woman bullfighter on a horse, chasing her quarry through the streets. It leaves me believing that this is a very lively town, in spite of its name – and the evidence of my own eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;ALBANIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  For so long it was a forbidden place, just a purple stripe, like dawn on the horizon, seen on the ferry from Italy to Greece. Ismail Kadare is one of my favourite writers: a paragraph about a boy smoking his first cigar in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Chronicle in Stone&lt;/span&gt; is redolent with the exoticism of travel. Reading Kadare is the best way of finding out what has gone on inside that forbidden strip.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;ALENTEJO&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  I want one of their wide-brimmed black hats.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;ALEXANDRIA&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt; I know it only from books. I was in the front row of Tom Stoppard’s &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Arcadia&lt;/span&gt; when Emma Fielding (playing Thomasina Coverly) learned that the great ancient library in Alexandria had been burned down. Desolate, she threw herself on the floor and I found myself staring into huge, tearful eyes that stared back into mine. I know how she felt. We are all upset when we first learn that the great library in Alexandria burned down. I am glad they have built a new one now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;ALTAFULLA&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt; A dot by the sea near Tarragona. The winter here was full of sunshine and colour. We gave the houses a new lick of whitewash and gloss paint. Titan was the only brand on sale, and the doors and shutters on each house at the Bond Beach Villa Club were painted in one of its four colours: blue, red, green, and yellow. At the time, these were the only colours in Spain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;AMSTERDAM&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  Here, for the first time, I learned you could put fish in a sandwich.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;ANTIGUA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  In this noble Guatemalan city of chocolate, cakes and good breakfasts (especially at Café Colonial), a man in a three-wheel vehicle turns the corner at a slow pace, and watches, resigned, as his front wheel falls off and clatters across the cobbles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;APERLAE&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt; On the Lycian coast, our yacht pulled into the creek where sarcophagi rose from the clear water like boats ready to take their passengers across the Styx. On the shore 2,000-years-old pottery shards crunched beneath our feet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;AQUILEIA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  Mosaics on the cathedral floor are as startling as this major Roman port, and they made me think I was the first person to discover them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;ASWAN&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt; A vision of optimism: early one morning a fisherman was rowing by our island, about 20 metres from the shore. I waved and he waved back, calling out “&lt;i&gt;Backsheesh! Backsheesh!&lt;/i&gt;” like a gull’s weary cry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6600;"&gt;AVEIRO&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  The portrait of The Blessed Joana of Portugal in the Convent of Jesus is so lovely and serene that I made a &lt;a href="http://travelprizesouvenirs.blogspot.com/"&gt;shrine&lt;/a&gt; to her, copied from one by a Greek roadside, to house my travel souvenirs. Anyone can put an item in it and make a wish.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4398197279664958699-5287347658965854850?l=a-ztravelsnapshots.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-ztravelsnapshots.blogspot.com/feeds/5287347658965854850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://a-ztravelsnapshots.blogspot.com/2009/03/achen-to-aveiro.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4398197279664958699/posts/default/5287347658965854850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4398197279664958699/posts/default/5287347658965854850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-ztravelsnapshots.blogspot.com/2009/03/achen-to-aveiro.html' title='AACHEN to AVEIRO'/><author><name>Bristol Book Publishing</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00592739586451396613</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
