In 1991, a friend and I island-hopped in the Caribbean. Aruba wasn’t my favourite. Could have been timing. It was December and what I remember most from Oranjestad were fake Christmas trees, gaudy decorations and muzak everywhere. A plastic kind of place. Nothing Dutch about it – as opposed to neighbouring Curacao.

Of course, Aruba was – and is – more than Oranjestad. Outside the capital, Aruba offered tall palm trees, friendly people, beautiful beaches, excellent snorkelling and diving. Like most everywhere else in the Caribbean.

The natural bridge was my favourite place on the island. Thousands of years of winds and waves created this coral limestone structure, quite an impressive feat of nature. It was a 100-metre crossing, seven metres up.

So what else was special about Aruba? A unique feature is how the island’s windblown Divi Divi trees always point to the southwest, due to the trade winds from the north-east. In Aruba, you always know directions.

At the time, the island had recently split from the Netherlands Antilles and wanted to stand out from the rest. More than the ubiquitous tree compass was needed, so the local authorities decided to mint square, rather than round, 50 cent coins.

A little politics
Aruba left the autonomous country Netherlands Antilles in 1986, set to become a fully independent country ten years later. Come 1996, however, Aruba’s then prime minister requested a postponement of independence.

In 2010, the entire Netherlands Antilles was dissolved. Aruba, Curacao and Sint Maarten are now constituent countries within the Netherlands (essentially a country within a country), while the three other islands that once formed the Dutch Antilles – Bonaire, Saba and St Eustatius (also known as Statia) – are now ‘special municipalities’ of the Netherlands proper.

And the natural bridge? Sadly, it collapsed in 2005. I’m glad I saw it.

No more: The natural bridge of Aruba is a post from Sophie's World

The Caribbean island of St Kitts was tossed back and forth between England and France in what seemed an interminable battle for most of the 17th and 18th centuries. The island was quite heavily fortified and Brimstone Hill is an exceptionally well preserved historical fort. It’s a monument to brilliant British engineering – and to the work of slaves.

Illogically, the slave trade in the Americas seems more gruesome than that of, say Ancient Egypt. Why? Simply because it’s nearer in time, a time when people should have known better? I don’t know. Just that … I’m a bit ambivalent about this particular UNESCO World Heritage site.

Where:
Brimstone Hill Fort National Park, St Kitts, Federation of St Christopher (St Kitts) and Nevis

Head over to Travel Photo Thursday at Budget Travelers Sandbox to see more photos – or add one of your own!

Travel photo – Brimstone Hill Fortress, Saint Kitts is a post from Sophie's World

From the Nile, the Old Cataract Hotel looks grand, perched on the granite bluff above. If you’ve seen Death on the Nile, it will also look familiar. My oldest daughter enjoys sipping tea in old world hotels, preferably while wearing a big hat, looking mysterious.

Uniformed guards at the gate inform us we have to pay 85 Egyptian pounds to enter. They obviously don’t want any riff-raff hanging about. However, the entrance fee can be applied to anything you buy while here, and we are having tea. To spend the full amount, we even have Royal Tea. We’re shown to the lower terraces. The grand terrace where there’s a band, plush, comfortable sofas and, not least, a roof over our heads, is for residents only.

Agatha Christie was once a resident of the Old Cataract. Do I ever want to be one? Well, I’m not so sure I like the attitude here.

Then again, I probably will…

Have a look at DeliciousBaby for more fun photos.

High Tea at the Old Cataract in Aswan is a post from Sophie's World

One particularly evocative graveyard is the Jewish cemetery in Warsaw.

—

Our way there is fraught with difficulty. Warsaw’s tram drivers point us in the wrong direction time and again. Exasperated, we hop in a taxi, explain where we want to go and are taken to the Jewish cemetery at last. Or so we think.

A brisk flower trade is happening outside the gates. Inside is a bright, well-kept cemetery, full of people. We stroll in the lush, green grass. Through the leafy trees, sun beams touch my bare arms. Flowers abound. Everywhere colours, light, warmth.

After a while, we begin to wonder. No Hebrew script in sight. Is the Jewish cemetery simply a part of this larger one? A part we haven’t yet reached?

Not so. Our taxi driver, though assuring us he understood our destination, has taken us to Stare Powązki instead, Warsaw’s largest – and Catholic – cemetery. Annoyed (but only slightly), we leave to resume our search. One of the many flower sellers directs us around a corner and down a long road.

At last, we reach our goal. There’s a fee to enter the Jewish cemetery. Just a few zloty, but odd all the same.

The cemetery gate, during the time of the Warsaw Ghetto and today

A section of the cemetery is in use. It’s a very small section, illustrative perhaps, of the fact that Jews in Warsaw have all but vanished. 350 000 lived here in 1939, a mere 2 000 today.

The Jewish cemetery in Warsaw is unkempt – a fitting memorial to a cruel past?

Then the graves. An incredible 150 000 stones, all in various states of disrepair and neglect. They stand abandoned amidst trees and overgrown vegetation. Many lean precariously, some have just given up fighting gravity. Others still stand tall, like soldiers in a row. Some are small and simple with plain inscriptions, others are large, reminding me of over-the-top monuments from medieval times.

In some areas, it’s difficult to separate the stones from the surrounding tree trunks. Standing here, I can’t help but wonder if they will eventually become one…

It’s a lovely, sunny spring day. Yet this is very eerie. I wonder how it looks on a cold, bleak November day when the ground is hard and the trees naked…

Despite our initial irritation at being led astray, we decide our accidental visit to the Catholic cemetery was fortuitous. The contrast between the two rendered our experience all the more thought-provoking.

An interesting character interred here – and one I’d like to meet – is Ludwik Zamenhof, optimistic inventor of the universal language Esperanto. Until then, bonan ŝancon, Ludwik!

More travel photos over at Budget Travelers Sandbox.

Warsaw’s Jewish cemetery: a memorial to a cruel past is a post from Sophie's World

A: Age of first international trip: At 11, I went to New Orleans with my mum and brother to visit our aunt. It was a long, arduous journey, involving 4 planes and 5 airports each way. We had heaps of fun though. And unlimited sodas.

B: Best (foreign) beer: I’m hardly a beer connoisseur, not even that keen, actually. Maybe I had too many, too strong German beers on my first parent-free holiday at 15. Sick for days. I prefer light beers, like Corona, with a bit of lime in it.

C: Cuisine (favourite): Arabic (fondly remembering a summer in Jordan more than 20 years ago).

D: Destinations, favourite, least favourite and why: So many faves: London, Australia and our once temporary home in New Zealand are just a few. Heaps of beauty spots at home in Norway, too. And the Middle East continues to fascinate me.

Our backyard in Takapuna, NZ

I don’t really have any least favourites: But if someone held a gun to my head, forcing me to choose, I might say I can probably live happily even if I never saw Belarus again. I was in Minsk in 1994. It was a short business trip, just a few days, with very little time to explore the city, let alone the country. And yet…

E: Event experienced abroad that made you say “wow”: Frau Greber’s cooking. When I was 15, I spent a summer in Bregenz. Even though much of that summer was spent experimenting with too strong German beer (see above), I still remember my Austrian host mother’s cooking. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the best cook in the world. She could make a gourmet meal of anything. And she made a cherry yogurt I still dream about now and then.

F: Favourite mode of transportation: My cool, quick little Citroën, boats and trains. (Considering the somewhat tedious train journey I take every day, I’m surprising myself). And boats? I dream of taking the Royal Mail ship to St Helena, a 31-day journey from Britain. Now, to get the kids to come along.

G: Greatest feeling while travelling: Being completely free to let the day – and fate – be my guide.

H: Hottest place travelled to: June 1992, Cairo, 54C. Still remember. So does my oldest daughter, then 4.

I: Incredible service experienced and where: Aggie Grey’s in Apia, Samoa, one of my favourite hotels.

Aggie Grey’s

J: Journey that took the longest: Oslo to Auckland always seems to take a while.

K: Keepsake from travels: I’ve lugged around ridiculously heavy souvenirs too many times to count. But I do like that Malawi chair. And the huge wall hanging from Jaipur. And the curtains from Windhoek. Even the bird cage from Lucca.

L: Let-down sight, why and where: None. Not a place’s fault if I have faulty expectations.

M: Moment where you fell in love with travel: Bente, a school mate, always travelled everywhere and brought home the most exotic souvenirs. Exotic through the eyes of a kid during the 70s, at least. I was madly envious – and spent many happy hours playing with her plastic Venetian gondola and munching on tangerines from Costa del Sol with leaves still on them…

N: Nicest hotel you’ve stayed in: One that springs to mind is the Polana in Maputo, Mozambique.

O: Obsession—what are you obsessed with taking pictures of while traveling?: Everything: animals, people, buildings, parks, trees, sculptures, landscapes, details…

P: Passport stamps, how many and from where? Over the years, there’s been a gazillion stamps from more than 100 countries. When I first began travelling, we were given passport stamps even in Europe. Not anymore, sadly.

Q: Quirkiest attraction you’ve visited and where: The dead monks in Kiev’s Persch-Lavra, maybe…

R: Recommended sight, event or experience: Any memorial or museum to human cruelty is worth seeing, to solidify our stand against it, for when it next occurs and we’re given an opportunity to make a difference.

S: Splurge; something you have no problem forking over money for while traveling: Transportation. Also, sometimes I can spend an indecent amount of money on a hotel room, if it’s quirky or interesting enough. I’m so staying at the Pera Palace next time in Istanbul.

T: Touristy thing done:

Nuff said.

U: Unforgettable travel memory: Hmm…, probably riding a camel through the Great Rann of Kucth in the Indian province of Gujarat, more or less scotch-guarded by camel pee, with no toilets and no showers for days, sleeping in hay in a shed and waking up next to newborn lambs on Christmas Day.

V: Visas, how many and for where? I’m lucky – Norwegian citizens can get around most of the world hassle-free and without visas. But I do have a few, several US student visas among them. My favourite is the Chinese visa I was given to go to Fujian to get my youngest daughter.

W: Wine, best glass of wine while traveling and where? Visciola, under the trees in Giovanni Giusti’s vineyard in Marche.

X: eXcellent view and from where?: Seeing the misty and mysterious Faroes appear before me from the deck of M/S Norrøna was pure magic. I can just imagine how the Vikings must have felt, when first setting eyes on those ancient isles.

Iguazu Falls are a close second. I hung back after closing hours and had a few minutes all to myself before I was spotted and very politely told to leave. Imagine just coming upon such a sight (and sound), completely unaware it was there, as the first visitors must have been, thousands of years ago.

Y: Years spent traveling?: Decades!

Z: Zealous sports fans and where: The annual cross country races at Oslo’s Holmenkollen, especially the 50 km. Norwegians are absolutely mad about cross country skiing, doing and watching.

Passing the baton to you,

• Jeremy of Living the Dream
• Mariana of Travel Thirst
• Monique of Mo Travels
• Thomas of Top Backpacking Destinations
• Laurence of Finding the Universe

A to Z of Sophie’s World is a post from Sophie's World

Just like Marche is less famous than its neighbouring provinces, so Urbino is less famous than the other hilltop towns. From a selfish perspective, I would like for it to remain so.

San Gimignano and Assisi are indisputably beautiful. They’re also busy. Especially on lovely summer days. Last June, I spent a few days in Assisi – and couldn’t really see it, except very early in the morning. Every church, every tower, every piazza were simply too full. Not only of visitors, but also of large ad posters, banners, sandwich boards… the town seemed to disappear in all the visual noise. It was with some trepidation, therefore, that I headed to Urbino. It turned out to be a surprise and welcome relief.

Urbino is high up a hill, lined with ancient stone buildings and tall towers. A very steep hill, in fact. It felt as is the pavement was staring right at my face. But I trudged on, ignoring my screaming calf-muscles.

Along the hill, I saw only three other people – all students hanging outside the University of Urbino, smoking and chatting. On top were wonderful views of the rolling hills and mountains of Marche.

The piazza was surrounded by wonderful buildings, unsullied by loud poster ads. Shops were few, only one sold postcards and souvenirs. Sitting down in a pleasantly busy cafe, I eavesdropped on people around me. From every table, I heard Italian. I was surrounded by local visitors, residents and students!

The Duomo is from 1021 (and is built over a 6th century church) :

A tiny bit of history
Urbino was once a modest, little Roman town called Urvinum Mataurense. Ca 1200, the town ended up in the hands of the House of Montefeltro. Urbino’s major claim to fame is the imposing 15th century Palazzo Ducale, the Arch Duke’s Palace. Thanks to Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino in the mid-1400s, the palace is home to Galleria Nazionale delle Marche, one of the most important collections of Renaissance paintings in the world.

Palazzo Ducale

Walking back down – not the steep hill – but the longer, more roundabout way around – I noticed two people – students, it looked – sitting on a ledge, wiggling precariously 10 – 12 metres above the road underneath, using a bench as a foot rest.. A fall would likely mean death or at the very least, disability. All of a sudden, I was reminded I’m no longer a student, but a mother. Before, I would probably have walked over and joined them on the ledge. Now, I had to restrain myself from running over and telling them to get down from the ledge immediately and sit on the bench instead.

Back down, I discovered there was a lift. I was glad I hadn’t seen it earlier. Somehow, that calf-achingly painful climb gave me a feeling of being in a more inaccessible place. A secret place.

Disclosure: I was in Le Marche as a guest of La Tavola Marche agriturismo and cooking school and took the opportunity to visit Urbino while I was in the neighbourhood. As ever, all opinions offered are my own.

Head over to Budget Travelers Sandbox and DelciousBaby for more travel photos.

Urbino – a secret Italian hilltop town is a post from Sophie's World

Where in the world is this interesting and colourful house?

Think you know this week’s mystery location? A winner will be selected among those who give the correct answer. She/he will get a mention here on Where in the World and on Sophie’s World’s facebook page. I’ll provide a few hints before Friday.

Hint:
1. This is a traditional home in this area on this island.
2. The island is an autonomous region of a European country, one of the outermost regions of the EU.

Moderation is switched on, so don’t worry about giving away the answer if you know it. All comments will be published simultaneously on Friday. So go on, have a guess!

For more fun travel photos, go on over to Budget Travelers Sandbox.and DeliciousBaby.

Update 14 January: Mystery location revealed
This is a traditional farmer’s house in the Santana district on the island of Madeira in the Atlantic Ocean. It’s an autonomous region of Portugal, and is, together with the Azores, one of the outermost regions of the European Union. Madeira is a beautiful volcanic island with rivers, valleys and rugged mountains. You may have heard of Madeira wine. The island is also famous for organising the world’s largest New Year’s Eve fireworks show (officially recognized by Guinness World Records, no less) – and for the most stunning array of flowers.

Thanks for playing, everyone! Mette of ItalianNotes, Jarmo of Arctic Nomad, Ricardo Pais, Robert, Jessica of Suitcases and Sippy Cups and Don Faust of C Around the World all knew.

Among the right answers, Robert’s was the most correct and wins this little quiz. Robert does not have a website or a blog. He is simply a guy who likes to travel – and to read about travelling. How cool is that! Congratulations, Robert!

Madeira Islands

Where in the World is a post from Sophie's World

Hello and welcome to Aber. I was a student in Aberystwyth for a year and I LOVED the place I lived. I realise that many people know very little about this city, so I thought I’d share one of my Aber faves with you. I hope you enjoy it!

My absolute favourite feature of Aberystwyth is the promenade.

The promenade is over 100 years old, and is separated into a South and North beach with the Pier in the middle. This post is about the northern part, where I lived, and, frankly, the nicest part. Pictured below is one of the halls of residence – or dorms, for you Americans. I lived here! Impossible not to love living here…

Below is a view of the end of the promenade with the residence halls and Constitution Hill in the background. The black building is Alexandra Hall. Another reason to love living here!

… and the other direction, leading into town:

Practically next door is the pub, at the Glengower Hotel, locally known as The Glen. Part of the hotel used to be the house of Sir John Williams, founder of the National Library of Wales – and a suspect in the Jack the Ripper-case. Spooky!

The weather can be rough here in far western Wales and locals know not to park their cars on the seafront. This is what happens when the waves hit the shore. Just one night of storms did this.

Revenge of the Irish Sea

But it isn’t always rough:

Sunset over Cardigan Bay. Seen from my windows!

Alexandra Redisch is a citizen of the world, as Ibsen’s Peer Gynt said, but hails from Norway. She’s a published short story author, old-fashioned mystery fanatic, avid traveller and intense tea drinker. Alex has a BSc in psychology and an MA in creative writing. She just got a book deal – yay!

*From Aberystwyth With Love is one of the many cheekily titled books by Malcolm Pryce, Welsh crime noir author. I’ve cheekily pinched his title.

Aberystwyth

From Aberystwyth With Love is a post from Sophie's World

There are about 3000 native Carib Indians left in the world. They live in a 15 sq. km (about 3 700 acres) reserve on the island of Dominica. The volcanic rock tapering into the ocean above is the Snake’s Stairs.

Where:
Carib Territory, Dominica

Caribs. And a Viking child.

For more travel photo fun, have a look at Budget Travelers Sandbox.

Roseau

Travel Photo – Carib Territory, Dominica is a post from Sophie's World

Nothing says New Year like a list, so I’ll hop right in and give you the 11 best of Sophie’s World in 2011:

11. Friedensreich Hundertwasser and his toilet

I adore that so many of you have looked at this little old post on a public toilet in New Zealand.

10. Dubai shopping

This post (also an oldie) surprised me. But Dubai is a popular destination. And I suppose shopping is a popular past-time. Or perhaps it is the outrageous Dubai shopping malls that caught your interest.

9. Kuwait and the Gulf War

You’re interested in contemporary history (and evocative museums), as this post on the Kuwait House of National Memorial Museum shows.

8. What to do on a Friday night in London if you’re time travelling

Are you as fascinated with the concept of time travel as I am? I think so, judging from the popularity of this post on things to do in London of yore.

7. Bratislava Street Art

You like street art, too. Even in relatively unknown little European capitals.

6. Execrable executions

I am so happy you liked my series on 700 years of murder and mayhem in London. This second part in the series – all about Smithfield, Tyburn and Execution Dock – came in at no. 6.

5. Paris is Child’s Play

Michael Schuermann, aka Easy Hiker, wrote a guest post on a quirky child-friendly Paris attraction. And you loved it!

4. Dubai’s Terminal Two

More Dubai: These reflections on a few hours at Dubai Airport’s terminal 2 drew thousands of looks in 2011. I enjoyed writing it. A thought-provoking place that terminal.

3. Flirting with Fate in the Faroe Islands

Your interest in this small, enchanting North Atlantic archipelago pleases me so very much. Expect more on the Faroes in 2012!

2. Autumn leaves in Kew Gardens

Google tells me you really like this London garden. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage-listed garden to be sure, but a garden nonetheless. I love gardens, but the popularity of this post surprised me. 11.5 minutes was the average time spent on this photo post. I think Juliette Greco’s haunting rendition of Les Feuilles Mortes might have something to do with that.

1. Murder and Mayhem in London through the Ages – part 3

This post on the infamous Jack got twice as many page views as number 2. And the average time spent on the page was a whopping 16.5 minutes! You really must like England’s deliciously dark history.

—

With that, I wish you all the best in this new-born year. I promise to bring you more from the world’s curious corners in 2012. I hope you’ll be inspired to show your children the world as well.

The 11 Best of 2011 is a post from Sophie's World

I’m not much of a coffee drinker. I don’t particularly like the strong, slightly bitter taste, and it just doesn’t do anything for me. It neither wakes me up in the morning nor keeps me awake at night. Maybe I’m immune.

Apparently, I’m not alone. In fact, my reaction to the brew is positively friendly, compared to this anonymous author of  “The Women’s Petition Against Coffee”, (London, 1674):

Coffee leads men to trifle away their time, scald their chops, and spend their money, all for a little base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking nauseous puddle water.

But taking a closer look at its production is interesting all the same. So during a brief stay on Costa Rica’s Pacific coast in January, I headed for the hills. (My daughters would have none of that and went zip-lining instead. More on that in a later post.)

—

On arrival, I’m given coffee. Which I politely taste, of course. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you from personal experience whether Espiritu Santo coffee is fabulous or not. I have the mildest variety (roasted for 23 minutes), but it still tastes strong to me, coffee wimp as I am. It does taste clean, though – like it was brewed using water fresh from a mountain stream. The Naranjo hills provide the ideal altitude (4 000 ft), and location (between two volcanoes) for coffee growing. And everyone else is oohing and aahing, so it probably is fabulous.

Costa Rican coffee is world famous, no doubt. But so is that of many other countries in the region. I ask about Costa Rican vs. Colombian.

Costa Rican coffee is better, of course. Ricardo smiles knowingly (and just a bit wickedly). For one thing, Colombian coffee contains 4 % caffeine. This coffee only has 2 %, better for your health, he assures me. Also, there is often added flavours, like vanilla, in Colombian coffee. Not here. Only pure coffee. Pura vida.

And Brazilian? Costa Rican coffee is handpicked to ensure only the best berries (the red ones) are used. In Brazil, coffee is picked by machines. Not only does this mean inferior berries aren’t chucked out, but the machine also damages the plants.

The life of a coffee tree

Seedlings

Young trees, ready to be planted out

Ricardo

The fragrant white coffee flowers only blossom for a few days

Coffee berries

On the wagon
The ox cart was an important part of the operation of a coffee plantation; the only way to transport coffee in earlier days.

The Costa Rican expression Montese en la Carreta, get on the wagon, has an unexpected explanation. Often, when stopping for a break in little villages along the long, lonely road, the ox-cart driver would get drunk. Sometimes so drunk he couldn’t walk straight. The only thing to do was to get on the wagon to sleep it off (one would hope), before moving on. So when he was on the wagon, he wasn’t exactly on the wagon. So to speak.

Harvest
Coffee is harvested during the wet season and thousands of pickers come out to work, earning USD 2 per basket. The baskets look large, surely at least 20 litres. If you’re a good picker, you manage 20 baskets per day. But remember to only pick the the red berries. Any green or orange ones means money taken out of your paycheck.

The beans are put through this large, colourful mill… but not before it’s been hand-sorted to ensure no unwanted “additives” in the mix. Coins and rings have been discovered – that would severely damage the mill.

Next, the beans are laid out on a patio to be raked (the coffee has to be moved every 45 minutes)…

… and left to dry.

The end result:

Who needs a coffee maker? This 200-year-old chorreador still does the job:

You should drink coffee because…

Along the walls, the benefits of drinking coffee are presented. Good for all sorts of conditions, it appears. Not only does it reduce the risk of gout and prevent caries. It’s also beneficial for sufferers of Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, liver disease, cirrhosis and cancer. Coffee can aid concentration and memory, and, of course, provide energy. It helps control asthma and enhances blood pressure, thus protecting you from heart disease. It has antioxidants, and is a good source of potassium, magnesium and fluoride. A veritable miracle cure this.

I’m not entirely convinced. I have too many friends who get headaches and become jittery and nervous if they don’t get their daily fix. Can’t be all good.

The view, however, is indisputable:

Practicals
The Espiritu Santo plantation is located in the village of Naranjo, about 16 kilometres from San Jose, the Costa Rican capital. Plantation tours cost about USD 20, well worth it.

What about you? Do you like good, strong coffee? Or do you take your caffe latte with only half a shot of coffee, like I – and children in Italy – do?

On the wagon in a Costa Rica coffee plantation is a post from Sophie's World

Experiencing this contrasting world of ours first hand is an integral part of my daughters’ education.

However, a lifestyle involving loads of travelling – and often travelling impulsively – can have its drawbacks. The major one, according to my children, have always been us not having a dog. A weekend here, two weeks there, fine. But I feel it isn’t fair to take off for three months and leave the dog in a kennel. So far, I haven’t been persuaded otherwise.

But this year, we’re vacationing at home. For once, we are spending the entire Christmas/New Years’ holidays at home, dog-sitting. Only a few days into it, we’re already acutely aware how difficult it will be to say goodbye to this beautiful little girl.

Happy Christmas, Blaze!

Do you have pets? If so, how do you cope when travelling?

Go on over to Budget Travelers Sandbox and DeliciousBaby to have a look at fun end-of-the-year travel photos – or better yet, join in yourself.

Blaze – and vacationing at home is a post from Sophie's World

Now, we only stopped for the spectacular ocean views, and for drinks on a hot day, so this will not be a proper hotel review. I know nothing about the rooms. I hear they’re fairly basic, but all I saw were large, lovely balconies and very reasonable prices.

Hotel Los Flamingos isn’t just any hotel. This was the haunt and secret hideaway of 1950s Hollywood stars.

John Wayne, Cary Grant, Errol Flynn, Fred Mc Murray, Rex Allen, Red Skelton, Roy Rogers and Tarzan himself, Johnny Weissmuller, all hung about here, hiding away from the less than relaxing Hollywood life. Their photographs line the lobby walls, some a bit… self-indulgent, shall we say?

I can’t help but notice a distinct lack of females, Hollywood stars or otherwise. A hideaway from women, too, perhaps?

I’d love to spend a night or two in this world of faded grandeur. Sunsets must be grand up here. Sunrises, too, of course. But somehow this place seems to inspire late nights rather than early mornings.

A lazy afternoon in the hammock, on the other hand, a slight ocean breeze, a Margarita in hand… – or perhaps a yummy Coco Loco, invented here, I’m told.

Hotel Los Flamingos is located near La Quebrada of mad cliff diver fame. Acapulco’s main square and several beaches are within walking distance (if you can stand the heat).

The Hollywood Gang Hideaway is a post from Sophie's World

Roald Amundsen

***

As you may know, seven countries have claims on the southernmost continent: Antarctic neighbours Argentina, Australia, Chile and New Zealand, the two major turn-of-the-century players Britain and France – and Norway.

Norway, you ask? Why does a small country located on the other side of the Earth have an Antarctic territory seven times its size?

This is the man responsible:

100 years ago today, intrepid explorer Roald Amundsen and his team firmly planted the Norwegian flag on the geographic South Pole as the first people to ever reach it. (Amundsen is also the first undisputed person to have reached both the North and South Poles).

This is from his blog Thursday 14 December 1911 (translated to English):

Fine weather all morning. Clouded over after we had taken the midday reading and snow clouds came in from SE. Meridian height with both mercury and glass gave 89°37’. Instrument gave 89°38’5”. This is very good indeed. –23°C all day. Afterwards we drove 8 n.m. and are now lying 15 n.m. from the pole.

I’d give… well, perhaps not anything, but quite a lot, to be able to time travel to that particular moment in time on the great, frozen continent.

A little history
This was an important event for Norway back in 1911 (and still is, I think). Our then newly independent little country was now established as a polar force to be reckoned with. To celebrate, the PM, Jens Stoltenberg, unveiled an ice sculpture of Amundsen at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station in Antarctica this afternoon.

Amundsen wasn’t the only one attempting to be first at the South Pole. Famous Irishman, Sir Ernest Shackleton, gave it a good go a few years earlier. In 1909, his Nimrod Expedition managed to get to 88° 23′ S, just 190 km from the Pole.

Captain Robert Falcon Scott’s Terra Nova Expedition raced Amundsen for the Pole. Two very different men, two very different approaches. Scott arrived at the South Pole on 18 January 1912, 34 days too late. Tragically, the entire Scott team died on the return journey.

Afterwards, the Brits were a bit miffed with Amundsen – and he wasn’t received so well in London. Perhaps feeling bad about that, a fellow fellow at the Royal Geographical Society once made a point of telling me what Amundsen said when learning of Scott’s fate: I would gladly forgo any honour or money if thereby I could have saved Scott his terrible death.

In 1928, Amundsen’s plane disappeared near Bear Island in the Barents Sea, during a rescue mission to find the Italian explorer Umberto Nobile. Amundsen’s body was never found.

Amundsen travelled to Antarctica on board the Polar ship Fram. If you’re in Oslo, you can amble about on the ship’s deck, check out the cabins and get a feel for life on board the world’s strongest polar vessel.

The race to the South Pole has been reenacted a few times : in 2006 for a BBC documentary, and in the South Pole Race in 2009, both featuring one Norwegian and one British team. There’s also the Scott-Amundsen Centenary Race going on right now, this time with two British teams.

Photos of Roald Amundsen: National Library of Norway

The Race for the South Pole is a post from Sophie's World

I was in Paris last week for work. Having a few spare hours, I hopped on the metro to La Défense, largely for nostalgic reasons. (La Défense, as you might know, is the largest purpose-built business district in Europe). Back in the 90s, when I worked as an EU-adviser for the government, I had a few meetings out here and was quite taken with the cool, futuristic architecture.

Christmas markets, on the other hand, brings to mind the past. The markets originated in the German-speaking parts of Europe. (Vienna was first, as early as 1294). Often, the markets are set up in the old parts of cities, harmonising beautifully with ancient fountains, medieval church spires, Hanseatic houses…

But not always!

Between the Arche de La Défense and the slick, cutting edge glass-and-steel towers, I stumbled upon an entire Village de Noël, a Christmas Village. As I strolled around the stalls, looking up at the brightly lit scyscrapers, the past and the future blended to make an interesting, all-encompassing present.

I never know what to get my mum for Christmas. Or my brother. But I managed to find quite a few unusual things here. This Christmas Village offers

a cornucopia of fun and festive finds…

… and food

Heaps of hams and sausages…

A giant pan for raclette to enjoy on the spot and foie gras to take home:

Honeys

Cakes and sweets

… and more sweets:

Say it with chocolate:

… and even more lovely, handmade chockies:

Paris hosts at least 10 different markets during Advent. The largest runs along Champs-Elyssés, from the Champs-Elyssés roundabout all the way down to Place de la Concorde. Another interesting one is at Trocadero, right next to the Eiffel Tower.

Many of the Christmas markets last until 2 January, so if you’re in or near Paris, there’s still time to get a few quirky Christmas presents and indulge: mulled wine, gourmet food, meats from Alsace, foie gras, honey, wine, cognac. And chocolate.

A Quirky Christmas Market in Paris is a post from Sophie's World

Snow is falling outside my window: It’s beautiful. And cold. The summery memory of this small boats harbour at the foothills of the Sierra Madre makes the day a little warmer.

Where:
Huatulco, State of Oaxaca, Mexico

Huatulco

More PhotoFriday fun at DeliciousBaby.

Travel photo – Huatulco is a post from Sophie's World

Médecins Sans Frontières
My preferred humanitarian organisation is MSF, Médecins Sans Frontières (known as Doctors without Borders in the USA).

I’m certainly not their only fan. MSF received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1999, in the words of the Nobel Committee: in recognition of the organisation’s pioneering humanitarian work on several continents.

Médecins Sans Frontières was created by doctors and journalists in France in 1971. The organisation aids people affected by armed conflicts, crises and disasters and others who lack basic health care.

Why MSF?
Among all the wonderful charitable organisations in the world, why do I choose this one? Well, firstly, it’s something very efficient and unafraid about MSF that appeals to me. MSF immediately get out in the field. They crash right in and get to work, helping the ones who need it the most.

Like many other aid organisations, MSF is independent from all political, economic or religious powers. They look only at need – no matter who, where or why.

What sets MSF apart, I think, is their commitment to speak out – often loudly – to bring attention to abuse and injustice around the world. It’s simple, really: fewer people die when more people know.

Notably, MSF was very vocal during the 1990s conflicts in the former Yugoslavia, Chechnya and Rwanda. MSF is also responsible for shining a light on the neglected crisis in Darfur. Lately, the organisation has spoken out against the forcible return of Hmong refugees from Thailand to Laos.

Donations
90 % of MSFs funding is from private donations, ensuring freedom from political interference and bureaucracy. Donations help save lives. They help pregnant women give birth safely, treat children with malaria and provide surgery for people wounded by bombs and bullets. 87 % of UK donations are spent on the programmes.

I’m the sole provider for my two daughters. As such, I’m well aware of the importance of a predictable income. That’s no less important to an aid organisation. I’m therefore a field partner, drawing a set amount from my bank account every month. In return, I receive ground-level reports from MSF-personnel in the field. Just yesterday, I learned about Monica Thallinger, a pediatrician who works in a Somali refugee camp in Ethiopia.

Here’s what your monthly contributions can provide (clipped from the USA site):

• $7.50 monthly – Two nourishing meals every day for a month to a child threatened by famine
• $15 monthly – A month of clean water for 40 refugees
• $30 monthly – A surgical kit to carry out emergency examinations and basic surgery in the field
• $60 monthly – A month of nursing care for refugees from war or natural disaster

Want to donate?
MSF comprises 19 associative organisations and donations go through national offices in Australia, Austria, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Holland, Hong Kong, Italy, Japan, Luxembourg, Norway, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, United Kingdom and the United States. Choose your office.

ps – Heard of Magnificent Monday?
Not only is Green Global Travel focussing on charity this month. Holes in my Soles has GOODWILL as theme for this week’s Magnificent Monday as well. Go on over and have a look at the contributions. Or even better, write an article on goodwill (such as your fave humanitarian organisation) and link up.

Top photo is lifted from MSF’s website and photo of MSF-flag is by ricklibrarian on flickr’s Creative Commons.

There are so many non-profits doing important work around the world. Which is your favourite charity?

Travel Bloggers Give Back is a post from Sophie's World

About halfway between Britain and America, the Azores islands are volcanic and verdant, and form the visible part of the world’s longest mountain range, the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Politically, they’re an autonomous region of Portugal.

We go straight to Furnas to see the caldeiras, the hot springs, up close. The town is surrounded by mountains, absurdly green hills and luxuriant gardens. All around us are lush flowers and large ferns.

The sound of boiling, bubbling mud follows us along the winding paths. It’s as if a giant cauldron is simmering deep inside the earth. Every now and then, a geyser emits steamy hot water. Large holes in the ground look ready to erupt.

Dark, mysterious caves emit even more mist. I have to fight an irresistible urge to go closer and peek inside. Don’t know what I would find in there, but luminous, ghostly aliens seem a definite possibility.

Nearby is the garden of Terra Nostra with its age-defying geothermal pool. It’s a fountain of youth, purported to take 20 years off anyone who ventures in. The iron-rich water is yellowish-brown and muddy, yet looks oddly appealing. Or, at least, that’s what I think.

“Really, mum? You want us to swim in that?” The idea of shedding 20 years holds no attraction at all. “We wouldn’t even be born yet then…”

But, as usual, curiosity gets the better of them. Soon they’re splashing about in the warm water.

Leaving the valley, we pass Furnas Lake and the pretty Chapel of Nossa Senhora das Vitórias.

If you’re in Furnas, try cozido: pork, turnips, carrots and sausages cooked together in a pot deep inside the earth and left to simmer for hours in the sulphurous volcanic heat. Nom nom!

Sao Miguel

Have a look at DeliciousBaby for more fun Friday photos

Have you been to the Azores? Which are your favourite islands?

Fiery Furnas: Steamy cauldrons in the Azores is a post from Sophie's World

This may look like a fortress, but don’t be deceived. Since its opening in 1888, Ostermalms Saluhall has been a food lover’s nirvana. It has also been a place to observe Scandinavian egalitarianism in practice. Chefs from the Royal Palace queued with everyone else at the popular stalls.

17 small businesses operate at Ostermalms Saluhall, most have been run by the same family for generations. The vendors are happy to share their extensive knowledge and experience, so go ahead – ask about food preparation, recipes, how to put together a menu…

Ostermalms Saluhall has been named the world’s seventh best food market by the award-winning Bon Appétit Magazine, in competition with the likes of Tokyo and Budapest. No surprise then, that Jamie Oliver loves it.

Looking through my archives, I see I have given very little attention to Norway’s eastern neighbour. Only right then, that I’ll be joining my friend Laurel’s Food Friday with this Swedish treat.

Want more Photo Friday fun? Head over to Deliciousbaby.

Stockholm

Ostermalms Saluhall – Slow Food in Stockholm is a post from Sophie's World

Here are three of my favourite Christmas markets:

Elegant and child-friendly Vienna

I’m very fond of Vienna, and during Advent, the city really comes alive. On Graben street, I amble past market stalls and Christmas trees from Wienerwald, with a blue, made-for-the-occasion Christkindlmarkt mug of Glühwein in hand. Just to keep warm, you understand.

Huge bells of warm light are suspended above elegant baroque buildings and magnificent gilded statues. The effect is simply stunning! It might as well be 1911. Or 1811. Or even 1781. That’s when Wolfgang Amadeus walked along this street to his home at No. 17, passing the markets on his way. Today, no 17 is home to law offices, a book publisher, a fashion house – and my favourite Vienna guest house, Pension Nossek. After 9 pm, you have to lock yourself in. I adore opening the huge wooden doors with my own key. But I digress.

At the Christkindlmarkt in front of City Hall, everything is for sale: Christmas tree ornaments, candles, toys and handicrafts, as well as breads and cakes, sausages, more Glühwein and Christmas punch in a variety of flavours. It’s a world of bright, strong, happy colours.

Inside City Hall is the Christkindls Werkstatt, workshops where 80 000 children stop by to make all kinds of wonderful Christmas presents.

World-famous Viennese waltz composer, Johann Strauss, looks pensive on a pedestal. Is he thinking of the Christmas markets of his day; about how little things have changed, perhaps? Vienna’s Christmas markets have existed for hundreds of years.

More on Vienna’s wonderful Christmas markets here.

Cheap and cheerful Bratislava

Less than an hour from Vienna is the Slovakian capital. Even on an overcast, cold and foggy day, Bratislava shows heaps of spirit. The Christmas market is on Hlavne Namestie, the main square in the pretty Old Town. Hats, scarves, handbags, toys, lollipops, porcelain, oils and spices are for sale – all at very affordable prices.

There’s a great emphasis on food and drink in Bratislava. The beer/wine/grog tents remind me of Oktoberfest in Bavaria; everyone is in a good mood. I go for lokse, potato pancakes, filled with poppy-seed. And sweet honey-wine. Perfect on a cold winter day.

Mysterious medieval Tallinn

Christmas markets in east and central Europe have been around for centuries. Not this one. In fact, the Jouluturg on Tallinn’s Raekoja Plats (Raekoja Square) is barely out of its teens. During the Soviet era, Santa Claus was banned. As soon as Estonia gained independence in 1991, the city organized its first Christmas market.

The market may be relatively new, but Tallinn is a medieval city. Raekoja Square is very romantic, surrounded by Hanseatic buildings, including a pharmacy from 1422, still in operation.

The main items on the market are Estonian arts and crafts, hand-made sweaters, long-tailed hats, mittens, scarves, socks and other colourful woollens.

Can’t make it to Tallinn before Christmas? No worries, the Christmas Markets remain until 8 January. And the lovely woollens are for sale outdoors for much of the winter. (These photos are from late January; sadly I didn’t have a camera along last time I visited Tallinn in December – but you get the idea.)

There’s something delightfully pagan about Tallinn. Fitting then, that the citizens of the then-named city of Reval danced around the first Christmas tree in recorded history. The year was 1441 and Estonia was part of the German region Livonia.

Up a street from Raekoja Square is 700-year-old cobbled Rataskaevu, the spookiest street in town. As you pass no 16, look up. Notice the bricked up window with painted-on curtains? In the 15th century, this was an inn. Rumour has it the devil got married and had the wedding reception here.

Where is your favourite Christmas market?

Three Terrific Christmas Markets is a post from Sophie's World

Looking at the world’s fastest skiers tear down the slopes, I was reminded of how attractive this Alpine village looks all dressed in summer garb. At ca. 470 km² (about 180 square miles), Soelden is actually Austria’s largest municipality. Lots of space for the 3 500 inhabitants.

Lovely, isn’t it? You’re almost spoiled for scenic beauty in the Alps. So much, you might become – dare I say it – blasé. That’s why I was so pleased to discover this little jewel in the landscape:

I adore the old covered bridges that are so prevalent in the Alps. Not surprising then, that this man-made structure is my favourite feature of Soelden.

This covered bridge is called Gaislachkoglbrücke (Gaislachkogl Bridge), named for one of the many mountains surrounding the village.

Meanwhile, back at the races, my fave skier, Aksel Lund Svindal, placed at no. 12. I have high hopes; Aksel did win gold in the Super G at the Vancouver Olympics, after all. Here’s wishing him better luck in the coming rounds of the circus.

Disclosure: I visited Sölden as a guest of the Austrian Tourist Board. As ever, any opinions expressed are my own.

Do you follow the Alpine Ski World Cup? Or are you perhaps more interested in old bridges?

Solden

The Covered Bridge of Soelden is a post from Sophie's World

This week’s #FriFotos* theme – autumn/fall – inspired me to add an extra post. I’ve just returned from a hectic few days in London, attending the World Travel Market and heaps of fringe fun. I took Wednesday morning off, however, to have a look at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. Even in November, arguably the greyest month of the year, this UNESCO-listed landscape garden looks beautiful.

Autumn leaves in song? All my life, I’ve been mysteriously drawn to this melody. Have a listen to Juliette Greco’s haunting rendition of Les feuilles mortes while you enjoy the photos:

The Queen’s Beasts
The Queen’s Beasts comprise 10 sculptures symbolising the different branches of Britain’s royal ancestry.

The Lion of England and The Falcon of the Plantagenets

The Orangerie, designed by Sir William Chambers

Kew Palace

This small, intimate royal palace was a country retreat for George III and his family – and where he stayed out of the public eye when he was ill. George III is best known for being mentally ill (probably a result of a blood disease known as porphyria) and for losing the colonies in the American War of Independence.

Kew Palace

River Thames, seen from Kew Palace

Autumn leaves at Kew Gardens

*#FriFotos is a weekly Twitter chat founded by @EpsteinTravels where travellers share their favourite photos. Each week has a theme. Search #FriFotos on Twitter to see more or to join in.

London

Autumn leaves in Kew Gardens is a post from Sophie's World

A relatively wordless post today – I think this cheerful fishing boat speaks for itself.

Where:
Senggigi beach on the island of Lombok, Lesser Sunda Islands group, Indonesia

Lombok

Travel photo – Fishing boat, Lombok is a post from Sophie's World

Anne Frank lived here. For two frightening years of World War II, Prinsengracht 263 was the secret address of the world’s most famous diarist.

Queuing outside, I try to imagine this street as it must have looked 70 years ago. The gabled canal houses are the same, as is the canal flowing by. Bicycles are still a major means of transportation in the Netherlands. These bicycles even look like they could have been in use in the 1940s.

Entering the Anne Frank House, I’m struck by the subdued atmosphere. I’m by no means alone, but voices are low; the mood is sombre, respectful. There’s a ban on mobile phones and people seem to respect it.

Anne’s words
Poignant excerpts from Anne’s diary are written on the walls:

9 April 1944 – One day this terrible war will be over. The time will come when we will be people again, and not just Jews. We can never be just Dutch, or just English or whatever; we will always be Jews as well. But then, we’ll want to be!

Others chillingly hint at the atmosphere in the house:

11 June 1942 – We will have to whisper and tread lightly during the day; otherwise the people in the warehouse might hear us.

The helpers
From what was the original house entrance, I walk up a steep and narrow stairway, typical of Dutch canal houses. On top of the stairs is a door with a glass window marked Kantoor, office. Notes here concern the helpers.

22 January 1944 – Mr Kugler brings me “Cinema and Theatre” every week.

The helpers, risking their own life, were Otto Frank’s employees: Miep Gies, Bep Voskuijl, Victor Kugler and Jo Kleiman.

26 May 1944 – Kugler, who at times finds the enormous responsibility for the eight of us overwhelming, can hardly talk from the pent-up tension and strain.

In the front office, an interview with Miep Gies is running continuously. Miep’s typewriter is displayed in a glass case.

This is how Anne and her sister Margot used this room:

29 September 1942 – Margot and I have declared the front office to be our bathing grounds. Since the curtains are drawn on Saturday afternoon, we scrub ourselves in the dark, while the one who isn’t in the bath looks out the windows through a chink in the curtains.

Peeking out through that same window, through a chink in the curtains, I get a glimpse of a young couple on a green bench; the dark waters of the canal flowing past. It’s a frisky March day and the girl’s long hair is blowing in the wind. Anne must have looked out the windows on spring days like this, probably wishing she could feel the breeze in her dark locks.

Amsterdam canal on a windy March day

Other scenes from the window must have been horrifying:

19 November 1942 – Countless friends and acquaintances have been taken off to a dreadful fate. Night after night, green and grey military vehicles cruise the streets. It’s impossible to escape their clutches unless you go into hiding.

12 December 1942 – I saw two Jews through the curtains yesterday, it was a horrible feeling, just as if I had betrayed them and was now watching them in their misery.

The higher up you ascend Amsterdam canal houses, the steeper and narrower the stairs. I climb the long, “leg-breaking” stairway. On top, I’m met by a display of yellow cloth stars with the word Jood written on them. As of 3 May 1942, Jews were required to wear these.

20 June 1942 – After May 1940 good times rapidly fled: first the war, then the capitulation, followed by the German invasion which is when the sufferings of us Jews really began. Jews must bear a yellow star, Jews must hand in their bicycles, and Jews are banned from street cars. Jews may not visit Christians; Jews must go to Jewish schools and many more restrictions of a similar kind.

Also displayed is a formal letter titled oproeping! – a call-up notice for a work project in Germany. Margot’s oproeping was the immediate cause for the Frank family to go into hiding in the first place. The next room is simply decorated with black and white photos of the eight.

The eight people in hiding
Auguste van Pels-Röttgen, born 29 September 1900 in Buer, Germany.
Hermann van Pels, born 31 March 1898 in Gehrde, Germany.
Peter van Pels, born 8 November 1926 in Osnabrück, Germany.
Fritz Pfeffer, born 30 April 1889 in Giessen, Germany.
Otto Frank, born 12 May 1889 in Frankfurt-am-Main, Germany
Edith Frank-Holländer, born 16 January 1900 in Aachen, Germany
Margot Frank, born 1 February 1926 in Frankfurt-am-Main, Germany
Anne Frank, born 12 June 1929 in Frankfurt-am-Main, Germany

Living in eternal dusk
During the war, black-out curtains covered all the windows. The families could not go outside and the curtains could not be opened during the day. Fresh air was available through a small window in the attic; dark, damp, inhabited by rats.

Today, the house is dimly lit, possibly to simulate reality back then. This lack of daylight, any light, leaves me feeling annoyed, angry even.

When two kids accidentally tear down a window-cover, I’m immediately filled with a great sense of relief at the unexpected light and breeze coming through. The church bells are louder and clearer; it’s easier to breathe. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like, living in this eternal dusk – day in, day out; in constant fear of discovery.

The frustration is palpable in this quote from Anne Frank in a film excerpt:

I wander from room to room, down the stairs and up again. A voice in me screams: Go out, breathe air, have fun.

After a while, security measures for the families in hiding had to be increased.

21 August 1942 – Now our secret annex has truly become secret. Mr. Kugler thought is would be better to have a bookcase built in front of the entrance to our hiding place. Now whenever we want to go downstairs we have to duck and then jump.

In the evenings, the two families in hiding use this staircase to sneak downstairs. During the day, the helpers use the stairs to get to the secret annex.

Above the movable bookcase, I spot a map of Belgium. The shelves contain binders marked Verzekering (insurance), Onbetaalde Rekeningen (unpaid bills), Contracten (contracts), Reclame material (Advertising). It all looks matter-of-fact, businesslike – in a time-warped sort of way. I sneeze. The room smells dusty, of old papers and books.

In the bedroom 17-year-old Margot shared with her parents, her sister Anne noted this:

17 November 1943 – Mother reads a prayer book – Father reads Dickens with a dictionary, of course – on the edge of the sagging bed.- Margot sends her Latin lessons to a teacher, who corrects them and then returns them. I bet he’s glad to have such a smart student.

2 May 1943 – Margot and Mother have shared the same three undershirts the entire winter.

Next is the bedroom Anne shared with the middle-aged Mr. Pfeffer.

As we walk through the room, the atmosphere changes ever so slightly. The visitors are quiet; even three teenage boys who have been joking and laughing a bit, stop talking now. Anne’s room, sacred almost, to those who have read this young girl’s diary. The room is decorated with pictures and newspaper cuttings of the stars and heroes of the day. This could just as well have been my mother’s bedroom wall in 1943.

We all gaze silently at pictures of the princesses Elizabeth and Margaret, Ginger Rogers, Sonia Henie, Greta Garbo in Ninotchka. ..

Washroom.

3 August 1943 – Shh… Father, be quiet, Otto.

At the strike of half past eight, Father has to be in the living room. No running water, no flushing toilet, no walking around, no noise whatsoever.

It’s half past two. As I enter the sitting room, the neighbouring Westerkerk begins to play. Anne talks about Westerkerk in her diary – how hearing the bells gives her hope.

The sitting room also served as a bedroom for Mr and Mrs Pels. It contains the remnants of an old iron stove, a cupboard where a draft comes through and an open wardrobe with two shelves and a hanging rod. Through the blacked-out windows, I see vague silhouettes of trees and neighbouring canal houses. Humourously, Anne observes:

10 December 1942 – Mrs van Pels was trying to do everything at once, learning Dutch out of a book, stirring the soup, watching the meat, sighing and moaning about her broken rib.

Betrayed – unknown by whom
Next are these chilling words:

4 Aug 1944 – found!

Betrayed – unknown by whom. Bookcase torn apart and secret entrance discovered.

Friday 4 August 1944 was a day like any other for the people in hiding. Otto Frank writes:

It was about ten-thirty. I was upstairs with the Van Pelses in Peter’s room and I was helping him with his schoolwork. I was showing him the mistake in the dictation when suddenly someone came running up the stairs. The stairs were squeaking, I stood up, because it was still early in the morning and everyone was supposed to be quiet – then the door opened and a man was standing right in front of us with a gun in his hand and it was pointed at us.” SS-officer Karl Silberbauer, assisted by 3 Dutch SD officers supervised the arrest.

In the final room, I’m greeted by blurry photos and a sobering death list. Faded index cards coldly describe the details.

• Van Pels, Auschwitz mid-1944
• Pfeffer, Neuengamme, Dec 1944
• Edith, Auschwitz, 6 January 1945
• Margot, Bergen Belsen, March 1945
• Anne, Bergen Belsen, March 1945
• Auguste, Theresienstadt, April/May 1945
• Peter, Mauthausen 5 May 1945
• Otto, Auschwitz, survived

In the words of Hanneli Goslar, a former neighbour, who met Anne in Bergen Belsen: April 1945 – Anne died only one month before liberation – alone, having no one (she thought, after her sister died).  

Mari Andriessen’s statue of Anne Frank outside Westerkerk

Anne’s own words seems a fitting end:

25 March 1944 – Liebe Kitty, I want to be useful and bring enjoyment to all people. And therefore I am so grateful to God for giving me this gift of writing, of expressing all that is in me.

Emotionally draining though it is, the Anne Frank House is one of my favourite museums. It’s so simple, yet so powerfully presented – and so real. I don’t think I’ve ever been in Amsterdam without walking through it.

What is the memorable museum you have visited?

This is an excerpt, somewhat altered, of my article on the Anne Frank Huis on Boots’n'All. Photo of Anne Frank by wikilivres.info. All other photos by Anne-Sophie Redisch.

Anne Frank still speaks to us is a post from Sophie's World

The girls and I recently sailed through the Panama Canal and stopped – all too briefly – in the beautiful, beautiful Colombian city of Cartagena.

Strolling through the lively old city, I was struck by the vibrant colours of the colonial architecture. Seemed to go well with the sultry heat, too.

UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee has included the city on its list of cultural heritage with outstanding universal value. For very good reason, I think.

Cartagena – such a fabulous name, isn’t it? It evokes thoughts of mystery, romance, and … well, Jack Sparrow.

This busy, lively Caribbean city was once one of the three most important ports in the West Indies (along with Havana, Cuba and San Juan, Puerto Rico) and very attractive to pirates. (Shouldn’t be surprised if a few of them ended up at Execution Dock in London).

Sir Francis Drake did his best to wreak havoc on Cartagena – a hero home in England but a brutal pirate in the eyes of the Spanish. Interesting how nothing really changes… one country’s hero is another country’s terrorist.

I fell completely in love with Cartagena and immediately put it near the very top of my list of places I want to explore further. Think I might like to stay in this hotel (above), for the gorgeous, deep orange colour alone. Sadly, I can’t remember the name. Are you familiar with Cartagena? Perhaps you know the name? Do let me know, please.

What’s your favourite city and what do you adore about it?

For more fun photos at the end of the week, have a look at Budget Travelers Sandbox and DeliciousBaby.

Facades of Cartagena – a photo story is a post from Sophie's World