Dreaming of foreign shores
There is a big wide world out there, awaiting our return. One that can be touched, smelled and tasted, rather than simply viewed on a screen.
This week’s cover story is a reminder there actually is a big wide world out there, awaiting our return. One that can be touched, smelled and tasted, rather than simply viewed from afar on a screen. I’ve never been to Valletta, the capital of the island nation of Malta, but perusing photographs of its honey-hued buildings and fortifications made me yearn for the sense of history that Europe exudes.
We are fortunate to live in a country that has — touch a big hunk of scribbly gum right now — avoided the worst of the pandemic. A continent that has such a diverse array of landscapes to explore: outback deserts, wind-whipped islands, sublime beaches and reefs, tropical rainforests and alpine ranges. We have fabulous galleries, superb wine and cuisine, and some pretty gorgeous hotels and resorts to boot. And, of course, we are home to the oldest living culture in the world. Boy, did we hit the jackpot.
But I can still vividly recall the sense of wonder when, on my first trip overseas at the age of 18, I visited Warwick Castle in the British Midlands, an imposing edifice dating back more than 1000 years to the time of William the Conqueror. Sandstone stairs were worn smooth by countless footsteps, the dungeon had a grisly contraption in which a prisoner could be eaten alive by rats, and I learned the meaning of the deliciously evocative French-derived word “defenestration”. The nearby Collegiate Church of St Mary’s was bedecked with ornate effigies of earls from the 1400s and had a 12th-century Norman crypt.
I lived for almost a year in Dunchurch, a quaint village on the outskirts of Rugby where, in 1605, the “gunpowder plotters” holed up awaiting news of Guy Fawkes’s attack on the Houses of Parliament. The hamlet had been an important staging post back in the day, when it had about 40 coaching inns. Only two remained, and my parents and I would wander down to one of them, a 400-year-old pub just up the road from a village green replete with stocks and maypole. It blew my mind that centuries of history seemed to be evident at every turn. This was history that was tangible, functioning; not stuck behind glass in a museum.
But back to Valletta, a sprawling UNESCO World Heritage site that has, at various times, been considered desirable real estate by the Ottomans, French and British. It has a handsome parliament building designed by Renzo Piano, while dotted across the island are temples 5000 years old. Reading about it all makes my head spin.
Don’t get me wrong: I do truly love our sunburnt country. I just wouldn’t mind a fling in Europe.
