Year: 2014

Indians love to make noise, and at times it feels as though the subcontinent is one great ululating biomass – shouting, tooting, banging, and playing loud music with an abandon bordering on the gay. At times, India is just like

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It didn’t take much convincing for me to head straight to Goa to chill out after the shock and awe of Bombay, so after the obligatory sightseeing experiences of that city, I was off to Anjuna Beach, where golden sands

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So, I’m sitting in an aeroplane, heading to one of the great cradles of humanity, a country whose arts and sciences stretch into the grubby backwaters of Western prehistory – home of the zero and the kama sutra, chicken tikka

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After the sexy excesses of Milan, where could I go but up? Lake Como is the shimmering jewel of the Italian lakes district, and the Swiss Alps rise majestically on the horizon, like Claudia Cardinale reclining in a blue satin

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‘Through literature, art, song and ritual, North Korea meticulously embeds the childhoods of its leaders in the national consciousness. Imitating the medieval lives of saints, and apocryphal infancy narratives of Christ, the lives of the Great and Dear Leaders–known respectively

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Straddling the north of Italy like a ruby-lipped succubus, Milano is a city of dreams. More specifically, the dreams of a strange cabal of artsy monomaniacs whose millionaire mission in life is to dictate what you and I should wear, find

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Anybody who knows me well will know if there’s one thing I don’t understand above all else, it’s sport. Except, of course, for cricket, which isn’t actually a sport, is it? More of a really big board game. And so

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The night bus to Cappadocia was well enough, but we should have caught a rocket ship. Cappadocia is home to one of the most incredible landscapes I have ever seen … almost as if God called up Dali, Gaudi and

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After another entertainingly perfumed bus ride, we arrived in the port town of Fethiye to begin one of the most shamefully self-indulgent weeks of my already self-indulgent life. For it was here that we boarded a yacht for a 4

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Samos was the final stepping stone into Turkey, our afternoon there memorable only for time spent with Spyros, our malevolent taxi driver, whose idea of safety was to finger his beads wherever conventional wisdom might have suggested brakes. It was

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