On the way home from the evening airing we give ourselves to try and beat the jetlag, a brilliant gypsy band playing by the Trevi Fountain: percussionist, with bass drum slung around his neck supporting wood block, cymbals, hand drum and snare; tenor sax man; bass sax man; upright bassist,

Awoken early by bells tolling the hour. The bell tower within a stone’s throw of the balcony. Not I suspect advisable. Jetlag exacerbated by headcold/sinusitis. But the day warm and bright, the sky blue, and Rome on our doorstep. Which is overstating our proximity to all of the

the endless night in which eight hours were lost is over. We are in Rome. what seems morning was night and midday in Munich. Although, it was still, after the 3 hour delay on the tarmac at HK Airport, early morning, when we arrived there. The delay due to a

Where does it all tend, the constant movement? Is there a pattern to this chaotic activity from which you could draw a character of the city? Or is it better to ask how the city chooses to express itself? I don’t mean in the Symphony of Lights, the show

Sweet savoury breads for breakfast. There is a specifically HK style of baking. I don’t know if it extends to mainland China. The sweet bun is also available salted. With raisins. Red bean. Coconut. With cream, of some description. Or pierced by a short sausage, also sweetish. Although, I

Kowloon Peninsular is accessible from HK Island by virtually every form of transport known; not, however, by the famous and fabulous HK tram: a tunnel links the two under what seems a shallow harbour, though its waters are plied by very large boats. We got there by ferry – after making