Views From My Balcony

I woke to the sound of bells. Looking out my window I saw a small hamlet, complete with church. Being a weekday, I took the sound as a summons to breakfast.

Where I stay when travelling adds – or takes away – so much to a trip. I love being able to walk out the door into a place of local colour. The view from a window or balcony is yet another dimension. Just being able to open the window to hear and smell, and so often taste, this new world unfolding around me – or better still, being able to walk onto however a small balcony to drink it all in - brings so much to a place.

*The Houses of Parliament, Budapest © A. Harrison*

I remember in Barcelona walking past a hotel way above my pay grade, where a gentlemen sat in the window, drink in hand, watching us through a thick pane of insulating glass. He looked like a caged animal, but one paying a fortune to tick a place of his to-do list without ever venturing from the safety of his sterile bubble. I was dripping in sweat from a Spanish summer, about to enjoy some tapas at a local bar before continuing on my way.

In Florence I have looked over flower gardens; in Venice, across the rooftops into someone’s kitchen. (At any time of the day I could see Grandma, naturally bedecked in black, busy cooking, and the aromas which wafted out of that window and into mine were mouth watering.) In Paris, I lay in bed and stared at the towers of Notre Dame.

*Endless vineyards along the Rhine © A. Harrison*

As I cruise from Budapest to Amsterdam, my balcony view is always changing (and this is only half-way through the trip). As I write, the boat sits waiting in a lock beside some houses. What sounds like a kindergarten gone wild is nearby. Wild flowers run along the verge, and blossoms from the chestnut trees fill the air.

*Somewhere unnamed and idyllic © A. Harrison*

In Budapest, I fell asleep after staring for ages at the lights of the Parliament Building. It is as spectacular as the photos in all the brochures promised. I see so many spectacular images of places on Pinterest and blogs that I wonder if they have been photoshopped beyond belief; they had not.

At Dürnheim, the town spread over the water, and vineyards ran up into the hills. In many places we pull in a few minutes away from the centre of town, and the boat sits surrounded by a medieval idyll. One lock we sailed through was over 24m, guarded by a huge iron gate – for a moment I wondered if we were entering Mordor.

The places I love most, though, are the quiet stretches, filled with the noises of the river and the cll of birds. Occasionally little wooden weekenders are near the shore, or I catch a glimpse of hikers. Swans drift past, and the scent of summer blossoms fill the air. The worries of the world lie a long way away.

Like my photos? - if you feel like contributing to my coffers, please click either here or on the link in my header to buy (or simply browse) my photos. Or else, please click here to buy either my poetry or novel ebooks. I even have a YouTube channel. Thank you!

Headless in Bamberg

Songs of a Sad Summer