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.

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Views From My Balcony

Headless in Bamberg

Songs of a Sad Summer