Time for another journey - London to New Delhi via... Helsinki, obviously...

I am an inveterate traveller. In some ways, the actual journey is almost as anticipated as the destination, especially as I do like to find less obvious ways of getting from A to B - London to Pula via Stuttgart and Zagreb, or London to Copenhagen via Brussels and Hamburg, to name but two trips in the recent past.

So, having decided that a trip to visit my family was overdue, I searched for airfares and, taking into account convenience of flight times, airline reputation and so forth, I came to the conclusion that the best option was, somewhat unexpectedly, Finnair.

And yes, I had considered British Airways (too expensive), Turkish Airlines (nasty arrival and departure times in Mumbai), Lufthansa (expensive and not that convenient), Ethiopian Airlines (awful connection in Addis Ababa) and a raft of others, but Finnair, whose flight arrives in New Delhi at 6.35 am and departs again at 10.40 am, offered that optimal combination of comfort, timing and affordability.

So, I'll be on a British Airways flight out of Heathrow Terminal 3 in an hour or so (it's a Finnair code share flight as they're both part of the One World alliance) and I'll be back soon enough. Don't worry, I won't be silent whilst I'm away...

Wonderful, wonderful... Copenhagen?

Where was I? Ah yes...

So, after my mini-epic journey across Northern Europe, I had safely reached Copenhagen and, despite a few difficulties in finding the suburban train to Orestad, a new community south of the city near the airport, I arrived at our hotel and waited for Ros to arrive.

The hotel was unexpected, having won a plethora of awards for being the greenest hotel in Europe, but of more interest was the Club Lounge, which we had access to, with unlimited free alcohol - I applied my own, quite modest, limit, thank you - and free snacks, including salt liquorice, one of my favourites.

Ros turned up soon enough, having flown in from Aalborg, where she had been moderating the 25th Anniversary Conference of the North Sea Commission, surrounded by Swedes, Norwegians, Danes and Scots (it would be fair to say that a good time was had by all, I believe), and we had a pleasant dinner before getting a good night's sleep.

The next morning dawned bright, and we peered out of our thirteenth floor window to see the airport and, beyond it, the Oresund Bridge, which links Copenhagen with Malmo. We needed to get out, so in spite of the gusty conditions, it was into the city for a walk around the Parliament district and on towards Nyhavn and the Little Mermaid.

Copenhagen is a very walkable place, and rather less paranoid, as we discovered when we reached the Parliament. Yes, you need to have security, but instead of the ugly metal barriers that we have at Westminster (and no, painting them in black and yellow doesn't help), the Danes have big rocks strewn in a curve. It's a bit like the Ring of Brodgar, but not as bleak - or impressive, now I think about it. It is, however, rather more human than metalwork.

We headed towards Nyhavn, with its restaurants and bars, stopping for coffee and then made for the waterfront, all very nice. Past the headquarters of Maersk, the shipping conglomerate, with models of big ships to look at, and the Royal Danish Cast Library, we strolled, before reaching the Kastellat, the fortress that protected Copenhagen rather unsuccessfully from, amongst others, Nelson.

The Little Mermaid is, as almost everyone seems to say, rather smaller than you'd expect, but tourists still come - it's a bit like Graceland in Memphis, or the Taj Mahal, if you've come all that way, you really ought to see it - but it was pleasant enough, and we turned back towards the centre, stopping only for some smorgasbord.

Wonderful? Probably. But certainly Copenhagen...

ICE, ICE, baby: Hamburg to Copenhagen

The trai having been safely divided at Hamburg - the back half is going to Aarhus, where my international political life started twenty-five years ago - the last leg of my journey began. No compartment this time, and the diesel version of the ICE train, still grey but better laid out.

The DB lounge at Hamburg is very nice, and the first class treatment starts there, as a nice lady brought me a bowl of vegetable soup, with lentils and an extra German touch, sliced sausage, which I approve of. I was able to use their free wi-fi, catch up with the world, before strolling in a leisurely manner to my train, en route to Lubeck, Oldenburg and Puttgarden, before a crossing of the lower Baltic and a dash across the islands of Eastern Denmark.

This rather flat bit of Germany, the Holstein bit of Schleswig-Holstein, is well-suited to wind turbines, and there are rather a lot of them to be seen from the train. It's a good thing too, as Germany's dependence on gas supplies from Russia means that their decision to close their nuclear power stations makes them more than a little vulnerable. Lucky for Frau Merkel that spring is coming...

Which reminds me, why are so many people at home so hostile to the notion of wind turbines? They're quiet, they don't pollute and, compared to a regular power station, they're far easier on the eye. Perhaps we just need to paint them in pretty colours?

You might have noted the reference to crossing the Baltic and been a mite puzzled for, having checked, you'll know that there isn't a bridge. Instead, at Puttgarden, the train rolled onto a ferry, whereupon we were evicted and the train locked, whilst we struggled upstairs to the boat deck, with its duty-free shop, restaurants and video game arcade. They don't mess about - as soon as the train was safely aboard and the stern door closed, the ferry left, no more than eight minutes after our arrival at the station.

It was, still, rather grey - must everything colour-coordinate with my train? - but the crossing was smooth, and it wasn't long before Denmark hove into view, so I headed back to the train for the remaining two hour journey to Copenhagen. Denmark is flat, even more flat than Suffolk, and the miles slipped by before, as darkness fell, the Copenhagen suburbs appeared, and my train odyssey was at an end.

So, how would I sum up my journey? Well, it's much less stress-inducing than flying, the view out of the window is relaxing too, and Deutsche Bahn, in particular, do know how to look after their passengers, in first class at least. If, however, time, or money, or both are an issue, you're almost certainly better off flying. I have to say though, if the opportunity arises to go somewhere by train again, and I have the time, I'd be minded to do it.

And now, with Ros at my side, a weekend in Copenhagen beckons...

Hamburg - I may have to come back here

Having been a bit harsh on German fashion sense, I ought to balance the ledger a little. Fortunately, that isn't too difficult.

I've spent the morning pottering around the city, as only an Englishman can, and a very charming city Hamburg is too. And before anyone reminds me, I gave St Pauli and the Reeperbahn a wide berth, although I very much suspect that it has changed somewhat since its 'glory days'.

The Hauptbahnhof is, as is often the case in big German cities, very imposing and full of retail opportunities, but the walk from there, through the shopping area is very pleasant. I took a slight detour to admire the Binnen Alster, the southern end of the lake which stretches north-east from the city centre, before passing the Rathaus, a very impressive structure.

But my destination was Hafen City, the newly developed dockland area, full of museums, culture and new apartment blocks. The old warehouses, presumably rebuilt after World War II, have been left, mostly for commercial use it seems, with new blocks built between them and the Elbe. It's all a bit like the London Docklands used to be in the early days, a bit desolate and slightly dead, but by putting the new Elbphilharmonie building there, it might well develop into a vibrant neighbourhood.

The weather hasn't been so nice here in Hamburg, which perhaps doesn't help, but I like the contrast between the stylish apartment blocks on one side of the Elbe, and the gritty, industrial port on the other. And with a university campus at one end of Hafen City, and a smattering of interesting restaurants and bars, I think that they've done a better job here than we did in London.

It's an easy city to get around too, with buses, U-bahn, S-bahn and the odd ferry too, and I think Ros might like it. I'd better add it to an increasingly long list then...

German efficiency? Meet Belgian trespasser!

My train was, somewhat unexpectedly, five minutes late. It did look good though...

First class on ICE trains comes with waiter service, very efficient waiter service, in fact, but on the Brussels to Cologne route what doesn't seem to exist is wi-fi, which wasn't expected either. It is all a bit stark though, with the designer having clearly exchanged notes with his opposite number at Eurostar, using a palette consisting almost entirely of shades of grey, made even more cold by the leather seats - unlike Eurostar who at least have cloth upholstery.

ICE35 to Frankfurt arrives at Bruxelles Nord

That said, we were making excellent time with speeds reaching 250 km/h until the train began to slow, gliding effortlessly into the station at Ans, whereupon it stopped completely. There was a seemingly embarrassed silence from the trilingual train manager, before it was explained that we had trespassers on the line, and that we would be delayed a bit.

Whilst it is probably the most exciting thing to have happened in Ans for some time, I do have another train to catch, so as the train purred back into life, gliding slowly into the manta ray that is Liege-Guillemins station, I was pleased to see that we were only twenty minutes late.

So, how would I sum up a journey on the ICE train? Smooth, efficient in a way that only our Teutonic cousins can really do, but slightly soulless. Indeed, it is a romantic form of travel in the same way that giving your spouse a steam iron on St Valentine's Day would be romantic.

But enough of my complaining, as we're arriving in Cologne...

An overnight in the heart of Europe

Now that I have reason to come to Brussels from time to time, I have a hotel that I prefer, in a neighbourhood that I like, the Holiday Inn Brussels-Schuman. And so, with an overnight stop, it made sense to book a night there.

The hotel is just off the Schuman rondpoint, and is very convenient for the 'EU Zone' to the east of the centre of Brussels, but it is also close to Place Jourdan, home to Maison Antoine, allegedly the best frites stand in the city, and a number of nice bars and restaurants.

Home of the beast? I think not...

I also like the fact that transport links are good - Schuman itself is on the mainline between Brussels and Luxembourg, two metro lines and a slew of useful bus routes - and you can, if you're so inclined, walk into the centre.

I did need dinner though, and found a local brasserie, where I had some brown shrimp croquettes followed by the rabbit in gueuze, washed down with a Tripel Westmalle - all very nice. And then it was back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.

This morning, the sun is shining brightly, the sky is blue, there's not a cloud to spoil the view. And with the benefits of a decent, if continental, breakfast, I'm off again. I've made it from Schuman to Brussels Noord, which is where I am now, and my next leg is by ICE train to Cologne. This should be good...

Kaua'i: rather more like the brochure promised...

Having escaped the kitsch and commotion that is Waikiki, we find ourselves on the island of Kaua'i and, I must say, this is why you would fly 8,000 miles across ten time zones. It is lush and green - mostly - life is slower, less hectic, and you can fall asleep to the sound of ocean waves washing against the shore. So, last night, we did.

Despite its size, Kaua'i has its isolated, hard to reach spots, which is why it makes an excellent movie set. Jurassic Park was mostly filmed here, and a string of other movies - South Pacific, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Fantasy Island and Avatar, amongst others - used Kaua'i as a backdrop. And so, it seemed sensible to get an overview...

And what better way to do that than a helicopter ride over the island? I did keep that small detail from Ros, as a surprise is often appreciated, but we arrived at the Lihue Airport heliport for our Sunshine Helicopters flight with pilot Greg with no real idea of what lay ahead.

It turns out that Kaua'i is a bit wet, which is like saying that the ocean is big. Mount Wai'ale'ale gets 9,763 mm of rain each year, on average, which is 384 inches, or 32 feet, and is the seventh wettest place on Earth. Luckily, the rain falls mainly away from the plain...

As a result, our flight was a combination of spectacular scenery and rainbows, with huge, jagged sea cliffs formed from ancient volcanic eruptions, massive waves crashing at their feet, waterfalls two thousand feet high, and impenetrable rain forest.

It was worth every cent, and we'll soon have a video of the entire flight to show our friends and family to prove that, yes, we were there.

But I sense that the sea is calling out to me, so, for the time being, aloha!...

Waikiki: cheeseburger in paradise, and that's not so good...

I am somewhere that, clearly, lots of people want to be. President Obama is eating dinner down the street, the streets are full of tourists in loud shirts, there is a lot of happiness out there. I hate it.

Waikiki, on the island of Oahu, is a magnet for tourists, yet is entirely artificial, with every hint of native Hawaiian beaten out of it. It is as though the gods of the Hawaiian people have decided upon a revenge for the sufferings of their people, the loss of sovereignty and freedom, by inflicting such a place upon Americans.

That's a pity, really, as the rest of the island is rather nice. We've explored a little, discovering small coastal communities that are far less scarred by mass tourism, some incredible scenery and we're rather taken by downtown Honolulu.

Waikiki, on the other hand, is packed with tall, characterless hotel blocks, restaurants that seem to believe that quantity will overcome a lack of quality, and more tacky faux-Hawaiiana than you can shake a stick at.

Tomorrow, we leave, in the hope of something better. Wish us luck...

Me, Fidel and the pelicans

I'm not really a beach person, despite the evidence of this blog - Mauritius, Fiji, Vanuatu, Goa and Jamaica are all chronicled in the archives. However, as I get older, the notion of sitting quietly on the beach, watching the waves lap against the shore as I sip something with alcohol in it and reread my Montalbano books on the faithful Kindle becomes more alluring.

And, it must be said, Varadero is rather good for such things. The sea is a beautiful azure, the sky is blue, the sand is white, and nice people come along from time to time, offering to fetch a drink, or a snack. You could almost forget that you're in a one-party state, where individual liberty cannot be taken for granted.

We were, perhaps, fortunate that I had selected a really good resort, with excellent and plentiful facilities, with staff who seemed genuinely pleased that we had come, from waiters to barstaff, gardeners and the guys on the beach who would find us a spot for our sun lounger. And yes, I did tip relatively generously, because I know that happy staff make for a better experience, and that the money goes into the actual local economy, rather than enriching a foreign hotel chain or supporting the government.

But it all felt rather comfortable, rather than like communist Poland in the 1970s with sunshine. As one listens to some Schumann chamber music, watching the pelicans dive into the sea to catch fish, the notion that all of those people around you are being repressed becomes rather abstract. Repression in Cuba is, typically, somewhat relaxed. Yes, people get arrested, but only for a few days. It's almost as though the authorities don't have the single-minded will to really oppress people in the way that, say, Stalin did in the Soviet Union in the 1930s.

The illusion is made almost complete by the existence of a communist state in a post-communist world. Like Wile E. Coyote is the Roadrunner cartoons, Cuba has staggered over the edge of the cliff, yet continues to deny economic gravity. The agricultural sector is weak, two-thirds of its oil comes via a sweetheart deal with Venezuela, the American boycott is still pretty effective, the state sector is moribund, and large parts of Havana are quietly falling down around the ears of its citizens. And yet life goes on.

So, is it worth going? Yes, I think that it is. As a window into an economic and social experiment, anyone who takes an interest in how societies work, and how individuals are motivated, Cuba offers a unique perspective, and one that I fear cannot last. That isn't because the experiment has failed - you can't entirely claim that it was given a chance - but because the hurdles it has to cross are getting higher and higher.

And the Cubans seem like really nice people, who one day will hopefully get a chance to run their country their way, without the malevolent influence of United States foreign policy casting its usual shadow.

If you're reading this, Cuba isn't quite what I expected...

It would be fair to say that, when agreeing with Ros that we should go to Cuba on holiday, I did have some doubts. It is, after all, a communist country with a controlled economy, where those opposed to the state are imprisoned on a fairly capricious basis. And given that I am by nature someone who cleaves to the notion of comfort in travel, Havana might not be an obvious destination.

As it turns out, the dictatorship is not entirely what one might expect. Experiments with capitalism have unleashed an entrepreneurial spirit hitherto unsuspected, American television shows are rather more readily accessible than might be expected, and the security on display seems designed to make sure that we get back to our hotel safely. Oh yes, and the mojitos are cheap and plentiful. Mmmm, mint...

We've been for an explore of the old city already, and I've been impressed by efforts to restore the historic centre. Havana is one of the oldest cities in the Western Hemisphere, with a cathedral that dates back to the mid-sixteenth century, and the original core is packed with badly neglected architecture crying out for restoration. And, at last, the government have realised its tourism potential.

There are restaurants and private taxis, there are people in the streets trying to sell you things, and if you didn't know that it was a one-party state, I'm not entirely sure that you would appreciate that it was one. And the mojitos are very good, although I may have inferred that earlier.

So, if you were thinking of coming here but thought that it might be a bit too complex, I would say, "Come on in, the Havana Club, mint and sugar syrup are lovely.".

It's raining, it's grey... but I'm really pleased that we came.

It is a wet, drab day in Yerevan, which is a pity, for our formal business is over and we have a day off to enjoy the city. But we've been for a walk anyway, passing the National Assembly building, the Cascade, which houses a rather impressive museum and some interesting sculpture, and Opera Square, with its surrounding parkland filled with cafes and bars.

Our fellow delegates, many of whom had visited Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, before coming on to Yerevan, have been a mite dismissive about Armenia, but Ros and I are rather smitten by Yerevan. One doesn't want to patronise, but this is a plucky country, with friendly people, and a sense of ambition and pride. Yes, there's not a lot of money around, and the neighbourhood is a tough one, but given a chance, Armenians could make a genuine go of it.

Republic Square is the heart of the city, surrounded by vast, imposing arcs of buildings, one of which is the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and another the Marriott Hotel, with a nice cafe restaurant outside (not cheap, mind you). But in the evening, the square comes into its own, with the musical fountain and light show. Yerevan is big on water and fountains.

I will confess that I probably would never have come here unless ELDR had decided to hold a meeting here, but I'm also delighted that I came. Indeed, Ros and I are talking about coming back to the region at some point.

Saxon, drugs and Dixieland

Having beaten the ash cloud back to Blighty, I should take this opportunity to report back on my trip to Dresden. My apologies if this sounds a bit like an advert for the German Tourism Board...

Alright, I would be the first to admit that Saxony wasn't all that high on the list of places on my 'wouldn't it be nice to go there?' list, but given that ELDR Council was being held there on a Friday afternoon, it seemed foolish not to make a weekend of it, even more so as Ros was going to be with me.

And what a remarkably nice place it is. Dresden itself has rebuilt many of its historic jewels, and is a compact enough city to be easily explorable on foot. And to make things even better, the sun was shining, and the annual Dixieland Jazz Festival was on, with jazz bands performing for free across the city centre.

There is no shortage of good hotels, and our choice, the Holiday Inn in the Albertstadt suburb, was comfortable, with a generous breakfast buffet, free wi-fi, and all of the stuff that makes staying in a business hotel worth doing.

The public transport system is really accessible too, and a family day ticket for the Region surrounding Dresden, including all the way to the Czech border, is just €15 for two adults and up to four children under the age of 14.

Saturday was spent exploring the Altstadt, having lunch and taking a river cruise. On Sunday, however, we went on an adventure, taking the S-Bahn to Bad Schandau, a small spa town near the Czech border, a really pretty little town. There, we took a vintage tram up the valley of a tributary of the Elbe, to an artificial waterfall, before returning to the town for a gentle stroll.

We took the long way back, using a Regional Bahn route from Bad Schandau to Pirna that, if it had been in England, would surely have been closed by now. And yet the rolling stock was new, clean and comfortable, with large windows to stare out of at the Saxon countryside.

We ate well, enjoyed some decent, locally produced Saxon beer, and generally had a great time. So much so, in fact, that we're thinking about going back in September. After all, it's only two hours from Prague by train...

Because life should be in colour...

I've been quite busy over the past few days, in a 'not actually doing very much' kind of way. I've been commuting backwards and forwards between my hotel and the family home in Mahim, and haven't had much time for the rest of my life otherwise.

Enough apologising though, and on with the action. Last year, I made a bunch of resolutions that I never kept. So far, so boring. This year, I intend to be a little different and will publish my resolutions so that you can hold me to them if you choose.

In 2007, I intend to do two things:

1. Be generally better - vague, I know, but this is a composite resolution
2. Live life in colour - even vaguer, but I aim to have some fun this year, and you should see the collection of shirts that I have to spring on an unsuspecting world...

I have concluded that life is too short to be a grey bureaucrat, and intend to become a touch more dashing. It could be fun to watch, but I'm hoping that it will be even more fun to be.

So, a Happy New Year to you all (a bit belated, I know) and good luck to you all in your endeavours...

Waitress, get me the alligator, and make it...

... on second thoughts, I'll take it with the creole aioli.

I saw the fried alligator on the menu as an appetiser and thought, "Hmmm... an opportunity to eat something which, given half a chance, would be thinking the same thing about me.". And I have to admit that it was pretty good. A bit rubbery in texture, but very tasty.

In narrative terms, this introduction is flawed, as the chronology is shot to pieces, but who could resist opening a blog entry with such an old joke? So, let's go back to the beginning... One of the advantages of jet lag is that you find it easier to get up early, at least in this direction. Thus enabled, I was out of my quite lovely hotel in good time to catch an early morning train to Fort Worth, with the zoo in mind. Despite a long-running bus strike, normal services have been resumed and, in a gesture to maintain customer loyalty, fares have been withdrawn temporarily, making the Fort Worth transportation system a real bargain.

The zoo is a pretty good one, with an excellent collection of elephants, a meerkat mound, some very contented looking rhinos and two very active hippos. The sun shone, as it has done throughout this trip thus far, and it was nice to be wandering around.

The afternoon was spent wandering around downtown Fort Worth, stopping for some excellent beer and finally retiring to a restaurant called Reata for dinner, which is where we came in. The alligator was followed by a really good steak, encrusted with peppercorns and served with a port reduction. I've had some pretty good steaks, particularly in Buenos Aires, but this was the equal of any.

Alas, all good things come to an end, and I was obliged to head back to Dallas on a late evening train, allowing me to write this blog entry before retiring to bed for the night...

It's official, I'd rather not be in Chicago...

Sometimes, you realise that you're fated to spend more time in a place than you had intended. For me, that place is Chicago's O'Hare Airport. Having spent most of Monday there, I had the pleasure of being scheduled to pass through it again on Thursday, so you can imagine my surprise and pleasure to check my itinerary that morning to find that I had been reassigned to a direct Delta flight from Cincinnati to Boston. Best of all, I could stay in Cincinnati for an extra hour and get into Boston nearly three hours earlier than originally planned. There had to be a catch...

I turned up at the airport to check in, only to be told that I had excess baggage which would need to be paid for. Arguing in vain that, had I still been flying United, I wouldn't have had a problem, I decided to head to the United desk to see what could be done. The guy at the United desk was very apologetic, even though it wasn't his fault, and rebooked me onto the later Chicago flight. We were running a little late but no matter, and I got on the plane, found my seat and immediately fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. An hour later, I woke up, looked out of the window and saw tarmac. "Good, we've arrived...", I thought, only to be informed that this was still Cincinnati. Hmmm... not good.

Eventually, we made it to Chicago and I went to the check-in desk for the next Boston plane, to be told that I had been rebooked onto the 21:30 flight. I wasn't wildly happy, as that meant an 00:30 arrival in Boston, but was pleasantly surprised when the same rather surly gate clerk handed me a boarding pass for the 19:00! And so, eventually, I made it to Boston, only three hours later than scheduled.

Boston is a city I visit frequently, both to shop and, more importantly, visit my cousin Clint and his Bulgarian wife, Kalina. The politics here is a bit dull (if you're a Republican, move to New Hampshire) but the local press are pretty feisty so there is always something happening.

And best of all, I'm decently rested for the first time in months. I'll need to be as, with just over six weeks to go until polling day, life is going to be manic from here on in...

A really meaningful day out

When I'm on the road, I do like to catch a really good museum, especially one that challenges and informs. It was therefore a great pleasure to find that Cincinnati hosts the National Underground Railroad Museum, dedicated to recording the history of those who aided runaway slaves to find freedom in the North, and of slavery itself. It would be very easy to just airbrush this shameful episode in American history out of the picture but, in fairness, Cincinnati has made a real effort by building an excellent exhibition space and putting it in a prominent location, right on the riverfront between the new Paul Brown Stadium (Cincinnati Bengals football - gridiron for my British audience) and the new Great American Ballpark (Cincinnati Reds baseball).

The exhibit includes an actual slave pen, interactive exhibits, animated films on themes related to freedom and enough historical information to keep anyone with a conscience busy for hours. Most interesting of all, is the evidence that simply making it to a free state was not good enough. The 1850 Fugitive Slave Act allowed those hunting runaway slaves to enter the free states, recapture fugitives, and return them to the South in chains. It even led to the kidnapping of hitherto free citizens in places as far north as New York.

Another piece of information that I had not been previously aware of was that women had been given voting rights in some states after independence, and that this right was gradually taken away from them in the early years of the nineteenth century. All in all, a really good exhibit and, if you're ever in the Cincinnati area, I would strongly recommend a visit.

Next, to the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame. I spent a number of years watching the Reds play baseball, trying to catch a game most years and I discovered that the game I saw in 1999 in Denver against the Colorado Rockies was the game in which the Reds scored their highest number of runs on the road since 1900 (the game ended 24-12). And I was there... The Cincinnati Red Stockings were America's very first professional baseball team (1869) and have a key place in the history of the sport. Given my fondness for numbers, it won't surprise you to know that I find baseball statistics fascinating...

Finally, back to the Hofbrauhaus for more beer and schnitzel. The beer is brewed according to the German purity laws under licence and supervision of the Staatliches Hofbrauhaus in Munich. So, real beer, great schnitzel and men singing German drinking songs in German. Weird...

Man, leather trousers, accordion, and it's not a fetish club, so...

... I must be in a Kentucky recreation of a German bierkeller. Obvious, really.

And, I have to admit, it's a pretty good one. The beer, very German tasting, is served in litres and half-litres, they serve a mean weisswurst and there are men singing German drinking songs armed only with a drumkit and an accordion. So far, so good.

It never fails to surprise how heavily influenced the Midwest is by Europe. Chicago has a huge Polish community, Milwaukee is very German (the mascots for the Milwaukee Brewers are giant sausages...) and Minneapolis is Scandinavian. Cincinnati tends towards German, with a suburb called Over-the-Rhine, and an enthusiasm for beer (and none of that ghastly standard American stuff, either). They like pretzels too, served properly, with mustard.

Cincinnati is, it's fair to say, quite familar to a European. It has a real heart, with things happening in the downtown areas, and a proper public transportation system, with buses that run regularly and have decent passenger numbers. I'm quite impressed but then, with a cat named after the city, you aren't too surprised, are you?

Anyway, I've enjoyed some beer, so it's time for sleep...

Welcome to WMJV in Cincinnati!

Noting my apologies to that comparatively little-known American sitcom (WKRP in Cincinnati for those of you unfamiliar with this minor classic), it's actually great to be here in the 'Queen City of the West', or less familiarly, 'Porkopolis'.

Yesterday saw an arduous journey between New York and here. I turned up at La Guardia, checked in at the self check-in desk to be informed that I couldn't get to Cincinnati at all. A very kind agent put me on standby on the flight before mine (which still hadn't left due to weather problems in Chicago) and I was fortunate enough to get a seat, allowing me to get to O'Hare just in time for the 15:40 connection to Cincinnati. Great!... until I got to O'Hare and found that my connecting flight had been cancelled. "You aren't going to make it to Cincinnati tonight, we've booked you onto the 06:25 tomorrow morning.", was the response. "Can I be put on the standby list for the 18:30 tonight?" "Yes, but we can't be certain you'll get on". I took my chance, went to the gate and, lo and behold, got a guaranteed seat.

So I went to grab some dinner and, now slightly less irritable, went to my new gate to find that, joy unbounded, the 18:30 was now cancelled. Back to customer services... "We've transferred you onto the 10:45 tomorrow morning." "Is there another flight this evening?" "One more, at 20:50, but it's completely full." "Put me on standby anyway".

More delays later, and at 21:15, I get lucky again, a seat has come up because half of the passengers due to connect onto it haven't made it into Chicago. The bad news is that the plane is delayed, and delayed, and delayed until 22:25. At least this one actually takes off and I make it into Cincinnati at 00:45, nearly seven hours later than planned...

But at least I'm here, and got to spend the day at the world-famous Cincinnati Zoo, America's second oldest. It was a bit cold, but they have some great exhibits, including their manatees, who are rather special.

Back into town for some of the local delicacy, chili. Cincinnati is famous for this, with at least two major chains of chili parlours, whose penetration of the market beyond the surrounding counties is virtually non-existent. I haven't worked out why this should be, but their chili, served over linguine, is very good. If you're ever in the neighbourhood, Skyline is apparently better than Gold Star...

Would it surprise you to hear that...

... the Museum of American Constitutional Government is closed due to reconstruction work. And who said that Americans have no sense of irony?

Faceless bureaucrat in the city

Whilst it isn't very early in the morning, the five hour time difference makes it feel as though it is. Yes, you're right, I'm on the move again, attending another family wedding, this time, my second cousin, Leon (It was his elder brother who got married in Mumbai in December). Leon has managed to reintroduce Judaism back into the family after I carelessly misplaced Rachelle, and he and Patti get married on Sunday, here in New York.

My hotel room is very impressive, with a computer and free internet access, thus allowing me to blog my way through the weekend and catch up with some paperwork (sad, or what?).

New York doesn't change. Despite my being a fairly adventurous traveller, I still find myself drawn to the concrete canyons of this place, looking up until my neck hurts. It really is an amazing place. Tomorrow, I'm hoping to do a little shopping before the rehearsal dinner and drinks at the Heartland Brewery afterwards. I got in a little practice earlier (practice makes perfect!) and can recommend both their wheat beer and their Irish red.