Suitably Polished
And So, Our Grand Tour Came to an End …
After a month of travelling, 18 stops in 28 days, countless meals, a frankly irresponsible number of drinks, an extraordinary number of steps (over 250km walked) and more memories than we could possibly count, it was finally time to say goodbye to Europe.
We weren’t particularly happy about it. Home was calling, but Europe had made it remarkably difficult to answer. There was always another street to explore, another view to admire, another little restaurant to try or another perfectly reasonable excuse for a drink. We were getting quite good at finding them.
Our Grand Tour had done exactly what we’d intended. This was always a reconnaissance mission, a flying visit to see a little of Europe, get our bearings and work out where we’d like to return. Eighteen stops in 28 days certainly qualified as reconnaissance. We came home with full hearts, wonderful memories, new friendships with Connie and Alan and others we met along the way, and a growing list of places for the next adventure.
The planning for that adventure had, naturally, already begun. Apparently, we’re not very good at staying home.
A Few Things We Didn't Expect to Learn
We knew travelling through Europe in summer wasn't necessarily the best time to visit. We also knew it would be busy and hot. What we perhaps hadn't appreciated was just how hot, how busy and how much the two could conspire against anyone foolish enough to attempt sightseeing in the middle of the day.
By the time we reached Salerno, they were in the grip of their fifth heatwave, with a sixth forecast for the following week. Five heatwaves already! We were struggling to cope with one, and we had the luxury of being able to escape into air-conditioned hotels, restaurants and the occasional conveniently located bar.
It was hardly surprising that climate change became one of the recurring themes of our trip. Conversations with hotel staff, drivers, guides, restaurant owners and people we simply happened to meet kept returning to the same subject. And these weren't abstract discussions about distant possibilities or alarming headlines. These were people talking about changes they were experiencing in their own backyards.
Hotter summers, long periods without rain, falling river levels, pressure on water supplies and concerns about energy production were all part of the conversation. As we travelled further through Europe, the subject seemed to crop up everywhere, often without us even raising it.
Climate change had become one of the unexpected themes of our Grand Tour. We hadn't set out to investigate it, but once you start listening to the people who live in these places, it's difficult to ignore what they're telling you.
Of course, our immediate concern had been rather more selfish: would our river cruise actually float?
As it turned out, this wasn't an entirely unreasonable question. Only a few weeks earlier, we'd been booked to cruise the Danube, until low water levels forced a change to the itinerary. At first, we regarded this as an unfortunate travel inconvenience. One of those things that happens when you travel, like lost luggage or discovering that your hotel room overlooks a building site.
But as the month progressed and we heard similar stories from people in different parts of Europe, the altered cruise began to look less like an isolated travel hiccup and more like a small piece of a much bigger picture.
We'd gone to Europe for the history, the architecture, the food, the wine and the photographs. We came away with all of those, plus a sobering reminder that the places we love to visit are changing, and not always in ways that are easy to reverse.
It certainly gave us something to think about between courses.
The Photographs: A Candid Confession
Now, about those photographs.
We'd like to say we returned with a collection of award-winning images, the sort that make people stop scrolling, gasp in admiration and immediately start planning their own European adventure.
Some of them are pretty good.
Others are best described as evidence that we were there.
We'd known summer wasn't ideal for photography, but knowing something and experiencing it are two entirely different things. We wished we'd taken a tripod. We wished we'd packed the right lens every time we stepped off the boat. We wished we'd brought a proper camera bag. We wished we'd cleaned our iPhone lenses more often.
Mostly, we wished it hadn't been so hot that carrying anything heavier than a credit card felt like an extreme endurance event.
Our photographic conditions were, to put it politely, challenging. Crowds everywhere. Narrow alleyways that seemed designed for medieval pedestrians rather than modern camera equipment. Tall buildings throwing deep shadows across streets blazing with sunlight. One minute the shadows were so dark you could barely see a thing; the next, the highlights were bright enough to make you squint.
And then there was the heat. Relentless, humid, energy-sapping heat, with that coastal haze hanging over everything. It softened the distant views, flattened the colours and generally conspired to turn our grand photographic ambitions into a test of character.
Kotor probably suffered the most. It was arguably one of the most photogenic places we visited, with its spectacular bay, dramatic mountains, terracotta rooftops and gorgeous old town. It should have been a photographer's dream.
Instead, we arrived when the conditions were at their absolute worst. The scenery was magnificent; the atmosphere was more like photographing through a warm, salty dishcloth.
We rotated between the Sony and Canon mirrorless cameras, the Gizmo and our iPhones, depending on the circumstances, our energy levels and how much equipment we could be bothered carrying. Each had its strengths, but in the heat, the iPhone often won simply because it was convenient. It was always there, it was quick to use, and it didn't require us to lug around half a camera shop.
There was, however, one small technical problem. The lenses.
The photograph of the beers in Montenegro remains a classic example. The beer labels are so blurry you can barely read them. We could blame the heat haze, the lighting, the humidity or the general hostility of the photographic environment, but the truth is rather less glamorous.
We probably hadn't cleaned the iPhone lens.
If we'd paid as much attention to cleaning our lenses as we did to ordering drinks, the results might have been considerably sharper. And if the photographs were anything to go by, our glasses probably weren't much better.
Still, we have to admire the iPhone's optimism. It did its best under difficult circumstances, and we did ours. Nobody was going to win a photography prize for those beer shots, but they do capture something important: we were there, we were thirsty, and we were having a very good time.
Sometimes, You Just Have to Put the Camera Away
But enough of the excuses.
The truth is that sometimes there is simply too much wonder around you, and you're having far too much fun to concentrate on photography.
There were moments when the view was so spectacular that we forgot to reach for the camera. Moments when the conversation was too good, the meal too delicious, the company too entertaining or the wine too tempting to interrupt proceedings for the sake of another photograph.
There were new friendships, unexpected encounters, long walks, spectacular places, ridiculous moments and plenty of laughter. There were days when we were hot, tired and slightly bewildered about where we were supposed to be next, but somehow those days became part of the fun, too.
And perhaps that's the point.
A photograph can preserve a view, but it can't always capture the feeling of standing there. It can't record the laughter around the table, the friendships that formed along the way, the taste of that first cold drink after hours of sightseeing or the sheer delight of discovering somewhere wonderful when you weren't expecting to.
We may not have come home with the perfect photographic record of our Grand Tour, but we came home with something considerably better: the memories of being there.
So, 18 stops in 28 days. A few questionable photographs, a fair amount of perspiration, countless culinary discoveries, more than a few drinks, and friendships we hope will last well beyond the holiday.
Our reconnaissance mission was a success. We saw enough to know that Europe has barely begun to reveal itself to us, and we've already identified plenty of places that deserve a second visit — preferably with a little less heat, fewer crowds
