What’s it like to get up close to a big hairy highland cow? Having seen them at agricultural shows I admit to being captivated by their appearance. However, I am wary of cows. So what was it like on a local farm visit to literally meet the coos?

I naively thought that the only way to see a highland cow was to go to Scotland but there are folds all over England, including Dorset. One farm local to me offers opportunities to meet the cows, and i couldn’t resist booking. But was it safe? Although I have grown up with cows on farms I am wary of them. They have a reputation for being the most dangerous animal on a farm and there are scores of reports of trampling. And having had groups of cows take an interest in me on a public footpath and creeping up behind me while picking blackberries (yes, that was a surprise), I was wary.

It was a cold and wet morning when I arrived and I wondered just how entertaining the experience would be. Wading through muddy paths I gathered with others in the barn. Wellington boots are essential for this experience. After a warming coffee, Cameron, the farmer, outlined safety aspects of the visit. Although highland cattle are really cuddly and photogenic, they have horns and can move fast. However, compared to other breeds, the highlands are more docile.

Cameron highlighted the issues with farming today. Six months previously a bale of hay cost £29 and as we stood in the barn, the price was £65. That increase is due to six months of no rain when Britain experienced one of its hottest summers on record.

The highland cow breed has a 1600 year old history with connections to Robert the Bruce. Unlike other breeds who belong in herds, the correct terminology for highland cattle is a fold. We walked through the field towards some of the cattle, learning about their remarkable insulation against cold weather. The tips of their horns, for example, are cool to touch, but feel closer to the head and they are remarkably warmer. And as they are self insulating with their magnificent coats, they have less fat than other breeds of cattle.

So, how did it feel to touch the cows? After years of avoiding cattle while hiking, I was somewhat sceptical. Then I turned around, and a curious calf had been following me, stumbling across the field on it’s tiny legs. How could I resist? The small creature looked like a teddy bear and was delightfully soft to touch. On a cold wintry day burying my hands into the fluffiness of the small cow felt like a snuggly blanket. I ran my hand along another cow’s horns and sure enough the temperature was different at the tip. Another cow appeared, this time with an enormous tongue that covered my jacket in slobber but did I complain? Not at all- it felt wonderful to be so close to these magnificent animals, and I was thankful my jacket was waterproof.

While Cameron and his family watched over us to ensure we were safe, the small group wandered among the cows, some even posing for selfies with amenable bovines. What was remarkable was the silence and contented murmuring as each of us got close to the cows, stroking them and taking to them, enjoying their company and learning about the breed. For a full 90 minutes we spent time touching the hair, horns, and looking into their doleful eyes. The cows knew where the food was though, and generally made a beeline for the off -roader full of treats.

Where did 90 minutes go? It seemed as though we had only just arrived when Cameron signalled out time was up and the barbecue was waiting. What was noticeable is that although the temperature was dropping fast, people didn’t want to leave the field as they enjoyed their encounter so much.

After warming up with a sausage sandwich and coffee I indulged in souvenir shopping- all highland coo themed of course. Cameron also sells beef from the fold. I have to say it was the leanest, most flavoursome meat I have tasted in a long time.

Has my view changed towards cattle? While I loved my visit with the highland cows, I will remain cautious of walking through fields of them and remain a respectful distance.

Need to know. The Highland Coo Experience is in Piddlehinton in Dorchester and booking is essential. It’s £30 a person and joining instructions are sent with the booking. Wellington boots are essential and I’d recommend long trousers as there are flies around the cattle. You need to dress for the weather.

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The minibus climbed through the mist as the relentless monsoon rains pelted down on the rubber and pineapple plantations of Kerala. The bus climbed further through the hills of the Western Ghats with just a grey view to see. Then suddenly we turned a corner and the rains and cloud cleared to reveal an emerald coloured hillside. The contrast was incredible and for a moment it felt as though I had stepped into another world.

The verdant green hills stretched for miles on each side, bisected by the road. Looking closer, each hill was meticulously shaped into terraces of tea bushes. At first is seemed they were empty but as I watched there were clusters of pickers hard at work harvesting tea leaves. Mainly women, they either used a box cutting device or picked by hand. Before 1960, tea pickers were less cared for by companies than today where the tea plantations operate as cooperatives, fund schools, health clinics, and provide housing. A tea worker has to have been employed for seven years before they get a house. It all looked like hard work- but appeared effortless to these ladies. Above, ever observant, was the supervisor, wearing Bermuda shorts- a tradition inherited from the British.

In the Kannan Devan Hills I visited a tea producer yo see how the operation worked. Learning about how tea had been introduced to India was fascinating, especially its success now. Arthur Wellesley first introduced tea to Kerala in 1790 and today it is one of the major producers. Wellesley is also famous as the Duke of Wellington and when offered tea his iconic words were: “Yes if you please.”

Today the plantation is owned by Tata and operates as a cooperative. The employees were passionate about their subject and there was a real sense of ownership and belonging.

The pungent smell of fermenting tea greeted me as I walked into the production plant where all the action to produce those all important leaves takes place. The CTC method of production is used- Cutting, tearing and curling, otherwise known as the process to turn a leaf into the black pellets used for a cup of tea. Leaves are dried, rolled and fed through a series of machines before being graded.

Now I’m not a big tea drinker but was curious to taste teas, especially those that are so freshly produced. I started with a white tea (not impressed by that or the Earl Grey). However, I loved the orange pekoe and a jasmine tea. Stronger or milky teas were not for me either.

Tea is such a popular drink- it’s fascinating to see how it is produced and ends up in a mug.

“Welcome to God’s Own Country,” they said as I arrived in Kochi. And they were right. I was there to focus on food and was not disappointed. Walking through Kochi there’s an abundance of smells from cardamom infusing the Jew Town area to salty brine in the fish markets. However the most memorable meal was a SADYA. It’s a bit like a Thali but the Sadya is served on a banana leaf and traditionally includes 24 small courses that are placed in specific places enabling the host to see who needs a refill. Each dish is prepared by hand and the emphasis is on slowing down and savouring the flavours. Even the cooks in a household will slow down while preparing a Sadya, thinking about and considering the guests. You’ll find sadya experiences in Kerala but some of the best ones are those where the local residents go to celebrate. I went to the Rasa Hotel in Thencodu, which was clean, simple, and popular with local people.

First of all, the banana leaf is laid before the guest. I wondered how 24 courses would fit on a leaf but thankfully for my waistline, the portions are small.

I watched as salt was served as the first dish, followed by an array of pickles and a chili for the brave. Each dish is positioned in a specific way so the waiter can see where a second helping might be needed. I watched as a spoonful of pineapple curry, fried aubergine with cumin, and beans flavoured with fennel started to fill the leaf plate. Everything was vegetarian and it struck me how adaptable and versatile the cooking actually was. I’m definitely planning to use more vegetables in cooking. There was an amazing earthy beetroot raita for example; something I’d never consider in a raita as I’m so accustomed to mint. When the rice was served I was told to make a hole in the middle so everything could be blended. Traditionally, a sadya is eaten with the right hand which was fun but messy- or you can use a spoon. I went for the messy way first and resorted to a spoon to make sure I had eaten everything and I mean every last crumb as it was so good. Dessert was a banana and a cardamom flavoured sweet.

As we ate there was a noticeable silence as each of us savoured every one of the flavours in turn. The bitterness of a lime pickle, the spiciness of a blend of vegetables, and the mildness of the pineapple curry. The warmth of ginger and the earthy beetroot taste followed by spicy coconut. I was also thinking about how I could use these flavours at home (definitely beans with fennel and the pineapple curry).

There is no waste, despite offers of seconds. The food was so good it was entirely devoured and is a meal I’ll always remember for its simplicity and variation. Even the banana leaves are not wasted but fed to the local cows. If I ate a 24 course tasting meal it would cost over £100 and more in London but here in Kerala it was £3.

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The Wall Jumper. East Side Gallery, Berlin

I’ll never forget the first time I saw the Berlin Wall. Cold and unforgiving, it stretched like a scar dividing West and East Berlin. Not only was it a reminder of the lack of freedom, but in a strange way, seeing it inspired me to travel. When I gazed across the River Spree to the Wall, I wondered what travel was like in other places and what I could learn from the experience—and so began a lifetime of journeys.

Then, in late 2024, just as Berlin was celebrating 35 years of the fall of the Berlin Wall, I revisited the city. Naturally, one of the highlights of any visit to Berlin is the East Side Gallery, where the last remaining lengthy stretch exists; today, it’s an outdoor art gallery. At 1316 meters long, it’s now the longest open-air art gallery in the world. The wall gallery is both symbolic of joy and a reminder of the importance of freedom. It took 118 artists from 21 countries to redesign the wall with art. However, today, the gallery is somewhat different from when paintings first appeared in 1990 after the Wall fell.

When visitors explore the long street filled with artistic designs, they head for the iconic artworks that are famous the world over. The Trabant crashing through a wall or the kiss between Eric Honecker and Leonid Brezhnev in 1979. While they are icons of the communist history here, most are unaware the iconic kiss artwork is actually titled: ‘’My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love.’’ Today, the kiss on the wall is seen as a sign of inclusivity in Berlin, but in 1979, a photo was taken of the two communist leaders greeting each other, and the painting emerged from that. Apparently, Brezhvev was fond of a three kiss greeting- One on each cheek and one on the lips, and very Soviet style. Painted by Dmitry Vrubel in 1990, it was covered in graffiti until it was removed in 2009. Vrubel repainted the image, and today, it is one of the most popular images of the East Side Gallery.

Another prominent image on the East Side Gallery are people moving through the breaks in the wall, squeezing through a gap. There’s also the dramatic image of the man jumping over the barbed wire covering the Berlin Wall. Some of these images bring back memories of the day I stood staring at the concrete behemoth dividing the city, silently watching to see if anyone would try to escape after reading stories of people who died trying. The Walljumper is by French artist Gabriel Heimer. I thought it referred to those brave people making their escape from East Germany. However, the meaning is more profound and symbolises the opportunity to unify- people living in harmony.

The Trabant crashing through the wall- my favourite. Easy Side Gallery

In 2009, the wall got a revamp, and artists were invited to retouch their paintings. Some changed the artwork as time had passed and they thought differently about a subject. I like the concept that art can change to move with time.

The East Side Gallery is a very moving place to wander, staring at the art and thinking about what each painting means. And, of course, dodging the Instagrammers and vloggers. However, I will always remember the solid grey bocks in a once divided city, and that will be the wall to me. Above all, the East Side Gallery is a reminder of the importance of freedom and how we can take nothing for granted.

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When you walk down a characterful street or historic neighbourhood, have you ever stopped to think about who lived there, say 100 years ago or even 80 years? Who were they? How has the neighbourhood changed? And why aren’t they there any longer?

I was walking through Berlin on a freezing cold night and I have to confess that my only thoughts were for a hot meal and a toilet. It was that cold! I was getting closer to my hotel with each step, but the chill made for a brisk walk. And it was then that I came across some small brass plaques on the pavement outside one of the buildings.

The Stolpersteine or stumbling stones are small brass markers like a cobblestone. They are meant to be found or stumbled upon by people like me thinking of something else entirely. The stones are designed to make you pause from your busy like and to think and reflect. Each stone has the name of a person who once lived there, but now they don’t. Every person on one of these stolpersteines wither escaped or was arrested, deported, and usually died in a concentration camp during World War Two. Perhaps they were Jewish, or gay, or some other undesirable person in Hitler’s mind. But once upon a time, they lived in the neighbourhood. They worked, had families, celebrated, and did the things most of us enjoy doing. That is, until they received a knock on the door or were arrested in the street during the Holocaust. Millions of people simply disappeared and entire families were eradicated.

I stood gazing at a cluster of stones representing the Frischmann family. When you see clusters of stolpersteine, it represents a family or even the entire apartment block, mustered on a raid. The Frischmanns were Jewish. Arnold Aron Frischmann and his wife Marie were born in 1873. They lived at Schützenstraße 31 in the Mitte district. In 1937, they escaped Germany to France with their daughter Anna, thinking it was a safer place to live. Sadly, on 10th February 1944, the Frischmanns were interned at Drancy before being sent to the death camp at Auschwitz. The entire family died in Auschwitz Concentation Camp. During the Second World War, the area around Schützenstraße was bombed into obliteration, so the actual apartment is no longer there. The stones represent a moment in time on that Berlin street.

How did the Stolpersteine Project Begin?

The stolpersteine project is actually an art programme that began in Germany but has spread to other European cities. German artist Gunter Demnig established the project in 1992 and quoted the Torah:

“A person is only forgotten when his or her name is forgotten.”

Most stones commemorate Jewish victims of the holocaust. However some are in memory of the Roma and other victims. The stolpersteine are 10 x 10 cm concrete blocks laid into the ground. A brass plaque is engraved with the names and fate of the people and covers the stone.

There are lots of stolpersteine in Berlin, including an online database where you can find out more about the people connected to the stones. There’s a European site too, where cities across Europe are listed. So far, across Europe there are over 1200 sites.

As a memorial, I found it extremely powerful, and it made me stop and reflect on the horrors that took place in the neighbourhood. I had just visited the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe near the Brandenburg Gate and spent time wandering through the stone blocks at dusk. Although I found it eerie and a sombre experience, the small stolpersteine were more powerful in the messages they conveyed.

After an encounter with the stolpersteine I was no longer cold and hungry. Instead, I felt deeply moved as I walked back through the Mitte district in Berlin. The concept of the stolpersteine is simple but brilliant and motivated me to look for more as I walked around the city.

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Stasi Museum, Berlin

Let me start by saying that I love Berlin. It’s a city with so much history and culture - and I like the people too. Even when speaking in my elementary German, the locals don’t fire back in English like some other nations. I found the local people very welcoming actually.

I returned to Berlin recently because I was curious about how it had changed over the years. I also wanted a break from meeting book deadlines, and Berlin gave me some time out. Somehow, on a short break, I packed in a lot of museums, which I’ll be sharing in this newsletter.

When I last visited Berlin, the Stasi Museum didn’t exist, but hidden in the suburb of Lichtenberg, the secret police headquarters most definitely did. Today's huge office block was positioned within housing estates in East Berlin, hidden in plain sight. However, it wasn’t that secluded, and people were definitely aware of its presence. For years, detailed surveillance had taken place on everyone- locals and visitors alike. Records were kept in filing cabinets throughout the building as the Stasi built up intelligence on potential dissidents. When the Berlin Wall fell, the Stasi began to destroy their records, realising that people would find them. However, the locals suspected this was happening and stormed the building, taking control and preventing further destruction of records that may prove useful in the future.

Today, the infamous Stasi building is a museum designed to inform and educate people on what life was like in a divided Germany. The entrance is designed to intimidate with huge doors and a large staircase, but according to my guide, much has been left as it was when the Stasi roamed the corridors. A fierce looking statue of Karl Marx is in the entrance hall but otherwise, the real insights are up the stairs and into the offices.

The third floor was where the heavy mob from the Stasi hung out. Today, the rooms are decked in sixties-style furnishings, large phones, and serious looking boardrooms. There were lots of phones. Erich Mielke, the head of the Stasi, used them to phone important people. However, what I found more intriguing was that Mielke was so exacting that he had a diagram of the precise arrangements for his breakfast. That’s not just an order but a direction of exactly where to place the eggs for example. The other interesting thing about the top floor was its status in seniority. There are no female bathrooms there, for example, because women were not permitted to work there. It’s one of those places where you also have to look at what you are not seeing as well as the displays about the Stasi.

Records of people kept by the Stasi, Stasi Museum

On the lower floors were exhibits about the grand surveillance that took place in East Germany. Cameras installed into wall spaces, suitcases, and car doors. I learned that workmen weren’t always the workman you thought. Instead they installed bugging devices in homes, offices, and even hotels. However what I found the most sinister was the filing cabinet arranged by street with a card for each inhabitant of interest. What must it have been like to live under surveillance like that?

I almost missed the ambulance on the ground floor. Only appearances can be deceptive. That was no ambulance but a prison van in disguise so it could take people away for questioning and no one would know any different.

And that’s when I had a moment of clarity. When I visited in 1980 and went through the checkpoints in East Germany and Berlin, the police took my details. So maybe somewhere in that sinister-looking building was a record of my details. I left feeling quite spooked by the experience.

Stasi Museum Berlin.https://www.stasimuseum.de/en/enindex.htm

Berlin Wall 35 Year Celebrations

This weekend, I returned to Berlin to witness the city celebrating 35 years since the infamous Wall fell. A strip of cobbles marks the place where the city was once divided into East and West, and the remaining wall blocks are an outdoor art gallery. Amongst the artworks, light show, and music, there was also time for reflection. The Berlin Wall has featured in my travels several times.

Berlin 1980

Unsurprisingly, I recognised little from my 1980 visit, apart from the huge TV tower that dominated the Berlin skyline. Much has changed in East Berlin—something I’ll expand on in a future post. It was so different from 1980, when, as a 16-year-old, I was on a German exchange, and the family took me to Berlin for the weekend. It was quite an adventure at the time. Then we got to the border.

A sullen faced officer with an enormous peaked hat strode across the checkpoint area and snatched the group of passports from the soldier’s hand. Instantly, he picked out mine with its distinctive navy blue cover and thumbed through the pages. I stared at his solemn face, wondering why a British passport had attracted his curiosity, and how he had managed to spot it from his office 100 metres away. He stood staring at it for a while, and all the time I felt a frisson of fear. After all, this was a hidden part of Europe, and I was about to cross the Iron Curtain.

“Get out of the car and come with me.”

I gasped. What did he want? I was travelling with my West German hosts but he didn’t seem at all interested with them. He only wanted me. It turned out he did not understand why I was with a group of West German people. I explained I was learning German, and he finally allowed me to pass, but it was terrifying at the time.

Drivers could only use one road and were not allowed to deviate or stop. The speed limit was 80km per hour; something West German drivers in their BMWs were not accustomed to on modern autobahns. Lurking in laybys and behind walls stood a phalanx of East German police with cameras and speed detectors, waiting to catch and fine any deviant Western drivers.

A covert code began to develop as we drove along the corridor to Berlin. Drivers spotting the East German police flashed a headlight to oncoming traffic, but only if there were no obvious local cars or lorries in sight. Local cars were easy to identify, distinguished by small engines and slow pace. The Trabant was the iconic East German car at the time. Our journey became a game of cat and mouse as the police looked for more fines, and drivers attempted to outwit them.

We amused ourselves by reading the huge posters decorating the highway and local towns. Garish displays had communist slogans with iconic Soviet signs: “Socialism brings Freedom.” “We are united with Russia.” The hammer and sickle were prominently on display, an in-your-face attitude toward the West. And so it went on.

Nobody smiled, and outside a shop was a really long queue which seemed to be for food. People looked downtrodden and appeared shabbily dressed. Small children waved at the Western cars, but there was otherwise no interaction as it was forbidden. There were further checks to get into West Berlin where we reached lights, colour and smiles. A tour of Berlin awaited.

At that time, Western tour guides could not travel to East Berlin. At the checkpoint we had to get out of the bus and line up. Everyone was given a number. I became A19. Once again I was separated from my host family and had to go through the checkpoint alone.
Meanwhile the bus was getting an inspection all of its own. Poles were forced into the fuel tank, checking for stowaways. Seats were prodded and panels tapped. Photography was strictly verboten. A Swedish man had a bible confiscated from his bag. It was carried away as if it was infected- such was the contempt for Christianity at that time. I watched an American sneak a photo of the guards and turned away, not wanting to be complicit in his actions. At the same time, I wanted to do the same but was too scared.

On the other side, a dour-faced woman named Helga was waiting. She was the tour guide for the East side of the city. We were ordered onto the bus and given a lecture about the mighty DDR before doing a drive past of the main sights including the Palace of the Republic and the TV Tower.

The Wall divided Berlin like a scar on the landscape. I walked as far as I could get to look at this menacing divide. People had been killed trying to escape from East Berlin and I looked out to see if anyone was there today. Guards were stationed along the perimeter fence where barbed wire ensured no one would traverse the divide. The River Spree flowed alongside the wall at this point. Elke, my German exchange pal, and I tried to conceptualize what it must be like for people living in East Berlin who could not cross to the other side but must have an idea that life was different. It was 1980, the Olympic Games were being held in Moscow, and we were just teenagers contemplating the Berlin Wall- and the lives of other teens. At the time, there was a rule that only those over 40 could have a permit to go to the West as they were no longer in their prime to work. Elke thought for a moment and said: “In 1988 those people who were born in East Berlin will be able to come here and see for themselves what the West is like. And then what will happen? Will the wall disappear?”

Budapest 1989

It was my last evening in Budapest. The night before my journey back to Vienna I had passed through the metro station at Vorosmarty Ter when a group of students got my attention. Tiny candles were placed on the stone floor while the students sat in silence. Something was going on. I went up to them and asked why they were doing this. One of the girls smiled and said in broken English: “We are protesting about Ceaucescu in Romania.”

“Who?”

A serious looking man looked up. “Tell her about this man. She must understand.”

“I’m sorry. I have never heard this name.”

The students smiled. “He is a really evil man who rules Romania. He starves his people. He killed people in a factory because they did not produce enough things. He must go.”

I thanked them for their time and they invited me on a protest march to the Romanian Embassy. Sadly, I had to decline but not before their leader caught me by the arm.

“The world is changing. This evil is being overthrown all over Europe. We must not stop until all these dictators are gone. Look at Germany”.

“Germany?”

“Yes, even there.”

What did he mean? I returned to my hotel and prepared for the train journey ahead.

The next day I sprinted down the platform in Budapest Keleti Station and only just caught the train to Vienna. It was crowded, but luckily, a seat was available in one of the carriages. An elderly lady peered at me from behind a book, staring at my rucksack. “Where are you from?” she asked in perfect English.

“I’m from England”

“Perfect! Just like Agatha Christie!”

“Agatha Christie?”

“Yes. This is the Orient Express. Didn’t you know? And you are our very own Agatha Christie. Have you read this book?” She smiled, and the other passengers nodded in appreciation. I had always thought the Orient Express was beyond my budget, but the standard class train makes that classic journey across Europe, and here I was, travelling on one of the most famous trains in the world to Vienna. Hoping my fellow passengers were not intent on murder, I settled into the long journey across the Hungarian plains.

As the Orient Express pulled out of the station, around 20 people poured down the corridor carrying bags, blankets, and what seemed their entire possessions.

“They are going to the West from Romania.” The elderly lady saw me looking. “More will come now, especially now the Berlin Wall has fallen.”

“The Berlin Wall?”

“Yes. Last night, it came down. People were protesting. Finally, it fell. This is a very exciting time, don’t you think?”

“That’s incredible. The whole of Europe is changing.”

The Orient Express sped through the countryside but the train seemed to carry hope for a new future. I thought back to the demonstration I had seen in the metro station. This was clearly precipitated by the protests in Berlin. That was why the protesters had said something about the whole of Europe changing. As I was travelling I hadn’t seen the TV or an English newspaper.

When I got to Vienna, soft snowflakes were falling, and the Christmas market had just opened. Treating myself to hot chocolate and a pastry I felt exhilarated to be travelling at such a momentous moment in time.

Berlin 2024

The Final Countdown blasted from loudspeakers on a chilly evening as people crowded around Gluhwein stalls at Checkpoint Charlie and the Brandenburg Gate. Flags flew from the Reichstag building and lights beames into the night sky. Tonight was a celebration for many, with people greeting each other and standing on the cobblestones, marking the path of the old wall. Videos showed the 1989 events, and there were artwork displays on the streets where the wall once stood. I felt privileged to be back in Berlin on such an auspicious day but equally delighted to have seen the Berlin Wall and to have travelled at a time when major events changed the world.