Exploring Venice
Katharina Hahn, Senior sub-editor
When my dad suggested driving to Venice from Carinthia in Austria, where we were staying in a cute-but-modest pension by a lake, I barely waited for him to finish before I packed my things (including short denim dungarees – I was 15, and they were the best thing ever). Grazing cows, freezing morning swims and meadow walks, or seafood pasta in shady squares, glittering palazzi and gelato twice a day? I could not believe he was still hesitating. ‘But we would have to drive for hours,’ he countered, ‘the heat would be unbearable, the canals would stink at this time of year…’ I wasn’t listening. Years later, I would learn the language and travel up and down the country from Bolzano to Bari, but as a teenager I was already in love with everything Italian – food, culture, shoes – and would have walked to get there. I also knew I was in for a serious, academic tour – as a historian, my father was on a mission to educate me about the Doges and the Byzantine and Austrian empires, while my mind was on where to find earrings with tiny carnival masks.
We compromised: I would hear all about the Greek-cross-shaped 11th-century church on the isle of Torcello, but then we’d go for pizza; I’d take an interest in the origins of the Giudecca, but afterwards we’d head to that shoe shop where the labels said Venezia in golden letters. Many things we agreed on effortlessly: we both wanted to see the city spread out in miniature from the top of the Campanile, photograph each other on the Contarini del Bovolo spiral snail staircase and hop from vaporetto to traghetto to ferry to cover as much of the lagoon as possible. I remember sun-filled days walking up and down endless bridges and alleys, following my dad’s map; gesturing to waiters to communicate the idea of an Austrian Eiskaffee with milk and whipped cream, then staring at an espresso with two ice cubes in a glass; standing on the roof of St Mark’s Basilica and looking down at the competing orchestras of the two grand cafés… It was the first of many visits to Venice and the one that stays most in my memory.
Fishing in Scotland
Keiran Coyne, new business manager
Dad is old-school. He knows what he likes and he likes what he knows, so getting him to try something new can be quite a task. A few years ago I was lucky enough to stay at the sumptuous Maitland apartment at Thirlestane Castle in Lauder, near the Scottish Borders. The castle is a stone’s throw from one of the world’s great salmon rivers, the Tweed, and dad, a lifelong fisherman, jumped at the chance to cast a fly on these renowned waters.
Thirlestane itself is the seat of the Earls of Lauder and is still home to the Maitland family, a Scottish dynasty stretching back to the times of James II and beyond. Its current incumbent, the gregarious Edward Maitland-Carew, was kind enough to give us a tour of the building explaining its astonishing history and also recommended some of the livelier local pubs for a proper father-and-son weekend. With sore heads we took a morning taxi to the river where our ghillie Brian, a mighty Scottish oak tree of a man, led us in search of some of the Tweed’s notoriously vast Atlantic salmon. I had lofty ambitions and I’m sure dad had been visualising us both hauling a monster from the glassy black water. We didn’t catch a thing. Not a bite. Not even the slightest hint of a nibble. But that’s not the point, is it?
Nostalgia in Kathmandu
Rick Jordan, Chief sub-editor
I grew up in the shadow of Nepal, without ever stepping foot in the Himalayas. My parents lived there from the mid-1960s; my father having been posted to Kathmandu for four years with the British Council. After a chance meeting with Ed Hillary at a cocktail party in 1968, he and my mother ended up trekking to the remote hillside schoolhouses that the mountaineer had founded as a thank you to the Sherpa people. It was a defining experience for my father, and he returned several times over the years. In 2010, I was finally able to travel to Kathmandu with my father. He was unwell, and it would be his last journey to Nepal, but we explored the city at a slow pace, staying in the atmospheric cloisters of Dwarika’s hotel, where musicians play in the evening. We tracked down the place where my parents had lived in the 1960s and were invited in for tea by the family living there. Throughout our trip, I experienced a peculiar feeling of familiarity with a place I was seeing for the first time, which deepened my understanding of why my father had fallen for the country all those years ago.
A classic California road trip
Issy von Simson, Deputy editor
My father took me, my brother, and my sister on the classic California road trip when we were teenagers. We started in LA, our eyes wide in Hollywood. We kicked off by staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where every cabana by the pool was taken up by businessmen barking orders into phones. We then set off up the Pacific Coast Highway towards San Francisco. As kids, we chose where to stop each night, resulting in a memorable mix of experiences from revolting pink motels to charming lodges. We saw seals, hit Universal Studios and Six Flags, and explored the beaches and shops, indulging in the American Dream.
Driving up the west coast of Ireland
Gráinne McBride, Deputy chief sub-editor
Ireland might seem like a small country, but the journey to my dad’s native Donegal took two days with four young children and a golden Labrador in tow. Our food adventures along the way left a lasting impression: chips at Old Ground Hotel in Ennis and 99s on the seafront in Salthill. By the time we reached my dad’s childhood home, he always greeted us with a smile, ensuring the journey was worthwhile.
Skiing in Chamonix
Tabitha Joyce, Online content editor
My mum has always hated skiing while my dad loves it. Chamonix is our favorite destination with its diverse ski areas to explore. It’s an excellent spot for long weekends, being just over an hour’s drive from Geneva. Chamonix offers myriad adventures; however, keeping up with my 60-something father is a constant challenge!
Eating out in Florence
Katharine Sohn, PA to the Editor in Chief
My father visited me in Florence during a business trip, coinciding with his birthday. It was a perfect weekend for indulging in pasta and gelato. The weather was less than ideal, but we appreciated the quiet streets devoid of tourists. Our favorite trattoria, where my parents had dined when they got married, welcomed us with the same warmth, capturing the essence of a cherished family bond.
A Train journey in India
Teddy Wolstenholme
Four decades ago, India captivated my father’s heart. On a recent trip, we arrived in Delhi, acclimatising to its vibrant culture. Our sleeper train journey to Varanasi was chaotic and uncomfortable; nevertheless, it marked the beginning of an unforgettable adventure in one of the world’s holiest cities. The experience was humbling and enriched my appreciation for our family heritage.
