And I personally love them. In theory…

Particularly magnificent examples of cobble-stoned old towns can be found in the picturesque capitals of the Baltic countries. Tallinn particularly springs to mind, but that’s probably just because I’ve spent the most time in Estonia (not only is it very nice in itself, but also because it provides the cheapest gateway out of St. Petersburg – just catch a bus out of Russia, then get a cheap flight to Berlin or London. The train to Riga, Latvia is also an option, as is the bus to Tampere, Finland… for the record!)

I’ve spent hours wandering around on Tallinn’s cobblestones of a winter’s evening (just because it was a quite bearable -10° rather than a bitter Petersburgian -30°… that, and the fact that Tallinn has one of the best preserved medieval town centres in Europe).* But let’s look at the more practical applications of cobblestones – actually travelling on them, rather than just admiring from afar.

They are not at all suited for ladies footwear. This hasn’t been a problem for me thus far (sneakers and hiking boots aren’t particularly the mark of a “lady”), but I’ve heard this complaint voiced, so I thought I should share it. The problem with cobblestones (or perhaps just the cobblestones in my life) is when, I don’t know, the City of Paris ran out of bitumen, or perhaps they thought that Paris needed more of a quaint village atmosphere… but to have cobblestones on otherwise modern roads (argh!)… near to my house (I’m not in any historic hotspot)… which I cycle over daily.

What I need is a little suspension and a lotta air in my front tyre (druh-druh-druh-druh-druh, that’s my teeth still shaking in my head), because at the moment it’s like riding on corrugated iron!

* One of my flatmates in Russia was able to ascertain with amazing accuracy when the temperature was below -15°… if it felt like fingers were being forcibly shoved up your nose (as everything inside froze), then it was at least -15°.

An obvious side-effect of a Eurocentric education is an inkling to set forth across the continent, mapping out places where events from history books took place in Technicolor and not just in fine-print packed into paragraphs and henceforth crammed into young heads. This curiosity more often than not develops into the more serious condition of wanderlust, and then, as I’m lead to believe, into dromomania, a passion or uncontrollable impulse to wander or travel, a malady (or blessing) by which I’m seriously afflicted.

The first time I went alone to Europe was when I was 18. Having finished high school and saved my pocket money, I was determined to somehow stretch this meagre amount to last for a whole year without working. Thanks to numerous relatives, generous students willing to share their dormitories, Eurolines and Eastern Europe, this was possible. I was also lucky enough to have well-travelled parents, with well-travelled friends, who had sent their teenage sons and daughters to stay at my parents’ house, and thus the doors of Europe where open for me.

My favourite places in Europe – what I think of as the majestic golden triangle of Vienna, Budapest and Prague; countries of the former Yugoslavia, the Baltic states and Scandinavia, anywhere in Southern Europe blessed by an ocean, and most definitely anywhere with either a picturesque mountain range or a comprehensive recycling system or bicycles as a recognised and supported form of public transport. Have I covered it all yet?