Writing about writing a book – Research – 10

Background material used in researching the Vietnam war and various other aspects of that period

The psychological cost of the war

The Wounds That Wouldn’t Bleed: Ailments Ignored in the Vietnam War

The Vietnam War was a conflict unlike any other the United States had faced. It was a war fought without front lines, defined by relentless heat, suffocating humidity, and an enemy that could appear and vanish in an instant.

While the bravery of field medics (corpsmen and ‘Docs’) in saving lives under fire is unquestionable, the systemic priorities of triage—getting the wounded off the battlefield and stabilizing life-threatening injuries—meant that a massive spectrum of chronic issues, insidious tropical diseases, and rapidly developing psychological trauma were often minimized, misdiagnosed, or tragically ignored.

Here, we examine some of the most pervasive physical and psychological problems faced by soldiers in Vietnam that suffered from a profound lack of medical knowledge or understanding at the time.


1. The Invisible Enemy: Psychological Trauma and the Battle for the Mind

Perhaps the most significant failure of the medical system during the Vietnam era was the inability to properly recognize, diagnose, and treat the psychological toll of the conflict.

Battle Fatigue vs. Post-Traumatic Stress

When veterans returned from World War I, their trauma was called “shell shock.” By World War II, it was “combat fatigue.” In Vietnam, the terms were often minimized further, reducing severe psychological breakdown to simple “Malingering” or “Adjustment Reaction of Combat” (ARC).

The reality, which wouldn’t be formally recognized as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) until 1980, was that soldiers were enduring moral injury, existential fear, and chronic stress that profoundly altered their brains.

Why it was ignored:

  • Triage Priority: A bullet hole took precedence over a panic attack. Medics were trained to save life and limb, not treat anxiety or nightmares, which were often seen as a lack of fortitude rather than injury.
  • The Rapid Rotation: Soldiers served one-year tours. This quick deployment and extraction created a high-intensity, short-duration experience that left little time for psychological decompression. Soldiers were often back on the streets of the U.S. within 48 hours of leaving the jungle, carrying their trauma immediately into civilian life without systemic transition or monitoring.
  • Lack of Training: Psychological care was not integrated into frontline medical training. Soldiers complaining of severe depression, extreme paranoia, or panic attacks were often given mild sedatives and sent back to the line, perpetuating the cycle of trauma.

2. Jungle Rot, Immersion Foot, and Chronic Skin Ailments

The humid, perpetually wet environment of Southeast Asia was a breeding ground for infections that troops rarely, if ever, experienced in temperate climates. While many were treatable, they were often dismissed as minor annoyances until they became debilitating.

The Problem of Pervasive Fungi

Soldiers rarely wore dry clothes or dry boots. This led to a host of chronic dermatological nightmares:

  • Jungle Rot (Tropical Ulcers): Severe, deep fungal, and bacterial infections that often developed around minor scrapes or insect bites. These infections were intensely painful, slow to heal, and could leave deep, permanent scars. Because they were not immediately life-threatening, treatment was often limited to basic cleaning and topical creams, which struggled against the persistent humidity.
  • Immersion Foot (Trench Foot): Though more commonly associated with WWI, this condition was rampant. Prolonged exposure to wet conditions damaged nerves and blood vessels in the feet. If not addressed quickly, it could lead to permanent numbness, chronic pain, and in severe cases, the need for amputation.

Why it was ignored:

  • Normalization: Medics dealt with “wet foot” complaints constantly. The sheer volume of non-fatal skin issues meant that only the most severe cases were evacuated, forcing troops to fight on with chronic, festering wounds that impacted mobility and mental focus.
  • Medic Knowledge Gap: Tropical medicine was not a primary focus for most U.S. military doctors and medics, many of whom were trained for European or temperate environments. The tenacious nature of tropical pathogens was frequently underestimated.

3. The Crisis of Self-Medication and Substance Abuse

The stress, fear, and hopelessness experienced by many troops led to staggering rates of drug use, which peaked near the end of the conflict. This was not initially treated as a medical or psychological crisis, but primarily as a disciplinary problem.

The Opioid Epidemic in the Ranks

By the early 1970s, it was estimated that 10–15% of American troops in Vietnam were addicted to heroin, which was cheap, pure, and easily accessible. Marijuana and amphetamines (often called “speed” or “pep pills”) were also widely used to counteract fatigue, stress, or simply boredom.

Why it was ignored/mismanaged:

  • Punishment Over Treatment: The military initially approached substance abuse as a failure of discipline and a threat to combat readiness, leading to punitive measures (like dishonorable discharge) rather than therapeutic intervention. This discouraged soldiers from seeking help.
  • Lack of Resources: There were few dedicated military facilities or personnel focused exclusively on drug detoxification and addiction counseling within the war zone.
  • Systemic Blindness: The high command often struggled to acknowledge the extent of the problem, preferring to view it as a small behavioral issue rather than a massive systemic reaction to the trauma of a brutal and unpopular war.

4. Unrecognized Exposures: Lingering Toxins

While the full medical impact of exposure to chemical agents like Agent Orange did not become widely known until years after the war, troops were dealing with immediate, acute symptoms that were often misdiagnosed or dismissed.

Medics were not equipped to understand or treat the complex, long-term effects of dioxin exposure. Soldiers who developed severe skin rashes (chloracne), gastrointestinal distress, or chronic neurological symptoms were often treated symptomatically and sent back to duty, unaware of the devastating biological time bomb they were carrying.

The Cost of Ignorance

The failures in recognizing and treating these “invisible” ailments during the Vietnam War underscore a critical lesson for military medicine: the wound not bleeding is often the most dangerous.

The generation of veterans who returned home—many physically healed but mentally broken, struggling with chronic pain, addiction, or undiagnosed psychological scars—paid the steepest price for the medical system’s lack of knowledge, its focus on immediate trauma, and its reluctance to acknowledge the true, corrosive nature of a prolonged jungle war.

The legacy of Vietnam required the armed forces and the Veterans Administration to fundamentally alter their approach to mental health and chronic care, a painful evolution that continues today.

The 2am Rant: There are so many things I haven’t done

Does it really matter, you ask?

Perhaps not, but now seems to be an appropriate time, nearing the age of 72, to take stock.

We have achieved a lot in the last twenty or so years once the children have grown up and can look after themselves.

Unlike a lot of more modern couples who are travelling in their 20s and 30s and then having children, we chose to do it the other way around.

To me, it seemed easier to deal with teenagers when we were in our 40s rather than our 60s.  With the benefit of hindsight, I can truthfully say we were right.

We were older and wiser when we travelled and more aware of the dangers around us, sometimes overlooked or ignored by a youthful devil-may-care attitude.

But, in saying that ….

No, I don’t think I’ll be getting to see Mt Kilimanjaro, observing the wild animals in the Serengeti, climbing Mt Everest, or seeing the ancient pyramids.

But, if it is ever possible before I die, I still want to go to the Greek Islands, and, Santorini is at the top of my travel bucket list.

We’ve been to London.  We’ve been to Paris and Euro Disney.  We’ve been to Rome and seen the ancient ruins.  We’ve been to Vienna, Schönbrunn Palace, and, particularly for us, a visit to Swarovski crystal world, near Innsbruck, we’ve been to Salzburg, and been on the Sound of Music tour.

We’ve been to Florence and loved it, we’ve been to Venice and loved that too, and we’ve spent a few days in the heart of Tuscany, and want to go back for longer, much longer.

In fact, that’s the second item on the travel bucket list.

We’ve also been to Singapore and Hong Kong, at first out of necessity as an airline stopover, but then we went back to see the city and tourist, and non-tourist attractions.

I will not forget staying at the Hong Kong Conrad Hotel as a Diamond Hilton Honors member.  Oh, the memories.

We’ve also stayed on the French Riviera, in a timeshare apartment in Antibes where every morning when out back you had a view of the shimmering Mediterranean if the sun was out.

Nice, Cannes, Monte Carlo, the billionaire’s yachts in Antibes harbour, Monte Carlo, and ‘that’ casino, taking the same drive along the coast as Grace Kelly did in To Catch a Thief, and feeling like James Bond arriving for a new adventure, minus the half-million-dollar sports car.

But now, crashing back to earth with an extremely hard thump ….

Travel in the future is looking difficult for both of us, not only financially but from a health aspect.  We are both not as sprightly as we used to be.

Yet given the restraints and if it is at all possible, aside from the Greek Islands and Tuscany, the next items on the list are:

Germany, visiting both Berlin, from a Cold War aspect, the Brandenburg gate springs to mind, and Munich at the time of the Octoberfest.  As a beer drinker that is also high on my bucket list.

Scotland, more so since we’ve started watching Outlander, and besides being a beer drinker, I am also partial to a good Single Malt, the Whiskey Trail.

Ireland, because my wife’s previous name was Murphy and at some point, in the long distant past some relatives emigrated to Australia, and she would like to visit the country of her forebears.

But with the current state of the world, our health issues, and that all-important requisite money, or the lack of it, perhaps it’s time to visit other parts of our own country.

Perhaps it’s time to do a culinary trip, particularly down south.  It’s practical, achievable, and safe.

And it’s a big country.

Writing a book in 365 days – 319/320

Days 319 and 320

Writing exercise – using other words for hate, run, disappointed, joyful, and frightened

Hate is such a strong word, but then so are detest, abhor, and perhaps disgust.  The thing is, does everyone understand these other words?

I hated my parents, I hated my brothers, and I think at one particular time in my life, I hated the world.  I guess when everything you planned for just hot pulled out from under you, it’s easy to blame everything and everyone else.

At the time, there wasn’t another word strong enough.

So, when the world has taken you by the scruff of the neck and starts strangling the life out of you, what do you do?  You run.  Anywhere is better than where you are.

Isn’t it?

I’d it running though, or a strategic exit.  It depends on who you are.

Disappointed?  Hell, yeah!

To see a relationship that had been nurtured from the beginning of grade school to the end of high school, to have in place a plan for the rest of your life, and then in a few weeks before the Prom, and graduation, see it all thrown on the scrap heap because the new boy in town had swept the girl of your dreams off her feet, well that was devastation, and a dozen other ‘d’ words.  Disappointment didn’t even scratch the surface.

Stamping out all those years of joy, though, as I was reminded several times by well-meaning people, I wasn’t old enough time know what love, pain and the damn thing of life, it was better to get the love and loss thing over so that the next time, if there was a next time, I’d know what to do.

Wrong.

My next foray into a serious relationship lasted a few years but fell apart when she had an accident.  I wasn’t there at the time, but she had taken it upon herself to take on the hardest slope without telling me and got injured.

I went up with the rescue team, but it seemed the sight of me only made the accident far worse than it was: a broken leg, failing to take a tight turn, one I knew needed a little more practice than she had.

It didn’t matter that I was not judging or critical, only concerned for her.

She was taken by air ambulance to the hospital, and then I didn’t see her again.

I was starting to think that I was never meant to find the true meaning of joy, or being happy, or content, or just be comfortable in the company of that woman I was told was out there somewhere waiting for me.

Right.

I’d like to see that prophecy come true.

So, of course, the opposite of joy was despair, frightened that I was never going to find true love.

Just saying that out loud scares the hell out of me.

Frightened, scared, paralysed with fear, simply paralysed.

My job hadn’t found anyone suitable.  Dating girls at the office was a minefield, especially when it all goes south.  I’d seen it happen far too many times, with devastating results for both parties.

So …

What’s the story? My story, really, with a few embellishments.

It’s there in parts, a story I tried to write a few years back, but started pottering anew.

The disappointment, the girlfriend moving on, plans destroyed, and not being the son and an heir, having a father who expected more than a lesser son could give, forced him to reconsider his life.

Instead of going to a local college and being at home, he moved across the country to go to a better university, having attained the necessary GPA to do an undergraduate degree in Economics, and then an MBA.  Five and a half to six years.

Tried to come home one and got into a fight with the son and heir and left.

Perhaps others got to share his disappointment.

Another few years pass.  His sister asks him to come home to see a sick mother.  It’s Christmas.

He gets on the plane.

Had he finally decided to stop running?

It is time to put the hate aside and try to get along.

Can help stifle the disappointment.

Can he find the joy of living at home again?

What was it, in stepping on that plane, that brought back all the disappointment, all the pain, and no chance of ever bringing back that childhood that wasn’t all that bad until he hit middle school.

Christmas is the time for joy.

Will he find it again?

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the in-flight service.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Edinburgh

Beyond the Castle: Unearthing Edinburgh’s Hidden Gems (The Road Less Travelled)

Edinburgh. The name alone conjures images of its majestic castle, the Royal Mile’s bustling crowds, and Arthur’s Seat’s iconic silhouette. And while these are undoubtedly must-sees for any visitor, what if you’re craving a taste of the city that goes deeper, a little off the well-trodden tourist path? If you’ve already ticked off the big hitters or simply fancy an Edinburgh experience that feels more personal and unique, then buckle up. We’re venturing down the road less travelled to uncover five fantastic, alternative experiences in this captivating Scottish capital.

1. Dive into the Artistic Depths of the Dean Village

Forget the galleries packed shoulder-to-shoulder. For a truly enchanting artistic escape, head to Dean Village. This picturesque oasis, nestled on the Water of Leith, feels like stepping back in time. Once a thriving milling community, it’s now a bohemian enclave dotted with stunning Victorian architecture, charming bridges, and lush greenery.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While it’s a beautiful spot for a stroll, many visitors overlook it in favour of more central attractions.

What to do: Wander along the river, admire the intricate buildings of Well Court and the former mills, and soak in the tranquil atmosphere. Keep an eye out for resident artists working in their studios (some even have open days!). It’s a photographer’s paradise and a balm for the soul.

2. Uncover Literary Secrets at the Writer’s Museum

Edinburgh is a UNESCO City of Literature, and while the National Library is impressive, the Writers’ Museum offers a more intimate and characterful glimpse into the lives of Scotland’s literary giants. Housed in a beautiful 17th-century tenement building off the Royal Mile, this museum is dedicated to the lives and works of Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s tucked away on a side street, and its smaller scale means it’s often bypassed by those seeking grander institutions.

What to do: Explore the rooms filled with personal belongings, manuscripts, portraits, and furniture belonging to these iconic writers. You can almost feel their creative energy lingering in the air. It’s a deeply personal and inspiring experience for any book lover.

3. Explore the Fascinating Underbelly of the Real Mary King’s Close (Beyond the Main Entrance)

Okay, so “Real Mary King’s Close” is a popular attraction, but hear us out. Instead of booking a standard tour, seek out some of the specialist tours or historical reenactments that occasionally run. These often delve deeper into specific aspects of the Close’s history, focusing on social history, specific residents, or even ghost stories with more dramatic flair.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While the main tours are well-marketed, these niche offerings cater to a more dedicated historical interest and have limited availability.

What to do: Look for advertised events or inquire at local historical societies. These tours can offer a more immersive and less crowded experience, allowing you to truly connect with the stories of those who lived and died beneath the city.

4. Take a Tranquil Escape to the Hermitage of Braid Nature Reserve

Need a break from the urban buzz? The Hermitage of Braid Nature Reserve offers a surprisingly wild and peaceful escape within the city limits. This beautiful wooded glen, also along the Water of Leith, is a haven for wildlife and a perfect spot for a contemplative walk.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s further south from the city centre and less advertised than the more accessible parks.

What to do: Follow the winding paths through ancient woodlands, discover charming waterfalls, and enjoy the abundant birdlife. There’s a small, historic Hermitage building and a lovely walled garden to explore. It’s the ideal place to recharge your batteries and reconnect with nature.

5. Indulge Your Sweet Tooth (or Savoury Cravings) at the Stockbridge Market

While Edinburgh has plenty of great restaurants, for a truly local and vibrant food experience, head to the Stockbridge Market. Held every Sunday in the charming Stockbridge neighbourhood, this bustling market is a food lover’s paradise, showcasing a diverse array of local producers, artisanal bakers, and talented street food vendors.

Why it’s off the beaten path: It’s a local’s favourite and attracts a more discerning crowd than the typical tourist markets.

What to do: Sample delicious Scottish produce, from artisan cheeses and freshly baked bread to gourmet baked goods and international street food. Grab a coffee, enjoy the lively atmosphere, and perhaps pick up some unique souvenirs. It’s a fantastic way to experience the city’s culinary heart and support local businesses.

So, the next time you find yourself in Edinburgh, dare to stray from the familiar. These five hidden gems offer a different perspective, a chance to discover the soul of the city beyond the postcards. Happy exploring!

What are your favourite “off the beaten path” spots in Edinburgh? Share them in the comments below!

What I learned about writing – Even rainy days can be inspiring

It’s one of those grey, dark, wet mornings where you can inadvertently sleep in because the bedroom remains dark for an extra two hours.

That could be a problem if you have a day job, like most of us.

But, today is Friday, and it’s just what I need.  The news is telling us that six months worth of rain just fell in one hour.  That’s a lot of rain, but it isn’t going to break the drought.

But that’s not a topic that can make a story work.  I need something poetic, dramatic, or a catalyst.

Time to mull over the latest storyline, marshal my thoughts, write the prose in my head.

OK, that not working for me.

The rain is getting heavier, and is splashing outside; the steady waterfall of overflow from the gutters is taking away my concentration.

Rain, rain, go away …

I have two different visions.

A cold, grey day in London (is there any other sort of day?) waiting for a train, and seeing the woman of your dreams go past, standing in the doorway, and in that fraction of a second your eyes meet, a connection is made.

I suspect it has fuelled many a song such as ‘The Look of Love’.

The second is on a desolate section of coastline as for north as you can go in Scotland (yes, I am a glutton for punishment), and she is standing on the cliff top gazing out to sea, hair blowing in the wind.  Silent, strong, resolute.

Rain gone.

Notes hastily scribbled in a notebook for later reference.

Time to go out and check if the garden has derived any benefit at all.

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Lisbon

Lisbon Beyond the Postcard: 5 Things to Do When You’ve Already Mastered the Classics

You’ve done the pilgrimage. You’ve braved the crowds on Tram 28, queued for pastéis de nata in Belém, and navigated the steep, melancholic streets of Alfama. You’ve seen the sunset from a crowded miradouro, and you’ve felt the history radiating from the Jerónimos Monastery.

Congratulations. You’ve seen Lisbon.

But the true magic of the Portuguese capital doesn’t lie on the postcard; it thrives in the quiet corners, the industrial chic neighborhoods, and the views reserved only for those willing to wander a little further.

If you’re ready to move past the tourist checklist and dive into the real Lisboa, here are the next top five, road-less-travelled experiences waiting for you.


1. Get Lost in the Green Lungs: Parque Florestal de Monsanto

What it is: Lisbon’s massive, sprawling answer to Central Park, covering over 10 square kilometers of forest, trails, and panoramic views.

The moment tourists step off the plane, they head east toward the castle or south toward the river. They forget that the city is hugged by a surprisingly wild, untamed forest park to the west. Monsanto is where locals go to truly escape the urban bustle.

Forget the crowded views from São Jorge; Monsanto offers dozens of quiet, breathtaking overlooks. The ultimate gem here is the abandoned Panorâmico de Monsanto. Once a glamorous restaurant and viewing deck built in the 1960s, it now stands as a vast, graffiti-covered ruin.

While officially decommissioned, the views from this concrete shell are genuinely jaw-dropping, offering a 360-degree perspective of the entire city, the Tagus River, and the Atlantic beyond. It requires a bus or short taxi ride to reach, making it inconvenient enough to keep the crowds away.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It’s outside the central walking zone, requiring dedicated transport.
  • The Insider Tip: Go for sunrise or sunset. Bring good walking shoes and a tripod for unforgettable photos from the Panorâmico.

2. Sail Across the Tagus for Seafood Bliss at Cacilhas

What it is: A quick, inexpensive ferry ride across the Tagus River to the industrial-chic municipality of Almada, offering arguably the best views of the Lisbon skyline.

While the famous Vasco da Gama Bridge and the 25 de Abril Bridge dominate the skyline, taking a short trip on the iconic orange Cacilheiros ferry from Cais do Sodré is a true local experience. The destination, Cacilhas, feels a world away from the busy, boutique-lined streets of Chiado.

Instead of monuments, you find authentic, old-school Portugal. Head straight for Rua Cândido dos Reis, a street lined with incredible, reasonably priced seafood restaurants (marisqueiras). Dining here means indulging in freshly caught fish, grilled to perfection, and avoiding the tourist mark-up found in the city center.

Don’t miss the chance to walk a little further to the 110-meter-tall Cristo Rei statue. While Belem Tower is beautiful, viewing the city skyline with the entire Lisbon waterfront framed across the water is a perspective few tourists ever seek out.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: Tourists rarely leave the Lisbon side of the river unless heading to the main beaches.
  • The Insider Tip: Try the restaurant Ponto Final for stunning riverside dining right on the water (reservations essential) or Solar dos Nunes for a cozier, highly authentic experience.

3. Explore Tile-Soaked History at the Museu Nacional do Azulejo

What it is: The National Tile Museum, housed in the magnificent former Convent of Madre de Deus, dedicated entirely to the history and artistry of Portugal’s defining cultural expression: the azulejo (painted ceramic tile).

While every street corner in Lisbon is adorned with beautiful tiles, few visitors dedicate the time to understand the profound history behind this art form. The Azulejo Museum may not sound as instantly thrilling as a castle, but it is essential to understanding the city’s identity.

Located slightly off the beaten track in the eastern suburbs (near Santa Apolónia), the museum showcases five centuries of ceramic evolution, from Moorish influence to Baroque grandeur. The real highlight is the stunning Great View of Lisbon—a 23-meter-long panel of tiles dating from 1738, depicting the city’s skyline before the devastating earthquake of 1755.

Walking through the ornate church and the quiet cloisters of the convent offers a peaceful, meditative experience far removed from the crush of the central museums.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: Its location is slightly inconvenient, requiring a short taxi or specific bus route.
  • The Insider Tip: Take time to admire the stunning, gold-leaf-laden chapel inside the former convent—it rivals those in Belém.

4. Discover the Industrial Grit of Marvila (Lisbon’s Brooklyn)

What it is: A rapidly gentrifying, formerly industrial neighborhood east of the Parque das Nações, now home to warehouses converted into craft breweries, contemporary art spaces, and cutting-edge gastronomy.

If you’re looking for Lisbon’s hip, creative heartbeat—the neighborhood where young artists and entrepreneurs are truly setting up shop—it’s Marvila. It lacks the historic charm of Alfama but makes up for it with raw, industrial energy.

This is the perfect spot for the craft beer enthusiast. Marvila boasts a strip of excellent breweries operating out of converted warehouses, including Musa and Dois Corvos. Unlike the tourist taverns, these spots offer excellent local brews, complex menus, and a true sense of community.

Beyond the beer, Marvila is home to massive art galleries and unique cultural hubs that are constantly changing, reflecting a contemporary Lisbon that is dynamic and forward-looking.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It’s still transitioning and is primarily a local destination, far from the central tourist loop.
  • The Insider Tip: Visit on a weekend afternoon to enjoy the buzzing atmosphere at the breweries when they often have food trucks or live music.

5. Trade Sintra’s Fairytale Crowds for the Coastal Calm of Ericeira

What it is: A traditional fishing town located about 45 minutes north of Lisbon, designated as Europe’s only World Surfing Reserve.

Sintra is spectacular, but during peak season, it can feel more like an amusement park than a historical site. For a coastal day trip that delivers beauty, tradition, and relaxation, head to Ericeira.

While it’s internationally famous among surfers for its diverse reef and beach breaks, the town itself maintains an incredible, whitewashed village charm. Here, you’ll find narrow, winding streets, blue-and-white houses, and excellent local bakeries selling regional specialties (ouriços and tâmaras).

The atmosphere is noticeably slower and more authentic than that of the tourist hub of Cascais. Spend the day watching the surfers at Ribeira d’Ilhas, wander through the historic center, and enjoy a spectacular ocean-view meal featuring the freshest catch of the day.

  • Why it’s “Less Travelled”: It requires a dedicated bus journey (or car hire) and is often overlooked in favor of the more marketed Sintra or Cascais.
  • The Insider Tip: Have lunch at a traditional marisqueira near the fishing port to ensure the fish was caught that morning.

The Next Chapter of Your Lisbon Story

Lisbon is a city of layers. Once you peel back the vibrant, initial layer of historic landmarks and Fado-filled taverns, you discover a deeper, more rewarding experience.

These five spots are not just alternatives; they are invitations. They invite you to slow down, cross the river, explore the urban edge, and understand the real, living pulse of one of Europe’s most exciting capitals.


Have you explored any of these hidden Lisbon gems? Share your favourite road less travelled experience in the comments below!

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

© Charles Heath 2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 319/320

Days 319 and 320

Writing exercise – using other words for hate, run, disappointed, joyful, and frightened

Hate is such a strong word, but then so are detest, abhor, and perhaps disgust.  The thing is, does everyone understand these other words?

I hated my parents, I hated my brothers, and I think at one particular time in my life, I hated the world.  I guess when everything you planned for just hot pulled out from under you, it’s easy to blame everything and everyone else.

At the time, there wasn’t another word strong enough.

So, when the world has taken you by the scruff of the neck and starts strangling the life out of you, what do you do?  You run.  Anywhere is better than where you are.

Isn’t it?

I’d it running though, or a strategic exit.  It depends on who you are.

Disappointed?  Hell, yeah!

To see a relationship that had been nurtured from the beginning of grade school to the end of high school, to have in place a plan for the rest of your life, and then in a few weeks before the Prom, and graduation, see it all thrown on the scrap heap because the new boy in town had swept the girl of your dreams off her feet, well that was devastation, and a dozen other ‘d’ words.  Disappointment didn’t even scratch the surface.

Stamping out all those years of joy, though, as I was reminded several times by well-meaning people, I wasn’t old enough time know what love, pain and the damn thing of life; it was better to get the love and loss thing over so that the next time, if there was a next time, I’d know what to do.

Wrong.

My next foray into a serious relationship lasted a few years but fell apart when she had an accident.  I wasn’t there at the time, but she had taken it upon herself to take on the hardest slope without telling me and got injured.

I went up with the rescue team, but it seemed the sight of me only made the accident far worse than it was: a broken leg, failing to take a tight turn, one I knew needed a little more practice than she had.

It didn’t matter that I was not judging or critical, only concerned for her.

She was taken by air ambulance to the hospital, and then I didn’t see her again.

I was starting to think that I was never meant to find the true meaning of joy, or being happy, or content, or just be comfortable in the company of that woman I was told was out there somewhere waiting for me.

Right.

I’d like to see that prophecy come true.

So, of course, the opposite of joy was despair, frightened that I was never going to find true love.

Just saying that out loud scares the hell out of me.

Frightened, scared, paralysed with fear, simply paralysed.

My job hadn’t found anyone suitable.  Dating girls at the office was a minefield, especially when it all goes south.  I’d seen it happen far too many times, with devastating results for both parties.

So …

What’s the story?

It’s there in parts, a story I tried to write a few years back, but started pottering anew.

The disappointment, the girlfriend moving on, plans destroyed, and not being the son and an heir, having a father who expected more than a lesser son could give, forced him to reconsider his life.

Instead of going to a local college and being at home, he moved across the country to go to a better university, having attained the necessary GPA to do an undergraduate degree in Economics, and then an MBA.  Five and a half to six years.

Tried to come home one and got into a fight with the son and heir and left.

Perhaps others got to share his disappointment.

Another few years pass.  His sister asks him to come home to see a sick mother.  It’s Christmas.

He gets on the plane.

Had he finally decided to stop running?

It is time to put the hate aside and try to get along.

Can help stifle the disappointment.

Can he find the joy of living at home again?

What was it, in stepping on that plane, that brought back all the disappointment, all the pain, and no chance of ever bringing back that childhood that wasn’t all that bad until he hit middle school?

Christmas is the time for joy.

Will he find it again?

Sit back, relax, and enjoy the in-flight service.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

lovecoverfinal1