The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
“So, Jacobi, tell me what I don’t know.”
I was taking the track slowly and keeping within a short distance of the cars behind me. The road was little more than a dirt track, and in places, there were almost un-navigable ruts. We would not have got a truck down this road.
He looked sideways at me. “You know as much as I do.”
“That’s not possible. I know nothing. You set this up. Tell me about the leader of this group. Is he the heard of his own militia group?”
“An area commander of a larger group spread out across the top of the Republic, bordering onto Sudan. They get their guns and other military hardware across that border. Where we’re going, it’s their main camp in this location.”
“How many men will be here?”
“Twenty, thirty. Sometimes they train new recruits.”
“Those militia back there, were they his people?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do, Jacobi. And I think if you want to come out of this alive, you might consider giving me all the facts. If they were his men, there could be ramifications if they don’t report back, especially if he was expecting to add to his payday.”
“Even if they were, there’s no communication lines out here. They would have to report back to the camp first. And then there’s the possibility with all the money they were supposed to collect, there might be a detour. It’s why I think they asked for 10,000 rather than the 5,000. The commander was going to take a cut. Loyalty only goes so far in these places.”
“No likely surprises?”
“None that I’m aware of. You killed them all anyway. Dead men do not get up, walk back to come and inform.”
No, they didn’t.
A mile to go I saw the rear car stop for a few seconds and Monroe and Stark get out and disappear into the bush. The chances were they could walk through the bush faster than we could drive on the track, and beat us there.
And, then, the checkpoint was in sight, a pair of empty petrol drums with a piece of wood across the road, each end resting on a drum. Behind the barrier were three men, one I presumed to be the commander, the other two, guns at the ready, his guard. Behind them was a clearing with several buildings and to one side several huts that might belong to some villagers. There were a truck and two Toyota tray utilities parked to one side.
All in all, I could see about ten men.
When I reached the barrier, I stopped but left the engine running. Just before we arrived, I gave the order to hide the hand weapons. It was risky going in unarmed, but the chances were they’d take the guns if we were wearing them. This way, if we needed them, there was a slight chance we might be able to retrieve them.
Both Jacobi and I got out. I left my door open. Jacobi closed his.
“Sergeant James, I presume.” Good English, beaming smile, friendly manner.
“I think I know how Dr. Livingston felt. I am he.”
A puzzled look for a moment, then the resumption of good nature. He didn’t understand the nuances of British history in Africa.
There was no handshake, none was expected. Jacobi stepped forward. “I assume the packages are here, and in good condition.”
“Of course. I assume that you have brought the exchange material.”
“We have. Now, if we can just park these cars, we can get on with the exchange.”
“In a hurry, Jacobi? Somewhere else to be?”
“Yes, as it happens. I’m a busy man, as you are aware.”
Politeness disappeared from his face as quickly as the sun sometimes went behind a cloud.
The commander looked over towards a hut just back from the road, one I hadn’t seen from the car because it was hidden by a grove of bushes. Two men came out.
“Move the barrier.”
As they did, he said to me, “Tell your men to get out of the vehicles and come slowly up the track. My men will bring the vehicles into the camp. Tell them also not to make any sudden or suspicious moves, or there will be trouble.”
A glance back showed another four of his men, also armed, appearing out of the bush towards the driver’s side of the cars.
I’d brought the radio and gave them the instructions the commander had given me.
Five minutes later we were standing outside one of the huts, the cars were parked neatly in a row, and each of us had been frisked as I thought we would. The four who acted as drivers were now our guards, not with weapons trained on us, but they could be very quickly.
The commander waited until the guards at the checkpoint had replaced the barrier, then came striding towards us. I could see he was counting heads and seemed perplexed by the time he reached us.
The Unbreakable Vow: How Accurate Must Non-Fiction Really Be?
The Ethical Tightrope Walk of the Storyteller
In an age where information is constantly challenged and fact-checking seems like a lost art, the role of the non-fiction writer has never been more vital—or more scrutinised. When a reader picks up a memoir, a history book, or a piece of investigative journalism, they enter into a sacred contract with the author.
That contract is simple: This is the truth.
But how absolute is that requirement? Writing, after all, is an art form, not a police report. Where does artistic license end, and fabrication begin? And what happens when a writer breaks the cardinal vow of non-fiction?
1. The Currency of Trust: Defining Accuracy
Non-fiction is built on trust. Unlike the novelist, whose power lies in invention, the non-fiction writer’s power rests entirely on verifiability.
The Standard is Rigour
For true accuracy, a writer must adhere to several key principles:
Verifiability: All key facts, dates, events, and quotes must be traceable to reliable sources (documents, interviews, established historical record).
Contextual Honesty: Presenting a fact accurately is not enough; it must be presented within its proper context. Omitting crucial context can turn a truth into a lie of implication.
Due Diligence: The writer has an ethical obligation to actively seek out and include information that might contradict their central thesis, rather than cherry-picking facts that bolster their argument.
The Grey Area: When Narrative Needs Taming
The truth is often messy, disorganised, and tedious. To shape a compelling narrative, even the most rigorous writer must perform certain operations that skirt the edges of pure objectivity:
Composite Characters: Combining minor, unnamed figures into one character for the sake of narrative flow (e.g., “a nurse” who represents three different nurses the author spoke to). Ethical Boundary: This is acceptable only if the composite character does not perform actions that never happened or fundamentally alter the setting or plot.
Dialogue Recreation: Human memory is imperfect. Few people remember the exact wording from conversations years ago. Writers often recreate dialogue based on notes, journals, or the known speaking style of the person. Ethical Boundary: The reconstructed dialogue must faithfully reflect the actual intent and meaning of the original exchange.
Compression of Time: Events that occurred over weeks may be described as happening over a day to maintain momentum. Ethical Boundary: This cannot mislead the reader about cause and effect.
In essence, the rule for navigating the gray area is this: You can compress, simplify, or rephrase, but you cannot introduce invention. If the event, the essential characters, or the core outcome did not happen or exist, you have crossed into fiction.
2. The Cardinal Sin: Fabrication and Lying
Fabricating material in non-fiction is not merely a mistake; it is an act of fraud.
A writer lies when they invent interviews, invent sources, invent data, or fundamentally alter the outcome of a factual event simply to make the story “better.”
The motivation for lying is almost always narrative convenience—the truth wasn’t exciting enough, complete enough, or emotionally satisfying. This choice, driven by desperation or arrogance, guarantees catastrophic consequences.
3. The Scorched-Earth Consequences of Lying
The consequences for writers who fabricate or lie about non-fiction material are swift, catastrophic, and often permanent. They touch every aspect of the writer’s professional and personal life.
A. Reputational Death
For a non-fiction writer, reputation is their lifeblood. Once fabrication is discovered, the writer is professionally toxic.
Loss of Credibility: A single lie taints every word the writer has ever published and ever will publish. The reader instantly wonders, “If they lied about this date, did they lie about the entire premise?”
Ostracization: Publishers, editors, journalists, and academic institutions will severely limit or cease association with the writer. The writer is no longer a professional peer; they are a liability.
The Loss of the Subject: If the work was a biography or history, the writer loses the ability to access primary sources or interview subjects, as no one will risk having their story distorted again.
B. Financial and Legal Ruin
Fabrication often leads to substantial financial and legal actions:
Book Recalls and Returns: Publishers are often forced to recall and pulp thousands of copies, costing millions. Royalties are stopped immediately, and the author may be required to pay back advances (a “clawback”) based on breach of contract.
Lawsuits: If the fabricated material slanders or libels a real person, or invades privacy, the author and publisher face costly civil lawsuits. This is especially true in memoirs, where the writer has misrepresented the actions or character of family members or acquaintances.
C. The Death of the Work
When fabrication is exposed, the work itself ceases to be viewed as literature or history; it becomes a footnote in the history of literary scandal.
Academic institutions remove the book from reading lists.
Awards won by the book are often revoked.
The work, no matter how engaging the fictional elements were, loses its cultural permanence because its foundation is rotten.
The Example of Literary Hoaxes
History is littered with examples of celebrated non-fiction—particularly memoirs—that were revealed to be frauds. These incidents rarely end with the writer receiving a slap on the wrist. They often involve public confession, professional exile, and a permanent asterisk next to their name in literary history. The narrative satisfaction gained by lying is never worth the loss of an entire career.
The Ultimate Responsibility
The job of the non-fiction writer is the challenging, often frustrating, task of wrestling the truth into a readable shape. It means accepting that sometimes, the real story is incomplete, ambiguous, or less dramatic than we might wish.
The commitment to accuracy is not just an ethical preference; it is the scaffolding upon which the entire genre is built. When we pick up a pen or open a keyboard to write non-fiction, we make an unbreakable vow to the reader to stay true to the facts, not because it’s easy, but because the alternative is professional and sometimes personal extinction.
The truth may be messy, but in non-fiction, it is the only story that matters.
Beyond Red Square: 5 Unique Moscow Adventures on the Road Less Travelled
Moscow. The name alone conjures images of gilded domes, grand kremlins, and vast, historic squares. It’s a city of epic scale and monumental beauty, drawing millions to its iconic sights. But what if you’ve done the Red Square selfie, marvelled at St. Basil’s, and wandered the halls of the Kremlin? What if you crave a deeper, more authentic peek into the soul of this sprawling metropolis?
Fear not, intrepid traveller! Moscow is a city of endless layers, brimming with unexpected delights lurking just beyond the well-trodden tourist paths. If you’re ready to scratch beneath the gilded surface and uncover some truly unique experiences, here are five unforgettable adventures that promise a richer, more intimate understanding of Russia’s vibrant capital.
1. Step Back in Time at the Museum of Soviet Arcade Machines (Музей советских игровых автоматов)
Forget modern gaming consoles; this place is a nostalgic wonderland! Tucked away in a charming underground space, this museum is a playful pilgrimage to the Soviet era, featuring dozens of fully functional arcade machines from the 1970s and 80s. Think clunky joysticks, pixelated graphics, and wonderfully bizarre names like “Sea Battle,” “Safari,” and “Winter Hunt.”
Why it’s off the beaten path: While well-known among locals and a niche group of enthusiasts, it’s rarely on the itinerary of first-time visitors who stick to grander museums. It offers a unique cultural insight into Soviet-era leisure and technology.
What makes it special: Not only do you get to admire these relics, but your entry ticket often includes a handful of authentic 15-kopeck coins, allowing you to actually play the games! It’s a hands-on, interactive experience that’s both fun and surprisingly educational about a bygone era.
Pro-tip: Go with friends for some competitive fun. The staff are usually happy to explain the games and their history, even if your Russian is limited.
2. Wander the Fairytale Grounds of Tsaritsyno Museum-Reserve (Царицыно)
While Kolomenskoye often gets the nod for its royal history and wooden architecture, Tsaritsyno offers a completely different, equally stunning experience. This sprawling estate, once intended as Catherine the Great’s summer residence, features unique pseudo-Gothic palaces, picturesque ponds, and meticulously landscaped parks.
Why it’s off the beaten path: Located a bit further south of the city center, it requires a short metro journey, which deters many tourists. Its specific architectural style (a Russian take on Gothic Revival) is also a fascinating departure from the more common classical Russian styles.
What makes it special: The Grand Palace and the intricate bridges evoke a fantastical, almost theatrical atmosphere. The park itself is massive, perfect for a leisurely stroll, a boat ride on the ponds, or simply finding a quiet bench to soak in the beauty. Don’t miss the Singing Fountain, especially mesmerizing in the evenings (seasonal).
Pro-tip: Dedicate at least half a day. Wear comfortable shoes, as there’s a lot of ground to cover. Check their schedule for classical music concerts or light shows, which often take place in the warmer months.
3. Find Serenity at the Aptekarsky Ogorod (Botanical Garden of Moscow State University – “The Pharmacy Garden”)
Amidst Moscow’s urban hustle, this historical botanical garden is a true hidden oasis of calm. Founded by Peter the Great in 1706 as a garden for medicinal plants (hence “pharmacy garden”), it’s Moscow’s oldest botanical garden and a living museum of flora.
Why it’s off the beaten path: Despite its central location near Prospekt Mira, it’s a quiet retreat often overlooked by tourists rushing between major landmarks. It’s more of a local favourite for a peaceful escape.
What makes it special: Each season brings new beauty, from vibrant spring blooms and lush summer greenery to fiery autumn colours and serene winter landscapes. It features various themed sections, including extensive greenhouses with tropical plants, a vast collection of conifers, and charming ponds. It also hosts open-air exhibitions, concerts, and offers a lovely on-site cafe.
Pro-tip: Ideal for a relaxed afternoon. If you’re visiting in spring or early summer, you’ll be treated to an explosion of colours and fragrances. It’s perfect for photography enthusiasts seeking natural beauty away from the crowds.
4. Savor Global Flavors at Danilovsky Market (Даниловский рынок)
Forget the sterile supermarkets; Danilovsky Market is a gastronomic marvel and a vibrant hub of local life. Housed in a striking circular building with a domed roof, this renovated market seamlessly blends traditional Russian produce stalls with trendy international food vendors.
Why it’s off the beaten path: While gaining popularity, it’s still primarily a local hotspot rather than a primary tourist destination. It offers a more authentic taste of Moscow’s burgeoning food scene than many city-centre restaurants.
What makes it special: This isn’t just a place to buy groceries; it’s a culinary adventure. You can sample Georgian khachapuri, Vietnamese pho, Israeli falafel, Dagestani delicacies, and of course, classic Russian pelmeni and blini – all under one roof. The atmosphere is buzzing, friendly, and incredibly diverse.
Pro-tip: Go hungry! It’s an excellent spot for lunch or an early dinner, allowing you to graze from different stalls. It’s also a great place to pick up unique local treats and spices as souvenirs.
5. Explore the Ancient Streets of Zamoskvorechye (Замоскворечье)
Step across the Moscow River from the Kremlin, and you enter a different era. Zamoskvorechye (literally “beyond the Moskva River”) is one of Moscow’s oldest and most charming districts, known for its quiet, winding streets, traditional merchant houses, and numerous historic churches.
Why it’s off the beaten path: While home to the Tretyakov Gallery (a major draw), the neighbourhood itself is often overlooked by tourists who rush straight to the gallery and then leave. Exploring its backstreets offers a glimpse into a quieter, more preserved Moscow.
What makes it special: You’ll discover hidden courtyards, beautiful onion-domed churches (like the Church of St. Clement, Papa, a stunning example of Baroque architecture), and charming wooden houses nestled between more stately mansions. It feels like stepping into a 19th-century novel, with a tangible sense of history around every corner.
Pro-tip: Put away your map and simply wander. Get lost in its labyrinthine alleys. Pop into a small local café for a coffee. This district is best explored on foot, allowing you to soak in its unique atmosphere at your own pace.
Moscow is a city that constantly reinvents itself, yet always cherishes its past. By venturing beyond the well-worn tourist trails, you’ll discover a more nuanced, intimate, and often surprising side of this magnificent capital. So, pack your adventurous spirit, a sense of curiosity, and get ready to uncover Moscow’s hidden gems!
What hidden gems have you uncovered in Moscow? Share your discoveries in the comments below!
There’s nothing more certain than a favourite website you go to and use often, sooner or later starts charging a subscription ‘fee’. I guess nothing in this life is free, they have to raise advertising to make it so, but…
The alternatives that charge do not give you the facilities you need unless you pay an exorbitant monthly or yearly charge. And, if you accept the minimum charge, you get nothing other than a visual display of your books, and that’s about it.
And what author starting out can afford the $200 a month for the premium site to get all the bells and whistles, which coincidentally is the stuff the author needs just to sell.
Anyway…
I remember when the NANOWRIMO site had been updated, and the changes looked good. At that moment the site was free, but you do get a lot of emails and requests to purchase products, which I think is a reasonable way to raise money for keeping the site free.
But, how long is this going to last before a ‘fee’ is introduced, and then a ‘fee’ to enter your book?
It’s the airline principle, it was a flat charge for the ticket, now you pay for this tax, that tax, fuel tax, baggage tax, tax on the tax, and then if that’s not enough, a charge for the food and water. Soon it will be a charge for toilets, and then the air you breathe.
It’s inevitable, and once these charges start they don’t stop and only get higher with each passing year.
A lot of the sites I use are free. Some have since started to charge and have put up a firewall to stop you from getting any free information.
I’m not a rich author, so sadly I have to discontinue using these sites.
Perhaps the problem is that the owner of the site has come up with a good idea, thousands of people sign up, and suddenly a small website becomes a big one, and hosting costs suddenly go through the roof.
Like airlines, it’s the user that pays.
Often I see or get an email from, various people with what looks to be a useful site. Some start out by giving you a month free to have a look and use the facilities. In some cases they are quite good, in others, well, there are a dozen others like it that are still free.
But, after a month, you have to pay. What gets me with some of them, they are asking somewhere between 50 and 200 US dollars a month, you heard that right, a month, which you can basically double that for me after the exchange rate and a dozen bank fees.
Sometimes there are different levels, but basically, if you look at the fine print, the lowest level set, which gives you very little, is set low deliberately. Say it’s 10 dollars a month. It’s no different to the free version except they probably don’t have annoying ads and advertise, what for many, is non-existent 24/7 help (via an email, no guarantee they look at it more than once a week, if at all). Money for jam for the site owner, as the saying goes.
Why can’t there be a more reasonable option?
But I get it. Everyone wants to get rich quick, it’s an objective that’s built into all of us, but it seems I missed the inoculation given the day after you’re born.
I also get it that these people worked hard on coming up with the websites and facilities, and they deserve a reward for that hard work, but to me it would make more sense if they sold the service for 10 dollars or even 20 dollars a month if the systems were available and they worked. And flowing from that wouldn’t 20,000 sales at 20 dollars, be better than 2000 at a 100 dollars?
The same seems to go for the so-called decent website hosts, like WordPress, Wix and GoDaddy. The free option is good but just for show and tell, but I’m sure they deliberately nobble it so it’s slow and kludgy just the sort of attributes that turn potential visitors off.
I thought if I paid a monthly charge for Wix, and reading the inclusions for what my site could do over the free one was very persuasive, so I signed up. The site was no better than it was before and half the options that were on the list weren’t available, and still aren’t. But I suspect if I paid them 100 plus dollars a month or more for their premium package I’d get it.
But, to pay for it I would have to be selling a million books a month, and I doubt, no matter how good my web site is, it wouldn’t attract that kind of business.
Not one of the basic packages, read affordable for me, has the ability to allow downloads after sales. You can’t even have a sales page where you can actually sell books to people like you were a bookshop. That’s in all of the premium packages, so they say, and that costs far too much.
GoDaddy was by far the worst, telling me if I signed up for the 60-dollar-a-month package I could have sales and downloads. I tried to add it to the web page, which I might add was as difficult to create as all hell, and when it didn’t work, rang up to ask why I couldn’t have downloading after sales and was met with silence.
No, that’s not available at the moment, I was told, and not likely in the future. What am I paying all this money for? I don’t have a GoDaddy site any more. I had a Wix site that I paid for, and I don’t have that any more. They don’t offer anything useful, and they too, make it virtually impossible to create a useful site, so it sits out there in the ether with disappointment written all over it.
Perhaps others have had better luck, or things have changed in the last few years but I won’t be going back.
Maybe one day someone might understand the needs of the majority who can afford to pay exorbitant monthly charges but just not as much as we are expected to, for very little in return.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Beyond the Limoncello & Lira: 5 Unforgettable Adventures on Sorrento’s Road Less Travelled
Sorrento. Just the name conjures images of sun-drenched cliffs, fragrant lemon groves, and the sparkling azure waters of the Bay of Naples. It’s a town of undeniable charm, a perfect blend of natural beauty and vibrant Italian life, and a beloved gateway to the Amalfi Coast and Pompeii.
But what if you’ve already strolled through Piazza Tasso, admired the views from Villa Comunale, and perhaps even sampled a limoncello (or three)? What if you yearn for experiences that delve a little deeper, moving beyond the main tourist thoroughfare to uncover the authentic soul of Sorrento?
You’re in luck! While Sorrento certainly holds its own as a popular destination, there’s a wealth of hidden gems and less-trodden paths waiting to be discovered. So, dust off your sense of adventure, because we’re about to explore five unforgettable things to do in Sorrento that go a little something like this: “the road less travelled.”
1. Dive into Local Cuisine with an Authentic Cooking Class (Beyond the Tourist Trap)
Sure, you can eat incredible food everywhere in Sorrento, but why not learn to make it? While many hotels offer classes, seek out a more intimate, local experience. Look for classes held in a family home, a small agriturismo on the outskirts, or even a local nonna (grandmother) offering private lessons.
Why it’s “road less traveled”: This isn’t just about cooking; it’s about cultural immersion. You’ll learn family secrets, understand local ingredients (perhaps even picking them from a garden), and participate in a timeless Italian ritual. Often, these experiences involve a market visit, too, truly connecting you to the source of your meal. Imagine kneading pasta dough by hand, concocting a perfectly balanced tiramisu, or mastering gnocchi with a view of the Bay – now that’s a souvenir!
Tip: Ask your B&B host for recommendations for private classes or small, family-run operations. Websites like Airbnb Experiences can also be a good starting point for finding unique local hosts.
2. Discover the Hidden Gem of Marina di Puolo
While Marina Grande and Marina Piccola are bustling hubs, venture slightly west along the coast, and you’ll stumble upon the charming, much quieter fishing village of Marina di Puolo. It feels like stepping back in time.
Why it’s “the road less travelled”: This isn’t a place most bus tours stop. It’s a genuine working fishing village with a small, pebbly beach, crystal-clear water perfect for a swim, and a handful of delightful, unpretentious seafood trattorias right on the shore. Here, you’ll find locals enjoying their afternoon, children playing, and the freshest catch imaginable gracing your plate. The vibe is relaxed, authentic, and utterly charming.
Tip: You can reach Marina di Puolo by a pleasant walk from Sorrento (about 30-40 minutes), or a short, scenic bus ride. Stay for sunset – it’s magical as the lights twinkle across the water.
3. Hike to the Pristine Bay of Ieranto (Punta Campanella Nature Reserve)
For nature lovers and intrepid explorers, the hike to Ieranto Bay offers breathtaking rewards far from the crowds. Located at the very tip of the Sorrentine Peninsula, within the Punta Campanella Marine Protected Area, this stunning bay is accessible only by foot or kayak.
Why it’s “road less travelled”: It requires effort! The moderate 6km (round trip) trail starts from Nerano (a short bus ride from Sorrento) and descends through olive groves and Mediterranean scrub, offering panoramic views of Capri and the Faraglioni rocks. The destination is a secluded, pebbly beach with unbelievably clear turquoise waters, perfect for swimming and snorkelling. It’s a veritable sanctuary, managed by the FAI (Italian National Trust).
Tip: Wear sturdy shoes, bring plenty of water, and pack a picnic. There are no facilities once you reach the bay. Check the FAI website for opening times and any potential entry requirements (though usually free). The views alone are worth every step!
4. Explore the Authentic Hilltop Village of Sant’Agata sui Due Golfi
Escape the coastal hustle and bustle by heading inland to Sant’Agata sui Due Golfi, a charming village perched high on the hills of the Sorrentine Peninsula. Its name, “on the two gulfs,” perfectly describes its unique selling point: incredible panoramic views of both the Bay of Naples (with Vesuvius) and the Bay of Salerno (with the Amalfi Coast).
Why it’s “road less travelled”: Many tourists zoom past Sant’Agata on their way to more famous destinations. But taking the time to explore its quiet streets, browse local shops, and enjoy a meal here offers a glimpse into authentic Sorrentine life away from the souvenir stands. It even boasts a couple of Michelin-starred restaurants if you’re looking for a special culinary splurge, alongside fantastic traditional trattorias.
Tip: A local SITA bus from Sorrento will get you there easily. Dedicate an afternoon to wander, enjoying an aperitivo in the piazza, and soaking in the incredible vistas. Don’t forget your camera!
5. Swim in the Natural Pool of Bagni della Regina Giovanna
While not entirely “secret,” many visitors simply snap a picture from above and move on. To truly experience the Magic of Bagni della Regina Giovanna (Queen Joanna’s Bath), you need to descend and take a dip!
Why it’s “the road less travelled”: It requires a bit of effort to reach the actual swimming spot, involving a walk down a rocky path. Most tourists stick to the top viewpoint. This dramatic natural archway, formed by the sea carving through the cliffs, encloses a hidden, emerald-green natural swimming pool. Overlooking it are the fascinating ruins of a Roman villa, believed to be where Queen Joanna II of Naples met her lovers.
Tip: Wear sturdy shoes for the walk down and water shoes for entering the water, as it can be rocky. It’s a fantastic spot for a refreshing swim and a picnic amidst ancient history and stunning nature. You can reach it by foot (about 30-40 minutes from Sorrento center) or by local bus to the Capo di Sorrento stop.
Sorrento is undeniably captivating, but by venturing off the well-trodden path, you unlock a deeper, richer experience. These “road less traveled” adventures offer not just sights, but genuine connections to the local culture, breathtaking natural beauty, and memories that will truly set your trip apart. So, next time you’re in this Italian paradise, dare to explore beyond the postcard – your Sorrento story will be richer, deeper, and uniquely yours.
Have you discovered a hidden gem in Sorrento? Share your tips in the comments below!
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
The Unbreakable Vow: How Accurate Must Non-Fiction Really Be?
The Ethical Tightrope Walk of the Storyteller
In an age where information is constantly challenged and fact-checking seems like a lost art, the role of the non-fiction writer has never been more vital—or more scrutinised. When a reader picks up a memoir, a history book, or a piece of investigative journalism, they enter into a sacred contract with the author.
That contract is simple: This is the truth.
But how absolute is that requirement? Writing, after all, is an art form, not a police report. Where does artistic license end, and fabrication begin? And what happens when a writer breaks the cardinal vow of non-fiction?
1. The Currency of Trust: Defining Accuracy
Non-fiction is built on trust. Unlike the novelist, whose power lies in invention, the non-fiction writer’s power rests entirely on verifiability.
The Standard is Rigour
For true accuracy, a writer must adhere to several key principles:
Verifiability: All key facts, dates, events, and quotes must be traceable to reliable sources (documents, interviews, established historical record).
Contextual Honesty: Presenting a fact accurately is not enough; it must be presented within its proper context. Omitting crucial context can turn a truth into a lie of implication.
Due Diligence: The writer has an ethical obligation to actively seek out and include information that might contradict their central thesis, rather than cherry-picking facts that bolster their argument.
The Grey Area: When Narrative Needs Taming
The truth is often messy, disorganised, and tedious. To shape a compelling narrative, even the most rigorous writer must perform certain operations that skirt the edges of pure objectivity:
Composite Characters: Combining minor, unnamed figures into one character for the sake of narrative flow (e.g., “a nurse” who represents three different nurses the author spoke to). Ethical Boundary: This is acceptable only if the composite character does not perform actions that never happened or fundamentally alter the setting or plot.
Dialogue Recreation: Human memory is imperfect. Few people remember the exact wording from conversations years ago. Writers often recreate dialogue based on notes, journals, or the known speaking style of the person. Ethical Boundary: The reconstructed dialogue must faithfully reflect the actual intent and meaning of the original exchange.
Compression of Time: Events that occurred over weeks may be described as happening over a day to maintain momentum. Ethical Boundary: This cannot mislead the reader about cause and effect.
In essence, the rule for navigating the gray area is this: You can compress, simplify, or rephrase, but you cannot introduce invention. If the event, the essential characters, or the core outcome did not happen or exist, you have crossed into fiction.
2. The Cardinal Sin: Fabrication and Lying
Fabricating material in non-fiction is not merely a mistake; it is an act of fraud.
A writer lies when they invent interviews, invent sources, invent data, or fundamentally alter the outcome of a factual event simply to make the story “better.”
The motivation for lying is almost always narrative convenience—the truth wasn’t exciting enough, complete enough, or emotionally satisfying. This choice, driven by desperation or arrogance, guarantees catastrophic consequences.
3. The Scorched-Earth Consequences of Lying
The consequences for writers who fabricate or lie about non-fiction material are swift, catastrophic, and often permanent. They touch every aspect of the writer’s professional and personal life.
A. Reputational Death
For a non-fiction writer, reputation is their lifeblood. Once fabrication is discovered, the writer is professionally toxic.
Loss of Credibility: A single lie taints every word the writer has ever published and ever will publish. The reader instantly wonders, “If they lied about this date, did they lie about the entire premise?”
Ostracization: Publishers, editors, journalists, and academic institutions will severely limit or cease association with the writer. The writer is no longer a professional peer; they are a liability.
The Loss of the Subject: If the work was a biography or history, the writer loses the ability to access primary sources or interview subjects, as no one will risk having their story distorted again.
B. Financial and Legal Ruin
Fabrication often leads to substantial financial and legal actions:
Book Recalls and Returns: Publishers are often forced to recall and pulp thousands of copies, costing millions. Royalties are stopped immediately, and the author may be required to pay back advances (a “clawback”) based on breach of contract.
Lawsuits: If the fabricated material slanders or libels a real person, or invades privacy, the author and publisher face costly civil lawsuits. This is especially true in memoirs, where the writer has misrepresented the actions or character of family members or acquaintances.
C. The Death of the Work
When fabrication is exposed, the work itself ceases to be viewed as literature or history; it becomes a footnote in the history of literary scandal.
Academic institutions remove the book from reading lists.
Awards won by the book are often revoked.
The work, no matter how engaging the fictional elements were, loses its cultural permanence because its foundation is rotten.
The Example of Literary Hoaxes
History is littered with examples of celebrated non-fiction—particularly memoirs—that were revealed to be frauds. These incidents rarely end with the writer receiving a slap on the wrist. They often involve public confession, professional exile, and a permanent asterisk next to their name in literary history. The narrative satisfaction gained by lying is never worth the loss of an entire career.
The Ultimate Responsibility
The job of the non-fiction writer is the challenging, often frustrating, task of wrestling the truth into a readable shape. It means accepting that sometimes, the real story is incomplete, ambiguous, or less dramatic than we might wish.
The commitment to accuracy is not just an ethical preference; it is the scaffolding upon which the entire genre is built. When we pick up a pen or open a keyboard to write non-fiction, we make an unbreakable vow to the reader to stay true to the facts, not because it’s easy, but because the alternative is professional and sometimes personal extinction.
The truth may be messy, but in non-fiction, it is the only story that matters.
Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?
…
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
The cover, at the moment, looks like this:
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
I was watching a TV program and the words ‘double standards’ kept being thrown about with little attention being paid to what it really means.
Like statistics, words can be used in any manner to support or debunk what someone else will call a fact.
Fact, of course, is another word that’s thrown around like a football.
But double standards, what does it really mean?
“a rule or principle which is unfairly applied in different ways to different people or groups”
Put simply, if you own a cat, and I hate cats, I’m likely to say to you I like cats because of who you are and what I might want from you.
It has far more reaching consequences in reality because some of us might profess they regard everyone as being equal ‘in the eyes of the Lord’ but have a very different private view.
Personally, I believe everyone should be treated equally. The problem is, a great many people around me do not, and it seems that I am slowly becoming a minority in my own country.
How do we rectify this?
I don’t think we can. Politicians are now running scared in their own constituencies because of the increasing multicultural population, and cannot be seen to favor one group or another.
Until lobby groups come into play, campaign funding to the politician is discussed, and very subtly, votes are bought.
Does your political representative work on the basis of double standards?
Maybe it’s time to find out before it’s too late, and you too will be living in shanty huts on a reservation.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 