There was a lion right outside my hotel room. Well, to be more accurate, a Lion King.
The Lyceum theatre in Covent Garden, which has been home to the hugely successful Lion King musical for more than 15 years, was about 10 metres from my bedroom window. I peered down on the crowds as people started gathering for the evening’s performance, safe and unseen in my warm sanctuary…that is, until I realised that I was being spied on in turn, by people peeping out of their window at the very top of the theatre. It was time to stop people-watching, and retreat to the spa.
One Aldwych hotel is situated right on the corner which marks the beginning of of the Aldwych semi-circle which also houses the Australian and India High Commissions and Bush House, once home to the BBC World Service. As a Central London location it is hard to beat, with not just Theatreland on its doorstep but Covent Garden, the Strand, Holborn, the South Bank and Somerset House all just a few minutes walk away.
Swimming near a school of dolphins, walking on a recently-erupted volcano and diving to a wreck of a World War 2 Japanese fighter plane might seem like once-in-a-lifetime events but in Papua New Guinea, it is just an average morning.
I was spending 10 days travelling round Papua New Guinea, which is just 100 miles north of Queensland, Australia but 8,600 miles and halfway across the globe from the UK.
Having been previously colonised by Germany and Britain, and governed by Australia, Papua New Guinea became independent in 1975 and is now part of the Commonwealth – (driving is on the left, as in the UK and Australia) but it is also one of the most diverse and undiscovered places on the planet.
To get my bearings on my first ever trip to the island of Mallorca, a helicopter ride seemed like the perfect idea.
From my vantage point hundreds of feet in the air, I could see all the way from the mountains to the beaches, taking in sheer cliffs and sparkling bays and everything from vineyards and golf courses to swimming pools, marinas and millionaire’s mansions.
There was Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones’ house, round the next cliff was the £30 million Mallorcan castle where Princess Diana reportedly stayed and just below me…
‘That’s Magaluf,’ says Jonny, my pilot and guide for the morning. ‘Down there.’
I peer down past my feet to what looks like just a few streets running parallel to a beach, with high-rise hotels and a few swimming pools visible from the air.
‘That’s it?’ I said. ‘That’s what all the fuss is about?’
‘The thing about the Cayman Islands is that the best sights are underwater,’ said my taxi driver as he drove along the dusty road from the airport. ‘There’s just not a great deal above sea level.’
After a week in the Caribbean exploring the trio of Grand Cayman, Cayman Brac and Little Cayman islands which make up the Cayman Islands, I wasn’t sure I agreed with him.
While the Cayman Islands – the name comes from the word for crocodile, although they were originally named Las Tortugas by Christopher Columbus due to all the turtles he saw swimming there – lack the ‘bling’ factor of their Caribbean neighbours such as Barbados and St Lucia or the flamboyant night-life of Jamaica or Cuba, it is certainly not just a diving-only destination.
It’s just as well that an overnight stay at St Martin’s Lane hotel comes with complimentary membership of the gym next door.
By the time I finally checked out after what seemed like 24 hours of continuous eating, I would not have been at all surprised to find that I had doubled in size.
Dinner the night before had involved a pretty huge amount of food on its own, but added to a hefty breakfast and a frankly massive amount of food which I dutifully sampled as part of its signature ‘Cafecito‘ afternoon tea and I felt as I rolled down St Martin’s Lane towards Trafalgar Square that I wouldn’t need to eat again for at least a week or two.