Amongst the myriad attractions to enjoy at the moment is no less than the Royal Barge, currently in situ alongside Richmond’s popular floating restaurant – aptly named ‘The Boat’. Currently undergoing an intensive fit-out to prepare it for a starring role in next month’s Diamond Jubilee pageant, it’s well worth a look.

(Karen Carpenter)

A recent blog by Travelblather on the subject, spurring a spree of comments, followed a worrying feature by Seth Stevenson on Wired.  He examined how increasing numbers of employers are considering Klout scores a key criteria, and revealed that certain leisure services will offer perks to customers whose high Klout scores indicate they might unknowingly return the favour online.  Travelllll.com splashed a similar story a while ago, too.  It’s happening, like it or not.  (article continues below…)

Stevenson’s feature concludes with him working to improve his own Klout figure, and coming to doubt whether a high score is something to be cherished after all.  Doubt’s not the word for Jeff Turner’s incredible piece on manipulating Klout’s (and PR firm Edelman’s alternative system’s) metric; by using faceless, personality-free bots, he is able to skyrocket his score, and prove once and for all that, for all the attributes Klout can analyse, quality is one it cannot.

And those are really the twin problems with Klout, and explain why we, at Travel PR, don’t hold the system in high regard, and don’t give ten tweets what our score is.  First, to borrow a phrase from Travelblather, it’s too gameable, too easily manipulated.  And second, it has no understanding of content.  If, for @Travel__PR on Twitter, I produced 12 tweets on hamburgers, the immediate effect on my Klout score would be no less than if I tweeted a dozen times about travel-industry trends.  One might argue that more of the latter, relevant tweets by me would better engage our followers and draw more response than talk of burgers.  But, judging by the subjects I see a lot of travel-writers and PRs discussing on Twitter daily – handbags, literary puns, the weather – I’d be dubious even then.

The lightbulb moment came when I saw that a rival travel PR firm, whose Twitter account is all spammy client news (“save £XXX on..”) and updates on internal birthday parties, had a Klout score vastly above ours.  Looking at their content, I thought, do I want to try and compete with this?  Do I want to tell the writers who follow us (for travel tidbits, comment, client news – not deals) about the Travel PR social at All Bar One, and the totally fabulous muffins that our totally fabulous intern Portia brought in this morning?  Probably not.

Nor would we ever use Klout to solely determine which bloggers and journalists we work with.  In terms of deciding on the merits of a blogger, Klout has some vague use in telling us how active they are across the social media board, but we’d never use it as the sole factor in our decision-making.  Instead we take the radical step of actually looking at and reading the blogs in question, and consider as many factors as possible – style of writing, unique-user figures, reader interaction, and lots more.  There’s no foolproof way to prove the excellence of a blog, but our method is certainly better than just robotically judging by Klout score.

So, just to be wholly clear, our official position on Klout is this: we consider it severely limited.  And we don’t care what our score* is. 

*typically in the 30-45 region.  We score much the same on Klouchebag, a fact I find oddly pleasing.

(Richard Mellor)

Morgan-Hewitt was in mid-flow, saying that George Goring hadn’t wished to employ him initially, when – with impeccable timing – George Goring himself swept into the restaurant.  Apparently he hadn’t originally much cared for Morgan-Hewitt’s style of attire, or so we gathered from the subsequent banter. 

George Goring Sr (left) of The Goring Hotel presents the award to Toby Ashworth, proprietor of The Nare

I thought that Mr Goring Sr was a little late for the delectable lunch (we had just finished our pudding of coffee ganache and cinnamon marshmallow), but in fact he was there to present the Pride of Britain Hotel of the Year 2012 award.  The Proprietor of The Nare, in Cornwall (‘the country house hotel by the sea’, right on Carne Beach on the Roseland Peninsula), Toby Ashworth, gladly accepted the award from him. 

Mr Goring Sr, obviously very much at home amongst the crush of top-notch hoteliers, pressed the flesh as a Presidential candidate might, including kind comments to those (among them we newly-appointed PR people) whom he hadn’t previously met. 

Congratulations to The Goring on hosting a most enjoyable meeting and lunch and to The Nare on its latest award – and thanks also to Moët & Chandon for the welcome rosé champagne, and to Louis Latour for some splendid wines. 

(Sue Ockwell)

A very recent trigger for me was a book: Jennifer Egan’s The Invisible Circus.  Having read and relished it, I’m now desperate to visit a small Italian village I’d never previously heard of.  How strange, and wonderful, is that?

Written in 1995, Egan’s debut novel tells the poignant story of Phoebe O’Connor.  The 18-year-old Phoebe’s life in San Francisco is dominated by memories of her enigmatic, flower-child sister, Faith, who died mysteriously eight years ago, aged 17.  Phoebe’s existence is dreamlike, her flitting awareness of the present giving deliberate way to recollections of a supposedly happier past, each nostalgic thought centred on the inspirational, more-beautiful sister she still misses so keenly. 

On something of a whim, Phoebe travels to Europe and slowly retraces Faith’s steps towards the eventual scene of her death, a coastal hamlet called Corniglia.  Faith died by falling from the village’s church to the rocks far below, in what was presumed a suicide.  Eventually, Phoebe, together with Faith’s boyfriend of the time, Wolf, reaches Corniglia in the book’s powerful, quixotic denouement, high above the glinting Mediterranean Sea, to try and understand what happened.

Playing detective is easy in the internetted modern world, and thus Google is able to teach me much about Corniglia.  I learn that it’s part of the Cinque Terre, the third of the scenic coastal stretch’s five ‘lands’.  The quintet are connected only by milk trains and a bumpy track (no roads) called the ‘Blue Path’; to reach Corniglia, visitors must either climb the lardarina, a steep, 33-flight, 382-step brick staircase, or walk a twisting road from the station. 

Unlike its four busier neighbours, sleepy Corniglia sits partly (climbing a 100m-high promontory; Phoebe describes it as ‘draped’ over the cliff) above the sea, surrounded by hillside vineyards.  With a population only of around 250, the village itself merely comprises twee lanes clustered around the Via Fieschi. 

The more I find out about Corniglia, the more enthused I become.  My Cinque Terre says that “part of the charm of Corniglia is that it isn’t as frequented by tourists as much as the other villages.  It is characterised by its winding, narrow roads and finely crafted terraces. It’s a little bit cooler in climate than the other towns, it has a few restaurants and always seems to have an abundance of rooms for rent.” How good does that sound?!

As Egan’s story reaches its crescendo, Phoebe and Wolf quickly make for the scene of Faith’s jump: the real-life parish of San Pietro.  Faith mysteriously plunged from a terrace at the back of the church, where land suddenly gives way to sea.  Online photos of this location seem scarce, but I think it’s the one seen in the below screengrab from American TV traveller Rick Steves’ video about Corniglia and the Cinque Terre.  I badly want to see this terrace, and Corniglia as a whole, for myself. (blog continues below…)

But why – why exactly?  In part, it’s simply because Corniglia sounds like a lovely place, and I like lovely places.  And because this is Italy, and I love Italy in general.  And because it’s a little obscure, and that suits my personality – I’m never too interested in too-classic tourist destinations. 

Yet it’s also, I think, because I absolutely adore this book and consequently crave a pilgrimage of sorts.  I was sad when I finished the novel, and had to move on; but visiting Corniglia would allow me not to move on, and instead to prolong the novel’s spell, to try and delve deeper into its story (just as, in fact, Phoebe tried to delve deeper into the facts of Faith’s demise by visiting Corniglia).  I’m not sure if that’s sad or not.

(Richard Mellor)

It hadn’t crossed my mind that there might be shops devoted entirely and solely to the sale of worry beads until, that is, I visited the pretty old seaside town of Nafplion at the beginning of April and came across just such a shop.  It had, according to the owner (luckily I had the trusty Yiannis, husband of Sunvil’s rep Jackie, from nearby Tolon, with me, who translated – and even kindly bought me my own set of worry beads), some 3,000 sets of worry beads on display in its many cabinets, plus a further 1,500 or so in boxes under the counter.

They ranged in price from modest to – well, thousands of pounds for the most expensive, and were available in a rainbow of colours and an amazing selection of materials.  Camel bone, anyone?  Or amber, perhaps?  There’s even a website – www.kombologadiko.gr – which gives the history of the komboloy (in English and in Greek).  These days, it seems, they are used to help one to relax, to reduce stress, to give up smoking, to reduce depression and to create joy.  And they are also used as jewellery by women, or as home or car decorations – quite the multi-purpose gift.

My worry beads are a beautiful deep blue colour, and they are indeed decorating my home; they will remind me of Nafplion and of a very pleasant morning strolling the streets of the old town before heading off to nearby Nemea, to learn about the fascinating Nemean Games, dating from 300 BC – the fifth in the series of modern-day Revived Games being scheduled for 23 June this year (see this previous blog).  I have since registered to run the 100m race (barefoot, as the rules demand) in the ancient stadium of Nemea.  Let the training begin – the worry beads will doubtless come in handy!

(Sue Ockwell)

Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Underworld, Beelzebub’s BFF, Old Nick; whatever you want to call him, the Devil’s one of Earth’s most long-standing property developers, only lagging a couple of thousand years behind God – the brains behind the ‘God’s Own Country’ brand (itself profiled in a previous Travel PR blog).

While picturesque parts of the world are regularly deemed to be deserving of the Almighty, his arch rival tends to have his name given to geographical quirks of the landscape. Not only do these features often stand out like a pimple on an otherwise beautiful phizog, but they are almost all freaks of nature which have left geologists stroking beards and racking craniums for years.  Refusing to be discouraged however, the Devil now boasts an impressive real-estate portfolio with boltholes on almost every continent…

As well as a frying pan in Cornwall (he’s also the inventor of numerous canapés: devils on horseback, devilled eggs and devilled ham, to name but a few), a punchbowl in Surrey and a mountain (or big hill) in Berlin, Old Nick also lends his moniker to the following weird-and-wonderful international landmarks:

The Devil’s Arse, Peak District National Park, UK: so-called because of the allegedly flatulent-sounding noises that used to emanate from deep inside this cavern. The name of this unholy place was officially changed to ‘Peak Cavern’ in 1880, so as not to offend Queen Victoria upon her visit to the region to attend a concert in the cavern (not to be confused with The Beatles’ first club in Liverpool). At 60ft high, 100ft wide and 340ft deep, the mouth of the cavern is the largest in Britain and offers spectacular acoustics for local events, including the Christmas celebrations which happen here throughout December each year.

The Devil’s Sinkhole, Texas, USA: an underground, well, sinkhole, south-east of Rocksprings in Texas’ Edwards County. The Devil’s Sinkhole (christened thus and discovered in 1876) has a 60ft-diameter opening which expands into a 310ft-deep underground chamber big enough to fit two jumbo jets. Understandably, the sinkhole has attracted climbers and ‘spelunkers’ (potholers) from across the world, as well as bat enthusiasts looking for undisturbed caves.

The Devil’s Chimney, Gloucestershire, UK: a limestone rock formation on the outskirts of Cheltenham, the Devil’s Chimney has baffled geologists for over a century by the way it seems to defy patterns of erosion. Several legends surround its incarnation, including a local tale that it was where the Devil used to sit and throw stones at Sunday churchgoers. One day his plan backfired, so the story goes, and the stones were propelled back, burying him under a tall stack of heavy rock. It is traditional for visitors to leave a coin for Old Nick, to keep him from coming above ground and causing mischief.  
NB: the Devil has another chimney in Australia – a 25m-high volcanic rock formation – which is a sacred place for the Aboriginal people of the New England Tablelands.

The Devil’s Swimming Pool, Zambia: a natural rock pool located at the very top of the Victoria Falls, where the waters of the Zambezi River plunge over 100m into the gorge below. Between September and December, travellers can safely swim to what appears to be the very edge of the Falls without tumbling over. The Devil’s Swimming Pool is a favourite with daredevils and photo-bloggers (as a quick Google search quickly proves).

The Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, USA: located in the Black Hills of Crook County, this imposing 1,200ft-high, flat-topped tower has been revered by Native Americans for centuries and officially protected by the US Government since 1906. Similar to the Devil’s Chimney (but on a significantly bigger scale), the Tower has confounded geologists for over a century – the simple question being “just how does a 1,200ft lump of igneous rock find itself in the middle of a sedimentary rock bed?” (I know!). One theory posits that the Tower is the remains of a prehistoric volcano, or some sort of volcanic plug. Alternatively, one Native American legend explains the rock’s being by saying that, once upon a time, a few girls hid atop a large rock to escape some bears. They prayed for the Great Spirit to save them, at which point the rock raised towards the sky. Considering how hard this rock is to climb – even with ropes – this story doesn’t fully explain if this solution was actually helpful in the end…

The Devil’s Town, Kuršumlija, Serbia: Why have one tower when you can have a whole demonic municipality? Đavolja Varoš or the ‘Devil’s Town’ – a UNESCO World Heritage Site – features 202 towers (also known as earth pyramids and hoodoos) clustered together on the side of Radan Mountain, near Kuršumlija. Located beneath these bizarre formations is a natural spring with high mineral content, one where the Devil supposedly peddles his acidic ‘Devil’s Water’, at a pleasant pH 1.5 (that’s a little milder than sulphuric acid).

(Anthony Sebastian)

When did you last have the opportunity to run the 100m in one of the original Greek stadia dating back to 300 BC, your name being announced as you emerge, blinking and barefoot, from the dark of an ancient tunnel into the bright sunshine of the stadium, having just changed into a white tunic in the first ancient locker room ever unearthed by archaeologists? 

I thought not – me neither!  But our chance to do so is on 23 June 2012, when the fifth Nemean Games (held every four years) will be held in Nemea, in the Southern Peloponnese area of Greece.  See www.nemeangames.org to register (you need to do so by 15 May latest).  It’s free, and you’ll enjoy not only an amazing experience, in racing just as runners from antiquity did*, but will also enjoy a village feast in honour of the Games afterwards, with acclaimed Nemean wineries providing local tipples of excellent quality to accompany the feast.

(*With two key differentials – runners can now wear a tunic, whereas the Ancient Greeks ran naked, having anointed their bodies with olive oil – and women are now allowed both to run and to watch, which they were not permitted to do at the ancient Games.)

One of the original Pan-Hellenic Games, along with the Delphic Games, the Isthmian Games and the Olympian Games, the Nemean Games are claimed to be the forerunner of the United Nations and today’s Olympic Games.

Says Stephen Miller, Professor Emeritus of Classical Archaeology at Berkeley, California, who discovered the site at Nemea and who remains very much involved:  “These Games encouraged the Ancient Greeks to stop fighting and to compete on a friendly basis via sport.  People from many countries have taken part over the past four games.  We welcome all to join us at the fifth Nemean Games this year, in the spirit of international understanding and in support of Greece during its current economic problems.”

One could say that the need to instil friendly competition in lieu of war into the human psyche is as important today as it was in the days of yore.

Travel PR’s client Sunvil Holidays has put together a one-week trip for £671 pp (two sharing), departing 17 June, inclusive of flights (Gatwick to Kalamata), transfers, accommodation in a one-bedroomed Lido Apartment in the seaside village of Tolon and return taxi transfers to the Nemean Games, for those who wish to race or to participate by cheering on the runners.  The Peloponnese is a beautiful area of Greece with beaches, countryside and many ancient sites to explore; it was immortalised in Patrick Leigh Fermor’s book Mani – travels in the Southern Peloponnese.

(Sue Ockwell)

We are treating it seriously – investing in incredibly comfortable (but not at all stylish) footwear and a pedometer, and setting off on lunchtime speed-walks around St Margaret’s and Richmond.

We’re also embarking on longer hikes on the occasional evening and weekend too, kicking off last week with our first after-work walk from St Margaret’s to High Street Kensington along the river.

The route’s approximately 7.4 miles, which I rounded up to eight miles when showing off afterwards to our Travel PR colleagues! It was a gorgeous walk – we didn’t complain once and the dreamy sunset we witnessed from Hammersmith Bridge was a big highlight (check out the picture below…).

We decided to sign up to the Trekathon – organised by our client Discover Adventure – to raise money for charity. If you would like to show your support, I’m raising money for Alzheimer’s Society on this page; and, for Lyme Disease Action, Helena is raising money here (don’t worry about the security page – it’s an https webpage).

(Steph Reed.)

A dodo statue

Fine white-sand beaches. Clear warm water. Tropical fish. These were all things I had expected on a recent trip to Mauritius. The dodo, however, was not on the list. Thinking about it now, of course I knew the dodo was Mauritian but, before I arrived, I hadn’t put two and two together – and therefore wasn’t expecting the flood of dodo-related paraphernalia which I encountered across the island.

Yes: on arrival on the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius, I was hit by dodo-madness! Souvenir shops selling all things dodo: books devoted to the subject, stamps picturing the bird and monuments of it in the streets of the capital, Port Louis. Mauritius’ association with the dodo was, as I found out, quite a source of pride, and the dodo was anything but dead here… as far as souvenirs went, anyway.

And yet, despite all these dodo depictions, no-one really knows what the bird actually looked like. Within 80-odd years of its discovery (by Dutch sailors in 1598), the dodo was extinct and so the image of it today largely comes from drawings, excavated bones and a few written accounts from the time. One of the most famous depictions of the dodo, as the Natural History Museum’s expert Julian Hume explains, is a painting from 1626 by the Dutch artist Roelant Savery.

Despite only being known about for around 80 years, the flightless bird has left a lasting impression, not only on Mauritius’ souvenir t-shirts and keyrings, but also on the English language and culture. The dodo had a starring role in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland with Carroll, or so we’re led to believe, basing the dodo on himself. The popularity of the dodo in the book led to the increased use of the phrase “as dead as a dodo”.

How the dodo supposedly looked

How strange that we have a bird, known about for such a relatively brief period and hailing from a tiny island off the coast of Africa, which has yet coined a phrase that continues to be used over three centuries later.  The dodo’s is, in fact, a very sad story – a bird living a life free from predators which suddenly found itself to be threatened (by Western settlers hunting it, and by some of the settlers’ predatorial pets) and unable to fly away. Causing the dodo to go down in history as what must certainly be the best-known extinct bird.

Not only used as a symbol of Mauritius, today the image of the dodo is recognised as a symbol of extinction worldwide. The Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust uses the dodo as its logo, its website stating that this “…serves as both a prompt to highlight the importance of conservation action, and as a warning that, should this not be heeded, many more animals face the same fate as the dodo.”

Perhaps it’s some consolation then that the dodo remains alive, at least through our vocabulary (and within Mauritius’ souvenir shops), and that it also inspires the likes of The Durrell trust to ensure that other endangered animals don’t end up as dead as a dodo.

(Helena Hamlyn)

So…what is it?

You know when you’re watching something highbrow – a nature programme, climate-change documentary, The X Factor – and the narrator talks through the events which unfold over the course of a long day? To visually depict this, invariably the modern filmmaker will show us a timelapse sequence – super-sped-up footage filmed over 12 hours but played back in 30 seconds.

The result: a dew-speckled flower opens and closes; the sun rises and sets as ominous clouds scrape over the horizon; and 2,000 teenagers shuffle self-consciously in line, awaiting rejection from Simon Cowell.

Why use it?

Not only is timelapse a very handy way of quickly describing the indescribable – in this case, time – but, quite simply, it looks achingly cool. For a moment, the filmmaker becomes god and controls not just our gaze, but the passage of time. It also helps show the amount of work that has gone into a project.

Final word:

Here are some examples that Travel PR made using the humble Flip camera. Enjoy!