Every now and then over the past few years we've ventured up beyond the fork in the highway that leads stage left to Damshui, and instead journeyed along the artery that pulses with increasing pressure north then east as it tracks its way along the coastal arm. It's a path well travelled, as we used to travel it most weekends, and even on some week days after work, in search of waves at The Pillbox and other "secret" locations along its length.

Without my madly keen surf buddy Ross to urge me on, and a general lack of motivation after the usual 90% chance of poor or mediocre surf, I've increasingly neglected this stretch of road. If Cass and I have meandered along it on a weekend, we invariably turn off to take in the bucolic villages and rolling hills on the back road leading to the country town of Sanzhi, and Baishawan Beach beyond that.

The main road is now a seething traffic snarl baring its teeth most viciously on the weekend as day-trippers join the ever increasing live-in population. Adding to the fury of the traffic is the new elevated and cantilevered mirror road being constructed above this road for most of its length. The huge, dirty yellow graders and diggers needed to build it all congregate at the church of dirt on Sunday, alone and silent, yet their pews take up at least one of the lanes of the current road, adding to the congestion. A spit of rain can add even more chaos to the mix as drivers become overly cautious and crawl along at a soporific pace.

Five-ten years ago, things were vastly different. The wide boulevards had been cut and graded and the mature palm trees planted along the footpaths seemed to ooze resort envy. Traffic lights fussed over almost non-existent traffic and cars could be held hostage for minutes on end when halted at an intersection all on their own. Just two or three multi-storied buildings on hectares of land sat optimistically in search of friends like neglected girls at a high school dance. Vast spaces sat stubbornly empty, quietly growing weeds or blowing tumbleweeds around with willy-willies.

Slowly however, and over a relatively short period of time, machinery and manpower has quite magically transformed this back section of Damshui leading to Sanzhi. Even our beloved "Pillbox", the backwater beach with its jagged outcrops of rocks, sandwiched between a rubbish dump and a stinky pig farm, has been discovered. Not by surfers, but the authorities building infrastructure for the burgeoning population: a bike-path now neatly slices through the shoreline, and the pillbox itself has been demolished and built over. The rest of the land tranche is a concrete jungle cut at times by gleaming new light-rail lines or giant cranes blocking streets while their extended arms sketch the skyline. It's not till we motor beyond the Damshui hinterland that things return to "normal"...

Progress wrecks some good memories, and I felt a little sad to see what had become of The Pillbox. As the road wound on towards Baishawan though, the countryside seemed more stable and the sights more constant, which was a source of relief. The beach restaurant strip has flourished and expanded and the wild "Jetson" housing complex of years gone by is now but a memory, but things felt "right" again! We motored right round the top of the island before taking a break at Jinshan and its newly developed and improved car-park which incorporates the trail-head for improved walking and biking tracks as well as signage......who would have thought it?!

After our snack lunch at the sizeable 7/11 nearby, we came back across the mountain in the quite claustrophobic mist and light rain. It's amazing how the climate changes completely every time we negotiate our way up this mountain road: for all its beauty, I don't think I'd like to live up there! Roadside stalls, packs of dogs, slow moving vehicles and fields of lilies appeared then vanished in the blink of an eye and eventually we were careering down the other side of the mountain before locking the "silver bullet" away safely in her new, warm and snug home. A short scooter ride for us and we were similarly ensconced, ready to relax for the evening before starting another week of work on the morrow.

Photos: Pillbox lament, Jinshan surf, signage and rocks, the car at rest and a little promo from our local supermarket. I'll tell you more next time, but we've been collecting little stickers with our grocery purchases for some time and we're ready to "cash in" on some saucepans...old school!!

XXX. Three decades. A score and a half. This number in years when said aloud does seem like a long period of time, yet in other respects it has flown by. We celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary this past week and only really felt the years when we watched snippets of video or looked at some photos of the day: we were so young, and we weren't the only ones!

We flirted with the idea of jetting across the ditch one way or the other, across to Hong Kong or perhaps Japan. No doubt, we would have enjoyed a special time in either of those places, but so soon after our big holiday, the last thing we wanted to do was to get on to another plane. With that thought in mind before the break, we were glad we'd decided to do a "staycation" in Taipei, the first time we'd done such a thing.

We arranged a personal day each for the exact day of the anniversary, which was the Tuesday, and booked in our hotel stay and restaurant meal for the Monday night. The W is the trendiest hotel in town and dominates the skyline in the Hsin Yi district, of course while still yielding ground to the granddaddy of soaring monoliths, Taipei 101. We raced back from school on Blackie on Monday afternoon and a doorman was ushering us inside the lobby from our taxi, still in the fading afternoon light drifting lazily into dusk.

The room wasn't cheap, so we didn't expect anything other than excellence, and we are delighted to report it was thus. The elevators whispered us to the 10th floor check in without seeming to move, and the 26th floor corridors were wide enough to play a game of tennis in, if slightly murky due to the incredibly low "mood lighting." Everything was slick, clean and stylish and our room had an amazing vaulted view dead-on to 101. The room was fitted with Japanese electronic toilets, rain-showers and two way closets, along with every gadget and knickknack known to man, most with a hefty price-tag attached. There were lights for every mood and occasion and a daybed and blanket to drink in the mighty vistas. See this video (above for the time being)

We only needed to wander across the road to the Breeze Centre to access the private lifts which in turn whisked us to the 45th floor to Morton's Chicago Grill. It was time for Cassy's yearly steak! I'd booked some weeks before and impressed upon the staff the necessity of garnering a window table for the night. Despite the fact that the Hsin Yi lights loom large across the entire glassed restaurant which runs the entire length of the floor, it's more special to have a direct view. I was quite insistent and they agreed that they would guarantee the window table despite it being against their usual practice. Suffice to say the food was stunning, the location perfect and the service amazing. After our main meals and wine, they brought out a complimentary souffle, along with taking a commemorative photo which they printed, framed and signed a large card to accompany it. Wow!

We had a checkout time of a very civilized 12 o'clock, so we shamelessly slept in, then wandered down for a fantastic breakfast buffet at "The Kitchen Table", a restaurant we've previously visited with friends. After some hearty breakfasts and great coffees, I decided to make use of more of the facilities and take a dip in the 10th floor outdoor, 25 m pool. I needn't have worried that it might be a little cool to swim: the pool was heated to a balmy 29 degrees! Cass wandered around on pool-deck for a while then we both basked in the sun poolside and gazed out at the glistening city.

It was an easy taxi ride home and we enjoyed the decadence of relaxing at home in the afternoon of a "school day": there's nothing quite so delicious! It was a bit hard to drag ourselves back into work for the remainder of the week: it just seemed so humdrum compared to our little taste of the "high life". Nevermind, these moments wouldn't be so special if you did them all the time, at least that's our theory!

Despite our taxi driver trying to install us on a houseboat on a canal in Amsterdam, we eventually and collectively worked out that our accommodation was facing the canal rather than on it! It was a delight to stumble through the few steps of cold and rain to be greeted by a blazing fire and the smiling faces of the young women working the desk at the amazing "apart-hotel", The Wittenberg. After a fullish day being jettisoned across Belgium and The Netherlands from our old home base of Ghent, this home away from home was just what we'd hoped for.

We were obviously the first guests to stay in our apartment, price tags and guarantee flyers still on products. It had designer furniture, a huge comfortable bed and a fully equipped kitchen (which we were determined not to use too much!), along with a slick bathroom and the latest electronics. Cass had picked it from a myriad of options based on a few photos and a description....brilliant call! We took the desk girl's recommendation and ventured out in the early evening to a nearby restaurant, Cafe de Plantage and it was upmarket and housed in a regal old restored building. Despite the majesty of these offerings, little did we know we'd be bewitched by the spell of two nearby Italian style restaurants, so much so that we would eat in one or the other four times during our stay!

Our first wander in the neighbourhood alerted us to a unique issue associated with the streets of Amsterdam. Unlike other cities around the world, here the bike is king. He rules with arrogance and entitlement and has had a long reign. An imperial decree has allowed him dedicated pathways across the entire city and, in fact, the whole country. Unfortunately, the non-regal peasants co-existing in this city are afforded lesser rights: Bikes whiz and fly with barely a tinkle of their bells, and cars and pedestrians need beware. Even the vice-regal cousins in this city, the trams, have to bow to the status of their king. We're big, big supporters of this monarchy of course, but we did nearly get skittled a number of times!

On our first full day, we wandered the grid of canals in the bottom half of the city to get our bearings along with visiting Rembrandt House to view the great man's works in situ as well as experience how he lived and worked. It was fascinating blend of the restored house and a blended gallery which had a good feel and flow. Onward to "Katten Kabinet" on an inner canal, where an eccentric collector has thrown open his doors to visitors in order to view his collection of paintings, sculptures and curiosities all related in some way to cats: as you can imagine, Cass loved it, especially patting the resident cats luxuriating on and around the central heating. I demurred on the delights of The Bag and Purse Museum while Cass toured, but I found myself a comfy chair near the gift-shop and people watched as well as eavesdropped on the twittering clerks using their slightly discordant native tongue.

We were also unprepared for the sheer majesty of the artistic offerings and great museums which housed them. Centered around a relatively small quadrant in the southern area of the main city canal links these galleries were quite astounding. Like the huge edifices of all major European cities, they stored works of import and gravitas, attractions and magnets in their own right, apart from the thousands of other quality pieces. While fresh, we thought we'd attack the vast marble chambers of the Rijksmuseum and it was a treasure trove of Dutch masters and other European stars who were their contemporaries. We walked and admired, walked and pondered, walked and reflected and pretty much just walked. My phone step tracker had us walking over 10 kms each day, most of that withing the walls of galleries and museums. On another day, we drank our fill of contemporary art at the nearly indescribable Stedelijk Museum. The modern building's interiors soared and impressed and the basement start to the journey was just out of this world. Masterpiece upon masterpiece spanned out across, between and along each wall. It was a breathless experience to stand in the middle of the room as we picked out and identified 5 or 6 artist's works, only to have our guesses confirmed as we checked the badges in turn. Picasso and Matisse, Chagall and Mondrian, Lichtenstein and Monet, a brushstroke of excellence, or a pastiche of one, around every cleverly laid-out corner or false wall. All this "hard arting" was very exhausting, so at the end of the day, we'd often retreat to our special little corner of the city to re-fuel at a wonderful restaurant. We couldn't split the two little Italian style eateries near The Wittenberg: their menus almost replicated each other, and we only alternated between them as we were too embarrassed to go there on consecutive nights! One was Palorma and the other La Roma. Check this menu.

Not massive fans of the organised tour, we had relented on this one to get a little taste beyond the city of some of the other famous delights of Holland. We'd planned a day tour to visit windmills, cheese factories, clog making shops and a boat trip beside to visit Volandam. The trip was pretty touristy, but we expected that so tried to "go along for the ride". After catching a tram early morning into the main station, we met up with our crew and the slightly annoying Adrian, the guide, and we were herded onto a large bus for further fun. Despite some droning patter, we learned some intriguing facts about The Netherlands as a country and its necessary obsession with water and the constant pumping to keep it afloat and not let the North Sea just take over. The inside of the working mills was fascinating, and even the demonstrations at the clog factory and cheese factory with the obligatory chicane straight through the expansive gift shops, tolerable, and we ended up having a reasonable day which included a ferry ride across to the tourist fishing village of Volendam and a delicious lunch of local fish and chips.

We tried to get into the Van Gogh Museum, but the near three hour wait in the line deterred us. We managed to secure some tickets for our very last afternoon. We'd booked online weeks ago at the Anne Frank House and experienced similar traffic. Now our last day would be jam-packed: Van Gogh, then a dash across the city to catch our 7.30 p.m. deadline at Anne Frank! Meanwhile we managed lots of other adventures! One rainy morning we ducked into a quaint cafe in a park to have our best coffee of the trip along with a light lunch. The Museumplein square was very touristy, but we managed to find a superb Indian restaurant in a back alley off the square which filled us up with warm and hearty familiar fare. Of course, Amsterdam and diamonds go hand in hand, so it was inevitable we visited the Diamond Museum. It ended up being quite fascinating, housing, among other treasures, a million euro diamond encrusted tennis racquet and a diamond covered gorilla skull (see video above). And no, I don't know why!

Possibly the greatest find of all which we stumbled upon only because we saw a queue snaking from its door, was the MOCO. Great swathes of giant Lichtenstein canvases assaulted us as soon as we walked in the doors. There were iconic masterpieces from the 60s as well as more recent works. The British graffiti and political artist Banksy was the other featured artist, partly famous because of his unknown identity but mostly because of his simple but incisive political commentary, many of his works had been removed from London streets, or chiseled off walls. There were bollards and witches-hats, sections of brick walls and metal signs, all emblazoned with iconic symbolism. We also managed to sneak in a little high end shopping, where someone bought a very special belt as well as dashing through the red light district in the early evening drizzle, still managing to spot a few of Amsterdam's infamous window girls advertising their wares.

We were to finish our time off in a flurry, as indicated previously. Our skip-the-line tickets saw us ushered in early to our time slot in the Van Gogh museum and each floor and room was a sight to behold. We've seen various renditions of some of his most famous subjects like the sunflowers, the irises and his own face in many galleries around the world, and these particular paintings were not in evidence. What was, however was the greatest concentration of his work that has ever been assembled, and to say it is incandescent is an understatement. Along with versions of his familiar themes were other earlier and later paintings along with etchings and some of the actual items he painted displayed alongside the completed works: fascinating. As always, the crowds of people were suffocating, but we were about to experience an even deeper claustrophobia as we entered the house of the famous Dutch Holocaust victims, Anne Frank and family. After a flying tram ride across town and some quick GPS navigating, we made our appointment with some minutes to spare. It was at times uplifting and at other times quite depressing as we trod the halls, climbed the staircases and stooped behind the moving bookcase to Anne's hidden world. The museum and house have been tastefully fitted-out and lovingly maintained respectively, so despite the large numbers of people traipsing through, everyone was able to see clearly and understand the fear of these families as they huddled in their tiny hiding place for so long.

In some ways, this was a fitting end to our incredible holiday: along with our visit to WW1 battlefields, it had helped solidify in us a belief that we are very, very lucky in all sorts of ways. With this reinforced knowledge, we were happy to train, then plane, our way back to Taipei and work the following day with heads spinning full of awe and wonder.

Here is the link to the entire photo album.

We'd barely been to Belgium. We'd been blind to her buildings, bridges and beers. Her bell towers, boats and byways had yet to be broached, and as yet, we'd been blissfully unaware of the breadth of bewitching beauty that breached boundless boundaries in Bruges and Brussels and bunches between. I'd started alliterating around the letter "B" in Facebook posts on our holiday and it quickly became boring and blown and brain-numbing.....enough!

We've never come home from a holiday to Europe with anything other than heads spinning with wondrous visions and memories, and this trip was no different. We'd again tried to experience some cultures we were not so familiar with, and were equally surprised and delighted when Belgium and The Netherlands proved to be distinctly different to each other and from other countries on the continent.

We flew into and out of Amsterdam, which necessitated a three-train scramble down from Schiphol to the quaint medieval town of Ghent in Belgium where we'd planned to base ourselves for eight days. We'd opted to go a touch more upmarket than usual, so the luxurious and modern Marriot hotel wedged in behind an ancient façade on the main canal caressed us cozily for the first part of the break. Our room was large and well-appointed and the atrium all soaring glass and steel: the only indication of the building's heritage roots came upon exiting the front doors canal-side from the old grain store building.

As planned, we spent many days exploring this breathtakingly beautiful little city and took day trips to Bruges (once for a WW1 battlefields tour and once on its own merits) as well as a trip in the other direction to Brussels. The days in Ghent were spent in a familiar pattern: we slept in as is the European winter fashion when the sun struggles to breach the horizon until about 9 o'clock, whereupon we visited the breakfast restaurant overlooking the canal and consumed a bountiful feast. The offerings where of such quality and variety, and so delicious, that we were fortified for a day of touristing, most often only needing to eat again at an early dinner time. These evening feasts were wondrous events of hearty fare, beers that were meals on their own, and desserts so fine they lingered on the palate long after consumption. We tasted the Ghent specialty "Waterzooi" and if this isn't the reincarnation of mum's iconic Christmas chicken soup, I'm not here! I had meatballs in a tomato sauce so flavoursome and tasty, I declared it in the top three meals I've ever eaten. Cass was enamoured with the Belgian version of bread and butter pudding: when you lifted a piece of it, it seemed to defy the laws of physics as it weighed so much it strained the wrist bringing it to the mouth! We had too many meals of taste and quality to mention them all here.

The medieval castle of Gravensteen was Disneylandesque in appearance but a self-guided tour was informative and interesting: those guys sure knew how to torture a heretic! We toured the canals on a comfortable boat in frigid temperatures but thoughtfully, they issued us all with warm blankets for covers! We wandered the city streets and visited all the main churches, some more impressive than others. The ubiquitous Christmas markets were set up in various squares and forecourts dotted around the city and they were all well patronized and so pretty and gay. The smells of waffles, sausages and mulled wine and the cries of the hawkers mixed with clouds of expelled breaths and smoky hazes from cigarettes and stall's exhausts all combined to make a fairytale experience as ice-skaters twirled and whizzed around pop-up rinks. Ghent was also the start of our art trail and we enjoyed beautiful big Breughels alongside master works by Hieronymus Bosch at a surprisingly large art museum of the highest quality, the MSK. It also housed the currently-being-restored art curiosity, The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, by the van Eych brothers, considered one of the world's greatest art treasures: it was interesting, and perhaps we've not a clue, but we thought it was a bit of a fizzer!

The tram purred into the stop outside St. Michael's church and we boarded, tickets in hand, to travel across town to the station, then a train to Bruges took 25 minutes. Similar in beauty and backdrop to Ghent, Bruges was notably more touristy and was awash with nationalities of every ilk. We found the town square by following hordes of people heading purposefully somewhere and once there headed straight for the belfry, and the subsequent icy views of the city and surrounds. The Bruges Beer Experience was a highlight in the city, culminating in Cassy drinking a red fruit beer among others! I drank more beers in a canal-side pub and then we took a twilight cruise on the Bruges canal system for a comparative take with Ghent. It was so similar! We wondered why more people don't go to Ghent for their fix of medieval architecture, canal life and Belgian fare, but were happy that, for the time being at least, it remains off the main tourist trail. After a day of wandering and wondering we ate a hearty meal in a little cafe on the main square, snaring one of the precious window tables to watch the skaters and drinkers and strollers as we dined, before heading back to the train station and re-tracing our steps back to the hotel.

Back in Ghent and the following day to visit the Design Museum with an eclectic set of pieces on a theme of robotics and the future of work, a visit to the graffiti street, before more walking and viewing and a little bit of Belgian linen shopping for Cass. Cassy also somehow enticed me onto Ghent's version of the big Ferris Wheel, which was quite terrifying: either my aversion to heights has become magnified in my advancing years or there really was some substance to my thought that I would be thrown from the extremely flimsy gondola at any moment, as it swayed and rocked with alarming freedom at the top of each rotation!

We'd booked a trip to Ypres and the battlefields of World War One for the next day, so we roused ourselves earlier than usual and caught the train in the dark to Bruges once again, this time to meet up with Phillipe, his vast knowledge of World War One Belgian battlegrounds, and a boutique crew of fellow tourists to share his mini-van for the day. The day proved to be educational, inspiring and reflective all at once. We trod in the footsteps of Australian battalions from 1917, heard of their conquests, sympathized with their hardships and admired their bravery and tenacity. We visited cemeteries, towns involved in the conflict and the actual battlegrounds, including clamouring through the huge craters and depressions left on Hill 62 by battles in both World Wars. It was thought-provoking and sobering: our tiny first world problems seemed so microscopic in comparison.

Another day saw us traveling from Ghent by train again, this time in the opposite direction for about 40 minutes, and this time to the bustling hub of the country, Brussels. Our art journey continued here after finding our way from the main station in the drifting showers. The great Flemish masters' subjects started to peak from canvases as we made our way around the spacious halls of the Royal Museum of Fine Arts. Highlights were many, but Landscape with The Fall of Icarus shone among other Breughels, while van Dyck and Rubens also painted their marks in oil on the gallery walls' canvases. Our friends here in Taipei have Belgian connections and roots and highly recommended a restaurant in the centre of town. We negotiated our way across town to La Vilette, where we indulged in the signature dish of mussels boiled in a special pot. Served steaming in shells with a delicious sauce, we loved the place and lingered awhile to enjoy the cosy atmosphere. Outside, a steam-punk carousel whirled, police prowled the squares, and people variously drank champagne at outdoor stalls, quaffed oysters, or nursed robust coffees and delicate cakes. The atmosphere was festive and vibrant as we strolled back across the city, taking in the flash stores and restaurants and the major squares and halls.

Each time, we traveled back to our comfortable base in Ghent, but the next day we were to tram and train across town for the final time, this time headed for further adventures and another eight days of discovery. We trained back across the border into The Netherlands headed toward that fabled city of Amsterdam: we arrived safely and visited well, but I'll save that half of the trip for the next installment of this blog...stay tuned!

Here is the photo album from Belgium.