Once more onto the beach

In the bleak mid-winter, we moan. And the travel brochures show us pictures of warm beaches: so like the Eloi we obediently troop into the shop and book a holiday in the sand. It was boring last year and the year before that, but somehow that fact escapes us.

On the other hand, a few years ago I went to Ravenna for a short holiday. No, I hadn’t heard of it either. It is separated from the coast – and therefore from tourist fame – only by a few miles, but I didn’t go there for a bus ride to the beach. I went with my wife to see a performance by her favourite dancer, Sylvie Guillem.

But we did some homework, and booked a few days there. Ravenna is full of the most amazing 5^th and 6^th century mosaics. They are contained in churches, baptisteries and a mausoleum, which are attractive in themselves: but the mosaics are jaw-dropping. There are eight World Heritage sites – seven within a half-mile radius, I would guess, and one a couple of miles further.

(The dancer was excellent, too.)

I was reminded of this by a recent article by David Thomas in The Independent. He went to Birmingham because his wife wanted to see Take That. And he too was surprised at what he found there. I hope this link works: http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/david-thomas-birminghams-a-great-place-for-romance-6287052.html?origin=internalSearch

As David Thomas says, Birmingham is not the first name on most people’s must-see holiday destinations list. That’s understandable. Despite the seagulls above the (beautifully renovated) canals, Birmingham is almost as far from the sea as England gets. But he evidently enjoyed it.

(He also liked the concert.)

Our two trips were made under a similar pretext, and with a similar result. Perhaps we chaps need to listen when our wives demand a trip somewhere unexpected to see a favourite performer. Perhaps there is a sort of protective holiday angel, or a patron saint of husbands who accompany their wives to distant gigs. (Ferry godmother?)

By the way, what is it about sand that obsesses us? Vienna is stuffed full of palaces, museums and that funny wheel thing Harry Lime rode on in The Third Man. But it is a long way from the beach (a lot further than Birmingham), and so is treated by the holiday industry as a fringe destination. When I first flew there, the ticket said London to Vienna to Void: as if Vienna really were halfway to nowhere. (I got off in Vienna.)

Whereas Las Vegas has vast quantities of sand: but I wouldn’t go there if you paid me. Unless, of course, I went to see Rita Rudner – a brilliant comedienne, who I’m told only performs in Vegas these days. Trouble is, she’s not my wife’s favourite, but mine. So perhaps the trip would fall outside the holiday angel’s remit: and perhaps we’d find that Vegas – for all its undeniable proximity to sand – is in fact loud, bright and boring.