Amid the enigma and bewilderment that enshrouds a small part of Salisbury in England’s green and pleasant land, I stood in awe to witness one of the great wonders of the world.

Before me stood five thousand years of history, a mystery dating back to the ancient Druids and cultures long since lost to the passages of time.

Silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky, Stonehenge stood proud in the gloom, its pillars united as one structure, forged from the hand of man five millennia ago.

If only it could speak and expose its inner secrets, tell us tales of joy and sorrow, heroes and villains.

But for now it just sat and waited for the dawn of a new day, a new experience to add to the catalogues of history.

And then the sun peered its head above the horizon and the sky became a blend of reds, oranges and yellows.

From the darkness came shadows cast from the giant stone sentinels racing away across the grassy fields.

Suddenly the countryside was alive, awakened from its slumber and welcoming the early morning sun.

Daybreak was greeted by birds, dancing from stone to stone, playing atop this formation which dominates the local landscape.

The silence was broken from birdsong emanating from all around the stone circle, each nook and cranny a hideout for the little fellows.

First light was accompanied by a cool gentle breeze drifting sedately across the land bringing a chill to the skin.

But the greatest sensation was a feeling of solitude, an overwhelming sense of loneliness as the stones sat here long after their makers and intended ceremonies.

Stonehenge has seen a lot during a long and turbulent British history.

It must have been fascinating to have been an innocent bystander and witnessed the rise and fall of the Roman Empire.

But for now Stonehenge sits in a quite corner of England, greeting the dawn of a new day.

In 1788 Captain Arthur Phillip sailed his ship into Sydney Cove and one of the great cities of the world was born.

Today Sydney is home to over four million Aussies who love to bathe in the glorious sunshine and surf on the open waters that break upon its wonderful beaches.

Sydney Harbour is irresistible. Its famous bridge dominates the view, a magnificent feat of engineering.

But for sheer elegance, the Sydney Opera House takes centre stage with its unique appearance and over 2,500 shows annually to keep the opera buffs fulfilled.

Try to catch the Sydney Film Festival when all manner of Hollywood stars honour the city with their presence.

If you’ve joined in with the Aussie spirit and sank one or two pints of lager, try burning off the calories with a climb up the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

The ascent commences at regular intervals and the view from the top is inspirational, though you will need a strong nerve and a good head for heights.

Today Sydney is a multicultural city. Prior to WWII, most of the inhabitants were of British or Irish descent.

But later years have led to an influx of immigrants from all over Europe and Asia.

The diverse ethnic groups have led to a vast range of bars and restaurants throughout the city, catering for most people’s tastes.

One must-try restaurant is the Longrain. Serving an excellent choice of Thai dishes, diners are catered for well into the night.

Once dinner is over, try drinking schooners at the Hollywood Hotel. Don’t forget your best slacks and designer shades if you’re out to impress.

Alternatively, take in a movie at the OpenAir cinema in the Domain. Watch the latest Hollywood blockbusters with the moon and stars for company.

Revelling in the limelight, Sydney is all about glitz and glamour, always ready to offer you a memorable experience.

I have had many opportunities to travel in the past few years. I am grateful for each chance I have had to see new parts of the world and to learn from cultures and people that are different from me. There are valuable things to be gained from all cultures, but I have fallen in love with all things Italian.

I have never been somewhere as magical and wonderful as Italy. There is something special about that country that cannot be understood until it is experienced. I spent almost a month there and walked away with a deep love for everything Italian.

The first and most obvious Italian thing to love is the food. Never have I tasted more delightful food than Italian. I guess because I have always loved pasta and I cannot get enough tomato. I had a month filled with amazing Italian meals. Some were cooked by experienced Italian chefs and others were cooked by grandmothers of my Italian friends. It didn’t seem to matter who was in the kitchen, though, because each meal was wonderful. I even took a few Italian cooking lessons while I was there, and they have done wonders for my own abilities in the kitchen. My family loves it that I have finally learned to cook something other than chicken.

I also love the Italian language. I didn’t learn much of it myself, but just being around it for a month was a great thing for my ears. I love the sound of Italian and the way it rolls of the tongue of the speaker. It is definitely a romantic sounding language. I was determined to take some Italian language classes when I returned home, but my life got back to busy within weeks and my dreams of learning Italian are on the backburner once again.

I love everything about the way that Italians do family. They share a joy of being together unlike I have seen in any other country. Italian families are big, too, and that makes everything more fun. I love the way Italians take every chance they get to celebrate. Meals turn into three hour long celebrations and they are filled with laughter and joy.

If you ever get the chance to visit Italy, take it. It is an experience worth having. I’m confident that you will fall in love with all things Italian. You will find yourself eating great food, immersed in a great language and making room in your busy schedule for more time there. Everything Italian is truly worth experiencing and enjoying.

Russians have a thing for chess and, frankly, are very good at it. Being from San Diego, I thought chess was something you put photo albums in.

Playing Chess

Playing chess requires thinking ten or twelve steps ahead. If I wanted to understand the Russian mind, I had to learn to play chess. If nothing else, it would be a good way to pass the time. This I was told by Robert, an American living in the same town as me.

I wasn’t particularly excited about learning, but gave in one day after growing tired of staring out the window. I had seen the movie, “Searching for Bobby Fisher”. What more could I possibly need? How hard could it be?

After beginning the game, Robert took pity on me after I apparently made some moves that were questionable. He explained why he was making particular moves and the resulting implications for my king. The game proceeded slowly while he explained strategies to his inattentive student. Then the magic moment occurred.

I imagine every teacher suffers from the occasional embarrassment of being outdone by a student. I like to call it beginner’s luck and invoke the empirical evidence at horse racing tracks and Las Vegas casinos. If you’re a first timer, you will always win. It doesn’t matter if you’re betting on a horse because of the color scheme or hitting on black jack while already holding 19 in your hand. It just happens.

With our chess game, Robert had made a particular move and was in the process of explaining it. I sat staring at the board and thinking deep thoughts, which is to say I was wondering what was for dinner, etc. Just then, I noticed something on the board, moved my rook and declared, “Checkmate!”

Robert stared at the board. Then he started laughing. Then he wanted to play again. Being a good sport, I immediately announced my retirement as a chess player.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave my victory alone and gloated to a few people about it. Make no mistake, Robert would beat me a million times if we played a million games, but you have to live in the moment!

Within a few days, karma struck and I began to pay for my gloating. People would start showing up at my apartment with chessboards and, of course, vodka. The games were so laughably one-sided it was ridiculous. Typically, I would make two moves and then hear “Sah!” which I believe meant “check!” in Russian.

My humiliation occurred more or less every day for roughly a month. Some of the victorious would even come back for a second pounding. Finally, I had to take the dramatic step of refusing to answer the door.

In the end, I set the game of chess back a few hundred years and Robert had his vengeance.