Days 106-110: Damascus and Aleppo, Syria

Wander through the streets of Damascus and you could be there at any point in time in the last 3000 years. It's a city that does not belong to any one age- it represents them all. Everywhere you turn you meet a new set of contradictions in time, a juxtaposition of old and new worlds. Syria embraces the new world with one arm, but, with the weight of its history and its Islamic tradition, it pushes it away with the other.

The souks have hardly changed for years, although now women in burqas are shopping for D+G sunglasses to go with their headscarves. Sure, you can even buy lingerie in the souk now (even a cute little bikini top shaped as fluffy, fur-lined lovehearts) but you will still be served exclusively by men.

The blend becomes stranger still when you visit the famous mosques. At the Umayyad mosque, one of Islam's greatest holy sites, you will see a mix of tourists and worshippers, the men in shorts and tshirts, the women covered from head to toe. The place is packed, crowds clamoring, pushing, crushing to get in to see relics such as the head of John the Baptist. I queue to get into one such room, and find myself stuck in the middle of horde trying to force their way through an exit-only door - my first taste of religious fervour. And while the women are forced to cover their bodies, reducing them to mere silhouettes against the polished marble, it's the ladies who are pushing and shoving while the men wait patiently.

I have never understood the role of relics in Islam. It's a religion that forbids any depiction of the prophet yet proudly displays a single whisker from his beard, or the head of John the Baptist (who is a prophet of Islam as well as Christianity). In Aleppo, I discovered a mosque that has a plaster footprint of the prophet, and pilgrims visit from neighbouring countries to wash with and drink water which has touched is surface. And there are plenty of worshippers paying their respects to these ancient relics of major significance, some abasing themselves on the floor and others filming events on their camcorder.

Down the street, I wander into a Shiite mosque, and the rules change again. This is a proper place of worship, not a tourist site, and a crowd is gathering for Friday prayers. In the main prayer room a small circle of men is listening to a firebrand cleric - his continual shouting, pointing and Koran-thumping tells me he isn't preaching peace and love. The group of men around him respond with ritual chant and song at appropriate places, some of them working themselves into a state of near-hysteria and beginning to cry. Others watch on silently, recording the events on their cellphone. Nearby a women's prayer group gets too close, and the cleric's minder moves over and shoves them out of the way. I figure it's time to leave, but lose my way to the exit. The same minder pushes past me, a sharp jab in the back reminding me that clueless non-believers aren't welcome here.

And then on my way back to the hotel, amongst the magnificent mosques, souqs, is the modern Syrian contribution to architecture. The contradictions go on.

Days 105: Jerash, Jordan

The start of my trip to Jordan didn't begin well. My plane is running almost an hour late before it even begins to board, meanwhile a bunch of young Arab boys are running amok in the terminal. Apparently a cultural tradition which requires your wife to cover herself from head to toe doesn't extend to stopping your boys from trying to pilfer chips from a vending machine.

As the flight boards, we are greeted with the soothing sound of a hysterical Arab man, pleading for his life, in tears, and expressing his fervent wish not to die. This continues for the full half hour it takes to load the plane, and judging by the looks of the other passengers I am not the only one unnerved by this. As it turns out, he is being deported back to Ethiopia, and this performance is a last ditch effort to avoid his due, and once the plane takes off he gives it up. When I move to the back of the plane during the flight, his wailing has ended, and he's leafing through an OK magazine.

As the flight goes on I get a splitting headache. It feels like my left eyeball is slowly being wound into a vice. It gets so bad that by the end of the flight I am sitting with my head in my hands and pressing my palm into my eye socket in an attempt to counteract the pressure. A long queue at Jordanian immigration follows and when I finally emerge into the terminal my booked airport transfer has failed to show. It takes my remaining cash to get a cab to the hotel.

In the morning I'm feeling a lot better, and within an hour I am wandering the ruins at Jerash. It's a lovely, sunny day and I'm wandering one of the best preserved Roman cities from antiquity. I've traded an awful flight for warm weather, majestic colonnades and cobbled squares, breathing in the depth of history. My middle east trip is off to a fine start, well, by 2nd day it is.

Day 104: Dachau, Germany

The site of the former Dachau concentration camp (as opposed to a death camp like Auschwitz) is one of the most disturbing places that I have visited. Not because of the scale of murder here- the Rwandan genocide museum is dedicated to the 8000 people who died every day during that slaughter). What is so disturbing about Dachau is the cold, calculating way that every aspect of the camp was designed to kill, oppress and terrify. Nothing was left to chance, and the Nazi killing machine was constantly refined and enhanced by the methods developed at Dachau.

Dachau was the model used to export mass-murder around Europe during the 2nd world war. It was the proving ground for everything from the training of SS guards, to the use of propaganda, the most effective torture methods and the trial of gas chambers to introduce industrial-scale murder to the death camps.

When you learn about genocides such as those at Cambodia or Rwandan, it easy to pass these off as the deranged actions of uneducated thugs, urged forward by a small, misguided leadership. But here, mass-murder is a science.

Day 101-103: Ljubljana, Slovenia

Yep, another European city. Although a bit more charming than most.

I'm trying to stay positive. It does have great doors.

Days 98-100: Bled, Slovenia

Next stop- the picture postcard town of Bled. This place is ridicuously picturesque- the town dominated by a small, calm lake, with a church stationed on a small island at its heart. A gentle castle looks down on the town, and the alps frame the whole scene, hanging in the distance like a giant curtain.

One of the best things you can do in Europe, and especially in a town like Bled, is to hire a bike and set off for a ride and see what you discover. You can cycle through small villages, stopping for a beer at a local cafe, gazing up at the alps as you go. Europe is so well set up for this sort of thing- there are plenty of cycle lanes, all the routes are clearly marked and, most importantly, the drivers are used to cyclists and are patient and courteous.

And then, sooner or later, you'll come across another world class hiking trail. In this case, it's Vintgar gorge.

Day 96: Barenschutzklamm, Austria

Just 20km from Graz is the Barenschutzklamm, a rugged gorge with towering cliff faces, waterfalls and frothing rivers. And you can climb right to the top, a taxing 2 hour ascent courtesy of wooden ladder that hugs the gorge all the way to the summit. A stunning hike, a near vertical climb in places, the wooden rungs being much harder than steps or a steady incline.

The scenery is stunning, some of the best I have ever seen. The combination of fresh forest air, a good cardio workout and the visual feast are just the tonic I need.

Days 94-95: Graz, Austria

Sometimes you have to chuck the guidebook, to hell with your plans, and try something a bit different. According to my initial plan (not really a plan, more a rough precis in my head, with nothing booked) was to head down to Slovenia, stopping off in Vienna.

But with my emerging signs of Euro-fatigue, verging on full-blown apathy in Bratislava, I decide to skip Vienna and head off into a smaller town and explore the country side. It's not that the cities aren't all amazing, because they are. Each one is home to countless architectural gems in the form of churches, castles, town squares and bridges. But there's only so much you can take before the eyes start to glaze over.

So, pretty much based on the train timetable, I end up in Graz. It turned out to be a good choice.

Graz is a cute little student town, mercifully free of tourists. The people are really friendly and willing help (much the same as my experience in Germany- maybe they are compensating for something?). The town is packed with art, both renaissance and post-modern.

There are also some touches of Austro-German folk culture, and I sit in bewilderment and watch a traditional band, complete with lederhosen. Forget the rise of Fascism and the fall of Europe, fighting to prevent this kind of music from being imposed on us was reason enough to fight in 2 world wars.

This is topped by the next cultural extravaganza- a live sculpture demonstration. But there are no chisels or brushes for these artists. With the usual Teutonic subtlety and delicate touch, the Austrian artists deal to their wooden medium with chainsaws. Need a finishing touch- use a slightly smaller chainsaw. It's blitzkrieg art. It feels almost mandatory to follow this with a sausage and some dry bread.

As much as I enjoy this taste of Austria, I decide to head out into the countryside for some hiking and see what the Austrian outdoors has to offer.

Day 93: Bratislava, Slovakia

There must have been a recent sale at air-douchebag.com, as the streets of Bratislava are packed with gangs of lads, an advancing wall of swaggering dudes, decked out in their best graffiti and gold-emblazoned shirts. Bratislava is the perfect place for a boys' weekend- an accessible, non-threatening destination with plenty of beer and cheap kebabs. And judging by all the superfluous extended vowels being tossed around, the Americans/Canadians are here too. Tip: if you can't tell the difference check the shoes- sneakers and jeans = Americans; shorts and sandals = Canadian.

It's nice enough, but I've had enough of big European cities. Time to explore something a bit different...