
Thailand puts Loy Krathong up for UNESCO status
Loy Krathong lands every November with a full moon. People release lotus-shaped banana leaf baskets called krathong, adorned with candles, incense and flowers, before being set afloat in rivers, lakes and canals. But today, krathongs are getting wilder and more varied.
Though the vessel is now a personal canvas, the essence of the festival remains sacred. The act honours Buddha and the water goddess Phra Mae Thorani, as well as its core Buddhist message: letting go and starting anew. As the water flows, so do your wishes, carried downstream to new beginnings.
Bangkokians usually hit up Asiatique for the full-on firework glow-up or head to Wat Arun and Lumpini Park for something more low-key. Lately though, greener ways to celebrate have popped up. Last year, Chulalongkorn University teamed up with Siam Square for an eco-minded event featuring a 30-metre LED pool mimicking floating krathongs, plus games, food stalls and live acts.
This isn't Thailand's first UNESCO rodeo. The country has already secured heritage status for Songkran, traditional Thai massage and the Khon dance drama, among other homegrown cultural delights.
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Daily Mirror
14 hours ago
- Daily Mirror
Beautiful Greek resort boasts waterfalls, hikes and gorgeous beach
Brits looking for Greece holidays that aren't all about flopping down by the pool may want to check out this gorgeous resort with heaps of activities for all ages Feeling like an 80-year-old, clambering over slippery rocks on all fours, I appear to have acquired my own personal hand-holder. George – one of the tour guides from Climb Up Outdoor Activities – is helping us hike through water ponds, vegetation and 'picturesque' (read: broken) wooden bridges, to the Polilimnio Waterfalls in southern Greece. I'm not the oldest or least fit here, but I may be the most clumsy. The 'easy' hike, suitable for children, is only a mile, but the polished limestone and tricky terrain can be challenging. We spot waddling crabs and scarpering lizards as we climb, finally arriving at the hidden freshwater lake and waterfall. I'm here with my family – husband James and kids, Rosie, 15, and Poppy, 12, on an excursion from Neilson's Messini Beach Club – a 25-minute drive away, near Kalamata on the Peloponnese peninsula. World's 'most beautiful cruise port' is tucked away in city that's UNESCO site Beautiful white sand beach is one of 'best in Europe' with crystal-clear waters We strip off and make our way into the 16C water, James diving off boulders with confidence, Poppy cannonballing into the lake, Rosie nervously jumping, while I slide in. The water streams down the rock face, shushing all thoughts from our minds. And boulders bulge, providing diving platforms, and ledges for bushy green Daphne trees. As summer holidays go, we like the fly-and-flop set-up. Family life is so hectic that when we have a week in the sun, we prefer to do very little. But here we spend the first couple of days setting alarms for all the activities we've booked. Neilson is renowned for its activities, and you can try your hand at almost every watersport, racket game and fitness class while you're here – all included in the price. We're not an especially fit and active family – we all do a bit, but more for mental health benefits, or to balance out our food and drink indulgences. I seem to get injured every time I go at anything with great gusto these days, so I'm a low-impact lover, but while we're here, and it's free, I'll have a go. I wouldn't have predicted fancying a 4pm Pilates class in 36C heat, but with sore quads from yesterday's 'workout of the day' and a window of time following a late lunch, here I am. It takes place on a shady sun deck overlooking the ocean, where sail boats are lined up on the sand. We stretch it out for 45minutes, poses gradually getting more challenging, and then I head to the pool for some late afternoon lounging. Another morning, we sleep through our 9.30am 'intro to pickleball' slot, but the courts, smaller than tennis ones, have boards up displaying rules, so we grab our paddles and play. Doing AMRAP (as many reps as possible) in a warm studio is a challenge, but as James and I make our way through press-ups, weighted sit-ups, squats, lunges, box jumps, 100 yard rows and burpees, pretending not to compete with one another, it feels good to do a proper workout. Twenty solid minutes is all it takes to kill us off, and we waddle away with jelly legs, drenching ourselves in water. Aqua is also fun here, with good music and a decent pace making it more of a workout than the old-lady bobbing we're used to at home. But it's on the beach where you really get your value for money. We rise early and head down to the sea, where a steady stream of people are enjoying their pre-booked slots. James, having waterskied 30 years ago (ahem), opts for skis, while the girls try a kneeboard for beginners. Laying on their bellies, once the boat gets some speed up, they can spread their arms out like pelican wings and skim across the sea like a pebble. Mastering the art in no time, Rosie hauls herself up to her knees, riding the board with no hands. You can still fall off, but it's sturdier and less about technique, so is a good way to start out. Listening to my kids sing Mr Brightside in the sea, as they alternate between paddleboarding pros and faceplanting failures, fills my heart with joy. I sit smugly on my sun lounger, watching triangular sails glint in the midday sun. Families try their hand at windsurfing, cores braced as the sail sends them off balance and gravity plonks them into the sea. The undulating peaks of the Taygetus Mountains stand proud and pensive in the background. The landscape is typically Greek – thirsty grounds, parched grasses sprouting from the sand. Even cacti look like they need hosing down. Giant ants scurry along the stony sands, busying themselves like tourists, while I take a minute to have a breather. The food here is good. We're not usually fans of buffet-style all-inclusives, but there are specials available at every meal, with plenty of salads, meats, veggies and child-friendly options. Staying for seven nights, we're entitled to all breakfasts, lunches and four dinners. On the other three nights, they offer different menus (£9.75 per main) and a barbecue night with live music (£21pp). Alternatively, you can wander further down the beach to traditional Greek tavernas, where a family meal costs us £70. Or ride a bike one tiny kilometre to The Phoenix, where we buy bargain olive oil to take home, and sup on Aperol spritz (£7.60) and Coke Zeros (£2.10). If you're feeling really flush, you can splash out on a £25 cab and head into Kalamata, which has a quaint old town, plenty of shops, and great restaurants. 'One two, one two,' Rosie and I chant, as we attempt to paddle our oars in unison. We're sitting in a bright orange kayak heading for a local beach bar for a swim and a coffee, but we seem worse team rowers than we are solo. We study everyone else and adjust our oars accordingly, perhaps improving slightly, but it's probably the direction of the wind giving us a helping hand. We row around older Greek folk, chatting while they tread water, and head back to the pool bar for our pre-dinner ritual. Parasols are lined up like cocktail umbrellas, and we order mojitos, pina coladas and mocktails. As I'm getting ready for the evening, my arms feel like they're shaking intensely. Today, I introduced my 6ft 2in former rugby-playing husband to the joys of Boxfit. And it turns out, he has a right cross Tyson Fury would be proud of. The fitness provision here is brilliant – something they've invested in over the past year. And every day, one of us is full of intention for something new. After mastering the paddleboard, James declares he's going to do it every day. When the pool clears for lunchtime and Poppy finds some space to actually swim, she decides she's going to smash out 20 lengths a day, and inspired by AMRAP, I talk the girls into devising a daily session once we get home in an attempt to do a bit more cardio. For a family that generally likes to do very little on holiday, I'm pleasantly surprised to find we all have a fondness for fitness. And all that hard work means I can slurp another mojito. Book the holiday Neilson offers seven nights on club board at the Messini Beach Club near Kalamata, Peloponnese, Greece, from £1,467pp based on a family of four sharing and departing from Stansted on August 24. Includes transfers, kids' clubs, activities, and expert tuition. Birmingham and Manchester flights also available.


Glasgow Times
a day ago
- Glasgow Times
Is Rhodes' Old Town a tourist trap or medieval paradise?
So when The Ixian Grand & All Suites invited me to explore this beautiful part of the world, I was thrilled. Before visiting Old Town I had spent 3 amazing days in Rhodes. The food, hotel staff, suite and pool had combined to create the perfect Dodecanese marriage, but I still had a hunger for more. Well two hungers to be precise, more food and also culture. Is Greece still the place to go for the best holiday? Here's my salty experience — Matt Evans (@MTEvans1995) July 11, 2025 First impressions of the Old Town of Rhodes: The Old Town of Rhodes has been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO and it is visited by thousands of travellers every year. Palace of the Grand Master is an awe-inspiring fortress that looms ominously over Old Town. Originally built by the Knights Hospitaller in the 14th century, it is often cited by Greek tourist boards as the definitive must-visit spot. The intricately designed back alleys and buildings are beautifully preserved and a great way to experience what life was like in the past. First impressions for me though? Well, I'd wager some folks would get bored after 15 min and others would be content to spend an entire day there. But which category did I fall under? I went to Rhodes looking for love but ended up with a goose My Old Town experience: Food was on my mind. And lots of it. Despite being thoroughly treated by The Ixian Grand & All Suites over the prior few days, I had a hunger for more. After roaming around the streets for an hour or so, I landed on the first restaurant - yes, first. A quaint tiny little Greek place tucked behind one of the cobbled streets. It was early in the day, so I fancied fish and white wine. After roaming around the streets for an hour or so, I landed on the first restaurant (Image: Newsquest) I scoured the menu and it seemed the right place for me. Plenty of different fish courses, white wine and accommodating staff who gave me a complimentary shot of Souma, then another, then another. Several locals had urged me to try the Dodecanese alternative of ouzo or raki over the previous two days. But 'proper' souma. I'll be blunt, it is essentially white spirit, as I was essentially staring at two menus by this point. A cunning ploy by the staff to be fair, as I proceeded to order the mussels and octopus, the most expensive items on the menu, but equally delicious. This was the prelude to my final Rhodes lesson. But we'll come on to that. Old Town is a bouncing, bustling, little spot brimming with, dare I say it, tourists. But in all fairness, it seems to be designed that way. The bars for example. One place has a flag for every country in the world and will set it on your table if you tell them where you're from. Genius marketing, playing on an idiot's love of country. So after I finished a pint opposite my Welsh flag, I headed to my second and final restaurant of the day for something, heavier. It was a steakhouse slap-bang in the middle of Old Town. Unlike bars and pubs, I have always held the belief there should be a different playbook for restaurants. Keep to yourself/table. This restaurant was bouncing with people from all walks of life, friends, families and a weirdo sitting alone in the middle, me. I couldn't have been in a better spot to people-watch. Just me, my T-bone steak and a glass of wine. What more could you ask for? (Image: Newsquest) But before long, Old Town was starting to get, well, old. You only need to spend a day there to sample all of its delights, or even less, personally. The downsides of Old Town: Sadly, it was at this point that the experience started to get sullied. I looked at the chuffing expensive bill and noticed I'd been charged for a couple of items I never had, so I called over the waiter and got them removed. Now I was slightly miffed. Despite that, my next recommendation awaited - the nearby village of Faliraki, as Lindos was on the complete opposite end of the island. For that, I needed a taxi. Sigh. After a 20-minute wait at a taxi rank just outside the city walls, two strangers and I were told to get in a minicab. Faliraki is 23 minutes away from Old Town, according to Google. When we got in, we were told "50 Euro for taxi", this later translated to "Everyone sharing this taxi pays 50 Euros each." 150 Euro, for a 23-minute journey. I'm not saying that every cab driver would try this, but if you're going to get a taxi, agree on a price beforehand, get a bus instead, or risk your mortgage. Rhodes, or rather, Old Town, was an incredible experience and one that I will never forget for both good and bad reasons. My hotel, The Ixian Grand & All Suites, was sensational, as were my trips out to places such as Old Town. It is, without question, stunning. An area of the world you will never likely stumble across again, with a fascinating history to back it up. But on the downside, it does have its problems. Old Town in the summer months is jam-packed with tourists which then births another problem, rip-offs. Amidst the many, many souvenir shops, bars and restaurants, you need to have your wits about you. But if you can manage that, I have no doubt the experience will be unforgettable, for the right reasons.


Metro
a day ago
- Metro
I didn't know much about Oasis - I still left Wembley in tears
When I found out I was going to see Oasis, it felt like winning a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory – only to remember I've never had much of a sweet tooth. Growing up in the U.S., Oasis were 'those guys who sang Wonderwall,' a song so overplayed and parodied it barely registered as music anymore. I honestly thought they were a one-hit wonder – a British meme band people pretended to like for the bit. So when I moved to the UK and realised that Oasis aren't just a band here, but a cultural institution, I was baffled. How could something so massive not have translated to the States, when we're famously greedy for British exports? We'll take your Shakespeare, your Love Island, your Paddington, but somehow not your Gallagher brothers? Every time I tried to listen to Oasis, it felt like walking into a house of worship for a religion I didn't belong to. The symbols were familiar, the rituals recognisable, but the meaning escaped me. I always concluded the same thing: Oasis is so rooted in its Britishness that it struggles to stand alone outside that context, and unlike the Arctic Monkeys or other UK exports, the music itself isn't quite strong enough to overcome that cultural specificity. But if Oasis is a religion, then Friday night at Wembley was my spiritual awakening. It began with Liam and Noel Gallagher walking on stage hand-in-hand, a moment that sent the crowd into such a frenzy I genuinely thought I was witnessing a world-historical reconciliation – 'Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall, ' but with more bucket hats. Behind them, a montage of media headlines played, charting the road to their reunion. As I tried to read them, I noticed with genuine shock that the men around me – mostly in their forties – were openly weeping. I felt like an imposter. Like a lifelong, Buddhist receiving a blessing from the Pope: Was this moment wasted on me? Liam – bucket hat pulled so low he could've wandered through the crowd unnoticed – was relentlessly on-brand: tambourine in his mouth, mid-song gestures for someone to fetch him a drink, radiating pure cheeky swagger. But it wasn't the chaotic bravado that's landed him in trouble before. It felt authentic, playful, and even self-aware. His voice was strong, precise, and melodic. I'd never found him impressive on record, but in that moment, I got that this is how he's meant to be heard: backed by a tidal wave of fans scream-singing every word back at him like a battle cry. Astonishingly, all but three of the 23 songs played came from a blistering 18-month period between 1994 and 1995, making the evening a concentrated portrait of a hyper-specific period of time. Noel's solo section was unexpectedly moving. The Masterplan and Little by Little reminded everyone who the melodic architect really is, while Half the World Away, dedicated to The Royle Family ('not that royal family, the real f***ing Royle Family,' he clarified), lit up the stadium in a sea of swaying phone lights. Liam returned for Live Forever, dedicated to the late Ozzy Osbourne, whose face was projected on the screens in an unexpectedly touching acknowledgement of the shoulders Oasis stood on to reach such great heights. The crowd – who started at energy level 10 and ended somewhere around unhinged – was the friendliest I've ever encountered at a show. There was a jittery, reverent alertness to them, the energy of people who had spent too much money, waited too many months, and weren't going to miss a single second. In front of me, a group of forty-something men who proudly told me they'd known each other since secondary school in Leeds had reunited from all corners of the UK after fighting tooth and nail for tickets. They cried. They hugged. They threw beer. One of them, too drunk to stand still, barely faced the stage. Arms flung over his head, head tilted back, he grinned like a man reborn. It was as if to say: I don't need to see it, I just need to feel it. And he did. But did I? Oasis's music is inseparable from the moment it emerged: mid-'90s Britain, all swagger and denim and cigarettes in the rain. If you were a teenager then, I doubt you can see them objectively, and if you weren't there, I'm not sure you ever truly get it. I accept that. They captured a version of Britain when things felt possible: Cool Britannia, Blair before the disillusionment, Britpop dominating the charts, football in renaissance, and an economy that still promised upward mobility. They were Beatlesy, but stripped of the naivety. Less dreamy, more laddish. They felt like the natural continuation of something proudly, specifically British in a moment when globalization was eroding cultural edges. Still, most of their music sounds… fine to me. Competent. Catchy. But not great. Then again, I love plenty of music that sounds unremarkable to others. Nostalgia is a hell of a drug. And if I can't see past my own biases, I certainly can't fault anyone else for theirs. At one point, the man next to me noticed I was taking notes and asked what I was doing. When I explained I was reviewing the show, he appointed himself Oasis's unofficial spokesperson. 'This one's a B-side,' he said semi-defensively during Acquiesce, 'but it's for the real fans. It might be hard to understand… maybe even boring to you but…' I reassured him I was having an excellent time, which was true. But more than that, it felt borderline disrespectful not to have a great time while witnessing a night many people would remember as one of the best of their lives. So I gave in. I leaned into the energy. And before long, I was on the shoulders of a father of three from Newcastle – whose name was either Tom or Greg – scream-singing Rock 'n' Roll Star like I, too, was from Northumberland and had shared my first kiss to it in 1996. As I began to understand – physically, emotionally, viscerally – the big deal about this band, things only ramped up. Liam called Wonderwall a 'wretched song' but sang it anyway. The communal roar that followed felt like the ghosts of 90,000 people's youths materialising for four minutes and sixteen seconds. Tom or Greg cried without embarrassment, clinging to the neck of his lifelong friend ('This bloke right here, since we was ten!') who beamed so hard I thought his face might split. Then came Champagne Supernova, fireworks exploding over Wembley. More Trending Liam closed the night with: 'Nice one for making this happen. It's good to be f***ing back.' Somehow, in the context, it felt like a Shakespearan monologue. I left Wembley exhausted, elated, and – somehow – converted. Still, if you weren't a teenager in 1996, I'm not sure you can ever fully understand what Oasis means to their fans. They're too embedded in a specific moment, a particular British mythology that doesn't translate easily. But on Friday night, I brushed up against it and realised it's not that Oasis's deep entanglement with British culture holds them back from being one of the world's greatest rock bands – it's precisely what makes them so special. Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: Oasis honour late rocker Ozzy Osbourne with sweet Wembley show tribute MORE: Aldi permanently changes name of store in a move shoppers are calling 'biblical' MORE: Oasis hit London this weekend – here's where to buy the reunited band's official merch