It doesn’t really matter how far you go or what you see when you’re there, sometimes there really is nothing like being a tourist in your own city.

Above any other and despite the fact that I did much of my growing up away from it, Cambridge is the place I most identify as ‘home’

As a citizen of such a city, it’s easy to become jaded with its popularity as a tourist destination, eyes are rolled and words are muttered under held breath at groups of sightseers clogging up the pavements, packing into shops, bars and restaurants that one feels should be the preserve of the true residents…

…and yet, how well do we truly know the places we call home? Sure, we might know the best place for a quiet pint on a Friday evening but have we experienced why our places are so popular with outsiders? If not, why not?

I’d promised months before to take my girlfriend punting, that most Oxbridge of river activities, so when we found ourselves at home on a rather glorious day in early October there was really only one thing to do. I agreed, in addition, to show her some of the sights of the city as it was a fine day and she had never visited before.

Town was busy, circumstances usually guaranteed to bring about my ire in record time but as I found myself, however, mentally planning a route through the city designed to best show it off I confess I became rather exited.

We started out at St. John’s, the impressive, ancient college at which I had spent 6 years as a chorister before walking down King’s Parade taking the history in brilliant sunlight. Around us, the crowds seemed to heighten the experience rather than detract from it; not just tourists but locals and students alike creating a vibrant bustle.

Punting began rather nervously, as it always does when I am handed the pole and expectant eyes watch me struggle to get back into a boating rhythm that I can’t ever say I truly excelled at but much to Pam’s admittedly tongue in cheek disappointment, I managed to stay out of the water and propel us somewhat hesitantly yet effectively down the majestic river.

Afterwards we walked some more and visited the market, somehow managing to avoid buying anything, despite some quality stalls I certainly didn’t remember from my last visit. It might a well have been a different city entirely.

Truth be told, there was something about taking somebody around a place I knew and seeing how much they enjoyed what it had to offer that made me look again, look differently at things I had long since come to ignore; in another persons happiness of discovery, I found a new appreciation for a familiar place.