DURING our visit to four capitals, we found that Prague boasted more individuals who had questionable designs on relieving you of your money.

When I went to Bulgaria and Prague back in the 1980s, when covering The Hornets, shadowy individuals would approach you in lifts or shop doorways and offer you a far better rate than the official exchange.

I recall we made some deals in the hotel lift in Bulgaria and after three of us checked the validity of the notes on offer, accepted the deal.

We had enjoyed almost double the official rate and the money was valid: we could not wait to spend some of it in a bar, just to make sure.

In Prague this year, we noted they have numerous exchange shops, which offer a rate on their boards. It is always a few centimes within the official rate.

I needed some more Czech currency and entered one of these shops on the main street. The cashier took my euros and then wrote down the total she would give me.

I looked at it and nodded, which was a tad stupid, because as she was beginning to count out the notes, I had done some quick mental arithmetic. I was due 1500 in notes but she had written down something in the region 1,190.

I pointed out she had made a mistake, whereupon she drew my attention to a small sign, visible on entry, which quoted an entirely different rate from the one of the big board outside.

I took my euros back and went to a hole in the wall and drew out some local currency with my card, using a well-known bank. Apparently this type of double rate is standard in many such exchange booths and it is small wonder there are so many in Prague and presumably doing good business, although not so good for the unwitting tourist.

Fortunately we had some Czech money when we arrived in the capital, so we were able to dismiss offers of better deals by men who accosted you in the street, which is just as well, because the notes they give you in exchange for your hard-earned dollars, euros or pounds, are worthless.

We had travelled on the metro in two of the capitals and were struck that the people in Prague looked poorly dressed in comparison to those in Vienna and Budapest.

Of course there were exceptions as indeed there were when it came to the quality of service and the charm with which it was dispensed but as a general rule, the Hungarians won hands down for service and charm.

I had always promised to take Ellie to Prague, after I had returned from covering the Hornets in 1983, and finally I delivered.

The trip had cost us much less than those cruises advertised on television, but I knew the idea of an evening meal on the Danube had registered with my better half , so I made an investigation and I was able to book up ahead.

So the second night in Budapest, we reported to the boat and sailed down the Danube, with a host of other diners, while a gipsy trio played on their violins.

I had mentioned the fact to one of our daughters who ribbed me for being an “old romantic” but what proved to be a bonus was that the adverts illustrating those expensive cruises, also showed some great buildings lit up at night. The majority of them were shot in Budapest and so we were able to enjoy a picturesque trip.

There was one slightly awkward moment when we realised the trio was working round the restaurant playing requests at each table. It is times like this when you realise your knowledge of Hungarian folk songs is extremely limited.

“Funny, it has never bothered us before,” said Ellie before asking me if I was going to ask them to play It Doesn’t Matter Anymore, Runaround Sue or Tambourine Man?

I replied to the effect I would leave the choice to her: Wake up Little Suzie, Runaway or Brown Sugar? I did leave the choice to her when it came to the crunch and Ellie asked them to play one of their favourites, which was a neat sidestep.

I did make one mistake upon flying back to Paris. I thought it would be a waste to just catch a train back to Toulouse, so we opted to spend three nights in the French capital. That was a capital too many: we were cultured-out.

Of course Paris is an architectural delight and I have loved the Notre Dame and been fascinated by it ever since I first saw Charles Laughton cry out “The bells, the bells.”

One Sunday lunchtime, I sat outside and took in the imposing edifice while Ellie, who had forgotten the inside was a disappointment, was doing the internal tour.

Later we looked out on the back of the cathedral from our table in a café. We could not see the Seine from our vantage point, but I wish we had sat there a little longer to get full value. Our two cokes cost us six euros each.

The next day we went to the Louvre and what an extreme disappointment that was. The signage was below standard particularly when directing you to the Dutch masters, and the galleries seemed to be full of Italian paintings.

In addition, at least one tourist in every three appeared to be from Asia, armed to their teeth with cameras – many of which were perched on poles, so they could take their photographs over the heads of those studying the brushwork.

There was a sea of people round the Mona Lisa, which we saw from a distance, our sight-line constantly blocked by cameras on poles.

We gave it three hours and then exited stage left. Paris is a fabulous city but it is so expensive now, compared to the numerous times we have visited it before and we thanked the powers that be, for we no longer had to pay for five daughters on this trip.

The next day we headed for Gare Austerlitz and then Toulouse. There was a piano playing on the concourse. It was good to be “home”.