Impressions of Brighton

Let’s wander around Brighton for a while. This is Britain’s most popular seaside city on the English Channel, about 80 kilometres south of London.

In the late eighteenth century, George IV, then Prince of Wales, used to escape to this small town whenever he became tired of London. He liked the place so much that he had a huge residence built for himself, and before long the fashionable circles of British society began following him to Brighton. When the London–Brighton railway opened in 1841, ordinary Londoners also started coming here for holidays.

Today, the easiest way to reach Brighton is still by train. Board at Victoria Station in London, pass Gatwick Airport on the way and before long you arrive at Brighton, where a handsome old railway station welcomes you.

Here is our first encounter with the city.

Since the city is completely oriented towards the sea, the best place to get an overall impression is naturally the seafront.

Below is a photograph that more or less sums up Brighton, facing its broad beach, constantly beaten by the tides of the English Channel.

The tall tower on the left is an observation lift called the i360. A viewing pod moves up and down the tower, offering views over the city and on clear days, a panorama of the coastline. Brighton’s main road also runs for kilometres along the seafront, immediately above the beach.

The most striking structure on the coast is the impressive pier.

During the Victorian period, building large pleasure piers in seaside towns became fashionable and one of the most impressive examples was built right in the centre of Brighton. Today it contains bars, places to stroll around and an amusement park. Brighton Pier gives the city one of its most characteristic views.

It may seem rather strange that one of the largest structures in the city is a pier. But when you remember that this was once considered the height of seaside entertainment, the fact that it has survived so well and still serves the same purpose is actually quite impressive. On holidays and weekends, the enormous pier becomes very crowded.

Another view towards Brighton Pier from the beach.

Let us walk along the seafront for a while.

The endless tidal cycle of the northern seas makes itself immediately felt here as well. In winter, when rough weather is added to the tides, it is probably wiser to admire the sea from a certain distance. In summer, however, people arrive in large numbers to enjoy the beach.

The wide shoreline, stretching for kilometres, is not sandy but covered with pebbles. This has one practical advantage: whenever you feel like sitting by the sea, you can simply walk down without later having to deal with sand on your shoes.

At lunchtime, you can buy a portion of fish and chips and a cold beer and eat them while looking out over the sea. Deckchairs are available all along the beach.

If you are brave enough, you may even consider swimming. Personally, I find the idea of swimming in the sea this far north rather uninviting.

When we talk about deckchairs and beaches, you shouldn't get the wrong impression. Brighton is still a city, and people here have jobs and busy daily lives. The buildings of the city begin immediately behind the beach, as you can also see in the second photograph above.

Victorian architecture gives the seafront much of its character.

This is one of the poses Brighton offers when you turn your back to the sea.

At the western end of the long seafront, beyond the beach, there is a large open grassy area.

This seems to me very good planning. Large open spaces have been left so that people can breathe a little.

When the weather is pleasant, people simply spread themselves over the grass and enjoy the day.

The i360 tower appears in both of the photographs above. It really is an enormous structure. The viewing pod takes roughly half an hour to travel to the top and come down again.

Below is the 360-degree view of Brighton reflected in the mirrored underside of the pod.

After seeing the seafront, let's move a little further inland.

The streets running perpendicular to the sea offer some very attractive architectural views. Old, low-rise buildings, once again mainly Victorian in style, have been preserved remarkably well and create a harmonious urban texture.

Naturally, a few ugly “modern” buildings have managed to insert themselves here and there but taken as a whole, you immediately feel how pleasantly the past has reached into the present.

One of the most enjoyable areas to walk around is The Lanes.

This district, full of narrow streets and passages, offers plenty of alternatives for shopping, eating and drinking. Nightlife is also very active here, although there is one small warning: the British seem particularly fond of becoming drunk late at night and conducting increasingly loud conversations.

At weekends especially, the bars remain packed until the early hours.

But let us return to the streets of The Lanes.

After walking around, getting tired and eventually becoming hungry, it would be wrong not to try some of the flavours offered by the sea.

The general "reputation" of British cuisine is well known. It is hardly one of the world’s strongest culinary traditions. Still, the fresh seafood of the English Channel deserves some attention, even if it cannot quite compete with the style found on the French coast opposite.

Here are the streets of The Lanes.

One of the roads leading directly into the centre is North Street.

Following it brings you to a small square dominated by the Jubilee Clock Tower. On one corner stands a wonderful five-storey Waterstones bookshop. It is slightly surprising to find such a large bookshop in a city of this size.

North Street, with its characteristic architecture and buses.

While wandering through Brighton, sooner or later you come across an enormous building whose architectural style seems completely out of harmony with everything around it: the Royal Pavilion.

At the beginning, I mentioned that George IV had helped make Brighton fashionable. When he became so fond of the town, he decided that he needed a residence of his own and commissioned the architect John Nash for the job.

Nash enlarged an existing building, decorated it rather enthusiastically and the result was the Royal Pavilion.

Its style is usually described as Indo-Saracenic, or sometimes simply as an extravagant mixture of Indian-inspired architecture. Decorative domes, towers and minaret-like forms dominate the building.

The king must have liked the result, because he moved in.

I have never particularly liked the building, so I deliberately avoided photographing it directly from the front. In my own way, I thought this softened the effect a little.

Brighton, which I have tried to introduce briefly here, is one of those British towns that manages to surprise you.

Its whole existence seems to have been shaped by its relationship with the sea, almost like a Mediterranean city placed much further north.

Only about an hour and a half by train from London, Brighton has developed a life and character entirely of its own.

One last photograph.

The buildings of New Steine in the late afternoon, with the end of Brighton Pier visible in the background.

Impressions of Singapore

We can name Singapore as a shining star in Southeast Asia. It reflects the spirit of the age almost perfectly, yet at the same time it presents us with a political structure that seems out of place in the modern world.

It reflects the spirit of the age because all the mechanisms of capitalism work smoothly here, while also providing people with a serious level of prosperity. Singapore is among the leading countries of the world in income per person.

On the other hand, it seems out of place because it is a city-state, a political form that should perhaps have remained in the past. The periods when city-states played a major role in history are long gone. Empires have disappeared, and even the nation-state model that followed them is now being questioned. Yet here is a city-state continuing its existence in the twenty first century as a monument to success. I find this very interesting.

This cannot be explained by superficial remarks such as “The system poured money into it and created the country from nothing.” Singapore seems rather to prove that even within a badly organised world system, things can go surprisingly well when the right steps are taken.

Let us take a very brief look at its history.

Singapore was an unimportant settlement when Sir Stamford Raffles arrived in 1819 on behalf of the British East India Company. From that date onwards, it became an increasingly important British colony and soon developed into one of the world’s major centres of the rubber trade.

During the Second World War, it was occupied by Japan and afterwards returned to British rule.

It gained internal self-government in 1959 and joined Malaysia in 1963, partly because there were doubts that such a small place could survive alone. This union did not last long. Singapore left Malaysia in 1965, and its real adventure as an independent country began afterwards.

At that time, Singapore was by no means a rich country. Yet its administrators took a series of correct decisions, and within a surprisingly short time it grew and became prosperous.

While following a path that secured the support of the Western world, they also made bold decisions of their own. They seem to have placed their pieces correctly almost every time and reached the present day as a prosperous society of more than five million people without becoming anybody’s prey.

This city-state is an island lying just south of Malaysia. More precisely, it consists of one main island and a number of small islands around it.

Its population is made up mainly of Chinese, Malays and Indians. Chinese culture is dominant, but Malay and Indian, particularly Tamil, cultures also make themselves strongly felt.

Religious practices and everyday customs coexist in a carefully balanced society. This multicultural structure has been blended with a largely Western style of life and has produced an interesting mosaic.

Now let us begin exploring Singapore.

Below is a general view of the city’s or perhaps the country’s business centre.

This is a sterile, modern and global landscape. It resembles Hong Kong in some respects.

For a wider view, let us raise our line of sight and look at the same area from another angle. In front is Collyer Quay on Marina Bay, and immediately behind it are the tall buildings of the financial centre.

If we turn slightly to the right, towards the east, we begin to understand the layout of Singapore better. The districts extending inland from the coast and the older settlements along the winding Singapore River appear in the photograph below.

When economic growth takes place within a limited area, cities inevitably grow upwards. Singapore has had its share of this, and high-rise buildings fill the centre.

At this point, let us go back to the early days of the settlement founded by Sir Raffles and look at the city in the nineteenth century.

I photographed the painting below in a gallery at the National Museum of Singapore.

Well, as you can see, our city-state has come quite a long way. It has changed from a favoured colonial port into one of the world’s most advanced economic centres.

Before walking through the streets, let us say a few words about the climate.

Singapore lies almost on the Equator and has a tropical climate. The weather is extremely humid and hot. Moreover, it remains like this throughout the year. There is no autumn, winter or spring here. It is always summer.

With only small variations, the year consists of twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of night. Heavy rain can suddenly begin and immediately afterwards the sun may come out with full force.

Singapore is also relatively fortunate when it comes to destructive natural events. It is outside the main typhoon belt and does not lie directly on a major earthquake fault.

Now let us leave the general views and go down to street level.

This photograph was taken from Esplanade Bridge which can also be seen in some of the earlier pictures.

This bridge stands at the mouth of the Singapore River and connects the financial centre with the eastern side of the city.

As you can see, the sense of sterility visible from a distance continues at street level. Singapore has a formidable reputation for cleanliness.

The shell-shaped building on the right is the concert hall. In fact, it was not inspired by a shell but by a tropical fruit called durian.

While walking through the city centre, one naturally tries to catch characteristically Singaporean scenes. Yet Singapore is so international that the local and the global seem to have become thoroughly entangled.

Consider the photograph below.

Street names such as Queen Street and New Bridge Road may initially seem unexpected in Southeast Asia. The woman passing on her bicycle does not offer an obviously exotic image either. But this is what it means to be a genuinely international city.

I mentioned earlier that Chinese, Malay and Tamil traditions coexist within a largely Western style urban structure. English is the principal working language and one of the country’s official languages, but the local cultures continue to make themselves clearly visible.

Before exploring them, let us pass the National Museum of Singapore.

The painting of historical Singapore shown earlier is kept here. The museum is genuinely worth visiting, particularly because it demonstrates how comfortably Singapore presents its complicated history. The country displays both its indigenous and imported past without obvious embarrassment. Colonialism, migration, war, commerce and independence are all presented as parts of the long and sometimes uncomfortable journey towards the present.

The museum occupies an elegant colonial building that has been carefully restored. Anyone visiting Singapore should make time for it.

A similar architectural touch can be found in the former Hill Street Police Station, now used as a government building.

The same historical atmosphere appears in the calm of Emerald Hill, where old houses stand in striking contrast with the enormous shopping centres immediately behind them.

I find this contradictory coexistence appealing: an elegant historical presence on one side and on the other a chaotic, shameless and overpowering expression of the present.

As one moves around Singapore, the different cultures from which the city was formed gradually become distinguishable.

Little India is probably the most colourful and apparently disorderly of Singapore’s central districts. The word “disorderly” should be understood according to Singaporean standards. This is a country where the import and commercial sale of ordinary chewing gum are tightly restricted, even though chewing it is not in itself generally prohibited.

Little India is filled with brightly coloured shops, restaurants, markets and temples.

The small businesses below remind me of the old commercial streets found in many Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cities: hardware shops, grocers, computer dealers, fruit sellers, exchange shops and almost everything else one might require, all crowded together.

The city’s Malay and Muslim heritage is especially visible around Kampong Glam, not far from Little India.

The most prominent building there is Sultan Mosque, with its large golden dome.

Let us now continue towards Chinatown.

Chinatown lies immediately beside the financial district, on the western side of the city centre. Since the majority of Singapore’s population is ethnically Chinese, Chinese culture is not confined to this district, but here it becomes especially concentrated and visible.

The photograph below shows South Bridge Road in the centre of Chinatown. The handsome red building on the left is the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple.

Upon entering, one encounters an abundance of Buddha figures, colour, gold and religious imagery.

The temple makes it immediately clear that Buddhist forms of worship and sacred architecture belong to a tradition very different from those most familiar in Europe and the Western world.

Here is one detail from the interior.

Another temple in Chinatown, less imposing but perhaps warmer in atmosphere, is Thian Hock Keng.

The contrast between its small courtyard and the high-rise buildings behind it creates an interesting image. It seems almost to symbolise the uneasy coexistence of material and spiritual values.

Since Chinatown stands immediately beside the financial district, the towers of institutions controlling immense amounts of money quite literally overshadow the beautiful temple.

As our brief tour of Singapore’s streets comes to an end, we should turn to food.

It is easy to find excellent examples of both local and international cuisine. The general standard of eating and drinking is genuinely high.

Singapore is an expensive city, and restaurant prices are one sign of this. Yet Singaporeans fill the bars and restaurants not only on weekend evenings but also after work during the week.

Below is a night view of the city centre waterfront.

Seafood is particularly good. Even writing about it is enough to remind me of the flavours.

Since we have moved into the night, it would be impossible to omit Marina Bay Sands.

The building consists of three 56-storey towers supporting an enormous platform shaped rather like a ship. On the roof are swimming pools, restaurants, bars and observation areas.

Whether it is beautiful is open to argument. But it is certainly impressive.

The unusual lotus-shaped building on the left is the ArtScience Museum. The vast complex beneath the three towers is, naturally, a shopping centre and in addition, a casino.

I also photographed the enormous rooftop platform from the side. I shall leave the architectural judgment to you.

Since we are already high above the city, let us turn towards the sea.

The city or perhaps the country began to grow where the Singapore River meets the sea. Today, the meeting place of river, bay and sea offers a landscape that is largely the product of human intervention.

A vast area of reclaimed land has been transformed into Gardens by the Bay, an ambitious and genuinely impressive group of botanical gardens.

The two shell-shaped glass buildings on the left contain enormous climate-controlled conservatories.

Moving beyond the mouth of the river, one sees the extraordinary density of maritime traffic surrounding Singapore.

This offers a fairly strong clue to at least one source of the country’s prosperity. Singapore occupies one of the most strategically important positions in world shipping, and the sea around it is filled with cargo vessels and tankers waiting, loading, unloading or passing through.

Returning to ground level and travelling further inland along the river, one repeatedly encounters the close relationship between old and new.

By now, having formed some impression of Singapore, you may decide for yourself what this coexistence means.

Two further places should be mentioned before concluding.

The first and perhaps one of Singapore’s most memorable experiences is the Night Safari, situated in a wildlife park about twenty kilometres north of the city centre.

I have no photographs because the visit takes place in darkness. Electric vehicles carry visitors through carefully designed environments in which nocturnal animals can be observed under very low lighting.

The experience creates the sensation of entering the animals’ world rather than bringing them into ours. I would not recommend leaving Singapore without seeing it.

The second is Sentosa, an island immediately south of the main island.

Almost the whole of Sentosa has been developed into an enormous leisure and entertainment complex. It contains hotels, beaches, water attractions, aquariums, cable cars, Universal Studios and numerous other diversions.

It is, in effect, a gigantic amusement park. A visitor could remain there for several days, travelling by monorail and cable car, without feeling much need to enter Singapore proper.

Since I had not spent long hours on an aircraft in order to visit an amusement park, I did not explore Sentosa in great detail.

These, then, are my impressions of this remarkable city-state. Singapore left me with very pleasant memories, but also with one persistent question: how did such a small, vulnerable and historically improbable country manage to make so many things work?

Impressions of Malta

This time, I would like to write about Malta, a small island country lying almost at the centre of the Mediterranean.

Malta is an archipelago, although most of its population lives on the two main islands, Malta and Gozo. One theory connects its name with the Greek word for honey, while another traces it to an ancient Phoenician word associated with a harbour or refuge. Whatever its linguistic origins, the country presents the visitor with a distinctive mixture of Italian, British and Arab influences. It is a remarkably attractive combination.

Its long relationship with nearby Italy, the cultural legacy of the Arabs who once ruled the islands, and the traditions of Britain—from which Malta gained independence in 1964—have become intertwined to form an unusual synthesis.

Let us begin with everyday life. Traffic moves on the left, one of the most visible remains of British rule. English is spoken almost everywhere, while Maltese is the other official language. Maltese is particularly interesting: it is a Semitic language descended largely from the Arabic once spoken in Sicily and Malta, but it is written in the Latin alphabet, with several additional letters of its own.

Let us look at the first photograph: a panorama from the waterfront of Valletta, the capital. Historic buildings and marinas lie beneath the old guns that once guarded the harbour. Directly opposite stands Fort Saint Angelo.

This photograph, in fact, offers a good summary of Valletta and its surroundings.

There is something slightly confusing about Valletta. The walled city itself is no larger than a compact district. The continuous urban settlement around it makes the capital appear much larger, but administratively many of the surrounding streets and waterfronts belong to neighbouring towns.

For that reason, the photograph above does not actually show Valletta itself: I was standing in Valletta when I took it. Still, there is no need to become too preoccupied with administrative geography.

A brief look at Malta’s past reveals periods of rule by the Phoenicians, Romans, Arabs, the Crown of Aragon, the Knights of Saint John, the French and the British. It is, in other words, a very colourful history, and every period has left something behind.

One especially interesting feature is the influence of the Ottoman Empire, even though the Ottomans never succeeded in conquering or governing the islands.

Before returning to history, let us look at a more peaceful contemporary scene: Vittoriosa Marina at sunset, with the basilica of Senglea rising above it.

After Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent captured Rhodes in 1522, he allowed the Knights of Saint John to leave the island. The knights, successors to the medieval Hospitaller order, eventually settled in Malta under their Grand Master and began a long period of rule there.

In 1565, a large Ottoman fleet arrived off Malta, carrying the forces sent to capture the island. The siege was fiercely fought but ultimately failed. The celebrated Ottoman commander Turgut Reis was mortally wounded during the fighting.

Convinced that the Ottomans would inevitably return, the Maltese and the knights began preparing for another, even larger attack. They strengthened their fortifications, raised new walls and constructed a new capital named after the Grand Master Jean Parisot de Valette.

For generations, the expected return of the Ottomans remained almost legendary in the collective imagination of the islanders.

But they never returned.

Let us now walk through the streets of Valletta, the city created by the knights.

Valletta has an architecture of its own. Buildings made from the island’s pale local limestone are enlivened by enclosed wooden balconies. The following photograph shows a typical Valletta building.

This architectural language appears everywhere. The wooden balconies may be green, red or another strong colour, but they are almost always painted in vivid tones.

Daily life seems as lively and informal as the architecture itself. We are, after all, in the Mediterranean. A cold and excessively formal manner would hardly suit the surroundings.

The café below—or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a traditional neighbourhood coffee house—expresses this character particularly well. It seems arranged for the people who live there rather than for visitors, and its local atmosphere survives intact.

The most imposing religious building in Valletta is naturally Saint John’s Co-Cathedral, situated on one of the city’s principal streets.

It is called a co-cathedral because it shares the function of the bishop’s seat with another cathedral. To avoid turning this into a discussion of ecclesiastical administration, I shall simply refer to it as the cathedral from now on.

Built by the knights in the sixteenth century, the cathedral has a comparatively restrained exterior.

Here is one detail.

The interior was apparently rather plain when the building was first completed. Later, the knights seem to have decided that such modesty was unnecessary and decorated it with considerable enthusiasm.

The result is impressive, although certainly not understated.

One of Caravaggio’s most famous paintings, The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, is kept inside the cathedral. Photography was not permitted, so I cannot show it here.

When evening falls, the attraction of the waterfront becomes more apparent. While walking slowly along the shore in the pleasant weather, I saw the basilica of Senglea once again and could not resist taking another photograph.

We have now seen something of Valletta and its immediate surroundings. What else is there on the island?

About forty minutes from Valletta lies the fishing village of Marsaxlokk. It is one of the best places to see Malta’s brightly painted traditional fishing boats.

The waterfront and its boats are below.

The village square is shaped by the church and the cafés around it. As elsewhere on the island, pale limestone buildings dominate the scene.

A practical note about travelling around Malta: during my visit, an extensive public bus network covered almost the entire island. The buses were inexpensive and reached nearly every place a visitor might wish to see.

Hiring a car was also possible, of course, although driving on the left might discourage those who are not accustomed to it. Given the reach of the bus system, another form of transport was hardly necessary for most journeys.

Mdina, situated near the centre of the island, is another place that should not be missed.

The name Mdina derives from the Arabic word madina, meaning “city.” Just outside it lies the town of Rabat—another name of unmistakably Arabic origin. The influence I mentioned earlier could hardly announce itself more clearly.

Let us enter the magnificent walled city of Mdina.

Mdina’s history reaches back to the Phoenicians. During the Arab period, from the ninth century onwards, the settlement was reshaped and fortified in a form that strongly influenced the town we see today.

The knights later added buildings reflecting their own traditions and Christian culture, but they did so without destroying the architectural harmony inherited from earlier centuries.

Here is Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

Notice the stonework.

Mdina is known as the Silent City, and the name is well deserved. Its atmosphere is exceptionally calm.

While walking through its stone streets, one sees signs reminding visitors that Mdina is not merely a historic monument but a living town, and asking them not to disturb its residents with unnecessary noise.

The signs appear to be effective. Without them—or without the few people who still live behind these old walls—one might easily imagine oneself wandering through a film set.

 

The street above presents a typical Mdina scene: partly medieval, partly Arab and Middle Eastern, and unmistakably Mediterranean.

It is difficult not to be affected by the atmosphere while walking through these streets.

Here is another view from Mdina. Horse-drawn carriages move along what pass for its broader avenues, while the narrower streets belong mainly to pedestrians and bicycles.

Only the cars of local residents are permitted to enter the town. All other “modern” vehicles must remain outside the gates.

Returning to the coast gives us an opportunity to see a more contemporary Malta.

Saint Julian’s, north of Valletta, represents the modern face of the island. Familiar apartment buildings and commercial developments extend for kilometres along the shore.

The district contains not only holiday accommodation but also much of Malta’s business activity, particularly in finance and banking.

Even at the time of my visit, the inflow of foreign capital was clearly visible. Malta had managed to establish itself as an international financial centre while remaining within the regulatory framework of the European Union. The expensive cars on the roads offered their own less scientific evidence of economic prosperity.

At the far end of Saint Julian’s, the Portomaso marina complex presents its vision of an affluent modern lifestyle without excessive modesty.

During my visit, hotels were not especially expensive and could even be considered reasonably priced by the standards of popular Mediterranean destinations.

Eating and drinking, however, were among the genuine pleasures of the journey. The quality of the predominantly Mediterranean and Italian-influenced cuisine was consistently high, and restaurant presentation was unusually careful.

Malta proved to be a surprisingly rewarding destination for food. Restaurants served local wines, but many also offered a broad selection of French wines at very reasonable prices.

When our aircraft left Malta, it made a brief turn over the island. Looking down, I noticed the Rotunda of Mosta and pressed the shutter.

The church is famous for its enormous unsupported dome, one of the largest of its kind in Europe—a remarkable structure to find in a relatively small town on a small Mediterranean island.

Seen from above, Mosta and its Rotunda resemble a landscape from the Middle East or North Africa more than the conventional image of a European town.

I left Malta pleased to have experienced this beautiful island, shaped by so many histories and cultures at the centre of the Mediterranean.

How Far Away Is The Horizon?

While pursuing attractive landscape photographs, I have taken many pictures that include the horizon. From time to time, a question occurred to me: how far away is that line I see?

For example, in the photograph below which I took while sailing off the island of Samos, what is the distance between me and the horizon?

At first, this may seem like a question that is almost impossible to answer. With a little thought, however, it turns out to be quite straightforward.

Since this blog attempts to reflect the beauty contained within the area I can see, I decided to calculate that distance, in other words, the radius of my visible world.

And it can be done rather simply.

The moment mathematics enters the discussion, many people immediately turn their eyes elsewhere. Still, with a little patience, you can see how the calculation works.

Consider the graphical masterpiece I produced below. The blue circle represents the Earth. I am standing at sea level, looking towards the horizon.

Let us assume that the Earth is perfectly spherical and that its radius is 6,370 kilometres, approximately its value at the Equator. In other words:

r = 6,370,000 metres

My height is:

h = 1.78 metres

What we want to find is the distance to the horizon, represented by u.

Since the diagram contains a right-angled triangle, we can use the famous theorem of Pythagoras: the sum of the squares of the two shorter sides is equal to the square of the hypotenuse.

In this case, the hypotenuse is the radius of the Earth plus my height.

(r + h)² = u² + r²

Expanding the expression gives:

r² + 2rh + h² = u² + r²

After cancelling the terms that appear on both sides:

2rh + h² = u²

Since we are interested not in the square of u, but in u itself, we take the square root:

u = √(2rh + h²)

When the values of r and h are placed into the formula, the result is:

u = 4,672 metres, or approximately 4.67 kilometres.

So, when standing at sea level on a clear day and looking towards the horizon, the visible limit lies slightly less than five kilometres away.

It was simply something I had wondered about, so I thought I would share it.

Update:

Increasing the height of the observation point above sea level greatly extends the distance we can see.

When I took the photograph below, the aircraft was flying at an altitude of 10,600 metres.

If we disregard the line of clouds obstructing the view and enter 10.6 kilometres as the viewing height in the same formula, the distance to the horizon is approximately 365 kilometres.

So, if you wish to see farther, it genuinely helps to rise a little higher.