Those who fell helplessly in lust with brooding Englishman-of-the-moment Tom Hardy in the recent BBC television version of Wuthering Heights might consider a trip to the source.

Author Emily Bronte set Heathcliff and Cathy’s doomed love story on those same mysterious west Yorkshire moors that she and her sisters Charlotte and Ann called home. The Bronte girls were born in Thornton, now part of the city of Bradford, and moved to the more characterful hamlet of Haworth as girls. That village is now an ode to their literary skills, with flocks of tourists turning up to ogle the Worth valley in the Brontes’ honour each year.

But be warned; the Yorkshire moors aren’t quaint or pretty; they’re brooding, like Heathcliff. Go in the winter for their fullest effect. Pray for rain. Stop off in Ilkley on the way, and hike through the drizzle, heather and mist to the famous Cow and Calf rocks. Shiver and get spooked, then duck into the pub of the same name for fabulous lunch and a log fire to warm up. You won’t find Hardy here – he’s busy in Hollywood filming with Charlize Theron – but you can certainly get the measure of Heathcliff from the view outside.

Haworth Village

The Cow and Calf, Ilkley

Clare Press has a Dog Day Afternoon in Sydney and is grateful that the Paws Paws Urban Retreat maintains a separate floor for cats.

So 2009 saw the launch of a very silly film indeed called Hotel For Dogs, to which all sensible grown-ups responded: “For crying out loud! What sort of dog needs a hotel?” But good, old-fashioned sense is not something we generally apply to our furry family members (and no, I don’t mean dad before his back wax).

Gone are the days when the dog slept in the yard and was dispatched off to kennels come holiday time. Because kennels don’t have day spas, or television rooms and poor pooch would get cranky if he had to miss Master Chef…Anyway, Muttley is used to a duck-down duvet and he likes his cereal with skim milk yoghurt on the side. So where-oh-where to send him when we dash off for two weeks in Santorini this July?

Paw Paws Urban Retreat in Sydney’s Redfern is one option. This hip warehouse-style building screams downtown chic from its art filled reception area to its fashionable boutique (diamante studded collar anyone?), and woos both dogs and cats with the promise of “the most relaxing and fun holiday possible”. To wit, a team of pet nannies is on hand to take your beloved to the park, to the salon (where grooming products are organic), for a splash in the hotel’s rooftop pool (I kid you not) or even to hold a puppy party for him and his mates. Seriously. And why not? Muttley’s human too…isn’t he?

PawPaws offers overnight and longer-terms stays in single or double rooms from $50 per night. Day care is also available. Dogs and cats occupy separate floors. Menus and activity packages can be custom designed.

PawPaws Urban Retreat

The flapper era never died in this Shanghai suburb, writes Clare Press.

Shanghai has a reputation as a city that is demolishing its links to the past as fast as it is spewing out products and pollution, but a short stay in the atmospheric French concession proves the opposite. Downtown, in the gorgeous grid of old streets lined with cool boutiques, bars and art deco buildings, Shanghai’s cool heritage is being celebrated. This is where the expat Euro party set lived it up in the 1930s, but anyone still calling that decade the city’s heyday clearly hasn’t flown in recently. The old playgrounds are fast being revamped and pulse with a new energy that makes Shanghai feel like a frontier town where anything can happen – and does.

Where to stay? Book into the Galleries Suites hotel that, since 2009, has occupied a cleverly renovated heritage listed art deco apartment block on the HengShan Road. It’s just a short walk to Taicang Road to browse hip homewares stores and fill up at Paul’s one of the best French patisseries outside Paris – warning: one raspberry tart is never enough. Walk it off shopping for clothes in the eclectic boutiques along Huai Hai Lu road.

Clare Press indulges her aristo fantasies in Hong Kong.

Dim Sum © Matej Pribelsky

I’m a sucker for art deco glamour – the hats, the frocks, the general elegance of all those lovely curved lines. I would have been a fabulous colonialist posh-girl: no qualms whatever about asking the cook to put dinner on; the nanny to deal with the children; the maid to brush my hair and pour me a nice strong G&T.  These days, of course, all that is hopelessly un-P.C.  … and you can forget about lording it over an army of minions. Luckily, there remain pockets of deco decadence in Hong Kong where you can pretend you’re Nancy Cunard – at least for as long as it takes for the tea to be poured. 

Luck Yu Tea House on Central’s Stanley Street is just as it has always been; the spick and span waiters in their smart white coats serving yum cha; the lazy turn of the ceiling fans; the lovely old wooden paneled booths and stained glass fittings. And what food! The Luck Yu pork buns may well be the best in the world. Don’t leave without trying the sticky rice, the Cantonese crispy noodles with braised beef and green peppers, the prawn dumplings and the egg tarts. Weep if you want to. This is the stuff of full-blown foodie emotional outbursts. Decadence itself. 

Luck Yu Tea House, 24-26 Stanley Street, Central District, Hong Kong,
Tel: +852/2523 5464 (no website)

Real fashion beats faux every time, according to Clare Press.

People are forever going on about buying fake goods in Hong Kong, but what happens if you don’t want a wannabe Rolex or a dodgy vinyl Louis Vuitton bag that says “Lois Viton” on the tags? Because I don’t actually; I want a lovely new season Alexander McQueen clutch. Or an Hervé Leger bandage dress like the ones all the celebs are sporting. Call me a snob! I don’t care! I like to save up for my fashion fix and buy the real thing.

When in Hong Kong, I jump in a cab to the Central branch of what is surely the region’s all-time best ever fabulous fashion emporium, Joyce. Actually, the formal name of these extravagant department stores (there are four in Hong Kong and Kowloon and a new one in Taiwan) is World of Joyce, because this is the fashion world according to buyer extraordinaire Joyce Ma.

At the time of writing, new consignments are arriving from McQueen and Leger as well as Givenchy, Lanvin, Oscar de la Renta, Dries Van Noten and Balenciaga, but the mix is always changing. There’s also a must-shop cosmetics hall and an O.T.T. costume jewelry gallery. Upstairs, the hot-off-the catwalks offerings are equally as sumptuous for men. For maximum joy, Joyce-style, ensure there is plenty of room on your credit card. Hey, big spenders … 

World of Joyce, 16 Queen’s Road Central District, Hong Kong,
www.joyce.com

At the time of writing the old post office on Redfern Street is up for sale (oh to have a spare few million bucks) and the former site of the Rachel Forster Hospital on Pitt Street has just been sold to developers. Redfern Park has been overhauled and they’re rebuilding the Rabbitohs football team’s home next to it; the plan is for a state-of-the-art gym and training facility.

Behind Redfern train station in Eveleigh, the CarriageWorks complex is home to the new Anna Schwarz Gallery, a shining concrete box with a SoHo sensibility, as well as to Sydney Dance Company favourite, Performance Space. Network Seven is moving its HQ up the road to the Australian Technology Park next year, which will mean even more change. The most interesting blocks for visitors are concentrated around Danks Street in Waterloo, where housing commission flats are interspersed with fabulous old terraces, sleek new warehouse apartment complexes and homewares emporiums.

Galleries

Anna Schwartz Gallery

245 Wilson Street
Darlington
Tel:   +61 2 8580 7002  
Technically, it’s just over the train tracks into Darlington, but it’s an easy walk from Redfern to this truly inspiring venue. Whatever exhibition happens to be on, you can expect a bold, avant-garde and through-provoking experience from Schwartz’s stable.

Conny Dietzschold

2 Danks Street, Waterloo
Tel:   +61-2-9690 0215  
Looking for a next big thing? Conny Dietzschold, who also runs a gallery in Cologne, Germany, is the local go-to girl for emerging painters, video, mixed media and installation artists. This building also houses the Utopia Art and Brenda May galleries.

Darren Knight Gallery

840 Elizabeth Street, Waterloo
Tel   +61 2 9699 5353  
It kids Ricky Swallow and Louise Weaver call Darren Knight Gallery home, and it’s well worth the trip to this unassuming white brick building opposite Waterloo Oval to get the low-down on what’s hot in the local contemporary art scene.

Gallery Barry Keldoulis

285 Young Street, Waterloo
Tel:   + 61 2 8399 1240  
GBK recently moved to this sizeable warehouse space, allowing Keldoulis to properly showcase fascinating installations and contemporary sculpture works by the artists he represents including duos Thukral & Tagra and Sean Cordeiro & Claire Healy.

Grant Pirrie

86 George Street, Redfern
Tel:   +61 2 9699 9033  
This smart dove grey Federation building is home to some of the most exciting names in Australian contemporary art including photorealist painter Michael Zavros, whose figurative studies of male catwalk models and horses are a hit with the fashion set, and Brett Whiteley Travelling Art Scholarship winner, Ben Quilty.

Furniture and Design

A Pair of Chairs

80 Regent Street, Redfern
Tel   + 61 0416 016 151  
This cute little retro furniture store is nestled between a good bottle shop (the two shop cats sleep on the counter and the owners play Leonard Cohen records). A Pair of Chairs is a good place to find mid-century tables and chairs, cool old filing cabinets and 1960s lamps.

Abode Bazaar

1 Danks Street, Waterloo
Tel:   +61 2 9698 8185  
Don’t let its name mislead you – there’s nothing bustling or hectic about this serene white boutique that carries a selection of Scott Meyer’s chic leather bags and wallets and gorgeous candles by Ines Bontanica along with minimalist treasures fashioned from white marble, pale wood and stone.

Butterfield Tate Gallery

30 Wellington Street, Waterloo
Tel:   +61 408112819   
Vintage textile fanatic Hazel Butterfield Tate has just moved into this whitewashed space, bringing her handmade cushion collection with her. British-born Butterfield Tate used to have stores in LA, and has spent years collecting faded Italian linens, extraordinary bird-printed silks and 1940s chintzes from which she makes her covers, as well as wall hangings and lampshades. The delightful new store also carries collections of vintage buttons, jewellery, textiles and cleverly selected furniture – I bought the most divine little 1920s gold velvet boudoir chair here.

Salvage

2/2 Danks Street Waterloo
Tel:   +61 2 9699 1005  
Looking for a grand old set of Federation double doors? Some carved plaster pillars, or a pile of Victorian floor tiles? Some of the grander fitting and fixtures pulled from once great Australian houses end up here, along with specially picked antiques to fit the posh past mood. Warning – you get what you pay for, and prices here are high.

The Country Trader

197 Young St. Waterloo
Tel:   +61 2 9698 4661  
The bee’s knees of Sydney antiques stores, Country Trader now occupies impressive premises inside a giant warehouse conversion, the PYD building, which also houses specialists in flooring, marble, doorknobs and bathroom fittings. Head here for 17th century French armoires and ornate painted screens, marvellously weathered leather club chairs, giant old chandeliers and the like. It doesn’t get better – or pricier; expect to spend upwards of $30,000 on a special piece.

Food

Danks Street Depot

1 / 2 Danks Street, Waterloo
Tel:   +61 2 9698 2201  
This slow food Mecca is choc-a-block for brunch on weekends, but it’s worth the wait for a table to sample their excellent coffee and constantly changing menu. You’re in luck if the Western Australian sardines on toast are being served. The garlic bread is insanely good, and all the egg dishes rock. There’s also a bar in here – one of the few places you can be guaranteed a stress-free drink (pubs in these parts are still pretty rough).

Fratelli Fresh

It seems like aeons ago that this was all that drew people to Danks Street in their droves – much has changed in the years since this impeccable providores set up shop here selling imported Italian everything, along with organic meats, boutique cheeses and vegetables so beautiful you hardly dare eat them, to restaurateurs and foodies. There is also a wonderful eaterie, Sopra, upstairs and cooking classes once a week downstairs. Avoid shopping here on Saturdays; the queues are a mile long.

Macro Whole Foods

This new kid on the block is a stylish organic providore, stocking an exhaustive range of the usual certified organic fruits, vegies, meats, grains and dairy produce as well as organic soaps, shampoos and skincare lines. Drop by the café for a quick wholesome bite – and wash it all down with a healthful fresh organic juice.

PatissePyd. Building
197 Young Street, Waterloo
Tel:   +61 (02) 9690 0665  
Two words: mouth watering. Dieters must avoid this small but perfectly formed patisserie counter because the brioches, ginger cakes, citron tarts and flaky pasties are just too good to say no to. Those who don’t fear the calorie overload should take a seat at the rustic wooden bench or on one of the leather arm chairs, and indulge.

Strangers with Candy96 Kepos Street, East Redfern
Tel:   +61 2 9698 6000  
Housed in a raspberry red former shop front on the corner of Phillip Street is this neighbourhood gem that offers thoughtful modern cooking for breakfast and lunch on weekends and dinners Wednesday through Saturday. For my money, you can’t go past the blue cheese soufflé with green pear, rocket and eggplant caviar – delicious.

Perfect packing is an art form that can be learned – take it from one who knows, writes Clare Press.

It was my grandmother’s habit to drag her suitcases from storage at least three weeks before any trip, plotting and planning which beaded jacket to take with which cocktail dress, how many sheets of tissue paper she’d need to layer her knits, which swimsuit went with which sunhat. You can’t go anywhere without a cocktail dress – not even the beach – because you never know, you see, who might be there and where they might invite you. Call it ready for anything. Call it super-organised. Call it neurotic. Whatever. I inherited this gene.

This Christmas my husband and I made a four-week trip to London, Paris and Thailand. My spouse happily plonked four shirts into a hold-all with two pairs of jeans, board shorts and the jacket that makes him look like a young Keith Richards. He wore his trainers on the plane.

“But what about your black shoes?” I shrieked, tempting hysteria. “And the linen pants? And it’s going to be freezing in Europe; you need a jumper, a scarf and those sheepskin gloves I bought you in Russia. Are you clinically insane? Do you want to say home? You cannot be serious!”

My tone was now fishwife (fish have wives?) meets hyped-up harridan.

“I’ll buy a jumper in Paris,” came his insouciant response. That sentence encapsulates the difference between the sexes, but also the gulf between driven and chilled-out packers and the point of this story. How much is too much when it comes to one’s travelling wardrobe? And if you’re travelling light, how can you be sure not to take things too far (or take way too little)?

I love those stories in Vogue about how chic women distill their style essence when packing for short trips. The most fabulous wax lyrically to a familiar theme: that less is more, but that you need to be meticulous in your planning if you are not going to be caught short. And while shopping is fun (remember to pack a roomy, squashy, zip-up canvas tote – Longchamps makes some good ones – to pack your holiday purchases in on the return leg of your journey) it’s not something you want to be compelled to do because you haven’t brought enough underwear.

If working at a fashion magazine has taught me one thing, it’s how to pack well. I once flew in to Auckland two hours before a film premiere with nothing in my hand luggage but a lipstick and a copy of The New Yorker. It had been a sunny Saturday in Sydney and I was wearing a thin cotton sundress with open-toed flat sandals. I’d slung my cashmere travel blanket around my shoulders for the flight and stuffed my cardigan into my suitcase. Said case was too large to carry on, so I’d checked it in, with its precious cargo of glittering lurex Gucci evening dress and brand new Pierre Hardy platforms.

Also inside were my jeans and silk camisoles, my pyjamas and my make-up bag, my evening clutch, my trench coat and – worst of all – my dictaphone. I was to interview the lead actress from the movie the following day, then hire a car and drive down south to write up a travel piece on the Wellington area. Even if they hadn’t lost my luggage, my trench would have been irredeemably creased.

It was autumn and Auckland was cold. At the carousel, my case was nowhere to be seen, and I had to wear my blanket like a sari in the cab to the hotel. Once I’d checked in, it was after 6pm and the shops were shut. I had two options: wear a bathrobe to the premier or stay in bed and order room service. I did the latter, and sulked.

The following day the airline called to say my luggage was in Mumbai but should turn up in the next three days – by which point I’d be long gone. I dashed out into the rain in my crumpled sundress, bought a dreadful fleece in the first place I saw then spent the morning searching for a shop that sold micro-cassettes. At the interview with the very famous blonde that lunchtime, my legs all goosebumps in their thin cotton sheath, I gushed about how much I’d enjoyed the movie.

“What did you think of the ending?” she asked.

My response: “All I can say is, ‘wow!’”

She bought it, so my own ending was a happy enough one – and I’d learned a valuable lesson too.

These days I make a list a few days before I fly for work, pieces that can be mixed and matched, worn in different ways to allow for any occasion: a little black Chloé dress, metallic ballet flats, heels to jazz the dress up for dinner, leggings, a great Camilla & Marc jacket, some skinny jeans, some wide-leg pants, a Hotel Bondi bikini just in case, a couple of tee-shirts by Bassike, my Panama, and some jewellery – bangles by Marni, a statement necklace by Michelle Jank. I never take anything I haven’t worn before so as not to arrive, put in on and feel wrong. I leave tricky or obvious pieces at home, as they can’t be worn over and over. I pack things that can be layered, so I can beat the heat or cold.

Next up, I check that everything has been washed or dry-cleaned. I look over my shoes to ensure they don’t need mending. I make sure I have the right underwear: silk French knickers for comfort on the plane (there’s nothing worse than sitting around in tight briefs or a thong), a camisole that can double as a top if it’s hot, cosy pyjamas in case the hotel air con is in overdrive.

Then I pull down my case, which I always check in because I hate dragging it about in transit. But thanks to the Auckland experience, I always pack a change of clothes, my make-up bag and dictaphone into my hand luggage. When it comes to packing the main bag, I’m no fan of my grandmother’s tissue – too fiddly. I’m all about rolling; it helps prevent creases. What to do about the jacket? Wear it onto the plane, then ask the steward to hang it up.

Once you’ve zipped up your case, pick it up. If it threatens to dislocate something, open it again and take some stuff out. Be ruthless – do you really need those leather jeans? – but keep an eye on that list. Never, ever leave home without the LBD (think premiers, parties, interviews, dates, mooching around the accessories department at Liberty, where you will feel shabby in jeans). And yes, you can buy a jumper when you get to Paris, but if you already have one in your case you can go to Ladurée for macaroons instead.

Do you have any secret packing tips? Enter our Tiffany’s Tribute Travel Pack competition.

We do not travel, of course, to experience the familiar. That said, there is something comforting about bunking down in a thoroughly modern pied a terre when visiting a city as crazily confusing, polluted and exasperating as Shanghai can be. The Philippe Starck designed JIA Shanghai hotel, housed in a converted downtown art deco building, is just that.

This modernist bolthole is a boutique haven with all the trimmings: the air conditioning always works, the sheets are super-soft cotton and the staff brings you champagne as you check your emails in the dimly lit lounge. Incidentally, said lounge carries W, German Vogue, the US edition of Harper’s Bazaar and Numero for the modern fashionista’s jet-setter magazine needs.

In the suites, the feeling that you could be anywhere intensifies. Manhattan (or a scene from the film Boogie Nights) comes to mind as you sink into the minutely mosaic-ed gold bathtub – there are no windows in the smallest room to tell you otherwise. In the bar fridge lurks champagne from France and chocolates from America – you have to open a cupboard to find evidence of your Asian location. Here, noodle bowls are stacked.

These generously sized rooms are decorated in that distinctly Starkian melange of modern dark wood veneer and witty, talking point furniture – two giant Perspex chess pieces guard the giant entertainment unit (with its draw filled with the latest DVD movies), while the lamps are shaped like space ships. By the telephones (they are all over the joint, along with multiple internet connections) little red notebooks printed with golden Mao graphics await your memos…ah, so this is China after all; you knew it!

But then you’re in the hotel’s swish Italian restaurant, Issimo, munching on wood-fired pizza, and you could be anywhere in the world.

Find JIA Shanghai at 931 West Nanjing Road, Shanghai, 31 200041 China. Telephone +86 21 6217 9000. Visit www.jiashanghai.com.

The last time a bloke wolf-whistled at me in Sydney I told him in colourful tones where to go (needless to say it wasn’t out with me for a candle-lit dinner). This man was driving a white van, and commenced his ogling just as I dropped my shopping, his tongue lolling like the village idiot while Bryan Adams blared from his stereo. He was sporting four-day growth and a beanie hat. From what I could see, he had a fat neck too (who knew necks could even be fat? It didn’t bode well for his torso).

Now I don’t deny that when the whistles dwindle with the advancing years, I might miss being found attractive by strange men (that should read male strangers – nobody needs the weird ones). I’ll tell you what, though, I’d miss it much more if I lived in Italy. Actually, scratch that. In Italy a woman’s charms don’t have a sell-by date. That, as they say, is amore.

In Rome on business recently I discovered a wonderful truth. There, all the men flirt with all the women all the time. They flirt in taxis and hotel lobbies; they flirt in cafes and restaurants; in gelato stores and at the markets. Married people flirt dangerously with each other and innocently with everyone else. Single people flirt for Italy. Flirting is a national pastime, without an age limit, one marinated in good humour and class. Italian men don’t ogle, they smile and chat and make women feel beautiful. Even the construction workers whistle winningly.

Maybe it’s the sonorous beauty of the Italian language, or the wine that everyone seems so willing to drink at all sorts of odd times – in moderation, that’s another thing, getting plastered is not the national pastime it is in many Anglo countries. Or maybe it’s the sheer dizzying beauty of cities such as Rome. No wonder Audrey Hepburn’s princess fell for Gregory Peck’s newsman in the iconic 1953 film set here. In need of a confidence boost? Get thee to the Spanish Steps at once!

Here, my pick of Rome’s top flirting hotspots:

Spanish Steps

Built in the early 1700s, these 138 stone steps climb graciously up from the Piazza di Spagna to the post-card perfect Trinità dei Monti church. A memorable scene in Roman Holiday was filmed here, in which Hepburn lazily licks an ice cream cone and shows off her new short and chic hair cut. The off-duty royal epitomises the tourist at leisure – and picks up a tall, dark and handsome bloke, while she’s at it. So channel Hepburn, pose prettily and watch the world dash by – straight ahead lies the bounteous shopping strip of the Via Condotti – you never know who might be watching.

The Burberry store, Via Condotti

Once you’ve finished your gelato, cross this iconic street and head down past Dior, YSL and Max Mara to the magnificent Burberry store at number 8. Okay, so it’s not a local brand, but my, are the shop assistants are cute here! Don your best duds and your flashiest accessories, nip upstairs in this flagship wonder and try everything on. And don’t forget to ask the boys if you look good in each outfit.

Gelato shops, on every corner

Talking of gelato, this city abounds with the stuff. Whoever deemed oysters as the hottest aphrodisiac surely never tasted a Roman cone. Learn some key words – try cioccolata, fragio, limone, delizioso – apply lip-gloss, place your order and let the good times roll.

Trevi Fountain

Legend has it that if you throw a coin into the wonderful baroque Fontana di Trevi, your wish will come true. The water represents the sea, and to keep the gods on side, you’re supposed to chuck the silver in with your back to the action. I don’t know about all that, but it certainly is a tops place to meet the locals, most of whom are happy to help a little lost holidaymaker…Loiter, look mysterious and leave the guidebook at home.

The streets surrounding the Vatican

Strictly speaking the Vatican is no place for flirting, although the surrounding streets are full of atmospheric pavement cafes that make perfect meeting places. The Pope’s seat of power is a city-state that’s home to an 800-strong religious community of monks, nuns and VIPs, as well as the 500-year-old St Peter’s Basilica and other architectural wonders. The Holy See, as the Vatican is also known, is of enormous spiritual significance to millions of Catholics, and during the major holidays, what feels like the entire city turns out to hear the Pope’s blessings. Worth a try, no?

The Colloseum

This giant Roman amphitheatre (there was room for 55,000 spectators) was built between AD 72 and AD 80. Rome’s most famous landmark is absolutely breathtaking, so why not physically swoon at its beauty just as a strapping single male passes by? If all goes to plan, he will swoop in and catch you, then take you off for a reviving glass of vino. What better opportunity to reveal your poet’s soul?

Piazza Navona

Between the Pantheon and the river, lies this square that was built over the ruins of the ancient Roman sporting venue, Domitian’s Stadium. Today it’s home to three fabulous fountains, plenty of lively restaurants and cafes and the brimming promise of romance. Park yourself in front of the Fontana del Nettuno (a wonderfully buff King Neptune) and make like one of his sea nymphs.

Divertiti!