After a decade, I’m still not sure whether I’m a Parisian girl at heart who keeps leaving, or a foreigner who simply keeps returning, but Paris had me from the start. I love the whole city, from the multi-cultural 18th arrondissement to the chic 16th, from the hip Bobos of the Bastille to the grand old dames cruising the 7th with their pampered lapdogs… but my favourite area has to be the Marais, not least because I find myself living here again, for the third time in ten years.

Situated on the Right Bank of the Seine, this area spans the 3rd and 4th arrondissments and to me is the best area for walking and witnessing Paris’s true cultural melting pot; from the Jewish area surrounding the pedestrianised Rue de Rosiers, to the many cool gay bars to Chinese area in the 3rd arrondissement. Not least it’s one of the few areas in Paris that was not ‘Haussmann-ised’ – and still retains the fascinating flavour of Medieval and Renaissance-era Paris.

Photo: cc. Flickr/draket  – rue de Rosiers at night

The Marais means The Marsh; and the now glamorous area was reclaimed from marsh land in the 12th Century and eventually became much a much favoured piece of Paris of French Royalty; from Henri IV to Louis XIII…. after the devastation of the French Revolution, 1789, this Bourgeois area was deserted by the social leaders of the day…. that is until the Sixties, another era, ironically, of revolution, and one that saw the area enjoy a revival in popularity that has barely abated since.

Highlights of the area:

Rue des Francs-Bourgeois: Housing some of the coolest shops and boutiques in Paris as well as numerous Renaissance-era buildings the street has a less than auspicious background, having been named after the poverty stricken people who were housed here. Today this is the place in Paris to do your weekend strolling, shop til you drop (this is one of the few streets with shops open on a Sunday) and stop at one of the numerous bars or cafes for a thirst-quenching verre du vin or cafe au lait. Some of my favourite shops here are Diptyque (I’m a candle addict), Paul & Joe and Barbara Bui… thank God for Mr Mastercard (I never leave bed in Paris without him).

Photo: cc. Flickr/edsel_ – Crêperie Suzette, 24 rue des Francs Bourgeois

Place des Vosges: To me this is the most beautiful square in Paris, if not the world; it was built for King Henri IV in 1605 (completed in 1611) and was then called Place Royal….. much later, given the twists and turns and political drama of French history, the square was re-named Place des Vosges in 1800 by Napoleon in honour of the Vosges department; the first to pay taxes in France. The name was then changed back to Place Royal in 1815 then back again to Place des Vosges in 1870 for good! The square and its surrounding buildings today remain as captivatingly breathtaking as they were  centuries ago.. the area has been the stomping ground of such historical greats as King Henri II, Catherine of Medici, Cardinal Richelieu (he had a statue for King Louis XIII erected in the centre of the square – it was destroyed during the French Revolution and replaced in 1825) who lived at number 21, and the legendary writer Victor Hugo who lived at number 6 on the 2nd floor where you can now visit to see where he turned out such classics as The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Les Miserables. There are romantic restaurants and galleries aplenty surrounding the square; but expect to dig deep into your purse to enjoy the luxury of this fabulous location. Not cheap but worth it.

Photo: cc. Flickr/fredpanassac – 6 Place des Vosges

Holiday Goddess Reader Comments:

“The Marais is my favourite part of Paris too. I love the Fragonard store which sells their hand-embroidered travel bags – all written in French – and their tiny pots of perfume balm, with pictures of the Eiffel tower on the front. And I really love the fact there are two Metro train stations close by. I would never stay anywhere else.’
Edie Pascale, Melbourne, Australia

Jane de Teliga dives into a chic store where the proceeds go to children in Madagascar.

Full of thronging crowds, the hottest shop in Paris is merci. Visiting on a weekend, I fight my way past le tout Paris into the courtyard with its cute little cinquecento car bursting with merchandise. In a rambling old factory on the boulevard Beaumarchais in the very hip third arrondissement, you’ll find an amazing multilevel space bursting with designer goodies and designer labels, anything from light bulbs to vintage clothing, from lampshades to perfumes. Plus it’s got a great café in the basement and a flower shop (by famous French florist Christian Tortu) in the foyer.

But merci is no ordinary store. It is in fact the 21st century super chic version of a charity shop. Founded by Marie-France and Bernard Cohen last year after they sold their legendary children’s wear label Bonpoint, merci is their way of giving. After the costs are met, 100 percent of the profits go to impoverished children in Madagascar, one of the world’s poorest nations.

My visit to merci, one year after it opened in 2009, coincided with the very popular launch of a special range of Liberty print merchandise, a design collaboration between the London store and merci, which had droves of chic Parisians queuing (not their natural inclination) to purchase. That’s a lot of mercis channelled to a very good cause.

As this seems to be all about children, why not check out children’s store Bonton just down the road. It’s a newly opened store and very much following the merci mode, with many levels piled high with adorable kids clothing, quirky toys, a photo booth and kiddie hair salon. Even if you have zero interest in kids, this is worth a look just for the retail concept and for great gifts at all prices.

While on the kiddie trail a friend, with toddler in tow, took me on down the boulevard towards Bastille, to a charming toy store Filament, which is full of knick-knacks that kids and kidults alike would adore too. Hard to pin down this quirky store, without a working website not even an address card, as the owner admitted with a sheepish shrug, Filament is one of those places you just have to hear about. A train chuffs around the cluttered window, through piles of toys and you’ll see stacked up a wall their own line of super cute leather baby shoes. What could be smarter than baby’s first shoes bought in Paris.

As you’re in Marais and in walking distance, why walk to the Place des Vosges, the most beautiful historic square in Paris. Once upon at time, when my sister’s children were little, she was castigated by the guardian for allowing her baby to put his little feet on the grass. Nowadays they have loosened up a little and in the summer allowed one grassy portion where you can actually sit on the grass and allow your children to run around. In winter, though this patch of grass is roped off with a sign, which always makes me smile, about the lawn being in ‘repose’. At least in summer one can say merci for small mercies.

merci
111 boulevard Beaumarchais
75003 Paris
tel: +33 (0)1 42 77 00 33
www.merci-merci.com

Bonton
5 boulevard des Filles du Calvaire
75003 Paris
tel : +33(0)1 42 72 34 69
www.bonton.fr

Filament
10 rue de Lesdiguieres
75004
tel: +33 (0)1 42 09 81 83

http://www.flickr.com/photos/heyrocker/3748126806/ CC

Maggie Alderson recommends you try the vanilla…

Most good ice cream in the UK is actually Italian (Morelli’s Gelato, Broadstairs, Kent and also in Selfridges, London and Birmingham) or American (Häagen-Dazs, Leicester Square and all supermarkets), but the very best is actually Welsh.

Cadwallader’s Ice Cream was launched upon the tongues of North Wales in 1927, at a small family grocery shop on a hill in the picturesque seaside town of Criccieth.

So delicious is the creamy vanilla, with a unique taste – probably the result of the ‘secret ingredient’ they tease customers about on an in-store notice – that they soon stopped selling everything except ice cream. Queues formed. A seaside holiday tradition was set for generations of children.

There are other branches now, several around Wales and one in England, but this is the original and the best, perfectly situated half way up the hill between two sandy beaches and right by the entrance to the thrilling ruined castle, with its spectacular views of Cardigan Bay and Snowdonia.

One thing: make sure you all have vanilla. There are other flavours now, but it would be sacrilege.

Castle Street, Criccieth, Gwynedd, North Wales, 01766 523665

cadwaladersicecream.co.uk

http://www.flickr.com/photos/steinsky/2672848866/ CC

Jane de Teliga visits Venice off-peak and trades tourists for astonishing artworks.

Visiting Venice in winter has its own very special charm. Suspended between a watery sky and a watery sea, you wander on a fragile crust of earth interlaced by bridges and encrusted with the most gloriously beautiful buildings. Yes it’s cold, rainy and often you must wade through water from the ‘acqua alta’ (high tides) but oh it’s so evocative and romantic in the true sense of the word. And so many less tourists makes it much more of a pleasure to get around.

I visited Venice recently in the last days of the Venice Biennale when the city is full of fascinating exhibitions tucked away in crumbling Palazzi, in the Arsenale the old naval dockyards or the Giardini, the public gardens dotted with pavilions of the countries of the world. It can take days to see all the exhibitions, some planned and some pure happenstance as you wander the streets. It gives purpose to your visit to Venice and you see areas of Venice where you would never normally venture.

There are so many wonderful art experiences in Venice at anytime, Biennale or not. One of the new jewels in Venice is the contemporary art museum built by Francois Pinault, the luxury fashion entrepreneur who has spread his largesse by opening a stylish museum designed by Tadeo Ando. Based in the Punta della Dogana, the wonderful old customs building in the middle of the lagoon, topped with a big gold ball, it is a superb selection of contemporary art. The outstanding works include a taxidermied horse stuck into the wall by Maurizio Cattelan  and the extraordinary work on the horrors of war by Jake and Dinos Chapman.

A visit to the Museo Fortuny, when you can get inside, is a gorgeous experience, housed as it is in a crumbling Gothic palazzo that was once the home and studio of designer, Mariano Fortuny, (he of the pleated silk gowns and sumptuous textiles created at the turn of the twentieth century). The museum seems to be forever being restored but you can get a chance to see it when there are temporary exhibitions on show.

Venice is burgeoning with art museums and the sumptuous Doges’s Palace in St Mark’s Square is an obvious tourist choice, which allows you to drink in the rather scary atmosphere of La Serenissma at the height of its powers.

A favourite is the Peggy Guggenheim Collection housed in the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni. It’s a collection of 20th century art, amassed by the wonderfully eccentric American heiress, whom I once saw years ago leaving her palazzo in a rather grubby trench coat. Interestingly, the Palazzo was also once owned by another famous eccentric woman, the exotic Marchesa Casati, who earlier in the 20th century was a muse to many contemporary artists.

For a restorative respite from art viewing, repair to the Café Florian on St Mark’s Square. It has been there since 1720 and is a glorious confection of mirrors and gilding. With one delicious hot chocolate you can sit and while away cosy hours people watching while the rain swirls around outside. While I was there, a just engaged Russian couple had hired a private room complete with a string quartet and a visit from an actor dressed as the Doge of Venice, who startling appeared in medieval dress in the midst of the café. In summer the Florian also do an inspired peach Bellini made from fresh white peaches. Though expensive, it is like drinking heavenly angel foam.
Have a Bellini at the Florian, rather than the famous Harry’s Bar, which is housed in a rather unprepossessing overlit room, full of tourists.

As to shopping, Venice is tragically consumed by ghastly masks and garish glassware so purchasing anything involves serious wading through the tourist dross.

In Venice, I like to stay in the less touristy and slightly down at heel area of Cannaregio. You can trundle your suitcases from the railway station, which opens out right in front of the canal, one of the great surprises for first time visitors. This time I stayed at a charming small hotel called Casa Martini, tucked away in a small alleyway that has been in the Martini family since the 1700s and converted more recently into a hotel. (www.casamartini.it)

A walk away is a delightful bar/restaurant find, hidden away in another alleyway and much loved by the locals. Its official name is Trattoria Ca’ D’Oro but it is also known as ‘Alla Vedova’ ( at the Widows). Venice is full of great little bars that serve Venetian style snacks to have with your wine. It’s just a question of wandering the tiny nooks and crannies to seek out the local hidden favourites. And in winter a pair of rubber Wellingtons sure helps.

Go green, go chiconomy class, save a fortune and enjoy the ferry from England to France. By Holiday Goddess Editors.

Our first tip is to go on a weekday, not a weekend or public holiday. Our second tip is to squeeze into the calmest, warmest off-peak days you can find.
But if you can manage all this, then walking onto a ferry from England and walking off in France is a wonderful experience.

It’s also ridiculously chiconomical. Fares begin at £19 and if you pick up a newspaper offer or special promotion, you can sail for the price of lunch.

Connect to your ferry stop by train from London, if that’s your hub. But if you’re on the UK coast anyway, remember you’re halfway to Europe anyway.

The best deals are for you and your friends en masse. Pack out the car, split the cost. And remember, the luggage allowances are incredibly generous compared to those parsimonious deals with budget airlines.

Fares are available to Ireland, Belgium, Spain and Holland too. And we really like the free guides to download at http://www.directferries.co.uk

There may be parties of schoolchildren on your boat. It may feel a little odd to realise you’re travelling sans flight attendants. But seriously, if you haven’t tried the ferries from England to Ireland and Europe, you’re in for an unforgettable experience.

The mini cruises to Europe (well under £100) are also worth a look.

When you have only one morning to go shopping in Paris, best not to find yourself at a 2am lock-in at your favourite Parisian friend’s local – in this case, Mon Chein Stupide (1, rue Boyer 75020, 01 46 36 25 49) – the night before. And best not precede that with a visit to his beloved neighbourhood restaurant, the comfortingly unpretentious, seriously produce-driven, and Michelin-starred Bistrot des Soupirs (49, rue de la Chine 75020, 01 44 62 93 31). There will be conversations about birth, death, love, war and Gil Scott Heron; your glass will never be empty, life will be impossibly sweet. Then you’ll wake up.

My Mamashelter bed was large and very forgiving, and with the sound of teeming rain and a great stonking hangover urging me to stay put, I wrote the morning, and my shopping lift, off. After ‘lunch’ at the Rose Bakery (46, rue des Martyrs 75009, 01 42 82 12 80) – nothing like a crumble and a jug of custard to help a sore head – I had my legs sugared at Cinq Monde – much more relaxing than a wax, as a calf massage is part of the process.

Then to the wonderful Institut Du Monde Arabe, in a valiant attempt to plough through at least a few hours of research before I headed across Ille St Louis to the right bank, the metro and pre-dinner nap back in the 20eme. But on the way ‘home’, as fate would have it, I missed the turnoff to the Pont Marie metro station and before I knew it, found myself outside cult sandal shop, K.Jacques (16, rue Pavée, 01 40 27 03 57). Then there was no turning back, the Marais sucked me in: Bensimon (12, rue des Francs Bourgeois, 01 42 77 16 18), Comptoir de Cotonniers (33, rue des Francs Bourgeois,01 42 76 95 33), Vanessa Bruno (100, rue Vielle du Temple, 01 42 77 19 41), Claudie Pierlot (Blancs Manteaux 9, rue des Blancs Manteaux, 01 44 78 03 33) and L’Arstisan Perfumer (‎32, rue du Bourg Tibourg, 01 48 04 55 66‎), all within a Chablis-addled amble. The 10eme’s APC and the Anne Valerie Hash aside, here was my shopping list writ large.

The fates seemed to want me to shop and I was in browsing heaven, but I was in no state for change rooms. Despite a final detour, a long, lustful wander and a cup of tea at the beautiful and oh-so right-on Merci (111 blvd Beaumarchais 75003, 01 42 77 00 33), by the time I found another metro station, I carried but two modestly sized shopping bags. One from Petit Bateau, with the obligatory dozen knickers for my daughters, the other from American Vintage (10 rue des Francs-Bourgeois 01 42 77 98 73 ), a label I first spied in Marseille in 2006, and whose endless riffs on the t-shirt theme have now fortunately found their way into the wider world.

The American Vintage bag contained the twin scarves – long, meltingly soft twists of cotton – pictured above. Why two? In grey and, well, grey? There are, as the cliché goes, many shades of grey; in the parlance of conte crayons, I chose one that was cool, another that was warm. (Or perhaps, recalling the urban bestiary of Paris, there’s a pigeon and  a mouse.) They’ve both since kept my chill-prone neck warm during many a flight and through the ever-shifting equinox weather of Melbourne, New York and Oslo. One or the other will go with everything I own, and I’m never quite as anxious about potential loss as I’ve got back up. And while there’s a host of similar pieces to be had, these carry both the insouciance and a particular attention to detail of their Provençal makers.

Teamed with a cream APC tunic, the warm one  kept my décolleté modest on my early morning flight south to Tunis, while the cool one got its first outing later that very evening. On the way to find a medicinal onion soup, my friend and I made an unscheduled stop on a windswept corner. A (largely female) crowd had gathered to watch a couple of strapping young pompiers liberate a wayward terrace umbrella that had been blown into the top branches of a very tall tree. Neck wrapped tight in my new scarf (and looped into messy pussycat bow, because it was, well, Paris), I was able to stave off the unseasonable cold while this slight but charming episode came to its happy conclusion. And what a cinematic one it was, the day’s inky clouds suddenly receding as the umbrella was retrieved, the firemen’s muscles flexing beneath sodden t-shirts, gold helmets glinting in the last rays of the setting sun.

Faith Bleasdale survived London-Singapore flights for years. In economy. This is how she did it…

When I lived in Singapore it felt as if I spent most of my time on a plane. The eleven hour flight between the UK and Singapore became my second home. Travelling in economy class is a grim ordeal that I think would perhaps rehabilitate prisoners; I had to develop my own way of surviving. Most people are flying to go on holidays, which means that they are more forgiving of the flight but still, I thought I would share with you my tips for making it as painless as is possible!

When I started my carry on bag was full to the brim of things I thought I would need, by my last flight I had mastered it as much as I ever would, being the sort of person who is always a tad over-prepared. My first tip is to organise your handbag, making sure that everything is easily accessible. When you are first squeezed into your seat and everyone is trying to board the plane getting your essentials to hand is a skill that needs practice.

But first to what to take?

Posh always looks amazing when she steps off the plane, although she obviously doesn’t go ‘cattle class’. However I would always travel in jeans and take a pair of yoga trousers and a long sleeved T-shirt with me to change into, along with my favourite woollen socks. I didn’t feel great stepping off the plane in what looked like my pyjamas, and although the airplane loos aren’t exactly great changing rooms, they are just about manageable. Also take a big scarf or pashmina with you to cosy up in.

Sleeping on the plane isn’t always easy but if you want to rest your eyes, which will help with the looking good at the other end, take a good quality sleep mask and invest in a pair of earplugs.

Planes dehydrate, especially if you indulge in some of the free wine they serve (which I always do), so drink plenty of water. It’s simple but crucial both to avoid water retention and to help your skin. In addition it’s important to carry the right products. Due to recent events you are allowed to take 100ml bottles, which is the perfect excuse to try to blag sample sizes of your favourite products. Take a good facial moisturiser, and apply it frequently, as well as a soothing eye cream, and a lip balm. Deodorant is obviously essential and I always pack some baby wipes which are just really useful for a whole multitude of things! Then, before landing you can reapply your make-up, get changed and you will look ready to face the paparazzi!

Got something to add? Post your best long-haul flight survival tips to Holiday Goddess on Facebook.

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

Emma Killick loves the honour system in San Sebastian bars – and the fried green peppers.

Set amongst two natural bays, Donostia as the Basques call it, is almost surreally beautiful from afar and intriguing up close. This small city is visited mainly by Spaniards and French, with the ubiquitous presence of Aussies who come for the surf at Zarriola beach

Things to do:

The beach at Playa del Concha is a long stretch of white sand with the old town (Parte Vieja) to the northern end. Several diving pontoons bob in the bay that are either a 5 minute swim or ½ an hour, depending on when you attempt to get to them as the tide is quite dramatic. The water is unbelievably clear, warm and calm – especially considering that this is a beach surrounded by a city.

Playa del Concha really appeals to every age group: from toddlers to groups of older ladies and gents in their colourful one piece suits with matching caps (the ladies that is), doing laps across the bay or their morning constitutional around the water’s edge.

The promenade, filled with bike riders, joggers and walkers, goes all around Concha Bay which leads to Ondarreta beach and around to the Piene del Viento (the “Wind Combs”), a wonderful sculpture by Eduardo Chillida set into the rocks at the top of the bay.

Parte Vieja is at the base of Monte Urgull and is the most vibrant part of the city. Beautiful old buildings line the streets, tall enough to block out the hot, midday sun. Each street brings new surprises, with ornate churches, specialty shops, and a plethora of bars serving pintxos (the Basque word for tapas). Drinks are served in a measure equivalent to a few gulps – the assumption is that you’ll stop for a bite at one place and move on to another for the next. The majority of bars work on the honour system (which is refreshing when you come from a large city and are used to being watched by bouncers and security cameras and is likely a reflection of the low crime rate): you order drinks, pick up food from the bar and before you leave you simply tell the person behind the bar how many drinks you had and point to what you had to eat.

Take in the panoramic views from Urgull mountain. It has a small fortified 12^th Century castle and a statue of Christ at the top. Reach it on foot from Parte Vieja.

Visit Plaza de la Constitucion, too. It’s a dramatic square surrounded by balconied and numbered buildings that were used for viewing when the square was used for bull fighting. The bulls are long gone and the square is now filled with bars and restaurants.

On the other side of Parte Vieja is another bay and Playa del Zarriola. This area is mainly populated by surfers. The bars aren’t very flash and this is not a great food centre, but the bar on the promenade is great for people watching and pitchers of Sangria. Surfing lessons cater for 4 and ups.

Food and drink:

The bars serving food and drink are open into the wee hours and food is still readily available late into the night. In fact, typically Spanish, things don’t really kick off until 10.

The Basques give the usual warm welcome to kids that we generally expect from southern Europeans and there is plenty of local food on offer to keep children interested and well-fed. Running between different pintxos bars, it turns out, is just as entertaining for children as for adults (one eight year old pal of mine fondly referred to it as “A Moveable Feast”), with the selection of food on offer visually delightful and unscary for little ones because they can pick them out, just like being in a candy store. A good intro are croquetas (usually ham, mashed potato and a béchamel sauce fried in breadcrumbs).

You can get great pintxos at just about all the bars in the city. I would recommend Bar La Cepa (Calle 31 de Agosto, 7), Ganbara (Calle San Jerónimo, 21), and La Cuchara de San Telmo (Calle 31 de Agosto, 28), but you really can’t go wrong with any of them. Try the juicy green peppers simply fried with salt, wild mushrooms with egg yolk, any of the cured hams. You could write a whole book on the different types of hams, but basically look for Jabugo, jamon iberico, or pata negra. There are a variety of qualities, prices, ages, and fat content, but all are scrumptious.

Don’t miss out on trying txakoli (every other word in Basque seems to have an “x” in it – “TX” sounds like “CH”. Actually the Basque word for “Basque” is Euskal Herria. Que?) – it is young, sharp, dry white wine that is poured from a great height to aerate it. Maybe the ceremonial aspect makes it taste better, but it goes perfectly with the food and there is nothing better on a hot day.

Around the fishing port there is a line of small, family run restaurants on the Paseo del Muelle on the way to the Aquarium. Get there early to get a table and don’t expect fancy service – or even good service – but the food is fabulously fresh, the atmosphere convivial, and the people watching a treat. This is an inexpensive way to have a sit down meal.

At the high end are the award-winning restaurants San Seb has become known for. San Sebastian apparently has more Michelin starred restaurants per capita than any other city. Arzak (Avenida Alcalde Jose Elosegui, 273) has 3 and is a treat worth indulging in. The building is slightly out of town and looks like nothing special from the outside, but the dining room is small and intimate and beautifully decorated but not at all over the top. The service is as professional as you should expect, but also very warm – an eight year old boy was lucky enough to be included in our group of friends and they made him feel like a king – we all opted for the tasting menu and they made a special one for him – it definitely wasn’t chicken nuggets and chips – it was adventurous and he ate all of it. You need to book well in advance.

Museo del Whisky (Alameda del Boulevard, 5) is an unassuming bar from the street, but is as lively as you can get if you go to the bar downstairs. Obvious from its name, it has an impressive array of whiskies, but it also has amazing cocktails made with such style and class that the bartenders are mesmerizing to watch. Add to that the ad hoc karaoke that takes place later in the evening and you’ll always have a night to remember. You’ll get the occasional guest who really shouldn’t sing in public, but generally you’ll get proper musicians picking up the microphone or playing the piano.

Accommodation:

San Seb has a few five star hotels, a ton of pensions, and not much in between. Self-catering accommodation is available but you need to book well in advance (i.e. about a year). I haven’t stayed at any of the pensions but I haven’t heard any horror stories. Most of them provide great Spanish hospitality with basic rooms and shared bathrooms. As for the hotels, the Maria Christina (Paseo Republica Argentina, 4) is in a fabulous building and centrally located between LaConcha and Zarriola beaches. Built in the early 20^th Century, the rooms are grand and luxurious (fit for a queen, really, afterall the hotel is named after the former queen of Spain). The Hotel Londres (Calle Zubieta 2) is a better location, if you ask me, as it is right opposite La Concha beach. It has also housed a queen or two and while the lobby and bar are a bit dated, the bathrooms are great and the room décor is fine. Opt to pay a bit extra for a room facing the bay. It is worth it for the view, the sound of the sea, and the people watching.

Shopping:

Ceresa (Mayor, 2 – near the corner with Alameda del Boulevard) for shoes, clothes, homewares and gifts. Great soft leather shoes from about €25.

Tarteka (Mayor, 14) for handbags, shoes and jewellery. Artisanal designs that are functional and beautiful in an array of colours that the southern Europeans do so well.

Kukuxumusu (Mayor, 15), yes, that’s right. It is a quirky Basque design-led store that sells clothing and accessories for adults and kids with the most fabulous graphics. The name means “the kiss of the flea” in Basque. That should say it all.

When Kris McIntyre was offered the chance to spend less than 24 hours in Warsaw she jumped at the chance to visit Poland’s capital and discovered some tips along the way on how to explore a city on a time budget.

11.30am We touch down in Warsaw and are met by our driver for the short trip into the city centre. My first impressions of Warsaw are that of a sprawling post-Soviet concrete city. It’s the tail end of winter and the bleak grey sky only serves to highlight the obvious scars on the city’s soul. Warsaw has been devastated by war and invasion over and over again – most notably during the Second World War when more than 85 per cent of the city was destroyed. The result is a hotch-potch of architecture and from conversation with locals, a sense that everything is being ‘renewed, restored or rebuilt’.

Our hotel, the Sofitel Victoria 9 (Ul. Krolewska 11. Tel 022 657 8011 www.orbis.pl) has something very ‘trapped in time’ about it and I laugh at how a Sofitel in one city can be like a Best Western in another. What the Sofitel does have going for is it is its vantage point over Saski Park and the site where an 18^th Century Palace once stood before the Soviets flattened it. From the hotel window I feel like I am witnessing a strange kind of somnambulism on the ground below. The light and the noise are muted which makes the pedestrians seem like they are moving slowly and silently through an invisible denseness. It is surreal but beautiful and immediately puts me in the right frame of mind to appreciate the artistic melancholy of this city.

1.00pm With my travelling companion busy in meetings, I decide the best way to for me to get a feel for the place is to do what I would normally do on an ordinary day – go for a walk, find a good coffee, browse through a book shop and do a yoga class. I’ve armed myself with the Wallpaper* City Guide to Warsaw and a copy of the local English-language street press Warsaw Insider magazine. I head off in the direction of the cobbled streets of Stare Miastro/ Nowe Miastro (Old Town/ New Town) and the grounds of Warsaw University into the recently revitalised, now-hip Powisle district. I manage to tick off a couple of the city’s landmarks and architectural highlights along the way – the Metropolitan, the Warsaw University Library and the Swietokrzyski Bridge. I find delight in the ordinary by spotting the likenesses and differences in the everyday things – the children playing in the school yard, what the buses look like, how the same products have different brand names. I realise how travel and being in strange places sharpens the senses, especially if you are on your own. And intense people watching can give an uncanny feel for people and place in a short space of time.

2:00pm At the Kafka café bookshop (Ulica Obozna 3. Tel: 22 826 0822. www.kafka.com.pl) I order a not-terribly-good coffee and a tasty Polish sandwich as I soak up the University-student vibe. The place is filled with sofas, books (new and second hand), laptops, skinny cigarettes (smoking is still kosher here) and muted conversation about student politics, literature and overdue assignments.

3.30pm I hook up with my partner and take him on my own tour of the city sights. We stop in at Czuly Barbarzynca (Ulica Dobra 31. Tel: 22 826 3294. www.czulybarbarzynca.pl). Over coffee and too-sweet cakes we discuss how bleak and even depressing places are almost a necessary counter-balance to the artistic soul if you ordinarily live in a sunny, easy-going lifestyle devoid of the layers of history and suffering felt here.

4.30pm Whilst the other half takes a nap I squeeze in a class at Joga Klub (Ul.Chalubinskiego 8. Tel: 830 09 90. www.jogaklub.pl). The studio offers morning, lunch, afternoon and evening classes daily with Pilates and a variety of different yoga styles. There’s also English-speaking teachers. At the end of the class I feel like I’ve landed and am ready for the night of Polish culture ahead.

6.30pm Our driver is back to take us to Warsaw Central Station for a bizarre ‘spectackle’ (performance piece) in the public space of the train station. It was in Polish so I didn’t understand a word but loved the strangeness of the experience. We leave the station for our next date and as we drive through the streets of Warsaw I find it tricky to describe. There’s no one word (at least not one that I can find in the space of 18 hours) and the feel of the place keeps moving out of my grasp. At one moment you feel its Soviet Socialism, the grandeur of its Eastern European history, then around the next corner is glass-walled modernity. Channel and capitalism are on show, but there’s an intangible complexity about it. The city feels vulnerable and sad but also strong and hopeful as though it has something to look forward to.

8.00pm We’re at TR Warsawa (Ul Marszafkowska 8. Tel: 022 480 80 90. www.trwarszawa.pl) – the artistic home of one of Poland’s most talented young theatre directors, Grzegorz Jarzyna. As testimony to the importance of the arts in the Polish psyche, Warsaw has more than 27 government-funded theatres. As we wait for the curtain to lift we ponder how artistic expression strives to find meaning and beauty in the barren bleakness of the external world.

9.30pm Our local contact and his girlfriend take us to Warsaw’s most applauded restaurant U Kucharzy (Ulica Ossolinskich 7. Tel: 22 213 3393. www.gesler.pl). Literally meaning ‘cooks kitchen’, this amazing tiled dining room is located in what was once the kitchen of the grand Europejski Hotel. We’re greeted to a slick welcome by the crazy Rasputin-like maitre d’ who escorts us to our table and introduces us to our humble manservant waiter. Decked out in black jacket, white shirt and a too-short black tie, he brings a hint of the old hotel’s formality (check out the fabulous black and white photo of a row of waiters looking out the window of the old hotel as you enter the restaurant) which is a humorous contrast to the heavily tattooed, trolley-wielding, sweaty cooks that come to our table to put the finishing touches on our meals. Our host points out the famous amongst the glamorous and gorgeous patrons filling the space. Although the food is far too Polish for my liking, U Kucharzy is an amazing dining experience for its ambience alone.

12.00am Short of falling into our last vodka with exhaustion we bid our lovely hosts good night and brave the cold for a midnight stroll past nightclub queues and across Saski Park. In bed I’m wondering if the aftertaste of the herring sitting in a puddle of linseed oil with raw onion and coleslaw will ever leave me.

4.00am The thump-thump of nightclub baselines are still going as we drag ourselves out of bed and head to the airport. At the airport duty free I find the perfect Polish gift for – a bottle of genuine Zubrowka bison-grass vodka. Complete with a blade of grass in the bottle, the local drop has been touted as an aphrodisiac, stamina enhancer and virility booster. I’ll let my Taurean friend at home be the judge of that! As the plane takes off I reflect on a short, sweet, surreal adventure and hope I’ll return to this strange city one day.

TIPS & TRICKS FOR EXPLORING A CITY ON A TIME-BUDGET

• Pick up a city guide before you arrive. Wallpaper* City Guides and Lonely Planet’s Encounter series are a good bet.
• Have a plan for what you want to see and do BEFORE you arrive.
• Get a good map.
• Pick up a local insider’s guide or street press for hints on what to do, gigs, restaurants, theatre and other activities.
• Do what you enjoy doing in your own city – it’s a great way to get a feel for a new place.
• Hook up with a local. Use your contacts Lonely Planet Six Degrees-style to find a local guide before you arrive.
• Book a hire car to help your get around, or at least have an understanding of the local transport systems, to make the most of your time.

How I came to be in Tromsø, Norway’s arctic ‘capital’, shopping in the never-ending autumn twilight is a long story. It had nothing to do with Johanna Lumley’s widely televised Norwegian odyssey. Suffice to say, my trip was an equally idiosyncratic one. I had flown to Vardø, Norway’s most easterly town, and one of its most northern, to see the site of a new and irresistibly strange collaborative work – a witch burning memorial – by French-American sculptor Louise Bourgeois and the Swiss architect Peter Zumthor.

I did, of course, still hope that I might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights; Tromsø is 350km inside the arctic circle and October is one of the most reliable months for sightings. I arrived from Vardø aboard the MS Trollfjord at midnight, and something was definitely going on up there in the sky, though it was more akin to the Northern Smudges. It turned out that I missed a great green glowing show by a few hours. Still, it’s yet another reason to return.

Tromsø is an enchanting island city of steep streets and 18th- and 19th-century wooden houses. Everything is within walking distance, including small, well-considered cultural institutions (I particularly like the Art Museum of Northern Norway and the Perspektivet Museum), craft suppliers, outdoor equipment shops, pubs, bars and excellent coffee at Kaffe Bonna. Plus heart-stopping views at the end of almost every street – mountains and the sea. If you’re not iPod ODing on local lads Röyksopp as I was, Grieg would, of course, go down well.

Shopping wasn’t high on my agenda. I was in need of a break from it, after a spell in mammon’s great maw, New York, and, in any case, was travelling with only a small (and already down and fur-stuffed) carryon in tow. But I wasn’t counting on coming across Fretex. Tromsø’s branch of the Salvation Army-run charity shop chain is as large as it is well ordered, and staffed by happy students decked out in bits and pieces of the chain’s current recycled fashion range. (My fellow shoppers all appeared to be immigrants from the Horn of Africa.) After poking around a bin of children’s seal-skin hats, I spotted what I knew, even at a distance, was the holy grail of op shopping: vintage Arabia.

Arabia is one of Finland’s most enduring ceramics manufacturers. Once an outpost of the Swedish Rörstrand company, they became independent in 1916 (shortly before Finland itself), and went on to employ many of the country’s great mid-century designers. The striped stoneware teapot I had spotted – one of Ulla Procopé’s timeless Ruska range – was in mint condition, and at 100NK (around $US20), was an absolute steal. My ecstasy quickly turned to agony. It was, as far as teapots go, a whopper. With its internal ceramic infuser it must have been well over a kilo in weight. And I was a long way from home. I carried my new found friend around the shop for a little while, trying to convince myself that it could, no problem, be wrapped in tissue and carried on separate to the carryon, but came to my senses and sadly put it back on the shelf.

So what you see above is the consolation prize. It’s definitely a souvenir – with a proud ‘Finnmark’ emblazoned around the Norwegian flag – but its illustrative style transcends tack, even if it is a tad faux-naïf. A riot of fishermen, tanker ships, islands and seals frolic on one side; Sámi people, skin tents, reindeer and sleds on the other. When explaining where I’d been to my daughters, it did a far better job than all my words.

The design is by Kari Nyqvist, and it was made at the Stavangerflint factory. I’ve long loved Figgjo Flint’s Lotte and Daisy designs by Turi Gramstad-Oliver, her lovely elongated forms decorated with insanely joyful figurative work, the exuberant Norwegian folk sensibility tempered by just enough mid-century Modernist restraint. But I had never heard of Stavanger. Both factories, it turns out, are named for the their respective and neighbouring west coast towns, and the two merged in the late 60s. I like to imagine the plate used to serve up solboller, a custard-splodged saffron or tumeric-tinted bun that’s baked to celebrate the return of the sun in January, after two months of dark. It’s got holes in its back for a hanging wire though, so it was always destined for decoration, not duty.

Oddly, it cost me 157NK, rather steeply priced in comparison to the teapot, not to mention a lovely 1950s Rörstrand bowl I also picked up for a paltry 10NK. The only thing I could put the price difference down to was Norwegian design nationalism. And yes, I still do miss ‘my’ teapot, but am consoled by the thought that through the winter’s long dark, it was busy dispensing hot tea to one of the Somali or Ethiopian or Eritrean families I shopped with that day. Hopefully they too have found a warm home among the staggering beauty of the far, far north.

Fretex
Skattørvegen 39
Tromsø, Norway

Domestic carrier Widerøe services the Finnmark and Troms regions of Norway; flights are relatively inexpensive. The Hurtigruten line has daily sailings from Kirkenes to Bergen in both directions, visiting Vardø and Tromsø along the way.

It was my ex-husband Ian who first told me about the Town of Books in Wales.
I was visiting him and his new wife Leslie at their home in Portishead, Bristol (yes, it was an amicable split and all parties are being very mature and 21st century about it).
“It’s just winding streets full of second-hand bookshops in these fantastic Tudor buildings,” he explained.
“Get away!” I said, “If such a Nirvana truly existed, I’d have heard of it before now. You are fibbing as usual. You haven’t changed; you’re still the last of the great, big fibbers!”
I can’t imagine why we’re divorced.
“No, it’s true,” said Leslie. “Come on Ian, let’s take Tam there tomorrow, it’s just across the border into Wales, about an hour and a half’s drive from here.”

And so it came to pass that the very next morning I was sat in the back of Ian and Leslie’s car, in need of a special bib due to excessive excitement-induced salivation (that’s ‘dribbling’ to you) as we drove through the lush and sunny – on that day – countryside of England and Wales on our way to the village of Hay-on-Wye, which is the real name for the nicknamed ‘Town of Books’.

Why was I so excited? Because second-hand bookshops are among my favourite places in the known universe. Spending a few hours browsing shelves, letting the books take me where they may, never knowing what forgotten treasure might be uncovered on a high and dusty shelf, is a beautiful thing. Throw a coffee shop into the mix, a place in the store where you can take a pile of books and leaf through them over cappucino and cake and, I ask you, does it get any better?

So, the notion of an entire town devoted to second-hand and antiquarian books. Literally millions of books on every subject imaginable. oh be still, my beating heart! And pass me another bib.
Anyway. Hay-on-Wye lies on the Welsh side of the Welsh/English Border in the County of Powys, Wales. It’s nestled at the foothills of the Black Mountains on the banks of the River Wye. The town’s first second-hand bookshop was opened by Richard Booth in 1961, an Oxford graduate whose family lived in the area. It was his dream to create the largest second-hand and antiquarian book-selling centre in the world and now, this little town’s labyrinth of narrow and ancient streets is home to about 30 major bookshops, some specialising in a particular genre, others carrying anything and everything they can fit on their heaving shelves.

As far as specialist shops, there’s the Murder and Mayhem shop which, as you might expect, only sells detective fiction, true crime and horror. There’s also Mostly Maps, The Children’s Bookshop and the Poetry Bookshop. In the general shops, such as Addyman Books and Richard Booth’s bookshop, the categories range from country life to erotica, the military and the occult. If it’s rare, collectors or out-of-print you’re after, drop Addyman’s a line at addymanbooks@btconnect.com.
Ian, Leslie and I spent many hours roaming in and out of the bookshops that are virtually next door to each other until we had bagged enough book bargains to keep us in reading material for the next six months. Our browsing was of course interspersed with regular stops for ice-creams, fudge, and cups of of tea. As is only proper.

So sure, spa retreats in Thailand or detox holidays in Sri Lanka have their place but for turning over new leaves of the literary kind, brush up your Welshisms and head to Hay-on-Wye.
Tidy.

Further Information
For more information on the Town of Books, check out the website at www.hay-on-wye.co.uk and if you’re in the neighbourhood around May, try and get to the annual Hay Festival for a cornucopia of dancing, books, food and music (www.hayfestival.com).

Andreina Cordani has a suggestion for next Christmas…

Many cities around the world have copied the Christmas market idea, but their true home is in Germany and Austria, and it’s there that you can find the widest choice, and the best atmosphere. In Vienna the whole city turns out in the afternoons and evenings to hang out at the local Christkindlmarkt. There’s a cheerful, relaxed atmosphere, and you’ll end up chatting to all sorts of people.

The city is sheltered by the nearby alps, so if you visit in winter it’s cold enough to feel Christmassy but not so freezing that you can’t spend hours outside, hunting down presents and decorations, or warming yourself with food and drink.

In fact you can’t really avoid the Christmas markets. There’s a big, tacky touristy one at Rathausplatz with a little train ride for the kiddies, another near the cathedral which has pony rides and arty gifts, one outside the Natural History Museum* with a wide range of gifts, another near the University which, unsurprisingly, is more focused on drinking. Or try the one in Spittelburg, which is probably the most authentic experience you can have.

These are my Christkindlmarkt best buys…

Decorations – there’s tons of shiny stuff to dazzle you, but look out for carved tree decorations, simple glass or crystal baubles, and little wooden toys that look like they’ve come straight out of Santa’s workshop.

Random presents – I bought a long twisty candle made with beeswax and honey, which the saleswoman said was a traditional Austrian gift. I’d certainly never seen anything like it before. There was also an endless array of chocolate in any flavour from strawberry to chilli.

Gluhwein – A few Euros will buy you a mug of hot spiced red wine (or equally delicious hot punch) and if that doesn’t warm you up, then nothing will. Keep the mug to take home as a souvenir, or return it to the bar and get your €1 deposit back.

Delicious Stodge – You won’t be finding any salads at the Christkindlmarkt, and pretty much everything on sale involves dumplings and pork in some way. A particular favourite was kaseknuddel, a kind of cheesy gnocchi. We also discovered a kind of bratwurst and potato mush which looks like brown sludge but is actually delicious. When I asked one of the locals how Viennese women stay so slim I was told: “they don’t eat local food.”

Christmassy food – Stollen, gingerbread, prettily shaped icing confections to hang from the tree… stock up on yuletide goodies without having to buy the fake or imported stuff at your local supermarket.

But remember, Cinderella… be done by 10.30 – all the stalls start to close then, and the Viennese make their way quietly home, or onto one of the many clubs and bars.
In fact, the only drawback of the Christkindlmarkt is that sometimes the jingly Christmassy music can be a little too much to take. If you have a low tolerance level for Mariah’s All I Want For Christmas Is You, take a really, really thick pair of earmuffs or it may ruin your Christmas spirit for good…

Andreina Cordani borrows a bike, and a speedboat – and goes oyster hunting.

© Andreina Cordani

The great thing about the little fishing town of Marseillan is that it makes you feel like you’re the only person to have discovered it. I defy you to sit in one of the harbour restaurants, watching the yachts cruise in and out while you dine on super-fresh oysters produced five minutes up the road, without feeling just a little bit special.

It’s not teeming with hotels either, but the newly-refurbished apartments of Port Rive Gauche make the perfect long weekend hideaway. They’re achingly stylish – all white washed wood floors, simple designer furnishings and endless, calming sea views from the balconies. There’s also plenty of handy amenities including a dishwasher in each apartment, and a luxurious bath or shower room containing lovely organic beauty goodies, which are also available at the mini spa at the top of the building. Heather Riddoch, the manager, is friendly, enthusiastic and bursting with ideas on how to spend your time. There are bikes to borrow, and she’s happy to help organise any local trip. She arranged for me to go out in a speedboat to explore the local oyster beds and swim in the bay.

© Andreina Cordani

Although to be honest, I spent most of my time on the balcony with a book lying open in my lap, staring at that horizon…

For more info: Suites at Port Rive Gauche start at from €130 in low season bedroom apartment www.garrigaeresorts.com

Getting there: Marseillan is 55 minutes drive from Perpignan, or an hour from Carcassone

Andreina Cordani tries seafood out of a loch and avoids the hordes.

cc. Flickr.com / mike138

About two hours’ drive away from Glasgow, is the virtually uninhabited valley of Glencoe, where mountains soar into the sky as spring water pours down their sides. Deer roam the pastures, and you can even see the occasional eagle. For a quick weekend escape, there’s nothing better, and if you want to stay longer, there’s plenty more to discover. Travel in spring or Autumn and you’re taking a risk with the weather, but you’ll be avoiding the tourist hordes – and let’s face it, when it come to Scotland, you’re always taking a risk with the weather.

This is our must-list for the Glencoe area…

Walk the Hidden Valley
In previous centuries the Hidden Valley was used as a hideout for sheep rustlers or quarrelling clansmen, but now it’s one of the most popular walks in the area. Walk, clamber and occasionally bum-slide along the two-mile path through a beautiful forest, crossing a sparkling burn which looks clear enough to drink (although don’t!) until the valley finally opens out in front of you. Leave mid-morning and you’ll get there in time for lunch in the valley, before heading back.

Visit the Clachaig Inn
Want to drink whisky, listen to live music, chat up outdoorsy Scottish men and carouse until the early hours? The Clachaig is for you. It’s the best place to party for miles around and if you’ve been to the Hidden Valley that morning you’ll see all the people you met along the way in the bar that night. The Clachaig also offers simple but very welcome accommodation including deliciously hot showers. The food is simple and hearty, perfect after a hard day’s walking and there’s even a drying room for your soaking-wet walking gear. (clachaig.com)

Sandwiches at Crafts and Things
OK, when it comes to freshly-made lunches you’re not exactly spoilt for choice. It’s Crafts & Things or… well, Crafts & Things. Luckily their rolls and cakes are excellent, they make packed lunches to go or you can eat in, surrounded by books and various crafty-crystally type gifts.

Seafood feasts
If there’s one problem with Glencoe it’s that there aren’t enough good places to eat. Local eateries vary from the tartan-tablecloth-mixed-grill variety to the beautifully decorated places which garnish everything with ‘jus’ and charge a fortune. One exception is the Lochleven Seafood Cafe, which serves deliciously fresh, simple fish dishes straight from the loch.

Land Rover safari
The National Trust at Glencoe runs ‘safaris’ around its land from April to October. Incredibly enthusiastic guides drive you around, teach you to spot wild deer on the mountainside and give you a real insight into the landscape around you.

Get paddling
See nearby Loch Linnhe from different point of view by booking a kayaking session (we went with Rockhopper) Paddling silently along the flat water, we saw a seal pop its head out of the water and follow us. A perfect moment – and it’s great for the biceps, too. www.rockhopperscotland.co.uk

Photo Attribution: http://www.flickr.com/photos/72486075@N00/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

Andreina Cordani misses George Clooney but quite likes the local silk…

cc. Flickr.com / Riccardo T.

There I was, trying to look relaxed and Italian, sipping coffee in the afternoon sunshine and reading a copy of Grazia (OK, it was British Grazia, but hey, that’s kind of Italian) when the waiters in the café all surged to the window. “Eccolo!” one of them shouted. “Ecco il Clooney!” I sat bolt upright. “There’s Clooney,” he’d said. I was in Bellagio, the small town that sits right at the apex of the Y-shaped lake, a scant 12 miles from Laglio, where the world’s most eligible bachelor owned a villa. Had he popped out for a drink in his local? Sauntering casually outside I could see a small knot of people – could he be among them? For a few moments frantic plans zipped through my head – tripping over in front of him and letting him help me up. Marching straight up to him and buying him a drink. My other half wouldn’t mind. In fact, he’d be impressed. This is George Clooney, for goodness sake… Then the crowd dispersed. The international film star, nowhere to be seen. Drat.

Still, staying in the beautiful town of Bellagio is ample compensation. It sits right at the apex of the y-shaped lake – it’s prettier and more peaceful than the main town of Como, and makes a great base to explore the area, and here’s what I did when I wasn’t stalking Hollywood A-listers.

See: The gardens of Villa Melzi are within walking distance of the town and are a great place to chill out with a book and enjoy the view. Historic Villa Serbelloni is further up the hill, and worth visiting for the amazing views.

Eat: At Trattoria San Giacomo order traditional dishes like Osso Buco, or sip wine at Cava Turacciologo. Fancy splashing out? Go to the Michelin Starred Terrazza Serbelloni at the luxurious Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni, or eat more informally by the pool at their other restaurant, Mistral. Previous guests include Churchill, JFK and Al Pacino.

Explore: Catch a boat to the different towns surrounding the lake, including Varenna, where you can eat lunch by the waterside, then climb up a steep hill to the Castello di Vezio. Or visit any of the other villas in the area, like Villa Monastero at Varenna.

Shop: The famous Como silk shops can be a little expensive in Bellagio itself – the best bargains are probably available in Como, but there are some beautiful arty shops selling paintings and glass trinkets which are definitely worth a look.

Photo Attribution: http://www.flickr.com/photos/art976/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

After six hours on a bus from London, Sue Ostler can’t wait to try The Thermae Bath Spa.

cc. Flickr.com / WiggyToo

When I booked the Fun Fare for the bus ride that would take me from London to Bath, I didn’t realize the fun element meant it would take six hours instead of the advertised four. “Curiouser and curiouser” as Alice would say.

We finally got to drizzly Bath, and I wasn’t wasting anytime. My package (a better Christmas gift I’ve never received – well not since the tickets for Madonna’s Confessions Tour) included lunch, along with plenty more pamper-tastic treats. I found my way into the massive change rooms, complete with gadgets and gizmos and changed into my fluffy robe and hotfooted it straight to the Springs Café & Restaurant. And ladies I have to say, they had me at the restaurant.

A light, airy, spacious room, all Georgian architecture, high ceilings and gorgeous views enticed me to indulge more than just a little. The food was actually ridiculously good with choices designed for both the health conscious and girls who wanna have fun – and thus came my rich serving of veggie lasagna with lashings of cheese and freshly baked bread that was both crunchy and deliciously garlicky, followed by a serving of the richest toffee and caramel cake with clotted cream.

After pigging out and observing my spa buddies for the day: gaggles of women, moms and daughters, couples – lots of couples – I dragged myself off and decided to work my way upward through this impressive three level structure.

Britain’s only natural thermal waters allows the opportunity to bathe as the Celts and Romans did over 2000 years ago. Not to be confused with the original Roman Baths, the Thermae Bath Spa prides itself on past, present and future joining for a spa experience of sci-fi proportions.

The ground floor space is taken up by a massive pool with warm currents and ripples that ebb and push you along on your little floaty stick. Floor to ceiling windows let you bathe in the sun that was by now peeking out from behind the rain clouds. Hours and hours glide by before it’s time to make the short stroll to the treatment area where more pleasure awaits with a dizzying array of delights.

A stint in the Kraxen Stove got the party started. Famous for its therapeutic benefits as well as the social aspects, the open stove is positioned in a cosy communal space where soothing, aromatic herbs are released through a stove, gently radiating the upper body in an innovative and warming way. The perfect way to prepare for the queenly Cleopatra bath and body scrub, and the hot stones spa therapy where the warm stones guided by the therapist melt away tension, aches and pains caused by one who is forced to sit upright at a keyboard for hour upon hour upon hour.

And then it was up to the next floor where my jaw hit the floor as I copped a view of futuristic sauna station where four massive circular glass covered steam rooms offered different aromas designed to revive, stimulate or relax. Ahh, and just when I didn’t think things could get any better I made my way to the rooftop.

Late afternoon was turning into evening when I found myself frolicking in the warm, mineral-rich water in the outdoor bath perched high atop the hazy Bath hills. There I glided effortlessly, overlooking the cities rooftops, museums, cathedrals and misty landmarks; the gothic grandeur and galleries that dot the landscape and keep you wanting to take in just one more look before leaving. I oohed and aahed as the gradual change in the light and eerie atmosphere kicked in at twilight with the mist from the baths curling over the steeples. This was not an image I’d forget in a hurry.

Nor will I forget the whimsical B & B just a short hop down the street and around the corner. I wandered up the narrow staircase and ducked my head as I entered my room, no bigger than a rabbit hole, with its miniature looking glass and tiny bed. And there I drifted into a deep beautiful sleep and dreamt of tea parties with tartlets and raspberry shortcake and tea in flowered cups served by mad hatters in white fluffy robes.

Website: http://www.thermaebathspa.com/findus/visitingbath/spabreaks/

Andreina Cordani tries Turkey when the tourists are away…

The woman on the bus looked completely miserable, despite the handsome Turkish lad who was obligingly showing her around. “It’s not sunny enough,” she complained. “There’s nothing to do, and there’s not enough shops.”

We couldn’t argue with her. The temperature in Turkey in April averages around 20 degrees, but you’re just as likely to have a day of torrential rain as you are to have a day of Mediterranean sunshine. And, while in peak season the whole Fethiye region of is teeming with shops, pubs and bars, off-season only about one in 10 of them is open. But still I’d say ignore the woman on the bus, and go.

cc. Flickr.com / Elainne Dickinson

Because in off-season Turkey, the day’s not so hot that you can’t bear to move yourself off the beach, the hills are rich and green, the locals are relaxed and friendly rather than exhausted from long shifts and the only Hammams (Turkish baths) open are the local ones the Turks use, rather than the tourist traps. I won’t lie, the sea is flipping cold but on sunny days it’s gorgeously fresh, and the beaches are clear, clean and gloriously peaceful.

We flew out to Dalaman airport for a week’s trip over the Easter period, and stayed in the tourist-residential area of Ovacik. Every day, we caught the Dolmus (a cheap, efficient private bus service used by locals and visitors alike) down to the bay of Oludeniz. On good days we lay flat-out on the beach, or tried paragliding over the bay, getting a spectacular view along the way. And on less hospitable days we holed up in one of the numerous cafes along the sea-front, scoffed baklava dripping with locally produced honey and drank Turkish apple tea.

On one less-promising day we explored Kaya Village, a medieval Christian settlement abandoned in 1923, (8YTL entrance fee) then followed the trail marked by red and yellow dashes, climbing from the steep, eerie slopes of the village, over the hilltop and down to the spectacular lagoon of Oludeniz. By the time we go there it was so hot, we gratefully plunged into the chilly water.

By the end of the week, we were converts. OK, if you’re a partying kind of holiday goddess, you might want to wait until early June when the area livens up, but before the families get here. But if you’re after a chilled out vibe and less crowds, book yourself a flight in late April, May or early Autumn, and enjoy.

Questions we asked during our week in Turkey…

Where are all the women?
Everywhere you look, there are men. Male bar staff. Male shopkeepers. Male tour guides. Even, slightly awkwardly, male masseurs. Not that the presence of too many young, attractive men is much to complain about, but although Turkey is quite Westernised, the countryside is still pretty traditional and not many women work in the tourist industry.

What’s that yellow stuff?
Oh yes – if you’re a hayfever sufferer and travelling in April, pack some antihistamines. The whole area is covered with pine trees which, in spring, leave a light yellow dusting of pollen over pretty much everything – sometimes even the sea. On the plus side, that’s where all the lovely honey comes from.

Have I suddenly become irresistibly attractive?
Yep, women travellers get a /lot/ of attention from men. Sadly, most of the guys who flirted with us turned out to be selling boat trips or trying to lure us into their bar, and we kept it friendly but detached to avoid too much hassle. Of course you could be the kind of girl who loves hassle, in which case, you’ve come to the right place.

How much lamb can a girl eat?
When it comes to off-season Turkey, veggies beware. The menu features meat, meat and more meat. There’s not even much fish, as there aren’t enough tourists to justify ordering it in. The best option for all is a pide, a pizza-like meal baked in a wood stove. They’re every bit as nice as an Italian pizza, especially on the Oludeniz waterfront and there are both meat and veggie options.

Photo Attribution: http://www.flickr.com/photos/elainnedickinson/ / CC BY 2.0

Faith Bleasdale finds the beautiful English pub in Devon that inspired ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water.’

© Faith Bleasdale

When I head the rumour that one of my favourite songs was inspired by a pub near where my home in Devon I just had to investigate.

Simon and Garfunkel’s classic song ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ was apparently inspired by a visit to The Fisherman’s Cot in Bickleigh, Tiverton, Devon.

The Fisherman’s Cot is a beautiful traditional Inn set on the river Exe, and it offers traditional pub food, and also a a cosy place to stay.

© Faith Bleasdale

I went there for Sunday lunch, where the carvery was full to the hilt. The menu is varied, the prices very reasonable, and a lot of local produce is used – fresh fish features. The service is friendly and although some of the decor is a little dated it definitely passes for quaint!

What really sells this place is the setting. On a bright sunny day, you can sit outside, feed the ducks and watch the bridge – which is definitely built over troubled waters.

It’s definitely inspiring. As I watched the ducks chasing bread I definitely felt the desire to write, too.

For more information, visit the website.

Alexandra Billington escapes the madding crowd on the island of Naxos.

© Kira Kaplinski / 123rf.com

I travelled to Naxos with a man I call Toro. He wanted beaches (I hate lolling around on beaches), and he wanted lashings of sun (I hate too much sun), so we compromised  …and had a beach holiday with lashings of sun. So, where’s the compromise, you may be wondering. Naxos itself, actually.

I’d never been to the large island of Naxos before – five and a half hours from Piraeus via ferry (35 Euros), but having just spent two weeks traveling around it (as well as lolling on one of the many beaches), I recommend it if you’re looking for a place to get away from it all, but with a little of everything; traditional villages, history, cool bars, and lashings of Cycladic sun.

Avoid, if you can, the Agia Anna bar called Banana (a kind of Café del Mar vibe) in peak season where our cocktails took 45 minutes (“This is getting impolite” said the super-patient Toro) to arrive – separately – via a surly waiter: my only criticism of a near-perfect fortnight on an idyllic Greek Island.

Alexandra Billington joins the tourist throng on beautiful Santorini.

© Paul Cowan / 123rf.com

This particular Cycladic Island needs no promoting – but indulge me anyway; heart-stopping, dramatic scenery, both natural and manmade beauty. I’ll stop there because that isn’t quite the full picture.

Tourism overwhelms Santorini and whilst that can be a total pain, such as the Cruise Boat Crowds in Fira clogging the narrow streets and overpriced restaurants, it has been a necessary evil on an island that otherwise may have faded into obscurity when many of the young people left decades ago to find work in the larger towns and cities.

Since the ‘70s, Santorini has been on a tourist upswing, and for good reason; it is truly spectacular.

I stayed in the village of Oia at the tip of Santorini, where whitewashed buildings and marble paved winding roads make you feel as if you’re half-floating in a magical town that could pass for a fantastical film set.

Sunrise and sunset are even more otherworldly, when the white houses, which seem to cling to the side of Oia’s steep cliff side in layers, become hued with shades of pink, purple and orange.

Sometimes, tourism is a good thing.

© Tamara Pitelen

Tamara Pitelen seeks out Barcelona’s bohemian drinking haunt of old.

 

 In one of the tiny alleyways of Barcelona’s famous gothic quarter is The 4 Cats taverna (Els Quatre Gats). Once the haunt of some of Spain’s most famous thinkers, musicians, artists and architects, patrons included Pablo Picasso and Antonio Gaudi.

In 1899, Picasso began hanging out here, aged17, and it was the site of his first exhibition. He produced the image that still features on the menu cover.

The Gats was opened in 1897 by Pere Romeu, who wanted to create a Bohemian hangout where artistic types would come to drink and put the world to rights. The venue today relies heavily on it famous former patrons to attract tourists seeking a connection with that bohemian spirit of years gone by.

That’s certainly what I was looking for when I turned up at 6pm on a Thursday evening, 110 years later. Unfortunately, the venue was almost empty, although – to be fair – no one ventures out for dinner before 9pm in Spain. Four hours later, I’d sure it would have been teeming; particularly with tourists.

Today, 4 Cats is a charming curiosity where, decoratively at least, time stopped circa 1900. The walls are full of black and white photos of the famous fin-de-siecle customers as well as original and reproduction artworks. While the restaurant and bar likes to claim “the best food and service in Barcelona”, I’ve experienced better. But for the opportunity to sit in this living museum and ponder what the walls would say if they could talk, it’s well worth the price of a “caffe con leche, por favour”.

For more information go to www.4gats.com

Emma Killick translates second-hand shopping in France.

© Knud Nielsen / 123rf.com

Everyone knows about “antiques”, but in France there are actually many different sources for second-hand goods. They’re designated differently and below is a general guide for looking for furniture, homeware, clothing, jewellery, toys, knick knacks, and those items you’ve never thought you needed but it turns out you do.

ANTIQUES: These are the most expensive. They are most often permanent shops, but will sometimes drag their wares out to a local village square to entice the tourists. Sure, you’ll find some treasures in there, but mostly you’ll overpay.

BROCANTE: These can be permanent shops or a special market. In the summer, some shopkeepers will dust off their stock and take it to local towns. These brocante markets are usually held on a Saturday and Sunday (you’ll see them advertised in the surrounding area with posters usually stuck to phone poles, street lamps, and so on). Their permanent shops are often advertised in a similar fashion, only perhaps the signage has been upgraded from a fluoro piece of paper to a plank of wood.

For a more reliable way to find the brocante markets, see www.brocantesfrance.com with a link to www.brocabrac.fr where you can type in the department you are in (a two digit number) and it provides a list of upcoming brocantes and vide greniers. If you click on the name of the town, the site will then give you a map.

DEPOT-VENTE: a warehouse sale, invariably very dusty, but if you like hunting around in the dark, this is for you. At my closest depot vente they have everything from ten-foot high armoires, to hundreds of old doors, vats of beautiful tiles, the French equivalent of Belfast sinks, marble topped cabinets with loos hiding in the bottom cupboard, and an old Citroen or two that look as if they haven’t moved since the war.

TROC: Literally meaning “to barter”, these are shops that take things on consignment. The range here is the most extreme and you have to be patient because sometimes all you’ll see is complete junk but other times wonderful gems hidden between the used Ikea desks.

VIDE GRENIER: This means “empty attic” and is the equivalent of a car boot sale or garage sale. They are usually on a Sunday morning, more frequent in the summer. These are the most varied, and you need to get there early to spot the good stuff – I recommend arriving by 9 a.m. If you don’t get there until mid-morning, all you’ll find is rusty fans, tatty baby clothes, and a plethora of My Little Pony toys. Lots of brocante owners get their stock from these vides. Prices vary widely because sometimes you’ll encounter professionals with a stall. Always negotiate.

See www.brocabrac.fr for a listing of upcoming “vides.” www.vide-greniers.org is also decent, but the brocabrac site is easier to use.

MARCHE AUX PUCES: Literally meaning “flea market”, it is frankly hard to discern the difference between these and vides, but they are worth checking out. Use the same brocabrac site to find the ones nearest you.

Jessica Adams reveals where the best cuppa can be found in Brighton.

Brighton © Brian Scantlebury / 123rf

The Mock Turtle, near the seafront in Brighton, is named after the character in Alice in Wonderland. Expect to time-travel back to the 1950s as you walk in and find fresh flowers, mixed pattern china on the dresser, huge cakes on stands, piles of scones, home-made jam for sale, low ceilings and even a hat-stand.

It’s usually crammed on both floors, so make sure you let the waitress know you’re there  before you sit down.  This is one of the very few places in England you can order anchovy toast; and the meringues are the size of a lady’s hand. Expect proper strong, dark tea too – made with tea leaves (not bags) in lovely old teapots that are refilled on request.

The Mock Turtle is a little hard to find, so print out a Google Map. However, if you’ve just been shopping at the (equally glorious) English shoe shop L.K.Bennett or popped into another British retro institution, Cath Kidston, you’ll find it’s a five-minute walk.

I have taken visitors from all over the world to The Mock Turtle and they always love it. If you’re a New Yorker and you drink at Tea and Sympathy (the faux British tea room) then you’ll dig The Turtle too.

The Mock Turtle. 4 Pool Valley, Brighton, East Sussex, England.
More information

Jane de Teliga ducks away from the London high street to discover still-swinging London.

The fascinating maze of streets in Soho are among my favourite London haunts. If you’re visiting London and want to escape the Oxford street high-street hell, just a quick walk and you’ll be in the heart of Soho. Just off Regent Street at Great Marlborough street is the wonderful Liberty, the jewel-like department store, with a wonderfully edited fashion selection for men and women.

Carnaby Street © Bob Ford / 123rf

Pop out the back door and you’re in Carnaby Street, with a cute network of little streets running off it, full of boutiques, cafes and pubs that have some of the vibe of this swinging ’60s mecca. Shop along Foubert’s Place for All Saints or have a mani pedi at The Cowshed. Go to Kingly Court, for Vintage Store, Marshmallow Mountain, or if you’re a yoga fan, climb to the top for a session at Triyoga, one of London’s best, with mats provided.

Walk up Broadwick Street and turn into Lexington Street for fresh modern vegetarian at Mrs Marengos. For good English food, go to the charmingly shabby Andrew Edmonds. Continue on to Berwick Street market, and step over the cabbage leaves, to Flat White, a mecca for Australians and New Zealanders who are fanatical about their coffee.

In Athens, a sense of history can be found where you least expect it, writes Alexandra Billington.

Acropolis © Fabrizio Chiruzzi/123rf

Aside from the obvious sightseeing attractions (or obligations!) in Athens, such as the Acropolis and shiny new Acropolis museum, for me, having lived in this dusty old city many moons ago, there’s one real attraction I have an ongoing affection for: Plaka. Yes, it’s touristy as hell, a commercialised cliché of Greece, and – yes, yes, yes – the service it often awful, so saturated with tourists is it.  But, despite its commercialism, somehow the pedestrian area of Plaka, at the base of the Acropolis, still manages to maintain a taste of bygone Athens.

Walk around here (right near the easily accessible Syntagma Square) on a late autumn or early spring morning and you will still be able to live the old adage that it some places in the world, time really does stand still.

Emma Killick guides a foodie’s tour of Toulouse.

Toulouse at Sunset © Guillaume Dubé

Many heading to the south of France bypass the cities, but if you’re arriving by plane or train or picking up a hire car, I definitely recommend at least a quick stop in Toulouse. This historic city is young and vibrant, in large part due to the University of Toulouse, one of the oldest universities in Europe. The centre is 15 easy minutes from the airport or five minutes by metro from the train station. Whenever we are picking up friends from the airport, we always squeeze in a trip to the market or a meal before heading out into the countryside.

Here’s what you can do if you’ve got a day set aside, or even just a couple of hours:

MORNING: The daily market at Place Victor Hugo is mind blowing – all the meat, fish, cheese and pastries you could ever want. All of it is sumptuously displayed (so much so that I was almost tempted to buy a fillet of horse meat …). All the fruit and vegetables are just outside the covered market and more is to be found on the nearby Boulevard de Strasbourg

Place Victor Hugo, Ground Floor
Tuesday to Sunday, 6am-1pm

LUNCH TIME: Head upstairs from the market (the entrance is on the outside, under the covered walkway) to the mezzanine where there’s a narrow row of half a dozen restaurants. They’re all very friendly and very good, and they expect you to walk down the row and peruse the menus. All of them are supplied by the market below and guarantee fresh, tasty fare. We love the Le Louchebem (French Pig-Latin for “butcher”).

Get there by 12:15 at the latest as there are no bookings taken and the place gets packed.

Place Victor Hugo, First Floor
Daily 11.45am-3pm. Closed on Mondays.

EVENING: Enjoy an aperitif on the Place du Capitole. The square is vast, with the enormous town hall and opera house on one side and beautiful rose-bricked buildings on the other. Great for people watching and admiring the effect the changing light has on all the beautiful buildings. Many cafes spill out from the covered archways opposite the Capitole. The service can be a little Parisian (i.e. aloof), but worth suffering through for the atmosphere.

Next, head to Place Saint-Georges for dinner. A ten-minute stroll from Place du Capitole, Place Saint-Georges is a small, leafy square accessed by several narrow, medieval streets. In summer all the restaurants in the square have tables set up outside. It makes for a great atmosphere, and gives you a good view of all the gorgeous buildings surrounding the square. Unlike small French towns, late dining is readily available. There are a variety of restaurants and cafes here – everything from crepes and pizza to extensive gourmet menus. I recommend the following:

Traditional with great service and an extensive wine list:

Restaurant Emile. 13 Place St. Georges
05 61 21 05 56
www.restaurant-emile.com

They are known for their cassoulet and fish stew. We had a fabulous starter of herring tartar that was tasty and beautifully presented. On the expensive side, but a worthwhile treat. Making a reservation is recommended.
Young vibe and reliable food and service:

Van Gogh Cafe 21 Place St. Georges
05 61 21 03 15

Their summertime terrace comes complete with sand underfoot, which is nice and cool and feels a little as if you are on a volleyball court (high heels not recommended). The atmosphere is warm and friendly, which is partly due to the beautiful building and furnishings and partly due to with the staff. We gobbled all our food and the servings are uncharacteristically large (you could share one cassoulet between two).

The joys of Monoprix – and Puss In Boots in the Poulet Vert playground.

Paris is magical, obviously. For lovers, for gourmets, shoe shoppers, people watchers and art freaks – but what is less well known is that Paris is also magical for children.

Even the most accessible children’s activities there have that unique Gallic style. No plastic, no batteries required, definitely no logo. It all looks as if it has been set up by a lifestyle magazine.

But to make the most of the magic of being with a child in Paris, you will want your kid to look like the impossibly chic and adorable local ones.

Here’s how to achieve both within easy walking distance.

How to Play Like a Real Parisian Kid

On a Wednesday afternoon in the Jardin du Luexmbourg, an elegant oasis just beyond St Sulpice in Saint Germain, my then two-year old daughter had her first ride in a pony and trap, along a sandy avenue between pollarded plane trees. This was quickly followed by a ride along the same route on a donkey called Gelt. Dear, gentle Gelt.

It was early October and shafts of sunshine cut through the orange leaves, the sound of hooves dulled by the still air. The general scene greatly enhanced by the marvellous Frenchness of the other little children; all cute haircuts, pouty lips and clothes in muted colours… But we’ll get to that later; first, the rest of the park.

After saying goodbye to Gelt, we headed for the tiny and ancient carousel, where the children sit straight-backed on exquisite little horses, holding javelins with which they spear brass rings held up by the fearless operator.

Then there was just time to let off some steam in the Poulet Vert (Green Chicken) playground, fabulously equipped with slides, swings and bouncy animals on springs, before catching the next show at the nearby puppet theatre. Puss in Boots retains its charm, we discovered, even if you don’t catch every word of the dialogue.

From there we headed for the round pond right behind the splendid white stone Palais du Luxembourg, which houses the French senate, where you can hire little wooden yachts to sail. Or, if you are a rather weary parent, you can flop on a handy metal chair and turn your face to the sun.

How to Look Like a Real Parisian Kid

Now for the shopping part. With that infallible Gallic logic, at the south west end of the Jardin du Luxembourg, an uncommonly pleasant statue-enhanced walk from the pond, is rue Vavin – a whole street of childrenswear shops.

It kicks off with a branch of Jacadi on the corner of rue d’Assas. This upscale kiddie chain is not as chic a proposition as Bonpoint or Tartin et Chocolat, but the price tags don’t make you spontaneously vomit, and you couldn’t find a better source of classic children’s clothes.

After buying a perfect pink and white gingham party dress with a detachable stiff petticoat, or a little coat like the one Prince Charles used to wear, you may want to take a small detour down to 83 rue d’Assas , where you will find a branch of agnès b. enfant, to express your child’s more edgy urban side (although your gorge may also rise here at the prices).

Then back to rue Vavin and the best thing is just to look in every shop – there are too many to list here, all of them great in their own way for clothes and shoes – and of course the only underwear you can possibly put your child in, at Petit Bateau.

Also look out for the tights and socks by the brilliant French make Doré Doré, which come in wonderful colours with fully-fashioned heels and toes. You can get ribbed socks which are wool on the outside and cotton on the inside and don’t tourniquet the tiny leg, imagine that. (Jacadi have them, but if you miss them here you will also find them in department stores.)

But the real secret to getting your offspring that enfant Français look is a haircut – and the perfect place for this is Au Pays d’Oscar, right on rue Vavin, where they sit in little red castles to have their hair snipped into an adorable Madeline bob, or Tin Tin crop. For more information, the website is at http://www.aupaysdoscar.com.

Practicalities

Odèon is the easiest Metro for the Jardin du Luxembourg. If you want to shop then hit the park, go to Vavin and work back. They are on the same line.

The pony rides, carousel and puppet theatre are open on Wednesday afternoons and weekends, but remember: SHOPS ARE NOT OPEN IN PARIS ON SUNDAYS!!!!!

Monoprix

Finally, here is my real secret for achieving that chic French kid look, on the cheap: Monoprix. It’s a supermarket, but the childrenswear ranges are to die for.

On my last visit I picked up bundles of ribbed polo necks made of organic cotton, in the most heavenly muted shades of mauve and brown – which exactly matched ribbed Doré Doré tights I had already bought. These all worked back with velvet knickerbockers and corduroy butcher boy caps.

The clothes are great from babywear up and very reasonable, although it does depend what they have in on the day, as turnover is very quick on the good stuff.

For this reason, I usually hit Monoprix several times whenever I am in Paris and my favourite branch is on the corner of rue de Rennes and Boulevard Saint Germain.

Rebecca Sparrow retraces Audrey’s steps in the classic film Roman Holiday.

Audrey Hepburn, I have decided, is my favourite tour guide. After all, her films are a veritable showcase of some of the world’s most glorious cities. Funny Face turns the spotlight on Paris, My Fair Lady opens audiences’ eyes to the wonders of London. Breakfast at Tiffany’s is the perfect tribute to the Big Apple, chronicling a young woman’s dizzy existence in a New York brownstone apartment.

None do the job as well as that 1950s cinematic classic Roman Holiday though – which, despite its age, is better than any guide book at capturing the spirit of the city and the adventures that can be had for the first-time visitor to Rome.

The Italian capital is also allowed to shine in the film, alongside Ms Hepburn who won an Academy Award for her portrayal of the young Princess Ann.

Ann ( who is fed up with her stuffy, over-scheduled life) decides to go AWOL and live out her dreams of normality during twenty-four hours in Rome. Along the way, thanks to a sleeping drug and a none-too-keen taxi driver, Ann falls into the hands of Joe Bradley (Gregory Peck.) Joe is a journalist who eventually recognises the Princess, then hears cash registers ringing in his ears as he realises he can capture the incognito Princess’s exploits for his local paper.

The well-known and well-worn tourist sights are all there in Roman Holiday – the Forum, the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, Castel Sant’Angelo and the Trevi Fountain – but so too is the equally famous Italian charm. Think amorous hairdressers and crazy Italian taxi drivers – Mama Mia!

Here is your guide to retracing the steps of Audrey’s Roman Holiday. Silk scarf and Vespa scooter optional.

The Roman Forum

Having escaped from behind the Embassy walls in a truck, Princess Ann promptly falls asleep on a public seat near the Forum. It is here that Joe Bradley finds her and assumes she is a drunk. Visit the Forum today and you’ll find the same benches where Ann decided to curl up for the night. The Roman Forum can be found on Via dei Fori Imperiali and entry is free. You can spend a few hours wandering through the ruins and imagine the stirring speeches, violent sacrifices and roaring celebrations that would have occurred centuries before. To get there take Metro Line B: Colosseo – or it’s a five minute walk from Piazza Venezia.

The Bocca della Verita

Roman Holiday’s most memorable scene takes place here at “The Mouth of Truth”. Legend has it that when anyone sticks his or her hand into the mouth of the large metal plate, they quickly realise that anyone who is a liar will have their hand bitten off. In reality the Bocca della Verita is simply a fancy metal plate covering the mouth of an old drain outside the Chiesa di Santa Maria (Church of Saint Maria). So where did the legend come from? Rumour has it that a priest once kept a scorpion behind the drain to bite the hand of liars! Open daily from 9am til 5pm. To get there take Bus 170 to Via del Teatro di Marcello or it’s a five minute walk from Piazza Venezia.

The Trevi Fountain

In an attempt to be a bit daring and remain unrecognised, Princess Ann finds a barber near the Trevi Fountain and decides to give her long tresses the chop. Desperately trying to find the Princess, Joe tracks her to the fountain where he attempts to steal a young child’s camera so he can start capturing the Ann’s adventures on film.

The Trevi Fountain first gained popularity through another classic film, Three Coins In The Fountain. These days there is a constant flock of tourists ready to throw coins over their shoulders. Legend has it that if you throw one coin over your shoulder with your right hand you are destined to revisit Rome, two coins and you’ll have a fling with an Italian, three coins and you’ll marry an Italian (start saving those pennies!) The Trevi Fountain can be found at Piazza di Trevi. The nearest Metro station is Piazza Barberini or take Metro Line A: Spagna.

The Spanish Steps

After her hair cut, Ann walks up the Spanish Steps, buys her first gelato and haggles with a florist. The Spanish Steps is also the place where Joe pretends to run into the Princess and then invites her to spend the day with him. The Spanish Steps are notorious in Rome as the city’s main pick-up joint. During the day the Steps are covered with tourists and vendors selling flowers, jewellery and artwork. Just remember to haggle! At night, things become really interesting as the steps fill up with young, Italian Romeos doing their best to look suave. It’s impossible to walk away without at least a marriage proposal or a rose. Get there on Metro Line A: Spagna.

The Colosseum

Princess Ann causes major havoc on a Vespa round the Colosseum after having champagne with Joe and his friend Irving at Rocca’s Sidewalk Café. The most famous of Rome’s historical remains, the Colosseum was built in 80BC and is the former arena for competitions between gladiators and various wild beasts. (It’s also rumoured, though unproven, that it was in the Colosseum that the Christians were offered up as snacks to the lions.) While it’s free to look at the Colosseum from street level, you’ll have to pay at least 9000 Lira to go any higher up. The Colosseum can be found on Via dei Fori Imperiali. Take Metro Line B: Colosseo or one of numerous buses.

Did you know?

Roman Holiday was a huge hit in England thanks to the coincidental news from Buckingham Palace that Princess Margaret had also fallen in love with a commoner – Captain Mark Townsend.

During the scene at the Bocca Della Verita (the Mouth of Truth), Gregory Peck ad-libbed the part where he pretends his hand has been bitten off. So Audrey’s look of horror is genuine!

Donna Wheeler is fascinated by one of Milan’s most seductive villas, the sisters who once lived there, and their vintage closets…

Biblioteca, Villa Necchi Campiglio

No one really comes to Milan for the Roman ruins, early Christian churches or even its stunning, other worldly Duomo. Milan is for shopping, catching Daniel Barenboim at La Scala, doing deals at the Salone Mobile or Moda Donna fairs. Or for kicking back with a Negroni at one of its many bars while gawping at the obscenely wealthy and preternaturally beautiful.

I came to Milan to research a book and found its streets forbiddingly grey, its air heavy with pollution and its pace as tyrannical as New York’s or Beijing’s. Milan’s attractions are, of course, far more seductive if you’ve got a healthy expense account. I certainly didn’t, but one has the sense that even the most cashed up of casual visitors are kept at arm’s length, doomed to always be in a parallel world of public spaces, while much of gilded Milanese life is conducted within apartments, rooftops and courtyards. I got the odd glimpse via invitations to dinner or art openings, but I more often caught just the heady perfume of lush courtyard gardens as imposing wooden doors clanked shut. The city’s position as Italy’s economic hub and indefatigable modern metropolis conspire with its dense webs of family fortune and dynastic ambition to make it near impenetrable. Hubris, history and frazzled exhaustion don’t exactly make for la dolce vita .

Since the spring of 2008, a small piece of its haute-bourgeois splendour is no longer entirely private. Nestled beneath rows of grand residential apartments, between the fashion heartland of the Golden Quad and the design showrooms of San Babila, is a rare architectural masterpiece, and for once there’s no eagle-eyed concierge to stop one peeking. Yes, you’re a paying guest, but it’s no less thrilling to wander in the gate, past herb-filled garden beds, and to spin around and breathe the scent of what was so recently a secret garden.

Eccentric Milanese architect Piero Portaluppi designed Villa Necchi Campiglio in 1932 for Nedda and Gigina Necchi, the daughters of a Pavian industrialist, and Gigina’s husband, doctor-turned-entrepreneur Angelo Campiglio. Heirless, Gigina Campiglio Necchi donated the house to the Fondo per l’Ambiente Italiano, or FAI, Italy’s National Trust, upon her death in 2001. The FAI’s meticulous restoration took several years and quite a few million euro, reversing many of the ‘improvements’ which were made to the house in the 1950s. It’s the FAI’s first Milanese property and, appropriately for the city, also its first major 20th-century one.

Set in sprawling grounds with a Hollywood-style heated swimming pool, tennis court and cloistered by elegant towering magnolia trees, the house is unequaled as a symbol of the city’s 20th-century industrial wealth and Modernist imaginings. Rooms are lavishly decorated and finishes are breathtaking – Chinoiserie banisters line the staircase and airy light-filled bathrooms are clad in the best local marble. Unusual, ambitious details such as the terrarium-lined sun room, electronic shuttering and brass-clad central heating surprise; big ticket 20th-century Italian art works by Morandi, Di Chirico and Campigli (on loan from the collection of Claudia Gian Ferrari) mix with quotidian details. Closets are stuffed with bias-cut silk slips, cloche hats and fur collars, monogrammed brushes line dressing tables and luggage still sits at the ready for one of the wanderlusting sisters’ many journeys. The kitchens are decked out with shiny appliances, cupboards stacked with freshly pressed linen and staff uniforms.

While it’s very easy on the eye, Portaluppi’s Art Deco and Italian Rationalist co-mingling also evokes an uneasy sense of historical cusp; the house speaks of an outlook that was vertiginously forward looking while at the same time desperately anchored in a world fast slipping away. Interestingly, the sister’s subsequent renovations sought to tamp down its visionary design and make it a ‘normal’ bourgeois home.

The basement – originally servicing the pool and housing the staff – now contains large blown up photographs of the seemingly inseparable sisters. They lounge poolside, beam from the deck of an ocean liner or strike elegant poses in far-flung locales. The touching intimacy of the house and these photographs (along with the lack of any meaningful documentation – in English at least – of the sisters’ lives) is rich fodder for an active imagination. How did husband Angelo fit into the picture? What did the sisters chat about in their chic bathing costumes as the century’s darkest clouds gathered on the horizon (could they really have been as tone-deaf to the cataclysm as they appear in these photographs)? Who was it that these Hilton sisters of their day were entertaining as the 1930s came to a close? Where were they when the Allied bombs began to fall? Who, exactly, were these women? In a city such as Milan, one where you are forever on the outside looking in, questions such as these don’t have easy, or one suspects, particularly palatable answers. The splendid, haunting Villa Necchi Campiglio is all the more intriguing for it.

Via Mozart 12
02 760 02 877
€6 (by guided tour only)
Opening hours:10-18h Wed-Sun (last entry 17:30); garden café until 21h
Nearest metro: MM1 (red line) San Babila

Ireland’s Saint Patrick banished snakes from Croagh Patrick, also known locally as The Reek. Tamara Pitelen cycled over to find out more.

Every year, thousands of pilgrims and tourists make the trek to the summit of Croagh Patrick. (Photo courtesy Tourism Ireland)

I am now officially On My Own in a foreign country.

After three weeks spent cycling across Ireland, from Dublin to Galway and up to Westport, I had to put Kate, my cycling partner in crime, on a bus back to Dublin this morning.
To distract myself from this lonely state of affairs, I am climbing Croagh Patrick, a mountain in County Mayo that looms at about 800m (2510ft in old money) and is the mountain from which St Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, apparently banished all snakes and venomous creatures from the land. Legend has it that St. P rang his bell at the top to call all the venomous creatures to him, then they just obligingly flung themselves off the cliff. This black bell is now in the National Museum of Dublin.

Croagh Patrick (aka The Reek) is climbed by thousands of pilgrims throughout the year. Some even do it barefoot and at night. But the big day is the last Sunday of July when about 25,000 pilgrims throng the mountain to attend mass at the summit. Penitential exercises on The Reek date back to St. Patrick’s fast on the mountain for 40 days in 441AD. Anyway, it’s this mountain that I plan to climb and according to signs at the bottom, it takes a “Person of Average Fitness” about two hours to get up and an hour and a half to get down.

The man himself. A sculpture of Saint Patrick, patron saint of Ireland. (Photo courtesy Tourism Ireland)

I arrived at the bottom at 11.25am this morning and read the information sign for first time climbers. It said: “Avoid climbing alone.” Strike one.

It also said: “Do not climb in rain or fog” just as a crowd of thick, dark, angry and ominous clouds gathered overhead, obscuring the summit.

Finally, the school marm of a sign said: “Tell someone your expected return time.” Strike three. For a moment, I considered going back to the carpark to tell the young girls sat in a caravan selling ice-creams, walking sticks, and ‘I climbed The Reek’ caps, to call police rescue if I wasn’t back by dinner time but, having been a 13-year-old girl myself once, knew that would be as successful as asking my mum’s cat to set the video to record Desperate Housewives.
So off I went, alone, in potentially bad weather, with not a soul knowing where

I was. At least I had cheese sandwiches in my bag.

A sea view of Croagh Patrick. (Photo courtesy Tourism Ireland)

The first two thirds is a challenge, by that I mean it’s steep and it’s easy to lose your footing because the ‘track’ is actually a dry river bed of boulders, rocks, stones, and gravel that cascades down the mountain. After 40 minutes of trudging upwards, the first drops of rain started. Five minutes later it was heavy enough to warrant pulling my raincoat out of my bag but as I did the wind almost whipped it out of my hands and sent it flying off the mountain. I looked around to see how many other idiots, sorry, people, were continuing the climb in the wind and rain. There were a few so I kept going.
The last third is bloody tough. It’s straight up and all loose rocks and vertical drops. The wind was blowing hard and, frankly, I was scared. I had to scramble over rocks on all fours, I was feeling dizzy, my legs were jelly and I was afraid to stand up properly for fear of falling backwards or being blown off the side. So I sat down and debated whether to continue or turn back, even though the vertigo-inducing view down looked just as frightening as the way up.
Just then, an elderly French man came into view on his way down. I know he was French because when I said “hi” he said, “parle pas l’anglais” or something like that but with hand signals he told me to just have a rest then keep going, “eez good!” So I did and at 1.05pm I came over the top. Twenty minutes faster than a Person of Average Fitness. I could’ve sobbed with relief but people were looking.

My first sight on reaching the summit was of a couple hugging each other in front of the church that was built up there (somehow) for all those barefooted pilgrims. They were either lovers overcome with emotion at having made it or were two strangers clinging to each other out of sheer terror at being blown off the side.

After finding a sheltered spot, ie, blowing a gale rather than a hurricane, I ate my cheese sandwiches while admiring the view which took my breath away. I’m sorry to rely on such a tired cliché but it really did. The view was spectacular, magnificent. On one side Ireland stretched out as far as the eye could see like a glittering green jewel, hills sweeping into valley and plains. The other side was the sea, azure blue, dotted with the same islands of rich green that I’d seen on the way up.

It’s a long way to the top when you want to rock and roll. (Photo courtesy Tourism Ireland)

I sat there for about half an hour, wondering if I could just live in the church for the next 50 years, which at that point seemed preferable to climbing down but I got too cold. Hypothermia or death by falling 800m? I tossed a coin. Death by falling won so I started the climb down.
At about two thirds of the way down I passed a portly English couple who were worryingly red in the face and had stopped to have a cigarette.

“Is there much further Love?” The woman asked me between puffs. She had tattoos up and down both her arms, the prison variety as opposed to the attractive Celtic design variety. I didn’t know how to break it to them so I didn’t.
“Well, you’ve still got a bit to go but, hey, if I can do it, anyone can!” I replied, all irritating bonhomie and Girl Guide encouragement.

I jog-shuffled-slipped the rest of the way down and got to the bottom at 3pm, my legs shaking with the effort but as luck – or perhaps design – would have it, there’s a pub called Campbell’s at the bottom so I celebrated with a rum and coke. It’s what St Paddy would have wanted.

Boxtree Barn, Devon sleeps four and has a dog-sitter in residence. Chiconomical and dog-friendly.
Visit www.coastandcountry.co.uk

The Old Vicarage, Norfolk, is a Georgian house with plenty of good walks nearby. Pricey but luxe.
Visit www.ruralretreats.co.uk

Swn y Dail, Pembrokeshire is a flat with no stairs (suits arthritic dogs) and can sleep up to six for a very reasonable price. Visit www.thewoofguide.com

If you’re really over the duty-free perfume selection and want something uniquely British, then we recommend you try the following brands. You can pick up some of these in Selfridge’s, Liberty’s, Harrod’s or Harvey Nichols – but it’s more fun to visit the store of origin to choose your ultimate personal scent.

Floris at 89 Jermyn Street, www.florislondon.co.uk
Jo Malone www.jomalone.co.uk
Miller Harris www.millerharris.com
Penhaligon’s www.penhaligons.com
Angela Flanders Perfumery www.angelaflanders-perfumer.com
Aromatherapy Associates www.aromatherapyassociates.com

If you sew or do craft (or have a friend who does) then you can’t miss London’s V.V.Rouleaux – an easy three-minute walk from Sloane Square tube station on the Piccadilly line.  Simply the most beautiful, unusual and desirable ribbons, buttons and faux flowers we’ve ever seen. At http://ww.vvrouleaux.co.uk

http://www.Belindarobertson.com
http://www.brora.co.uk
http://www.pringlescotland.com
http://www.marksandspencer.com
http://www.loropiana.com

Twelve of Princess Diana’s classic dresses are on display at Kensington Palace including the famous Victor Edelstein creation worn when she danced with John Travolta. Have tea in the beautiful Orangery afterwards. For more information www.hrp.org.uk

Expect to queue – we always have. It’s worth the wait…the tea menu is a work of art and you can choose from traditional blends like Darjeeling, to the finest Chinese tea. The French love little cakes and pastries and Mariage Freres has a groaning table of them. For more see mariagefreres

Smythson produces visiting cards, writing paper and wedding invitations for the great and the good. It also offers a series of tiny, cult-status leather notebooks and diaries. Expensive but worth it. We still think their ‘Blondes, Brunettes, Redheads’ notebook is the wittiest. Visit www.smythson.com

Holiday Goddess Emma has a little interest in Ye Olde Punch Bowl Inn in Marton, North Yorkshire – possibly because it’s co-owned by her partner Neil Morrissey. Neil’s own beer, Morrissey-Fox, is on tap. For more information visit http://www.morrisseyfox.co.uk.

Rumour has it that Jimi Hendrix wrote Stone Free at the Free Trade Inn in Newcastle upon Tyne. The jukebox is suitably loaded. It’s a great place to be at midnight on a Saturday. For more information visit freetradeinn.

You can buy a bottle of wine at the shop at The Vine Tree in Norton, drink it in the pub, and take the remainder home if you like. Or – try a wine in the pub, then buy a case from the shop. There are more than 40 bottles sold by the glass. Wine lovers love it. See thevinetree.

The Lord Poulett Arms in Hinton St George is possibly the perfect English pub. A kitchen garden. Village locals. Dorset fish. And (we love this) an incredible 14 wines by the glass to choose from. It’s won awards, and your friends can bring their dogs. Visit lordpoulettarms.

The Greys is basically about music, but it’s also tiny, so get three early if you want to see the folk, bluegrass or country on offer. They don’t do much else – except excellent organic alcohol and a great atmosphere. Visit greyspub.

Fans of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe should have at least one glass of wine in Lewis’s honour at The Black Boy Inn. Kids love it too, so if you have children in tow, book them into the regular cooking class. This is a family pub, at heart. Visit theblackboy.

Love, Actually writer Richard Curtis has been seen at The Anchor in Walberswick, Suffolk and it’s beloved of film and TV Britpackers generally, because of the location. Beach views, oysters, designer beer. Perfect for you and a certain someone! Visit anchoratwalberswick. More Richard Curtis trivia – the pub where Andie MacDowell slept with Hugh Grant in Four Weddings is The Crown at Amersham in Buckinghamshire. Yes, you can book the room. Visit thecrownamersham.

Noel Fielding and Julian Barratt (The Mighty Boosh) are said to have drunk at The Warren House Inn at Dartmoor, but also to have been haunted by its ghost. You’ll want to visit for the local ales or local walks. It’s a big, blokey, beautiful bar. Visit warrenhouseinn.

You can hire the punt at The Trout Inn, and go along the river with a picnic. What bliss! Even if you don’t move from your table, the view of the river Thames is wonderful. Visit trout-inn to find out more about this pub at Buckland Marsh.