Recipefiesta

Our writer first hiked in the Lake District, Eryri and Dartmoor in the 1970s. Their beauty remains unrivalled, but they are more popular than ever. So, here’s how to avoid the crowds

Before we enter the clouds on snow-capped Helvellyn, I glance back down at Ullswater. The early morning sun is bursting around the dark corners of High Dodd and Sleet Fell, sending a flush of light across the golden bracken and on to the hammered silver of the lake.

Further away to the south, ragged patches of snow cling to the high gullies. The nearest village, Glenridding, can barely be seen behind the leafless trees and all I can hear is the gurgle of the stream. It is the quintessential Lakeland scene: the steep slopes above the water, the soft colours and hard rock, all combining into something inimitable. And judging by the photographic and artistic record, it is one that has hardly changed since the Cumbrian wind first ruffled a Romantic poet’s curls.

The historic port is a cosmopolitan gateway to global flavours and traditions. And it’s barely on the tourist trail. Take a tour …

Many years ago, I swapped languages with a young woman from Trieste. It was during one of our half-English, half-Italian practice hours that she introduced the idea of Trieste, on a map, as possessing the shape of a stomach. She described her city (which is also a province) as being suspended: pressed by the sea on one side, enveloped by Slovenia and the Karst hills on the other, with a short oesophagus attaching it to the body of Italy. She also suggested I read la Conscienza di Zeno – Zeno’s Conscience – Italo Svevo’s devilishly funny hymn to procrastination, self-delusion and walking around in search of a suitable cafe, and warned me about the ruffian wind.

It would be almost two decades before I finally visited Trieste, bringing with me enough anticipation to tempt disappointment (unfounded) and the itinerary of a food writer. I carried the image of a stomach too, fitting in so many ways for this remarkable food city, not least for making its geography vivid, which in turn explains so much about its history. Once a coastal fishing village, colonised by the Romans, raided by the Venetians, entrusted to the Habsburg monarchy in Vienna (for four centuries, which included a prolonged heyday), appended to the newly united Kingdom of Italy, fought over, briefly independent, handed back to Italy in 1954, from which point it developed into what is today one of the most outward looking and dynamic cities in Italy. Trieste, it seems, has digested and assimilated, meaning its complex history is reflected in the architecture, dialect, music, literature, sports, civic nature and multifaceted food culture: surely one of the most intriguing and rewarding in Italy.

The wild moors and gentle dales of the UK’s oldest national park are just as inviting today as they were when it was created in 1951

Look at a satellite photograph of Britain taken on a clear night and the only things visible are the glowing street lights of towns and cities. If you cast your eyes to the centre of northern England, the distinctive, cupped-hand-shaped boundary of the Peak District national park is clearly outlined as an island of darkness washed by an ocean of light from the industrial conurbations of the north and Midlands.

It was established in April 1951 as the first national park in Britain. And that view from space gives the clearest indication possible of why this site was chosen – it put a national park where it was most needed in the country. It has been estimated that about a third of the population of England and Wales lives less than an hour away from the Peak District.

Ski accommodation can be prohibitively expensive, but a cosy youth hostel puts the Montafon resort and its glorious runs within reach for those on a budget

‘Want to come skiing in Austria at half-term?” I asked my 13-year-old son. “It’ll be just like one of those luxury chalet holidays, only we’ll make our own beds, cook our own dinners and carry our gear back to our accommodation ourselves.” Osian didn’t hear the caveats. “Sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes glazing to a cinematic sweep of white powder and the chance to perfect his 360.

For many families, the dream of a catered chalet – and its ready-lit fires, homemade strudels and chauffeured lift shuttles – remains just that. Apartments offer access to the slopes at less vertigo-inducing prices, but they tend to come with a minimum seven-night stay. If you only have a few days to spare, or a budget that won’t stretch to a full week’s lift pass, hotels fill the gap, but then you’re back navigating the moguls of cost.

The ruins of Tintern Abbey have inspired artists and poets. Now, the restoration of a historic inn has given visitors a perfect base for exploring this corner of Monmouthshire

Standing in Tintern Abbey, you can feel the magic that has given this small Monmouthshire village on the banks of the Wye and its famous ruin such an outsized place in culture. JMW Turner, Gainsborough and Samuel Palmer are just some of the artists who have captured this landscape, and Wordsworth and Tennyson famously wrote poems inspired by Tintern. But it was Allen Ginsberg’s Welsh Visitation and his “clouds passing through skeleton arches” that came to mind while I sheltered from a cloudburst in the abbey’s nave. It’s a vast and fascinating site, and seeing it through sheets of rain as the sun went down was really special.

Ginsberg was here in the 1960s, following in the footsteps of the Romantics. But Tintern’s fame came thanks to its inclusion in travel writer William Gilpin’s 1782 book Observations on the River Wye. Gilpin’s writing about the “picturesque” – landscapes that inspired art through their rugged beauty – was so popular in the late 18th century that the Wye Tour was created to meet tourist demand, one of the first package trips in British travel history.

Feted for its warm winters and famous lemons, the seaside border town has attracted artists and writers from around the world

‘It’s not France, it’s not Italy, it’s Menton.” The seaside town on the French-Italian border has changed identities many times in its history. It was the only town in France completely annexed by the Italians during the second world war, but has also belonged to the Grimaldis of Monaco, was part of the kingdom of Sardinia, and only became French after a public vote in 1860. Today, ignoring the colours of Il Tricolore and Le Tricolore, almost everything is painted in various shades of yellow, a celebration of the town’s reliance on its beloved lemon.

Mauro Colagreco, the chef at the spectacular Mirazur restaurant, a few steps from the border, takes me up into the hills to visit one of his lemon and citrus fruit suppliers. “You can eat the peel of a Menton lemon; it has a thick, sweet rind. You can eat the whole thing; it’s totally organic and very juicy.” Menton’s microclimate, its warm winters, terraced hills and sandy soil make it perfect for growing citrus fruit. “What’s particular to the Menton lemon is that it has a smile, a small curvy fold at one end,” says Colagreco, who uses them in his restaurant alongside exploring the possibilities of Star Ruby grapefruits, yuzu confit and kumquats.

From the Venetian lagoon to the sparkling Med, these island getaways offer a welcome change of pace just a short hop from the mainland

Connected to the German mainland by a single rail causeway, Sylt is just over three hours from Hamburg by direct train. The largest of the North Frisian islands, it slices through the North Sea and the Wadden Sea, with salt marshes and mudflats to the east and 25 miles of white sands sweeping along the western coast, grassy dunes buffering the bracing winds.