Recipefiesta

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Last April, I based myself in Oban and took my teenagers puffin-watching at Lunga, off Mull, in the Treshnish Isles, with an organised tour (Staffa Tours) by ferry and foot. It was a real delight. The guides were brilliant and helpful, especially with my mobility issues, and we were surprised and amazed at how tame and friendly the puffins were – allowing us to get great views of their faces from as near as 5ft or so. Next spring, we are going again as this is the best time to see them arriving in their thousands.
April

The ancient city – with its gardens, hammams and Moorish architecture – comes alive in spring and its Holy Week processions are among the most authentic in Andalucía

As I turned the corner on a narrow, cobbled street in Granada, I felt as if I had stumbled upon a slightly sinister re-enactment society. Mysterious men dressed in white robes and tall, conical, face-covering hats with slits for their eyes were followed by women in black dresses and mantillas, holding pillar candles and crosses, then children wearing caped cloaks, carrying baskets of prayer cards.

It was indeed a re-enactment of sorts, but deeply rooted in Catholicism, representing the Passion of Christ, staged during Holy Week (Semana Santa), which runs from 29 March to 5 April this year. Easter processions are held across the country, but this Andalucían city hosts one of the most authentic in Spain.

Former mill towns in the West Pennine Moors tell the story of the workers’ rebellion against power looms, the new machines decimating their livelihoods

There’s a massive hole in the ground at the top of Whinney Hill – a shale quarry that once supplied raw materials for Accrington’s famous Nori brickworks (as used in the Empire State Building and Blackpool Tower). It’s fitting, as there’s a chasm-wide gap in history when it comes to this unprepossessing spot on the edge of the West Pennine Moors.

On the morning of 24 April 1826, about 1,000 weavers met on the hilltop to plan their day and, no doubt, get the lie of the land and the weather before setting off. A banking crisis in December of the previous year – dubbed the Panic of 1825 by historians – had hammered the cotton industry. Lancashire’s weavers, who had already suffered years of declining wages and living standards, faced destitution and even starvation.

It isn’t only climbers who get misty-eyed about the awe-inspiring mountains and ancient pinewoods of Britain’s first national nature reserve, created 75 years ago

The waymarked quartzite path glimmers in the sun, flanked by amber-gold grassland. Beyond, one of Scotland’s finest landscapes opens up before me, a woodland of ancient Caledonian pines leading my eye to the metallic glint of Loch Maree. On the other side of the water, a winding river separates the steep, stacked rocks of Beinn a’Mhùinidh from Slioch, one of the great mountains of Wester Ross, rising to a knuckle ridge of Torridonian sandstone.

I’m walking the four-mile mountain trail looping through Beinn Eighe national nature reserve (NNR), Britain’s first NNR, which celebrates its 75th anniversary this year. In a crowded list, you’d be hard pushed to find a more soul-stirring landscape in all of Scotland.

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.