Recipefiesta

When ill health took away my freedom to roam, searching for beach treasure gave me a vital connection to my island home and more distant shores

Before I had children, my work as a research scientist meant frequent travel. I specialised in nature conservation and discovered that I was pregnant with my first child on a visit to an Ethiopian colleague’s field site in the Bale Mountains. The motherhood penalty in academia is high, and when my husband was offered a post in Shetland, I handed in my notice in the hope of finding a new job that would allow a better work-life balance.

We relocated north on the overnight ferry from Aberdeen, and despite a rough voyage and sea sickness, I was immediately smitten. Shetland is an archipelago of more than 100 islands, 16 of which are inhabited. Weather moves fast here and there is a constant play of light on a sea scattered with islands. I was excited to live in a place where there is always a chance of seeing a pod of orcas.

If you want to know what makes the Spanish capital tick, head for its back-street bodegas, tiny tapas bars and neighbourhood food markets

Freshly fried churros, golden and crisp; a cup of velvety hot chocolate alongside; circles of aubergine striped from the griddle; mushrooms silky with chorizo; a jumble of potatoes smothered in spicy sauce; handmade crisps, crunchy and salty; slivers of jamón serrano; plump Nocera olives; and crumbly, herby morcilla … By the end of our first day in Madrid, my sister Penny and I have eaten all these things. A touch indulgent, maybe, but when you’re staying in a city that runs on its stomach, it seems rude not to go with the flow.

Madrileños are famous for eating late, mostly because that mid-evening supper is the last of five meals, starting with a light breakfast – often coffee and a pastry on the fly, before an early lunchtime snack (almuerzo), a full sit-down lunch, usually between 2 and 4pm (comida), then coffee and cake (merienda) and finally supper. Once you understand this, Madrid really starts to make sense: a city of centuries-old pasticceria, hole-in-the-wall tapas bars, neighbourhood markets and dimly-lit bodegas, all crammed with diners. Someone is always eating somewhere. During our visit, it was usually us.

You don’t need to do a multi-day hike to benefit from the healing powers of pilgrimage – this 14-mile route in Cornwall proves just as magical

It’s dawn when we step off the train at Lelant, a village tucked into a bay near St Ives. The early morning light is still intensifying as the distinctive, repetitive shrill of a song thrush wakes this sleepy corner of west Cornwall.

I’m in Cornwall with a friend to walk a pilgrim path – the St Michael’s Way from Lelant to St Michael’s Mount – that I first trod a few years ago. Back then, I was alone, fresh out of a toxic relationship, and trying to piece together my life against a backdrop of resurfacing trauma. Yet I hadn’t arrived feeling melancholic, because I had discovered, some time ago, the power of these ancient trails. And I say that as someone who is not in any way religious.

From a hike under huge Suffolk skies to aspen glades in the Cairngorms, our tipsters lead the way on these spring strolls

Two of the great prologues of literature begin on the same seeping bank in the village of Slad. Start the circular Laurie Lee walk from where the infant was dropped from a cart in Cider with Rosie and from where the adolescent loped off to Spain in As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning. A well-managed schedule can see you enjoying the singular hospitality of the Woolpack Inn before and after your five-mile jaunt. Head clockwise or reverse to find primrose-bounded paths, skylark-serenaded pasture and slope-clinging beech trees. The ramble is punctuated by posts inscribed with poetry by the valley’s most celebrated son.
Mathew Page

The scenery – and delicacies – get better and better for our slow travel expert as she takes a local train through Canton Fribourg to a beautiful medieval village

It was a handpainted sign on a wooden barn that piqued my interest in Gruyères. I was travelling from Emmental to Montreux last year, following the wonderful Golden Pass rail route. Our train paused at Montbovon, the start of a steep climb up to the line’s final dramatic mountain pass. There was the prospect of stunning views of Lake Geneva ahead. To the right of the railway, I spotted the bold sign: “La Gruyère vous salue” (the cheese lacks the village’s final “s”).

With time to spare earlier this month, I returned to Montbovon to explore the branch railway that runs from there down the Sarine valley to Gruyères and beyond. This time I arrive on one of the new Golden Pass trains which now run through from Montreux to Interlaken, relying on some technical magic to slip from narrow-gauge to standard-gauge tracks along the way. The tourists in the posh prestige class are tucking into platters of charcuterie accompanied by Swiss wine. The climb up from Montreux is as magical as ever, twisting and turning up into the hills with Lake Geneva far below. Forty minutes out from Montreux, the train makes its first scheduled stop. This is Montbovon, a village that my old Baedeker guide advises is “noted for good cherry brandy”. I am the sole passenger alighting from the train, which after a brief stop is on its way again, now following the Sarine valley upstream towards Gstaad.

A book club in a disused petrol station, an electronic music hub in an old bus garage … Yorkshire’s largest city is a hotbed of grassroots creativity

‘Leeds has an independent, thriving arts scene,” says Emma Beverley, the director of programmes at last year’s cultural showcase, Leeds 2023. “A lot of that is grounded in an artist-led movement that is pretty pioneering.”

In 2017, Leeds had put in a bid to become European capital of culture, with £1m already invested, which hit the buffers when Brexit automatically ruled any British cities out of contention. In typically stubborn Yorkshire fashion, the city pressed ahead with its own year-long celebration of culture.

A group of seven Moorish villages in southern Spain are the perfect place to recharge – offering mountain air, sparkling springs and any excuse for a party

On our first morning in Atalbéitar, I walk into the kitchen to make coffee and wonder if I’m feeling the effects of the previous night’s festivities. Then I remember it’s not me; it’s the kitchen floor, which is on a gentle slope. I have to be careful carrying the coffee back to bed as the steps are at different heights, and the doorways are small enough to bump your head on. As I lie there, beneath a ceiling constructed of woven chestnut branches and stone slabs, I survey my surroundings, and come to the pleasing conclusion that there’s not a single right angle in sight.

We are staying in a Moorish house in this Andalucían village, and I may as well have travelled back the 700 years to when it was first built. I’ve been visiting Spain for years, as my husband leads wilderness tours here and we’ve travelled from one end to the other, seeking out hidden corners and mountain trails. But arriving in Atalbéitar at night, negotiating its tangle of passageways, ducking under ancient covered walkways while spring water rushes past our feet, we both agree, we’ve never been anywhere quite like this. The village gives the impression of having grown out of the land, rather than been imposed upon it. Its streets are too narrow for cars, the village cats roam freely, and the only sound is the occasional bleating of goats across the slopes. As I look out over the valley on this crisp winter’s morning, the sun is blazing in a solid blue sky and early almond blossom adds splashes of pastel pink to the rocky hills. Everything is still and silent.

From Monet to Degas, the luminosity of Paris has inspired countless artists. As the city celebrates 150 years of impressionism it’s still shining bright

Paris is called the City of Light, possibly because of its early adoption of gas street lighting. But that would not explain why, as I approach Gare du Nord on Eurostar during daytime, I experience a soft dazzle, similar to when I see a pebbly beach. This is not a meteorological phenomenon; the weather in Paris is only slightly better than London’s. Instead, the luminosity owes something to the buff or light-grey limestone of the older buildings (including the Sacré Coeur, rearing like a great ghost to my right), its pallor perpetuated by the whitewashed exteriors of newer buildings.

The light in Paris was a concern of the impressionists, the movement whose 150th anniversary is marked by the Musée d’Orsay’s forthcoming Inventing Impressionism exhibition. On 15 April 1874, a group of 31 artists, including Monet, Pissarro, Degas and Renoir, “hungry for independence” (as the Musée d’Orsay website has it) from the strictures of the Académie des Beaux-Arts, staged their own exhibition. Inventing Impressionism will feature works from that show and others of the time: “Painted scenes of modern life, and landscapes sketched in the open air, in pale hues and with the lightest of touches.”

A hillside eco-retreat makes a great base for connecting with nature and exploring the coast and mountains around Paphos

‘This whole project started as an experiment,” says Pawel Sidorski, who swapped his life in the European hotel industry to pursue his vision of sustainable luxury, opening Yurts in Cyprus, near Paphos in west Cyprus, in 2013. “I wanted to pioneer an off-grid lifestyle and create a place for people to connect with nature without sacrificing comfort,” he says.

Pawel’s three handmade Mongolian yurts and log cabin, tucked away in 2.5 acres on a hill overlooking the Stavros tis Psokas valley, offer just that. We stayed in the spacious Qadan (meaning “cliff” in Mongolian), which sits on the edge of the property – hammock, table and chairs ready for sundowners or stargazing. Inside, there’s a super-comfy wrought iron double bed, rugs, stove, coffee-making kit, Bluetooth speaker and wifi – you name your creature comfort and the attentive Pawel has thought of it.

From roadside picnics to Michelin-star restaurants, the former editor of France magazine picks her most memorable foodie moments

Standout moments from nearly 20 years of writing about travelling and eating around France include meals in legendary restaurants and the joy of a shared dinner at a chambre d’hôtes. That said, there’s a venue that can’t be underestimated as an opportunity to enjoy France’s culinary delights: the car boot picnic.

Standing under the shade of an open car boot, I have discovered some products so delicious they didn’t make it as far as a gîte kitchen or dining table. It might have been a chunk of comté so fruity it didn’t get beyond the car park on market day. There was the punnet of gariguette strawberries bought from a farm in Brittany’s Plougastel-Daoulas, famous for its microclimate. My family and I each took a bite and stared unbelievingly at each other – the sweetness was off the scale.

Medieval villages, secret alleyways and Charles de Gaulle’s retreat are just some of our tipsters’ French finds

Climbing towards the basilica from the river, we explored a zigzag of secret staircases and hidden courtyards in Lyon. These traboules are hard to follow, and so we had to look out for the metal plates that mark some of the entrances. There’s almost no direct way up from the river, but these routes, originally for the city’s silk workers, reveal charming back streets and private courtyards, into which visitors can stare. At the top, breathless, we loved the Basilique Nôtre-Dame de Fourvière. In the crypt we made another exciting discovery: a huge mosaic of the sea battle of Lepanto, a site we’d recently visited in Greece.
David Innes-Wilkin

The dramatic coastline of northern France inspired some of the country’s most famous artists. Now their work will appear in shows across the region

“Every day I’m here, the sky and the sea are different,” says Anastasia Kharchenko, as an incessant drizzle patters on our umbrellas. “Sometimes you can’t even see the horizon because it’s so foggy, but in certain months the colours are just breathtaking.”

We’re standing on a grassy bluff above the town of Étretat on Normandy’s wind-sculpted Alabaster coast, its ragged chalk cliffs looking out into the Channel’s wild waters. Kharchenko is the head of cultural partnerships at the Jardins d’Étretat, a collection of intricately designed gardens that twist and curl down the hillside, dotted with quirky neo-futurist art installations. I apologise for bringing the grim English weather, as we look toward Étretat’s famous chalk arch and needle rock formations, extending from the cliffs like an arm leaning lazily into the raging waves below.

On a weekend break in rural Lincolnshire, the ‘smiling yogi’ takes this ancient practice back to its origins, with an emphasis on mantras and mindfulness

Often when I’ve turned up at various yoga studios in London, the groups I’ve encountered have been overwhelmingly white, svelte and middle class. Perhaps I’ve not found the right class, but as a south Asian woman, it always felt like I was in somebody else’s space.

Yoga originated in ancient India, and I wanted to connect with my Indian roots, so I started looking for an authentic Indian yoga teacher in the UK. I thought it would be a lot easier than it was. In a 2020 report about UK yoga, 91% of practitioners who responded to the survey were white, and south Asian instructors regularly speak out about the lack of diversity in the industry.

The Wolf Way – a magnificent, not too hilly, cycling route – takes in the county’s myths, market towns and Gainsborough landscapes

It was an inauspicious start. Having cycled no more than a few metres, from the steps of the Angel hotel into the grounds of St Edmundsbury Cathedral, I fell off my bike.

I blamed the wolf: in dismounting to take its photo, I had kicked my own pannier and sent myself sprawling. The good passersby of Bury St Edmunds came to my (embarrassed) aid. Saint Edmund himself, sculpted in bronze, standing beside the wolf statue, looked the other way.

The world’s first hammock hiking trail in southern Switzerland takes hikers into quiet corners of the Alps – with their beds in their backpack for lazy pit stops and overnight stays

It was a summer’s morning in the Lepontine Alps in Ticino, Switzerland’s Italian-speaking canton, and there was the vague threat of a storm on the horizon. I was already out on a trail through larch and hazelnut forest, backpack shouldered, aiming for a mountain pass. Up ahead, a herd of short-haired goats grazed, their bells chiming merrily, while behind me the peaks that tower over the Maggia Valley shuffled in and out of view from behind the clouds – each top grimacing, stone teeth chipped and bared.

I hike in Switzerland every summer, but this time I’d been drawn to a new adventure, billed as the world’s first hammock hiking trail, west of popular Locarno. Launched last year, it begins in the village of Bosco Gurin and appeals to those who like combining vertiginous hikes with the more horizontal pastime of lounging in a hammock. It’s low-key, low-impact travel, offering a chance to get to know one of Switzerland’s most extraordinary valleys.

Wild landscapes, distinctive architecture and child-friendly facilities also help raise the happiness levels of our writer on a stay in the Icelandic capital

It is said that when Norse explorer Ingólfur Arnarson and his wife Hallveig Fróðadóttir threw some wooden posts from their ship in AD878 they floated to a bay covered with steaming springs, hence the name Reykjavík, or “stormy bay”, and that’s where Arnarson decided to settle. I am here researching women in Icelandic sagas for my next book, and our two small children have accompanied me, with their father sharing childcare.

We do the usual touristy tour around the Golden Circle, and the children pet Icelandic horses, swim in Iceland’s oldest geothermal bath and see the aurora borealis. But Reykjavík itself is an interesting, child-friendly city with much to offer. Our children especially enjoy the National Gallery of Iceland and learning about trolls and Viking history at the Saga Museum.

Swimming at every stop left us fresh and invigorated – and led us to parts of cities that tourists seldom visit

Stepping into the lobby of the Gellért Baths in Budapest is like stepping back in time. Having resisted the temptation to look at photos of the baths online, I was thrilled at my first sight of the spectacular art nouveau interior.

After changing, my husband and I did a few laps of the main indoor pool, admiring the intricately decorated columns surrounding us. Afterwards, we explored the building’s labyrinth of geothermal pools before emerging on to the enormous roof terrace. There, we swam in the heated outdoor pool under bright sunshine.

Less touristy than the more party-style Széchenyi Baths, the Gellért offered us the chance of a decent swim and steam.

River trekking, paragliding, cycling and via ferrata feature among our tipsters’ adventurous jaunts across Europe

Spring in northern Lake Garda is an adventure paradise. I’ve been several times and enjoyed the via ferratas: iron cables fixed to scrambling routes, which require fitness and sense of adventure but not technical mountaineering skills (safety equipment required). The views are amazing and varied, from gorges and ledges to grassy mountaintop finishes and, for the bold, huge vertical ladders – with castles, bastions and shrines along the route. It’s a great area, too, for hiring a bike or picking one of the many apartments that include them, to explore the paths and see the lakes and mountains by pedal power. Bored with all that? There’s also paddleboarding, windsurfing, swimming and river boat trips. All accompanied by brilliant food and gelato.
David Thomas

Turquoise seas, tranquil canals and glacial lakes … France offers some of the world’s most scenic paddling routes

When I first visited Corsica, I hiked down the spine of the Corsican mountains, barely seeing the sea except for glimpses from a bird’s eye perspective. This time, as I hugged the coastline, dipping in and out of sea caves, I felt as though I was winding through the arteries of Corsica. This route starts from Piantarella, just east of Bonifacio on the southern tip of the island. It’s a sheltered lagoon, a deceptive idyll before you head out into open water, fringed by the northernmost islets of the seabird-heavy Lavezzi Islands. As you paddle west along the coast, the cliffs get higher and the coast is so haphazardly splintered that it looks as though someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. At the end of the route, just before Bonifacio, is an extraordinary cave, the Grotte de Saint-Antoine, with an almost perfect circle carved into the roof and a tiny sliver of sand the colour of shortbread at the back of it. Allow for half a day at least: this route is the better part of nine miles there and back.
A Cheda, just outside Bonifacio, has a garden full of palms and wall creepers and double rooms from €150

A life-affirming spirit of joy and entertainment builds from noon at the beach bars and restaurants in this laid-back coastal town near Cádiz

Even the geology conspires to make Sanlúcar de Barrameda feel laid-back. Spain slows and drifts out peacefully in this coastal cul-de-sac of estuarine sandbanks, wide beaches and shallow rippling sea in the corner of the province of Cádiz. It certainly helps that there are no rocky cliffs and surfer waves, and that the thick sand keeps the beaches soundproofed and free from the rattling drawl of pebbles.

I live among uneven green mountains in the Sierra de Cádiz, so a visit to this flat expanse of navy blue and cream is tantamount to therapy. Each August, horses thunder down the sands in a series of evening races, but that burst of exertion aside, the mood on its several beaches is generally tranquil. Especially in winter and spring.

There is little more to Centuri than the harbour and its restaurants, but the setting and the speciality dish lend it a sophistication despite its remoteness

As I dangle my feet in the cool, clear waters off northern Corsica, I have only a yacht moored 100 metres away for company. Sailing would have been the more glamorous way to arrive at the port of Centuri, a small fishing harbour on the far north-west tip of Cap Corse, but instead I have the thrill of the drive.

I follow the twisting lanes carved out of the steep hillsides that descend into the sea with barely room for two cars to pass. While the drive may be heart-stopping, the views are simply jaw-dropping; Centuri comes into view when I stop at the Moulin Mattei look-out point, where a terracotta-roofed windmill is set on the former site of the island’s much-loved Cap Corse distillery.

With its extraordinary architecture, maze-like streets and ever-present sunshine, it’s no accident that so many film-makers have used the town as a location

I was eating homemade crostata (jam tart) on a roof terrace in the Sicilian town of Cefalù and reading about Helius, the ancient Greek god of the sun. Sicily is supposedly the inspiration for the deity’s island in The Odyssey and this makes perfect sense – with more than 300 days of sunshine a year, Helius would like it here. The island is especially lovely in spring, when it’s quieter, cooler and more peaceful than in the scorching summer.

Cefalù is an ancient fishing village almost exactly halfway along Sicily’s north coast. It’s prized by Italians as one of the island’s loveliest beach-side places. Barbara De Gaetani, a licensed tour guide who grew up here, told me the allure of the place is difficult to explain: “Many other places are gorgeous but not as seductive. You can feel life flowing here, and it’s no accident that many film-makers have used the town as a location.”

Compared with Sicily’s ritzier spots, to me it feels more authentic and has a sort of relaxed old-school glamour. It’s also easy to reach by train from Palermo (about 50 minutes); from Catania, on the other side of the island, it takes around four hours, including a change in Messina.

Our tipsters enjoy glorious fragrances and waves of shimmering colour at historic and absorbing gardens from Spain to Sweden

La Mortella is an extraordinary garden we visited on the island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples. It is a wonderland of exotic plants, created in 1958 by Argentinian Susana Walton. Unbelievably sumptuous were the hanging orchids, and the experience was full of other delights such as the biggest lily pads I have ever seen. We were guided by the receptionist (with a talking parrot) to the cafe, where we enjoyed fantastic food and then a concert featuring music written by Susana’s husband, Sir William. The gardens are open from 30 March to 3 November (entry €12) on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. Our memory is of music, food and glorious surroundings.
David Innes-Wilkin