Recipefiesta

The native woodland of Hoia-Baciu in Romania is a place where the human imagination can run riot. A guided night tour is the perfect way to discover its otherworldly charms

‘They call this place the Bermuda Triangle of Transylvania,” says tour guide Marius Lazin, his breath expelling a procession of cotton-wool ghosts into the sharp evening air. “So many people have disappeared here, some say it’s a portal to another dimension.” Marius is leading me on a night walk through what is often described as the world’s most haunted forest: Hoia-Baciu, a square mile of old-growth native woodland on the outskirts of the Romanian city of Cluj-Napoca. He’s been coming here three nights a week for the past 12 years, but even he looks a little uneasy as he arcs his torch like a searchlight against the knotted walls of elm and beech trees which embrace us on all sides, looking so thick that they might be the boundary of the known world.

Marius motions with his torch towards several pairs of slender beech trees, eerie in their symmetry, branches intertwined to form arches – portals or stargates, you might speculate, were you possessed of a particularly febrile imagination. “Many came in here and never came out. But don’t worry,” he adds, turning to me with a grin. “Our tours have a 100% return rate.”

A new generation of chefs and distillers are showcasing the Hebridean island’s outstanding produce and creating jobs for fellow islanders

With its dramatic, rugged mountain skyline, winding roads and ever-changing weather, the Isle of Skye has long appealed to lovers of the wild. Over the last decade, however, the largest island in the Inner Hebrides has been drawing visitors for other reasons – its dynamic food and drink scene. Leading the way are young Sgitheanach (people from Skye) with a global outlook but a commitment to local, sustainable ingredients. It’s also the result of an engaged community keen to create good, year-round jobs that keep young people on the island.

Calum Montgomery is Skye born and bred, and he’s passionate about showcasing the island’s larder on his menus at Edinbane Lodge. “If someone is coming to Skye I want them to appreciate the landscape, but also the quality of our produce,” he says. “Our mussels, lobster, scallops and crab are second to none.” Montgomery is mindful of the past: “It means everything to me to use the same produce as my ancestors. My grandpa was a lobster fisherman and we’re enjoying shellfish from the same stretch of water, with the same respect for ingredients.”

Set within a volcanic nature reserve, this charmingly repurposed 17th-century farmhouse has all bases covered for a relaxing, rustic microadventure

It’s 10pm, and I’m chatting with new friends after dinner at a guesthouse in wilds of Catalonia. The candlelight flickers off stout terracotta jugs of wine and on to the faces of Thomas, a management consultant from New York, and Viktoras and Gabije, a charming Lithuanian couple I’ve been grilling about Baltic holiday spots. Ellen is German, living in Barcelona and training to be a therapist. It’s testament to the relaxed vibe that the conversation flows as smoothly as the wine.

I’m at Off Grid, a new 10-room retreat (plus four-bedroom barn) in Alta Garrotxa, a protected nature reserve about 30 miles (50km) north of Girona. A converted 17th-century masia (farmhouse), it’s encircled by the fertile green humps and limestone crags of the pre-Pyrenees, with sloping gardens sheltering a large swimming pool. With its rustic, slow-living ethos, it’s perhaps a surprising departure for owner Gerard Greene, former CEO of Yotel – the modern, tech-driven city-centre brand with hotels in New York, Amsterdam and Tokyo among other cities. Just being here is a kind of therapy.

The nostalgic Steel Cotton Rail Trail between Sheffield and Manchester has 14 day-length sections, with walks for urban explorers and summit-bagging hikers alike

The Pride of Cumbria train carried me out of Piccadilly station and, eventually, beyond built-up Manchester. After Marple, everything turned green as the valleys narrowed. It was a classic northern autumn day: the clouds were low, the mizzle and mist were closing in and the world was grey-filtered but for the glow of dead leaves all around.

South-east of Manchester is a bit of an unknown for me. Between the city and the Derbyshire borough of High Peak, you don’t quite enter national park territory, but it’s nonetheless a charming and eye-calming landscape. The Mancunian Kinder Scout trespassers of 1932 probably came this way, as do Pennine Way-farers bound for Edale. But the region is also post-industrial and close to conurbations. The Steel Cotton Rail Trail, which officially launched earlier this month after several years of planning, hopes to bring together elements of the land and the heritage while also drawing walkers and cyclists to areas of the Peak District perhaps ignored by those who rush for the main spine of the Pennines.

From Cornwall to the Highlands, here’s our pick of new or recently refurbished inns with cosy rooms, enticing menus and country walks from the door

My epic rail journey to some of the continent’s most creative and edgy cities mimics a cruise – I hop on and off, eat too much and soak up the culture

The people queueing for the Eurostar at London St Pancras station, rushing in from the rain in hoodies, look noticeably less enthusiastic than the usual holiday crowds. But then, we aren’t heading to the usual hot, heady holiday destinations of Spain or the south of France, but boarding a train to north-east Europe. For me, it will be a journey of more than 1,000 miles – via Amsterdam, Berlin and Warsaw to Vilnius – visiting some of the coolest capitals in the north. At least in terms of temperature.

As England sweltered this summer, and Spain reached a hellish 46C, it made sense to head away from the heat on what is now fashionably being called a “coolcation”. I left in August, with a suitcase full of jumpers.

We explore the Roman, Tudor and Indian delights of Leicester, the textile and religious heritage of Paisley, and the radical history of Nelson, the only town named after a pub

• Where tourists seldom tread, parts 1-18

Academics, journalists and pundits talk at great length about the conundrum of overtourism; the ready-made solution is simply to swerve the crowds. These three towns are regional centres where you will never need to queue, but will come away culturally stimulated and historically enlightened.

Powered by fruit cake and fresh fish, our writer takes in the spectacular cliffs, coves and villages along a new seafood trail

In all human endeavours undertaken within Britiain’s isles, the provision of tea and cake is the most vital consideration. When a walker or cyclist delivers the damning judgment “there’s no decent caff” to a group of friends, the ghastly silence is followed by everyone crossing the accursed region off their map. The sheer importance of this staple dietary ingredient is obvious from our island geography: Dundee, Eccles, Bakewell, Chelsea …

So it was with some trepidation that I set out to walk around the Llŷn peninsula in Gwynedd, Wales, on part of what is called the Seafood Trail. I mean, I love a lobster, but what about the fruit scones? Bangor University’s school of ocean sciences has produced a map of seafood producers and outlets to encourage hikers as they stride along the coastal path. Fine, but it’s the late afternoon sugar lull that I worry about.

Martin and Lizzy set off on an epic ride to the south-west tip of Europe in search of freedom, adventure and the best surf on the continent

When I wheeled my bike off the ferry at Roscoff, northwest France, in the summer of 2024, the furthest I had ever ridden was the 99-mile Devon Coast to Coast route over two days. And yet here I was, about to embark on an epic journey, unsupported, towing a trailer with two wooden surfboards, a tent and wetsuits strapped to it. My wife, Lizzy, 62, and I had rented out our house and lent our campervan to friends, so there was no turning back.

Lizzy was also towing a trailer with two belly boards and the rest of our camping kit. She, the veteran of many long rides in her 20s – one of which took her across the Andes – was full of quiet confidence. I was excited beyond words to be setting off on a new adventure, but also terrified of what the road might reveal about me. I had no idea whether my 57-year-old body or soul could cope with cycling for days on end, climbing mountains or setting up a tent every night for three months. My first attempt at a mountain pass, in the Pyrenees some years before, hadn’t started well. I threw a hissy fit at the first hairpin, demanding of Lizzy: what’s the point?

It’s four decades since the travel writer last ventured on to the slopes. A resort in the Tirol is the perfect place to rediscover the joys of skiing

‘You’re mad!” Caroline the greengrocer said cheerfully when I told her I was going skiing. A reasonable reaction since not so long ago I was shopping on crutches following a hip replacement. My sister’s friends were more concerned: “How old are you? 80? I don’t think this is a good idea. You’ll fall and break something.” My brother, Andrew, 86, decided it was better not to tell anyone.

For at least two decades I’d had a half-buried wish to experience one more ski trip. A final fix of blue sky, frosty air and the exhilaration that comes with finding yourself still intact at the bottom of a snow-covered slope. I was never much good, and hadn’t skied for decades, but that wasn’t the point. At 83, I needed to see if I could still do it. And if I could do it, how about inviting my sister, Kate, one-third of our Old Crones group who encourage each other to do parkrun each week? Then I remembered that, as teenagers, Andrew had joined me on my first ski holiday. That was 67 years ago, but Andrew used to be quite good, so I invited him too. My friend Penny, who is so absurdly young (67, so she says) that she doesn’t really count, was also allowed to come and try her luck with the oldies and practise her German. We all made an effort to get as fit as possible, but none of us had skied for at least 40 years.

Whether a clever marketing ploy or truly great by nature, Australia’s walking tracks are attracting visitors in increasing numbers

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Until early 2023, New South Wales had no Great Walks. Now it has 10 and will soon have 13. Queensland has 15 and Victoria has three multiday walks with “Great” in their names. Then there’s Great Walks of Australia, a collective of 13 luxury guided walks, not to be confused with the popular SBS television series Great Australian Walks.

So where did all this greatness come from?

From Interrailing around Europe to trekking in the Himalayas, our tipsters share their memorable trips made later in life
• Tell us about a great winter mountain holiday – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

I went Interrailing at 16 – so decided to do it again at 61! My wife and I bought our passes for all of Europe (under £500 for one-month unlimited rail trips) and it was great to rediscover the sense of freedom and adventure travelling by train gave. Having a romantic dinner in Paris, getting on the night train and having coffee and croissants for breakfast in Nice on the Côte d’Azur for example. I corrected the teenage mistake of trying to do too much and see too many places so we lingered longer in places such as Poland and Romania, soaking up the atmosphere in Wrocław and Bucharest. It was interesting to compare the speed, quality and comfort of train services too. We found that sometimes slow travel was better – like when we got on the wrong train from Rome to Naples, allowing us to appreciate the scenery, locals and way of life of people who were not in a hurry. The trip was a learning experience at 61 as much as it had been at 16.
Peter

A Norman Foster-designed ‘wine cathedral’, Hobbit-style cellars and a Petra-lookalike church are drawing attention to this tasty corner of the Ribera del Duero in northern Spain

‘We can talk about culture, churches, monasteries, whatever, but the main thing here is eating and drinking.” My guide, Loreto Esteban Guijarro, is keen to ensure I have my priorities straight. I’m with Loreto to discover the food and wine culture of Spain’s Burgos province, a high-altitude area ringed by distant mountains. In summer the days are hot, and at night temperatures plummet. To thrive in these extremes, the food, the wine, and even perhaps the people, are robust and straight-talking.

I’m staying deep in wine country at the rural Posada de Pradoray, built as a hunting lodge for the Duke of Lerma in 1601. The thick stone walls, dark polished wood and heavy doors leading to simple rooms with vineyard views suggest little has changed in this landscape for centuries. Burgos is part of the Ribera del Duero wine region which stretches for 71 miles following the Duero River through the provinces of Burgos, Segovia, Soria and Valladolid.

Running tourism is booming and nowhere more so than in France where a 24km race around Nîmes doubles as a surreal, whistlestop sightseeing tour

We could hear the band before we saw it: a group of retirement home residents with trumpets and drums waiting to greet us as we approached. Others using wheelchairs waved homemade flags. As we swarmed into the building and up the staircase, a bottleneck formed. I slowed down as a nurse put a stamp on my sweaty arm, then I jogged off down the corridor.

Running through a retirement home is just one of the many surreal moments that participants signing up for the Nîmes Urban Trail (NUT) get to experience on this 24km race around the city, which takes place each February. Not only does the route give you a whistlestop sightseeing tour, taking you past the town’s impressive Roman monuments and landmarks, it also grants you access to places that would normally be off limits to outsiders.

This coastal hiking trail around the hammerhead-shaped Rhins of Galloway peninsula is still a bit wild in places, but it’s an exhilarating introduction to this remote and little visited part of the country

Three days into my walk along the Rhins of Galloway coast path and I was on love-hate terms with this new long-distance trail. Unruly and at times cruel, it forced me to hurdle fences, wade through bracken up to my midriff and teased me with disappearing paths and wayward waymarks.

But then, after I’d yelled profanities into the wind (there were no other hikers around to hear me), this raffishly handsome route would come over all sweetness and light. Look, it would simper: a dazzling and deserted white-sand bay! A ravishing spray of orchids! A crinkle of rocky foreshore be-flumped with seals! Once, moments after I’d cursed my way through a patch of Scottish jungle, a hare leapt from the sward just as a ruddy fox barred my way, a deer herd pronked down the cliffside and a buzzard mewed overhead; I felt like a sweaty Snow White summoning all the creatures at once, only by swearing rather than singing.

From a Scottish island lighthouse to a lakeside cabin in Cornwall, these secluded places to stay are bound to reinvigorate and inspire

Guests at this lighthouse keeper’s cottage have not only the property but the whole 1.6-hectare (four-acre) island to themselves. Eilean Sionnach is an islet off Skye that is accessible by boat or on foot at low tide. Like the lighthouse, the cottage was built in 1857 and has four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a kitchen and a lounge with a wood burner, and incredible sea views.

What would happen if you removed the obstacle of having to get to the gym? Brigid Delaney spends a week finding out

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What stops you from going to the gym?

For me, it’s that I can’t be bothered. The gym is too far away, and the effort to get there is just too much. In short, I don’t go because I’m lazy.

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Among the fields and forests of Herefordshire, a solar-powered stone cottage proves the perfect base for fishing, birding, hiking – and simply being

Any deviation from the beaten track comes with moments of uncertainty. Is this the right dirt track? Is our progress going to be thwarted at any moment by an impenetrable thicket, or worse still an implacable landowner who will force a ham-fisted reverse? As it turns out, we are only temporarily stalled by two male peacocks jousting in the middle of the lane in a kaleidoscopic blur of feathers and fury. We wait for them to retire to the grass verge and continue to bounce up the track until we see a sign for our cottage pointing to the left. This leads us deeper into a woodland of oak, ash, birch and Douglas fir, until we finally see a brick-and-stone house standing in a clearing set back from the trail.

From the outside, Van Cottage looks like a pioneer homestead, with a crooked stone chimney to one side and a metal-roofed veranda to the other. Around the corner there’s a wood-fired hot tub, and beyond the garden fence in a little forest glade is a small brick dunny. The house sits on a ridge, and the garden offers views over the carmine-coloured ploughed fields and billowy woodland of Herefordshire.

In the foothills of the Sierra Nevada in Andalucía, our writer finds that processing and shaping clay helps him filter out negative thoughts

I’m sitting on the ground with seven others, huddled around a mass of lumpy, grey matter that quickly turns to powder under the pounding of hammers. Beside us are a small dipping pool, some mulberry trees and a whitewashed house crawling with purple bougainvillaea, from which two dogs drift in and out to inspect our work.

“This is pretty therapeutic, isn’t it?” someone says above the clattering of tools, as flower-dappled light dances on a canopy that’s shielding us from the hot Andalucían sun.

From the Scottish Highlands to a Greek island, our tipsters have been awed by silence, beauty and wildlife in out-of-the-way corners of Europe
• Tell us about a great country pub – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

I’d recommend visiting the Outer Hebrides island of Berneray for an experience of true remoteness. Here you can walk across the rare grassland called the machair to the white, three-mile long West Beach, which looks out into the North Atlantic, and marvel at the immense space and colour of the sea. We stayed at a Gatliff Hebridean hostel, which consists of two converted crofts where for about £20 a night for a bunk you will be staying in probably one of the most peaceful locations in the world. Berneray is between North Uist and Harris.
Nik Fernee

The Birmingham neighbourhood is hugely significant in the Black British story – a history seemingly unknown to Tory MP Robert Jenrick – as revealed on a guided walk that remembers Nelson Mandela and Benjamin Zephaniah

‘The people’s champion” is how Benjamin Zephaniah is fondly remembered in his home town of Handsworth, Birmingham. The words, spray-painted in fiery-red ballooned letters, leap out of a colourful mural that wraps around one side of a local Sons of Rest building, a place where retired war veterans once met and socialised. To the side looms an image of the late poet and writer, his face full of expression and thought. For a moment, it feels as if he’s there with you.

A couple of years earlier, and he may well have been. “Seriously, you could come into Handsworth Park and he’d just be walking through, just leisurely. Benjamin, he’d sit with you, he had time for you,” says Marcia Dunkley, one of the founders of the organisation Black Heritage Walks Network, which commissioned the mural.

Grape picking in the Côtes du Rhône wine region is hard physical work, but it’s steeped in camaraderie – which is why so many return every autumn to help out

The wind whips the grapevines, turning my meditative picking stance into a full-body workout. I firmly plant my legs, stabilising a thrashing branch with my left hand as my right snips off a bunch of grapes. Local people claim the roaring mistral wind makes you crazy, which I can appreciate as each arid gust chaps my lips and desiccates my eyes.

I’m at Domaine Rouge-Bleu, an organic vineyard in the Côtes du Rhône wine region in southern France. I have volunteered for les vendanges, the autumnal grape harvest where backbreaking work is doused in camaraderie.

With her latest book, the author moves detective Jimmy Perez from Shetland to Orkney, where she was inspired by the deep history, huge skies and warm people

Fifty years ago, I headed north for the first time. I’d dropped out of my university literature course – with the arrogance of youth, I thought I could read books anywhere. After a chance meeting in a Putney pub, I got a job as assistant cook in the Bird Observatory in Fair Isle. At that point, I didn’t even know where Fair Isle was. I came from Devon and hadn’t made it farther north than Durham. Scotland was unknown territory.

Of course, Fair Isle is part of the Shetland group and lies halfway between Shetland mainland and Orkney. That summer, I fell in love with the Northern Isles, with the romance of the isolation, the bleak beauty and the stories. Over the summer, I worked in the observatory with Alison, an Orcadian lass, who was there for her college holidays. “When you’ve finished your contract,” she said with the easy hospitality of islanders everywhere, “why don’t you come and stay? It’s kind of on your way home.”

Visitors arriving in any of the Schengen area’s 29 countries will have their faces and fingerprints scanned under the new entry/exit system

The European Union is preparing to dispense with passport stamps in favour of a new digital border management system.

Australians and citizens of other non-EU countries travelling to Europe from Sunday 12 October may encounter the new biometric entry/exit system (EES) and, while it might create delays at the start, it should eventually offer a streamlined process.

With turreted castles, quirky museums and offbeat art, the island of Fyn where the author grew up is a place of myth, magic and adventure

In the mirror I’m wearing enormous golden pantaloons, but only I can see them. Children sit in a rock pool playing mermaids, and in the next room there’s a talking pea in a display case, beside a towering stack of mattresses. It’s the world of Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875), one of the 19th century’s most beloved writers. I’m in Odense, on the island of Fyn (sometimes anglicised to Funen) in the south of Denmark, to explore Andersen’s enduring legacy in his home town 150 years after his death, and to discover a few fairytales of my own.

HC Andersens Hus is the city’s museum dedicated to the writer, incorporating his first home. Niels Bjørn Friis from Museum Odense says that in earlier iterations of the museum there was little focus on Andersen’s stories. The writer’s life was explored, but The Ugly Duckling, Thumbelina and The Little Mermaid were nowhere to be found. For visitors who come to Odense seeking storytelling magic, it was a little lacking.

From Athens’ beach-studded – and still warm – coastline to the ancient food markets of Palermo

Craggy coves and sandy bays make up the resplendent mix that is the Athens Riviera. So it was that at the end of an autumn day I found myself with a not unpleasant question: where to head to soothe bones still aching for a last splash of summer sun. For Athens offers something that other European cities cannot: a coastline of more than 40 miles dotted with beaches many a Greek island would covet.

The searing summer over, it’s back to business as usual in Madrid – which means dazzling blue skies and a bounty of cultural events

It’s autumn and Madrid is breathing a collective sigh of relief. Everything is open again and the intense heat, which seems to ooze out of the walls and up from the pavements in summer, has mellowed to pleasantly warm. It’s the perfect temperature for languishing on a cafe terrace with the sun tickling your skin as afternoon slips into evening. Noise levels are back to normal, which means cacophonous.

It feels like the entire population is out on the streets, catching up with their friends and chatting about all the things they want to do, the films they want to see, the new bars they’ve heard about and the restaurants they fancy trying over the next few months. If you could do with a boost, spend a few days in the Spanish capital this autumn.

From the later summer glow of Marseille to polar nights in Tromsø, our tipsters choose their favourite cities
• Tell us about a great trip you’ve had since hitting 60 – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

Sibiu, the former capital of Transylvania, proved a wonderful place to visit. The city’s old town is on a hill, with every other building in the three main squares and the sidestreets seemingly a historic monument, dominated by the medieval Lutheran cathedral of Saint Mary. The characteristic design of attic windows makes it clear why Sibiu is called “the town of a thousand eyes”, and the Teutsch Haus provides a brilliant history of the region and the Transylvanian Saxons. The old town is crammed full of restaurants and cafes, and down by the river there is a local market with giant aubergines, tomatoes and peppers. For an evening glass, Wine Not has a vast selection of Romanian (and Moldovan) wines, and a black cat to talk to.
Barbara Forbes

West of Riga lies a wonderland of empty beaches, ancient castles and charming mansions for the price of a B&B

‘Is there anything worth seeing in Latvia?” asked a bemused friend when I explained my destination. “Other than Riga?” Latvia’s capital is certainly worth a visit: a wonderland of perfectly preserved art nouveau architecture with a medieval centre of narrow cobbled streets and enough quirky museums to satisfy the most curious of visitors – most of whom just come for a weekend.

But a short drive or bus ride east of Riga lies another, more expansive and completely empty, wonderland: a wild, post-Soviet landscape of untouched forests, ecologically renowned wetlands, windblown beaches and crumbling castles. Not to mention the newly restored baronial estates where you can stay for the price of an average British B&B. This region, known as Kurzeme, is almost the size of Yorkshire (population: 5.5 million) but with a mere 240,000 inhabitants.