I’ve had a desire to ski down glistening white slopes ever since seeing On Her Majesty’s Secret Service at the Regal Cinema in Rothesay on the Isle of Bute. However, I’ve still to attach a pair of long sticks to my feet, so I can confirm from first-hand experience you don’t need to know how to ski to enjoy snow resorts.

1: Sensational scenery

Even unappealing urban landscapes are transformed by a generous dusting of white powder, so views which already slot into the feast-for-the-eyes category are elevated into something quite, and I don’t apologise for using this word as it’s the one which always springs to mind, magical.

2: Walking in the snow

I thought it would be difficult. I thought I’d be slip-sliding my way from point A to point B. If anything, I found walking in the snow easier than walking in some snow-less environments (I’m talking about you, tree-root ridden and leaf strewn forest paths). Either paths are flattened, or the snow is so deep that it’s like walking on a crisp cushion. As most people are in snowy destinations to ski, it’s often just you alone with nature on these paths. After all, the song is about ‘walking in a winter wonderland’ not skiing.’

3: It’s exciting

You don’t need any skills to be able to scream down a slope on a toboggan, apart from knowing how to stay on when there’s a corner. For anyone after some hi-octane activities, there’s usually something on offer. In Zermatt, we were ‘accidentally’ given speed toboggans. When I wrote ‘scream down a slope’ I meant it literally. But it was a blast. There’s no photos of us tobogganing, so here’s another exciting way of getting around.

4: Bond villain lairs

Snow breaks generally involve mountain scenery, and where there are mountains there is usually at least one construction high on a hillside somewhere which resembles a Bond Villain lair, probably because it has been used as a setting for one. As well as firing up the imagination, there are other reasons for visiting these lofty places – views, bars, restaurants, shopping, hotel, cheesy ice sculptures in ice tunnels etc.

5: Lodges

If there’s one thing winter snow destinations do exceptionally well it’s having lots of places for a bit of R&R, especially halfway up mountains or in clearings in the forest. Baby, when it’s cold outside there are few things as welcoming as a roaring log fire, and the Christmas-card-cover lodges you find in snowy location are experts at creating cosy environments to get to know the local booze.

6: But it’s not always cold outside

The weirdest thing is that it’s not always cold, even when temps are well into minus figures. When there’s not a cloud in the intense blue sky, the sun does its best to give a warm(ish) hug, making outdoor terraces as popular as indoor. It messed with my mind a bit to sit on a terrace when it was -7C and have to take my jacket off because I was too warm.

7: Snow is fun

It’s something we’ve all known since we were children. That sense of wonder snow brings when it falls never goes away, nor does the fun of a snowball fight, bumping a tree as friends walk under it so they are bathed in a frosty downfall, stepping into a snowdrift that comes up to your chest, or making silly butterfly shapes in the deep snow with your body.

8: Quirks

We love the peculiar oddities you find in different destinations when you travel, the little things that glue themselves to the memory. In Zermatt, it was a walk to an igloo village. Sitting sipping a hot coffee outside an igloo with views of the Matterhorn reflected in the sunglasses was quite the coolest thing. I now have drink in an ice bar, go on a torchlit stroll, and captain a team of huskies on my snow quirk list.

9: Getting about in style

Due to the nature of wintery landscapes, getting around snowy worlds is an interesting and fun activity in itself. We’ve notched up panoramic rail journeys, trundling up hillsides on funiculars and, my personal favourite, silently gliding across a silent white world in a cable car cabin. One lasting memory is of noting just how many animal tracks patterned the white carpet below during one early morning ‘glide.’ Forests must be busy places after dark.

10: Après ski

It’s called après ski, but there’s no rule to say you have to have actually done any skiing to enter a bar to relax and socialise after a cool day on the slopes. Clinking glasses in a convivial bar is a satisfying way to toast the end of a day enjoying the white stuff, whatever you’ve been doing. And there are great bars to indulge in some après snow. One of the hotels I’ve been writing about had an aquavit bar in what was the former goat barn. Another was also home to the village inn, a bar which, according to their website, was frequented by “…unconventional thinkers and fruitcakes…” among others. That description alone would have me booking in.

And there was no mention of skiers.

Delivering training sessions about some of the destinations we’ve visited over the year prompts us to reflect on our experiences in a specific location; something which doesn’t always happen immediately after a trip as there’s nearly always somewhere else exciting to visit steaming toward us.

For a similar reason, I enjoy indulging myself with a round-up of the best, and worst, travel experiences from our year.

Biggest WOW of the year
No need to mull over this one, the herdsmen’s village of Velika Planina on a high plateau in Slovenia was the biggest travel surprise of the year. The photos we’d looked at beforehand didn’t prepare us for just how wowed we were when we actually saw it for ourselves. This is an exceptionally beautiful place. As well as being the biggest surprise, strolling around the village and eating buckwheat mush and sour milk outside a herdsmen’s hut was the most enjoyable travel experience of 2019.

Most beautiful destination
For years our nephew Liam has been raving about Zermatt in Switzerland. Finally we found out why. With the world covered by a thick snowy duvet, exploring Zermatt and surrounding countryside was like stepping into Christmas card scenes. Waking up to widescreen views of the Matterhorn each morning made sleepy eyes ping open with untypical enthusiasm. Greatest revelation was just how much fun following walking routes in thick snow can be.

The destination which disappointed
Last year Venice exceeded expectations, this year Florence failed to live up to them. The Florence north of the Arno didn’t charm for a variety of reasons – too many tour groups and grabby restaurants. A measure of a place is how long you want to spend there; our forays into the tourist hot spot across Ponte Vecchio were short-lived. It was simply too frantic. Thankfully, the south side of the Arno was a tranquil and charming contrast. Our experience of Florence was of a Jekyll and Hyde city.

Favourite city
Ljubljana isn’t the prettiest city we’ve visited but the feel-good factor was off the scale. We wandered with permanent smiles fixed to our faces. It’s a city with a big town feel so getting to know it doesn’t take much time. It’s a destination for anyone who enjoys good food, smooth wines, craft ales, and live music; a place to eat, drink, and be merry. After a day there, and some beer and wine, we declared it a place we could happily live.

Best hotel stay
Another category where there have been lots of contenders – Hotel Plesnik in Slovenia’s Logar Valley for its dream location; Hotel Agua Geres in Geres, Portugal, for being ultra comfortable and having excellent food after a tough day’s walking; Quinta Roja in Garachico, Tenerife, because it’s a favourite of ours; Oltrarno Splendid in Florence because it was actually splendid and as cool as Vincent Vega. Best though was Hotel La Laguna Gran in La Laguna, also Tenerife, as its lounge is a compelling blend of colonial and contemporary decor, it has a fabulous Michelin star restaurant, and the bar is of the sort which puts an arm around your shoulders and says “come on in, we’d love your company.”

Top nosh
There were so many excellent meals wolfed throughout the year, ranging from Michelin standard to quality street food, it would be unfair to single one out, so I’ve written a separate piece listing our favourite dishes of the year.

Send it back
The Etrop Grange near Manchester nearly came top as a) their already limited menu had even fewer options by the time we ate at 7.30pm and b) the chef managed to make fish and chips dull to the point I wasn’t tempted to pick at leftover chips (a really bad sign). But biggest culinary disappointment was at Mar e Sol in Sesimbra where the pez espada preto (scabbard fish) we’d told my mum would be meaty and tasty was mushy and bland, the worst pez espada we’ve eaten to date. Not that my mum cared, she was just happy to be sitting in the sun overlooking a gorgeous beach on a warm October day.

Exhilarating walking route of 2019
For having just the right level of challenging walking, boasting contrasting stop-us-in-our-tracks scenery, possessing an eclectic mix of ingredients (a mountain lake, sanctuary in a ravine, stone slab bridges), and just being loads of fun (a rare occasion of being able to walk with our friend and colleague from InnTravel, James) a route from Roucas to Peneda in Peneda-Geres National Park in Portugal ticked all the boxes which make for an exceptional hike. A difficult choice as all the routes we walked in Peneda-Geres were winners.

Most enjoyable transport
A cruise up the Douro River on a sizzling May day proved a scenic overdose as well as being a blast. The hills lining the river were hypnotic – their natural rolling curves artistically enhanced by the addition of narrow terraces of vines whilst the atmosphere on board ship was bizarrely booze cruise, but one mainly full of septuagenarian Portuguese. Why the nationality of partying pensioners made the experience more enjoyable rather than less so, I don’t know. But it did. It was an eclectically experience and the Douro lived up to the promise we’d seen in old films in a Port cellar in Porto.

Most emotional experience
The winter sun sparkling on blades of frosted grass; long, kilted shadows on a crisp forest path; a silhouetted lone piper playing a haunting lament; a roaring fire warming numbed legs; my nephew and his new bride wearing Cheshire cat-sized beams as they dodged a downpour of heart-shaped confetti. Scotland, you tug at my heart like no other destination.

Nephew Liam had visited Zermatt a few times previously; he was the reason we were there – to celebrate two birthdays (his and his dad’s) as well as to show us around his favourite place in Europe. The logistics of packing in as much as possible over a short period of time had been worked out with military precision, starting daily with a bleary-eyed, 20 minute walk to the supermarket for breakfast goodies consisting of fresh baguettes, buttery croissants and chocolate croissants (the last being the reason it wasn’t a 10 minute walk to a bakery located closer to the apartment). Like a sheepdog, Liam herded us out of the front door in time to catch reasonably early trains, cable cars and anything else which could transport us to dizzy heights.

Day 1: White walkers
First of these was the scarlet Gornergrat train which trundled up to Riffelalp, the launchpad for our first experience of walking in thick snow. Not many other folk alighted at foggy Riffelalp. Apart from a girl carrying fashion bags (a surreal image given the setting), we were on our own as we set off along Mark Twain Weg (named because the writer had penned a mocking article about his experiences of walking in the area). Although the air nipped at the nose with the ferocity of a narky Jack Russell and all views, save for the forest of frosted pines around us, were obscured, the walking was intoxicating (partly thanks to the thin air) and, for us, refreshingly different – a factor highlighted by having to dodge out of the way of a snowmobile before we stopped following in Mark Twain’s footsteps to descend through the white forest.

Virgin, snow-hiking boots dealt with virgin snow with ease, making the descent surprisingly easier than on many equally steep snow-less forest paths we’ve tackled. It was magical – a playful breeze gently shook pines beside the path now and again, causing snow explosions above our heads. At one point a brace of does emerged from the mist to watch us with their big Bambi eyes before they melted back into obscurity. At a solitary mountain lodge, where the tranquillity was broken by the unexpected sound of a gravelly Jim Morrison, we paused to let silent riders in the storm pass by before we crossed what was Zermatt’s version of a busy road – a ski slope.

Just outside Furi we rested at another rocking mountain restaurant, huddled outside in freezing temperatures nursing naturally icy beers in gloved hands, our increasingly numb lips wishing we’d ordered glühwein.

With temperatures plummeting, we abandoned plans of continuing walking to Zermatt and threw ourselves into the embrace of a cosy cable car. The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around the Matterhorn Museum, being humbled by tales of a local guide who’d climbed the Matterhorn when he was ninety, and learning the village had its own version of Monopoly called Zermopoly.

Day 2: Downhill racers
Whilst two thirds of our second day involved more than enough exciting new experiences to fill a week’s visit, including the Matterhorn announcing its presence in spectacular fashion against a cloudless sky and a walk to an Igloo Village, the final third was an off the scale adrenaline rush. I sledged down hills when I was young, stop starting my way on reluctant home-made affairs. Within seconds of ‘kicking off’ on the ten minute descent from Rotenboden to Riffelberg I rapidly realised I hadn’t really sledged before. If I hadn’t been desperately concentrating on trying to a) avoid crashing into people who’d set off before us b) actually steer the thing and c) prevent it becoming airborne every time the track curved steeply in front of me, I’d have been, well, crapping myself. Attempts at braking simply sent a blinding wave of snow into my face, making steering even more difficult. It was no sled, it was an untamed bucking bronco. I banked into the track’s final curve at a speed far higher than I planned/wanted before the beast ran out of breath and spluttered to a stop. Astounded and relieved that I’d made it in one piece without crashing, and as high as the proverbial kite, I Cheshire-cat beamed at a couple standing at the side of the track, shouting: “WOW! I mean, WOW!” It was all I could say.
It was only later, thankfully, I discovered that despite two of us being toboggan virgins, we’d been given Ghosky toboggans, designed for experienced riders as they’re faster than normal sledges and more difficult to steer.

Day 3: Simply breathtaking
The only time we queued to get on any form of transport was waiting to catch the gondolas from Zermatt to the Matterhorn glacier paradise at Trockener Steg. We felt a wee bit like outcasts, the only stick-less people amidst the bug-eyed army with clunking feet also waiting to ascend to the heavens.
At nearly 3,883m above sea level, the Matterhorn glacier paradise is Europe’s highest mountain station. A lift leads to a viewing platform from which it’s possible to see 38 peaks touching the sky at over 4,000m as well as 14 glaciers. It was bitterly, bitterly cold, with a Scrooge-like air reluctant to feed us oxygen. We didn’t linger too long before descending into chilly tunnels which snaked through the inside of the glacier. With its twee sculpted ice animals, it was too kitschy for my liking. In truth, the bit I enjoyed most was an airy return voyage in empty cabins (everyone else skied down) which took us back, in panoramically spectacular fashion to the lowlands of Zermatt (only 1600m above sea level).

Even more enjoyable was an afternoon jaunt which took us via a funicular through a rock tunnel to Sunnega. There we left the skiing fraternity behind to crunch our way downwards on sparkling paths to the Christmas card cover hamlet of Findeln where the wooden facades of traditional larch timber houses had been blackened by the sun. Once the domain of local families who took their cattle to high pastures to graze in summer months, most of the old houses are now holiday homes.

A further short descent brought us to the hallowed entrance of Chez Vrony, THE mountain lodge to dine at in the area. Having a reservation is essential. Ours was arranged well in advance by Liam, so we leapfrogged a queue of hungry hopefuls who hadn’t booked a table and were seated in a prime spot on the terrace with the Matterhorn acting as the restaurant’s stunning centrepiece. Like everywhere in Zermatt, prices were lofty – the famous Vrony burger being CHF 31 – but it was such a uniquely special experience it more than felt like good value. The waitress was friendly, the ambience lively, the food tasty and the surroundings exceptional. Even though the air temperature was below freezing we shed jackets; the sun fierce enough to force us to swap places now and again, just to give faces in danger of taking on cooked-lobster hues a break from its bombardment.

As we sipped amber beers and worked our way through burgers so mountainous they threatened to blot out views of the Matterhorn, I watched as brightly coloured dots appeared on the white hillside, growing larger as they zig and zagged their way balletically to the restaurant’s entrance. What an über-cool way to turn up for lunch. The theme from OHMS filled my hot ears and I made a silent vow.

If we eat at Chez Vrony again, I’ll make sure I arrive the way Bond would.

Despite the gender neutral title (the apartment owner informed us it was an ‘it’ after Liam referred to the mountain as a ‘she’) the lone peak of the Matterhorn looks like a wise old man sitting hunched up, a blanket covering his lower face. Well it does to me in the dim, dawn light before an infusion of black coffee has barged into the bedrooms of my senses yelling at them to get their lazy arses out of bed.

Inside the apartment it’s bug in a rug cosy. Outside, on our wide viewing platform (aka the balcony), it is -12C. There is such a contrast that wispy steam vapours rise from Liam’s shoulders when he swaps inside for out.

It is a carefully planned logistical exercise to get four people fed, watered, dressed and ready to leave the apartment to head to the Gornergrat Bahn in time to catch the red train which will transport us to a higher plane. There is actually a regular flow of trains, but a quasi-artificial deadline has been created to prevent potential procrastinators from, well, dicking about.

Being in the company of someone who knows Zermatt (our nephew Liam), and the workings of the cogs which keep things moving along with impressive efficiency, makes life easy for us. We know in advance that train/cable car/funicular tickets kept in a left breast jacket pocket causes barriers to magically swing open. We know where to sit for the most knockout views on a journey where every seat rewards with heavy punchers. It’s a rare treat for us to not have to concern ourselves with planning.

The snaking journey from the shadowy valley floor (1620m) to the silver domes of a hotel and the highest shopping mall in Europe at Gornergrat (3089m) takes 33 minutes and is like pulling back the duvet to let the sun slowly spread across your face. The Alpine peaks encircling us are draped in a fresh coating of puffy, powdery, blinding white snow. It is glorious.

Gornergrat itself is a Bond villain’s lair of a place. From the viewing platform it’s possible to see 29 Alpine peaks which climb more than 4000m into the blue troposphere. It’s busy, but not overcrowded. There are the now ubiquitous selfie-takers hogging the best spots, adding splashes of colour to the expanse of glinting whiteness. The air is pure and thin, but as we’re used to walking at over 2400m it doesn’t take long to adjust to nature being Scrooge-like with the oxygen. A neat touch is the 360 degree telescopes which, when you point them at a peak, magically paste the name and height of the mountain framed in their viewfinder screens.

Gornergrat is only our temporary acclimatisation station. Our real start point lies a train-stop down the mountain at Rotenboden (2815m). The return ticket (CHF38 with a half-fare travel pass) allows us to hop on and off the electric cog train at will all day.

Rotenboden is little more than a hut, far fewer people alight here. Liam tells us it’s an easy walk to and from our lunch objective, the Igloo Village. He also mentions the snow might be waist deep, yet is easy to walk through – “like walking through powder”. A claim I’m sceptical about. The path is well marked and whilst the snow bordering it is waist deep in parts, the path itself has been smoothed down. It’s firm, yet soft – easy walking for our new snow hiking boots. Easier on the feet than a snow-less mountain path in some ways. But as we set off on a descent which starts off as relatively steep before rapidly graduating to steep, a worrying thought occurs.

“Are we returning by this route?”

“Yes,” Liam replies, adding. “It’s not as dramatic as it looks. The path winds down gradually.”

“Hmm,” ahead the path falls sharply away in front of us. Good fun going down, but coming up will be a completely different prospect. “I don’t know about that. Let’s hope there’s an alternative.”

It’s only a fifteen minute walk to the Igloo Village, looking like Ice Station Zebra way below us. What it lacks in distance, it makes up for in quality. Crunching our way down crisp slopes in this pristine, alien (to me) landscape prods different emotions than the hill-walking I’m more familiar with. Most people ski here, few walk at this time of year, subsequently there’s more of a sense of adventuring. In my head I’m Shackleton, Scott, Amundsen. At one point Liam ‘sleds’ down a part of the path on his stomach, illustrating why I wasn’t keen for us to tackle the return trip uphill.

The Igloo Village consists of a handful of designer igloos and a couple of huts. Tables are wooden boxes, chairs are made from tree stumps. Outside one hut a girl stirs a steaming fondue whilst music blasts from inside a barrel. A trio of people snow-bathe on a rug spread across a snowdrift. It manages to feel both makeshift and sophisticated at the same time. With the Matterhorn adding gravitas, it is an exceptional and unusual lunch spot; one which pole vaults its way into being one of my favourite lunch venues to date.

We take our time, basking in this special setting for as long as possible, especially as the barmaid has allayed any concerns about having to climb our way back to Rotenboden. The path continues to Riffelberg, a leisurely 40 minute walk/slide down the snowy slopes.

The sun is warming on the face, the air temperature chilling; I feel like a human baked Alaska.

“And when we get there we’ll catch the train back and then toboggan downhill to Riffelberg,” I tune into Liam’s words from what had been a dreamlike reverie. “I crashed the last time I did it.”

Apparently the day’s adventuring is far from being over.

A couple of hours later I, and around 500 mainly Asian visitors, are carried effortlessly up 1400 metres of elevation and disgorged at Jungfraujoch, Europe’s highest railway station. From there, I slowly make my way through a Disney-esque environment of souvenirs, tacky photo opportunities, and ice carved into woodland creatures, to step out onto the Sphinx platform at 3571 metres above sea level and stand shoulder high to the mighty Jungfrau, Mönch and Eiger.

It’s one of the most humbling and awe inspiring travel moments of my life but I can’t help feeling like a cheat and wondering if the ease of my getting here hasn’t in some way diminished the achievement of those who have risked so much to stand where I am standing.

Hiking in the Austrian Alps last year, a pleasant stroll around the impossibly scenic Vorderer Gosausee lake at the foot of the Dachstein Mountains was given an energy sapping twist by following a relentless uphill trail to the smaller and much more remote Ht Gosausee lake. A public holiday, the Vorderer Gosausee had been teeming with visitors; families out for the day; joggers enjoying the sunshine on their lake circuit; dog walkers; climbers and strollers in their droves. Leaving the busy shores, we soon found ourselves almost alone as we climbed inexorably.

Sweating and breathing heavily, our legs bitching at the last few steps, we arrived at the remote and brooding beauty of the upper lake and made our way to the shoreline to enjoy the tranquillity. We were about to start the return walk, when a tractor arrived pulling a large trailer containing around 30 people, not a bead of sweat between them, who crowded the shoreline, shattering the peace with their endless chatter, seemingly oblivious to the beauty of their surroundings and making a beeline for the hütte at the far side of the lake which allegedly does a very nice apfelstrudel.

All sense of achievement and of seeing something that not everyone sees, vanished.

I have mixed feelings about the ease of accessibility of so many of the world’s most iconic sites that allows people to get to places purely by the power of their money. Having been on both sides of the equation on numerous occasions, I confess to harbouring a purist sense of outrage that someone can stand beside me with the minimum of effort when I’ve toiled for hours to be on that spot.

Having hiked four hours up unforgiving volcanic terrain to an altitude of 2500 metres, spent a sleepless few hours in a basic refuge, and scrabbled up rocks at 4am in the pitch dark in order to stand on the peak of Spain’s highest mountain to watch the sun rise, seeing folks in flip flops step lightly off the cable car was enough to almost reduce me to tears. Back at crater level and more exhausted than I’ve ever felt before or since, when a group of strollers asked me if getting to the peak on foot would take them more than 40 minutes, I let fly with a tirade of verbal abuse.

I am a strong supporter of access for all. I don’t want the world’s most amazing places to be reserved only for those who are fortunate or privileged enough to have the physical capability and the material wherewithal to experience them. I don’t resent that there’s almost always a way to get the reward without the effort. I just think we shouldn’t take that easy way for granted and allow it to diminish the Herculean efforts of those who got there entirely under their own auspices.

Standing on that ice platform where I had no real right to be, my sense of awe at the achievement of someone who climbs through such hostile conditions and ascends one of these peaks was, if anything, heightened. However much admiration I felt for the incredible feats of skill and endurance that climbers have performed over the centuries, actually experiencing that bone cracking, face stripping cold; feeling the uncertain stability of compacted ice beneath my feet and the needle sharp intakes of icy breath in my lungs, made their heroics all the more real.

I’m not sure the same could be said for the flip flop wearing cable car riders of Mount Teide or the strudel scoffing ladies of Gosausee.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

We first saw it years ago in a series of vegetarian recipes called ‘posh nosh for less dosh’ which describes it perfectly.

This is a dish guaranteed to impress.

Preparation Time: 30 minutes

Cooking Time: 35 minutes

Ingredients for Herby Feta Cheese on Golden Potato Rostis (for two people)

Herby Feta Cheese

• 250g block of Feta cut into four equal slabs
• 1 large garlic clove, crushed
• 1 tbsp chopped fresh oregano
• 1 tbsp chopped fresh thyme
• 75ml olive oil
• Salt
• Pepper
• 4 sun-dried tomatoes (optional)
• Capers
• Chives to garnish

Golden Potato Rostis

• 1 large (or 2 medium) potato, peeled and grated
• ½ medium onion, grated (a nightmare of a task if you’re like me)
• 1 lightly beaten egg
• 25g plain flour
• 1 tbsp vegetable oil

Spicy Jam

• 1 large red onion thinly sliced
• 2 red chillies, de-seeded and finely chopped
• 6 tbsp red wine vinegar
• 50g sugar
• 25g butter

Preparation for Herby Feta Cheese on Golden Potato Rostis

Spicy Jam

• Heat the butter in a saucepan, add onions and cook gently for 5 minutes until  soft. Add red wine vinegar and sugar, turn the heat to low and cook for 25 minutes.
• Mix in the chopped red chillies and cook for a further 5 minutes until the mixture is wine coloured with a slightly caramelized texture.

Potato Rostis

• Whilst the sweet and spicy marmalade is cooking, squeeze as much moisture out of the grated potato as possible (it doesn’t matter if it still retains some moisture). Pat dry with kitchen paper and place the potato in a bowl with the grated onion, beaten egg and flour.
• Mix well until all the ingredients are thoroughly combined and separate into four rough balls in the bowl.
• Heat a drizzle of vegetable oil in a frying pan and, using a dessert spoon, place the potato rosti balls in the pan. How many depends on the size of your pan, we only manage two at a time. Flatten the balls with the back of the spoon until they are flat and circular shaped.
• Fry on each side for 3 minutes until golden brown.
• Remove the rostis from the pan, dry on kitchen paper and keep warm in a low oven.

Herby Feta Cheese

• The olive oil and herb dressing can be made in advance of the cooking. Simply add the olive oil, herbs, garlic, thyme and a dash of salt and pepper to a jug and mix.
• Heat the grill and a few minutes before the spicy jam is ready, place the four feta slices on a baking tray and drizzle some of the herby dressing over the top.
• Place under the grill and cook until the cheese is only just beginning to melt. Any longer and it will turn to mush, be difficult to work with and ruin the appearance of the dish.

Place the potato rostis on a plate. Spoon some sweet and spicy marmalade onto them, carefully place a slice of herby feta on top and drizzle the remaining herby dressing over the dish.

For a finishing touch, place a sun-dried tomato on top of each slice of herby feta and casually fling a few capers around to complete the sweet and savoury combination then arrange the chives on top. We have two rostis person for a main meal, or one each as a starter.

Tip: lining the baking tray with aluminium foil makes cleaning up afterwards a little bit easier.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Monte Verità has never been afraid to stand out from the crowd. Beginning life as a vegetarian Utopia where a group of refugees from political dogma came to find a third way between communism and capitalism, the innocuous looking conference centre and hotel has a past as colourful as the Venetian glass, rainbow path that traces the lines of electromagnetic forces across its front lawn.

In 1900, four intellectuals sought the perfect location in which to build their alternative society and found this peaceful paradise set above the lake. The feminist leader Ida Hofman from Montenegro; the son of a Belgian industrialist Henri Oedenkoven; the Transylvanian poet and nature-worshipper Arthur (Gusto) Graser, and his brother Karl, set about creating a vegetarian, Utopian paradise which lived outside the conventions of society. Building simple wooden huts in which to live and spending their days lying naked in the sun, dancing, reading poetry and working in the gardens, the community began to gather like-minded individuals from across Europe, amongst them Hermann Hesse, D H Lawrence and Isadora Duncan.

Needing money in order to sustain their alternative lifestyle, the commune opened a sanatorium in which they offered natural therapies such as ‘light and air baths’ to expose bodies to light, air, sun and water; and a strict vegetarian diet.

In 1913 Rudolf Von Laban, the Hungarian choreographer and Kinetographer (the science of recording dance movements in symbols), moved to Monte Verità and set up an experimental dance school. Each morning Laban would sound a gong to summon his motley band of dancers to garden, weave and make their own costumes and sandals. Surrounded by a posse of near-naked female acolytes, Laban pioneered the dance form of Ausdruckstanz in which frenzied movements freed the body and mind from the conventions of bourgeoisie in the search for ecstasy through movement. It was here that Laban earned himself the title of the father of modern dance.

Strolling the peaceful gardens of Monte Verità in the company of its Executive Director, Lorenzo Sonognini, we pass what looks like a modern sculpture in the form of a 3D tetradecagon made from tubular steel. Lorenzo explains that it’s actually a tool to aid the precision of dance movements and that the dancer would work within the space.

“You can peel back the layers of Monte Verità’s history within this park,” says Lorenzo as we follow the evolution of the buildings from the spartan simplicity of the huts built by the first commune members, through to the Art Deco Semiramis Villa and the Bauhaus hotel which today provide the nucleus of a unique place in which to experience the beauty, tranquillity and natural healing powers of its location.

Emerging into a clearing in the bounteous gardens, a Japanese maple tree burnishes fiery red in the foreground, at its feet neat semicircles of tea bushes spread back to a small wooden house on whose gable end I can see the words ‘Casa Del Té, Cha Shi Tsu’.

On a Swiss hillside overlooking Lake Maggiore is probably one of the last places you would expect to find a working tea plantation. But if you’re going to participate in a traditional Japanese tea ceremony ona tea plantation anywhere in Europe, you might as well do it in this place which has hosted so many extraordinary people and events in its time. Naked dancing on the lawn afterwards, optional.

The Japanese tea ceremony is available between April and October, from Wednesday to Sunday between 1.30pm and 6pm and costs 38CHF (€35/£25) including an introduction to the culture of tea, the ceremony, tea tasting and a visit to the Zen garden. Call Casa del Té on 0041 (0)79 551 16 36.

Monte Verità Hotel and Conference Centre, Strada Collina 84, CH-6612 Ascona; Tel. +41 91 785 40 40. Double rooms at the Monte Verità hotel start from CHF180 (€168/£120). Guided tours that uncover the history and legends of Monte Verità are available to visitors; call 0041 (0)91 785 40 40 to arrange.

Buzztrips visited Monte Verità with Locarno & Ascona, Lake Maggiore e Valli Tourist office, and with Maggioni Tourist Marketing.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

Driving along the sun-dappled coast from the Cannero Riviera, crossing the Italian/Swiss border was about as exciting as driving through a green light. A perfunctory nod from border control police and we had left Italy and entered Switzerland. Almost immediately, I noticed subtle changes in the roadside views; houses replaced Aleppo pines, gardens ceased some of their unrehearsed ballet and pavements became wider and neater. As we drove further north, I began to fear for the beauty of the lake in whose company I had spent so much time.

Had the Mediterranean spirit of its Italian meanderings been lost to the Alpine discipline of its Swiss shores?

Boarding the funicular in Locarno on the northern tip of the lake, we gradually pulled up the steep slopes of Ticino’s mountains. Like an old lady with worn out knee and hip joints, the effort of every metre of the funicular’s journey rattled through its frame as it ground inexorably up its familiar route. Changing to the cable car at Orselina, gravity no longer constrained our movement and we glided through the tree tops to alight at Cardada. Ahead I could see a chair lift that takes visitors to the end of the line at Cimetta, but our aerial travel ended here….or so I thought.

Meandering a forest trail punctuated by wooden lodges that looked as if they were waiting for some Swiss chocolate box designer to come along and photograph them, we arrive at the pretty mountain albergue of  Ristorante Colmanicchio. Taking a table on the sun drenched outside terrace and looking down over Locarno and the Brissago Islands framed by the snow-dusted splendour of the Alps, I reflected how much Lake Maggiore had changed from laid back, Mediterranean hipster into Alpine drama queen. The vain clouds that drifted above its surface stole the colour from its depths leaving the lake little choice other than to reflect their form back at them, like shifting pools of quicksilver across its surface.

I realised that the mountain air had worked up an appetite. The table next to us had just ordered a plate of Ticino specialities and it had arrived laden with cold meats, sausages, cheeses, pâtés and salads. But I had a yen for something hot so I ordered the Spatzli, a delicious plate of home made pasta with cheese, garlic, cauliflower, cherry tomatoes and onion seasoned with fresh herbs from the garden. I could have been satisfied with that but my dining companions, Roberto and Stefania, made the mistake of letting me see the dessert menu which contained the words ‘carrot’ and ‘cake’. A glass or two of the local Merlot and the sun on my face ensured a relaxed, almost soporific state followed and I could happily have ordered more wine and spent the rest of the afternoon waxing lyrical about the beauty of Lake Maggiore.

But a new challenge awaited.

I frequently boast that I managed to conquer my vertigo on a trip to Sigiriya in Sri Lanka many years ago. But as I stood above the last piece of solid ground before the silver platform stretched out into mid air at 1142 metres (3746 feet) above the Maggia delta, I wondered if I would now have to retract that claim.

The floor felt solid enough as I took my first step, trying not to directly acknowledge that the sides of the structure were open mesh, giving me confidence to take a deep breath and stride to the railing at the end. Not a vestige of vertigo, just another sharp intake of breath as I let the enormity of the panorama sink in.

Below my feet, Lake Maggiore shimmered, tiny boats cutting the surface like a seamstress’ scissors through teal silk. To the west lay the tiny Brissago Islands beyond which, the lake continued her journey into Italy. Brushing the clouds, Switzerland’s highest points of Monte Rosa (4554 metres/14,940 ft) and Punta Dufour (4634 metres/15,203 ft) swept down to its lowest point at the Maggia basin providing a depth of landscape that travelled from icy peak to balmy shore in the blink of an eye.

The clouds may have conspired to ruin that perfect shot ( the fabulous pic above is Ticino by Christof Sonderegger with many thanks for letting me use it) but they did nothing to diminish the drama witnessed by the naked eye.

Assured that my vertigo claim was still intact, we dragged ourselves away from the rim of the platform and caught the cable car back down to Orselina from where we made the short journey on foot to the sanctuary of the Madonna Del Sasso.

Perched on its rocky outcrop and outlined against the lake and the mountains beyond, the spire of the convent’s elegant bell tower rose above the horizon to punctuate the sky. Beneath it, the cardinal red tiles of its roof tops; lemon arches of its loggia and apricot walls of its façade, created a fairytale palette to the scene, lending it an Italian identity.

Walking its shores, strolling its gardens and exploring its islands, I had thought of Lake Maggiore as a fairly static body of water. But following the lake’s progress beyond its Italian extremities and into its Swiss home, I realised it was far more than that, Maggiore defies borders and brings a piece of Italy to Switzerland, and it’s a marriage made in landscape heaven.

Buzztrips visited the Swiss side of Lake Maggiore and enjoyed lunch at Ristorante Colmanicchio courtesy of Locarno & Ascona, Lake Maggiore e Valli Tourist office, and with Maggioni Tourist Marketing.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+