It irks me to pay a lot of money for a service which can’t be relied upon, especially after travelling through Emilia Romagna by train, where a reliable service was essential for us to be able to meet our objectives.

Over eight days we caught seven trains, taking in two airports and five cities. The trains weren’t always bang on time, but the frequency and a choice of three different operators covering the same route meant that delays were a minor inconvenience at most. Apart from the Malpensa Express from Milan Central Station to Malpensa Airport, which was a wee bit on the grubby side, trains were modern, clean, and easy for visitors to use thanks to efficient onboard information systems.

Marconi Express from Bologna Airport to Bologna

The day before we were due to fly into Bologna Airport, the Marconi Express wasn’t running due to a strike. Because of the uncertainty, I waited until we landed before committing. That wasn’t a problem, I booked a ticket online (€11 one-way) while walking from baggage reclaim to the station. Within minutes, I was speeding to the centre of Bologna.

The Marconi Express gets a 1.5 out of 5 rating on TripAdvisor, with reviewers complaining it is overpriced, bumpy, and crowded. To me, €11 seemed decent value for getting to the centre of Bologna without any hassle. I didn’t notice any bumps (it’s a monorail) and, at midday on a Saturday in March, there were only a handful of people. But there are only two tiny carriages, so I can see how it gets cramped. After leaving London at a reasonably civilised time, we were enjoying the smells, sounds, and sights of Bologna by 13:00. That’s a good result in my book.

Bologna to Modena

I love it when you get an app that does what it promises. I came to cherish the Trenitalia app during our time in Emilia Romagna. It’s über user friendly.

Emilia Romagna’s main cities lie in a line between Milan and Rimini. Throughout the day, travellers rarely have to wait to long to catch a train south east or north west. We had a choice of three – the high speed Frecciarossa, the most expensive at €16; the Intercity at €9; and the RV regional train, superb value at €4.30. The RV takes longer, just under 30 mins from Bologna to Modena as opposed to 17-20 mins, but it’s still just a hop of a journey. The frequency of trains meant we were able to enjoy a relaxed breakfast knowing we had plenty of options for getting to Modena in time to dump our luggage at the hotel and make a 10:30 appointment.

Modena to Reggio Emilia and back

Travelling to and from neighbouring Reggio Emilia couldn’t have been easier. Again, there were the same three choices – Frecciarossa (€15 each way), Intercity (€8.50), and RV (€3.50) – with the times for each being much the same, 12-15mins. That flexibility gives the traveller greater freedom.

Modena to Parma

By the time we moved from Modena to Parma (same choices, a 30-45 min journey for €18, €10, and €6), we were old hands at travelling along this route. When something works, it doesn’t take long to become familiar with it, and that confidence in the trains makes you want to use them more, especially when you feel you’re getting good value as well, as is the case in Italy.

Parma to Malpensa Airport via Milan

This involved two trains; the route we’d become accustomed to, and from Milan Central to Malpensa Airport T1. For once, and for speed, we used the Frecciarossa (€27.50 and 45 mins) to travel to Milan, the extra cost including a reserved seat and being able to check in online once we’d boarded.

In Milan there was some confusion where the platform for the Malpensa Express was, but there were plenty of staff around to confirm we had the right one. The Malpensa Express (51 mins and €13) was slightly seedy, and train staff warned of thieves, but it did its job. When you’re trying to get somewhere to catch a plane, that’s what matters.

Overall, travelling through Emilia Romagna by train was a reminder just how enjoyable and relaxing train travel can be, which is exactly how it should be in a time when sustainable travel is so important.

As a Brit travelling on spotless, ultra-modern trains for a handful of Euros, I couldn’t help but lament the general unsatisfactory state of train travel in Britain, and mentally curse those responsible for it.

I’d argue no. As Gavin and Stacey’s Uncle Brynn would say, I’ll tell you for why.

What is real and what’s not?

Our Tenerife website is called The Real Tenerife. A few years ago, a Facebook friend remarked they didn’t like the use of the word ‘real’ in travel as everywhere is real, so it was nonsensical. Without getting into a philosophical/existential debate about what is real and what’s not, in travel terms there are some places that are more ‘real’ than others … if by real we mean authentic, as is the case with The Real Tenerife.

When writing about Tenerife, for decades the travel press in the UK invariably concentrated on the island’s southern tourist resorts, which were purpose-built for tourism, ergo not real, not the authentic Tenerife. The island became defined by something created purely to keep sun-starved tourists happy. By using the term ‘the real’ we put a big, bright flag in the sand that was designed to tell people ‘This isn’t about the part of the island developed for tourism, this is about the part which exists outside of that.’

It was a counter to a misinformed stereotype.

But how about somewhere being too authentic?

The argument in favour of the use of the term ‘too authentic’ is similar. Travellers, tourists, visitors, call them what you will, come in various guises. Unlike Tolkien’s Middle-earth, there is no one ring to fit them all. Some travellers want budget, some want luxury. Some want package holidays in purpose-built locations where any hint of authenticity is only found in watered-down cultural performances in the hotel’s lounge after dinner, or in a few token ‘local’ dishes in the buffet. Others might crave a full-on immersion in any destination they visit. Then there are those who seek a mix of both, who want to dip their toes into local life now and again. If you’re in the travel business, it’s important to consider individual needs if you’re going to provide the appropriate advice.

Often authenticity is associated with lower end experiences. There’s no great travel bible that decrees authentic travel is exclusively connected to budget experiences. Someone who books into a 5-star hotel and eats in a fine dining restaurant populated by well-to-do locals could end up with a more authentic experience than, say, someone who stays in a hostel and eats at Maccie D’s. We’ve just returned from a trip to Italy where we ate piadinas while sitting on a kerb, tucked into buttery pastas in specialist delis, and ate octopus in a Michelin recommended restaurant. All were equally authentic experiences. In fact, there were more foreigners at the piadina kiosk than in the posh restaurant.

But even for those who want to immerse themselves in the local scene when they travel, there are parameters. For example, think of the grungiest dive of a pub/bar near to where you live and then answer this question. Would you take a visitor to it to just give them an authentic local experience?

I sure as hell wouldn’t. And neither would I do it in another country.

Giving visitors good authentic experiences means introducing them to things they’ll enjoy, not dishing up a serving of authenticity just for the hell of it. That’s why we discard places that are ‘too authentic’ when putting together slow travel holidays.

And it applies to people within the business as well.

I remember an American travel blogger being taken to a pub in York some years ago. They promptly left because they found it an uncomfortable experience. If you don’t know York, the pubs there are great. I’d happily take any visitor from another country to many of them.

Yet the experience was obviously just a wee bit too authentic for that blogger.

10: French Revolution toilet seats

Coming in at number ten, because it’s something that only affects approximately 50% of hotel guests, are French Revolution toilet seats. These are the ones that pretend they’re going to stay up and then, when you relax your guard, fall with the speed of Madame la Guillotine. Obviously, this problem extends way beyond hotel toilets. How difficult is it to design toilet seats that stay up for heaven’s sake? This malfunction, which can require a deft manoeuvre to avoid a painful amputation, is partly to blame for men having to put up with being accused of having a poor aim.

9: Salivating shower heads

You can pick up perfectly adequate shower heads for under a tenner, so why oh why do so many hotels have clogged up old shower heads which spit at you with less ferocity than an irritated camel?

8: Titanic shower cubicles

Another moan about design flaws. There’s no point having a sexy walk-in shower when it leaks water like a liner that’s been punctured by an iceberg. I’ve lost count of the number of bathroom floors I’ve had to bail out after a shower.

7: Exfoliator towels

They might be great for rubbing off dead skin with the effectiveness of a cheese grater, but stiff hotel towels you could spit peas through should be consigned to the furnace in the basement, especially when they also come with straggly bits … as these sort of towels so often do.

6: Thirsty sinks

It doesn’t matter whether budget, mid-range, rural, or luxury, far too many hotels have sinks that simply can’t hold their water. Washing your face and wet shaving is often like taking part in a race-against-time competition.

5: Style over substance

Sinks again, and those ones which look fabulous but hold the equivalent of a thimble of water. Even worse are the stylish affairs designed so that the second you turn on the tap, the water swirls around the tiny bowl gathering speed, before shooting over the sides to completely soak your groin area, making it look like you’ve had a little accident.

4: Disintegrating toilet paper

Toilet paper that is gossamer thin – need I say anything more? However, in fairness to some hotels it might be an availability of quality produce issue. We struggled to find decent toilet paper when we lived in both Spain and Portugal. Waitrose Essentials is a luxurious eiderdown by comparison to the best of the bunch we bought there.

3: Shower heads with erectile dysfunction

Is there anything more annoying in a hotel bathroom than a shower head that cannot stand to attention? No matter how many times you try to tighten the thingy supposedly holding it up, or force it upright, it slumps over and sprays the wall instead of you. Actually, there are two things more irritating, and these are…

2: Psycho shower curtains

These are an endangered species, thankfully, but there are still enough of them about. I’m talking about flimsy nylon shower curtains that behave as if human skin is magnetic, launching a vicious and skin-hugging attack the second you step in the shower. They are a pain in the backside or, more accurately, a squeal-causing chill on the backside as no matter how hot the outside temperature is, their touch is icy cold.

And the trophy for the most annoying thing in a hotel bathroom goes to…

1: Toilet brushes that have gone AWOL

Oddly, this applies more to 5-star hotels than any other. For some reason, many luxury hotels don’t have toilet brushes in their bathrooms. The general response to any question about a lack of toilet brush is ‘hotels have housekeeping services that clean the toilet for you.’ So, these hotels really think that most guests are going to be happy leaving loos in, let’s put this tastefully, a less than pristine condition when they go out? Really? Do hoteliers honestly believe this? It’s ironic that guests in luxury hotels are more likely to have to stick their hands down the loo to clean it than ones in less expensive ones. We stayed in one 5-star hotel where there was a sign beside the loo that said, ‘By request we can provide you with a toilet brush, please call extension 24.’ There was even a telephone beside the sign. Clearly they were anticipating some serious toilet disasters. It is absolutely ridiculous.

And finally, a bonus irritation suggested by Andy – bathrooms which don’t have any hooks for hanging damp towels.

Dear hoteliers, none of this is rocket science. If your hotel is guilty of any of the above, it’s time to pick up the hoteliers’ manual and re-read the section under TQM.

Try to answer without Googling, and I’m willing to bet few will get it spot on.

That’s partly because there are different ways of approaching this question. And it’s partly because the answer is liable to change. A few years ago, the generally accepted number of main Canary Islands was seven. Now it’s eight. In a way neither are right and yet, in another way, both are.

For a start, what is an island?

This is National Geographic’s definition: “An island is a body of land surrounded by water. Continents are also surrounded by water, but because they are so big, they are not considered islands.”

National Geographic also go on to say – “Many islands are quite small, covering less than half a hectare (one acre). These tiny islands are often called islets.”

There’s nothing about whether they are inhabited or not. And that makes those subtropical waters very murky.

So, how many Canary Islands are there?

The Canaries are made up of large islands, small islands (islets), and lumps of land protruding from the sea that ambiguously lie somewhere between being tiny islets and big rocks. Wikipedia states there are eight main islands, five islets, and eight ‘roques.’

The main Canary Islands

Up until a few years ago it was generally accepted there were seven main islands. Tenerife, Fuerteventura, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, La Palma, La Gomera, and El Hierro. In 2018, Spain’s Comisión General de las Comunidades Autónomas officially recognised La Graciosa as the eighth inhabited Canary Island. Until then, it had been classed as an islet.

Subsequently, La Graciosa is now classed as one of the main Canary Islands … but it isn’t the same as the others, and it isn’t the eighth island, but I’ll come back to the latter later.

The reason it isn’t the same is the others all have their own island governments, independent of each other. La Graciosa, with a population that hovers around the 700 mark, administratively belongs to Lanzarote. That makes it different. Having lived in the Canary Islands, that not insignificant fact makes it difficult to treat La Graciosa on quite the same level as the other seven. Then there’s the next level down.

Canary Island islets

The five islets consist of Islote de Lobos (Fuerteventura), Montaña Clara, Alegranza, Roque del Este and Roque del Oeste. The last four, along with La Graciosa, also make up the Chinijo Archipelago, one of the largest marine reserves in the European Union. Although not inhabited, a couple of the islets have had inhabitants and Los Lobos still has buildings which are occupied at certain times of the year.

Canary Island ‘roques’

Finally, there are the ‘roques,’ big chunks of land rising from the ocean. They are not big enough to be considered an islet, yet too big to be simply classed as a rock. Wikipedia lists eight of these, but one of these is connected to the land and, offhand, I can think of at least three ‘roques’ that aren’t included. But these lumps of rock are just a distraction from the main question.

I previously mentioned that I didn’t consider La Graciosa as the eighth island. That’s because in all the years I lived in the Canaries, I regularly saw references to an eighth island, and it wasn’t La Graciosa. Every week, in a Spanish newspaper, I would read news from all seven main islands followed by reports from a place historically considered the eighth island, Venezuela. Admittedly, that’s a bit of a curve ball, but I wasn’t the one who named it the eighth island.

Anyway, there’s another eighth island, a proper Canary Island. Canarios know what it is and so do others who know the Canaries well. It makes an appearance in my upcoming book set on the islands. If you want to know more about it, keep an eye on my website and Facebook page for more information.

For example, I’m a local (albeit a newbie one) where I now live. Everyone’s a local somewhere. But not only am I a local, I’m a local in a place that is popular with tourists during summer. A thought struck me as I tootled along behind a visiting driver enjoying the scenery at under 40mph in a 60mph zone. Apart from when I lived in Manchester and Stockport, I’ve always lived in places that were popular tourist destinations. This has spanned four different countries.

Bute, Scotland

When I was growing up, the Isle of Bute was hugely popular with Glasgow holidaymakers travelling ‘doon the water’ to enjoy a break at the seaside. As a child, the concept of tourists didn’t really enter my head. There were more folk around in summer, which meant more facilities were open, which meant there were more things for me to do. On a small island, new faces were exciting, even more so when I was in my late teens and working in the Glenburn Hotel. Summer meant more guests and more guests meant more staff, i.e. girls from catering colleges on the mainland. Superficial, I know. But I was an eighteen-year-old boy at the time. Thinking back, I have only positive memories of the benefits of tourism.

Puerto de la Cruz, Tenerife

For fourteen years, we lived on the border between Puerto de la Cruz and La Orotava in the north of Tenerife. Tourism on Tenerife is year-round, but there are huge differences regarding what that means depending on where you stay and what time of year it is. In winter months, the profile of the average tourist to Puerto was that they were more mature and mainly Northern European. In a town with a large indigenous population, they didn’t particularly upset the local/visitor balance. There were a few bars to cater for differing nationalities, but mostly people just fitted in. In summer, the scene was completely different. Spanish mainlanders descended in their droves, adding more exuberance to the town’s streets. In both cases, neither group had a detrimental impact on the town, quite the opposite. The relationship, as it often is when the tourist to local balance isn’t skewed, was symbiotic.

The only time that situation changed was when a couple of hotels started offering cut price deals that attracted a different type of British tourist, one who didn’t show respect for the place they were visiting or the people who lived there. Thankfully, there weren’t many of these, but they stood out like a sore thumb.

It’s obvious – but maybe not to everyone as there are plenty of travellers/holidaymakers who don’t apply the rule – show respect for your hosts, and they’ll welcome you with open arms. Disrespect them and you’re not welcome. As a ‘local’ in Puerto, that’s how I felt on the rare occasions I saw pissed-up Brits oozing aggression.

Setúbal, Portugal

Few British visitors visit Setúbal south of Lisbon, yet it has loads of great restaurants and boasts beaches that are among the best in Europe. But the Portuguese know all about it and, between mid-June and mid-September, flock to the coast from Setúbal to the banks of the Tagus. So much so, the coastal road through Arrábida Natural Park is now closed during summer as it was regularly blocked by visitors dumping their cars by the side of the road. The road closure was inconvenient, even though there was a shuttle service. But we simply kept away from the coast during the summer as it was madness. Apart from that, the influx of visitors didn’t really impact on us.

Because the visitors were mostly Portuguese, they simply fit in seamlessly with the local scene. Just as it was back on Bute and Tenerife, there was a different buzz to the town in summer, a more youthful, livelier vibe. The main detrimental impact on the local population was that there were fewer places to rent longer term for people who lived and worked in the area. Moving to Portugal in May 2017, we had to wait until September before anywhere was available because short-term rental of apartments and houses over the summer was such a lucrative business.

That experience brought home to me, before people started to fully appreciate the downsides to the likes of Airbnb, how the trend to ‘live like a local’ could have as much, if not more, of a negative impact on a destination as dumping 10,000 people from a cruise ship in a historic town. Our neighbours both worked in Lisbon, in decent jobs, but couldn’t afford to stay there, especially as more and more of the city was transformed into holiday apartments where visitors could, ironically, live like the locals who couldn’t afford to live there.

And then there’s Devon

It’s our second summer on the Devon/Somerset border and I’ve noticed patterns this year. We live inland, so don’t experience the volume of visitors the coast does; we quickly learnt to avoid the A39 coastal road during summer holidays. Our nearest town is busier, making it more difficult to just stroll into the pub for a bar meal whenever we fancy one. That’s much the same everywhere. The shelves in supermarkets aren’t as well stocked due to the increased demand (nothing to do with any delivery crisis, as we did okay for produce during that particular period), there are more tootlers on the road, and I can spot some visitors by the blind panic in their eyes when our cars squeeze past each other on those narrow Devon lanes. I had the same look just over 12 months ago. Now I love driving here.

There’s a simple formula to answering a question such as ‘what do locals think about tourists?’ If those tourists add something to the destination they are visiting, then that answer would, or should, be positive. But if they detract and make it a worse environment for the locals, then resentment is the deserved consequence.

There are plenty of trendy travel terms around. Wellness for one. I’ve never been too sure what Wellness Travel involves exactly. For some reason, a yoga mat always pops into my head whenever I hear the term. The Wellness Institute defines it as ‘travel associated with the pursuit of maintaining or enhancing one’s personal wellbeing.’ Back in the 1980s, I felt great after a two-week package holiday to Greece. I lay in the sun for too long during the day, then drank too much at night. But, boy, did I feel fab by the end of it, mentally refreshed and ready to resume work with an enthusiastic spring in my step. So, Wellness Travel to me is anything that makes you feel good.

Google ranking zero at time of writing: ‘Slow travel is an approach to travel that emphasizes connection: to local people, cultures, food and music.’ – remoteyear.com (I’m not sure what remote year do exactly, but I wouldn’t disagree with the sentiment.)

Sustainable travel is also big, but I can’t help feeling there’s a fair amount of lip service where this is concerned e.g. the little sign found in most hotel bathrooms about chucking towels in the bath/shower cubicle. ‘Hey, we travelled sustainably as we only asked for our towels to be changed every two days instead of every day.’ Other buzz terms I saw when researching this included ‘long-haul reboots’ and ‘barefoot workations.’ As our neighbour on Tenerife used to say in a drawn-out, exasperated manner – Por favor!

Google ranking 1 at time of writing: ‘Slow travel is all about taking the time to get to know areas, cities and towns in a way that you might miss out on by travelling in a more mainstream way’ – euronews.com, a news site. I wouldn’t go along with all of that. For example, taking the train is mainstream, isn’t it?

Often these ‘trendy terms’ are more important to the industry than the average holidaymaker who, let’s face it, mostly wants somewhere nice and interesting to visit to recharge their rundown batteries.

Take Slow Travel. We’ve been working in the Slow Travel business for over a decade, helping create Slow Travel holidays around Europe and writing guides to accompany them. But that’s just a decade since there was a label attached to what we do. What we did prior to that, on Tenerife, was more or less the same.

Google ranking 2 at time of writing: ‘Slow Travel is a different way of exploring the world, with an emphasis on avoiding the over saturated tourist areas, finding the places which are off the beaten path, where there is a gentler and more peaceful approach to travel.’ – slow-travel.uk
Slow-travel.uk is an excellent information site about slow travel in parts of the UK, but I don’t agree with all of that statement. Slow Travel doesn’t have to always be off the beaten track and, as anyone who has been to a fiesta in Spain will confirm, it is not always gentler and more peaceful.

I remember a time when there were people involved in the travel writing business who dismissed Slow Travel as being boring. It appears it’s a sexier way to travel now it’s more of a trendy term. Ironically, some of the people extolling the virtues of Slow Travel are rushing around the place, notching up destinations at a rate of knots.

I still don’t believe terms are as important to others involved in the tourism business who aren’t marketing specialists, especially those directly involved in delivering what we think of as Slow Travel. Even now, when we venture anywhere to research a new ‘Slow Travel’ holiday and mention the term to rural hoteliers, restaurateurs, etc. it is mostly met with a blank response. Most people we meet on our travels, even those involved in the sharp end of the tourism business, aren’t familiar with the term Slow Travel.

Google ranking 3 at time of writing: ‘Slow travel is for you if you want a balanced itinerary where you can pace yourself and eliminate the stress of rushing around. It’s intentional and immersive — allowing you to go deeper on the things that matter most to you while traveling. It’s conscious and connected — connected with yourself, those around you, and the world.’ – Sloww.co, a blog (I think). This description is a wee bit woolly for me.

Whenever that happens, we resort to a two-sentence, off-the-cuff description of what Slow Travel means to us. We tell them that Slow Travel means travellers who are interested in the destination they visit; people who want to delve under the skin of a place, learn about its history, people, traditions, culture, and gastronomy. People who like to put their money into the local economy instead of into the pockets of multinational companies. At that point, they invariably nod and say, ‘Ah, that’s just the sort of people we like.’ They might not recognise the term, but they understand the concept. It’s what they do.

Google ranking 4 at time of writing: ‘One of the defining elements of slow travel is the opportunity to become part of local life and to connect to a place and its people. Slow travel is also about connection to culture.’ – slowmovement.com, a website dedicated to all things Slow. I’m never comfortable with statements about becoming part of local life in travel terms. Having lived in four locations (in four different countries) that experience medium to high numbers of tourists, I’ve never seen that happen, not really. ‘Fitting in’ is a more apt description to me. Apart from that, yep.

So, after all that, what really is Slow Travel?

The quotes used illustrate it means different things to different people; sometimes only slightly, in other cases, there are fundamental differences.

In the end, Slow Travel is just a label.

We use it because it helps describe what we do professionally and what our style of writing involves.

If we were simply describing our travel preferences to another traveller, we wouldn’t use the term at all. In that case we’d describe what we like in travel terms much the same as we do to the hoteliers, restaurateurs et al who look at us blankly when we mention the words, Slow Travel.

When not to visit Lisbon

The bloggers who didn’t get on with Lisbon chose possibly the worst month to stay in the city, August. It’s too hot and there are too many people around, making getting into restaurants more difficult. When we lived in Portugal, we tried to avoid going to popular locations between mid-June and mid-September when the Portuguese took their summer holidays as they could be uncomfortably rammed. Ironically, there may be fewer locals in the city, which makes it seem even more touristy. And southern European cities at that time of year … phew! Either side of that summer period is better; the weather is warm without being too oppressive (mostly) and the streets aren’t as crowded.

Where to stay

Another massively crucial factor is choosing where to stay. The bloggers had followed the advice of a guidebook and stayed in Barrio Alto. Been there, got the exact same T-shirt. During our first visit to the city, we stayed on same street where the Elevador da Bica is located. Apart from the old funicular, it was a relatively quiet place during the day, sleepy even. By midnight, and way beyond, it was bouncing, people filling the street below the apartment. It was a great scene, but not if you wanted to get some sleep. Other accommodation, a mix of apartments and hotels, in Alfama, Mouraria, Chiado, Avenida de Liberdade, and even Baixa were all quiet. Basically, don’t choose an area with a lively after dark scene if a decent night’s shut eye is the objective.

Avoid Tram 28

Yes, it’s the done thing to take Tram 28. But the queues to get on one are invariably lengthy, and the experience is akin to being in one of the tins of sardines you’ll find in specialist canning shops around Lisbon. The tourist trams on Praça do Comercio may not seem as authentic, but they are a far more enjoyable experience. You get a seat, an old rickety tram is an old rickety tram after all, and the route is virtually the same. Clearly it costs more but, hey, you aren’t a Lisboeta trying to get to work as cheaply as possible.

Break from the crowds

In some cases that may be easier said than done, e.g. if you take Tram 28 or the tram/bus to Belém. But mostly it is possible. The photo below was taken in August at around 10am, hardly the crack of dawn, the year after the travel bloggers complained the city was too busy. Explore reasonably early and even the main tourist drags aren’t bloated. On the same visit, we enjoyed a crowd-free breakfast at the hugely popular Time Out Market for the same reason. Later in the day, simply move a couple of streets away from the main arteries. Lisbon is one of those cities where there is something interesting to see on almost every street yet, like most cities, tourists tend to stick to the same handful of routes. We don’t subscribe to the pre-pandemic view that many popular European cities were ruined because of too many tourists. We’ve written Slow Travel guides for plenty of them, and we’ve yet to find one where it wasn’t the case if you explored on foot, you invariably escaped the crowds, even when it comes to the likes of Venice.

Embrace the city for what it is

Cities have different personalities. For me, the story of the count and the prostitute typifies Lisbon’s. In some parts, its buildings are palatial. In others, they border on being run-down. But even in graffitied backstreets there’s a certain charm, such as in the parts of Alfama where old women still sell ginjinha from their doorways. In some ways these are the richest areas of the city, the truly authentic ones where, no, there aren’t big supermarkets, but there are small local grocery shops, cafes, bakeries and so on.

Similarly, the backstreets are home to many restaurants representing Portugal’s worldwide influence, with some superb gastronomy from its former colonies. And it is a safe city, relatively speaking. There is petty crime. Wherever there are tourists there is petty crime. And we’ve been offered more hash in Lisbon than in any other city we’ve visited. But a simple shake of the head and the peddlers move on. We’ve never felt unsafe wandering around at night, and we’ve walked many shadowy Lisbon streets at various times after dark.

Whether you like any city or not is down to personal preference. We love Lisbon. It is one of our favourite European cities. Yet, its down-to-earth personality, and possibly even its multi-culturalism, won’t suit all. But research thoroughly and plan sensibly, and you improve the odds of getting the best out of a place, wherever that place may be.

Yesterday, 19 July 2022, records were broken across Britain, with over 40C being attained in places. And yet, instead of treating this as a portent of a nightmare scenario heading our way, there were many who trivialised the warnings broadcast by the media. Admittedly, headlines screaming ‘thousands could die’ did border on the hysterical. But let’s get something straight, heat is a killer.

As people who write hiking directions and give advice about walking in different climates, we find it vitally important to monitor the weather and take into account the effects of extreme weather conditions and warnings issued by meteorological centres around Europe.

Tenerife and the Canary Islands are considered to have almost a perfect climate, and they do. To sunseekers that means buckets of sunshine. But that’s not the reason for the perfect climate tag.

Tenerife is also known as the Island of Eternal Spring, a name claimed by some other islands in Macaronesia. Notice it’s not the Island of Eternal Summer. It doesn’t get too hot in summer, and it doesn’t get too cold in winter.

But it is a lot hotter than the UK. By the middle of summer, whilst it rarely reaches the sweltering heights of the European mainland, the island is tinder dry.

Year after year, on TripAdvisor, I’d read from some sun-starved holidaymakers when they heard of a heatwave engulfing the islands, ‘I hope it lasts for my visit.’ Meanwhile reservoirs were at dangerously low levels, crops were failing, and the risk of wildfires were increasing. But who cares when a good suntan is at stake?

That sounds judgemental, and it is. But, to be fair,  how could people who live in a climate where prolonged spells of extreme heat are rare know any better?

And therein lies the problem with those who trivialise warnings about extreme heat. They speak from a position of ignorance,  like the holiday company who still took their customers on a hike on Gran Canaria even though the Spanish Met Office had issued a warning for extreme heat. The result? Two deaths from severe heat exhaustion.

Because heat kills.

Each year in Tenerife, we spent the second half of summer with fingers crossed, hoping somebody wouldn’t be careless enough to do something that resulted in a wildfire. Every year those crossed fingers were in vain. If you were lucky, the fires would be small and extinguished before they caused too much damage. If luck wasn’t on the side of the islands, fires would rage, destroying hectares of land, wrecking lives and livelihoods.

We watched a ridge burn from our back terrace, witnessed firefighters battle fires on the hills behind the house, and saw a forest explode in front of our eyes. We visited areas on various Canary Islands within days of fires being extinguished to check the damage to the environment and walking routes. It is shocking and sobering.

You don’t trivialise heat once you’ve witnessed the devastation it causes.

But what we experienced on Tenerife and other Canary Islands was nothing compared to what summer in Portugal was like. During our first summer, 2017, it felt as if the whole country was on fire. I dedicated a chapter to it in my book Camel Spit & Cork Trees. Here’s a passage:

‘… a series of wildfires devastated Pedrógão Grande, between the centre and the north of Portugal, leaving 66 people dead, hundreds injured, tens of thousands of hectares of forest destroyed and hundreds of homes burnt to the ground. Of those killed by the wildfires, two thirds were trapped in their cars, trying to escape.’

And those figures alone should explain why trivialising the potential impact of extreme heat is insensitive and offensive.

There’s a great app in Portugal, which pings when a fire breaks out near you. Just take that in for a moment. The threat of fire is so great, you need an app to, hopefully, give you enough warning to escape. Melodramatic as it may sound, there were nights we went to bed worrying whether we’d be woken by the sounds of fire raging around our house.

Up to 90% of wildfires could be avoided as humans cause them – either deliberately or through carelessness, like the eco-conscious camper on La Palma who chose to burn his used toilet paper rather than bury it on a hot, windy day. One stupid, well-meaning mistake caused deaths and destruction.

As for everyday living, you learn quickly how to combat the heat – close windows and curtains, drink lots of fluids, do as little as possible until it abates. In the height of summer, we’d treat having to go anywhere as essential missions – get in, do what we had to do, get out, and go home as quickly as possible. Our house, and those of our neighbours, didn’t have air-conditioning. Traditional homes in rural areas often don’t. It’s a misconception, usually based on experiences of staying in holiday accommodation, that southern Europeans cool down in air-conditioned houses and in their pools. Maybe the rich ones do, everyone else doesn’t have those luxuries. But it doesn’t mean you don’t have a fun time during sweltering summer months, just that you respect the weather, treat it accordingly, and apply common sense.

Are we making a fuss about heatwaves in Britain? It might seem like it, but British people don’t have the same mindset when it comes to dealing with extreme heat as their southern European neighbours … not yet. So, there needs to be a stating of the obvious until people fully understand the potential danger.

As for trivialising the warnings, you won’t find that happening by anyone who has lived in a hot climate.