Our guide, Casimo, visibly sighed when I asked the question. How many times had he been asked about James Bond when he was attempting to share serious insights into life in what was a fascinating and unique city? A lot as it happened.

He might have sighed, but once he started down the Bond road, he was off and running with juicy and amusing snippets that were gold nuggets to a double O seven aficionado such as myself.

James Bond and Matera

Matera was no stranger to Hollywood when the Bond circus rolled into town to film No Time to Die, the final instalment of Daniel Craig’s tenure as Britain’s super spy. It played the part of the Amazonian city in Wonder Woman. In that instance, it looked so fantastical it didn’t register as a real city. Now, when I look at images from the movie, I can identify Matera … just.

It was considered suitably Biblical for Mel Gibson’s The Passion of Christ. Matera does look Biblical; a rock city carved into bleached limestone cliffs. Cave houses, looking as though they have been constructed on top of each other, make up the Sassi, a troglodyte warren of homes, hotels, apartments, churches, monasteries, and hermitages, mostly accessed via a potentially bewildering network of narrow alleys and uneven cobbled steps, some of which lead to dead-ends. It is a maze of a city. In a way, Matera’s Sassi reminded me of a more robustly constructed version of the tumbledown villages of Morocco’s Atlas Mountains.

Despite their fame, or notoriety, neither film had the impact of Bond.

‘One in three visitors who come to Matera are here because of the Bond movie,’ Cosimo told us, shaking his head, still marvelling at the stats. One in three people. It’s incredible. But I understand why. When I saw the background to No Time to Die’s opening sequence, I wanted to be there, to stand in Bond’s shoes. It looked like one of the most incredible places I’d ever seen. And, as this was Bond and not a world conjured up by DC Comics, it really existed. Or so I believed.

Matera, is it just an illusion?

When we heard we were to visit Matera, I hatched plans for channelling my inner Bond by taking a moody selfie on the old bridge across the ravine that links Matera with the rock cemetery where Bond visits the tomb of Vesper Lynd. However, researching exactly where the bridge was located, I discovered there was no old bridge across the ravine. The one featured in the movie was at Gravina, sixteen miles away. It was grafted onto scenes of Matera by the filmmakers. Amusingly, I’ve since seen a specialist UK holiday company use images of the non-existent Matera bridge to promote trips to the rock city on their website. Their customers might be in for a wee shock when they get there.

Cosimo shattered a few other illusions. The cemetery itself doesn’t exist, at least not the way it looks in the film. The hotel where Bond and Madeleine stayed was also a Hollywood construct.

As well as playing fast and loose with architectural reality, the moviemakers caused havoc in Matera, arriving to shoot scenes at the height of the tourist season, shutting down streets for the ubiquitous Bond car chase. Restaurants located on these streets had to close for the duration of filming, not that their owners complained too much; they were paid a hefty sum for every day they couldn’t open. If restaurants in the Sassi look immaculate and freshly decorated, it’s because their owners invested some of the generous ‘compensation’ received from the filmmakers to carry out renovations.

Matera’s ancient streets proved a challenge when it came to filming the car chase, the cobbles were simply too slippery for wheels to gain a traction, resulting in a couple of Aston Martins crashing. The solution? 8,400 gallons of Coca-Cola were sprayed onto the cobbles, the sticky liquid enabling the cars to finally get a grip. Filmmakers say the streets sparkled by the time the soft drink was cleaned off. What they didn’t reveal was that its corrosive qualities also resulted in some erosion.

Reality versus the cinematic version

You might think learning what went on behind the scenes could remove some of the gloss. It is true parts of Matera don’t look exactly the same as they do on the big screen in No Time to Die. However, having watched the film again, the reality is there’s more to Matera, not less, than viewed in the film. And while No Time to Die has boosted the number of visitors, Matera’s relatively difficult-to-navigate, steepish, and uneven narrow streets keep the masses out of much of the Sassi.

Even without the magic of the movies, Matera is one of those extra special destinations, exceeding expectations and then some. Go visit, unlock the Bond within, but leave the Aston Martin at home.

Rural hotels are cold at night.

This is something we regularly heard in the Canary Islands, but it applies to many winter sun destinations in Europe. Because holidaymakers might be sunbathing at coastal level, some walkers expect similar temperatures in the hills. When the sun is out in January during the day, the weather might be perfect for walking. But at night, it plummets at higher altitudes. It’s obvious that temperatures drop the higher you are, but some walkers overlook this. Rural hotels in destinations like the Canaries and southern Portugal don’t tend to have central heating, so it’s sensible to pack for cool nights.

There’s a lack of places for lunch along the route.

This one baffles me. The best walking is invariably through rural/remote countryside; of course it’s likely there’s going to be a lack of places to buy lunch. Good walking companies advise walkers about this and often arrange packed lunches.

The route was more challenging than we’d been led to expect.

I believe walking companies can be guilty of understating difficulty levels on occasion in a bid to make their holidays more appealing to a wider range of people. I was on a podcast some years ago with representatives from various walking holiday companies. One really played down walking in the Canaries, referring to it as being ‘not serious walking’ which is nonsense, as anyone who’s walked on Gran Canaria or the western islands will testify. My advice would be to research the difficulty levels of walking in a specific destination using resources not in the business of selling holidays.

There was more pavement and tarmac than we would have liked.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read this in relation to the Camino de Santiago, and I want to tear my hair out every time. It’s a pilgrimage, it’s not a scenic jaunt in the countryside, even if there are plenty of scenic aspects to the Camino. People walk the Camino for the experience of walking the Camino de Santiago. It is unique. What it isn’t is just another hike through lovely countryside with the same sort of ingredients people expect from walking holidays. It does have those as well, but that isn’t what defines it.

The directions promised great scenery, but the cloud rolled in every day. We didn’t see a decent view for the entire holiday.

The weather is the weather. Even locations known for being sunshine traps have cloudy days. It’s disappointing, but it’s just bad luck.

Restaurants did not take payment by card.

Much of Europe hasn’t gone as far down the road to being a cashless society as Britain and some other countries have. There are destinations where cash still rules, especially in rural locations. We’ve struggled to pay by card in decent-sized towns in Germany, in Greece, and in parts of Portugal where foreign cards simply weren’t accepted. The moral of this is always to carry or have access to cash.

English wasn’t widely spoken.

Anyone who wants to visit off the beaten track places should be prepared to find English isn’t widely spoken; that’s part of the adventure. We’ve created walking holidays in numerous countries where we couldn’t speak the language, and have successfully managed to communicate, one way or another, in every one of them. I’ve some magical memories of being shown around by someone whose words I couldn’t understand but whose enthusiasm conveyed the message they wanted to get across. The most authentic travel experiences involve leaving our comfort zones.

Described route timings were over optimistic.

I don’t know how other companies do it, but I know the brief we receive involves using Naismith’s Rule, a long-established formula which standardises calculated walking times. The fact is some people walk quicker than others, and some people walk slower. There is no ‘one ring to fit them all,’ so walking route estimations can only ever be guidelines. There must be some self-awareness applied here. We are aware we’re not slow, but neither do we behave as though we’re on a route march.

Restaurants were closed on a Monday.

Most good walking notes should advise people when restaurants are closed. But there are a couple of things regarding eating out which travellers should consider whether on a walking holiday or not. In most small places, many restaurants close on Mondays, and often Tuesdays as well. Sunday evening can also be dodgy as there are plenty of destinations where some restaurants close after popular Sunday lunch times. We always research which restaurants are open Sunday-Tuesday, and we also book them in advance where possible because we know that in places with foreign visitors, everyone will converge on the same restaurants.

Paths were scary, dangerous, we should have been warned.

Again, most good walking notes will advise of paths which some people might find vertiginous. But what is and isn’t considered vertiginous is difficult to pin down as it is such a personal thing. One person’s dangerous path is another’s walker’s highway. We hesitated at a sloping scree path in the Dachstein mountains, and while we were deciding if it was safe enough, a family with young children came skipping across, completely unconcerned.

We’re used to looking at feedback from the POV of people who write walking directions. Soon we’ll be customers ourselves, for the first time going on an itinerant walking holiday we haven’t put together and with a company we have no experience of. It’ll be interesting to evaluate how someone else does it.

We’d been keeping an eye on the watery blockade for over an hour, ever since we discovered the path to the island was tide dependent and we, like the man and his companion, had arrived when the tide was high. While we waited, we chatted, both of us learning the reason for the other’s visit. His was leisure and curiosity, ours was work, compiling information for a walking holiday and guide in South Devon. This last revelation was the prompt for his question.

Why does anyone need walking directions? It is a fair question. The obvious and simplistic answer is, so you don’t get lost. But there’s more to it than that.

‘There are plenty of other walkers following the route so it is extremely unlikely that you will take a wrong turn…’

This was a comment I saw recently about walking the Camino Portugués, the spoke of the Camino de Santiago which heads to Santiago de Compostela via Portugal. We helped create a walking holiday there in 2020. The Camino de Santiago is well signposted and thousands of pilgrims, religious and otherwise, walk its various routes every year. It would be difficult to get lost. So, why the need for walking directions on a route as popular as this?

A couple of days ago, we set out on a circuit from our village. We’ve walked all the paths directly around where we live in Somerset, but fancied extending one of the loops, so I carried an OS map with me. If you can read a map, you can find your way anywhere … within reason. Even the best have flaws. Having used maps in various European countries I consider OS to be the cream, but they aren’t perfect. Paths don’t always exist where they should. However, proficiency with a map can usually get orienteers out of most navigational conundrums.

As we climbed through a farm on the ‘new’ section of the route, the farmer warned us the path ahead was overgrown and almost impassable. He advised us to follow an alternative track through a field, assuring us it would meet the original path further up the hill. On the OS map, the farmer’s track didn’t exist, only the public right of way. The track was easy to follow and it would have been good advice except for one thing, it ended in a cul-de-sac of a field. Thanks to the map, I knew where we were and, more importantly, where the path should be. A leap of faith through a nettle-ridden, overgrown bush revealed a gate, and the elusive path. Without the map, I’d have had to retrace my steps. If I didn’t know how to map read, I’d have had to retrace my steps. It is unlikely any visitors to the area, exploring on foot without map or directions, would have found their way to our objective, the summit of a hill with expansive views across Somerset.

Anyone who finds pleasure in yomping across the countryside but who can’t read maps will have a more satisfying and enjoyable experience if they have directions to help them discover the best places.

What about those who can read maps, or are following popular walking routes like the Camino de Santiago?

There’s a training term called unconscious incompetence which is applied to people learning something new. It means they don’t know what they don’t know. Following the Camino de Santiago is relatively easy, but what many people aren’t aware of is there are stretches called complimentarios – deviations through the most scenic aspects of the way which aren’t on the main route. Simply follow the crowds and it’s highly unlikely these would be discovered.

Additionally, walking route directions are more than ‘turn right here, turn left there.’ They also include information about the route – where to eat, where to take little detours, the name of that pretty little chapel and why it’s so unusual, what that strange looking flower is, and so on. They’re guides like any guides. They add depth.

Back to the man waiting at the water crossing in Devon. Before we congregated at the channel, we’d met him previously. In fact, we’d told him what time the tide drifted away, and also when the island’s people-carrying sea tractor made its irregular crossing. We’d already found those things out after discovering the route to the island was impassable – online advice wasn’t fully accurate – so we could include them in the walking directions we were compiling, making it easier for people who used those directions to plan their day more effectively. Also included in those route directions was how to summon a ferryman to transport walkers across the River Avon, when food trucks at Bantham beach were open and what they sold, and how people could make the return trip to the ferryman without scaling a steep hill. All snippets of information our new friend at the water’s edge didn’t know.

People don’t need walking directions, but there’s a good chance they’ll miss out on a hell of a lot without them, that’s if they don’t get lost.

Piadina on the Pavement, Bologna

Eating piadina on the pavement in Bologna takes the number one spot because it was our first gastronomic venture in Emilia Romagna. It’s a simple concept – a filled flat bread which is like a cross between a wrap and a sandwich. As well as tasting great, the fillings are an introduction to some of the region’s cured meats (salami, mortadella, prosciutto) and cheeses (squacquerone, Parmigiano). Piadinas from La Piadeina on Via Calzolerie on the fringes of the Quadrilatero district cost around €6.

Mortadella and Tigelle, Bologna

Bologna’s Quadrilatero district is Valhalla for foodies, and just as lively as the mythical Norse Hall. Often, a good way to dive into a new food scene is to ask for whatever everyone else is eating. This approach was how we discovered francesinhas in Porto. Outside the Quadrilatero’s bustling bars, punters were picking at mountains of mortadella accompanied by bowls of creamy cheese (squacqerone) and baskets of warm, round bread cakes (tigelle). So, we copied them and re-discovered just how good mortadella is. A combination of the mortadella, squacquerone and tigelle comes in at under €20.

An aperitif in Parma

The first time we were presented with nibbles with our drinks was in Modena, but it’s the aperitifs in Parma that stick most in my memory. The popular place to go for an early evening drink is on Via Farini, but at the end of a long day pounding Parma’s lovely streets, we found ourselves outside Gran Caffé Cavour at the opposite end of Strada Cavour. Initially, I grumbled at the lack of snacks served with the craft beers we’d ordered. A few minutes later I was eating my words, and a whole lot more as a circular slate with nine substantial nibbles appeared.

Horse meat paninis, Parma

Raw horse meat is a thing in Parma. The perfect opportunity to try some arose when local food expert Sara shared a favourite panini joint of hers, Da Pepén. It’s a non-descript place we’d have otherwise walked past, especially given there was a queue of locals outside and the ordering process looked complicated. Basically, you make your way to the till, place your order, get a ticket, and wait until your pesto di cavallo crudo panini (€7) is freshly made. The done thing is to order a glass of malva (malvasia) to sip in the street outside while waiting. Incidentally, there are loads of other tasty paninis; it doesn’t have to be horse meat.

Eating in a deli, Parma

As well as being foodie treasure troves where locals do much of their food shopping, Parma’s delicatessens, called prosciuterrias and salumerias, are fascinating places to sample the best of Emilia Romagna’s produce. I don’t just mean asking for a taste before buying. Some, like Salumeria Garibaldi, have a handful of tables and chairs where you can sit in and enjoy a selection of goodies. We spent a significant chunk of an afternoon picking at platters of cured meats – prosciutto di Parma, salami feline, coppa di Parma – followed by buttery ravioli, all the while nosying at what the locals were buying. We also picked up a kilo of Parmigiano Reggiano (Parmesan cheese) to take home.

Gnocco Frito in Modena

Little fried golden pillows traditionally made from flour and lard regularly put in appearances on the dining tables of Emilia Romagna, irrespective of where you happen to be. In Parma they’re called torta fritta. Further east, they’re known as gnocco frito. I associate them most with Modena because that’s where I first saw them, on the entertaining and informative Netflix food and travel series Somebody Feed Phil, where host Phil Rosenthal dipped them in his morning coffee. You can just eat them on their own, they’re highly addictive, or cut them open and pop cheese and/or ham inside to make a mini sandwich.

Balsamic vinegar tasting in Albinelli Market

We usually have a bottle of balsamic vinegar in our kitchen cupboard. It is nothing like any of the balsamic vinegars we tried beneath the Art Nouveau arches of Modena’s Albinelli Market, an ideal venue for sampling a selection of Modena’s products, from sour cherry tarts to green lasagne. For a start, the balsamic vinegar we pick up at the supermarket is more than likely a condimento, a less intense version used in pasta dishes and on cheese. The real deal, Aceta Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena is thick, almost syrupy with a sweet and sour flavour, and can only be sold in 100ml bottles with a specific design. We tried various vinegars with a selection of tapas-like snacks (€7) and bought a condimento at €7, plus a bottle of the really good stuff for €45, a bargain when you learn some of the prices.

Cheese and wine in Reggio Emilia

Modena doesn’t attract as many tourists as Bologna or Parma. Its neighbour, Reggio Emilia attracts even fewer. Yet, in gastronomic and cultural terms, it can hold its own. It has its own version of balsamic vinegar, and Parmigiano Reggiano, which some locals claim is the best in the region as it is made using milk from vacche rosso, red cows. We got to try both at Antica Salumeria Giorgio Pancaldi, another one of those superb Italian gastro-shrines which are a fusion of deli and restaurant. Were they better? I couldn’t say, but they were just as good. A bonus was they were accompanied by a glass of spergola, a very drinkable sparkling wine that even the wine experts at my local Majestic had never heard of.

Coffee and tagliatelle with a difference, Reggio Emilia

One of the surprising things about gastronomy throughout Emilia Romagna was the number of times what we thought we knew about certain products/dishes was turned on its head. At atmospheric Pasticceria Boni we ate tagliatelle accompanied by a cup of coffee where neither were quite as they sound. The tagliatelle came in cake form, the tagliatelle bit being the cake’s crispy topping. The coffee wasn’t coffee at all but caffé d’orzo which looks like coffee but is made from barley. It’s drunk by Italians to keep their caffeine intake down and is far superior to the chicory-flavoured substitute that used to be popular in Britain.

Eating our own pasta, Bologna

The ultimate gastro experience in Emilia Romagna was eating pasta dishes we made ourselves. Under the guidance of a local cook, and with two other pasta-making novices from the US, we spent three hours learning how to make pasta dough from scratch and then turn that dough into tagliatelle, ravioli, and tortellini. The time whizzed past as everything we knew about making pastas and Bolognese sauce was dismissed and we learnt the proper way, the Italian way. It was entertaining, hugely informative, especially for people who are into cooking, delicious (thanks to the expert guidance), and very filling. Three pasta dishes are a lot to get through. Thankfully, there was plenty of wine to wash them down. It wasn’t cheap, around €120pp, but it was great value for money as it was one of the most enjoyable travel/food experiences we’ve had.

But then I could say that about many of our gastronomic experiences in Emilia Romagna; there is a very good reason why it’s known as Italy’s Food Valley.

“Everyone calls this Piazza Grande,” says Catia, our guide. “But its proper name is Piazza Camillo Prampolini, named after the Socialist reformer who was born here in Reggio Emilia.”

We follow her across the cobbles and past the Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta topped by its gold Madonna and Child, heading towards the ornate façade of the Town Hall where two Tricolour flags flutter in the breeze above the colonnaded entrance. Catia stops short of the steps and turns back to talk to us.

“Prampolini was the man who brought socialist principles back to Reggio from Rochdale.”
“Rochdale?!” We chorus. “Rochdale in the UK?” The incredulity in our voices is near-hysteria pitch.
“Yes, Rochdale. Prampolini greatly admired the work of the Rochdale Pioneers, the men who introduced the first Co-operative Society. It was their work that inspired him to advocate the establishment of cooperatives to sell affordable food to those who needed it, and he persuaded the local government to give free medicine to the poor. He brought Socialism from Rochdale to Reggio and then to the rest of Italy.”

I glance at Jack. No words are necessary.

The Rochdale Pioneers

In 1844, 28 working-class men raised funds and set up a small shop on Toad Lane in Rochdale where they sold good quality flour, oatmeal, sugar, and butter at a fair price to the exploited and poverty-stricken workers of the town. They called themselves The Rochdale Equitable Pioneers Society; they became known simply as The Rochdale Pioneers.

In the nineteenth century, poverty was rife in Northern industrial towns like Rochdale. Working in terrible conditions and poorly paid, the working class were further exploited by shop keepers who watered down the milk and added sawdust to the flour. For most workers the cost of sugar and butter were prohibitively high.

Wanting to free the working class from the shackles of charity handouts and give them the means to stand on their own feet economically, The Rochdale Pioneers reasoned that, by acting as a cooperative body, they could afford to buy good quality produce at wholesale prices and could pass that saving on to consumers. Not only would they be providing affordable food for the poor, but they would also be weakening the power of ruthless shop owners to exploit. Every customer became a member and shared in the profits of the shop through dividends.

Initially only open two nights a week, in less than three months the Toad Lane shop was opening five days a week. Today, there are over a billion members in 1,4 million Cooperative Societies worldwide, including in Emilia Romagna.

Reggio Emilia

Sitting at the crossroads of Italy’s main communications arteries of Via Emilia which runs east to west, and Via Roma which runs north to south, Reggio Emilia remains stubbornly below the tourist radar, despite its proximity to, and easy access from neighbours, Modena and Parma.

The lack of summer crowds means it’s easy to stroll Reggio’s streets and piazzas where architectural treasures sit cheek by jowl with pasticcerias selling the delicious erbazzione (chard and parmesan in buttery pastry) which is characteristic of the town, and salumerias brimming with the superb hams, pastas and cheeses of the region.

As well as its erbazzione, Reggio Emilia is home to what many (me included) consider to be the best Parmigiano Reggiano. Produced from the rich, creamy milk of Reggio’s Vache Rosse, or ‘red’ cows, the cheese retains its soft texture and creamy taste longer than that produced from the Freesian, Modenese and brown cows of the rest of the region. The perfect accompaniment to chunks of Parmagiano drizzled in Reggio’s own balsamic vinegar, is a glass of its sparkling spergola, a light fresh wine that gives prosecco a run for its money.

Monumental splendours

In amongst Reggio’s architectural gems is one which, up until recently, even the residents themselves didn’t know anything about – Chiostri di San Pietro. A 16th century monastery which, following the unification of Italy, was transformed into a military barracks with its arches filled in and its gardens and courtyards destroyed. There it remained effectively hidden and forgotten until 2006 when a project to convert it into public use revealed the architectural splendour that lay beneath the bricks.

Two superb cloisters are now restored to a semblance of their original selves; the small one has red and white Verona marble columns which form a porticoed circumference, and frescoed walls which are currently in restoration. The large one is vast, with gabled windows and niches decorated with 17th century statues of Saints from the Benedictine Order. It’s the sort of place that, if it was in Parma or Bologna, would be rammed but here in Reggio Emilia, we have the place to ourselves.

Birthplace of the Italian Tricolour

In the Town Hall is the Sala de Tricolore, the room in which on 7 January 1797, as Napoleon’s troops marched towards them, 110 men from Reggio Emilia, Modena, Ferrara and Bologna met to design a new flag for the impending independence. Adapting the French flag, they replaced the blue with the green of the Italian Legion and created the flag which is still in use today. The Museo del Tricolore outlines the political events that led up to birth of the Tricolour, along with flags of the various forms it has taken from its initial design to the current day.

Arts & parks

Like its neighbours of Parma, Modena and Bologna, Reggio Emilia is home to many priceless works of art, but unlike its neighbours, there are no crowds, queues or large groups led by guides making it difficult to truly appreciate their beauty.

On the façade of the tower of the Cathedral in Piazza Grande (above) is a statue of the Madonna and Child made of gold embossed onto copper plate, a gleaming masterpiece. In the Basilica de San Prospero in the piazza of the same name, is a magnificent Procaccini fresco of The Last Judgement, along with exquisite marquetry on the wooden choir stalls. It was in Reggio Emilia in the mid-1400s that the art of marquetry was born. But the cherry on the art cake is the Basilica della Beata Vergine della Ghiara, the site of a miracle which, during the 17th-century, was decorated by the elite of Emilian artists. The subsequent frescoes, all dedicated to women, represent some of the greatest paintings of the era.

When all that art and architecture has sunk in, head to the green calm of Popolo Park whose monumental fountain was built in 1885 to commemorate the completion of the city’s aqueduct. Here too you’ll find the Monumento dei Concordia – an ornate Roman burial vault discovered in 1929 and placed in a green space so it would be ‘never perishable’ and the surroundings would bring out the best of the monument regardless of season.

It’s the ideal place to sit and enjoy a slice of erbazzione while trying to figure out why Reggio Emilia is as yet, undiscovered.

Getting there:

Trains run frequently between Bologna Central Station and Parma, stopping at Modena and Reggio Emilia along the way. It’s just a 15-minute train journey from Modena to Reggio. If flying into Milan, trains run frequently between Milano Centrale and Parma.
The easiest way to find timetables, book and pay for trains is with the Trenitalia app. Prices vary depending on whether you use the Frecciarossa, high-speed trains, the Intercity, or the RV trains which are slowest and cheapest.

What set Parma apart from its neighbours, and established a reputation as a well to do, somewhat superior city was when Pope Paul III created the title of the Duchy of Parma as a buffer between the Church states to the east and Spanish-held Lombardy to the west, which he gave to his son, Pier Luigi Farnese. For the following two hundred years, the Farnese family invested in Parma’s development, making it a centre for art and culture. Its air of superiority was fuelled further when Napoleon’s wife, Marie Louise was assigned the Duchy in 1815, bringing French and Austrian influences; croissants and sachertorte (an Austrian cake) are popular in Parma as a result.

This legacy has resulted in an attractive and elegant city whose inhabitants are well-dressed, even by Italian standards, and have a love of culture and gastronomy; Parma has UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy status. For all its haughty reputation (an accusation levelled by Parma’s neighbours) it is a friendly, interesting, and tastebud-pleasing place to spend time in. To get a feel for the place, head to Strada Farini early evening and do what the locals do, order an aperitif, sit back, and soak up the atmosphere of a great Italian city.

The Main Attraction – The Duomo & the Baptistry

On Piazza del Duomo are two classic historical beauties. The Santa Maria Assunta Cathedral (free entry) dates from 1074 and deserves a visit whether anyone is interested in religious architecture or not. Highlight of the impressive structure is Correggio’s controversial painting, The Assumption of the Virgin, which decorates the dome of an apse near the altar. It might look murky from way below, but drop €2 into a coin slot beside the apse and the painting of the heavens is illuminated in all its glory. Next door is the octagonal Baptistry of San Giovanni Battista whose pink Verona marble façade positively blushes in the soft sunlight.

Cultural hot spot – Farnese Theatre

Located within the Palazzo della Pilotta (€12 entry – including the National Gallery and National Archaeological Museum), the Farnese Theatre is quite magical. It is more than a theatre, it is a work of art. Completely constructed from wood, plaster, and straw, it is a miracle it still exists. When its inaugural show Mercury & Mars took place in 1628, it’s claimed it was the first opera performed in Italy. It’s an incredible theatre, the sort of venue you’d expect all the world’s great plays to have been staged. Yet in the hundred years after its inauguration, there were only another eight performances. In 2012, after three centuries of inactivity, it opened its doors to the public once again.

Away from the crowds – Piazza San Bartolomeo

Duck down a narrow alley opposite Basilica di Santa Maria della Staccata to reach the charming little Piazza San Bartolomeo, home to a small market where locals have purchased fruit and vegetables since the 11th century. It feels like a quirky little piazza, probably because of the presence of the Osteria del Teatro, where dishes are served on vinyl LP placemats, and the Torrefazione Gallo Café, which looks like the sort of joint where writers and poets should hang out.

A taste of Parma – Prosciutterias & Salumerias

Everyone knows about Parmesan cheese (Parmigiano Reggiano) and Parma ham (prosciutto di Parma) but pop into a prosciutteria or salumeria and you’ll quickly discover there are a lot more Parma specialities to wrap your chops around. These delicatessens are where locals do their shopping, picking up a range of cured meats and the best quality Parmigiano as well as pastas, olive oils, plates of roasted vegetables, lasagnas, torta frita … all sorts. And even better, you can sit inside some and sample the goodies. Salumeria Garibaldi on Strada Garibaldi is one of the best.

Favourite eating spot/drinking hole – Strada Farini & Borgo 20 Marzo

Enjoying a post-work aperitif, usually served with snacks, is part of Parma life. Enoteca Fontana on Strada Farini has been a popular spot for imbibing wine since the 17th century, now it’s a watering hole for workers and students. As far as restaurants go, Borgo 20 Marzo has a few good ones, all with contrasting menus. Our pick would be La Forchetta, a modern, stylish restaurant whose chef fuses flavours of the Mediterranean with Emilia Romagna cuisine. It’s a wee bit pricey, but worth those extra Euros. One of their desserts, Violetta di Parma, is a violet-flavoured pudding that is divine.

The quirk – Raw horse meat panini

Back in the 1800s, a disease affecting bovines meant cow meat was unsafe for human consumption. The good people of Parma took to eating carne equine (horse meat) instead, and it became so popular they stuck with it. For some reason, it’s traditionally eaten raw. Pesto di cavallo tastes just like steak tartare, maybe a bit stronger flavour. One of the most unusual ways to eat it is in a panini from Da Pepèn, a hugely popular traditional sandwich shop up a side street. It might not sound appetising, but it is very tasty – I speak from first-hand experience. There are plenty of other options for anyone who doesn’t fancy raw horse in their butties.

Summary

We loved spending time in Parma. It’s an attractive and comfortable city in which to pass the time just wandering old streets, pausing at atmospheric bars to snack and people watch, and popping into artisan delicatessens to pick at pastas, prosciutto, and Parmigiano Reggiano drizzled with balsamic vinegar from nearby Modena. But remember to pack your coolest clothes to try to blend in with the chic locals.

Cabo Espichel

The south west face of the Setúbal Peninsula starts at a place we thought was rather special (I devoted a chapter to it in my book Camel Spit & Cork Trees), but which seemed to underwhelm anyone we took there, Cabo Espichel on the Costa Negra – the Black Coast – so called due to the dangers it posed passing ships. It’s not a pretty spot as such, but it is dramatic. What makes it special is the Sántuario de Nossa Senhora do Cabo Espichel, a religious folly that looks like it would make a great location for a remake of The Magnificent Seven. This remote spot once bustled with pilgrims to the extent it was virtually a small town, even boasting an opera house. How can anyone not be impressed by that? Add to this the dinosaur footprints in the surrounding cliffs, relatively easy to spot once you get your eye in, and it’s a fascinating location. There’s a café at the sanctuary, and food trucks often roll up at weekends, so a good spot to hang out for a couple of hours.

Lagoa de Albufeira

Head north and that golden strip of sand soon begins. Heading north isn’t quite as straightforward as it sounds. The roads in this part are of the maze variety, and finding your way to specific spots is time consuming and requires excellent navigational skills, even if utilising Sat Nav. But it’s worth the effort. Fabulous beaches are ten a centimo in Portugal, but the Lagoa de Albufeira stands out from the crowd as being a bit different. A huge lagoon sits just behind the golden sands, stretching inland for just under 4km. Its eastern end is a sanctuary for birds. In among the marsh willow are grebes, teal, ducks, cormorants, warblers, and kingfishers, whose Portuguese name guarda-rios describes these electrifying birds perfectly. On the lagoon are ramshackle islands consisting of floating huts; fishing is still a vital part of life here, and rows of fishermen can often be seen casting their lines from the shore.

The area of the lagoon closest to the Atlantic draws the greatest concentration of sunseekers. On a sunny January day, we had the beach virtually to ourselves, wandering into O Lagoeiro restaurant overlooking the lagoon for hearty portions of choco frito, chips, and tomato rice without a problem. But in summer months it is a different story.

Costa da Caparica

I’m not a big fan of Costa da Caparica, the northern stretch of the peninsula’s coast, and find it on the garish side, especially after the relative rural tranquillity of the south of the peninsula. For a start, it’s not uncommon to see prostitutes in the shade of stone pines by the roadside, a bizarre sight in a rural setting. Then, when it becomes more built up the further north you travel, the roads are lined with huge shacks selling everything you could think of connected with family beach holidays: from windbreaks and towels to balls, umbrellas, and enormous airbeds. Want a floating flamingo the size of a small boat? Costa da Caparica is the place to get it. Continuing north, the more it resembles any bog-standard resort area, albeit one for Portuguese rather than foreign visitors. The densely populated northern area of the Setúbal Peninsula is not particularly attractive, generally performing the role of an affordable place to live for people working in Lisbon. That’s not to say there aren’t plenty of surprising nuggets to be found, but to do so often requires negotiating confusing urban jungles.

There are mini oasis amid uninspiring architecture. After the tower blocks of Costa da Caparica, Trafaria, on the north west tip opposite Lisbon, has the laidback feel of a South American beachside pueblo.

The beaches on the Costa da Caparica are, admittedly, stunners, but in summer months virtually inaccessible … unless you’re happy to throw yourself into the madness. We did during August, once, finding ourselves crawling for miles and miles in a snake of traffic as everyone searched for the rare beast that was an empty parking spot within walking distance of the golden sands. It was oppressively hot, and the jammed dusty roads claustrophobic; we couldn’t wait to escape to the southern end of the coast which wasn’t anywhere like as manic.

It’s better to visit the area in spring and autumn, outside of holiday season, when it’s still hot enough for quality beach time, but without the crowds.

Some cities can be standoffish at first, even slightly moody until you get into their groove. Others are like meeting an old friend you haven’t seen for a long time. Bologna falls into the latter. Despite the fact I have body, style, and looks envy the second I step into Via dell’ Independenza, pedestrianised for the weekend, I feel instantly relaxed, like I’m joining a party where everyone is invited. And that’s what Bologna on a Saturday afternoon feels like, a party. An electric buzz from the milling throng puts beams on our faces. Welcome to the pleasure drone.

There is an air of happy hedonism about the city as we set off toward Piazza Maggiore, the feeling aided and abetted by mermaid statues at the base of Fontana del Nettuno who direct jets of sparkling water from their breasts. It’s just after 2pm and we have a food tour arranged at 3.30pm. But we haven’t eaten since early morning, so some sustenance is essential. Where do you start in a city where food is like a religion?

The Quadrilatero, foodie heaven

In one way, the answer is easy in Bologna. Just aim for the Quadrilatero, a network of narrow streets and slim alleys adjacent to Piazza Maggiore where every establishment sells food to D-I-E for. When there is so much choice of delectable dishes, choosing just one is an impossible task. If I was in a musical, I’d start belting out ‘I want it all, and I want it now’ at this point. We dither our way past cool pavement cafes inhabited by beautiful people picking at mortadella mountains; salumerias decorated with hanging hams and towers consisting of chunky wedges of Parmigiano Reggiano; delicatessens displaying artistically painted boxes brimming with tortellini; a pescheria (fishmonger) outside which two men sit on stools tucking into freshly fried fish while a young couple wrap their mouths around beefy burgers bought directly from the butcher next door. It is overwhelming, in a mouth-watering way. I have never been in a place where there is such an obsession with food, and yet Bologna’s residents remain predominantly slim. Tellingly, I haven’t spotted any international junk food chains. There might be fast food outlets, but they serve top quality fare.

With time dwindling away, stomachs grumbling, and a food tour of the streets we are indecisively meandering through looming ever closer, we turn into Via Calzolerie to see the solution right in front of us, Piadineria la Piadeina. A filled Italian flatbread is prefect for plugging a hole for an hour. Some traditional street food is also a fitting immersion into Bologna’s food scene, the reason for our visit. I order a Nettuno Classiche consisting of mortadella and pecorino dei colli Bolognesi while Andy opts for a mozzarella and tomato cassoni, which is like the toastie version of a piadina. Like many of la Piadeina’s other patrons, we take our seats on the pavement outside and sate our hunger while simultaneously indulging in some serious head-swivelling, admiring fashions that range from the outrageous to the super stylish. It’s a veritable pavement fashion show and the piadina is the best I’ve eaten, not that I’ve eaten a lot. It hits the spot with a satisfying ‘ah.’ Andy gives me a taste of hers, and it is equally delicious, all warm gooey tomatoey cheese wrapped in crisp flatbread. Both are more substantial than we expected, so maybe not the smartest move when we’re about to embark on a food-tasting tour. We’ll just have to smile and swallow. Sacrifices must be made in the line of duty.

At 3.30pm, we meet our guide beside the Fontana del Nettuno. He takes us back into the streets we’ve just emerged from, adding detail, anecdotes, and context to the Quadrilatero’s colourful establishments and characters. We turn a corner, and he stops in front of a place he tells us sells some of the best street food in Bologna. It is Piadineria la Piadeina.

We say nothing, praying the owner doesn’t remember us. At least it confirms we have good judgement when it comes to sniffing out the best places to eat.