Although a coastal town in north west Crete, there is a distinctly Italian flair to some of the pastel-coloured townhouses which back its picturesque harbour. This is thanks to the influence of the Venetians who gave the seafront its distinctive character when they ruled Chania between 1204 and 1645, one of many nationalities who stamped their influenced on the town over the centuries. At various times, Chania has been under the domain of Romans, Byzantines, Turks, Egyptians, Arabs and, more recently during the Second World War, the Germans.
This potpourri of different nationalities has resulted in a community which is cosmopolitan in its attitude to visitors. This is a town which is no stranger to strangers.

Behind the harbour lies a labyrinth of narrow streets connecting the Jewish quarter with the Turkish quarter. Alleys here are filled with tavernas, markets, stalls selling leather goods, and various artisanal outlets. It’s a town where you feel as if you’re in the east in one backstreet, then back in the west in the next.

Six of the Best of Chania

The main attraction – the harbour

Apart from being a wonderful place to promenade, with plenty of bars, cafes, and restaurants, the harbour’s crowning glory is the Egyptian Lighthouse standing guard at its entrance. Originally built by the Venetians in the 16th century, a chain once connected the lighthouse with the Firka Fortress on the other side of the harbour. This could be raised when the town was under attack, preventing access. Runner-up stand-out sight on the harbour is the pink dome of Giali Tzamisi – the mosque by the sea, where horse and carriage rides through the old town begin.

The not-so-main attraction – atmospheric backstreets

The harbour may represent Chania’s attractive façade, but the backstreets are where you’ll find most evidence of Chania’s multicultural past. South east from the harbour is the Splanzia district, the Turkish quarter which, with its mix of tavernas and cafes, churches and minarets, is considered one of the prettiest areas of the town. Head west, passing the Municipal Market and the leather stalls of Stivanadika (Leather Street – where there are still some good buys to be had; I picked up a great wallet here) to Topanas, the Jewish quarter with its museums and galleries, picturesque townhouses, synagogue, churches, and boutique shops.

The serene scene – the sea wall

Chania’s harbour doesn’t look particularly big, yet a harbourside stroll from the Firkas Fortress to the Egyptian Lighthouse via the former port comes in not far short of two kilometres. It’s a distance which deters many. When you take a pew beneath the old sea wall, you shouldn’t be sharing the panorama with hordes of people. And what a view. This is where you appreciate the ‘between the White Mountains and the blue of the Cretan Sea’ quote. We sat there in the sunshine contemplating the dramatic mountain backdrop, pondering whether their white peaks was what earned them their name or whether they were just snowclad.

Flavours of Chania

The Greeks do harbourside dining exceedingly well. There’s something about the whole package that is irresistible. Chania has plenty of seafront restaurants in which to enjoy Greek mezes involving Cretan specialities such as fennel pancakes (marathopita) and courgette fritters (kolokithokeftedes). But some of the best restaurants are found in those bewildering backstreets. Tamam in the Jewish quarter was once Turkish steam baths. It’s now a hugely popular restaurant with locals thanks to a menu showcasing the best of traditional Cretan cuisine. Our recommendation is apakia, pork that’s marinated in wine vinegar before being smoked and flavoured with spices and wild herbs. It is sensational.

A toast to Chania

Generally speaking, tourists prefer the western side of the harbour, locals the eastern curve. Which is where you’ll find Barbarossa, a lovely Venetian townhouse with super views. It’s hugely popular at sunset and weekends when the party goes on all night (take note if staying on seafront accommodation). If its bustling scene doesn’t suit, Boheme’s courtyard, a couple of streets back from the seafront, is a quirkier alternative. Past lives include being part of a monastery and a stint as a soft drinks factory. The courtyard has a 400-year-old yew tree, while decorative elements include a roof made from slats from the WWII German railway.

The quirk

Admittedly they border on the cheesy and are most definitely aimed at a tourist market, but there’s still something charming about the floating shops in the Kasteli area, where the Venetian shipyards were once located. Opposite the distinctive seven A-frame roofs of the Neoria buildings, designed for ship repairs, are typically Greek blue fishing boats converted into floating stalls selling sponges, conch, and wind chimes made from shells.

Summary

Chania is one of those destinations which doesn’t really have any WOW standout aspects. There’s nothing particularly outstanding to draw hordes of day-trippers. It’s a place that just looks and feels nice to wander around. And that might be one of the factors that make it such a pleasant town to stay in, especially for people who enjoy an interesting and aesthetically pleasing mix of history and architecture, atmospheric alleys, good restaurants, and a nice equilibrium between locals and tourists.

Overtourism isn’t new, it’s just taken some destinations time to stop seeing the dollar/euro signs ringing up on tills and start seeing the negative effects of what has often been partly their own doing – e.g. not regulating cruise ship numbers, or campaigns which have attracted the wrong sort of tourists. The first time I remember being shocked by the impact of the ‘wrong sort of tourist’ was in Barcelona during a blog trip to Catalonia in 2012.

Behaving badly in Barcelona
The transformation from the previous time I’d visited Barcelona was extreme. Las Ramblas late night was a stag and hen disaster zone. Waiting in line at an ATM I realised the swaying guy in front wasn’t withdrawing money, he was pissing against the wall. The group of bloggers I was with were mostly Spanish, American, and Canadian. The pissed up folk on Las Ramblas were mainly British. It was an embarrassment.
But, and this is a key point, the only place we’d experienced overtourism of this ilk was on Las Ramblas. We were taken to many other city centre locations where the visitor/local balance wasn’t weighted quite so much in the favour of drunken extranjeros.

Something we spotted shortly after moving to Tenerife was the herd habits of many tourists. A significant amount of people follow the same routes when meandering through towns and cities. In Puerto de la Cruz, the seafront promenade between the old town and the new could be jam-packed whilst one street back was crowd-free. Lots of great little tascas and interesting sights remained unseen by the majority of visitors because they were literally off the beaten trail. It was a piece of information which completely changed how we visited popular tourist destinations.

Drowning in Dubrovnik
I regularly read how Game of Thrones has been responsible for overtourism in the old town of Dubrovnik. I’m sure it has brought more visitors, but Dubrovnik had a serious overtourism problem long before GOT raised its tourism profile even higher. We had an exclusive sneak preview of a GOT tour just after the first series to feature Dubrovnik as Kings Landing was screened. GOT hadn’t become so huge at that point, we hadn’t even watched it and bluffed our way around as our tour guide, who’d been an extra in the series, pointed out key locations from the show.
The entrance to the old town, Pile Gate, was a manic war zone of tourists shipped in from cruise ships. It was a nightmare; moving through being almost impossible. A single organism which suffocated the beautiful, limestone-paved Stradun. However, dink up a narrow side alley and it felt like escaping a straight-jacket.

Huge tour groups are the scourge of many a city; touristic cream cheese disrupting the smooth flow through main arteries. However, they don’t clog up minor ones in the same way, which makes them easy to avoid. Once we know tour group routes we’re on the way to avoiding the worst impacts of overtourism.

A tour group antidote in Venice
Cities suffer from overtourism because they’re so popular. And they’re popular because they’re fabulous places to visit. Venice is a classic example. There is no alternative to Venice. It is stunningly unique and the most romantic city we’ve visited. We only got round to doing so in June last year as the ‘too busy’ tag had put us off for years. But it wasn’t that much different from every popular city we’ve visited. The main attractions were mobbed, and the routes between cruise ship and attractions were clogged. However, there is nowhere which isn’t beautiful in Venice and, again, just by veering off the main drag we strolled many delightful and quiet streets lining gorgeous canals. After dark, once the day-trippers had departed, the city wasn’t busy at all. We stayed in Venice twice, the first time was just off Piazza San Marco. The second was in Dorsoduro where the streets were equally charming… and totally devoid of tour groups.

Frantic Florence
It was similar with Florence. Where Ponte Vecchio and Piazza della Signoria were claustrophobic with people, Oltrarno on the south side of the river delivered the Merchant Ivory vision of Florence we’d hoped for.

Lively Lisbon
Lisbon suffers from overtourism of a different kind. I don’t tend to notice big tour groups in Lisbon as much as in the likes of Venice or Dubrovnik, they’re absorbed more by the city. But Lisbon’s popularity has exploded over the last few years among independent travellers. Airbnb and similar have capitalised on demand for a more ‘local’ experience, subsequently the personalities of some neighbourhoods have changed. There are pros and cons. Some areas which were seriously dilapidated have been invigorated. Others, which oozed local charm by the bucket-load, have had some of their character erased. Like every other popular city, visitors head to the same spots and tread the same routes. We’d never eat along Rua Augusta as it’s a tourist trap, yet its restaurants are packed daily even though there are far better places in the surrounding side streets. There are neighbourhoods where few tourists wander, between Chiado and Belém for example. As it’s another of those European cities where everywhere you meander is interesting, there are still plenty of crowd-free places to explore.

There’s no disputing these, and other cities like them, have a battle on their hands to balance the needs of the local population with that of a transient one. They are cities of joy, which is why so many want to enjoy them. Straying from the well trodden path helps reduce pressure on over-filled pavements, and spreads the love (i.e. money) as well as visitors around more.

That’s what I tell myself anyway, to ease a conscience which is guilty at wanting to visit already oversubscribed destinations.

Slovenia’s capital is also a small city. The jewel at its centre, the Old Town, bijou enough to be easily explored in a day… if all you did was walk without stopping. But therein lies the rub, it’s impossible not to hit the pause button at regular intervals. One day isn’t nearly enough to sate the appetite. There is much to do, see, eat, and drink. It is a delightfully distracting place, still not exasperated and overrun by other people like me – tourists. The local personality dominates, so there’s no real need to go ‘off the beaten track’ in a city which feels like it’s bubbling away happily well below the overtourism radar. There’s really no need to go on a tour of Communist architecture (basically ugly, 1970/80s inner city housing estate type buildings) as I saw suggested by one article. That’s just travel perversity when there’s amenably attractive historic streets in which to spend precious time.

Ljubljanica – the river trip
The Ljubljanica River runs through the heart of the Old Town, subsequently the focus is often on the water which dissects it, and also the bridges, each with a distinctive personality, which connect the two halves. We hop on a tourist barge at Butchers’ Bridge (€10pp for an hour’s cruise). There are only a handful of other passengers, all of whom sit in the hot sunshine on the small deck. After pounding pavements all day long, we take refuge in the shade of the interior. With huge glass-less windows, the views are much the same anyway.

The boat chugs along leisurely, giving a different perspective of the city. It’s not a textbook picturesque historic centre but it’s pretty enough. Neat, angular town houses, softened by the rows of weeping willows which front them, are pleasing to the eye. As we head downriver, passing riverside cafes, bars, and restaurants, we notch up bridges we’ve already walked over numerous times. Butchers’ Bridge is so named because it sits beside the old market. Weighing it down are padlocks and odd little sculptures which depict chunks of things you might find on a butcher’s slab. Just upriver is Dragon Bridge; dragons are a thing in Ljubljana thanks to Jason of Argonauts fame. He slayed one who lived in a nearby lake… so the story goes. The Triple Bridge is as it sounds, three separate spokes lined with stone balustrades, whilst the rather elegant Cobbler’s Bridge was once populated by shoemakers’ booths. The most surprising bridge lies on the outskirts of town, just beyond the long stepped bank on which locals lounge, reading books picked from mini wooden cabinets – a bookswap presumably. It’s not so much the bridge which surprises but what’s happening directly underneath where a dive of a bar is set into the bridge’s stanchions. In front of the bar a mob of youths in trackie bottoms and baggy t-shirts are… well… line dancing. Dancing in the street is another Ljubljana thing.

Eat, drink and be merry
There are destinations where we’ve walked and walked, trying to find an inviting cafe for a light snack or a drink in sigh-inducing surroundings. In Ljubljana there’s one every few steps; the big test here is in choosing which to frequent.

Snack central is to be found at the Odprta Kuhna (open kitchen) food market which takes place at Pogacarjev trg each Friday from mid March till the end of October. The square is full of little wooden stalls with jaunty green and white striped canopies. Smoky plumes rise from many, pausing in the air before wispy fingers laden with intoxicating aromas are despatched to ensnare passing (twitching) nostrils. The choice is overwhelming – from traditional Slovenian nosh to contemporary and world cuisine. Stalls tempt with falafel, suckling pig, Indian wraps, Belgian waffles… horse meat burgers. The square bustles and buzzes with enthusiastic foodies who, like us, are trying to decide which stall appeals most. We make three circuits, struggling to make a decision and wanting it all, before finally opting for a tasty, but not very adventurous, herby sausage in a roll (me) and a pot of spicy noodles which leaves Andy gasping for air while a sweat tsunami pours from her forehead into her eyes.
Next to Pogacarjev trg is Vodnikov trg where there’s a more conventional daily market which, on a hot September day, sells huge cups of refreshing, and soothing if you’ve eaten spicy noodles, raspberries, strawberries, blackberries, and grapes.

The whole of the Old Town can feel like a delicious shrine to food and drink; too much to try in a couple of days, a week, a month, a year. It’s our sort of place. On the opposite side of the river from the market, bars and restaurants blend imperceptibly into one another, welcoming places offering craft beers, Slovenian wine, and homemade lemonades. The music is jazzy/bluesy/eighties-y and signs outside cool bars like Fany and Mary are witty – “unattended children will be given a free tequila and a puppy” (the no nonsense Slovenian sense of humour is also right up our street).

Green Ljubljana
The old quarter is mostly pedestrianised. Ljubljana is a bike-friendly city, but here it’s old-school urban bicycling, where cyclists are dressed no differently from the pedestrians they weave through, none of that Lycra and aliens’ head hats business. Both cyclists and pedestrians occupy the same spaces harmoniously, something which isn’t always the case. For some reason mainland Europe seems to manage this mixed marriage better than Britain. Maybe that’s partly to do with the pace of daily life. A slower pace from both sides means less potential for conflict.

We buy one bottle of water all the time we’re in Slovenia, refilling with sweet spring water from fountains in both towns and in rural areas. In Ljubljana, some of these fountains illustrate the sense of humour which seems to be part of the national character. In one instance we fill our bottle with water pouring from the mouth of a bronze kangaroo.

The green lung of the city is Tivoli Park, which almost stretches to the fringes of the historic quarter. Designed in 1813 it covers an area of five square kilometres and is made up of chestnut tree-lined avenues, ornamental gardens, lakes with water lilies, fountains, and funny little sculptures, including a hobo character striding grumpily across the grass, and a man on a bench staring at a Lilliputian version of himself sitting on the armrest.

Ljubljana after dark
On two nights we’re drawn to the restaurants along Stari trg – it’s a magnet of a restaurant quarter even though there are plenty of alternative and attractive dining areas, including alongside the river. And over two nights we’re turned away from our first choices; at the weekend it’s rammed with diners. But the restaurant scene is so varied in Ljubljana it doesn’t matter, there are so many good places to eat.

On our first night we dine at Marley and Me. The name is initially off-putting, sounding like a restaurant serving mediocre international fare in a purpose-built resort, but its menu convinces us to give it a try. Homemade chicken pate with truffle oil and onion marmalade followed by sea bass on asparagus cream, and gnocchi with sliced roast beef in truffle sauce confirms we made the right decision. The following night we get even luckier, with one table coming free at just the right time in swish but not overly expensive Valvas’or. Asparagus tempura gets the juices gushing, whilst risotto with sea bass, fennel and saffron sauce and a fish fillet with parsnip puree keep the buds in an ecstatic mood.

After dark, Ljubljana’s streets are as likely to bring on a bout of wide-eyed wonder as they are during the day, especially during the summer season when there’s a programme of free street entertainment. We pause first in a wide square where a jazz band plays to a sizeable audience, and then again in a postage stamp-sized square where a trio of girls sing haunting, traditional melodies to a more intimate crowd. The sound of music coming from elsewhere draws us up narrow alleys and along cobbled streets to seek out the sources. It’s an anarchic, unplanned route which invariably leads to something which puts smiles on our faces; the best being when we encounter people dancing the tango in colonnades bathed with red light. The ‘Roxanne’ colour scheme adds an air of voyeurism to watching dancers skilfully perform highly sensual tango moves. It’s not a performance by professional dancers, it’s simply more people dancing in the street. As we watch people making love with their clothes on there’s a sense of being extras in an Eastern European art house movie.

And therein lies the great charm of Ljubljana. It’s a good looking, historic city but there are prettier cities with grander architecture and more crowd-pulling monuments. However, Ljubljana exudes the most euphoric vibe of any city we’ve visited. It’s a joyful place to spend time in, especially if you’re into good food, fine wine and great music. The feelgood factor is way off the chart.

If Ljubljana was a movie it would be one directed by Cameron Crowe.

Beja in deepest Alentejo is proving somewhat of a surprise, in a nice way. Our landlady, Dona Catarina, had more or less dismissed it as being just ‘okay’ when we mentioned we were staying in the town for a couple of nights. It’s more interesting and prettier than we expected. But we’ve come to realise the Portuguese have a glut of jaw-dropping, picturesque towns and villages, so anywhere less than picture-postcard perfect is only okay to them. It’s exactly the same with beaches.

It initially feels like a typical, traditional Alentejo town. Quickly we realise for a smallish town there’s a livelier buzz than is usual in this region. The iron rooster reveals there is also an arty side. Graffiti on peeling white-plaster walls informs us Beja is a “cidade anti fascista” (something which earns it instant brownie points) whilst a poster on an ornate old lamp-post tells us an indie rock band will be playing in the Praça da Rebública at 6pm. We make our way through the ubiquitous cobbled streets to a narrow, neat square (rectangle) lined by trees and smart, two and three-story town houses. There are a handful of bars around the praça. At one of them, A Pracinha, a rock band is tuning up beside tables and chairs shaded by Sagres and Superbock umbrellas – it’s an intimate little scene that oozes a bohemian personality. A Pracinha is exactly the sort of joint where you’d expect to find a healthy cultural scene – part deli, part bar it’s instantly welcoming, a place we’d spend a lot of time hanging out if we lived in Beja.

It’s a sizzler of a day, weather which demands something cool and refreshing. Andy asks the waitress for a Porto tónico, a too-easy-to-drink mix of white port, tonic water, ice, lemon and maybe a sprig of mint. The name betrays it as a northern Portugal beverage; although, we were first introduced to it in Alentejo so…
The waitress hasn’t heard of it but, following Andy’s instructions, happily makes a decent effort of putting a couple together whilst we chill out in the hot shade listening to promising jazzy, funky music as the indie band tunes up. The guitar player shouts something to the band’s sax player, and a refined English accent slices through the thick Portuguese chatter rising from the other tables which separate us. Stumbling across an Indie rock band in a square in a small Alentejano town is surprising enough, discovering said band has been imported from Britain makes it feel totally surreal. Beja might only be an hour and a half from the resorts of the Algarve but this part of Alentejo feels like a starship voyage away.

Just as the band looks ready to begin their set in earnest a musical gauntlet is thrown from the northern end of the square as a harmonious choir drowns out the building guitar riffs and sexy sax notes. The Brit musicians hit the brakes as three men wearing red cloaks and carrying metal staffs appear around the corner of the praça. The trio are followed by what looks like most of the rest of the town, the ones who aren’t occupying the tables around us that is. The penny drops that today is Corpus Christi. The procession slow-motion marches its way along the praça, pausing regularly to to allow a stretched accordion of ditherers at the rear to catch up. Its progress is interminably slow. The singing might be hauntingly beautiful but we want indie rock ‘n’ roll and the clock is ticking faster than the footsteps of those in the procession. With sadistic timing the stragglers leave the square just as we have to head back to the Pousada de São Francisco to meet up with friends who’d decided to give the indie rock concert a miss. Ironically, they would have loved the procession.

Today’s the day we haven’t seen a Brit band perform in a small square in rural Alentejo. What we have seen has given us an enjoyable taster of a town we’d never have ventured near had it not been a convenient halfway house in which to meet friends staying in the Algarve.

Beja is better than just okay.

Piazza della Signoria should have knocked me off my feet – it’s one of the grandest looking piazzas we’ve strolled. Proud, iconic statues are as common in the piazza as pigeons are in lesser locations. Nearly all are naked (given the sky-high temperatures I’m jealous), some are gruesomely macabre. It’s a glorious piazza, it’s a fascinating piazza… and it’s ruined by selfie-takers and tour group leaders waving umbrellas high in the air to attract their particular flock, making unobstructed views of the exquisite artistry on show even more difficult.

It’s hot, 38C hot, late in the afternoon, we’ve not eaten lunch yet, and I’m narky.

We head for side streets, hoping for an atmospheric cafe/bar to nibble at a snack with a refreshing beer. It takes some time to find one which appeals – Caffe La Posta on a corner on Via Pellicceria looks promising. We order a large and a medium bier and two filled rolls. Andy orders hummus, which has lots of aubergine and no hummus. I order… I order what exactly? It’s so unremarkable, I instantly forget what I’m eating. The bread is shred-yer-gums hard and the beer pump isn’t working, so we’re given two small bottles but charged for the original order. When questioned, they knock 1€ off the bill, and add on a table charge. It’s poor, poor value and my feelings toward Florence descend into blackness. Maybe I’m in Dante’s Inferno.

My dark mood is infecting Andy’s so we decide to take refuge in our hotel room on the other side of the River Arno, to maybe ‘benefit from resting a little’ before tackling the city again. First we have to wade through a marauding horde heading in our direction across Ponte Vecchio. As well as foot soldiers there’s cavalry, charging through the crowd on two-wheeled steeds with little regard for any object which stands in their way. I learn quickly that cyclists who stop for anything in Florence, including red traffic lights, are a rarity.

“I wish we’d stayed in Siena,” I grumble as I skip out of the way of another demon cyclist.

Sigh, Oltrarno
But then the dense cloud of people parts and we step from the bridge into the Oltrarno quarter. It’s like finally being able to loosen a tie which is too tight. The instant we turn right along Borgo S. Jacopo, Florence changes. The narrow street has only a handful of other people wandering its charming length. Here the bars and trattorias are cosy, inviting, bohemian. As we “ooh, that place looks good,” our way along the street, the storm clouds in my head dissipate.

It takes no time to realise Oltrarno offers a delicious sanctuary from the divine madness just across the River Arno. I thank whichever travel god guided our hands to hitting the book now button for a hotel on this side of the olive waters.

Secreted away behind a large, arched wooden door which wouldn’t look out of place as a portal to a decent-sized church, Hotel Splendid is aptly named. It is a bijou, boutique resting place consisting of fourteen inspirationally designed rooms with such tasteful and artistic decor it makes you sick with jealousy. It’s the sort of place where you might fool yourself into believing you could pen a literary masterpiece (there is an old typewriter in the lounge just in case anyone feels like trying). There’s an ambience which is both old school and contemporary casual, and we love it immediately. It is perfect for a neighbourhood renowned for artists and craftspeople.

From the comfort of leather studded chairs whose skins are as lined as the face of a wise old fisherman, we plan our Florence campaign. We shall soak up the opulent, historic sights north of the Arno and return to dine and drink within Oltrarno’s embrace.

Saturday
Borgo S. Frediano, a backstreet running parallel to the Arno, proves a rich hunting ground for bars and restaurants which exude individual personalities. Bar Le Nuvole is hole-in-the-wall sized with a tiny decked terrace. What little counter space is crammed with bite-sized snacks, Italian tapas. We drink an IPA aperitif, a femme domme-esque Dama Bianca, whose golden nectar goes straight to our heads. It’s a chilled-out spot; relaxed and unhurried – the perfect antidote to our afternoon.

A short distance away is Restaurant Neromo, another style shrine which looks great, and feels both historic and modern at the same time. We’re welcomed with a “do you want a Prosecco? Yes, of course you do. In Italy we don’t eat before the sun goes down, we drink.”
It’s complimentary, everyone gets one, and, on top of the white lady, we’re woozy before the antipasti arrive. A shared coccoli fritti (fried bread dumplings)with prosciutto & stracchino (creamy cheese with the consistency of mayonnaise) and octopus with mash soaks up some of the alcohol (now added to courtesy of a bottle of Chianti) and leaves us full, but with just enough space to enjoy a creamy, asparagus-coloured risotto and penne in a tomato, cream, pancetta and vodka sauce. The food is excellent and the atmosphere buzzing – dining as it should be, fun and fulfilling.

The Saturday scene in this part of Oltrarno is so appealing we pop across the road for a nightcap on the small terrace of La Cité – a beguiling blend of cafe, live music venue, bar, and library.

Sunday
We spend Sunday south of the river. There are plenty of sights to notch up in Oltrarno, starting with the Boboli Gardens behind the Pitti Palace. Created by the Medicis it’s claimed the gardens were the forerunner of all classic Italian gardens. Even at 10am there’s a long queue of people waiting for tickets outside Pitti Palace, so we give it a miss and head away from the river seeking somewhere shaded for a cappuccino. We don’t find anywhere suitable, but what we do find is another entrance to the gardens; one with no queues. We pay the €10pp entrance and breeze in. The gardens are immense, so big the map we’re given suggests three trails with gradients which range from mostly level to 12%. At their highest point they offer sweeping views over Florence’s distinctive skyline on one side and the Tuscan countryside on the other. The morning is eaten up wandering leafy paths and cypress-lined avenues, partly trying to find toilets which aren’t disgusting. The Boboli Gardens are impressive, but the facilities are primitive.

Lunch is at Palazzo Tempi beside the river. There’s no need to order any snacks as a cappuccino comes with a creamy profiterole and a beer comes with a generous tray of two types of crisps and some fried bread cubes.

Like mad dogs and Englishmen we choose to climb to Piazzale Michelangelo at the hottest time of the day. Most people drive or take a coach to the sprawling viewpoint above the city, but we do what we always do, walk. And it’s delightful. The path from the river climbs past the Torre di San Niccolò, skirting grottos and fountains. until we emerge at the Piazzale with its mock David statue and encampment of tourist stalls and fast food trucks. It’s not actually very busy and the panoramic, classic Florentine vista reward is more than worth every sweaty step.

During the ascent we spotted a curio, a river beach opposite the Torre di San Niccolò. There are only a handful of sunbathers on the golden sands and even fewer at the River Urban Beach Bar above them even though it’s a shady, riverside spot with views all the way back to Ponte Vecchio. It’s perfect for a couple of birra alla spina (draught beers) after our ascent and descent.

Sunday night in Oltrarno feels like an old fashioned Sunday night, many bars and restaurants are closed. Il Santino on Via Santo Spirito, not far from our splendid Splendid, isn’t one of them. We fancied having a snifter at this tiny deli/bar since we spotted two ‘models’ (i.e. average Italians) sitting outside it sipping white wine lit up by the early evening sunlight (both wine and women). The owner talks us into two glasses of an unusual rosé made solely from Sangiovese grapes. It’s like a silky cross between a rosé and a red. We sit outside and he brings us a smoked salmon tapa to nibble on. Sure enough the sun lights up the glasses, but it’s still far too hot. We scuttle inside where coolness bounces off the exposed brick walls and beamed wooden ceiling.

With a reduced choice of restaurants it’s the sort of night to indulge in pizza. Berberè San Frediano has a good reputation, makes pizza with sourdough, and has toppings which are different from the norm. Andy chooses one with fiordilatte mozzarella from Puglia, tomato, and basil (basically a classic margherita). I copycat the person at the next table and go for prosciutto crudo from Norcia, burrata, fiordilatte mozzarella, and orange-infused oil. The orange oil is a pizza game-changer. Dinner is over in an hour… and most bars are closed. At Piazza del Carmine we stumble across a mini open air concert where the Florence Brass Quintet make a damn fine job of the likes of Smooth Criminal and Bohemian Rhapsody. We listen to them for an hour before breaking up the stroll home by perching on a stool with a glass of red at La Prosciutteria – Crudi e Bollicine Firenze, another deli/bar where you could easily lose hours perusing the produce on display and people-watching.

Monday
Oltrarno has so many quirky, quaint bars, and we’ve too little time to try them all. But we manage to notch up one more place for an aperitif, a no frills Enoteca near La Cité where the wine is €4 a glass and the young couple opposite us on the wardrobe-sized terrace make us feel like gooseberries by being very Italian about how they drink their wine. One reads some poetry, they gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then they snog passionately. Then the other reads some poetry and… repeat.

Dinner at Il Santo Bevitore, a hop, skip and no jump from our hotel, almost matches Neromo for buzzing liveliness. It probably noses ahead in terms of stylish décor – romantically dim lighting and vaulted ceiling. It is rammed (we had to book a table to be sure of getting in). The beauty of these restaurants is although their menus follow a similar format – antipasti, primi, secondi and so on – what falls under these headings changes from restaurant to restaurant. Normally we have a starter and then a primi (pasta) as the pastas and sauces are just so deliciously varied. We change tack a bit at Il Santo, starting with a primi (burrata ravioli with asparagus & scampi for me, a fiery riccioli with nduja, a seriously spicy soft salami, & aged pecorino for Andy that leaves her gasping). The secondi (main) we share. It’s a quite modest portion of roasted monkfish, Zolfini beans, bacon and pioppini mushrooms which suits just fine as we fancy a dessert for a change; although, the dessert choices when we see them don’t get the juices flowing again – too wobbly (mousses, the ubiquitous crème brûlée) and not tarty enough. Still, it’s a cracking meal overall, another über friendly place, and a fitting last night in Florence dining experience.

We leave Florence with very fond memories. Much of those are thanks to the Oltrarno quarter.

We did discover quite a few interesting things about Santa Cruz. However, the most valuable lesson we learned was there are no shortcuts when it comes to getting to know a city, big town, or anywhere new. We didn’t do a very good job of that commission. What we wrote might have fooled anyone who didn’t know Santa Cruz, but anyone who did would have spotted immediately we were unfamiliar with the place.

Over the years we got to know Santa Cruz very well. As we did an interesting thing happened, the city shrank. Places which once seemed to take an eternity to get to suddenly were close at hand. By the time we wrote city routes for our Real Tenerife guides we were able to trim away all the fat; guiding others to favourite spots without any of the pointless wandering we had initially done.

Meeting up with a friend from Manchester for an afternoon and evening in Lisbon recently, the realisation dawned that in the last two years Lisbon had also shrivelled in size.

On our first visit in 2014, Portugal’s capital was a sprawling metropolis. We exhausted ourselves pounding its beautifully cobbled avenues and alleyways, ticking off the big attractions as well as smaller, quirkier ones which appealed to our particular travel preferences. On our next visit in 2017 we had a blueprint to follow and update, Inntravel’s Lisbon city guide. We also had access to invaluable insights courtesy of friends from Alentejo who had an apartment in Lisbon’s Mouraria district. Since then we’ve flirted with the city on numerous occasions, staying in various bairros, each with contrasting personalities. We don’t know the city well enough to consider ourselves experts, but we do have a pretty decent knowledge of it.

Thanks to tips from friends combined with our own legwork we now know things like where there are food markets which aren’t as rammed as Time Out; which avenues look resplendent when jacaranda trees are in bloom; where to watch the sunset in a grungy setting whilst local musicians jam (not everyone’s scene); areas to find designer clothes as well as the best mainstream shopping centres; the locations of labyrinthine bookstores, and which streets are liveliest during the Sardine Festival. We’ve also built up a list of favourite venues for lunch and dinner; restaurants where you don’t get served mediocre food at elevated prices.

Over that time Lisbon has become considerably smaller, subsequently getting around is a lot easier and faster than it once was. With limited time in which to show our friend a few tasty Lisbon snippets, knowing how to get from A to B concisely was invaluable.

Lisbon’s Metro system is a cheap and easy way to travel around the city, but we also use some metro stations to move around whilst keeping dry on the rare occasions it’s raining. For example, after pointing out the iconic statue of Fernando Pessoa outside Cafe A Brasileira in Bairro Alto, the steep escalators of the Baixa-Chiado Metro station descend to another river-level exit at Baixa. Lisbon’s cobbles are lovely, but on wet days steep streets can be lethal to negotiate.

In other parts of the city, public elevators in anonymous buildings transport locals, and those who know of their existence, to lofty hilltops (a tip from our Mourario friends), cutting out muscle crunching ascents. Tackling steep streets is unavoidable in Lisbon, but there are ways to keep these to a minimum.

Our friend had already enjoyed a couple of days exploring Lisbon, and had ticked off some of the city’s main attractions, so we decided to show him a few of the little things which interested us, starting with the sobering 1506 Memorial, a reminder of what intolerance can lead to. In this case it was the massacre of thousands of Jewish citizens. Nearby is the burnt church, the Igreja de São Domingos, where the acrid aroma of the fire which gutted it in 1959 still seems to linger. To counter the sombreness of these two, we popped into a hole in the wall ginjinha bar, downing a sweet and sticky shot of Lisbon’s famous cherry liqueur.

Popping through the easy-to-miss entrance to Casa do Alentejo is akin to falling down the rabbit hole. A humble doorway from the street gives no clue to the building’s palatial interior and Moorish styled courtyard. There’s a tavern on the ground floor whilst the first floor boasts a couple of grand restaurants. As we vociferously admired the artistry in one of them, we were shushed by a sextet of snoozing septuagenarians who apparently viewed the restaurant’s vestibule area as their makeshift bedroom.

When our friend admired a postcard featuring a flamboyant fado scene, we took him to see the real thing, accessed through a crumbling archway which most might ignore as it seems to lead to unattractively messy, graffiti-scrawled steps. And so our afternoon unfolded, wandering Lisbon’s fascinating streets purposefully, yet in leisurely fashion.

At night we ate at Chapitâ à Mesa, an eclectic place – art community/bar/cafe/restaurant/live music venue – where voodoo dolls of unpopular politicians welcome you before you descend to an eclectic series of dining areas that make me think of Cirque du Soleil. We ate great food accompanied by panoramic city views and, at one point, soulful sounds from an Angolan singer who was performing in the bar later. He was escorted by a brace of female clowns. That’s Chapitâ à Mesa.

We spent an easy, relaxing and immensely enjoyable afternoon and evening with our friend. We’d done and seen a lot, but it didn’t feel like we’d expended a lot of energy in the process. Cities are like great friends, the more you get to know them the more comfortable you feel in their company.

But, as we discovered all those years ago in Santa Cruz, there are no shortcuts to becoming best friends with a city.

Saturday midday – arrival at Porta Nuova train station
We booked the budget train option (€9.99) to travel from Venice to Verona, quickly discovering this meant no assigned seats, air-con courtesy of the window, and a million fellow passengers in a hot and sweaty carriage. In 30C temps it was more like a mobile greenhouse. We arrived in Verona like a pair of over ripe tomatoes. Mistake two was deciding to drag our suitcases a sweltering 1.5km to the Hotel Marco Polo near the Torre Pentagona entrance to the old town.

Saturday lunch

Arriving somewhere new at lunchtime is like being on a culinary game show where the clock ticks down as you struggle to make a decision over which restaurant table to park your bum on before the gong sounds and lunch is over. We chose Le Fogge off Corsa Sant’ Anastasia purely on the grounds the gong was just about to be hit. On Tripadvisor the restaurant earns a lowly two star rating and is classed as a ‘tourist trap’. A restaurant aimed at tourists on the main drag through Verona – who’d have thought? Negative reviews are from folk who ate a full-blown meal there; we wouldn’t have chosen it for that. But for a couple of birras with focaccia and a ham and cheese piadina (€4.50), it was fine. There was a wedding taking place at the Basilica di Santa Anastasia, so we were treated to a wedding fashion catwalk as we ate.

First contact

The first thing we do in any compact-sized new city is grab a tourist map, walk, and make a mental tick list of things to explore later. Piazza Bra where the Arena is located – buzzing but with pavement cafes and restaurants definitely aimed at tourists; Via Guiseppe Mazzini – good for shopping; Piazza Erbe – smaller with more character than Bra and worth a return look; Piazzi Signori – nice, but not quite the culinary hideaway described in one travel feature; Ponte Pietra – jazzy buskers, fewer people, views over the river and lots of romantic restaurants nearby; Museum of Love Letters – doesn’t exist; Juliet’s house – oh dear, oh dear. How to turn the greatest love story ever written into a tacky fifty shades of Juliet’s golden breasts, rubbed smooth by selfie-taking tourists. We returned to the Marco Polo via quaint back streets devoid of the masses, noting lots of individualistic bars and restaurants that deserved our presence.

Saturday night’s alright for…

Locanda 4 Cuochi just off Piazza Bra ticked all our boxes. The menu features updated Italian classics, including a four course chef’s menu at €39 (decent value – it’s a Michelin Bib Gourmand) the standout of which was a simple, creamy spaghetti dish. Although a sleekly sophisticated restaurant, each table had coloured pencils so young un’s could keep themselves amused by scribbling on the tablecloth. Ironically, the most enthusiastic ‘artists’ were a table of diners in their late teens.
For post-dinner wine, Piazza Erbe was a different scene from the afternoon. Gone were both Saturday market and day-trippers, replaced by annoyingly stylish Italian promenaders who provided great eye-fodder for avid people-watchers like us.

Sunday morning strolling
A morning dedicated to sightseeing.

Ponte Scaligero – as well as being an attractive red brick construction, the bridge is the place for riverside photos of medieval Castelvecchio, one of the city’s famed historic edifices. Over the river is Arsenale Franz Josef which Google Maps lists as being an open air museum. Of what I’m not sure, unless it was a mock up of a seedy urban development.
Torre dei Lamberti (€6) – in city of towers Lamberti at 84m high is tallest. The tower has two bells. One signalled the end of the working day and when fire broke out. The other summoned residents during times of war. Sounds potentially confusing to me – ‘should I bring a bucket of water or a gun?’
Arche Scaligere (€0.50) – a courtyard of elaborately decorated tombs built by the Della Scala family, rulers of the city in the 13th and 14th centuries. The tombs are rather beautiful and quite intriguing. But we’re graveyard ghouls.

Funicular di Castel S.Pietro – just over Ponte Pietra, the funicular was initially designed to make it easier for students to get to the Accademia delle Belle Arti. Now it saves thigh muscles from walking up to Castel San Pedro. It’s €2 (one way) well spent. The Castel isn’t much of a looker up close, it’s the views across the river to old Verona which are the draw.

Time out for a beer

Conveniently, next to the Castel is restaurant Re Teodorico where you get the same views but with the bonus they’re accompanied by a La Traviata beer (or whatever tipple you fancy). We only stopped for a drink, but once settled in our scenic seats decided to do what everyone else was doing and order a platter of mixed meats with focaccia and pickled vegetables (€14). This is a fabulous lunch venue.

Final culture stop
After a birra and a glass of white, the idea of wandering around Verona’s dusty Duomo didn’t appeal, but as we were passing anyway…

The Romanesque Cathedral (€2.50) wasn’t dry at all, thanks to an excellent audio guide which added colourful insights to what is ostensibly a mix of church, museum and archaeological dig. The marble baptismal font is particularly interesting, and gruesome. From one place of worship to another, this time at a church of Bacchus aka La Tradision (on a street leading from Piazza Bra); an absolute cracker of a tavern which stocks a huge range of wines and beers as well as snacks and pastries. If I lived in Verona I’d make it my local.

Sunday dinner

Ristorante Antica Torretta is a cliche of an Italian restaurant – an historic building near Ponte Pietra with tables lining an old wall decorated with climbing vines – which is why we decided to eat there. That and the fact it had fried courgette flowers on the menu. These were accompanied by the likes of Black Angus tartare and nettle filled tortelli with scallops (€16). After feasting we wandered back to our favourite post-dinner watering area, Piazza Erbe, strolling through empty streets lit as though they were part of the set of a romantic movie.

Mixed Monday morning

We still had a couple of sights to tick off. Juliet’s Tomb (€6) is a bit of a trek south east of the centre. Whilst we confirmed it was open, we didn’t check actual Monday opening hours – 13.45 to 19.30. We had a look through the closed gate and toddled back to enjoy more of the old centre instead, watching smartly dressed Italians peddle old bicycles with wicker baskets on the front – proper cycling. Instead of looming over the tomb of a tragic teenager we loomed over a couple of Aperol Spritz in Nobis, another snazzy little side street cafe/bar, before heading to what should have been one of Verona’s highlights.

Built in the 1st century A.D. the Arena is the third biggest Roman amphitheatre in Italy. It’s the centrepiece of old Verona, and somewhat of an anti-climax. From kitsch Roman centurions at the entrance to its disgusting toilets it underwhelmed. It’s an impressive piece of ancient architecture for sure, and I imagine watching an opera there would be quite special, but we didn’t feel it was worth the €10 entrance fee; half that maybe.

TV dinner

England playing Tunisia in the World Cup dictated where we ate. With Italy not qualifying for the tournament, restaurants showing live games were in short supply. Pizzeria Bella Napoli around the corner from the Marco Polo was one which was; it was also known for serving good pizzas. Being just outside the old town, the modern pizzeria was frequented more by Italians than visitors, none of whom were interested in the match. Subsequently, the football was screened without commentary. The pizzas (average €8) lived up to their reputation and the lively atmosphere in the restaurant made up for the muted game.

Tuesday Departure
Lesson learnt, we booked a seat on one of Italy’s red arrow trains (Freccia Rossa) for a comfortable, crowd-free, air-conditioned return trip to Venice. Although twice the price of the budget train it was more than worth the extra money.

Verona in a sentence or two
We’d happily spend more time in the romantic old city. We were charmed by its historic streets, the slightly off the beaten track attractions, and its restaurants, cafes and bars. There was generally more of a ‘local’ feel to Verona than we’d experienced in the heart of Venice. Basically, it was a lovely location to simply wander around aimlessly. The ‘big’ attractions were, ironically, Verona’s weakest aspects; kitsch and overrun with day-trippers. I’ll leave the final summing up to the Bard.

“There is no world without Verona walls, but purgatory, torture, hell itself.”

We’ve stayed in Lisbon on numerous occasions; in both hotels and apartments in six different districts of the city (it’s straightforward to get to all central areas from the airport using the Metro). We now know which areas suit our city slicker preferences, but like just about everything when it comes to travel, it’s horses for courses. This is our totally biased take on the Lisbon districts where we’ve temporarily laid our hats, starting with the nightlife centre of the city.

Bairro Alto/Chiado
Located on a hill directly to the west of the Lisbon’s grand centre, Bairro Alto and Chiado represents the flamboyant, artistic face of Lisbon. Bairro Alto is known for its bars, located in a maze of narrow side streets, whereas Chiado is good for shopping, including book browsing; there are a couple of labyrinth-like livrarias ignored by most visitors. Like everywhere else in the city there are also historic buildings and curious quirks. To the north of Bairro Alto are independent fashion shops (exemplified by those in the Embaixada shopping emporium, the building itself a fusion of Moorish and Art Nouveau influences) and cool coffee bars around Bohemian Praça Principe Real.

The feel – day and night
We stayed in a sexy loft apartment in the heart of Bairro Alto, above the steep street the Bica funicular trundles up and down. During the day it, and the surrounding streets, were quiet, most visitors sticking to the main drag which links Bairro Alto and Chiado with Baixo. After dark there was a Jeckyll and Hyde transformation; suddenly bars appeared and, by midnight, the street which had been sleepy during the day was filled with people using its cobbled steps as seating. It’s a fun place if diving headlong into a vibrant bar scene is what you’re after, but not if tranquil surroundings are important. We loved the energy of the area but were shattered by the time we left.

Ease of getting around on foot
As long as you’ve no mobility problems (streets can be seriously steep) the central Lisbon districts are all well placed for relatively easy access to the main attractions in the city. There’s plenty to explore without walking too far – Mirador de Sao Pedro; the Santa Justa Elevator; Praça Luís de Camões and the statue of Fernando Pessoa outside Cafe a Brasileira. Drop south towards the Tagus and it’s not far to the waterside and Cais do Sodre. Parts of this area were borderline seedy when we first visited. Now it has a trendy upmarket personality with a load of sleek, chic restaurants to choose from including those in gourmet central, the Time Out Market. We were blown away by the market on initial visits, but it’s become so popular it can be too frantic, especially during busiest holiday periods.

Restaurants
There’s simply masses of choice. I’ve a list of restaurants I want to eat at around Bairro Alto/Chiado. Of the ones we’ve already notched up, there have been hits and misses. The Time Out Market wowed us so much we ate there twice when we stayed in Bairro Alto. Cervejeria de Trindade, an institution set in a former monastery, failed to impress. 1 de Maio is a Tripadvisor favourite which we thought was decent. But now that we’re far more familiar with traditional Portuguese cuisine realise it’s more overpriced than we thought at the time. Favourite was as a result of a local tip, the cosy and eclectic Estrela da Bica where we had an introduction to petiscos (small dishes) with a difference.

Offbeat appeal
There’s still a community feel to Bairro Alto, especially noticeable during early evening between the times visitors head back to their accommodation and the bars hit their stride. One of our favourite ways to while away late afternoon/early evening is with a bottle of Sagres under the grotesque gaze of Camões’ mythical giant Adamastor at the Miradouro de Santa Catalina. The sunset scene there is not one which will suit everyone, maybe too authentically grungy, but it’s one which for us captures the easy feel of the lost afternoons of our youth in places like Hay-on-Wye.

In future we’ll take a closer look at staying in other Lisbon districts, including Alfama, Mouraria, Oriente, Liberdade, and Baixa.