At this point Andy rolls her eyes and says “you say that, but you always wolf it down when we have a pud.”

That’s true as well. I love good puddings. The thing about dessert menus is in some countries they can swing from the divine to the deadly dull, especially in traditional restaurants. You never know which is going to show up. Portugal is a classic example of what I mean. This is a country whose dessert menus are dominated by puddings made from left over egg yolks after nuns have used the whites to starch their wimples. Conventual desserts have novelty value when first encountered, but after numerous occasions discovering all those desserts with odd little names (nun’s belly, lard from heaven etc.) consist of the holy trio of egg yolks, sugar, and cinnamon, it all gets a bit samey. But then, deliciously fruity crumbles, and dreamy, creamy cheesecakes can turn up on a lot of Portuguese menus as well, just to confound expectations.

My least favourite part of a meal is dessert… unless there is something which awakens the sweet-toothed child that slumbers within. And there regularly is, no matter where we travel around Europe.

White chocolate egg, Italy and Portugal
The dessert menu at Mundet, located in the non-touristy town of Seixal on the other side of the Tagus from Lisbon, is inspired by Alice Through the Looking Glass, and does feature goodies suitable for a wonderland setting. Humpty Dumpty involved a white chocolate egg enclosing Mundet’s take on a traditional sponge cake called pão de ló. It was fun, lip-licking tasty, and reminded us of another white chocolate egg dessert which caused a WOW moment, as it was dropped from above diners’ heads to smash into pieces on their plates. That one was at the two star Michelin restaurant Piccolo Lago on the banks of Lake Mergozzo in Italy. All night we wondered why there were sudden outbursts of laughter at tables around the restaurant, until a huge,white chocolate egg whizzed past Andy’s head to explode on her plate, revealing an anarchic splodge of raspberries with banana and caramel ice cream.

Deep-fried ice cream, Glasgow
It is true, the west of Scotland is deep-fried Nirvana – a land of battered sausages and hardened arteries. As teenagers we never thought twice about ordering deep-fried pizzas and Scotch pies from the local chippie after a night on the Tennents. But deep-fried ice cream at Oriental fusion restaurant Opium on Hope Street was a first for me. It consisted of a large ball of vanilla ice cream enclosed in melt-in-the-mouth golden, crispy, batter, drizzled with chocolate sauce and honey; the epitome of sinful dining.

Salt and caramel, La Palma
The first time we knowingly tasted salted caramel was at Jardín de la Sal on the volcanic badlands at fiery Fuencaliente, the site of a brace of volcanic eruptions, the last being in 1971. The restaurant specialises in giving traditional dishes a contemporary reboot. The signature dessert dish (literary as the chef actually signed it using caramel) was as wildly surreal as the surrounding terrain – featuring an eruption of chocolate mousse; chocolate cake; almond ice cream; broken Oreos; dried banana; toasted almonds; passion fruit syrup; yoghurt, and goat’s cheese foam. The salt used to elevate the caramel to the culinary heavens was from the salt pans outside the restaurant. Caramel desserts without salt just don’t make the grade now.

Mountain of cream, Bavaria
There’s no split personality issues with desserts in Germany. This is the country which gave the world the Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte – Black Forest gateau. The problem in Germany is trying to not eat too many delicious desserts. Sometimes a mission impossible. We don’t like to eat a hefty lunch mid-hike, but the desserts at Windbeutelbaron (a mountain lodge en route to the infamous Eagle’s Nest above Berchtesgaden) tempted us right off that path. Their speciality is a puff pastry, fresh cream concoction known as Der Windbeutel which is inspired by the various peaks of the Watzmann Mountains forming the panoramic view from the lodge’s terrace. Each cake is gigantic. We showed some restraint by sharing one, whereas most other customers devoured a mountain to themselves.

Spanish toast in Extremadura
If you like French toast, you’ll love torrijas, the improved Spanish version. The really good ones are as light as air, despite some looking the size of a brick. I could mention a few places where we’ve eaten outstanding examples, but the torrija cacereña at El 13 de San Anton in historic Cáceres gets pride of place as we enjoyed such a good evening there, plus the torrija was accompanied by English cream, coffee ice cream, and Licor de bellota.

Deconstructed classic in Drôme Provençale
According to some online sources, the USA is responsible for the gift that is lemon meringue pie. I’m afraid I’m not buying that story. Other sources attribute it to Victorian England; although nearly everybody accepts a form of lemon tart has been around since way before Columbus crossed the ocean blue. Meringue is a French word, so there’s definitely some French influence. It’s one of my favourite desserts, and when spotted on a menu every other option becomes a blur. The most memorable in recent years was a deconstructed version served in the leafy courtyard of L’entre2, a charmer of a restaurant in a typically Provençal stone house just outside the old centre of Saint-Paul-Trois-Châteaux.

Pure pantomime, Tenerife
It takes some talent when a chef can please the taste-buds and put a smile on your face when you’re suffering from the flu. We’d booked Michelin star El Rincón de Juan Carlos in Los Gigantes months in advance and had spent all day in bed, sleeping, sweating, and shivering etc. after succumbing to some bug picked up thanks to the poor hygienic habits of too many of the guests at a resort hotel we’d stayed at. But there was no way we were going to miss a meal at our favourite restaurant in the Canary Islands. One of the things we enjoy about avant-garde dining is the sense of theatre and fun (see white egg previously). Chef Juan Carlos ended another triumph of a taster menu with a flight of pure whimsy in the shape of a bonsai-sized candyfloss tree. Magical.

Awesome apples, Austria
It’s unfair to pick out one restaurant when it comes to apple strudel as I don’t remember having a bad one anywhere in Germany, Austria, Croatia, or Slovenia; all countries where the dish crops up all the time on dessert menus. We’ve flaked their pastries in roadside cafes, alpine lodges, farmhouses, and bustling city centres. Purely to choose one to illustrate, I’ve opted for Gasthaus Zum Kranz in Freiburg. It was a cosy, convivial, traditional restaurant in the Altstadt whose apple strudel in custard rounded off a tasty introduction this environmentally friendly city’s gastronomy.

Hot and cold in Venice
We expected the gastronomic offerings in Venice to have suffered due to overtourism, just like we’d previously experienced in places like Dubrovnik. We ended up pleasantly surprised both by the quality of the food we ate and the fact that after dark there were nowhere near as many tourists filling the streets. On sultry summer nights good restaurants were far easier to get into than some other popular European cities. Our visit was topped off by a delight of a dessert at Impronta Cafe (not a cafe at all) in the arty Dorsoduro district – mascarpone cheese custard on a meringue waffle with lashings of hot liquorice and star anise sauce. The Italians simply do good food like nobody else.

Hard to beat puds, England
I’m biased, but nowhere in Europe does puds quite as good as Britain. And yet I struggled to come up with a standout one from England. Not England’s fault, it’s just that we don’t spend much time there and when we do it’s usually with family, so desserts don’t often figure. Then I remembered a December day a couple of years ago, sitting by the fire in Yo Olde Nags Head in Castleton with snowy scenes outside the window, good company at my side, a craft ale in my hand, and a bowl with sticky toffee pudding in caramel sauce on the table in front of me. These are the sort of ingredients that make hearty, British desserts difficult to top.

It’s a popular hotel and the merest criticism of it on social media had some regulars bristling. But it made me wonder if the people who championed it had actually stayed in any other hotels since 1985. The way the owners lazily rested on their laurels got me thinking about how much imagination is put into hotels now. Innovation and little touches which put a smile on the face are the norm rather than the exception, even amongst the budget end of the market.

It made me think of the hotels we’ve stayed which surprised in a good way, especially which particular features had us as giddy as children given free reign in a sweet shop (or, to avoid being as as dated as that Tenerife hotel, an Apple store).

The Rat Pack minibar in Salzburg
This is a tough one to start with as there were any number of sassy design features I could have selected from the Hotel Auersperg in Salzburg, so many it could double as an avant-garde furniture store. The one which delighted most was a Rat Pack mini-bar – an über-cool place to store booze in so many ways. Forget exploring the city, pop a cork, take a generous slug and slur your way through Little Old Wine Drinker Me.

We mainly think of hotel rooms as a base, a launching pad from which to explore. But the Aursperg’s was so comfy and chic it was like having your own private style bar… with bed. This is the sort of vibe I want from a hotel room.

I’m going to cheat and mention another top little touch – a retro CD player with a couple of CDs, including Cape Verde’s Cesaria Evora. Her voice had such a haunting impact we sought the album out in Mindelo on São Vicente when we visited Cape Verde islands the following year.

Eyeless cockroaches – Cueva del Viento, Tenerife
Once you’ve been told the cave, or volcanic tube to be more exact, was once home to eyeless cockroaches and giant rats it’s hard to banish thoughts of mutant creepy crawlies from your mind. It’s especially difficult when you can see webs which show that insects of some sort still inhabit the Cueva del Viento on Tenerife. Stretching 18km, it’s one of the longest of its type in the world. A guided tour makes it feel more comfortable and the beasties are now extinct… or so scientists believe. There’s still a lot of cave to be explored, so who knows what really lies in its darkest depths. At one point visitors are asked to switch off head torches – the blackness which falls is as complete as you can imagine. Nothing exists, nothing. I became only what lay inside my head… and then my stomach rumbled loudly and all philosophic pondering was stopped rudely in its tracks.

A mythical creature – Cyclop’s Cave, Crete
Google ‘Polyphemus Cave’ and a few different locations come up. I’m discounting the one in Alexandroupoli as fake as those who have visited it describe it as a den. The one we scrabbled our way up a hillside to above Sougia in western Crete was the size of a small cathedral inside. Neither did it have hordes of tourist scouring about looking, as I did, for human bones which had been picked dry by a hungry, one-eyed giant. It’s not easy to get to if you’re not reasonably fit. It’s also ideally placed for flinging rocks at an escaping ship as described in Homer’s Odyssey. And, unlike another Cyclop’s Cave in Sicily, a giant could easily roll a boulder across the entrance to trap ‘dinner’ inside. But the entrance is a problem. A Cyclops may be able to stand tall and proud once inside, but there’s no way he could squeeze his bulk through the small entrance which makes the cave hard to find. Maybe there’d been a rockfall or two since Odysseus made his escape clinging to the underside of a sheep.

Bats – Phra Nang Nai Cave, Krabi Thailand
Phra Nang Nai Cave in Krabi looks as though it’s been tarted up so it’s all bright, shiny and tourist friendly. When we made the attempt to walk the fifteen minutes or so it was supposed to take from its inland entrance to the beach things were very different. There were no lights, no entrance fee, no other tourists and we had no torch. But there was a wooden walkway, visible in the faint light from the entrance. After a few minutes on the rickety walkway we were engulfed by a black hole, the way forward an impenetrable inky curtain. It would have been silent apart from intermittent odd noises in the darkness, sometimes alarmingly close, at other times a flutter in the distance. With each ginger step the noises grew in intensity until our nerve broke and we turned and bolted for the entrance pursued by a dense, erratic cloud – the resident colony of bats.

A ghost – Ajuy, Fuerteventura
What could be scary about a sea cave visited by bus loads of excursionists daily? Ajuy Caves on Fuerteventura is hardly a hidden natural oddity. But the steep access reduces the number of people who actually explore these enormous caves. Plus, the second cave takes a bit of agile scrambling to get to, cutting numbers even further. It is here, in the damp murky interior where a smaller cave leads deeper into the rock, the atmosphere morphs from an interesting natural attracting to something more unnerving. A strange aura hangs in the air, the sea (maybe, maybe it isn’t) sounds like the whisper of the corsairs and pirates who were said to have carried out their illicit trade in the caves. Maybe an overactive imagination caused my spine to go all shiver me timbers. All I know is there’s a Ghostbuster-esque slimer on the photos I took in there.

Ice sculptures – Dachstein, Austria
With names like Castle of the Holy Grail and King Arthur’s Dome, the Dachstein Ice Cave in Saltzkammergut could easily have fallen into the overly sanitised, theme cave category. But it doesn’t. For a start, maybe stating the obvious given what makes it an attraction, it’s cold, -2C. Even warmer water which makes it way into the cave in summer months can only make minor adjustments to the naturally forming gigantic blue ice sculptures before it too becomes part of the exhibit. It is an enchanting cave with a hard edge, the sort of place where Game of Thrones’ Night King would throw a party for his undead legions. As a bonus, the mountain which hosts it is full of other quirks – a mammoth cave, the five finger viewing platform… a shark.

Blind faith – somewhere in Sheffield
The first proper cave I entered was whilst on a works outward bound course in the Peak District. I can’t remember which cave, possibly because the experience erased it from my memory. Not that it was bad… not for me at least. One girl had to be carted out of the cave after suffering a serious anxiety attack. To be fair, it was intense; that was the point. Two memories remain deeply etched into my brain. The first involved crawling through a gap where the roof of the cave was only a few inches above my back and my hard-hatted head kept scraping the rock. I couldn’t shake the thought if the earth shifted even slightly, we’d be trapped underground. The second involved using a rope to descend into a black abyss, so black it was impossible to see the bottom. When it was my turn I lowered myself backwards, feet edging backwards down the rock face until a voice from the darkness instructed me to stop, lower my feet from the rock and then to let go even though I couldn’t see terra firma below. It required total trust. I did what was instructed and fell… about three inches before my feet made contact with the ground. It was quite bizarre, and immensely liberating.

What do you find when you venture into the deep, dark depths of caves?

You never know until you take the plunge and delve into the blackness.

When we write about it on Buzz Trips, we generally only use a handful of images to illustrate what the area is like. This means there are loads of routes we’ve loved which might only have had the briefest of mentions in passing. So, to replicate something we tried on our Walking Tenerife website, we thought we’d share more of the routes we’ve walked in an image rich form rather than a text heavy one.

The first of these involves a multi-faceted route above Gosausee near Hallstatt in Austria. It’s an area of outstanding natural beauty, featuring immaculate pastures, glassy lakes and the rugged, rocky Dachstein mountains.

The trouble with this route is the starting point at Vorderer Gosausee is such a stunner of a place you just want to park your bum on a bench and get lost in the view across the lake.

Sometimes needing transport to get to the start of a walking route can be a bit of a drag, at other times it can be one of the highlights… in more ways than one

The views at the lake might be mesmeric, but heading into the high alms after leaving the cable car is equally magical, a land which could make you believe in fairy tales.

Some parts of the trail are across grassy pastures, others snake along the mountainside, almost as narrow as a serpent. We thought this part was a bit nervy until an Austrian family with young children came skipping past as though it was a stroll in the park.

One of the satisfying aspects of walking in Austria and Germany is there are always mountain hüttes in which to rest. At Stuhlalm we drank a bracing coffee whilst watching kittens play hide and seek among the rocks and pretty flower pots.

This is a landscape which can be both gentle and dramatically wild at the same time. It’s the sort of countryside which needs an artist and easel to complete the scene.

At the end of the route, more mountain hüttes with hearty menus and generous views across the Gosausee Valley. Fabulous places for clinking steins and filling hungry bellies with a jause, the Austrian version of a ploughman’s lunch, before heading for home.

That 3% makes a difference.

We regularly walk in the volcanic crater of Teide National Park on Tenerife where routes begin around the 2000m mark. Top of the island is Mount Teide, at 3718m it’s the highest peak in Spain. At 2000m there is approximately 5% less oxygen than at sea level. On Teide’s peak it’s a seriously breathless 8% less. Altitude sickness can kick in around 2400m where it’s about 6% less.

When walking at altitude on Tenerife with friends from Britain, even experienced walkers, we advise them to take it slow. In fact, we especially advise friends who are experienced at walking in Britain. They are the ones more likely to set off at their usual walking pace, which in subtropical conditions at altitude is likely to leave them red-faced and gasping after a few hundred yards.

It’s easy to put into perspective the chasm of difference which lies between walking in Britain and walking at altitude. We always say a variation of the same thing: “we’re starting at an altitude which is as high as Britain’s highest peak,” or, even better. “This is twice (or even three times) the height of Ben Nevis.”

At altitude it’s important to adjust to the surroundings.

Appreciating, or not, the impact of walking at different altitudes is only one example of how being an ‘experienced walker’ can be a relative term.

Consider wildly differing terrain
We recently received an email asking if an ambitious walking route on Tenerife was feasible; it involved climbing from the south coast to the peak of Mount Teide in a day. It was immediately obvious the route hadn’t been planned properly as it was mostly along main roads making it a) unnecessarily long, b) potentially dangerous and c) dull as hell. All of which told us the person who sent the email wasn’t an experienced hiker. We suggested they probably weren’t ready for such a challenging route to which they came back insisting they were experienced walkers, having walked around their county for charity.
Not understanding the difference between walking in parts of Britain, or anywhere, which is relatively flat and walking on an island where the gradient is such Spain’s highest mountain can cast a shadow on the sea can be a recipe for disaster.

The Canary Islands are perfect as a winter walking destination. But because they’re known in parts of Europe mainly as a winter sun destination means their wilder face can regularly be underestimated. La Palma is known as La Isla Bonita but also lays claim to being the steepest island in the world. That means challenging ascents of descents and anyone more used to gently undulating hills will feel the difference. La Gomera in some ways offers even more demanding walking. As the most popular Canary Island for walkers its rugged terrain, consisting of ravine after ravine, regularly catches out even experienced walkers. It’s immensely rewarding walking but it makes you work for it.

We misjudged the terrain ourselves in Berchtesgadener Land, Bavaria, where mountains act as walls between valleys. Walls which have to be climbed if you want follow the best routes from one valley to the next. Because we’re often mapping out new routes, which involves referring to maps, using GPS, recording notes and taking photos, we don’t use walking sticks as they get in the way. After completing our first route in Berchtesgaden, which involved an 1100m ascent and descent over a relatively short distance, we realised we were unlikely to survive 11 days of similar walking without sticks. Thankfully just about every Bavarian village has an outdoors equipment shop and we picked up a couple of cheap ones which were lifesavers.

Although contours on maps show how steep the terrain is, the 3D aspect you get with Google Earth is excellent for actually showing you the lay of the land before you set foot in a place.

Connected with the terrain is the type of paths walkers are likely to encounter in various destinations. Paths come in many forms. It still surprises when regular walkers aren’t used to the more wild varieties. We met a couple in Leutasch, Austria, who were outraged they’d been sent on a path which they felt was dangerous and not fit to be used. In reality there was nothing wrong with it except it was narrow, steep and uneven. Anyone who has walked extensively in more mountainous areas of Europe will have encountered many similar ‘goat trail’ paths.

Hot walks
Finally, something that can catch experienced walkers out is just how hot walking in parts of Europe can be. In June in Corsica we found our energy sapped by temperatures of 30C+, and we’re used to hot walking. We slow down, wear hats, slap on sun cream, take lots of rests, follow routes where there’s shade and, most importantly of all, drink lots of water.

In the Canary Islands the walking can be hot throughout the year, even in the depths of winter. It might sound like spouting the obvious but it’s essential to take note and adjust to conditions. I say it might be spouting the obvious but I’ve known hiking companies take walkers out during a heatwave on Gran Canaria and experienced walkers take to the hills on La Gomera when a rural hotel owner advised against it. Neither of those examples ended well.

What being an experienced walker means is relative and can vary from person to person. Like everything in life, exploring the countryside on foot involves following a continual learning curve.

Each destination offers something new, something different, which is partly why we love getting out onto that trail as often as we can.

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

The easy way to get to Rathlucken Hütte high above Goiserer Tal (valley) in Bad Goisern, Austria is to drive. It’s what a lot of the locals do. But a more satisfying way is to climb from the valley floor, from somewhere like St Agatha, letting grandiose views unfold as you ascend, winding through forest and crossing pastures before arriving at the delightfully higgledy piggledy terrace of the Rathlucken Hütte. Prime position overlooking the drama of the Austrian landscape are deck chairs designed for two

Although they do a mean sandwich to take away, and they’re perched high above the valley with its streams and lakes, seafood is a speciality, especially char.

Apart from bird’s eye views, Rathlucken Hütte is a hop, skip and a jump from an enchanting forest walk, truly enchanting as the Sagenweg is a fairy tale trail with carved characters along the way, including a dragon in a cave. For bravehearts there’s also the challenge of tackling the Ewige Wand, the Eternal Wall, a sheer rock-face that could possibly deter even Jon Snow and his wildling friends.

Rathlucken Hütte; Norbert Gschwandtner, Wurmstein 2, A-4822 Bad Goisern; open for lunch Wednesday to Sunday, closed Monday & Tuesday

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

On long walks, taking time out for lunch isn’t always practical and on these occasions we have to make do with a picnic. I love al fresco dining but if I never see another gum-shredding baguette filled with ham and cheese again, it’ll still be a day too soon. There must be a European wide rural hotel guidebook which states ‘if a guest asks for a picnic, it must include a ham and cheese baguette.’ Thankfully, there are exceptions to this rule.

These are some places where we’ve enjoyed some tasty lunches on the trail.

Tabernas on Symi

Hardly hardcore walking, but the trek up the Kali Strata from Symi Town on the Greek sland of Symi to head to one of the island’s many dream beaches can work up a sweat and a thirst. Greek tavernas remain my favourite establishments to while away the time drinking retsina and munching on mezes. The Greek heat, unbelievably turquoise sea, heady aroma of honeysuckle and wild herbs, creamy dips and sweet wine is an intoxicating mix (and not just because of the retsina). These aren’t lunches to be taken mid-walk. Thankfully you can catch a water taxi back to Symi Town.

Picnic in Provence

Sure there are plenty of quaint bistros serving food so good it can elicit involuntary moans of pleasure. But one of the best mid-walk lunches I’ve enjoyed was at a picnic table beside a stream near the moss covered ruins of the Prieuré de Carluc near Rellaine. It was a simple lunch consisting of chunky fresh bread and ripe Banon cheese, melted by the sun’s rays. Simple, but as sweet as the fresh spring water gurgling in the brook beside our table.

Konoba Lambik on Hvar

If an experience exceeded that of losing time in a Greek taverna it was an afternoon at Konoba Lambik on Hvar in Croatia. The walk to reach Konoba Lambik included wild flowers, olive groves, wild boar towers and English aristocracy. All juicy ingredients themselves, but the food and drink, all created, caught and distilled by the owners, erased memories of the walk and replaced them with an extra special experience. It was the first place I’d ever truly appreciated how good artichokes really were, thanks to a life-changing artichoke and broad bean stew.

On the road in the Atlas Mountains

En route to to Tachdirt in the High Atlas Mountains I lay in the sun on a hot wall beside a dusty track whilst our guides washed peppers and tomatoes in a mountain stream, which also provided the water to boil rice and make sweet mint tea. The salad they created was a mish mash of ingredients, including tinned sardines, olives, chopped pork, rice tomatoes, green pepper and red onion with some fresh bread. It tasted as good as any salad I’d eaten in a gourmet restaurant. That dash of al fresco seasoning just can’t be matched indoors.

Mountain Hütte in Salzkammergut, Austria

Austria and Germany’s hinterland is riddled with hüttes, perfectly positioned at some of the most scenic spots on mountain trails. Both countries are as good as anywhere we’ve been for being dependable when it comes to finding somewhere to have lunch mid-walk. The only problem is that many of the dishes on hütte menus are hefty affairs and lie too heavily on my stomach to be taken when there’s still a long way to go. Such was the case above Gosausee in Salzkammergut where, as everyone around us tucked into warming soups, we settled for belegte brote, a type of open-topped sandwich, with speck (cured ham) onions, gherkin and tomato. Another basic dish, but the accompanying views of the snow-capped Dachstein Mountains and a musically clanging cow bell soundtrack raised it way above the average mid-trail sandwich.

Lakeside Hütte in the Black Forest

Rarely have I been so pleased to see a lodge/hütte/taverna/pub as I was to see Vesperstube Unterkrummenhof on the banks of Schluchsee in the Black Forest. Despite having wind-proof gloves and a hat a bear would eye enviously, the icy sleet which stabbed at exposed skin for hours as we’d walked around the large lake had robbed all feeling from fingers, feet and legs. The hütte was warm and welcoming and, despite there being a third of the route still to complete, we pigged out on currywurst and chips. It did exactly what a good hütte/taverna/tasca should do – act as a sanctuary for cold and hungry travellers

Lunch in a Cave in the Canary Islands

One of my favourite walks anywhere is in the Anaga Mountains on Tenerife, a place which is the antithesis of what many people think of when the imagine Tenerife. The route to the cave village of Chinamada is uplifting – ancient laurisilva forest, hamlets and narrow agricultural terraces clinging to hillsides, jagged peaks, tiny hamlets, goats, the odd hen and killer views. The cave village lies halfway along a circular route so perfectly placed for lunch in La Cueva. Ironically, most people choose to eat outside the cave part. The food is basic Canarian with the signature dish being a messy splodge called escaldón (basically stock mixed with gofio flour). I love it because it is the real Tenerife.

Ham and Cheese Overlooking Lake Iseo

Everything tastes fabulous around the Italian Lakes. I can’t recall one mediocre meal. However, we didn’t always meet with success finding places to eat along the trails we walked. On one route we planned to eat in a bar/restaurant halfway along the route. It was shut… for lunch. On the largest lake island in Europe, Monte Isola on Lake Iseo, we were introduced to a classic Italian snack in a nondescript café with a sunny terrace overlooking this most dazzling of lakes; the piadina – basically a flat bread sandwich. I only ordered it because I saw another luncher eating something that perked my interest. They only did one type filling, ham and cheese. I loved it.

Trust the Italians to make even a ham and cheese sandwich seem gastronomically interesting.

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

Sometimes this UNESCO World Heritage Site, which made its fortune from mining salt for centuries, fleetingly touches down in the part of my brain which includes Carcassonne and Dubrovnik – places which are unarguably fascinating and lovely to look at but which lost something after having sold at least part of their souls to the gods (devils) of mass tourism.

At other times it hovers near another travel file spot, one that is vaguely miscellaneous so that it might include a destination which didn’t quite win its way into my heart but which might fall under the heading ‘deserves another look’.

My undecided stance might have something to do with the circumstances of our visit. We stepped from people-free paths into a village which has become a firm favourite for coach excursions.

A Halstatt Appetiser #1
On our way to the craggy and icy heights of the Dachstein Mountains we stopped beside a row of quaint, wooden huts on the banks of glassy Lake Hallstatt. A short distance away, preening on the edge of the lake and looking every inch the delectable village which guidebooks promised, was Hallstatt itself – a juicy prospect to be visited a couple of days further down the line.

A Halstatt Appetiser #2
Looking down from Dachstein’s lofty summits Hallstatt looked even more perfect, soft and serene against the sheer cliffs which make the village appear as though it’s doing a balancing act, teetering on the edge of the lake.

The Real Thing
An overpriced car park didn’t get our initial introduction to Hallstatt off to a good start. There was quite a bit of grumpy ‘tourist trap’ comments from me before I was thawed by narrow streets lined by attractive houses with wooden-panelled walls and wooden roof tiles. They looked as though they wouldn’t stand up to too much huffing and puffing from a determined wolf with a decent pair of lungs.

Arty Hallstatt
By the time we passed a technicolour zebra and the creepiest shop door handle ever, the quirkiness of Hallstatt’s outskirts had me deciding the town might be more than just a pretty face.

Kitsch Hallstatt
When we reached the main street running parallel to the lake through Hallstatt it was evident that for every ‘ooh, that’s interesting’ shop display, there was a kitsch equivalent aimed at a less discerning tourist market. This yin and yang theme had spread to the lake where real swans shared water space with boats in the shape of swans. The boats floated, but any semblance of good taste had sunk.

Beautiful Hallstatt
Boat-sized swans aside, lakeside Hallstatt close up is as eye-catching as it appears from a distance. Even on a greyish day, it was easy to see why German naturalist Alexander von Humboldt called it the “… loveliest lake village in the world.”

The Village Square
Equally pretty is the heart of the village, the market square with its centrepiece statue of the Holy Trinity. Like village squares everywhere, it’s bordered by café’s, shops and restaurants. The square was, like the rest of Hallstatt’s centre, bustling with hordes of excursionists who’d been unloaded from their coaches just as we’d reached the main part of the village. The visitors sharing the picturesque streets with us covered many nationalities, the overwhelming numbers being Asian. We’d been walking across Austria for days. Outside the hotels we stayed in we’d hardly encountered anyone who wasn’t Austrian. Half the time we didn’t encounter anyone at all. Suddenly we were in a village whose streets were full of Asian tourists. It was simply a surreal cultural shift.
It happens sometimes. Tranquil pretty town, tranquil pretty town, WHOOSH – absolutely jam-packed with tourists pretty town.

The Photo Point
When towns/cities/villages get on the excursion radar they can occasionally lose something. The sheer volume of visitors descending at any one time on a location can change its personality. To be fair, Hallstatt wasn’t in the same league as some other locations which we couldn’t get out of fast enough despite their beauty. But the vibe wasn’t the same as in the other Austrian towns and villages we’d visited. When an attraction includes the ‘photo point’ you know it’s in danger of crossing the line from charming historic village into theme park territory. Saying that, it is an excellent spot for taking photos of Hallstatt.

All things considered I was glad we visited Hallstatt and would return to explore more. It is an extraordinarily pretty village in a remarkably dramatic setting. I just have an aversion to places that are swamped by hordes of excursionists. That it’s hugely popular with Asian visitors adds to the surrealism of the place. It’s so popular a doppelgänger version of the village has been built in China.

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