We were staying in Soriso because it had a restaurant with two Michelin stars, but apart from being a typically pretty Italian town, there didn’t seem to be a lot more to it. Looking for things of interest we wandered into the town hall where we bumped into the mayor, the only person there. Before we knew it we were shown to a room full of old posters advertising dances, wind instruments, flags, uniforms, cobblers’ tools and various bric-a-brac from past times whilst our new friend enthusiastically explained the most important objects. Knowing Spanish, we managed to identify some words which were similar and the mayor’s mime skills helped paint a picture we could at least partly understand.

Once he’d finished talking about the objects in the room, he indicated we follow him out of the town hall, up a narrow cobbled street and into a building with a rickety wooden roof and stairs and balcony which looked as though they could breathe their last breath and collapse at any moment.

Inside was a maze of rooms overflowing with relics from a bygone age which would have the presenters of Antique’s Roadshow enthusing ecstatically. Arranged around the dusty floor and lining warped shelves were rows of beautiful old coffee grinders, handpainted china plates, cast iron stoves, clogs, feathered quills, old colonial newspapers, copper pots and pans, bodices and bloomers, old school desks with inkwells, and the old phone. All displayed in a higgledy-piggledy yet quite logical fashion.

It wasn’t open to the public as such, except if someone showed interest in the town when the mayor happened to be around.

There was a poignancy about the items in the old house and passion in the mayor’s voice gave life to individual pieces. It was a chronicle of a world which had drifted away, but one which was kept alive in those dusty old rooms.

There was nothing sensational about anything of the items in the rooms, but there was something special, unique about the experience. We we were treated to a glimpse of the social history of a small Italian town not many people will ever venture into.

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+

Personally I favour sunsets. There’s one serious problem with sunrise, it happens far too early in the day for my liking. Whereas sunrise gives notice it’s time to leave a cosy cocoon so the working day can start, a sunset is generally a signal for fun to begin.

It feels unnatural to me to drag myself out of bed to watch the sun appear over the horizon, even if it does breath light and colour into the world. Sure it’s the dawn of a new day which might be filled with hope and many wondrous things, but sunsets mark the end of a day. You already know when it’s been a satisfyingly good one and can relax, drink of choice in hand, to enjoy the free light show in the sky.

The cocktail might be known as a tequila sunrise but that’s not when you be sip it, unless you’re seriously hardcore. Sunset bars do a roaring trade but have you ever heard of a sunrise bar? Maybe there’s a niche for a coffee shop with sunrise views.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the early morning vibe when the world is waking up. I cherish rosy memories of whistling milkmen leaving bottles on doorsteps and passing family bakers where the smell of freshly cooked bread could drive you delirious. Where we live now there’s an early morning buzz around the harbour which doesn’t happen at any other time of the day. Little blue boats unload their catch, chefs and abuelas clamour at the fish stall to buy the choicest specimens, old men with cigars clamped between their teeth sit around a table noisily playing dominoes. It’s a scene which makes me feel at one with the world.

But you know what? I prefer to experience it from the night side; heading home at sunrise when the world is waking up. There’s something deliciously decadent about getting to enjoy the dawn chorus before falling into a bed which embraces you with the warmth of an old friend. The other thing about the early morning vibe I enjoy, what’s happening in the sky is only a bit part player.

Sunset is different. Sunset is a performance which requires no great effort to enjoy. A rainbow of colours spreading across the sky can often distract us from what we’re doing. No matter how many spectacular sunsets we see, a good one will drag us outside to stand and stare in awe at the heavens. Sunsets are wonderfully social affairs – all over the world people gather to watch the sun go to bed. I think of sunsets and I visualise enjoying them with other people.

It’s impossible to pick out a favourite place to watch sunsets. That’s the beauty of them, you get wondrous sunsets all across the globe. Zadar in Croatia stands out because it has the longest sunset I’ve ever witnessed. Plus there’s a gimmick there which makes it even more special.

The irony is that although I’ll take a sunset over a sunrise any day of the week, one of the most memorable travel moments I’ve enjoyed to date involved a sunrise; climbing Spain’s highest peak, Mount Teide, in pitch darkness in order to sit with the gods and experience the birth of a brand new day from above the clouds.

That was extra special.

Where sunsets are flamboyant fun, sunrises tend to be more intimate affairs, possibly best enjoyed in the reflective company of your own thoughts.

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+

These are some snapshots of an Italian beauty.

Cannero Riviera

There might be views of the Alps but the Cannero Riviera has more of a feel of the Mediterranean about it, with the air perfumed by lime, lemon, orange and olive groves. This is such a typical Lake Maggiore scene – immaculate gardens, elegant villa and a yacht the colour of lemons bobbing on the olive waters. Idyllic.

Chic Cannero

A small town with a big personality near the border with Switzerland, Cannero is the sort of place where I wished I had a sharp Armani suit to throw on before we strolled its perfect promenade. Charm and style personified.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

This statue at the entrance of a house located beside the woodland path between Cannero and Cannobio seemed to mock those oh so serious ‘beware of the guard dog’ signs you often get. Maybe he’s more bored guard dog as not so many people pass his way, so he doesn’t have a lot to bark about.

Multicultural Villa Taranto

The creation of a Scottish sea captain, the gardens at Villa Taranto in Verbania are part classical Italian, part flowery British and part exotically botanical. This scene captures some of its mixed up, but totally enchanting, personality. Neat gardens, palms and a snowy mountain backdrop.

Flowery Fields

Another Villa Taranto shot. There are always flowers in bloom apparently. What I like about this is that although there’s a neatness to the display, the flowers past their best lend it a slightly unkempt look which makes it less Mary, Mary quite contrary.

Contrasts

The stained glass windows really pop out against the stark stone in the last resting place of Villa Taranto’s Captain Neil McEacharn.

Classically Italian

There’s no mistaking which country you’re in when you gaze out across the gardens on Isola Bella, one of the Borromean Islands on Lake Maggiore.

Proud as a Peacock

And no ordinary peacock at that, one of the striking white peacocks on another garden Borromean Island on Lake Maggiore, Isola Madre.

The Prince and the Pauper

An image that shows the wildly differing personalities of the Borromean Islands. The aristocratic pomp of the palace on Isola Bella brought down to earth by the simple fishing boat on Isola dei Pescatori.

Honest Charm

There are no gardens to speak of, but its honest, simple, working class charm made Isola dei Pescatori our favourite amongst the Borromean Islands, especially after the day-trippers left and we felt as though we had the tiny island all to ourselves.

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+

That understated elegance is a sartorial gift that only the Italians appear to possess and it became in my mind an analogy for Novara itself; a city steeped in history with an impressive architectural pedigree and a plethora of pretty piazzas yet I had never heard of it, and I seriously doubt that too many people outside of Italy have either.

You can see Novara, eponymous capital of the Piedmontese region that lies 45km (28 miles) to the west of Milan, long before you arrive into its confines, the 121 metre (397ft) high dome and golden Christ of the Basilica of San Gaudenzio dominating the endless paddy fields that stretch between the rivers Ticino and Sesia. This is fertile land, settled since the second century BC, and an important communications crossroads and therefore trading centre for the Romans. But despite being the seat of the bishop from the 5th century and the site of important historic battles, Novara never really grew much beyond about a 20km radius of its city walls and today, lies just below the tourist radar.

Perhaps, if the city had retained its medieval walls it might have attracted visitors to stroll them and take in the views of the rice fields that appear to stretch to the distant Alps. As it is, all that remains of those walls now is a small section on Piazza Cavour, the rest demolished to make way for city expansion in the form of the baluardo boulevard. Even without the walls, visitors would surely come for the centrepiece of the city’s architectural portfolio, the 17th century Basilica of San Gaudenzio with its Alessandro Antonelli designed dome topped with the gilded figure of Christ which shines like a beacon across the landscape. The original figure of Christ is now housed inside the basilica, both for safe keeping and to remove the excess weight from the dome. The one that sits atop the dome is actually a fibreglass replica but no less impressive for that, and impossible to tell from ground zero.

I would have thought visitors would love to amble through the loggias that line Piazza Martiri Della Liberta where the Corn Exchange lies. This was where the price of rice was determined for the whole of Italy, a testament to the region’s importance as a producer. Its walls still carry the scars of cannonball fired during the Battle of Novara in 1849 when the Piedmontese army was defeated by the Austrians in the first Italian War of Independence. Sharing the Piazza Martiri is the 19th century Teatro Coccia, considered to have the third best acoustics in Italy after Teatro Alla Scala and Teatro La Fenice and an important symbol of the city’s cultural life. Inside, the magnificent balconies and boxes are decorated with Renaissance style motifs and the stage is so large it was able to host equestrian shows, all the rage in the late 19th century.

Although it pales into insignificance in comparison to Milan’s Duomo, nevertheless, the Duomo of Novara on Piazza Della Republica is surely worth a visit to see its Antonelli-designed altar constructed of Carrara marble, its priceless art collection and its ridiculously outsized door which is the perfect setting for an Alice in Wonderland style selfie. Considered the tallest door in Europe and constructed from a single block of wood, incredibly, just one key locks this entire edifice.

Novara isn’t just about art, architecture and museums, it’s also an important centre for food and wine production. For five centuries Novara has produced some of Italy’s best rice and if people knew how good the risotto is at Albergo Ristorante Parmigiano, you’d never be able to get a lunch table there. Wine production in the area is of the quality over quantity variety with just 11 Denominations of Origin producing fine red wines with a distinctive perfume of woodsmoke and violets from the nebbiolo grape. If more people knew about the wine, the place would be overrun.

But the truth is, without the crowds elbowing their way past you in pursuit of a guide with an umbrella held aloft, wandering the heart of the old city, encountering ghosts of its history on every piazza, is a far more pleasant and relaxing experience. Without the steady stream of coach excursions that pour tourists into the streets of Rome, Milan, Turin, Naples et al, you can wander straight into the Camporelli shop to buy some of their famous Novara biscuits which have been made since the 16th century, without having to queue; you can pop into Bar Pizza La Brace Di Calabro’ Di Giovanni on Via Fratelli Rosselli for an aperitif and a pizza without reverting to standing room only; and you can take a table in a coffee shop and watch three gorgeous men casually drinking their morning coffee.

My advice? Go now, before the word gets out and Novara finds itself on the tourist map.

Buzztrips visited Novara with Maggioni Tourist Marketing and enjoyed a city tour with Tanya from Novara Tourist office.

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

One of the oldest gardens in Italy, dating back to the 16th century, Isola Madre isn’t what I expected. It’s paths seem more random, its flowers and trees less regimented than the immaculate Italian gardens in my head. The gardens seem casually beautiful, almost accidental than designed, which enhances the experience of exploring this colourful bloom set in a sparkling lake. The fact that it’s more open than neighbouring Isola Bella, means that it is also less claustrophobic; steps and longish walks being less popular with the organised masses.

The gardens at Isola Madre are a place for meandering without any purpose except to absorb slowly and with relish as the path reveals its many gifts.

Too many words detract from gardens such as this. I’ll let the pictures act as a taster.

Whispering bamboo and the gentle lapping of the lake – enchanting ingredients.

Wisteria covered portal to a magic kingdom.

Wild beauties.

A blurred bird and the hint of something quite special.

The white peacock, a perfect pet for an ice queen in a fairy tale.

Roses are red… resplendently so.

More birds. As well as peacocks there are flamboyant pheasants. This isn’t particularly exotic but it does have a cute chick in tow.

More of a classically Italian garden scene beside the Renaissance palace.

A weeper caressing the surface of the lake – one of the most romantic of trees. Its melancholic branches swaying in the light breeze wave arrivederci as we drift away to swap one perfect little island for another, the Isola dei Pescatori.

Fact file: The Isola Madre Gardens are open between March and the beginning of November from 9am to 5.30pm (latest time to start a visit). Entrance for the palace and gardens costs from €12. Getting there by ferry (www.navigazionelaghi.it) is part of the fun and a good way to enjoy some superb lake scenery. A one-way fare from Baveno is €3.90, but there are all sorts of combinations if you want to visit other islands.

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 first is that finding somewhere to buy water in Gargnano on a Sunday morn is no easy task. The second is that when we do find a café, the owner asks us to wait whilst he slips on a stripy jumper and covers his face with a mask.

“HOW MUCH?”

However, being seriously overcharged for a small bottle of water doesn’t dent our high spirits. We’d had a luxurious breakfast beside a resplendent Lake Garda, the sun is shining and the Italian countryside sings out our names.

Even the walk to the start of the route is full of sights to widen the eyes and make us feel as though somehow we’ve slipped through time to emerge at some point in the 1950s. A casually stylish foursome step onto a wooden jetty from a motor launch; a sleek, gleaming, open topped sports car growls past as we make our way between tall houses with ochre facades and perky window boxes.

DH Lawrence once spent six months in this very spot. Lucky bugger.

A turn inland and the artists’ dream of a lake side village (it even has a harbour with the best fresh fish dish in the universe) is replaced by an olive-lined track leading past slumbering  ancient villas, curious lizards, antique communal wash areas (first time I’ve ever seen one anywhere that is still used) and weeping willows.

It’s easy walking through the sort of countryside that comes with a soft focus to it. There’s nothing particularly remarkable, it’s simply pleasant strolling.

A plan of picking up lunch in a tavern in one of the small villages along the way is scuppered by the fact that the one bar/restaurant we pass apparently closes for lunch. We wonder if it closes for dinner as well.

The tranquility of the countryside is disturbed by the ever louder rumblings and grumblings from our stomachs as we descend through thick forest to the Toscolano River where fishermen and fisherwomen cast their lines beneath a canopy of cypress, willows, alder and plane trees.

Rickety wooden bridges span the river, leading us to an old paper mill from the 16th century.

It starts to rain, cutting short our exploration of the ruins, and we shelter under a tree. The rain falls gently, befitting of the scene around us, but persistently. We watch from our dry spot as a couple of dogs take an anarchic route across a covered bridge; using its roof.

Eventually the rain abates enough for us to continue past a museum dedicated to the mill to reach a picnic spot and the hope of food. It’s a perfect place for a picnic – benches in a glade, a lanky old villa towering above the river and a stone bridge from which to play Pooh sticks. The area is packed with Italian families tucking into food… and there is a kiosk.

However, the kiosk’s selection of things to eat is limited to say the least. A packet of crisps is a poor substitute for the plate of pan-fried trout we’d hoped for.

Still, the crisps are welcome and just about enough to sustain us on the last five or so kilometres into Gardone below Mount Pizzocolo. Some say the mountain resembles Napoleon’s profile. I struggle to make the connection.

Gardone positively oozes bohemian and artistic influences, especially evident in the tantalising views of the intriguing and whimsical arty grounds of Il Vittoriale, an intriguing folly of a place created by poet-soldier-hypochondriac Gabriele D’Annunzio.

It looks fascinating but we’ve no time to explore it. Instead we head towards our penultimate destination, the jetty beside another throwback to a different era, the Grand Hotel Gardone. After a brief wait we board a ferry, grab a seat and order a beer to make the return journey in a more relaxing manner along a colourful coast where a series of equally pretty villages smile and scowl as the sun and cloud battles for dominance.

The ferry drops us within a short distance of out hotel, Biai D’Oro, as the sky darkens and a slight breeze becomes a gusting wind. A chef pokes his head out of a door, makes a face and withdraws rapidly.

We quicken our steps as the clouds start to spit at us and a gust of wind lifts a table outside a café, depositing it, upside down, in Lake Garda. We sprint for the door and barge through it as the light rain becomes machine gun hailstones. As we shut the door we hear a girl who was behind us scream – she’s wearing a flimsy summer dress that offers no protection at all against the stinging pellets.

We are not always quite so lucky. But in this case our walk has ended with impeccable timing.

A storm over a lake is particularly enjoyable when watched from inside a cosy and stylish hotel room with a generous glass of red in hand.

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+

Located on the tip of a peninsular that juts out from the southern shore of Lake Garda, Sirmione is known for its health giving spa waters, its romantic sunsets over the lake and its benign climate. As one of the most picturesque spots on Lake Garda, it’s also known for its crowds. Visit in summer and you’ll find yourself swept along in a tsunami of day trippers with barely enough elbow space to raise a iPad into the air for a souvenir shot. But visit in spring and you’ll find a very different Sirmione, one where you can wander effortlessly across the drawbridge; contemplate the sunset in peaceful solitude and soak up the town’s famous hot springs without the madding multitudes.

The entrance to the old town is via the drawbridge of the 13th century Rocca Scaligera castle, built by the Scaligera family to protect the east side of Lake Garda from their neighbours and rivals, the Visconte family of Milan. Appropriately, the drawbridge is still protected today, by the official who stops vehicles entering the pedestrianised streets of the old town. Trundling past, suitcases piled into the back of a little van make their way from a coach parked outside the town to the emblematic Hotel Sirmione while their owners make the journey on foot. The absence of traffic is one of the things that lends Sirmione its unique charm, the other is the distinctive whiff of sulphur that hangs in the air.

For centuries after the Romans had channelled it into the patrician villas of Grotte di Catullo on the very tip of the peninsula, the health giving force of the springs lay inaccessibly beneath the lake. It wasn’t until a Venetian diver named Procopio slipped into a rubber suit and managed to secure a pipe into the rock, that Sirmione was able to exploit its spa potential. Channelled from the Terme di Catullo natural hot spring which lies beneath the Grotte di Catullo Roman ruins, the water emerges from the rocks at a scalding 70ºC and contains a healthy mix of sodium chloride, bromine and iodine.

Ambling the quaint streets on a sunny, chilly January afternoon, the steam rising from the surface of the outdoor pool of the Aquaria thermal baths was an inviting sight, the mineral rich waters maintaining a constant 34º to 36ºC and attracting bathers year round. Outside of summer, pools are quiet and there’s space and time to relax and soak up the tranquillity along with the minerals.

Occupying pole position alongside the castle, the marigold walls of the Sirmione Hotel look out over the beauty of Lake Garda, its waterfront balconies affording the perfect vantage point from which to enjoy a glorious sunset. Classically Italian design, spacious bedrooms and its own thermal spa provide the ideal base to spend a couple of days exploring the town and the Roman ruins of Grotte di Catullo; strolling or cycling the lakeside paths and taking a trip on Lake Garda. And with rates up to 25% lower in spring, it’s an affordable weekend break.

Sirmione is easily accessible by car as it’s close to the motorway network. Alternatively, take a train to Peschiera or Desenzano, both around 10km away, from where you can catch a bus or jump on a ferry to Sirmione. The nearest airports are Brescia (37km) and Verona (34km).

Buzztrips visited Sirmione with Brescia Tourism and as a guest of WonderfulExpo, the official tourist website of Milan and Lombardy.

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