Rare temples of Agrigento are worth lingering over

The drive from Monreale to Agrigento is magnificent, especially at this time of year.

You spend the first 45 minutes winding through mountain passes.  Vivid yellow broom climbs up the slopes, wildflowers line the roadside.  There are a few crumbling stone farmhouses, a few stone walls, but it's mostly just wilderness.  "I can see why this island was so tough to take in The War," my less horticulturally and romantically inclined husband observed.

You're soon back within view of the sea, and the rest of the ride alternates between coastal plane and broad, inland valleys, all packed with citrus groves, vineyards, polytunnels and fields of fruit and vegetables.  If we'd needed any explanation for the luxuriance of every small vegetable stall we'd seen … here it was.

Agrigento itself comes as a bit of a shock after all this pastoral beauty.  In my head, the legendary Valley of the Temples was going to be a collection of Greek ruins in a grassy valley, surrounded by a few charming hotels, with a medieval/baroque village nearby.  Wrong!

You're welcomed to the area by the looming industrial smokestacks and commercial harbours of Porto Empedocle.  Turns out the area was a major producer of sulphur and potash and this was the busy export point for more than a century.  Ten minutes beyond you see Agrigento itself.  Not a village but a large town sprawling along the broad crest of a high hill, comprised almost entirely of horrid, post-war cement tower blocks, connected to the coast road by a modern highway viaduct spanning the valley.  On first glance, this is the last place you expect to connect with the glories of the ancient world.

But then your eyes adjust, and you see them.  Greek temples, built from golden stone, running down the ridge of another hill between modern Agrigento and the sea.  Once you spot the ancient world, the modern falls away and you are beguiled by beauty.

Most tourists use Agrigento as a pit stop … an afternoon at the temples, an overnight at a local hotel, and on to the next sight.  We decided to take our time, staying for three nights and exploring the area in a bit more depth.  That allowed us to give the temples a full day, which is really what they deserve, and have a second day for pure R&R.

Exploring the temples
There's a car park up at the top of the site, next to the Temple of Juno.  Unhelpfully not signposted from the main roundabout below; we drove around the whole site before finding our way there.  The area is clearly geared for bus tours … directions for individuals are sparse and if you want to circumnavigate the whole site you'll be hiking for about three miles, while the bus tours ferry people from point to point.

After tucking your car between trees in an olive grove (3 euro for the day; a bargain), you'll pay a reasonable 10 euro for combined entry to the ruins and the museum.  (It's less for the ruins alone, but you might as well go for the combo.)

By starting at this top entrance you get the full glory of the site at a glance.  The Greeks preferred temple sites with spectacular views, and this is no exception.  From the Temple of Juno you get a magnificent panorama of green valley, distant hills and sea, with a processional avenue leading down the ridge on which you're standing, other temples dotting the way.  The archeological park is filled with almond and olive trees, plus wildflowers and prickly pear in bloom.  The visual scar of modern Agrigento is, thankfully, screened by hills and trees.

The second temple in the line, of Concord, is one of the most complete of its type remaining anywhere in the world.  In addition to the exterior colonnade and the pediments, the interior walls are mostly intact, so you can really get a good idea of how the building worked.  This part of the site is made more spectacular by the old city walls, which the early Christians hollowed out to create tombs.  In front of the temple lies a wonderfully evocative bronze of the fallen, broken Icarus by modern German/Polish sculptor Igor Mitoraj.

From here, the temples get less impressive but still wonderfully picturesque as they devolve into groupings of columns jutting from rocky jumbles of ruins or fields of wildflowers.  Turns out there's a reason it's so picturesque.  British Army Captain Alexander Hardcastle settled here in the early 20th century, built a house in the middle of the temples and invested his family fortune into excavating and displaying the site in suitably romantic ways.  (Sadly, when the family bank collapsed in 1929 poor Hardcastle went bust and ended up dying in an insane asylum in Agrigento; not something they tell you on the board in front of his magnificent house.)

There's another main entry point at the bottom of the hill.  From here, you'll walk uphill along the public road for about a mile before getting to the museum, which comprises an old church, a modern building and the ruins of a theatre on the next hilltop over from the Temple of Juno.  One of the first things you learn in the museum is that the best of the treasure trove of pottery and artefacts unearthed from Agrigento went to the British Museum or the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, leaving less impressive bits and pieces here. There's still plenty to look at, but if you've been to either of the bigger museums, you won't find much that's new to you.

The one exception is an Atlas from Agrigento's temple of the Olympian Zeus.  You will have seen the ruins below, but there's nothing on site to explain what you're looking at, and the translated descriptions in the museum aren't that good.  It was only after getting home and spending some time researching online that I learned that Agrigento was once home to the largest Doric temple in the world.  Half way up the building, in between each Doric column, statues of Atlas held up the roof.  One of them is reconstructed inside the museum; its towering size hinting at the magnificence of this lost wonder.

From the museum, you'll need to walk (rather stumble; you'll be exhausted by this point) around the top of the archeological area on the Via Panoramica Valle dei Templi for about a mile to circle back to the car park.  As you'd expect from the name, there are stunning views along this walk.  There's also an amazing restaurant called Il Re di Girgenti, which I'll cover in a later entry on restaurants.

Other adventures around Agrigento

This is a coastline of lovely beaches, making it an ideal spot to linger for a while.  The star site along the sea is a chalky outcropping called the Scala dei Turchi.  Blindingly white terraces rise from blue and turquoise waters, brown sandy beach and black rocks in the shallows.  The colours are intense, every view magnificent.  You could easily spend a day here, but bring plenty of sunscreen; the white rocks multiply the effect of those rays.

Note that this is a very popular attraction with the natives, and there isn't much parking.  So getting here early is a must, especially on weekends or bank holidays.  It's also worth knowing that there are two car  parks.  One is much closer to the Scala, but involves a lot of steps.  Another … the first you'll encounter if you follow signs from Porto Empedocle … is a much longer walk but all along a flat beach.  There are lovely, sandy stretches on the way to the Scala, and a couple of beach bars.

Exploring in the other direction (southwest), we wandered through intensive agriculture valleys to Palma di Montechiaro.  This small town is primarily baroque in character and has a striking cathedral on a hilltop; you get magnificent views from its plaza.  We went on a bank holiday when everything was closed.  Spookily empty, it felt more like the stage set of a spaghetti western awaiting its actors than a real town.  I suspect that under normal circumstances it could have been fun to explore.

Beyond those sights you will, admittedly, run out of much to hold your interest unless you're here for a beach holiday.  But Agrigento is definitely worth more than the quick pit stop it's generally given.

Palermo doesn't reveal its delights easily, bit it's worth the effort

You can do Palermo in a day.  It's sprawling, noisy, untidy, rough around the edges and crumbling: a
grand lady whose best years are fading to distant memory.  It's also set on an exquisite bay, packed with intriguing architecture, enlivened by exotic gardens and exudes the kind of fascination you'd expect from a place that's been a crossroads and clashing point for diverse cultures for more than 3000 years.  Yes, you can do it in a day … but I suspect you can spend a lifetime here and not unravel the city's mysteries.

We only had two days, so we had to stick with the surface introduction.  That's pretty straightforward and sees you spending most of your time in the early middle ages.  Because you can't come here without making a pilgrimage to the Palatine Chapel and the cathedral in Monreale, both gold-suffused jewel boxes of virtuoso mosaic work that look back to a time when this island was one of the most culturally sophisticated places in the world.

There are few places that literally take your breath away; Roger II's private chapel did it for me.  Built in the 1130s, it's a relatively small space now surrounded by a palace that's grown from its Norman foundations to be the modern home of Sicilian government.  You'll see other grand rooms and courtyards, but it's the chapel everyone is here for.

Imagine gold not just as a colour, but as a feeling.  As light itself, enveloping you in its warmth.  That's the initial impression as you step into the space, where the precious metal forms the backdrop for
spectacularly detailed Byzantine-style mosaics.  As your eyes adjust, you start focusing on the beauty and detail of the bible stories depicted above you.  Drop your eyes to their normal level, and you could spend a day wondering at the geometric precision and intricacy of the marble-inlaid walls.  Look all the way up, and there's a heavily carved and decorated Moorish wooden ceiling.  You could spend hours here and only take in a fraction, so rich is the decoration.

Sadly, you won't be able to.  First because you have too much to do, and secondly because the crowds will eventually push you on.  This is one of the most important things to see in all of Sicily, and everyone knows it.  You'll probably have to stand in quite a queue, and if you travel in May you'll be jostling for space with Italian school groups.  Put up with it; it's magnificent.  And don't leave without seeing the rest of the palace.  While most rooms are unexceptional, there is one secular room left from Roger's time that offers equally gorgeous mosaics, but here laying animals before you in vivid hunting scenes.

Roger's grandson, William II, had all this to inspire him when he got to work on a cathedral in

Monreale, on a hill overlooking the city, 50 years later.  The styles are roughly similar, though Monreale is much bigger, so you don't have quite the same claustrophobically golden experience.  But it's close.  With more room to work with, the artists could delve deeper into the bible stories.  We enjoyed circling the nave "reading" the stories of creation and Jesus' life.  It's extraordinary how, working in bits of stone, the artists managed to get individuality and expression into the faces.  We particularly enjoyed the portrayal of God resting on the 7th day of creation, looking like a tired but self-satisfied executive ready to down a glass of good wine in his garden.  There's also an intriguing mosaic portrait of Thomas Beckett here that's probably what he really looked like, given he was a friend of the court and they put him near the altar to distance themselves from the atrocity their murderous cousin had instigated back in England.

Unlike the Palatine Chapel, you don't have to pay to get in to the cathedral here.  (Ignore the long queue to the right before entry, that's only for audio guides.  As a general tip, I'd suggest avoiding these in Sicily.  We found the quality of translation so bad that just drinking everything in and reading about it online later was more effective.)  You do have to pay to get behind the altar and into the cathedral museum, extras I recommend for three reasons.  (1) You'll get a much better view of the main altar.  (2) There's a baroque chapel to the right that's so hideously, overwhelmingly over-the-top that you really need to see it.  Phenomenal craftsmanship, fabulous individual elements but, all together, it would be enough to drive you to madness if you were accidentally locked in.

(3)  The museum allows you to climb up through the old archbishop's palace, giving you stunning views over the Conca d'Oro (the bay of Palermo), the intricate brickwork on the outside of the cathedral and the beautiful cloister.  The latter is a separate entry fee in a different museum, so if you're in a hurry or trying to limit your expenditure, this is a good cheat.

Back in Palermo, we caught the Hop On Hop Off City Sightseeing bus to get a sense of the rest of town.  The Cathedral is more Norman-Arabic fusion, there are a few Roman ruins, the odd medieval facade or Arabic-domed tower.  Destruction from WW2 triggered a few hideous modern tower blocks and a big neighbourhood of grand 19th century buildings will remind you of Barcelona fallen upon harder times.  But the majority of town is baroque.  Lofty Corinthian columns, broken pediments, frolicking deities, dancing putti and millions of decorative scrolls shout their former glory … too often

from beneath blankets of grime.  For every recently restored building there's another that's derelict; shored up with iron bars or wooden beams, waiting for cash and love to return it to its lost magnificence.

The bus tour was a great introduction and, with so much lying ahead in the next nine days of my visit, left me feeling like I'd seen enough.  Now back home, I think I could happily return for a more leisurely exploration.  I'd like to see a performance in the grand opera house.  Get inside some of those quirky churches.  Explore the famous markets.  But at the end of a day there I was exhausted.  By the crowds, the traffic (exacerbated by a strike and protests around the palace), the noise and the dirt.  I suspect the secret to Palermo is to do it a little at a time, in bite-sized chunks.

Which is why it also turned out to be an inspired move to stay up in Monreale.  I'll do an entry on hotels later.  But as an overall base, this is a great compromise.  Close enough to get into Palermo easily (half an hour on a bus), but far enough away to have a village-like charm.  There are good restaurants, stunning views and you'll feel perfectly safe rambling around at night.  Just make sure you find the same bus back that you took to town.  Don't make our mistake and switch lines … turns out there are two Monreale lines and one goes to the modern town, two or three miles downhill from where we wanted to be.

Let's just say I did a hell of a lot more walking that day than I'd planned.  But to surround myself once more in the gold of the Palatine Chapel, I'd do it all over again.

First Sicilian visit confounds expectations … and makes me wonder if I'll bother with Tuscany again

This is the first of a series of entries on Sicily, written upon my return but backdated to stretch across the dates of the actual trip.

A little over 100 years ago, Carmela Ferrara locked the door to the family farmhouse in Novarra di Sicilia for the last time.  She was stereotypically Sicilian, stout and olive skinned, with a shock of prematurely white hair.  All attributes her descendants would inherit.  She balanced her toddler son Giovanni Pietro on her hip and headed off to the port of Messina for the long trip to New York City, where she'd join the rest of the family that had gone on ahead to establish a new home in New Haven, CT.  Administrators at Ellis Island anglicised the boy's name to John Peter, an arbitrary stripping of ethnic identity that quite possibly helped the lad to get into medical school later.

Though he never completely lost his Sicilian roots (most notably his love for his homeland's food), my grandfather John P. Ferrara MD was always resolutely American first.  He never pushed a return to the old country.  When I first had the chance to visit Italy, he suggested I go north, to the cradles of the Renaissance.  Art took me to Florence, history to Rome, work to Milan.  I didn't learn Sicilian as a child in the home, but Tuscan as an adult in a classroom.  Somehow, while I'd visited all the other origins of my DNA, I'd never made it to the one that put the biggest cultural brand on my soul.  I decided I couldn't hit 50 without addressing that omission.  And thus, finally, I stepped off a plane in Catania and became the first of my line to return to the mother country since Carmela and Giovanni left it.

A complete return to Novarra wasn't in the plans.  There's little to see there and it's tough to get to.  An isolated, mountain village at the end of tortuous, twisting roads that are slow going … turns out that, despite being from the heart of the Mediterranean, my ancestors were as land-locked as the Missourians they came to be.  My plan was to do the standard intro tour, covering three points of the triangle:  Palermo, Agrigento, Taormina.

The entire trip was a delight and leaves doubting I'll be back to Florence any time soon.  This is a whole new world to explore.  Like a distorted reflection of the mainland, it's Italian, yet completely different.  It confounded almost all the expectations I had of it, and has left me hungry for more.  (And I don't just mean cannoli.)  Here were some of the surprises.

It's not nearly as rough or dangerous as I expected.  Immigrants' experiences of their homelands stop when they leave.  (I know.  For me, it will always be 1993 in the USA, and pro baseball doesn't exist in Florida.)  Perhaps that's why the Italian-American community hands down a vision of Sicily as crumbling, dirty, dangerous and Mafia-infested.  I'm not going to deny it's a long way from the commuter villages of Milan, but things have moved on a lot and I saw plenty of normal, middle class life with pockets of real affluence.  Yes, there are more derelict buildings here than elsewhere in Italy; WW2 still casts a long shadow.  There's more random rubbish scattered along country lanes than elsewhere in Europe, and the abundant warnings about auto theft when you pick up your hire car are a bit daunting.  Yes, being this close to Africa there's an immigration problem, but Siricusa was the only place we noticed a lot of beggars, and there no more than Paris.  Overall, if you've done a fair bit of travel and keep your wits about you, it's no worse than other parts of Europe.

It's not all about the coasts.  Sicily has a total area of more than 10,000 square miles, of which just over 900 is coastline.  Even my childish grasp of mathematics can deduce that leaves a lot inland.  But you only ever hear about the seaside.  This fact confronted me within half an hour of arriving, as we headed cross-country on the Catania-Palermo highway.  Through mile after mile of spectacular highlands with broad expanses of wheat, lush forests, contented herds of cattle and sheep and very few people.  That night's restaurant drove it home when it served us some exceptional beef.  Closer to the coasts, but still inland, are miles of intensive agricultural land filled with citrus, vines, fruit trees and polytunnels producing a riot of vegetables.  Including those famous tomatoes.

Driving isn't the nightmare you're led to believe.  Here are the three things you have to overcome:  signage is rotten; lots of mountain roads mean you'll be doing frequent, repeated hairpin turns; roundabouts are a free-for-all in which the pushiest get through.  Master these things (having a good navigator is essential), and you'll be fine.  The highway network has clearly had a lot of money put into it recently.  In most cases you'll find the main roads between the big towns to be in excellent condition and not very crowded.  And there are far fewer toll roads than in the rest of Italy or France.

The food.  So many surprises, they will have their own entries.  Of course.  Sicilian food can be subtle, elegant and delicate … not attributes I attributed to the comfort dishes of my family kitchen.  There are ingredients and combinations I'd never imagined; mint, for example, turns up as much as oregano.  They don't put tomatoes in their caponata.  You can have the disappointment of an average meal (I admit, I thought every bite I put in my mouth would be superlative), but you probably won't have a bad one.  Cannoli taste pretty much the same here as they do anywhere else.  And the wine?  An undiscovered country of delight…

It's the Americans who are obsessed with the Mafia, not the Sicilians.  Sicilians are getting on with their country.  With a growing economy, partial autonomy from Italy, increased sophistication in their tourism and export markets, there's a sense of optimism here.  Sure, the mafia is still a factor, but locals were far more likely to complain about current politicians or immigration pressures than organised crime.  They wish Americans would get over their fascination and celebrate the joys of the island.  And yet … clearly to feed the American tours market … we saw "Godfather" souvenirs wherever we went, heard the soundtrack played constantly as restaurant background music and saw tours advertised to Corleone.  Clearly, it's a tough balance for the Sicilians between an image they want to shed and tourist dollars they want to collect.

It's a land of floral abundance.  The Sicily in my head was hot, dry and brown.  That might be the truth in August.  But in May, it's an astonishing display of yellow, purple, blue, magenta, dusky pink and bright reds against verdant green backgrounds.  I've never been anywhere with more beautiful and abundant wildflowers.  They make every roadside a garden worth observing.  This is clearly one of the best times of the year to come.

Other things, of course, were exactly as expected.  The people are exuberant, friendly and clearly in pursuit of the joy in life.  The intersection of cultures … Greek, Roman, Arabic, Norman, Spanish, etc. … makes for a fascinating mix of history and sightseeing.  There's a lot of faded, crumbing grandeur.  The seafood is magnificent.  They speak much less English here than further North, so my basic Italian was very useful.  The food markets … especially the produce and the fish … are filled with such quality you want to drop everything to cook.  The coastline is so beautiful you'll want to weep.

So … ready to explore?  Let's start with Palermo in the next entry.

Peak District combines high culture with the great outdoors

Though known for its green and gentle land, England has a handful of wild and dramatic places that are preserved as national parks and much loved by walkers.  In the past I've written about Dartmoor, Exmoor, the Lake District and the Peak District.  All are similar in their mix of landscape, charming villages and dog-friendly establishments, but the last wins the prize for the best stately homes.  If you want to mix your fine views with art history, this is the place to come.

Over our Easter weekend we took in three of the district's blockbusters.  First up was Kedleston Hall, one of the finest of Robert Adam's houses.  (Technically not in the Peak, but a gateway to it when you're coming from the South.)  Architecture geeks like me will be satisfied with the entry hall alone: a columned, marble-floored, statue-bedecked place that any ancient Roman might mistake for a high-end temple.  Beyond it there's a round, domed salon that's equally sophisticated, and wrapping around that are a series of rooms all bearing Adam's magical touch.  This was one of his early works and the first time he could fully carry out his vision of complete design: not just the architecture, but furniture and interior decor as well.  The dining room, with its tasteful alcove for the fitted buffet, classical urn-shaped plate warmers and imperial wine coolers, all designed to work together, is exquisite.

The National Trust has been hard at work on restoration over past years here, and the place is much improved since my first visit in the early '90s.  Craftsmen have re-created period wall coverings, renewed gilding and restored furniture.  Check out the long, Adam-designed sofas held up by frames of golden mermaids and mermen, set against walls covered with the same light blue damask that upholsters the seats.  Now all restored to full 18th century glory.  It's no wonder this place is such a popular film set, most notably in the recent adaptation of The Duchess.

Do step out of the 18th century to explore the small museum in the basement.  A more recent owner was Viceroy of India.  The collection comprises a wide array of Indian artefacts, from armour to elephant saddles to carved ivories.  The dress Lady Curzon wore to the Delhi Durbar, sewn with thousands of tiny jewels in the pattern of peacock feathers, is jaw-dropping.

In the centre of the district is Chatsworth, known as the Palace of the Peak.  The magnificent pile of the Dukes of Devonshire has been growing and changing since its Tudor foundations, as each generation makes its own contribution.  Though the bulk of what you see here is English baroque, you'll stumble upon Victorian oddities, an Edwardian theatre, a Regency dining room … even the rococo exuberance of carved panelling from a German monastery, transported here to become one Duke's smoking room.  To mark the centenary of WWI there's also a fascinating exhibit about the house and the family through the World Wars in a newly-opened display space near the end of the tourist route through the house.

Chatsworth is still owned by the Cavendish family.  They are active caretakers and collectors, meaning
that the place is constantly evolving.  It's one of the glories of any visit here.  In the six years since my last, the current owner (Stoker, 12th Duke) has completely reworked the tourist route through the house, dotted the place with modern art, re-created a traditional 17th c. display of plate in the original dining room, dotted modern sculpture around the park and completely re-decorated one long hallway to show off antique china on one side, and abstract, highly textural ceramic wall tiles on the other.  I loved some of the modern additions: collections of modern pottery form a lovely contrast sitting within classical mantlepieces, a sculpted pack of hounds romping across one of the internal courtyards is fantastic.  Others were too jarring for me:  A vividly-coloured wire sculpture breaks the line of the baroque water cascade in the gardens; an electrified neon, cartoon-style portrait of the current Duke's daughter-in-law changes colour every few seconds at jarring odds with the cool colours of the under-stair grotto in which it hangs.  You may love them or hate them as individual pieces, but the novelty is the reason that regular returns to Chatsworth are worth the admission fee.

I wish the Manners family could take a leaf out of their neighbours' book when it comes to Haddon Hall.  I don't think a thing has changed here since my first visit more than 15 years ago.  Granted, the idea that the house has been preserved in aspic is one of the main reasons for coming here.  The fortified manor on its hilltop above the River Wye saw great investment in the early Tudor era, then was mostly ignored until the early 20th century when "Tudorbethan" revival was all the rage and the Dukes of Rutland realised this little used secondary home was worthy of note.  This is one of the top places to visit in the UK if you want to be whisked back to 1520. And another oft-used filming location, notably used in all three of the most recent adaptations of Jane Eyre.

That's no excuse, however, for a complete lack of investment or improvement over the years.  In my recent entries on Dutch museums I talked about how good that nation is at using technology and communications to bring their culture to life.  There is so much potential here to evoke the magic of history and the drama of all that happened here.  Instead, you can look at dog-eared, laminated one-pagers that have been here for years to point a few facts about each room.  The closest they come to innovative interpretation is a replay of the excellent BBC show on medieval banquets that was filmed here.  Not shown in the kitchen … the focal point of the piece … but in a room at the end of the tour.

If you love Tudor architecture, you have to see this place.  But, sadly, there's little reason for a return visit, and I fear you'd have to work quite hard to get children to understand how special the place is.

Sticking to the Peak District's country houses doesn't mean you have to give up on the area's favourite pastime of walking.  The houses provide their own possibilities, with gentler trails and good parking.  It's a good option for the less fit, or the less adventurous.  Both Kedleston and Chatsworth have formal gardens and expansive parks, and dogs are allowed at both.

Monsal Head Hotel is a place to watch in the Peak District … for both B&B and fine food

It's easy to have a fabulous travel experience when you follow recommendations in fashionable magazines, stick to four- or five-star ratings and splash out the cash.  It's far more challenging to find similar delights at lower price points and star levels.  And far more rewarding, both to your budget and your sense of adventure, when you find a humble place that punches above its weight.

The Monsal Head Hotel delivers superb value for money in a stunning location in the heart of the Peak District.  Its Victorian bones are creaky and in need of renovation, its decor basic, but its food is on par with any fancy gastropub-with-rooms and the service levels of its cheerful team equal upscale boutique hotels.  New managers Keith and Hannah have only been in place for six months and have been hard at work improving the basics.  Hearing their plans for the future, I'd bet this place joins the ranks of posher, more fashionable neighbours in a couple years.  Get in now while it's still an undiscovered deal.

Monsal Head is a promontory jutting above the deep, idyllically green valley of Monsal Dale, bisected by a Victorian rail bridge and the glistening River Wye.  Sheep dot the hills, cows graze the valley basin, the sun sets behind a single, dramatic tree on an otherwise bare hilltop across the valley.  It's a view straight out of the tourist brochures, and four of the hotel's seven rooms look over it from cozy, enclosed balconies.  (Ours had two comfy wicker chairs; I assume the rest do as well.)  You do have to put up with a small short-term car park immediately below, but this is only noisy at peak hours of the day and clears out completely from dusk to early morning.  We spent several exquisite hours curled up in these chairs in the sun trap of the balcony, reading, sipping on a pint brought up from the bar below and pausing often to take in the extraordinary view.  You're positioned for spectacular sunsets.

The furniture is basic (mostly dark wood early-20th century stuff, in keeping with the feel of the place) but comfortable.  They've clearly paid attention to the one place you can't skimp:  the mattresses are good.  The biggest difference between this and posher places is the bathroom: sink in the room itself, blocking a fireplace that would have been an attractive design feature; toilet and shower in a tiny separate room.  The latter is the only place you'll really grit your teeth and wish you'd booked up a level.  The '80s lino floor you can live with, but a "power shower" that spits a weak drizzle of water is not what you want after a long hike in the country.  (Bathroom upgrades are on Keith's priority list.)  It's worth putting up with, however, to scrub up for a nice dinner.

We dined here three nights (as part of our package) and had lunch from the same kitchen twice, and were happy with each meal.  Somebody's clearly been watching Masterchef.  Dishes were modern European with influences from Asia or North Africa.  The best dish of the stay was a lamb fillet with hints of Morrocan spice served on a squash puree and topped with parsnip crisps.  Starters of chicken liver pate and confit duck leg showed confidence with the classics, and several fish dishes came out perfectly cooked.  All with presentation far more beautiful than the bare bones dining room would lead you to expect.  A small but pleasantly diverse wine list offered plenty of reasonably-priced matching options, and Keith knew his stuff when it came to making recommendations.

The lounge across the lobby from the restaurant will be a woeful place until it gets renovated, but there's an adjoining pub out the back door if you want to relax somewhere before or after dining.  This has loads of character.  It was once the stables and now has tables tucked into the horse boxes, with  plenty of outdoor dining space if the weather is good.  For people who like beer and ales, they had a range of craft and local stuff of which they were proud.

This is a walker's paradise.  You can set off on multiple trails from the hotel itself, and they'll pack a lunch to send you on your way.  You're also within a short drive of some blockbuster stately homes and plenty of cute villages.  They also welcome dogs for a small extra fee, which was a critical factor for a long weekend in the country.

I don't get up to the Peak District that often, but I have pencilled in a return trip in two or three years just to see how Keith and Hannah do with the hotel.  There's abundant potential, and they seem to be on the right track to exploit all of it.  Check it out now, while it's great value for money.  Our 3-night Easter package was £150 a night for the two of us, with B&B, 3-course dinners, one packed lunch, a bottle of champagne for the two of us and Easter eggs.  Hard to beat.

Sicilian Luce e Limoni is that rarest of things: a really good Italian restaurant in London

Restaurant Review:
Luce e Limoni, 93 Gray's Inn Road
Marco Polo on the River, Riverside Quarter, Wandsworth

London is full of Italian restaurants, but few in the moderate range (between £30 and £50 per person for three courses, wine and coffee) are worth a special effort.

Granted, I'm a tough critic.  With Italian heritage dictating most of what came out of our family kitchen, this is what I first learned to cook and is my default cuisine.  I don't see the point of dining at a place that presents the same dishes I can whip up myself, but with less quality.  Thus, though I adore Italian food, you'll find fewer Italian restaurants on this blog than those of other cuisines.  In England, they're rarely worth the effort.

The past week offered two more London attempts to change that opinion.  Luce e Limoni wins my full approbation.  Marco Polo is middling, only worth the trip for al fresco dining.

Luce e Limoni is not just Italian.  It's properly Sicilian.  The menu was drenched with regional favourites:  fennel, arancini, pasta con Norma, swordfish, cassata, cannoli.  Plus plenty of Sicilian wines.  We suspected we were in for a treat and the first tastes confirmed it.

I started with thin slices of air-dried tuna circling a salad studded with new season baby artichokes.  Beautiful.  (And, in fact, such an inspiration I re-created the dish for a dinner party two days later, finally inspired in how to use the dried tuna we brought back from Barcelona.)  A flavoursome spaghetti with lobster followed, though it was a hard choice from a menu filled with delight.  I would have liked to have dined in the proper Italian way, having a smaller pasta course before the main so I could taste more.  But we were trying to restrain ourselves.  Finally a plate of pinkie-length cannoli to share.  Crisp, fresh, creamy, sweet but not overly so.

The decor here complements the food, evoking a feeling of sun-drenched Italy without going over the top.  Tile floors, lots of crystal chandeliers of varying heights used as a decorative element, botanical prints on the walls.  Add a charming Italian waitress who could advise with insight on both the menu and the wine list and we were very, very happy.

The only drawback of the place is location.  It's on a stretch of Gray's Inn Road that's high in traffic and low in charm, about five minute's walk north from Chancery Lane tube station.  It's not a place I ever pass on my usual journeys around London, but it's absolutely worth a special trip.

Marco Polo is only worth the trip if the sun is out.  Occupying the Thames-side corner of a modern apartment building in the newly-completed Riverside Quarter between Wandsworth and Putney, it has an enviable position overlooking a wooded stretch of the river and expansive terraces to take advantage of it.  The outdoor footprint, in fact, is probably double that of the main restaurant and outdoor heaters were much in evidence.  Clearly, the owners are playing on al fresco dining as their hook.

The food is fine, though nothing special.  The menu comprises basics you'd see at any Italian place,
with no nods to seasonality or regional specialities.  I suspect there are few, if any, Italians in the kitchen.  Pan seared scallops on a broad bean puree lacked flavour, swordfish was well cooked but the sauce too buttery.  The honey and almond torta was probably the best part of the meal but comically bad service when trying to procure coffee rather ruined that course.  (The rest of the service had been passable but rather slow and industrial, as a team bustled about trying to serve a very large, very crowded patio.)

So Luce e Limoni that wins this contest hands down, and immediately jumps to the top of my very short list of Italian restaurants in London worth a journey.

Concert-going offers another view of a foreign city; no language required

And so our final report from Amsterdam brings us to music.

One of the great delights of our internet age is the ability to pop online to review concert schedules and buy tickets for pretty much anywhere in the world.  In my youth, planning a concert within a foreign trip took extraordinary effort.  Now, it's easier than heading to your local box office.

The Amsterdam Concertgebouw is a name that pops up regularly in classical music.  We knew it was one of Europe's great concert halls and thought it would be fun to experience a performance in another country.  Their website is particularly helpful, with an English option and … in addition to the usual map of seats … a webcam application that lets you see what the actual view is like from the places you're considering.  Oddly, though they're quite high tech in this regard, there's no e-ticket option.  You do need to stand in line at the box office to pick up paper tickets.  But this is a minor gripe within a tremendous concert-going experience.

The hall is beautiful.  Rather than the more usual shell-shaped auditorium, it's a large rectangle with just one relatively narrow balcony around the side and extending from the back.   The architecture is clean and classical; mostly white with a coffered ceiling.  Meaning there's an admirable sense of light and space.  There's an organ behind the stage and, like the Royal Albert Hall, seats around it, allowing you to get bargain tickets if you sit behind the symphony.  The soloist and the conductor enter and exit from a door at the top of this seating area, making a ceremonial little walk through the audience.  That's a nice touch.

We chose seats in the very back row of the ground floor; I'd guess these were a modern addition to increase capacity, rather than part of the hall's original design.  The obstructed view, thanks to the columns holding up the balcony, lowered the price.  These were about the best available when we got around to ordering.  The acoustics provided great sound quality, however, and the hall is small enough that even this back row felt fairly close.

We were impressed by the extras that come with a Dutch concert ticket: free public transport to and from the hall, and a free drink at the intermission.  Trays of glasses with white and red wine, orange juice and water await you as you spill out into the public spaces around the hall.  There's also an elegant  little cafe on the ground floor facing the main road, with vast windows, old chandeliers, new art and free WiFi.  All very civilised and appealing.  I wondered if some of this was a bid to get younger people to the hall.  If so, it didn't seem to be working.  As with most other places I've seen classical music live, the crowd was mostly 50 and over, with a smattering of youth.  The demographic make up is the spectre haunting these grand palaces of culture.

They're sold out now, but will they have the audience to be so in 30 years?  I suspect an exception may be London, where audiences do seem a bit younger.  I think this has a lot to do with England's Classic FM radio station, which treats symphonic music like pop, with playlists, countdowns and celebrated personalities.  It was, after all, our daily listening to that station at home that made the Concertgebouw and its director, Mariss Jansons, familiar names to us, and worth seeking out on holiday.

And the music?  Haydn's cello concerto in C.  Familiar, comforting, soul soothing, with soloist Truls Mork's cello like warm oil pouring over the aching muscles of a long day of sightseeing.  We weren't familiar with the Bruckner.  Pleasant enough, with some stirring moments, but on the whole it seemed a Wagner wanna-be without the obviously memorable bits.  (And, in fact, some research upon returning home shows that he's the same time period, working from the same romantic inspiration of German myth.)

So happy were we with the whole experience that we're considering making this a regular part of future holiday planning.  (Sadly, the schedule of the Palermo opera house doesn't fit with out next trip.)  On the ticket-included tram on the way back to the hotel, we started discussing our target list of musical venues.  La Scala.  Carnegie Hall.  The Paris Opera.  The Hollywood Bowl.  The options are intriguing.  Suggestions below, please.
All of which is leading us towards an interesting travel objective for our 50-something years.  Perhaps we should make a

Worthy purpose, humble elegance and a great beach: The Hague is worth a visit

Most of us spend our working life in pursuit of profit.  For ourselves, our shareholders, or both.  We might slip a bit of "corporate social responsibility" into things to give back to our communities but, by and large, the adjective "worthy" is rarely associated with corporate jobs.

This thought crossed my mind frequently as we wandered around The Hague, a small Dutch city filled with a lot of global organisations big on worthy objectives like justice and world peace.  Especially when our friend Sally showed off her Nobel Peace Prize.  Yes, really. It doesn't get more worthy than that.

Sally works for the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons.  Most of the world's nations
(190, to be exact) have signed up to membership and contribute funds to keep the OPCW running.  They monitor and track chemicals that can be used to make weapons, work to safely destroy old stockpiles and get called out when people unearth potentially dangerous weapons from old conflicts.  Thanks to their efforts, more than 80% of the world's declared stockpile of chemical weapons has been destroyed.  That's why Sally and all of her colleagues got the award; they're well on their way to completely eliminating a whole class of weapons from history.  And, of course, they're the guys who get called in when chemical weapons are suspected in modern situations.  These days, Sally spends her time working on Syria.  All those investigations into whether or not chemical weapons were used?  Objective experts need to research and make the calls.  That's what happens here.  Sobering stuff that made me feel quite humble, and more than a bit inadequate, when comparing what I do with my working hours.

I wondered, as we wandered around The Hague, how the cluster of noble international organisations like the OPCW, the International Court of Justice and the Institute for Historical Justice and Reconciliation effects life here.  Is everyone just generally nicer to each other?  Certainly in our day of exploration, I can say that The Hague feels civilised, dignified and cosmopolitan.  While not an obvious day trip from Amsterdam, we found it a relaxing and interesting day out, though I'm not sure it would have been so enjoyable without a local to show us around.

Most of the international organisations are headquartered in modern offices, but there are a handful of impressive historic buildings.  The International Court is located within the Peace Palace, a massive neo-Medieval pile with soaring towers and romantic rooflines.  One wonders if it's accidental or intentional that the architecture of world peace shares a look with Walt Disney.  The authentic Middle Ages still live in the Binnenhof and Ridderzaal, the home of the Dutch parliament.  (Which is a close architectural cousin to the Palace of Westminster.)  The Grote Kerk is an imposing yet simple old Protestant cathedral, Dutch austerity shown off in its towering windows of unadorned, clear glass.  It's been decommissioned as a church and is now used as a hall for cultural and social events.

There's a small but dignified royal palace in the town centre, while on the outskirts you can get a peek through trees at the modest and elegant official residence of the Prime Minister, currently Mark Rutte.  Locals pointed out, with some pride, that Rutte walked from home to recent Nuclear Summit meetings, while U.S. President Obama and entourage had shipped over the full motorcade to cover short distances.  Granted, there are different levels of security threat for the two men, but a humble, down-to-earth attitude towards life seems to be a point of pride for all residents here.

Lacking Amsterdam's canals, the old city centre has a more generically Northern European vibe about it.  With its general tidiness, prosperous feel and preponderance of boutiques over chain stores, it reminded me a lot of Luxembourg.  On the edge of this older district sits the modern part of town, with the main train station, a small cluster of office towers and bustling streets with internationally-known brands. You'll pass through here if you come by train but don't linger; it's the older part of town that has the charm.

We had a fine dinner in the old town at Pastis Den Haag, a bistro so classically French that, if dropped here without context, you'd swear you were in Paris.  Fortunately since Sally's a regular they squeezed us in a corner at short notice; you really should book in advance.  Crab and avocado salad, foie gras, beef tartare and lots of Loire Valley white wine mixed to enhance the day's general feeling of well being.  (And please note, British protesters, that a town dedicated to all sorts of worthy causes has no issue eating engorged goose liver.  Please consider turning your attention to something more important to humanity, like preventing chemical weapons.)

Earlier, with a blazing sun suggesting a date much further advanced than late March, we enjoyed another of The Hague's claims to fame:  the beach.  Scheveningen has more than a mile of broad sand, a boardwalk for leisurely strolls, a pier filled with attractions and a name that's almost impossible for foreigners to pronounce.  Sally told us the mark of real success in Dutch is to be able to say this one word like a local.  It took her years, but she's finally mastered it.  All I could do was sound like a cat spitting up a hairball.

There's a line of beach restaurants that pop up every spring to take advantage of the good weather.  It's
hard to believe they're not permanent, with their cool decor, funky bars, wind screens and plush outdoor furniture.  But they're all disassembled for the winter, when this stretch of coast takes a furious pounding from vicious North Sea storms.  In fact, dredgers need to replace the sand every couple of years because of winter erosion.  On our visit, however, it could have been the Cote d'Azur.  With a better beer selection and far less pretension.

The Hague is definitely worth further exploration, even in less spectacular weather.

Local tips deliver some noteworthy Dutch dining

A look at TripAdvisor's top 10 restaurants in Amsterdam clearly demonstrates the challenge of dining here.  It's a mix of snack bars, breakfast cafes and "foreign" cuisine.  This is not a place with a reputation for fine food, nor does it have a celebrated local cuisine.  (Although, frankly, bitterballen, stroopwafel and Dutch apple cake all deserve wider acclaim.)  There's a lot of cheap and cheerful stuff, apparently catering more to the hoards of young weekend tourists than to a more grown-up, serious dining crowd.

Here's where local contacts trump TripAdvisor hands down.  We bypassed the tourist recommendations and followed the advice of friends who lived locally, giving us an overall dining experience as good as trips to more "foodie" locations.

These were our best meals. And while all three appear on Trip Advisor, they wouldn't have been elevated from the throng without the local tips.

Impressive Fine Dining:  Blauw aan de Wal

Like those austere Dutch churches, the white walls and austere decor here focus the attention.  The chef has nowhere to hide … and he doesn't need to.  This is serious gourmet stuff, presented in a chef's menu.  There's limited choice:  three courses with two choices each; one additional course with no choice.  (Though they demonstrated admirable flexibility getting around Piers' tomato allergy.)  Between us we tried both starters: me a cauliflower panna cotta topped with a local oyster, fish roe and gin and cucumber jelly; he a lamb tartare with almonds and jalapeño.  The first  was lovely but the second a real stand-out.  So good, in fact, that we asked for the recipe and were pleasantly surprised when the chef emailed it at 1:30 the next morning after he finished service.  We will definitely be trying it at home.

The optional course was delicately smoked eel arranged artistically with a variety of other elements.  On to a perfectly-done steak in a foie gras laced sauce before ending with a dark chocolate pudding somewhere between a mousse and a flourless cake, accompanied by vodka-soaked cherries.  We went with wine pairings by the glass, which revealed some interesting new finds.

My only real criticism was the service.  It's a small place operating with a small team; they're senior and clearly know what they're doing, but sometimes they're clearly overstretched.  We waited a bit too long between some of the courses; not a problem for a leisurely dinner on holiday but if I'd been out for business (and this is the type of place you'd use for business entertaining),  I would have wanted a snappier pace.  The full works … four courses, wine pairings, coffee … came in at around 100 euro each, probably 15% less than you'd pay for the equivalent in London.

Introduction to Rijsttafel:  Sama Sebo
With time to kill between the closing of the Rijksmuseum and a performance at the Concertgebouw, this local favourite of one of my work colleagues was perfectly located for an early dinner.  The "rice table", as rijsttafel translates, is an abundance of small dishes served with rice.  As curry is to England, so Indonesian is to the Netherlands.  In both cases, overseas empire brought exotic cuisine home and then adapted it for local tastes.  Our server explained that the tradition started when Dutch landlords accepted a part of their tenants' daily meal towards rent.  The resulting variety of small dishes assembled on the buffet of the big house led to the tapas-like approach to Indonesian food that's now one of the few iconic local food experiences in Amsterdam.

We were quite overwhelmed with the quantity and, despite being both hungry and enthusiastic eaters, we couldn't quite power through everything.  But we made a good try!  Our favourites were the satay, several other curried meats and some delicate salads.  There was a good balance of meat and veg, and things were generally flavourful without being too spicy.  We sat at the bar so the barmen were on hand to remind us of what each thing was.  And to keep topping up our beer, which is the right accompaniment for this spicy smorgasbord.  (Note that there's a more formal restaurant beyond the bar, but we preferred the more casual with its lively buzz.)

The place is clearly popular with locals.  Despite being in the museum district, and therefore on a tourist flight path, we heard mostly Dutch being spoken.  Always a good sign.  This was a fine intro that's given me a desire to explore the cuisine more.

The deal of the trip:  Genroku

Another friend tipped us off to this Dutch-Japanese version of the "all you can eat" concept.  There's a typical sushi bar menu, plus some noodle dishes, dumplings, teppanyaki and Asian sweets.  You order five things at a time, and can't place an order for your next round until you finish your first.  Everything is prepared by hand, to order, so this isn't an option for a quick dine and dash.  It's actually a brilliant way to control the usual gluttony provoked by unlimited food.  As every Weight Watcher knows, it takes about 20 minutes for your brain to get the message from your stomach that you're full.  This enforced pacing allowed us to indulge without going crazy; we actually had a third savoury round order ready to go, but decided we were too full to need it.

Our 19.95 euro each got us a lovely selection of sushi, maki and hand rolls.  Not as good as a more formal Japanese restaurant, but better than Japanese fast-food winner Itsu.  We ended with a selection of fruit and Japanese ice creams; the black bean flavoured was a delightful discovery.  If this concept came to the UK, we'd be regulars.