5 reasons to put Porto on your bucket list

We have a rule for our annual girls' trip: if you're marking a birthday year that ends in "0", you get to choose the destination. My friend Lisa's desire to stay at the legendary Yeatman Hotel, and to explore the wines made upriver from there, prompted my first trip to Portugal.

What a discovery! It's perhaps shameful that a place so close to England in distance and allegiance can seem "off the beaten track", but the truth is that Portugal's profile is far lower than its more popular European neighbours. Of the handful I know who've visited, most went for the Algarve, a top British pick for beach holidays. Despite its long links to England, few are familiar with Northern Portugal and its chief city of Porto.

Here are five reasons why you should move Porto further up your holiday priority list.

ONE: IT'S EUROPE'S GREATEST WINE SECRET
Port makes it unsurprising as a wine destination. If you're English, this place's eponymous drink has probably concluded many of your life's most memorable meals. The sweet, fortified wine is made further up the Douro valley, shipped down to Porto for aging and then on to the rest of the world. The British have loved it for centuries, and political circumstance put them in charge of many of the biggest makers in the early 19th century.  Today, clever marketing departments have ensured a great port tourism experience, with the traditional port lodges on the south side of the river offering tours and tastings to meet every budget and level of interest.

But there's much more here than the sweet stuff. The Douro is one of Europe's oldest wine growing regions; their first big export market was ancient Rome. The locals even claim to be the inventors of the DOC system that restricts the ability to brand a wine according to its region. Many vineyards have vines older than a century, the starting point for fabulously rich and complex products. Steep slopes formed of easily cracked schist rock create perfect drainage while capturing the sun, while their unique terraces are spectacular to see. In fact, they whole region is a UNESCO World Heritage site because of their architectural impact on the land. Further north, you'll find some of Europe's greatest easy-drinking whites. They're all available in Porto, which has enough wine-by-the-glass offerings to keep your body in a constant, gentle pickle across your whole holiday. Best of all, most of these "table wines" (as the locals call all their non-fortified wines) are little known, rarely exported and fantastic value for money. I don't expect this state to last, so visit now to make your discoveries and invest while the price is cheap.

TWO: IT'S FAMILIAR YET EXOTIC
Portugal is a mainstream a European country that's had a continuous alliance with England since 1386 (the world's oldest). At first it all seems very familiar. Lots of churches, windy streets, picturesque architecture, sidewalk cafes. Plenty of words on signs are familiar. Most people speak English. And yet, it's not like anywhere else. The language as spoken is full of "shush"es and strange cadences, like someone mixed Spanish, Russian and some mysterious ancient texts to come up with a new dialect for a race from a fantasy novel. The architecture is as elegant as Paris or Rome, but the tiled exteriors are unlike anything I've seen elsewhere in Europe, and the churches are so encrusted with precious metals they feel almost pagan. Beautifully restored buildings sit cheek-by-jowl with crumbling ruins being reclaimed by strangling carpets of blue-blooming morning glories. This lends the city a slightly seedy decadence reminiscent of Naples or Palermo, but the locals have the sophisticated style of Milan or Madrid.

Much of the food seems familiar, yet there are oddities. Like their proud ability to cook a different salt cod recipe for every day of the year. (Why the passion with dried fish when the whole country is a narrow strip next to the aquatic larder of the Atlantic?) They outdo even Greece with their abundance of octopus recipes, and I've never visited a country more in love with the egg. It seems to dominate everything, from the custard tart that is the national pastry to fried versions lobbed atop most sandwiches. With their snack of lupin beans I discovered my first completely new food in years. The nation's history brings similar surprises. Most of us have some sense of Portugal during the Age of Discovery, their colonisation of Brazil and their role during the Napoleonic Wars. But there's so much more to discover. They have glorious heroes, romantic poets and wildly dysfunctional royals. Turns out St. Anthony of Padua ... who I was raised to respect as the most Italian of saints, and whose statue occupied all of our homes ... was Portuguese. Discovering Porto's unique take on European culture was like finding out that my favourite, long-dead author had written a series of books I somehow missed.

THREE: IT'S EASY ON THE EYES
Porto offers one of the world's greatest urban riverfronts, in duplicate. Both sides clamber up steep slopes, providing views from the opposite bank like the architectural capriccios of artists' imaginations. Stolid 18th century warehouses, Baroque fantasies encrusted with ornament, grim Romanesque piles, 19th century statements of financial confidence, modern apartment blocks all contribute to the pastiche. Harry Potter fans are delighted to discover that J.K. Rowling lived here while drafting the first book in the series. Twisting cobbled alleys, caped college students, an extravagant fountain of winged lions and an opulent neo-gothic bookstore with a sinuous, fairy-tale staircase all influenced the style of the wizarding world. The river gorge is spanned by bridges that are truly wondrous in their architectural daring; the oldest by Gustave Eiffel of Parisian tower fame. Most days dawn with ghostly fog dancing up the Douro, burning off by mid-morning. The sun sets where the river flows into the sea, painting the sky with extraordinary colours every night we were there, gilding the river and the windows of the city with the same gaudy sparkle on display in their church altars.  Head upstream, and the system of steep terraces gives you some of the most spectacular wine country on the planet. It's a dramatic, luscious, theatrical set of a place.

FOUR: NATIVES OFFER AN ABUNDANT WELCOME
If he was lying, he did it well. "We love the English!" Our driver insisted. You are our oldest allies.
Your families settled here and still run some of our biggest businesses. You rescued us from Napoleon when the Spanish betrayed us and our own royal family ran away. (The peninsular war monument topped by a bristling, confident English lion ripping the neck out of a tragically submissive French eagle leaves no room for mis-interpretation.) "You are more like our cousins than people from another country!" Whether this was true or a spectacularly fine line for the tourists, we chose to believe it. Certainly we've rarely met more uniformly cheerful, helpful and enthusiastic service. From luxury hotel to inexpensive restaurant, wine bar waiter to nun-on-the-street, it seemed that the driving ambition of everyone we met in Porto was to go out of their way to make us love their city. Nobody was ever in a hurry ... stopping to chat with us seemed more enjoyable than whatever they were off to do. Waiters were keen to offer details on the food, keener still to tell us what was best that day whether or not it was on the menu and could even be talked into offering wines by the glass from special bottles they probably shouldn't have opened.

It helps that almost everyone speaks good English. The exception, oddly, are the taxi drivers, most of whom speak only Portuguese and make it painfully obvious that Portuguese pronunciation is very different from the written word. Having your destination written down for them is a good idea, as is a strong set of nerves as they endanger their brakes and transmissions careering around precipitous, cobbled corners.  In eight days I encountered just two grumpy people. Both had tedious jobs ferrying tourists up, down and across the Douro. Otherwise, this seems a charmed place where everyone seems to love their jobs.

FIVE: GOOD VALUE FOR MONEY 
Even with a plunging pound, Porto offers bargains. Restaurants seemed to be about 20% cheaper than their London equivalents. Taxis are a bargain, rarely costing more than €10 to get from one side of town to another and about €20 to get in from the airport. If there are two or more of you, it's not worth wasting the time checking out public transport. All of the port houses charge for tastings, but it's a nominal fee compared to Northern California's wineries and the pours are generous. Reasonable wine prices prevail from Michelin-star restaurants to humble wine bars, as if the industry has colluded to encourage you to drink as much as possible. Even at the magnificently luxurious Yeatman Hotel (the catalyst for this whole trip, where rooms are a blow-the-budget extravagance) you can get wine by the glass for €4. The equivalent at a London hotel with that kind of view would be €12 or more.

Tempted yet? If not, in coming days I'll write more about wine, sightseeing, architecture, food and accommodation. Like all those cheerful Porto natives, I want you to be thinking about booking your visit before I'm finished.

Little-known Wren masterpieces are highlights of Open House weekend

It's been seven years since I last enjoyed, and wrote about, Open House London weekend. What can I say? We've been busy. It always falls on the weekend closest to my birthday and our wedding anniversary, meaning there's a good chance we're travelling. But this year, with an October holiday already booked, we decided to spend the weekend in London and take full advantage of this wonderful programme.

For those of you who don't know about it: it's a festival of architecture and design run annually by a charitable organisation that talks owners into opening almost 1000 buildings inside the M25 to the public, most of which are normally closed. This includes everything from private homes to massive office blocks, Georgian gems to modern statements, grand homes to industrial complexes. A few blockbusters, like 10 Downing Street and the Shard, have very limited tickets awarded by lottery. Some other buildings require advance booking. But for most you just turn up, queue up and enjoy.

We loosely themed our sightseeing, with one track being all about Sir Christopher Wren and the other about government.

Saturday started at the Royal Hospital Chelsea, familiar backdrop to years of flower shows. Its actual function is as a military retirement home. It dates back to the reign of Charles II and therefore, unsurprisingly, was designed by the king's go-to-architect. It's a textbook Wren building, with its red brick, classical detailing and gracious rooflines. Inside, you get to see the chapel, the dining hall and and a magnificent state room (above). The chapel is particularly beautiful. White coffered barrel vault, dramatic fresco above the altar, wooden pews with typical 17th century carving and light pouring in through massive, arched, clear windows.

Over at Marlborough House, hidden in plain sight behind walls and trees just off Pall Mall, Wren downshifted to domestic architecture. On a grand scale, however, as he was building for the Dukes of Marlborough. The house is one of my favourite secret treasures in London, full of pleasing proportions, warm paneling, dramatic murals, sinuous wrought iron, and all the other touches that make a Wren house. For more, read about my last visit.

We then popped our head into the Queen's Chapel at St. James' Palace. I have wanted to get in here for years (it's normally only open to the public for Sunday services, which I've never made) and it was the highlight of my weekend. Inigo Jones designed it, but I include it in my Wren track as Jones was such an enormous influence on Wren. When you see the delicacy and brightness of the coffered barrel vault here, you know exactly where Wren got the roof of the chapel in Chelsea, and for so many of his other churches. The Queen's Chapel is an elegant, soothing little space with a fascinating history. First built for the Catholic Queen Henrietta Maria, it has a history of being the official hub of non-Anglican worship when the queen is from another religion. My half-Danish husband was proud to point out that it had been a Danish Reformed church in the time of Queen Alexandra (for whom one of his ancestors worked as a nanny). It's a wonderfully feminine space, with its blue and white colour scheme and nave bathed by cheerful sunlight from an enormous Venetian window above the altar.

Many of the most popular buildings in the Open House are government offices, perennial favourites including Horse Guards (Army HQ) and the Foreign Office HQ. I'd visited these last time around, but that was pre-husband, so I had to return. The Foreign Office, in particular, is magnificent enough to deserve repeat attention. This time I was most struck by the politically incorrect scenes of colonial domination that are carved into the walls. It used to be the Indian Office, after all. Good thing the people who want the statue of Cecil Rhodes to come down at Oxford haven't turned their eyes on this building. They wouldn't know where to start. (I'd suggest the bas relief of the sultan and his wives grovelling in supplication to the god-like English as he offers up his country to their management.) Over at Horse Guards, they've opened up the basement cockpit where the boys used to get up to illicit gambling and drinking in the 18th century. Little modernised or enhanced, it's a brilliant time capsule.

We also popped in to the Argentine Embassy. For an architecture geek, it's worth visiting simply to

get a sense of what life was like in all those grand houses in Belgravia. This one is on a corner of Belgrave Square, with sweeping views, gracious proportions and heaps of elegance. Beyond its refined architectural bones, however, the interior decoration isn't anything special. So the Argentines use their Open House slot to promote young Argentine artists. This was great fun, with work ranging from beautiful to thought provoking to fun but somewhat pointless. Was the netted soccer court in the ballroom really art? I liked the guy standing on the balcony, using a string to operate a swing outside with "power" carved onto the seat in English and Spanish. "Look!" he proclaimed. "I am pulling the strings of government, hidden, yet in control!" A bit heavy handed on the metaphor, granted, but as interactive art went I enjoyed it.

There was more on my list, including an old Admiralty dining room tucked in to another office behind Whitehall, but we ran out of time. Maybe next year. Or in another seven...

Utopian Franco-Italian fusion at Angela Hartnett's Murano

The computer that matched us said we were 98% compatible. As we mark five years of marriage, we acknowledge that it got us right on the headlines, but perhaps missed the fine points.

We both love opera, but he considers my Italians bombastic and trite, while I think his German needs editing and has difficulties making passion credible on stage. In the wine cellar, I find his beloved light French reds tart and forgettable, while he thinks my favoured merlot/cab sav blends are over-fruited thugs. We're both keen on history, but his obsession with battles and military hardware can try my patience, while he feels the same about my fascination with personalities, art and architecture. Both card-carrying "foodies", I'm sceptical about his classic French cuisine, which often over-complicates and has too many sauces and potatoes for my taste. He's unconvinced by the Italians.

Which is why Angela Hartnett's Murano is probably the best place we could possibly choose to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary. (And my birthday.) Though Hartnett is best known as an Italian chef, the truth is that Murano's Michelin-starred menu brings us a culinary utopia where influences from Paris to Palermo come together to create the perfect fusion cuisine. Mr. Bencard feels French. The former Miss Ferrara feels Italian. Both are very happy.

Murano's pricing is elegantly simple: decide whether you're doing two, three, four or five courses, each with a set price, then pick your food. While options are laid out in what would be a traditional Italian order of dining, if you want to start with something from the third course, and follow up with two dishes from the first, they're happy to oblige. We went for four. Given the delicate serving sizes and the extras (amuse bouche, a bit of charcuterie, breads, pre-desert, petit four) this is the right level if you're hungry. Five would probably be excessive, and three would be more than sufficient ... but then you'd miss out on too much of the magic coming out of the kitchen.

I started with rabbit tortellini in one of those light but flavour-packed sauces that demands you use a bit of bread to mop up every bit. (One of the earliest life lessons taught to me by my revered Sicilian grandfather. No wonder I've always had a weight problem.) Piers admittedly won the contest on this course with a salmon tartare that was exceptionally balanced, with rich fish, creamy dressing, crunchy veg and citric fruit combining to deliver a sunny Mediterranean afternoon on a plate. I wouldn't have traded, however, as I would have missed out on the Valpolicella that proves you can have light red that's also mellow and fruity. (Made by Italians, naturally.)

On to artichoke heart served with a blue cheese croquette. This tiny plate exemplified how fine dining can actually be Weight Watchers-friendly. Just a quarter of the heart, with a croquette the size of the top half of your thumb, yet packed with enough flavour to power a dish four times its size. It was a course meant for cutting up into tiny slivers, savouring each one with a rather bizarre wine from Slovenia that was overly-minerally on its own but a perfect match for the notoriously hard-to-pair ingredients. Piers, meanwhile, was blissfully ensconced in a crab salad and a glass of Reisling.

We split the cote de boef for our main. (This has a supplemental charge.) A dish to make me weep for all the vegetarians in the world. Simple, perfectly cooked, carved off the bone at the table. Perfection.

Though Murano has a fascinating wine list, we let the sommelier put together a wine flight for us. This is a great option, as she pairs the right wine for each individual dish, and we found every choice to be flawless. Note, however, that the "about" £45 each is quite flexible, especially when you choose to have a second glass of the extraordinarily tasty St. Emillion she chose for the beef.

If there's one dish on the planet that best exemplifies Franco-Italian fusion, it has to be pistachio soufflé. The flavours of Italy packed into the most classical of French processes, Murano delivers the best I've ever had. This is what-I-want-for-my-last-meal-on-Earth stuff, with a towering rise, punchy flavours and a rich chocolate sauce to obliterate any health effects of the egg-white based soufflé. Aware that it was both my birthday and our anniversary, the kitchen piled on the sugar with an additional lemon tart and a triple chocolate delice with almond brittle and black currant sorbet, decorated with celebratory messages in chocolate sauce. I thought briefly of those profligate Romans with their vomitoriums off their banqueting halls, so they could pause and make room for more courses of culinary delight. Disgusting to modern sensibilities, but in this situation I could understand their strategy. I let modem sensibility prevail and sent 2/3rds of the bonus desserts back to the kitchen. But not before sampling enough to assure you, dear reader, that Murano is a haven for those with a sweet tooth.

As if to drive that point home, the petit four arrived. Squares of palate-cleansing quince jelly and cannoli the size of your pinkie. "Delicious," I said dubiously of the frothy citric concoction inside, " but not really cannoli cream."

"So much better than those heavy door stops you made me eat at Missouri baking," he insisted. "Light pastry, subtle filling ... they've made them French!"

I decided not to argue. In marriage as in restaurants, fusion and compromise bring out the best in us.

O'Keeffe show doesn't deliver the magic I was seeking

I set off for Tate Modern wanting desperately to love the Georgia O'Keefe show. I already had an affection for the artist based on childhood visits to her work at the Art Institute of Chicago. I wanted to bask in her rich colours, get past the cliches of the endlessly-reproduced flowers and the sexual innuendo to find something greater. Sadly, I did not.

Instead, I drifted quickly through a series of rooms filled with a lot of work that didn't catch my attention. The first four rooms on her early career left me cold. I know the developmental stuff is essential in a major retrospective, but knowing more didn't do me any favours. I saw an early version of today's marketing-savvy modern artist, more about creating shock and disrupting the status quo than creating inspired beauty. (I freely admit that this statement reveals my prejudice against ... and some would argue lack of understanding of ... modern art.) 

We're confronted early on with some of those highly-sexualised flower paintings. Sorry, but the enormous floral clitoris just hits me as a juvenile attempt to shock. The New York cityscapes are striking, but I didn't think they were that much better than the Art Deco-style paintings that finish off the 1930s look at the recently renovated Lansdowne Club's dining room. Great interior design, but high art?

Things improve when O'Keeffe gets out of the city. There's an enormous canvas of two luscious red poppies that delivered the awe and emotion I wanted from the whole show. Many of the other canvases were smaller than I expected, and lacked depth. Little drew me in or invited lingering study; I found her colours surprisingly flat, closer to great graphic design than great art.  

I was most keen to see her works from the American West. With the Grand Canyon such a recent memory, I have a greater appreciation of the magical colours of the desert. In trying to photograph it, I got a sense of how difficult it is to capture the nuances, the shadows, the vast spaces. It's a landscape better suited to art than photography. Indeed, these were the works I liked best, wanting to clamber through that frame and explore the alternate reality of those shadowy valleys and mesas. And yet, the things that held my attention for longest  in this room weren't O'Keeffe's work, but a couple of black and white photographs from her buddy Ansel Adams. These moved me more than anything else in the exhibition, and are the things I'm likely to remember longest.

Near the end there's a version of the cloudscape that was my childhood favourite at the Art Institute. Chicago's is vast, hung above a light-flooded, grand stairwell so that you actually have the feeling of soaring as you hold on to the upper landing railing and gaze over it. The show's version is more modestly-sized, on a normal wall. Without the setting, it just doesn't inspire the magic. 

I wanted this show to move me past the cliches. Instead, it pushed me towards them. O'Keeffe's work reproduces well for posters, bags and household items. It's pretty. It's a perfect interior design choice if you're trying to convey Art Deco, or flowery femininity with a modern edge, or a sophisticated version of the American West. But I wanted more.

Drinking and Dining at Tate Modern

My general ambivalence towards modern art means I've only covered the Tate here once before in almost ten years of cultural coverage. Gaugin didn't fare that well under my criticism either. 

I've been in the building frequently over the years, however. It's a popular event venue with spectacular views over the Thames towards St. Pauls. I have many friends who are members as much to get access to the 5th floor members' lounge, with its stunning rooftop balcony, as to see the art. We spent the early evening appreciating the view as the long light of the setting sun peeked through clearing clouds, making streets and buildings that had been slicked by an earlier rain shimmer. It was as beautiful as anything we'd seen inside.

We headed upstairs one floor to the Kitchen and Bar for dinner. The Tate has just opened a massive new extension called the Switch House, which is topped by a new restaurant. They're clearly trying to push visitors there, as the old Kitchen and Bar no longer accepts reservations and is doing much less promotion. It used to be tough to get a table here for a Friday night; last night it was half empty.

The Switch House restaurant is much more expensive and has gotten terrible reviews, both for poor room design that squanders its views and small portions of average food at unreasonable prices. Meanwhile, the Kitchen and Bar continues to deliver what I've come to count on it for: gastropub style classics with a resolutely English provenance to match the Tate's original British mission. With a stunning view. Unlike the Switch House restaurant, which reports say only has windows at shoulder height, meaning you can't see anything when you sit down, the original restaurant has floor-to-ceiling glass walls offering the whole sweep of the city between Waterloo and Tower bridges. I don't think there's anywhere else along the South Bank you can get that view while dining for such a reasonable price. You can even indulge your inner modern artist with pots of crayons and colouring-book style table covers. 

Summer round-up: restaurants (Fenchurch, Nopi), music, cricket and underwater archeology

Whoever coined the phrase "the lazy, hazy days of summer" clearly had a very different life to mine. Summer in England always seems to be the busiest time of year other than the run-up to Christmas. Every weekend is packed with special events, many of them annual traditions that populate the calendar well in advance.

We usually avoid vacations over the summer months for this reason. This year, two weeks and three weekends out of the country seems to have made things even more manic. Between work, my parish councillor duties and all the fun stuff programmed in, I've barely spent time in my garden. Ironic, as this is the lushest and most floriferous it's yet been. I certainly haven't had time for much blogging.

And so, in the interest of accurate reporting ... and not wanting to miss out several excellent adventures worthy of attention ... here's a round-up of social, cultural and culinary highlights since returning from Las Vegas.

Fenchurch & the Sky Garden

For a special meal with spectacular views in London, try Fenchurch inside the Sky Garden at 20 Fenchurch Street.  The venue is spectacular. The top three floors of this new skyscraper slope outwards from the floors below, left open by the designers to form a tropical hot house 35 stories up. The views are fantastic, and gardeners will be delighted to wander up and down the tiers of exotic plants, most with informative labels. (The garden is clearly immature; give the plants five years to bed in and it should be as good as Kew or Wisley.) A glass pavilion rises from the garden's heart with restaurants on two stories. The top one is, unsurprisingly, the more expensive.

It's a great place to impress someone, celebrate a special event or take advantage of an expense account. The warm, wood-and-brass traditional interiors form an almost colonial counterpoint to the exotic foliage beyond the windows, as do the resolutely English costumes of the staff. (Houndstooth check waistcoats, tailored jackets, natty bow ties.) The food is high-end continental with heavy English influences. Doing things properly, with three courses, cocktails and wine, will easily nudge you towards the £100 per person mark, so this isn't a commitment to be taken lightly. But in addition to the excellent food and amazing views, it's a surprisingly quiet venue in the heart of the city where they meet all your needs then allow you the table for as long as you need it. A top choice for an important business meeting.

With advance planning, however, there's a much cheaper option. Entry to the Sky Garden is free, as long as you reserve a ticket online, well in advance. There's a bar that also serves snacks in the general admissions area, and a handful of tables. Book for 5pm on a weeknight and you could have the swankiest happy hour venue in town for the price of your drink.

Sunken Cities at the British Museum 

I have promised myself I will go back, and I will write a longer review. But just in case...

This is the finest example thus far of how the curators can do magical things with the museum's new exhibition space. Here, they've used subtly wavering blue light and a soft aquatic soundtrack to give you the sense you're under water, discovering all these priceless artefacts for the first time. That's assisted by high definition videos on large screens next to certain artefacts, where life-sized archeologists are shown uncovering the same object from its watery grave.

You're looking at the remains of two Egyptian cities sunk beneath the Mediterranean, preserved perfectly by water and silt until their recent re-discovery. The circumstances mean that this is some of the most beautifully intact stuff from the ancient world you've ever seen. More interesting ... and definitely playing into the British Museum's goal of making relevant, modern political points ... these cities were crossroads of international trade, where Egyptian and Greco-Roman culture mashed up comfortably and accommodated many others. Much like the just-closed Sicilian show, this one reminds us that multiculturalism has worked well in the past.  Why can't we do it today? A question to ponder over lunch at the Great Court Restaurant where, though the prices carry the usual museum dining mark up, you'll find excellent food, a reasonable wine list and a blessed retreat from the children who are packing the galleries at this time of year.

A test match at Lords
Even if you don't think you like cricket ... if you have a friend who can sort the tickets and explain the basics, go. It's one of the great delights of the English summer, and perhaps the most civilised of all sporting events. While the teams break for both lunch and tea, fans can bring lavish picnics and their own alcohol into the stands. Any game that can be credibly enjoyed with foie gras and sparkling wine is worthy of attention. Too bad England's performance against Pakistan was softer than the centre of my home-made brownies.



Alcina at Longborough Festival Opera

Another triumph from our favourite country house opera company. As with the past two years, they've chosen to revive Handel's baroque opera for their young performers' production. In doing so, they continue to breath life and innovation into operas that have often been ignored as ponderous and archaic.

Alcina is a re-telling of the Circe story: man-eating sorceress entraps wandering sailors on her enchanted island. The spell is broken when one plucky lass comes in search of her bewitched betrothed. It's the music that's truly bewitching. In typical Longborough style they made the most of a simple set, focused on a raised circle that called to mind an Olympic wrestling ring. Here, the battle of relationships unfolded with tension, trauma and poignancy.  They move away from Handel to Gluck next year. Can't wait.

NOPI
After cooking from Yotam Ottolenghi's recipes with great success for several years now, I finally got to his flagship restaurant. As expected, the man elevates vegetables to a heavenly place. Though we had a couple of meat dishes, this is a place you could easily go vegetarian and not miss your animal protein. Beetroot and goat's cheese is a classic combo, but I've never had it done better.

Though you can do a traditional three course meal, the menu is skewed toward small plate starters, and its typical to share a bunch of these. The decor is cool and white, all marble and modern art. The wine list is interesting, filled with intriguing vintages you've never heart of. The staff is well informed, friendly and seemed to be packed with good looking Australians who enjoyed a bit of flirting with a few amusing, mature ladies on their girls' night out. We split a couple of desserts that were as creative and intriguing as the rest. (Strawberry mess with sumac and rose water? Yes!) I'm in a hurry to get back.

Battle Proms
It's the same core event every year: military re-enactments, Spitfire flyover, '40s swing, 1812 Overture with canons, Beethoven's Battle Symphony with fireworks and the usual suite of patriotic last-night-of-the-proms stuff. But it never gets old. And we've rarely had better weather. Yet another luxury picnic (just realised I've produced them three weekends in a row; no wonder I feel time-deprived). I can't imagine the summer without it.

Grand Canyon chopper tour is the unforgettable climax of US trip

"Grand" is a rare piece of American understatement. The most famous canyon in the world is so
much more.

Spectacular. Humbling. Monumental. It's one of a handful of places in my life so awe-inspiring I literally lost my breath on first view. That drama was heigh
tened, no doubt, by the nature of my initial encounter.

We skimmed up an unremarkable ridge hill in a glass-walled helicopter, the well-practiced pilot building the drama with his story telling. Then, with the perfect timing of a man who gives multiple performances a day, he announced "ladies and gentlemen ...  one of the seven wonders of the world ... The. Grand. Canyon! ..." precisely as we reached the top of that ridge, the Canyon dropped away beneath us, and he plunged us into it.

There are many ways to see the Grand Canyon. I doubt any are as spectacular as a helicopter tour. Yes, they're expensive. But this was our first, and possibly only, time to see this wonder. After careful research (my husband and spreadsheets were involved) we chose Maverick from more than 10 companies offering a bewildering variety of tours. Research, and several recommendations from friends, paid off. Our magical experience was worth every penny. Maverick puts itself out there as the top quality provider in the market, and does everything right to back up their claim. Luxury air-conditioned coach, picking us up at our meeting point just a little bit early.

Beautiful terminal building, efficient check-in people, comfortable lounge. The newest fleet of helicopters in the market, all spotlessly clean and seemingly fresh off the production line. Pilots recruited for their significant experience and their ability to be a charismatic guide, who then must dry clean and press their uniforms and make sure they are clean shaven and their hair is regularly trimmed, in order to look the part.

All of this icing on the cake, of course. What really matters is the tour. In our case, the "Dream Catcher Sunset" version. Given the subtlety of the colours, and the way the sun can wash them out, I highly recommend spending the extra money for the end-of-the-day jaunt. You get a much richer palette of colours and, in high summer, your time in the Canyon itself is much more pleasant.

From the first thrilling moments when you skim at speed over the runway, then lift off over the Vegas suburbs with the Top Gun soundtrack in your headphones, you're having fun. The pilot alternates frequent, informative commentary with time to just take it all in, with more carefully chosen music in the background. It's all swashbuckling stuff. There wasn't a question our man couldn't answer, and he was a wealth of facts weather dealing with Las Vegas trivia, geology or the history of Western exploration.

Once you clear suburbia, where you can marvel at the outrageous developments flagrantly using water to create a version of Tuscany in the desert, it's out over Lake Mead, where you can see the alarming, thick white band around the whole thing that shows where the water level once was. The contrast of the diminishing blue water out here against the completes un-bleached desolation of its surroundings drives home the ecological danger the whole place is built on. Minutes later you're over the Bowl of Fire, another popular hiking and camping destination for locals. It's similar to, but even more magnificent than, Red Rock Canyon. But the Bowl doesn't have any convenient roads leading through it. So unless you're a fit hiker, this is the way to go.

Next over a seemingly endless stretch of desert, where we learn about the flora and fauna that survive down there, and both the chaos and wild fertility that the odd rainstorm brings. And then, suddenly, you're swooping into the Canyon.

I've seen photos of it all my life. I've looked down on it from 30,000 feet in planes headed to California. It's as familiar a bit of America as the Statue of Liberty or the Golden Gate Bridge. But nothing prepares you for the reality. It's huge. That hits you from your first glance, when this gash in the Earth is so big it disappears beyond the horizon. The longer you look, the more you can lose perspective. But then you see how tiny the shadow of your helicopter is, or spot a green section on the Canyon floor where the trees look like toys, and the humbling proportions reassert themselves.  The Canyon's towering walls are sinuously beautiful, moulded into almost-living curves by wind and water. The rock seems to flow with a staggering yet subtle spectrum of colours that shift as the light changes. You could hover here and drink it in for hours.

Instead, you go deeper. One of the big advantages of flying with Maverick is their landing rights, negotiated for many millions a year with the Hualapai indians who have custody of this part of the Canyon. Maverick has exclusive rights to a broad plateau 3,500 feet below the Canyon edge, more than 2,000 feet above a deep bend in the Colorado river below.  At least five helicopters can land here at once, with plenty of space around each. You have about 45 minutes to explore here, while the pilot offers sparkling wine,  soft drinks and snacks. I scrambled up the gentle, rocky slope behind our landing spot, getting close to the cacti and scrub plants, then walked along the ledge of our plateau checking out the frightening drop to the river below. But mostly I just gawped at the magnificent spectacle that surrounded me. The sun had already dipped below the horizon high above us, long afternoon light casting crazy shadows and bringing out dramatic reds, browns and golds. It was magical.

Time flew too quickly, and soon the six passengers from our chopper were piling back in for the next leg of the journey. We flew out of the Canyon and towards the sunset, colours getting more dramatic by the minute. The more gentle desert slopes that didn't seem so interesting on our way out gained drama in the long shadows of our return. Skimming over the black bulk of Fortification Hill, an extinct volcano jutting its black bulk above the golden desert, added to the show. We landed again, this time at a fuel farm. While the pilots took care of their vehicles, we enjoyed sunset over the desert landscape of hills, valleys and ridges sloping away towards Las Vegas.

Back on board, I was in the front seat for the final leg. (Another mark of Maverick's professionalism: they rotate passengers with each stop so that everyone gets one leg up front.) We followed the Colorado River up to Hoover Dam, the arial perspective making the engineering feat that much more amazing.

Lake Mead and the suburbs again, then we were heading for downtown. The return journey heads for the Stratosphere Tower, turns left and follows The Strip, going over all those iconic casinos as their neon replaces the last fading rays of natural light. And then it's all over. Aside from my wedding, 4.5 hours has never gone faster.

It was a marvellous holiday. We had wonderful times, connected with beloved friends, did lots of new things. But no matter how you cut it, one thing will stand out above everything else: the spectacular, humbling, monumental ... and Grand ... Canyon.

Ten things to do beyond the Vegas Strip

We are proof you can have a great time in Vegas without ever setting foot on the four miles of Las Vegas Boulevard that most tourists never leave. Sure, we did The Strip. But we had more fun at the places below.

1. The Grand Canyon
One of the 10 best experiences of my life. Save, scrimp, beg, borrow or steal to get enough cash for Maverick Helicopters' sunset tour. So amazing it gets a whole story to itself, coming next.

2. Neon Museum
Las Vegas does have history, it's just very good at throwing it away. The people behind the Neon Museum wanted to prevent the past from disappearing, so started collecting the city's most iconic art form: the neon sign. They opened The Boneyard in 2012, filling a lot about the size of a football field with the colourful detritus of the city's past. You start in the lobby of the La Concha Motel, rescued, moved here and beautifully restored. People of my generation will instantly be transported to early childhood; its swooping mid-century design is straight out of childhood road trip stops. You can only get into The Boneyard with a guided tour ($18 for adults), and it's best to book in advance. It's a fascinating tour that covers everything from the history of the town and its casinos, to the science of neon, to legendary characters, to nuances of typography and design. I loved the story of The Stardust plummeting into insolvency when they ditched their iconic mid-century signage for a boring font update in Ariel. You can see both here. Even without all the facts, it's worth going to see something that is both strikingly beautiful, and fun. Remember, however, that you are in the middle of the desert. Daytime tours can be gruellingly hot; book early to get early morning or evening slots. You can see some of the collection without visiting the museum if you wander around my next stop.

3. Fremont Street
The Vegas of legend wasn't on The Strip at all, but along a stretch called Fremont Street. Once the mega-casinos and resorts started to appear, businesses here slumped into obscurity. Many were shuttered or torn down and some parts of the area became seedy, no-go places. In recent years there's been a massive renovation effort here, and our friends tell us that this is the place locals prefer to go. It's full of restaurants, art galleries and quirky shops, many decorated with impressive graffiti murals. There are a handful of old hotels and casinos. The median dividing the road features restored, vintage signs from the Neon Museum which light up at night.  I actually preferred this evening drive to the larger-than-life world of The Strip. At one end, the Fremont Street Experience does try to give The Strip a run for its money, with an arched canopy over the street streaming a light show while tourists pay to fly overhead on zip wires. But I preferred the scene further down, at places like the Container Park. They've stacked colourful shipping containers, turned them into restaurants and boutiques and put gardens and play areas for the kids in the middle. Check their website for free concerts and other events throughout the year. Further up the street are still-shuttered motels full of potential. I can see an uber-cool boutique hotel like the one we stayed at in Savannah thriving here; recreating the elegant but slightly louche mood of the Rat Pack/Madmen days for visitors who want to do something different.

4. Red Rock Canyon
You can't beat the Grand Canyon, but if you don't have the time or money ... or just want to do more of the great outdoors ... this is a gorgeous place. A one-way, 13-mile loop road lets you drive around the canyon floor, stopping frequently to gawp at the fascinating red rock formations and the towering 3,000-foot canyon walls. You might spot wild burros (we did) and bighorn sheep (we didn't). Joshua trees, agave, yucca and creosote bushes abound. It looks like a monochrome landscape from a distance, but once you're in it, it's a wonder of subtle reds, browns, greens and golds. Best of all, there's a wonderful National Parks visitor centre that does a great job of explaining geology, flora and fauna. We spent about 40 minutes here, but I could have easily done two hours. In winter, when temperatures fall to comfortable levels, this is a big hiking area. Packing a lunch and walking in to the waterfall our friends told us about is the No. 1 reason I'd return to Vegas.

5. Boot Barn's Western Super Store
Probably far more intriguing to foreign visitors than Americans, I admit. It's a temple of Americana. There are cowboy shirts pattered with Mount Rushmore, screaming bald eagles or the constitution ... or maybe all at once. How about stars and stripes place mats made from shotgun cartridges? Linger along the vast wall of Stetson hats, which you can customise with a range of showy hat bands. Silver belt buckles the size of a salad plate? They're here. And, of course, half the place is lofty stacks of boots. Even if you're not in the market, it's worth browsing their enormous collection to appreciate the range of prices and materials. You can jump into the thousands quickly if you fancy some stingray skin. There are some real works of art here.

6. Casa Don Juan
Now you've worked up an appetite. Go here. Back in London, Mexican seems to be the one global

cuisine we just can't get right. Thomasina Miers has brought us upscale Mexican street market food at Wahaca. That's good ... but this is the real thing. The old lady in the corner making the fresh tortillas. The variety of salsas and fresh chips loaded on your table, and replenished constantly without asking. The eclectic decor complete with the Virgin Mary smiling benignly over the votive candles at your beer. Obviously hand-made tamales, smokey sauces, fresh vegetables. And they didn't bat an eye when we asked to assemble a platter of starters with all the tomato on the side. Gaudy donkey cart with sombreros and musical instruments you could use for a group photo. I loved this place.

7. Hoover Dam
One of the modern world's great engineering projects. We got some fine views on the way back from the Grand Canyon. It's supposed to be an excellent tour, and also one of the best places in America to see art deco architecture.  It's an easy 30- to 40-minute drive from Vegas. We were three cars from the entrance when our host and driver realised he'd forgotten to leave his gun at home. And they aren't allowed on federal property. So we turned around. Only in America.

8. Boulder City
Unable to get to the Dam, we went to Boulder City instead. This dusty little place housed the workers building the dam, and now it's become a place to see the old time West without having to go too far from Vegas. Homey cafes jostle for space with shops flogging antiques, American Indian arts and crafts and clothes. Don't miss The Flying Saucer, a shop and centre for all things alien, inspired by nearby Area 51. There's even an extraterrestrial out front named Eak you can grab a selfie with.

9. A local casino
I now understand that casinos are more like multi-disciplinary entertainment venues than they are places for gambling, and appreciate that in a city that runs 24/7, a large percentage of its workforce is unwinding their day, or getting ready to start it, at strange times. Here's where the local casinos come in, providing relaxation space for people who work on The Strip, but want nothing to do with it otherwise. We walked through The Silverton, which has a much more laid back atmosphere and where the glitz is limited to a giant fish tank in which a girl ... aided by air pipes hidden in the coral ... swims around pretending to be a mermaid. It's attached to an enormous Bass Pro Shop replete with waterfalls, a Noah's Ark of taxidermised fauna, artificial landscapes and an indoor gun range. More rampant Americana, but with camouflage. Warning: Don't do this and the Boot Barn on the same day. Your head will
explode.

10. Grouchy John's Coffee
Our hosts' local, and where our friend Tommy Vinci does cartooning classes and shows some of his art. In a world of chains, how wonderful to find a local coffee shop with owners who cater for locals and set a distinct mood for their place. The shop is a temple to cult entertainment franchises: Doctor Who, Star Wars, super heroes, etc. In addition to all the standard coffees, they do a range of great smoothies (test your geek creds by spotting the Star Wars characters they're named after) and delicious breakfast sandwiches made by layering just cooked eggs and meats onto freshly-sliced croissants. Pop in. Chill out. Buy some of Tommy's art.