I am expecting tomatoes hurled in my direction by locals. I anticipate foul words for my abandonment of Italian heritage. However, each tiny cobblestoned street which is subjected to the roar of the new Harley Forty-Eight sees the townsfolk smile and exchange stories of their own Harley adventures. Finally at ease with my means of transport, I plot the course for my week long journey around the northern lake districts.

Home for the first night is Sole di Ranco. Honoured by the sun and blessed by the cool water on the lake – everything seems to sparkle. The water; diamond infused, the sand; golden and warm, the food; fresh and abundant. The sun will only set at 21:00pm which leaves several hours of play time remaining. We cruise towards fortress Angera located atop a rocky hill, the bikes remain in the parking bays, and we travel on foot – uphill!

The fortress overlooks the lake and from its walls one can enjoy a breathtaking view of the surrounding landscape – covered in green and terracotta. I am informed that in the “old days” (a mere several centuries ago) thanks to its rather strategic position, one could control traffic and trade on the lake. The castle is now home to a curious collection of dolls. Surrounded by enchanting gardens, the castle also hosts entertaining school history tours – allowing students the chance to dress up as soldiers and toy with the tourists.

Next stop, a swift 14km ride away, is Santa Caterina del Sasso. While it features the most gorgeous views (now a must for every stop) be warned that it boasts another trademark – almost a thousand stairs down to the monastery (and then up again), ultimately making the experience breathtaking. It was founded by the merchant Alberto Besozzi after he escaped a shipwreck during a storm. He simply stayed where he found refuge, no doubt to avoid the stairs. I marvel at the attention to detail and almost €40-million that the town has spent renewing it.

Eager to cool down before heading straight back to the hotel, we stop off at a quaint lakeside restaurant where we indulge in Parma ham, olives and bread sticks. Some opt for local beer while I down a 7Up which Italians interpret as Sprite. Not only have we developed a taste for the fine foods in the several hours we have been in Italy, but so too have our new feathered friends which joined the table and devoured some of the Parma ham – the days of simple bread crumbs appears to have gone to the birds.

We travel back at 19:30pm with the sun still beaming down on us. My first task before dinner is opting for more casual footwear, riding boots seem inappropriate for dinner along the lake. I lose count after the fifth course and find myself in favour of rest and opposed to ricotta cheesecake.

Early morning rides are generally favoured in summer as the afternoon heat can often be tiresome. We depart for Stresa, which offers us the opportunity for some inner-city riding. The bikes in convoy create a stir, and soon three other Harley owners have joined our adventure. Cesar Gallo, the Director of the Legnano Chapter in Italy, leads the ride and knows every turn from memory. After a quick cappuccino break, I sense boutiques are in walking distance.

Disheartened (by my lack of purchases) I am keen to make a move for the next stop. The constant array of magnificent views in Italy is hardly a curse, nevertheless, the ride towards the Hotel Bristol is something exquisite. The roads are smooth and from left to right there is an abundance of castles which serve either as hotels or simply homes to the rich and famous of Italy and Europe. The homes, or rather mansions, are mammoth but pale in comparison to the pristine gardens which surround them.

Leaving the bikes behind we board a motorboat to Pescatori Island. Isola dei Pescatori, neighbour to Isola Bella and Isola Madre is one of the islands no longer owned by the Borromeo family. It is also the only island which is inhabited all year round by its population of just over 50. Passing narrow streets and tarnished walls you feel yourself walking through a millennium of history. One is instantly surrounded by an array of colours and scents. Vendors, restaurants, clothing stores seem to buzz all afternoon. But none is as popular as the gelateria – I resort to getting two scoops; tiramisu and rum and raisin, half of which ends up on my riding boots. Oddly enough while in the heart of the north of Italy we opt for the Buddha Bar as our lunch time spot. The food can only be described as pure perfection, and still very much Italian. The mozzarella di bufala, (Buffalo mozzarella) melts in your mouth, and our host notes its origin from the south – even the meals are a lesson in history and culture.

Finally we arrive at hotel Villa Crespi, perhaps the only Islamic inspired hotel in Italy. The elegant damask stuccos, horseshoe shaped arches and turquoise frescoed ceilings are indeed reminiscent of the domes of Eastern mosques. The pride and joy of the Hotel Villa Crespi is the chef patron’s modern Mediterranean cuisine which has been awarded two Michelin stars, three forks in the Gambero Rosso Guide and three hats and a score of 18/20 in the Espresso Guide – yet all I could stomach was a glass of water.

The town of Orta San Giulio while small, is enchanting, and filled with a mix of old and contemporary art. It is well known for the nearby Sacro Monte (listed on the World Heritage List), which is a site of pilgrimage and worship. I originally thought it was a shopping centre – blasphemous some might say.

Our last leg of the trip is a 75km ride to Senago, across the Suno hills. We arrived at the Arese Harley Davidson offices to drop off the bikes – a bittersweet end to the journey. With one last night to enjoy Milan we are treated to dinner at Just Cavalli café, owned by renowned designer Roberto Cavalli. With an abundance of animal prints, I fear there are some scantily clad leopard and cheetah out in the wild.

The irony seemed never-ending, as the final night was spent at a French inspired hotel –Hotel Petit Palais. While packing I was pleased to note I had still managed some shopping at the Harley dealership – a Harley branded rosary was my favourite, and most expensive purchase. The following morning I took one more look around Milan, ignoring the sale signs and heading straight to the Duomo di Milano. The walls seem to hold an array of secrets and the eyes on the priceless paintings seem to follow me. This feeling could be attributed to the hundreds of video cameras which dart from corner to corner of the cathedral aiming to capture every inch of the Dome.

An American family had gathered near the tomb of a cardinal and in unison scream “cheese” which echoes throughout the cathedral – I quickly distance myself. Time is running out before the flight back to Joburg and I anticipate having to run to the hotel. I manage to light several candles and say a quick prayer before I leave – and hope to be back soon.

For more information on the hotels visit; Sole di Ranco; www.ilsolediranco.it, Hotel Villa Crespi; www.hotelvillacrespi.it; Hotel Petit Palais; www.petitpalais.it. Or visit www.harleydavidson.co.za for more information on the new Forty-Eight or to contact the Italian dealership visit www.harleydavidson.it

I am here, dog tired, dodging stinging nettles the size of my head, rain drenched and bedraggled; And I love every minute of it. By Lana Jacobson

The tracker’s feet know the steep mountains. They have made this journey thousands of times. By starlight alone they can run down rocks, crawling through impenetrable canopies of leaves and muddy rivers.

The steep slopes of Virunga’s mountain range of Rwanda are one of only three places on the planet where humans will ever have the opportunity to view the remaining 700 gorillas on earth. I will climb through thicket and marshy terrain as far and high as it takes in this 13 000km² jungle, fuelled ever onward by the writing of famed primatologist Dian Fossey, who lived, died and is buried in this jungle.

We set out early from Lake Kivu Hotel, for the hour drive to the Mountain Gorilla research station at Volcano Park HQ, where we are allocated a gorilla tracking group of 52 fellow adventurers all of different nationalities.

Tourists were an anomaly during Rwanda’s dark times; in 1962 when the country gained independence from Belgium and later after the horrific 1994 Tutsi genocide, but nowadays, the spectacular beauty of Rwanda, ‘Land of a Thousand Hills’, is rendering it an increasingly popular destination.

Preconceptions aside, Rwanda must be one of the safest countries on the African continent, and certainly one of its rare success stories.

We arrived in Kigali, and were transferred to the refurbished Kigali Serena Hotel which has more than earned its five star rating. Travel writers are expected to carp but I struggle to find anything negative here to convince of my impartiality. That the food, service, and accommodation are impeccable is obviously an open secret if the number of guests, local and international, is anything to go by.

The best, probably the only, place to start exploring Rwanda is Kigali’s Memorial Centre. Only after considering how, in one month, a million Tutsi men, women and children were hunted down, butchered, tortured and burnt to death, can one appreciate the wonder that is Rwanda today. It is a poor but very proud country and I marvelled at its rebirth. High rise modern buildings, upmarket residential suburbs, schools, universities and hotels have sprung up like proverbial mushrooms. The city and streets are spotless, the roads faultless and the people enchanting.

We were fortunate to have chosen a guide with a wealth of experience. ‘Simba’ (Gilles Gisemba) was indispensable. Thirty members of his family including parents, brothers and sisters were massacred, leaving him alone in the world. Yet he remains passionate and optimistic about Rwanda. During one excursion he suggested a pit stop at Bourbon Coffee Shop in a suburban mall. As a caffeine addict, whose first impression rests in the quality of the coffee served, I can categorically state this is the finest cup I have enjoyed anywhere. Small wonder it is now being exported globally. Rwanda’s chain of Bourbon Coffee shops have spread as far as Washington DC.

We left Kigali early on our third morning for the dusty town of Gisenyi because we wanted time to enjoy the beauty of the countryside and sights of tiers of homes clinging to the steep mountainous sidewall. We drove high, past mountain after mountain, looking down on verdant tea growing and farmland regions beneath us.

Lake Kivu Serena Hotel is virtually on the Congolese border. The hotel overlooks the huge panoramic lake on one side and the volcanoes behind it. From the beach we watched the setting sun turn the sky bruised grey and ochre. It was a magical hour and although we were warned bathing is at our own risk, I couldn’t resist plunging into the deep cool water before we heaved ourselves away for cocktails and dinner on the terrace.

The following morning after a brief introduction at Volcano Park HQ, the 52 of us are divided into groups of six to eight people – the maximum number allowed to view each gorilla family; we are not to approach nearer than seven metres from a gorilla, nor to cough or sneeze anywhere near them – gorillas are extremely susceptible to our diseases thanks to the genes they share with us.

“Don’t make eye contact, and if a silverback charges, crouch over and show submission,” warns the guide. And, finally, it takes anything from two to six hours and there is no guarantee we will locate our prize, the trek could be in vain. But the odds today are in our favour.

We are six adventurers. A couple of determined Americans are back again today. Yesterday they endured an endless steep climb until gasping for breath, they reached a steep ravine from where they clung, staring deep down into an abyss like participants of a Survivor show. Finally at 18:00pm they lumbered back to base – cold, exhausted and disappointed with not a gorilla to be seen.

Our tracker leads, carving a path through the terrain, hacking the jungle overgrowth with his machete. He has a way of signalling the guard if he finds gorilla tracks.

We are profoundly connected to nature, walking, weaving through overhanging vines, moss-covered trees and giant lobelias. The first gorilla is almost unexpected. The guide stops suddenly, gesturing and pointing at a tree, where, slightly obscured through dense foliage, a giant silverback reaches for a leafy branch.

More than 200kg of pure muscle suddenly slides to the ground, with feet interlocking and arms spread eagled he brings half a tree of branches with him. He turns his enormous back dismissively and starts chomping on a thick piece of bamboo.

Gorillas move in families of five to 40 animals typically comprising a silverback, three or four wives and several young. The next sight beggars my belief – from a little higher in the mountain, one then two and three of the silverback’s family appear. We are awestruck and instead of heading for home base, our guide keeps forcing us further backwards. The mother of the family sits down and takes to lounging sideways on the forest floor while her round eyed baby stares intently at us with dark coco brown eyes, all innocence and vulnerability. He jumps into his three-year-old sister’s arms where he is warmly hugged and debugged. Leaving his sister he prances about for a few moments doing baby things and is upon his mother playing, irritating, until finally she grimaces and with eyes still shut, allows him to feed from her. A little further behind another female saunters down toward her fellow tribe, picking and eating leaves en route.

It’s unbelievable that these social creatures, so similar to humans were unknown to Western science until 1902. Now with only 700 left alive on the planet here we are standing and learning what gorilla culture is all about. An animal-like guttural groaning sound is emitted from our guide. It’s gorilla language, telling the habituated gorillas that they can relax: Everything is fine, we mean no harm. After an hour, the maximum allotted time ever allowed in mountain gorillas’ presence, we are forced to leave. We are all caked with mud, drenched, and unrecognisable as the same six people who began the ascent at 7:00am. But who cares. This is undoubtedly the most profound wildlife spectacle of all. And to think it was just ours.

• Lana Jacobson and Debbie Yazbek were guests of Rwanda Tourism, One Thousand Hills Tourism, Serena Luxury Hotels.

Flights were graciously provided by RwandAir. www.thousandhills.rw www.serenahotels.com

Lori Booth spoke to Pierre Carter, leader of the South African team attempting to challenge the seven highest summits in the world

With a little luck and a lot of effort, Pierre Carter’s lifelong dream of conquering seven of the world’s highest mountains on seven different continents and paragliding their descent, could become a reality this year. He and two other brave South Africans have formulated an initiative called “Seven Summits, Seven Flights” which will raise funds for four charities – The Trust, The Smile Foundation, Men & Women Against Child Abuse and Umthombo Wesizwe – in the hope that the life-changing experience this represents for them will translate into changing the lives of many less fortunate South Africans. They will share their experience via photographs, video and blogs from the most remote corners of the earth.

For Carter (43), a Joburg based building contractor by trade and an adventure junkie by choice, although the phrase, “Seven Summits, Seven Flights” may seem quite straightforward, it has become emblematic of his many triumphs and setbacks in the challenges he’s faced during high-altitude climbing and flying. “On the surface then, the goal really is manically simple: to climb and fly off the seven highest summits of the world. Such a feat has never been achieved, although attempted once by Claire and Zebulon Roche and as far as I am aware by no one else.”

The seven summits targeted are:

• Carstenzs Pyramid in Australasia (4 884m)

• Mt. Vinson in Antarctica (4 897m)

• Mt. Elbrus in Europe (5 642m)

• Kilimanjaro in Africa (5 895m)

• Mt. Denali in North America (6 194m)

• Mt. Aconcagua in South America (6 959m)

• Mt. Everest in Asia (8 850m)

A dedicated climber since 1982 and paraglider since 1988, Carter has climbed extensively in the Andes, the Alps and throughout South Africa, and is a South African champion paraglider. He has previously summited and paraglided off Mount Elbrus in Russia and Aconcagua in the Andes where he set a new altitude record at the time, and was the first ever to fly up and over the 7 000m peak. In 2008 he was nominated Solomon adventurer of the year and last year he represented South Africa in the Red Bull X Alps Challenge, the first South African to be invited to participate.

When posed the inevitable “why do you do it?” question, Carter explains, “Personally, climbing and gliding have become an integral part of my life. Ever since I was introduced to our very own Drakensberg mountain range as a child, I have found every excuse to test myself against the limitations of gravity. But I think for many climbers and flyers it’s an impossible question because it’s not one we ask of ourselves. Perhaps the answer, for me, lies in the raw experience of being pummelled by wind and sleet on the face of a mountain, or in the freedom discovered after launching oneself off the peak of a mountain into uncharted air.”

“What it means for me unquestionably, is the absence of a past or a future. To place myself in these situations is to heighten the reality of a moment, to bring into focus the astounding sense of living in the ‘now,’ and in so doing, experiencing intimately the surrounding environment along with my own passions and fears,” Carter suggests animatedly.

In this context he says he finds it ironic that mountains have become symbolically associated with the concept of overcoming the impossible. “Admittedly, there is an element of risk and danger in doing these things; the resulting sense of euphoria, however, is more than enough compensation.” He believes mountains are poor metaphors and that far more problematic and far more testing are those elements of abuse, poverty and suffering inherent today in South African society. “That is why the primary drive behind the Seven Summits campaign is to raise funds for four large charity organisations in the hope that, by following my own dream, I can also give thousands of others the opportunity to follow theirs. That I am fortunate enough to be in a position to pursue what I love most is humbling, given that there are millions who find it necessary to resort to crime and violence in a far more callous game of life-and-death than climbing a mountain could ever be. In reality, mountains are small things compared to our social problems. It is my sincere belief that in doing what I love, with enough support, a difference can be made.”

Carter’s teammates are as inspired and driven as he is, sharing his vision and bringing their individual talents to the operation. Marianne Schwankhart, currently a senior photo journalist for The Times, started climbing in 1995 and has since climbed extensively throughout the world. She has climbed Trango Tower in Pakistan, 900m of vertical rock at an altitude of 6 500m, Cerro Torre in Argentina and is the only woman to have summited all three of the Torres del Paine in Chile, over 1 000m of vertical faces. She will no doubt prove invaluable when they encounter the obstacles involved in high-altitude climbing.

Peter Friedmann, an entrepreneur and extreme sports enthusiast, has already proved himself pivotal to the organisation and funding behind the “Seven Summits, Seven Flights” campaign. With a scuba diving license, fixed wing and helicopter license, a black belt in karate, he’s also represented South Africa in the USA at the world windsurfing championships, and has eight years’ paragliding experience behind him. As the driving force of this expedition, Peter’s commitment is unequivocal.

Okay, so it’s not all altruism that’s motivating them, although it does make humanitarian sense to raise money for a cause when you’re attempting something as epic as this. “Without the support of these driven, high-on-life individuals it’s doubtful whether my dream (our dream) would have had the impetus to lift off the ground.”

The team hopes to raise R10 million for their chosen charities and sponsors will be sure to receive local and international media coverage. Visit www.7summits7flights.co.za

The ultimate retreat filled with the mystique that comes with the territory. The Island of Dr Moreau tells of strange vivisection experiments on a secluded island. A myriad Hollywood films depict island dwellers as reclusive, strange people who carry out their own agendas. The truth is, there lies a great appeal to owning one’s own island and there’s no shortage of celebrities who choose to retreat into the privacy of their own domains rather than subject themselves to the hoards and paparazzi of public luxury destinations.

The online resource www.privateislandsonline.com is the place to start if you’re in the market for a private island retreat and bear in mind that, if you pay your tax in South Africa, then your R2million offshore allowance will restrict your purchase of a property outside of the SADEC region.

The private island offers a wide variety of sizes, styles and locations, and determining which type of property is best suited to your needs can be an intimidating task. As a basic guide, they suggest some essential considerations that all clients should be aware of when starting the process of island purchase.

1. Narrow down a suitable location. The usual delineation in the island business is tropical vs. temperate, and this can be a more nuanced decision than it initially appears. Tropical islands are ideal for those who desire a winter home or who have an affinity with the local region, whereas those primarily looking for a summer home may want to consider the relatively inexpensive islands of Nova Scotia, lake regions of Ontario and the USA.

2. Determine your preference for leasehold or freehold. Freehold property is owned outright, much like under common North American or European law. However, in many countries such as in parts of Oceania or Asia, the only type of property open to foreign ownership is through the purchase of long-term leases.

3. Identify the level of surrounding infrastructure necessary for you. Many potential island owners love the fantasy of being on far away from civilization, but the reality is not always so desirable. An important consideration for potential buyers to analyse what nearby amenities are necessary for their comfort and safety. These include hospitals and medical care, shopping, restaurants, mainland boat dockage and parking, and airports.

4. Ensure that your desired level of development is possible. Prior to considering an island it is essential to determine that government environmental regulations do not prohibit the building you intend to do on the island. Sources for information include the current owner, local island broker and government land agencies.

5. Keep in mind that the time it takes to get to your island should be worth the amount of time you’ll spend on it. Island buyers often have busy schedules, and spending 10 or even 14 hours to fly to you retreat may not be an option.

6. When viewing distant or international properties, it’s very important to ensure that you allocate sufficient time for the trip, and if possible, arrange to see a number of different options. Unforeseen circumstances such as bad weather or strong winds can cause delays, and even in well-travelled areas like the Bahamas it is recommended that potential buyers prepare for spending at least 3-4 days on a viewing trip.

7. Employ a law firm in the island’s home country specialising in real estate and maritime law. Particularly when purchasing property internationally, you may be required to navigate unfamiliar laws and regulations. They will assist in affirming the island’s title, clarifying government investment and development regulations, and act as an advocate on your behalf during negotiations.

Celebs who enjoy island retreats include Johnny Depp, Eddie Murphy, Sir Richard Branson, Mel Gibson and Nicolas Cage. But there is a downside to this seemingly idyllic paradise. As you can see by the accompanying pictures, you are on an island, in the middle of a sea, ocean or lake, with no quick trip to the shop or pop in to see a friend or evening down the pub. Prepare yourself for times of isolation, reflection and solitude. If the weather comes inbest make sure you have enough to tide you over, as well as enough entertainment to keep you from going insane. And what about that local island for US$4million? It’s called Stanley Island in the Keurbooms Lagoon at Plettenberg Bay and it’s a going accommodation concern. Converted to rands you’ll be paying R30million for the privilege and it’s close enough to civilisaton to keep you from losing your mind.

Your one stop shop when it comes to buying the island of your dreams can be found at www.privateislandsinc.com and www.privateislandsonline.com

The tourism epicentre of Egypt, Luxor, has more than enough archaeological attractions to keep budding Indiana Joneses busy for days if not weeks. So rich is the region in tombs and temples and so favoured with a sunny disposition, that it has been a regular resort spot for visitors from northern climes since eminent lady explorer Amelia Edwards sailed her way A Thousand Miles up the Nile into travel-writing history in 1877 and invented a romantic archetype of the near orient: bustling souks, historic treasures and palm-fronded river banks.

The retro-nostalgic flicker of vintage Luxor has been kept alight in the popular imagination by two authors: Agatha Christie with her classic ‘whodunnit’ Death on the Nile and Elizabeth Peters whose Edwardian series sleuth is lady archaeologist Amelia Peabody. The booksellers of Luxor, the legendary Aboudis as well as Gaddis, are attuned to this sensibility and these titles are always heavily stocked along with a dizzying array of sumptuous coffee table books that conspire to test the weight-bearing limits of even the sturdiest Samsonite suitcase.

Nowhere is the spirit of colonial elegance more evident than in Luxor’s signature hotel, the Winter Palace. A hotel of distinction for more than a century, it has bedded down every seminal figure of the 20th Century including Churchill, the Aga Khan and Lady Diana. It was here, on the sweeping red-carpeted steps of the Winter Palace, that Howard Carter announced the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamen. It was here that King Farouk liked to moor his boat and where he kept an apartment. And here that I fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition: to spend a week in a Nile view room to luxuriate in the history and atmosphere of the place. There may be other five-star hotels in Luxor, but there is only one address.

Enclosing a park-like garden, the old Winter Palace used to have an ugly step-sister, the New Winter Palace, in its grounds. That mid-50s Soviet era brutalist construction has been demolished since I was last in Luxor five years ago. I heard tell that, as part of a significant renewal project, the Sofitel group will build a new Winter Palace wing in its place but completely in keeping with the aesthetic of the original 1886 building.

If you’re not gazing benevolently down at the Nile, then you should be floating on it. And though Luxor is cruise-boat central for the sail down to Aswan, it’s also the point of embarkation for a very civilized form of craft – the dahabiya. The Egyptian equivalent of a houseboat – with sails, dahabiyas can be hired for a more exclusive way of journeying up the Nile. The standard configuration of the boat is seven double cabins, one of which is set aside for your guide. All boats have a cook who prepares four meals a day (including a lavish afternoon tea which would normally be taken on the upper deck, perhaps lounging in a hammock). Bill Gates and Hilary Clinton have both recently sailed (separately I hasten to add) so the rest of Davos can’t be far behind.

If you have visited Luxor before, you will be astounded at the rate of change to the town. Starting at the Temple of Karnak, a new pedestrian plaza has been laid in front of first pylon, the walled gate which is the entrance point to the temple complex. Due to extensive de-watering projects, an essential part of salvage archaeology, the water table in the Karnak precinct has been lowered several metres. Originally intended to save the monuments whose stone absorbed the ground water which contained corrosive salts, the dropped water table has now allowed archaeologists to dig just that little bit deeper. And at Karnak they are doing just that, right outside the pylon gate, to spectacular effect. An entire Roman quay has been uncovered which puts the Nile about a kilometre further east than had been realised. Instead of being inland, there’s now evidence that Karnak was on the banks of the Nile itself. When I was there in January, Manzoor Boraik, Director of Antiquities for Upper Egypt, took me over the site where pottery finds were coming out of the ground before our very eyes. And more of that that slick new plaza will be lifted block by block as Manzoor and his team excavate their way down to where the river currently ripples the 10-day journey northwards to Cairo.

That dig may have to wait a while, not least because Manzoor has another huge project on his hands – the reconstitution of the Avenue of Sphinxes. This has seen entire city blocks of modern Luxor demolished, its citizens removed and re-housed outside the archaeological zone, and the ancient avenue with its cart-rutted paving stones unearthed from centuries of silt.

Linked to the digging has been a necessary and far-reaching town-planning exercise as the needs of the living city are juggled with that of the ancients. All of the beaux-arts villas on the corniche have been pulled down, part of a massive re-imagining of the area. Next to go will be the corniche itself – and cruise boats will no longer be docking six-deep along Luxor’s riverbanks. Instead, a vast new port terminal is being built seven kilometres out of town in close proximity to the bridge which takes coach loads of tourists across the Nile to get to the iconic sights of the West Bank – the Valley of the Kings, the Colossi of Memnon and Hatshepsut’s Temple amongst them.

Even the West Bank is undergoing a major overhaul: the famous tomb robber’s village of Gurna will have been completely demolished by the time you arrive to visit and construction is planned for exact replicas of King Tut’s tomb (the most over-trafficked in the Valley of the Kings) as well as that of Seti I (which has been closed for years to protect its midnight blue magnificence). Both of these virtual tombs will be built alongside the West Bank’s hottest new attraction, Carter House – that is if you can get into it! In one of those delightful quirks of Egyptian bureaucracy, Howard Carter’s dig house was officially opened (with Carter and Lord Carnarvon’s descendants in attendance) at the end of last year but it is not actually open to the public as a ticketed site – yet.

Having been inside myself, I can advise that the showstopper is a holographic presentation by Carter who even appears to sit on the real desk in his study. As the room only has eight seats to watch Carter’s avatar recount the discovery of the boy pharaoh’s tomb for a gripping half-hour narrative, it is clearly never going to be able to withstand the logistics of the 10 000 visitors a week that routinely visit the Valley and unwittingly conspire in the destruction of its tomb paintings just by the vapour of their breathing.

No, if all else fails and the jostling of the tourist crowds palls and the insistent haranguing of the merchants, felucca captains and taxi drivers overwhelm, then it’s back to the sanctuary of the Winter Palace to live – well, like a king. Yes, in Luxor, everything old is new again.

Marcus Brewster recommends specialist tour operator Ancient World Tours (www.ancient.co.uk).

It’s always the weird sights that grab my attention on holiday. While other tourists are admiring a gaudy temple in Ho Chi Mihn City, I’m fascinated by a frog. He’s supposed to be compliantly waiting for death in a metal bowl in a pavement market. But this is ‘adventure Frog’. He suddenly springs clean out of the bowl and starts hopping for freedom down the street. The stallholder leaps up and gives chase, plonking him straight back in jail. The frog waits a moment before an even mightier leap, and is hotly pursued again.

I could have watched the game for hours, except someone decided the feisty frog would make a tasty supper, and his time was up. Applying my sympathies to a frog was probably a defensive mechanism to ease the sadness of the previous day, spent on Vietnam’s battlefields.

The Vietcong dug a warren of tunnels covering 250km to hide themselves and their weapons from Americans who strafed the land during the Vietnam War. Entrances to the Cu Chi tunnels are so well concealed that we walked right past, until our guide brushed away some soil. I wriggled inside and slithered along the narrow passageways, smiling at their ingenuity. But a display of the murderous traps laid to wound pursuing Americans quickly kills any levity. Then you visit the War Remnants Museum and the horror of human brutality is even more apparent. News reports filed by war correspondents show photos of injured soldiers and burned civilians. You’re chilled already, but you shiver to read this picture was the photographer’s last, before a bullet took his life a moment later. Other photos show babies born with deformities as the legacy of Agent Orange, a herbicide used to strip away the guerrillas’ forest cover, with a sideline in birth deformities that wounded the next generation too.

The Vietnam War is one piece of this country’s history you can’t ignore. But the land has been conquered, divided and reunified so many times that it’s easier to ignore the rest of its convoluted past and just enjoy the resulting cultural melee.

Skinny little Vietnam stretches for 1,800km and at one stage narrows to just 50km wide. Some areas still seem cut off from the modern world entirely, with villages where life has been unchanged for centuries, except for the arrival of TV and tourists.

The scenery lulls you into a sense of serenity as you watch oxen pulling ploughs and women with pointy hats working in the rice paddies.

Ho Chi Min City is a dreadfully dour name for the beautiful place once called Saigon, and many locals still call it by its more romantic name. Saigon is an elegant city of glorious old French buildings, delicious patisseries and women clad in traditional Ao Dais pedalling genteelly on their bicycles.

Hanoi is a far brasher, faster place with little sense of style. The roads are so chaotic that I got myself adopted by the baby-faced tourist police. I don’t know if they’re supposed to protect tourists, or to make sure we behave ourselves, but I reckoned they could start by helping me across the road. Yes, it made me feel like a helpless geriatric, but faced with the onslaught of a thousand bicycles and scooters all hurtling towards me at different speeds, I was behaving like a helpless geriatric.

The tomb of Ho Chi Mihn must be the most austere building in the country. It’s a utilitarian concrete lump where the only splashes of colour are the red and white hats of the armed guards. We walk over to a spartan wooden stilt house on a lake, where the founding father of the socialist republic apparently lived and worked. “He was a simple man,” our guide says, which leaves me perplexed by the beautifully ornate yellow presidential palace. You mean Ho Chi Mihn preferred to stay in a cold, damp and probably mosquito-infested stilt house, rather than occupy the luxurious palace round the corner? Ok, if you say so….

Within striking distance of Hanoi is one of Vietnam’s highlights, the stunning Halong Bay where 3,000 bizarre limestone formations jut out of the calm sea. Tourists climb into small boats and about a dozen depart simultaneously, making you fear the whole atmosphere will be destroyed by playing dodgems. But the bay is so vast that we lose each other quickly, and drift through an ethereal mist that bestows a magical, mystical quality and makes everyone speak in reverential whispers.

We dive overboard to swim in the warm water, then climb back on board for a lunch of ultra-fresh seafood, served with the inevitable rice and noodles.

Vietnam’s food is a pleasure, and the descriptions are equally delightful. My favourite menu offered “noodles fried with miscellaneous”, although I skipped it after remembering my friend ‘adventure frog’. Vietnam is big on boats because it has a disproportionally long shoreline compared to its landmass. On another boat trip a masseuse was pummelling us on the central table, and when she finished, a buffet was served on the same table.

One worthwhile inland diversion is Da Lat, reached by labouring up steep mountain roads where graphic warning signs show a car hurtling off the edge of the cliff. The cool air makes it a popular retreat in the stifling summer, but it’s a town of simple pleasures, like exploring waterfalls. Da Lat has an enormous indoor market too, and after admiring colourful but unknown edibles, I ordered that classic combination of a glass of wine and some durian ice cream at a nearby café.

That evening our guide took us to a “minority village” where the hill tribes live, to buy hand-woven shirts and meet the village elder. We walked into his circular straw hut in the gloom, until he remembered to switch the lights on. At least it’s not so remote that it lacks electricity, but he had us fooled for a moment.

We chatted in a tri-lingual mishmash of French, English and the local dialect. Then he brought out a pot of a strangely murky brew. Rice wine, village style, with some clear plastic tubes to drink it through. The straws are see-through so he can make sure the tourists are actually drinking it. He chuckles, we drink, and the pungent brew somehow makes our tri-lingual conversation across alien cultures much more comprehensible

- Lesley Stones

At Vila Vita Parc, chic five-star luxury is embedded into every detail, from the ornate mosaic floors and hand-painted walls to the grand archways. This is a modern resort, with every amenity, but at the same time a sumptuous Moorish palace.

Its exclusive 22-hectare cliff-top location overlooks the tranquil Atlantic and features manicured subtropical gardens, ornamental pools, rolling lawns, swimming pools, fountains, and a nine-hole golf course. It even boasts its very own stretch of pristine beach.

The accommodations are splendidly luxurious, and nine restaurants compete for your indulgence, including the authentic Portuguese ‘Adega’ eatery and the Moorish-style ‘Aladdin’s Grill’ with its beautiful stained-glass windows. Vila Vita Parc is also renowned for housing Portugal’s finest private wine cellar, with carefully selected wines and vintages from around the world. For deep relaxation and pampering, an opulent spa – Vila Vita Vital – offers a comprehensive choice of either medical and beauty treatments, as well as saunas, steam baths and jacuzzis.

For the active, there are Astroturf tennis courts, a 9-hole pitch and putt golf course and state-of-the-art gym facilities at the health club with its indoor and outdoor pools, whirlpool baths and orange-scented steam room. Aquatic enthusiasts can enjoy sailing, canoeing and windsurfing. Looking for a luxurious escape? Then step aboard the stylish Vila Vita Yacht and partake in one of the many cruise options on offer. The 22m Princess-class yacht is elegantly finished and is your passport to experience the breathtaking Algarve coastline as it truly should be.

Vila Vita Parc also bends over backwards to keep its younger guests smiling with an 18-hole crazy golf course, an oversized playground as well as a football pitch. As for Annabella’s Kids’ Parc, it’s a cut above the usual holiday clubs with activities like baking, fashion modeling, mini-Olympics and magic shows. Even hard-to-please teens are catered to with offerings like surf lessons and excursions to water parks and jeep safaris.

www.vilavitaparc.com

Sorrento is the last stop on the Cicumvesuvio line, a single track railway running the 100 minutes or so from Naples and passing through two of Italy’s headline attractions, Pompeii and Herculaneum, both casualties of the cataclysmic eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

Just as a full stop implies a new sentence to follow, so Sorrento presages the lyrical line of cliff-hugging towns that constitute the Amalfi Coast before the following sentence begins at Salerno, from whence a whole different geography of flat coastline stretches southwards.

Having caught the train down from Rome and heeding Lord Horatio Nelson’s caution about Naples – “A country of fiddlers and poets, whores and scoundrels” – we did not tarry but immediately changed trains for Sorrento.  With a one-way ticket costing a mere €3,50, this is probably the cheapest travel anywhere in Italy and probably hasn’t changed since Sorrento was part of the Grand Tour.

Following in the footsteps of Goethe, Shelley and his wife Mary, and Sigmund Freud, we headed immediately to the Grand Hotel Cocumella. Unlike Mrs Shelley who later returned to the hotel after her spouse’s death accompanied by her son and her husband’s heart as a relic, we were travelling light. It seems under-powered to check into a 5-star hotel with nothing but a knapsack but that is exactly what we did.

Not only is Sorrento the town at the end of the line, it’s also the town where time stopped and nowhere is that more apparent than at the Cocumella.   A former 16^th Century Jesuit monastery built on a promontory overlooking the Gulf of Naples, the hotel – part of the Small Luxury Hotels portfolio – is set in a large park comprising orange and lemon orchards and Mediterranean gardens. It’s a gracious retreat which distils all the charm one could wish for on a coastline renowned for its beauty.

Unless those Jesuit monks belonged to the cult of Sybaris, I can only imagine that the Olympic sized pool, tennis court, Jacuzzi and hammam were later additions to the property. Not to mention the hotel’s private tall ship, the Vera, which is available for daily or weekly charter and is today considered one of the most exclusive vessels available in the Mediterranean.

Considering its fame, Sorrento is surprisingly unspoilt and un-trafficked by tourism. Why this should be I’m not sure – possibly because land is not easily come by or because the town is so end-of-the-line. Its main road, the Corsa Italia, is positively plebeian – there’s not a designer label shop in sight.

Visitors will find more to purchase in the Via San Cesareo which yields successive photo opportunities of market stalls brimming with fresh produce, galleries with chocolate-box paintings of the town’s coastline and shops displaying the region’s signature craft – marquetry.

On our first night in this little corner of paradise, we did what any self-respecting backpacker would do: went to a local corner shop, bought artisanal breads, salami and cheese, a bottle of wine and, because our junior suite had a sound system, a once-in-a-lifetime find – a CD of the great American songbook sung in Italian.

Sitting on our top floor terrace at dusk, the whole stretch of the Mediterranean twinkling beneath the shadow of Mount Vesuvius off in the distance, was a perfect way to end the day.

Any hotel can be as grand or as pretentious as it wants to be – and many are – but where an establishment like Cocumella transcends others in its category, is in the warmth and down-to-earthiness of its reception. For a 50-room property, I certainly didn’t expect the hotel’s manager, Simone Guida, to take us up to our rooms. Nor was I prepared for the empathetic counsel of long-time concierge Giuseppe Di Pietro who was a touchstone for service excellence as the following anecdote may illustrate.

Having spent several days exploring the town’s neighbouring sights – Pompeii and Herculaneum, the Greek temples at Paestum and the idyllic Isle of Capri – on our last morning we realised that we hadn’t yet swum in the Mediterranean. Giuseppe arranged for a complete set of the complex’s keys to be left for us downstairs. And so it was that at 06:00 in the morning, in a pearlescent dawn and garbed in voluminous fluffy bathrobes, we walked through the citrus trees and down the avenue to the cliff-side terrace as daybreak touched the blue-grey waters of the Sorrentine peninsula. Descending a staircase hewn into the rock-face that was the equal of any Hardy Boys fantasy, we arrived in a grotto at the base of the cliff.

With our ring of keys, we could unlock the gate giving access to Cocumella’s private beach of pebbles, and plunge into the warm and slightly salty Mediterranean. There is nothing quite so exhilarating as swimming at the base of a cliff… or discovering that there was a lift and that we didn’t have to negotiate the 100 or so steps back to the top!

On checking out of the hotel, Giuseppe pressed a bottle of marmalade on me, produce of the hotel’s gardens.

I can quite see that I have to go back to Sorrento and the Grand Hotel Cocumella – not as Mrs Percy Bysshe Shelley before me carrying the heart of her husband, but to return to claim the one I left behind.

Small Luxury Hotels of the World™ is an unsurpassed collection of over 480 hotels spanning more than 70 countries.   For further information on Small Luxury Hotels of the World visit their website www.slh.com or contact Luxury Brands on (021) 702 3436, e-mail luxurybrands@iafrica.com

Sorrento

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The enchanting collection of islands that make up the Seychelles is often likened to an elegant string of precious white pearls. The all-round pristine beaches and clear waters are postcard-perfect settings that make the Seychelles a popular destination choice for couples looking for a snog-friendly spot and honeymooners wanting to drop off the world’s radar for a little while. The tranquility of the Seychelles comes at a hefty price though – you may not want to return home.

With most islands a short boat ride away from each other, it makes it easy to explore and do a bit of island hopping to get the full grasp of what the Sechelles offers, as each island is something special – whether its shopping for local crafts and treasures (which can be a bit pricey), learning some interesting historical facts or just to enjoy brilliant scuba diving and snorkelling. All on offer only if you should choose to leave your blissful room.

The locals are warm and inviting, speak French, Creole and English and will always make sure their international guests feel welcome, so don’t be surprised if you are quick to don an orchid necklace, get a generously-poured cocktail in hand and start swaying to a traditional Creole dance with the locals – it’s encouraged and expected.

A short distance from the popular island of Mahe is the exquisite splendour of Praslin, a small island with so much to offer. The piece de resistance of the island has to be the exclusive 5-star Constance Lemuria Resort – my final destination, and a welcome one at that with the promise of pure indulgence and pampering time. The resort has its own 18-hole champion golf course so the macho guys (or sporty ladies) won’t feel neglected when their partners head straight for the Spa de Constance or Shiseido Pavilion for top-to-toe treatments that will replenish body, mind and soul.

The gift that keeps on giving – the spa can tailor make a package for you called a Qi (pronounced ‘chi’) package, a variety of beauty and massage treatments co-ordinated to work in synergy according to the Qi technique, which can be enjoyed over several days. Getting pampered and relaxing on the beach can work up quite an appetite so if you can tear yourself away for long enough, the resort has three restaurants which offer French and international cuisine but also add that distinct Seychellois flavour to traditional dishes.

Lemuria truly is an idyllic location, set on the picturesque beach of Anse Kerlan, where turtles can still lay their eggs in complete peace. The exquisite suites and villas of the resort blend effortlessly into their surroundings of two unspoilt beaches and magical turquoise waters. Aside from the ample suites, the resort offers eight villas with their own private pools. Honeymooners and A-listers wanting that special something extra will opt for the presidential villa.

This hotel within a hotel is something spectacular. Perched in the granite boulders of the southern tip of Anse Kerlan, this villa comes with your own private staff, chef and security and even a fully-equipped office for those crazy enough to want to stay connected. The master suite has a romantic terrace bathroom with whirlpool, sauna and steam bath, while the two additional suites accommodate three multi-level pools which wrap the building with steps which lead to a private beach. The essence of a vacation in the Seychelles is getting a glimpse of what people refer to as paradise, and the experience on the island of

Praslin, as with its neighbouring islands, is one of true fortune. For more information about the Constance Lemuria Resort, visit www.lemuriaresort.com

Put in culinary terms, Morocco is like a pastilla, the mille-feuille like pancake dish that mixes savoury with sweet and is generally served at special occasions such as weddings.

The first layer is the old Morocco of the imperial cities. Rising like a crescent moon from landlocked Marrakesh to Rabat on the Atlantic and Meknes and Fes to the east, these are the settlements that time forgot. The alleys of these walled cities (medinas) are too narrow for cars so everything from computers to cartons of cloves must be led in on the backs of donkeys. The walls ring with the warning cry “Balak!” (step aside – donkey coming!), and one’s eyes are dazzled with the jewel-like colours of the spice merchant: saffron, cumin, paprika.

Over that layer is the French colonial influence encountered architecturally in the art deco public buildings and residential villas of the nouvelle ville (new city) which inevitably abuts the medieval city walls of the old Imperial cities. Although the French Foreign Legion is long gone, the Gallic flavour still finds expression in the art of the patisserie, the ability to make perfect breads and the fact that French is the de facto second official language. France now sends tourists rather than Legionnaires to Morocco so it’s one foreign country where you are more likely to hear French spoken than American in your hotel.

Then there’s modern Morocco albeit only really experienced in the biggest cities and/or seaside resorts, created especially to cater for the sun-obsessed venerations of European tourists. If you want to spend a week lying at a pool, you could safely come to Morocco and never stir from your sun-lounger (Marrakesh has 310 sunny days a year and only 300mm annual rainfall) but that would be a very poor dish. Only one layer of the pastilla so to speak.

Finally there is the Morocco of elegant, elegiac memory: heiress Barbara Hutton’s fantastical sojourn in Tangiers decadence, Yves Saint Laurent’s garden, Malcolm Forbes’s legendary 80^th birthday party. How much is myth and how much is the sun-faded sepia of times gone by?

Jackie Kennedy charmed the then King and was given a bijou cliff-top palace on the road from Marrakesh to Essaouira. That latter seaside fort town was the location for Orson Welles’s Cannes Palme d’Or masterpiece Othello filmed with the help of the town’s inhabitants when he ran out of finance and to whom he dedicated his award. At the next village of Diabut, Jimi Hendrix passed three lost years (or was it only one drug hazed summer) and was inspired to write “Castles in the Sand” about the ruins on that stretch of coastline.

All roads lead to Casablanca however, not the Hollywood-noir of Bogart and Bergman which is all but invisible, but the noisy insistence of a busy capital city. If there is one unmissable sight it is the great mosque of Hassan II. Constructed less than 20 years ago, and second only in size to its sister in Mecca, the mosque can accommodate 120 000 worshippers. Constructed as much to put the city on the map as to showcase the skills of local workers, the Hassan II mosque is as monumental and impressive a structure as the Coliseum is to Rome.

You can still find traces of ancient Rome at Volubilis which was the furthest garrison point of the empire (the troops withdrew in 285 AD). Anywhere else in Europe, Volubilis would be overrun by tourist coaches and cruise ship passengers. But here on the road from Meknes, ‘the Moroccan Versailles’, to Fes, the most complete, most historically untouched city of the Arab world, Volubilis stands open to the setting sun. It offers mosaic floors, including a suite of the Labours of Hercules, to rival anything in the archaeological catalogue of must-see sights.

After Casablanca, Marrakesh is the second largest city in Morocco but is indubitably the epicentre of any visitor’s experience. Marrakesh is the ‘pearl of the south’ founded by the Almoravides dynasty at the end of the 12^th Century. The city is located in the heart of a palm grove and surrounded by snow-topped mountains making it possible to lie at the pool in the morning and ski in the afternoon.

In Marrakesh, it is prohibited to paint your building anything other than pink and no construction can be higher than three stories so as to not eclipse the glory or drama of the Koutoubia minaret. This gives the city a unity that is pleasing to the eye, not least to Madonna and Sting who are rumoured to have homes among the palm trees here. Although there is no shortage of palaces, museums and gardens, the rub of Marrakesh is the Djemaa El Fna (Assembly of Death) square. By day a marketplace, at dusk the Djemaa acquires an otherworldly – almost voodoo – entrancement. Little old ladies do tarot readings, other old crones write spells for amulets to be placed underneath pillows, snake charmers and fools in costume entertain circlets of crowds. Superstition is still very much woven into the passage of Moroccan life.

Outside of the cities, the Moroccan vista offers small villages from the High Atlas Mountains to the Atlantic coastal settlements of Agadir and Essaouira. Otherwise known as Mogodor, Essaouira is protected by stone battlements from invading pirates and by blue painted colonnades and shutters from the sun. The town’s artisanal product is marquetry made with thuya wood which has the hardness of mahogany and is most often turned into boxes and chess sets. If not wood-workers, the local populace are fishermen so seafood is definitely on the menu here.

It is impossible to visit Morocco without relishing the opportunity to immerse yourself in its cuisine. A stroll through a street market in the smallest mountain village or populous city souk will evoke an aromatic kaleidoscope of fragrant quinces, voluptuous artichokes, oranges as sweet as sunrises and tomatoes as redolent as sunsets.

These are some of the ingredients that you may find in the national dish – the tagine – which is an eight-hour slow-cooked main course that releases all its flavours to succulent effect. The tagine is nothing if not versatile: juicy beef with fat prunes, chicken with olives and preserved lemons, spicy lamb with apricots and couscous.

For its mix of colour and craft, for the sounds of the souk and the taste of adventure, there is little to touch Morocco for the appeal to the senses.

Giggling Gourmet Jenny Morris is offering a 16-day Taste Morocco culinary tour in October. For more information email info@gigglinggourmet.com