The hotel consists of the main house, which accommodates guests in the original executive rooms, and the north, south and west quarters accommodate guests in the superior suites, overlooking the gardens along the river.  The main hall is exceptional with wrap-around gallery that leads to a well stocked library and the original executive rooms.  Glass and steel-framed windows and doors give views of the lush gardens from all angles of the hotel.

The 16 superior suites have luxurious, extra-length, mahogany, four-poster beds, French empire beds and sleigh beds, with plush linen and down duvets.  Snuggle up with a good book or beau this winter in one of four superior suites which boast fireplaces.  All rooms are en-suite with double marble vanity basins, large oval bath tubs and showers.  The superior rooms are equipped with under carpet and tile heating, air-conditioning, satellite TV and DVD players and mini-bar to ensure you don’t have to leave the comfort of your room.

The food is beautifully presented with a great deal of pride by a team of professionals headed by Michael Holenstein.  Five-course dinners can be enjoyed in Michael’s Verandah or in the conservatory.

Welcoming five-star hospitality, superb accommodation and service, exceptional cuisine and a refined ambience create a very special hotel to spend a weekend, host a conference or a celebratory occasion.

As a special offer to LiveOutLoud readers, De Hoek Country Hotel would like to offer a 10 percent discount on its standard rate for accommodation and breakfast.  Call the hotel on (014) 577 9600 for bookings, or e-mail reservations@dehoek.com. For more information on the hotel visit www.dehoek.com

Giveaway to one reader: (COMPETITION STICKER OR BLOCK AT THE END)

De Hoek would like to offer a one night stay for two guests in a Superior Suite, including breakfast and a five course candlelit dinner to one lucky LiveOutLoud reader. Simply email Natasha@traveloutloud.co.za with the subject line De Hoek giveaway and give us your contact details before 27 June 2011 to enter.

There is something magical about the small boot-shaped country that has tourists across the globe heading to Italy in droves all year round, come rain or shine. One of the most alluring elements about this destination, from my personal experiences, is that with each returning visit you unravel another layer of its charm. The love, the passion, the food are expected, but each of Italy’s 20 regions has its own unique personality.

Having done the typical tourist check list of Rome, Florence and Milan – I was very excited to have been selected as one of the first international media to go aboard Marina, the latest addition to the Oceania Cruises family and sail along the Amalfi Coast, a location that has been on my list for some time.

Not just about the luxury experience, this would be a personal challenge too as I can embarrassingly admit that I have no sea legs – a discovery made many years ago in Thailand on a 45 minute ferry ride that had me swaying into walls and furniture like a swinging pendulum for the rest of the day. After 12 hours of flying and a 40-minute drive on the steep, meandering roads between Nice and the port of Monte Carlo, by the time I was welcomed aboard Marina I looked and felt drunk. I was meeting Marina at its halfway mark on its first ‘Pearls of the Riviera’ voyage – guests had already visited multiple stops in Spain and France before docking in Monaco.

Walking alongside the ship I was spellbound by its imposing elegance and wondered how this qualified as a ‘mid-sized’ vessel. Marina is stylish without being kitsch and offers a selection of six fine dining restaurants, at no additional cost, unlike any other experience offered at sea. Subtle colour schemes and chandeliers gently covering every fixture with soft lighting welcome you into this plush escape from reality.
Entering my penthouse suite I forgot for a moment that I was on a ship, the size of the room didn’t seem realistic for a vessel expected to float– until I found out that the Vista and Owner’s Suites made my room look small by comparison. Realising I had my own walk-in closet made it utterly necessary for me to unpack the entire contents of my small carry-on suitcase, a process that with the swaying joys of motion sickness took much longer than acceptable.

By this time I had exhausted myself and needed to crash on my massive, high-perched bed for a not so quick nap. I awoke ravenous and decided it was time for an introduction to the ship’s unique culinary selection. Choosing between the classic steakhouse Polo Grill, the Italian delicacies from Toscana, the Parisian-style Jacques named after popular chef Jacques Pépin or the Asian-fusion experience at Red Ginger proved to be too difficult for my first night so I chose to eat in the Grand Dining Room to ease into the gastronomic experience. What I thought would be a simple affair, turned out to be a neatly presented four-course meal of the classics which was enjoyed while I took in the twinkling lights of Monaco as we set off for the next port of call, Portofino.

Each night I would be seated with different guests and this was an ideal way to experience the different characters choosing to travel on cruises. From the Canadian couple who casually explained this was their 19th cruise to the adorable and fun couple from Charleston, South Carolina who kept asking me in their southern drawl if I’d like some “wh-ine”.
By the next morning I had found my sea legs and they were ready to get off the ship for a stretch. Portofino’s façades have been frozen in time and although you will find boutiques with high-end fashion labels, restaurants and enough trinkets to give your wallet a workout, the setting is still classic Italian. Tourists and artisans alike worship Portofino for its raw beauty that has been captured in so many films, poems and books. Even though there is a constant stream of tourists heading into this small port, I was welcomed by a calming silence as if the sound travels straight up the cliff-face and disperses.

There are various day tours offered through Marina for guests to see the best of each town with the comfort and security of an experienced guide and air-conditioned coach, but I decided my first day should be experienced on foot in the crisp air of early spring. The deprived South African in me felt the need to walk, and walk I did –all the way to the next town of Santa Margherita Ligure about five kilometres away. Santa Margherita is far more spread out and flat than the port area of Portofino and offers a sufficient amount of boutiques, restaurants and a yacht club which welcomes the European elite to dock their toys when they sail in for a visit.

Returning to Marina with a spring in my step I explored the ship thoroughly to discover two stunning boutiques, a spa, walking track, auditorium for the performances offered each evening and the main hub of the ship – the pool deck, with its Terrace Cafe offering delicious light meals like burgers and hot dogs. I deemed it appropriate to go for some gelato instead of the western options and found a spot on one of the sun loungers to take in the amusing sight of Canadian and British guests tanning in the 20 degree Celsius sun.
The next day’s port of call was Livorno, the gateway to Tuscany and tourist must-sees like Pisa and Florence. The port town itself looked very industrial and unlikely to entertain me for a full day so I decided to rest my aching feet and hop on a tour bus to the quaint town of Lucca. The drive through the Tuscan hills to get to this walled fort town was dreamlike, and although overcast and drizzling I let myself drift off to enjoy my Under the Tuscan Sun moment while our tour guide got rather worked up in the excitement of telling us about the major rivalry between the people of the different towns of Tuscany.

Eighty percent of Tuscany is covered by olive groves, pine trees and other lush fertile ground. The pine trees were planted to help against malaria when the region was once just swamps, now the pine nuts are used in baking and even in making ice cream. Lucca is a wealthy town which is also rich in culture and the birthplace of the famous opera composer Giacomo Puccini. You can visit the church where he placed his first composition or the beautiful Saint Michael’s Church with the unique statue of Archangel Michael looking down at passersby – a spear in his one hand killing a snake and a small globe in the other, showing that faith can conquer all evil. Big on its churches, there is also the Cathedral of Lucca, where you will spend more time on the outside looking at the intricately carved detailing on its walls, each telling a story.

Feeling that I had enriched my brain with sufficient history and culture I was happy to dedicate the next two stops of Amalfi and Sorrento to some shopping and indulgence. The two towns are similar in vibe and since I visited them over Easter it was very difficult to take the sights in or get a decent photograph without being pushed around by masses of tourists. Half my afternoon in Amalfi was enjoyed from a rock on the side of a busy main road, licking an enormous and overpriced gelato and people watching while the rest of the day was taken at leisure in the many small shops dedicated to all things lemon – the Sfusato Amalfitano or Amalfi Coast lemons are much larger and less acidic than your average lemon and are used to make Limoncello, the traditional lemon liqueur made in the Amalfi Coast region as well as an abundance of other products to make tourists beam with excitement – lemon scented soap; lemon decorated aprons, cloths, oven mittens; lemon-infused olive oil; risotto with lemon; lemon sweets and plenty other items to have you returning to ship seeing yellow spots.

My last afternoon on Marina was with no surprise focused on food. I participated in a cooking class at Marina’s own Bon Appetit Culinary Centre headed by chef Kathryn Kelly where we appropriately made pasta with veal and stuffed eggplant while sipping on Tuscan wine and were reminded to use extra virgin olive oil for salads and fresh dishes rather than for cooking. For those who prefer to relax on the ship and would rather get hands on than have lunch prepared by a wealth of talented chefs there is an array of cuisines to discover in these classes.
After having explored all of Marina’s restaurants I can safely say I saved the best for last with Red Ginger – this beautifully designed Asian-fusion restaurant offers exquisite cuisine where each bite is an explosion of flavour. When visiting Marina Red Ginger is a must – and certainly try the duck and watermelon salad and the sea bass.

Although I stuck out like a sore thumb being the youngest adult guest on the ship by a mile and on departure day I was already crying for a pair of stretch pants from overindulging – the overall experience of culinary delights, selection of port stops, lavish accommodation and eager-to-please service was worth considering going again on one of the many worldwide itineraries that Marina explores throughout the year.
For more information about Marina and other Oceania Cruises visit www.cruises.co.za or call Cruises International on (011) 327 0327.

As keen as the next man to turn back the sands of time, I headed off to Devon on the English south coast. Although the British Isles, by definition, have miles of coastline, nowhere has town-planning conspired more felicitously with nature to produce a vintage seaside resort than Torquay, the hub of the gently-hyped English Riviera. If you can visualise golden-age detective Hercule Poirot sipping a tisane on the balcony of some art-deco hotel while seagulls call overhead, then you have a pretty fair impression of the town. Not surprisingly, Agatha Christie was born here and the area is rich in her memory – a suite of display cabinets in the local museum, a bust of her on the promenade and even a gift shop.    

In reality, Torquay is more Miss Marple than Poirot by which I mean it feels more 1950s than 1930s.   You are more likely to find little old ladies on the boardwalk than jazz-age sirens and much more likely to trip over a skein of knitting wool than a corpse. Built on seven limestone hills, Torquay’s slightly run-down charm is its appeal – it’s a gloriously faded snapshot in time. The high street is situated on one of those vertiginous slopes so start your shopping at the top and let gravity and the weight of your shopping bags pull you down to the marina. Here are all the attractions of a resort: the Princess Pier, The Pavilion (formerly a concert hall, now a shopping arcade) and the Princess Gardens boasting palm trees (although if truth be told, Torquay’s palms are New Zealand cabbage trees).   

Torquay’s storefronts are typically English too: fish and chips shops, pharmacies selling rock candy and on The Strand, the main shopping street, Hoopers department store with dining room upstairs, a sight not seen since our mothers used to go to Stuttafords wearing hats and gloves.    

Visitor accommodation is a big surprise. The town, where Fawlty Towers was set, is heaving with B&Bs and peeling seaside hostelries as befits a holiday destination but nowhere is there a big brand hotel in sight. The two largest, The Grand and The Imperial, set the tone for a retinue of regally-named properties: The Majestic, The Royal, The Crown, etc.   

In this most typically ‘English’ of seaside towns, I found myself in a guest house owned by a French man and his American wife. The 10-roomed Ascot House, formerly a Victoria villa, has a prime hilltop location which allows for sea views from the front-facing rooms and easy walking access to the town’s shops.   The Ascot fulfils all one’s fantasies of the classic British B&B: the steep staircase with narrow tread, the cool eiderdown on a plump bed, the kettle and tea bags in your room. Best of all, their English breakfast with slow-cooked sausage and tomato is the kind of repast that makes you want to stay an extra night.

That sort of resto-bar savoir faire is also in evidence at Port Salut, Torquay’s hippest brasserie. Owned by the same couple who restored the Burgh Island hotel some two hours drive away, Port Salut is a contemporary culinary intersection with an old bank building alongside the yacht basin. Hello sailor indeed!
As the de facto capital of the English Riviera – a run of three towns collectively known as Torbay – Torquay is the best place to base oneself to explore over 22 miles of coastline, cliffs, coves and beaches.

Not much trafficked and thus all the more appealing is Babbacombe Bay to the east, a quiet stretch of sand underneath an ox-blood hued cliff. It was described by no less a visitor than Queen Victoria as “a beautiful spot… red cliffs and rocks with wooded hills like Italy and reminding one of a ballet or play where nymphs appear… such rocks and grottoes with the deepest sea on which there was no ripple”.   

Babbacombe is most favourably viewed from across the bay at the Carey Arms, a gastro pub and chic boutique hotel. During my visit, I noticed walking, fishing and horse riding – all sensible seaside pursuits – but absolutely no evidence of anyone actually swimming, despite this being in the heart of the English summer. Even the children in the brochure photograph with their nets and shell collecting, are wearing hoodies, scarves and sweats.

A similar anomaly presented itself as I rode the charming Paignton & Dartmouth Steam Railway along the coast. Much was made of Elberry Cove, glimpsed from the shifting train windows. (For Christie aficionados, this is the spot where Sir Carmichael Clarke met his untimely end in “The ABC Murders” while the train journey itself is described in “Dead Man’s Folly”). Surrounded by beautiful rolling South Devon hills, the beach appeared to be deserted, possibly because it was comprised of pebbles.    

Although the train promises Dartmouth, the final station is actually Kingswear but the cost of a ferry across the River Dart is included in your rail ticket. Home to the Royal Navy Academy and some of the priciest real estate in the country, Dartmouth does not include any beaches in its list of attractions.   

You can also make your way back along the coast in a fantastic RML Rescue Motor launch, the Fairmile, operated by the estimable Greenway Quay and Ferry service passing Meadfoot Beach, Anstey’s Cove, Abbey Sands and Beacon Cove. Viewed from land and from sea, I failed to see any sun worshippers.  In fact I failed to see any children on the beaches at all albeit this may have been that I was travelling out of the school holidays. Lots of retirement age couples could be seen briskly walking dogs, but outside of the anorak brigade there was nary a bucket or spade in sight.

In conclusion, the English Riviera, like its French namesake, is possibly more glamorous in imagination than reality and more sun-kissed in anticipation than experience.   Although there is a lot to see and do of historical interest (and much is made of the Agatha Christie mile), it’s clearly a seaside resort of bygone days, and no less charming for that.   

The question is: do seaside excursions for kids even occur these days or are children more fixated on consoles than conch shells and Playstations rather than train stations? Did bucket and spade holidays ever exist or were they just a Famous Five fantasy? Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be Enid!

Last September, my wing girl Rachael and I hit the last week of the clubbing season. This is a critical time to arrive as the clubs are having their notorious closing parties, attracting crowds of electro heads the world over. Our friend Kev, who’s been here for over a decade managing one of the popular bars in the Old Town, had planned our five night stay with a different super club each night and four days exploring the various beaches. It was to be a marathon.

We arrived on the island with some anxiety not quite sure what to expect. “Ola” we excitedly greeted the driver. “Migjorn Suites and Spa por favor.” With the music pumping we weaved through the streets and hurriedly checked into the Migjorn in Playa de Bossa where we were treated to two large suites on the pool edge. More than spacious enough to call home for a week, the mezzanine space of the suites features an upstairs bedroom, with a downstairs kitchenette and lounge area. We freshened up and moseyed on out to meet Kev at the “Rock” on the harbour’s edge in the beautiful bustling Old Town.

The Rock is a highly recommended bar to get island proceedings started. It’s nothing fancy (in its favour), yet attracts celebs and DJs, the likes of Maxi Jazz and Jay Kay, as it is an unassuming spot for them to chill and spin a few beats. We drank copious amounts of San Miguelle on tap, and Kev’s world famous mojitos. Park easy from 23:00 – 1:00am and observe the club parades down the strip, attracting revellers by showing off the professional podium dancers. Stand by… there are some crackers! Then it’s off to the clubs. Plan who you want to see in advance online as you are spoilt for choice – all the world’s top electro acts and DJs perform every night, in weekly concession for four months. This is the “unst unst” mecca and requires a bit about the clubs and the culture.

Of the 10 odd super clubs, each has a different crowd, theme and act each day of the week. No night is the same. One night a club may play commercial dance, the other gnarly techno, preceded by a transvestite theme that lays on a significant freak show! The largest is Privilege, boasting a capacity of over 8 000. Be warned, as clubbing in Ibiza is very expensive. Entrance fees range from €45 – €70 per club, while the drinks are a complete rip off! €7 for a small bottle of water and €12 for a San Miguelle. It would be worthwhile to drink before at one of the bars.

The first night we stormed AMNESIA with 5 000 other revellers. This is the oldest super club in Ibiza featuring the likes of Deadmau5, Paul Van Dyk, Ferry Corsten and club nights like Cocoon and the legendary Cream label. Partially dressed podium dancers entertained the boys, while large lace jellyfish flowed below the ceilings. The jet propelled air-conditioning unit bellowing from one side of the club with an icy Whooooosh deserves a mention! This fist night out required a long sleep to recover and particularly slow and skittish movements the next day around the hotel pool. Curse that Italian after party!

Round two was at the legendary PACHA, one of the more “sophisticated” super clubs, with a capacity of 3 000 peeps. Here you’ll get lost in the music on the dance floors or while exploring the endless stairways leading to further rooms, alcoves and roof terraces. We got to see the legend Erick Morillo ironically remembered for the Madagascar theme tune “I like to move it move it”. That said there was nothing commercial about his set.

Having rented a scooter, we explored the various beaches and discreet coves during the day, loading up on sunlight while rehydrating ourselves. One evening we found ourselves far out of town at Es Caliu, the best lamb restaurant on the island. Another evening we dined amongst the hills at AURA, a decadent restaurant/club/bar attracting the likes of Danny Rampeling, Seb Fontein and other big house DJs. The venue offers superb food, good looking guys and gals, with an ambiance to match.

We chose to explore the neighbouring island of Formentera on scooters, granting us access to some of the more spectacular beaches and restaurants. One stop to consider is GECO with its plush lawns that spill onto the white sands separating a warm inviting azur sea. We got back on the ferry, hailed a taxi and B-lined for the Blue Marlin to see our local boys Goldfish perform to a heaving, funked out, bikini clad crowd for a sundowner party on the water’s edge.

With one night left, it was off to SPACE to pay homage to the godfather of techno Mr Carl Cox himself. This is an institution and boasts residents like James Zebalia and acts like Pendulum. With all the lasers and wind machines, the 2 500 strong techno-mob were carried away with his stomping beats. Let’s not forget the appearance of the 10 foot Kryoman, entertaining the crowd as he danced, in a flashing diode suite, firing lasers off his wrist before igniting himself with fireworks eight feet above the crowd, suspended from the ceiling.

With very little sleep, combined with over 20 hours of break dancing, I was ready to crawl off the island with some outrageous memories. See you next year Kev!

For more info contact travel@liveoutloud.co.za.

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There is juxtaposition in its geography as well with the north, north west and east of the island carrying the majority of the population and the pick of the tourist resorts, which earn five percent of the island economy’s GDP. The south has been regarded as a giant sugar cane field with an expat community and some wilderness areas. The Veranda Resorts group, together with the Heritage Resorts Group saw the opportunity to convert ageing sugar plantations into a luxury resort area, with spectacular golf and estate living, developing the local community in the expanding sector of tourism and breathing life into the south west tip of the island.

The Heritage Awali and Heritage Le Telfair are perfectly positioned on the tropical lagoon that is the coastal border of the Domaine de Bel Ombre estate. A little in the vein of Sol Kerzner envisaging Sun City in the prehistoric crater of the North West province, someone had a vision to transform 2 500 hectares of sugar cane into a resort of this magnitude.

Villas Valriche, the luxury housing estate within Domain de Bel Ombre, had inaugurated its villa rental scheme so we paid them a visit courtesy of Air Mauritius Business Class, Villas Valriche, Heritage Resorts and Domaine de Bel Ombre.

Mauritius is prone to cyclones, they’re the reason it was abandoned by the Dutch in 1710 so, much of the romantic island architecture is now underpinned by some form of sturdy concrete superstructure that won’t blow away in a force 10 gale. Heritage Le Telfair sees things differently and makes use of open, elaborate timber construction to rekindle the colonial vernacular and create an air of nostalgia.

We spent our fist night at this hotel, dined on Mauritian chicken skewers, washed down with a most elegant Chablis in its Annabella’s restaurant. There’s very little that will compare to a swim in a turquoise lagoon on a tropical island as the early morning sun puts a gentle warmth on your shoulders. Le Telfair, named after naturalist Charles Telfair, dishes up a perfect island resort experience, and it’s set to get better with the December 2010 opening of the ‘C ‘ Beach Club – an elaborate restaurant and entertainment complex that will attract a wider reaching clientele from the neighbouring Tamarin Bay and Black River communities.

Night two was spent in the Villas Valriche, experiencing a typical rental scenario and what guests can look forward to. Our butler Bando was a superb touch, preparing our cocktails and ferrying us around the estate. He and his fellow butlers made us dinner in the Villa, steak and crayfish cooked on an open fire. The rum cocktails, a standard on the sugar rich, rum producing island, were kept flowing throughout and the full service was absolutely first class like being in your own private restaurant.

The four bedroom villa was equipped with satellite television, a standard stocked kitchen, a turndown and full service, infinity rim pool and a view across the bay into an idyllic sunset. It sleeps eight and costs upward of 1 500 Euro a night, which includes access to the Heritage Le Telfair, the ’C’ Beach Club, the Château de Bel Hombre – a 19th  century colonial estate house that specialises in Mauritian culinary excellence – and the Peter Matkovich designed golf course, the fairways of which meander between the luxury villas.

Mauritius has had some shocking press regarding its fauna and flora beginning with the Dutch who put deer and monkeys on the island as sources of meat. Human beings, with their insatiable desire to kill things, also brought rats with them, together with the monkeys decimating the giant turtle population into extinction along with the infamous dodo, many bird species indigenous to the islands and 60 percent of its endemic reptiles.

Domaine de Bel Ombre is part of the rehabilitation of the natural Mauritian habitat and with its Frédérica Nature Reserve, is playing its part in bringing species like the Echo Parakeet, the Pink Pigeon and the Mauritius Kestrel back from the brink of extinction. We cooled off in natural pools under waterfalls and picnicked in indigenous paradise that was Mauritius before man stepped in and changed its landscape forever.

Since the Villas Valriche are situated around the pristine golf course, we managed to play nine holes followed by a lunch of communal Mauritian food consisting of fish salad with a fiery chilli sauce, again washed down with a superb Chablis. The Chateau golf club is run by South African Steven Shearer who has watched it develop from fields of sugar cane to an award-winning resort course.

An afternoon at the Seven Colours Spa and an evening dining at the Château rounded off the island experience.

Only 40 minutes from the airport and unspoiled by hordes of tourists, rip-off artists and stereotypical island experiences, Domain de Bel Ombre is Mauritius in a balance between development and nature. Between the Villas Valriche and the Heritage resorts of Awali and Le Telfair, there are a number of options, from purchasing your piece of paradise and gaining residency on an island that is eliminating duty, that has favourable tax rates and is a four hour flight from South Africa, to renting a luxury villa, or staying in a four star or five star luxury hotel.

For more information go to www.villasvalricheexperience.com, www.heritageletelfair.mu, www.domainedebelombre.mu

Why Iceland? It has to be one of the most impressive countries you will ever visit, purely for the diversity of activities and sheer beauty of this extravagant volcanic glacial terrain. I recommend that you base yourself in Reykjavik for a few nights to see and taste the city, while pursuing full days away from the city.

The Hilton was very pleasant with attentive staff and a superb restaurant. Ensure that you have the sea facing rooms on the top floors for spectacular views of the city and sea. Other options to consider are the boutique hotels smack in the centre of town: 101 Hotel and Hotel Borg are both beautifully designed, with English-speaking staff who are very resourceful with recommendations in and around the city.

Lunches can be taken at local spots along the road on tour. Dinners in town must be taken at The Fish Market, The Fjörukráin Viking Restaurant and Nautholl (overlooking a thermal beach), all serving excellent local cuisine including whale and puffin. Once fed, you will have to visit the local clubs and bars and get to know the Icelanders better. Iceland is a party institution! Start at Hotel 101, move onto the English Pub for some live music, then the trendy Austur for some Champagne and dancing.

If you are looking for some skillful DJ’ing, then it’s the Prikid. All these nightspots are in walking distance and the streets are abuzz with revelers all night. There are plenty of other spots to consider, but be sure to stop at the famous hot dog stand on your way back to the hotel – your taxi driver knows where it is.

Having completed an arduous journey via Holland, France or the UK, your first port of call should be the Blue Lagoon. Here you will spend a few hours in the mineral rich, bath warm volcanic lagoon. If the environment doesn’t sooth you, the bar in the middle of the lagoon certainly will.

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Chris Buchanan travels on the start of the Romantic Road through Germany’s pastoral underbelly.

You get mistakes and you get mistakes but massive blunders on the scale that became Würtzburg during the Second World War are grim reminders of how bitterness can be sown very deeply.

Allied bombers were intent on crushing the German industrial machine, much of which found itself along the Rhine and Main rivers. Frankfurt for instance was an industrial centre worthy of a bomb or two but Würtzburg was a genteel old university town where great wine and beer were produced and which owed much of its heritage to the bishops who made it their home. In 17 minutes, 90 percent of the city was destroyed by Lancaster bombers. Some believe the bombers thought Würtzburg to be Nüremburg while others believe they had mistaken it for Frankfurt.

The city was restored over a 20 year period and a walk through old buildings like the Residenz, referred to by Napoleon as “the most comfortable rectory in Europe” after an overnight stay as the guest of the bishop, shows the craftsmanship and dedication used in bringing the city back to life.

The bishops holed themselves up in the Fortress Marienberg on a hill overlooking the city and now one of Würtzburg’s biggest attractions. It is also home to the Bavarian archive and has an impressive keep, a last bastion of fortitude where the Bishops would be housed if under attack.

This is predominantly wine country so every hill with a south or south-west aspect is carpeted with vines. Würtzburg is the centre of the Franconian wine district distinguished by the “Bocksbeutel” or traditional fat bellied bottle. The stellar varietal is Stein but Sylvaner, Riesling and Burgundy are also noted in the area.

We move east towards Wertheim, following the Tauber river which meets the Main at the city. The Tauber meanders for about 120km through a breathtaking series of hills and small towns that epitomise the lifestyle of medieval Germany. History has made her mark here and residents live in a surreal world where ancient tradition meets modern convenience.

Streets are cobbled, houses are wooden framed, ancient bridges straddle the Tauber river and 15^th century castles tell tales of family lineage that is 500 years old – the descendants still inhabiting areas of the buildings while tourists are shown through the preserved historical annexes. All this history turns out to be completely foreign to our 11 year old daughter who can’t believe that the city we’re visiting is 200 years older than the country of her birth.

We used the hamlet of Gamburg as our base to explore the Tauber valley which is the start of the northern reaches of the Romantische Straβe. Frau Martin’s guesthouse gave us a beautiful view of the burg and its castle with a German pennant unfurled in solidarity with their football team.

This area is also rich in viticulture with vines stretching high on the hills that stand vigil over the meandering water.

Bridges are few across this river and those that straddle the water are specific to the region featuring small statues of St Christopher that bless the travellers as they cross. Strawberry fields line the banks of the river and game hides are strategically positioned throughout the countryside. This is poplar deer and wild pig hunting country, and a variety of dishes featuring these animals is available in local restaurants and beer gardens. Frau Martin, who often puts up hunters from Southern Africa, served a marvellous carpaccio of wild pig as part of the breakfast.

Beer gardens are a family tradition here in the summer and you will find one in every small village as well as a number in the larger cities. Apart from a variety of beer, from lager to weisbier (cloudy wheat beer), traditional German fare of pork knuckle (eisbein) schnitzel, wurst (sausage), and fresh spargel (asparagus)are always on the menu, served with lashings of sauerkraut, potato salad and dumplings.

The Romantic Road is a special part of Germany for no particular reason apart from the fact that it is postcard perfect. The villages are medieval, rural and quaint, the scenery is breathtaking and life meanders at the pace of the river it revolves around and from whence it derives its livelihood.

My family and I travelled with SAA to Munich and took the ICE (interCityExpress) train to Würtzburg. For further information visit www.wuerzburg.de and www.tauberbischofsheim.de

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