Some walks are beautiful. Others tell a story. This one does both. High on the Quantock Hills lies a landscape of ancient hill-forts, lonely combes and haunting place names including Dead Woman's Ditch and Walford's Gibbet. These dramatic locations inspired key scenes in my historical novel The Last Broomsquire, based on one of Somerset's most tragic true stories. Join me on a circular walk through one of England's oldest Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty, where history, legend and literature come together beneath wide West Country skies. I originally did this walk in order to celebrate an anniversary of my novel The Last Broomsquire. The book’s initial publisher James Crowden, and the poetess Catherine Simmonds - who had both been invited by the National Trust to give readings of their work at the Coleridge Cottage in nearby Nether Stowey - joined me for the hike. The three of us went for a walk in the hills above the village to talk about the Broomsquire story and see the real-life locations where some of it was set. It was a fascinating excursion for me because Catherine, who helped edit the novel, knows a great deal more about the real story on which I based my 200-year-old tale than I do - which isn’t something you’ll hear many authors say. Anyway, it was such a wonderful hike in such a beauteous place, I have no qualms when it comes to telling you all about it here. Our aim was to walk in a big loop around Dead Woman’s Ditch and Walford’s Gibbet - both of which are at the epicentre of the novel and, as it happens, of the Quantocks themselves. The Real Story Behind The Last Broomsquire The macabre sounding ditch is actually a prehistoric rampart, erected for defensive purposes to help keep the Bronze Age people safe, but Jane Shorney wasn't safe when she passed its way 200 years ago. Actually, I’m not sure how close she was to the ditch which is now so indelibly linked with her passing - local legend has it that she was murdered here but Catherine told me the actual deed was done much further down the hill. However, it was the case that one dark night Shorney’s sharp tongue lashed once too often at Johnny Walford, the handsome father of her children, and he felled her with a single blow before taking out his clasp knife and finishing the job. The Ordnance Survey map still bears the name Walford’s Gibbet, a mile down the road. That's where he paid the ultimate price for the grim thing that he had done. When Judge Kenyon sentenced Walford more than two centuries ago, he was so overcome with remorse over his own fatal judgment wept - which was not a common thing for one of the old hanging judges of the time. Oddly though, not many people shed a single tear for the woman who lay dead with her throat ripped out up in the hills. The popular father of her children dangled nearby for a year and a day as an example to others who might think of silencing their wives on a permanent basis. Walford was so good looking in life that it was said by locals that, “He looked better dead after a year and a day than most men do in their prime…” That’s the real story, but my novel weaves plenty of fanciful escapades around the colourful character of the young broomsquire. They, by the way, were a strange and long-lost itinerant people who lived on the Quantocks (and elsewhere) and collected broom from which they manufactured besoms - by which I mean the sort of domestic brushes favoured by witches. So much for all that drama - the best place at which to begin our circular stroll (as is the case with so many of the Quantocks’ best hikes) is Crowcombe Park Gate. You can’t go wrong with Crowcombe Park Gate, no matter in which direction you decide to wander. In this walk we traipse north-east across the flanks of Black Hill to pass Wilmot’s Pool - which used to be called Withyman’s Pool - not that anyone has any idea of who either Mr W was. From the small hilltop pond we go north again so that we can see Dowsborough directly in front of us. The great green dome looks nothing like any other Quantock hill and I reckon this is the very view which inspired Coleridge’s famous line which starts “sea, hill and wood”. To reach the stately pleasure dome, we take the path which descends deep into Lady’s Combe, which more-or-less separates Dowsborough from the main ridge. From here there’s a track due north around the western, then northern, contours of Dowsborough. The view over the Bristol Channel from here is exceptional. You are treated to an aerial panorama of the seaway’s twin islands – Steep Holm and Flat Holm. By walking around the northern flanks of the huge earthwork which crowns Dowsborough’s wooded summit (which, for the archaeologically inclined, it is an irregularly oval univallate contour hill-fort with counterscarp enclosing seven acres) we were able to descend eastwards through the woods to the aforementioned gibbet where Johnny Walford departed this mortal coil in real life - and may, or may not, have done in my novel. For some reason I always thought the ancient oak tree on the corner, where the Bin Combe lane makes a tight bend, was the actual place where they stringed Johnny up, but Catherine put me right by telling me the authorities built a gibbet out in the nearby field. It’s all a bit sepulchral and strange - and certainly, it is amazing now to think that this lonesome place once played host to more than 2000 folk who turned up to watch the execution. From here we made our way up Five Lords Combe - heading west up the contours between what are increasingly low and stunted oaks as Robin Upright’s Hill get higher towards Quantocks’ central ridge. I wish I could tell you who this upstanding person was, but - like Messrs Wilmot and Witchycombe - Mr Upright’s story has been lost in the mysterious mists of Somerset time. The scrub oaks accompanied us most of the way up the hill and also around its southerly flanks almost to the place where we reached that spooky groove, otherwise known as Dead Woman's Ditch. From there we returned in the gloaming to the Park Gate by walking west again along the upper edge of forested Rams Combe and then, finally, making a short but gentle ascent up the ridge which plays host to Quantock Hills walking version of Piccadilly Circus. It had been a jolly literary walk with literary friends - but I went home, as I always do when it comes to this part of the Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, utterly haunted by what was, and what may have been. Fact File Basic hike: across the roof of the Quantocks from Crowcombe Park Gate to Dowsborough - down to Walford’s Gibbet - returning via Robin Upright’s Hill and Dead Woman’s Ditch. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 140 Quantock Hills. Distance and going: four miles – easy going. Where does this Quantock walk start? The circular walk begins at Crowcombe Park Gate before heading towards Dowsborough, Walford's Gibbet and Dead Woman's Ditch, returning along the Quantock ridge. How long is the walk? The route is approximately four miles and follows mostly easy paths, making it suitable for most walkers with a reasonable level of fitness. What is Dead Woman's Ditch? Despite its name, Dead Woman's Ditch is a prehistoric earthwork built during the Bronze or Iron Age. Local legend later linked it with the murder of Jane Shorney, which inspired The Last Broomsquire. What is Walford's Gibbet? Walford's Gibbet marks the area where Johnny Walford was executed after being convicted of murdering Jane Shorney in the early nineteenth century. The tragic story forms the historical inspiration for The Last Broomsquire. Is this walk suitable all year? Yes. The Quantocks are beautiful throughout the year, although sturdy footwear is recommended after wet weather because some woodland paths can become muddy.

Eleven miles off the North Devon coast lies a place that feels like another world. Lundy is an island of soaring granite cliffs, puffins, seals and spectacular Atlantic views, where there are no cars, only a handful of permanent residents and time seems to slow to the rhythm of the sea. On this unforgettable visit I combined one of Britain's finest island adventures with an outdoor seafood feast, discovering why Lundy remains one of the West Country's most magical destinations. This article is unashamedly about persuading you to experience the delights of preparing and eating the UK’s amazing maritime harvest right next to the place where it was caught. It’s a well known fact that, for some mysterious reason, food tastes better outdoors. It is also a fact that localness can help hugely with freshness, when means things are bound to be more delicious. But the real reason we’re being evangelistic about buying and eating West Country seafood in particular is that a huge percentage of it is exported abroad before it even has a chance to stop flapping straight from one of our trawlers. If you enjoy this post check out our Walk On Lundy The fish crew on Lundy with Dan the Fishman When we journeyed out to Lundy to have a beach barbecue for this article, we were joined by a well known North Devon fish processing worker known to one and all as Birdseye - and he pointed from the decks of the MS Oldenburgh to five trawlers which were chugging endlessly up and down the mouth of the Bristol Channel. “They’re after squid,” said Birdseye. “Right now they’ll be catching those tiny ones they love so much in countries like France and Greece. Later tonight a big artic’ lorry will come down to Appledore and the whole lot will go for export. Every single one.” Now, I don’t know about you, but this seems a terrible shame to me. The likes of Appledore ought to be groaning under the weight of permanent fresh fish-stalls selling delicious local catches. Indeed, Appledore should be one of the UK centres for food lovers who turn up in droves drooling at the mouth. That’s what would happen if the estuarine town was located on French or Spanish shores. But instead of that, we Brits shrug our shoulders - then, after watching TV chefs extolling the delights of fresh local seafood, we try to go out and find it, fail, and return home via a supermarket where they sell seafood that is… Well, that is not exactly still flapping fresh. There is one man in North Devon who is desperate to change all this - and indeed who runs his own fish-stalls at local markets. I suppose we could have called him Desperate Dan, if his much better known name wasn’t Dan the Fishman. Dan is an unashamed evangelist when it comes to seafood, and as such he occasionally invites me to a beach barbecue or picnic where we get to cook the finest of fresh catches right next to the place where the stuff was taken from the sea. On this occasion it was the turn of Lundy - an island famed in fishery circles because it has, for a long time, been surrounded by a marine protection zone - originally put in place by fishermen rather than conservationists - which has helped increase the natural restocking ratios of various species. And here’s what Dan had to say about our seafood day out which began by us leaving Bideford aboard the Oldenburgh… “I used to be one of the lifeboat coxswains for the Clovelly lifeboat - and living in the village I’ve always considered Lundy to be one of my neighbours - so returning as Dan the Fishman is very special to me. It has a marine conservation zone, so cooking there will be an extra treat. “Not only are we going to be looking at the sea where the fish are caught, but travelling across it - so aboard today we are preparing a little breakfast of Westcountry kippers steeped in a hot pan of water, served with - believe it or not - coarse cut marmalade. The combo works! It’s a flavour thing. “You’ve got to get the sequence right - you’ve got to get the kipper in the mouth first, but you have to dab just a little bit of bitter marmalade on it just like a relish. We are serving that hand-held in a bap, with bread made by a local baker overnight.” In case you’re wondering if the kipper-and-marmalade combo worked, several passengers were handed baps and a Chinese woman said she believed the dish would go down very well in the north of her native country. Which could mean more of our precious fish will be exported rather than less… Anyway, back to Dan and his Lundy adventure master-plan… “When everything has settled down on the voyage, we are going to feed Captain Jerry, and his eight-man crew, with an early lunch as a little thank-you. It’s going to be a selection of smoked fish from Dieter Wirtz at Plaistow Mills. We’ve got Exmoor smoked trout and a gravlax made of trout - and I’ve made our own smoked trout pate. It’s a really nice combination.” Halfway through the two-and-half hour crossing we took the splendid platter of smoked fish up to the bridge, much to the delight of skipper Jerry Waller. “This doesn’t happen often enough,” he beamed. “We normally have a four star lunch - in the winter it’s a roast and in summer it’s salad - but it is wonderful to taste some local fish. “The crab and the lobster here are definitely improving,” he said, scanning the unusually smooth blue sea that lay between the ship and the big green island. “The local fishermen have been telling us about a few problems that were caused by the winter storms, but this has been a great new season for us. “In fact, it’s been the best we’ve had since 2007 - and we are really hoping the summer will carry through August and September. At this time of year we are doing three Lundy sailings a week, and as we move into July that will go up to four.” So that will give readers plenty of opportunity to try this island beach-cooking adventure for themselves… A statement which caused me to ask Dan Garnett (to give the Fishman his real name) what other treats he had lined up… “If we are feeling peckish at any time I have prepared a few local lobsters for some simple straightforward lobster sandwiches - which will have a bit of mayo and Dijon mustard put together in some nice sourdough bread,” said the ever-ebullient purveyor of fish. “On the island we are setting up with some very simple, small-scale, camping stove equipment to show just how easy it is to get everything into just one rucksack. It allows you not only to just enjoy being by the sea - you can cook and eat outdoors which gives you the whole experience. “So we’re going to cook it, eat it - and taste the sea. We have the very first of this season’s large mackerel - I have picked out some very nice fish which we will fillet. The mackerel will be a main course - simply fried skin-side down, served with an elder-flower and gooseberry relish and a warm citrussy potato salad. “For a little starter we’re doing Lundy beach scallops in a simple marinade with Cornish chilli sea salt - served on a bed of small glass noodles - washed down with some beautiful wine which has been donated to us from Bray Valley Wines. The help I’ve had for this little expedition has come from quite a few family businesses - so this can be a fabulous day out that any of your readers can enjoy.” As we prepared to land on Lundy, Dan concluded his bout of fishy evangelism: “The hi-tech lightweight kit you can buy now to cook on outdoors is amazing - so there’s no point in just taking sandwiches. Get adventurous and cook something out on the beach. That is the ultimate way of enjoying this North Devon coast.” As we went ashore we were met by my old friend Derek Green, Lundy’s general manager, and he welcomed our mission: “We have one main beach in the landing bay which stretches 300 yards, so there’s plenty of room for your readers to come and enjoy the seaside here and have a barbecue. “Lundy has been leading the way for marine conservation for over 40 years now,” said Derek. “Having a no-take zone here means that areas fully populate, then species spill out to other areas. And the fishermen are benefitting from that - the lobster, crab and scallop catch around Lundy is better now than it’s ever been. “So we are delighted - it just goes to show how sustainable fishing can actually work in partnership with conservation,” added the Lundy manager who told me his island plays host to more than 16,000 day-visitors a year. “We very much encourage people to come and enjoy the great outdoors which the island has to offer - and on a day like this we will often smell the aroma of barbecues - which is fantastic.” And indeed, it was fantastic. As Dan gutted, filleted and fried, local gulls enjoyed the cast off bits and bobs - and a great gang of human outdoor fish-consumption enthusiasts ate their fill. One guy who’d come along to help was a retired professional whose work for nearly 40 years had taken him to just about every country on the planet - and as we returned to Bideford quay after a long, long day he said: “On a day like this you couldn’t have a better day out anywhere. And I mean anywhere. The views, the food - the whole experience. I sometimes wonder if Westcountry people really realise just how lucky they are.” Lundy Beach Scallops This tempting one pan dish is one of the fastest to prepare and cook. Serve as a generous starter or make larger for a main course. Best served as a summer beach picnic or as a garden treat. Ingredients Serves four 4 scallops per person (with corals) Olive oil (4tbsps) Good pinch of Cornish chilli sea salt Garlic paste (1tsp) 2 Finely chopped spring onions Finely chopped Fresh ginger (1 tsp) Ground black pepper White wine ¼ glass 1 lemon Small pack of glass or fine noodles Method Cook noodles for one minute in lightly salted boiling water. Drain and set aside, cover with foil to keep warm. Pour olive oil into small bowl, add pepper and sea salt. Put the scallops into the seasoned oil Heat the remaining oil, add the spring onions and cook gently without allowing to brown. Add 1 teaspoon of the garlic paste and half a teaspoon of the chopped ginger, cook for a further 2 minutes. Increase the heat and add the drained scallops. Sear for approximately 45 seconds each side. Add the wine followed by the warm noodles. Adjust the seasoning to taste. Heat through and serve with a fresh squeeze of lemon. Enjoy the flavour and the view! Lundy Beach Scallops This tempting one pan dish is one of the fastest to prepare and cook. Serve as a generous starter or make larger for a main course. Best served as a summer beach picnic or as a garden treat. Ingredients Serves four 4 scallops per person (with corals) Olive oil (4tbsps) Good pinch of Cornish chilli sea salt Garlic paste (1tsp) 2 Finely chopped spring onions Finely chopped Fresh ginger (1 tsp) Ground black pepper White wine ¼ glass 1 lemon Small pack of glass or fine noodles Method Cook noodles for one minute in lightly salted boiling water. Drain and set aside, cover with foil to keep warm. Pour olive oil into small bowl, add pepper and sea salt. Put the scallops into the seasoned oil Heat the remaining oil, add the spring onions and cook gently without allowing to brown. Add 1 teaspoon of the garlic paste and half a teaspoon of the chopped ginger, cook for a further 2 minutes. Increase the heat and add the drained scallops. Sear for approximately 45 seconds each side. Add the wine followed by the warm noodles. Adjust the seasoning to taste. Heat through and serve with a fresh squeeze of lemon. Enjoy the flavour and the view! FAQ Section Where is Lundy? Lundy lies in the Bristol Channel, around 11 miles off the North Devon coast. It is managed by the Landmark Trust and is famous for its dramatic scenery, wildlife and peaceful atmosphere. How do you get to Lundy? Most visitors travel aboard the MS Oldenburg from Ilfracombe or Bideford between spring and autumn. A helicopter service also operates for staying guests during the winter months. Is Lundy good for wildlife? Yes. Lundy is famous for puffins, grey seals, seabirds and marine life. Conservation work has helped seabird numbers recover dramatically in recent years. Can you eat on Lundy? Yes. Visitors can enjoy meals at the Marisco Tavern, buy picnic supplies from the island shop or, where permitted and prepared responsibly, enjoy outdoor picnics and barbecues in suitable locations. Is Lundy worth a day trip? Absolutely. A day trip offers spectacular coastal walks, historic landmarks, abundant wildlife and a rare chance to experience one of England's most remote islands. Staying overnight, however, allows you to appreciate the island once the day visitors have departed

Most people imagine Oman as a land of deserts, golden dunes and endless horizons. But climb into the Hajar Mountains and another world appears. Jebel Akhdar – the Green Mountain – is a landscape of deep canyons, ancient stone villages, terraced fruit orchards and fragrant rose gardens. Its cooler climate has sustained mountain communities for centuries and offers travellers one of the most spectacular and unexpected journeys in the Arabian Peninsula. My journey through these remarkable highlands revealed an Oman that few visitors ever expect to find. Discovering Jebel Akhdar, Oman's Green Mountain As another Middle Eastern conflict continues any thoughts of travelling to, and exploring, that amazing region diminish once again. But for years Oman has offered safe - and amazingly scenic - exception to the rule that the region can be unsafe to visit. Foreign places can grow in the imagination during a person’s formative years – we can nurture romantic and colourful ideas about a country or region and somehow they stick as you grow older. For example, mental images of the Middle East can be seeded and amplified by biblical stories. Then, perhaps, we may watch a classic movie like Lawrence of Arabia - and suddenly the hot dusty region takes on a whole new allure and fascination. What we see in our Arabian Night tinted imaginations are sandy deserts dotted with green oasis; bare mountains hiding white villages carved out of rock, lined with date palm gardens watered by clear flowing streams; haughty camels strutting where other creatures would fear to tread; mysterious gun-toting people in long robes; the haunting sounds of the Imam calling folk to prayer… Then the world changes. Suddenly the Middle East – or much of it anyway – becomes a little bit hazardous for Westerners. In some places – the most Arabic and perhaps beautiful of them all, like the Yemen – travel becomes downright dangerous. We find ourselves writing off all those oriental dreams of Sinbad and Scheherazade. For many of us the more interesting destinations in the Arab world have become unsafe, while the few relatively secure places are two-dimensional and boring. And then we discover Oman… The wild and wonderful sultanate is all you ever imagined the Arabic Middle East could be. And perhaps a little more. Much if it is stunningly beautiful. The scenery can be awesome and dramatic. And the people are fantastically friendly – even though we Brits helped put the boot in to some of the hill tribes not so very long ago. In fact, I went to a crag above one very beautiful village high in the Akhdar Mountains where my guide told me we’d be going no further. He said the people there were fed up with being gawped at by the odd tourist who was passing. Martin Hesp in the Hajar Highlands “Tourists? What tourists?” I protested looking at the vast empty rocky amphitheatre around me… That’s when he told me the truth - that British forces had bombed the place in the 1950s. I tell you this because I wish to underline just how warm and friendly most Omanis are, regardless of any British involvement in the country’s history. This is partly because these patriotic people are passionate about the country in which they live and are proud to share it with visitors. Driving into the Hajar Mountains The first time I visited Oman my itinerary took me away from Muscat as a guide from the excellent Bahwan Travel Group turned up in comfortable air conditioned four wheel drive to take me exploring. It was these adventures – mainly in the Akhdar Mountain region - that I shall remember for a long, long time to come. The range extends some 200 miles just inland from the Gulf of Oman and is as spectacular a sequence of eminences as I’ve ever seen. The highest point, Jabal Shams (the mountain of the sun), is almost 10,000 feet in altitude and is the highest point in Oman and the whole of eastern Arabia – and I know for a fact that it’s altitudinous because I was taken almost to the summit where you will notice a distinct shortness of breath. These are desert mountains – by which I mean that they are, for the most part, bare rock. However, the higher areas receive a foot of precipitation each year which is enough, in the incredibly deep ravines and valleys at least, for scattered shrubs and trees and allows some agriculture. Hence the name which, translated, means the Green Mountains. A bit of a colourful exaggeration. But then, I come from the emerald West of England. The green bits you see are mainly where the locals have built complex runnels and aqueducts to irrigate terraced gardens in the valley bottoms. These are magical oases among vast vertical slabs of bare rock which seem to reach high into the heavens. And I saw a great many of the mountains - roaring ever higher up seemingly impossible tracks in our four wheel drive. The most memorable journey was up the amazing Wadi Nakher, located in the depths of Oman's deepest canyon. Believe me, this is the nearest thing you’ll see to the Grand Canyon this side of the Atlantic. Ancient Villages Clinging to the Cliffs Apart from the little villages which cling impossibly to the sides of crags – with their terraced gardens and date palms looking more biblical than anything I’ve ever seen before – the place exudes a sense of eternal ancientness. This is perhaps echoed by the fact that humans have been living in these lonesome places for a very long time – probably as far back as 100,000 years. That makes our own ancient sites look about as old as a Home County new town… Somehow you are aware of this time-immemorial aspect of the landscape as you lurch and bounce along the tracks that pass up through the wadis – which are the river valleys or ravines that man and his domestic animals have been plying up and down since way before the last Ice Age. Terraced Orchards and Rose Gardens It’s not all savage scenery – the Jebel Al Akhdar is renowned for its fruit orchards which you find in the aforementioned terraces. Apricots, figs, peaches, grapes, apples, pears, pomegranates, plums, almonds and walnuts are grown up here amid the rocks under the endlessly blue skies. Even better known are the roses of Jebel Al Akhdar - rosewater is distilled in homes across the range and the air in spring is said to be filled with fragrance. Spectacular Views Across Deep Canyons Perhaps most noteworthy of all is Nizwa - the gateway to the mountain range. The oasis city was the nation’s capital back in the 6th and 7th centuries, which means that it is a place which groans with history and romance. And this in turn means that is the most popular tourist attraction in Oman – although you could hardly say the visitors overrun the many historic buildings or the imposing fort built in the mid 17th century by Imam Sultan Bin Saif Al Ya'ribi. The town has a population of around 70,000 and is almost completely surrounded by an immense palm oasis that stretches for five or so miles along the course of two wadis. At the very heart of the place is the famous, bustling, souk where you buy all manner of locally made copper and silver jewellery. Nizwah, which is sometimes called “The Pearl of Islam”, wasn’t always so welcoming of tourists. Just 60 years ago the British explorer Wilfred Thesiger was forced to steer clear of the place having arrived at an oasis just outside. Back in those days the town was run by an extremely strict regime and Thesiger’s Bedouin companions were convinced that the Nizwah-ites would have his guts for garters. They don’t spurn tourists nowadays but try and sell them some kind of craft item or nick-nack instead. Which is fine – although I have one complaint when it comes to the relationship that Omanis have with their visitors… And that is the food. I’d been looking forward to some kind of local repast in Nizwah, but it was never going to happen. It seems that food preparation in Oman is almost always done by women – but in this Muslim country they are not really expected to be out and about making a living by cooking for strangers. The result is that there are no restaurants selling local food. Eating outside the big international hotels means dining in one of the ubiquitous Indian restaurants that have a complete national monopoly when it comes to cuisine in this country. Which is also fine. I like Indian food – especially the Keralan cuisine which is often served in the road houses out there in the mountains. But I would also have liked to sample Omani cooking. However… This is the one and only downside of this most extraordinary of countries. Why is Jebel Akhdar called the Green Mountain? Unlike much of Oman, the altitude allows fruit trees, roses, walnuts, pomegranates and other crops to flourish, creating lush terraces that give the mountain its name. Do you need a 4WD to visit Jebel Akhdar? Yes. Access beyond the checkpoint requires a four-wheel-drive vehicle because of the steep mountain road. Visitors should check current requirements before travelling. What is the best time to visit Jebel Akhdar? October to April offers the most pleasant weather, while March and April are especially popular for the famous Damask rose season when the mountain terraces burst into bloom. What can you do in Jebel Akhdar? Visitors can hike through ancient villages, explore terraced orchards, admire dramatic canyon views, visit rose-water distilleries and experience traditional Omani mountain culture.

Caribbean food is far more than jerk chicken and rum punch. In St Lucia I discovered a vibrant culinary culture built on fresh seafood, tropical fruit, fragrant herbs and recipes passed down through generations. From the colourful stalls of Castries Market to luxury resort kitchens and organic rainforest gardens, I met chefs determined to celebrate authentic island ingredients and show visitors the true taste of the Caribbean. Their passion revealed why Caribbean cuisine is becoming one of the world's most exciting food destinations. This post includes Caribbean recipes for Avocado & Bitter Gourd Salad, Grilled Chicken with Mango Kuchela, and Zepina (Spinach) Soup with Jerk Shrimps It was hot. Ridiculously hot. And there, among the organic gardens in the rainforest, a young chef stooped to pick a herb that tasted like coriander, but was twice as strong. Later, in the heated frenzy of the capital’s main fruit and veg market, another older chef reached out for a weird looking plant that tasted like spinach and was destined to become one of the best soups I have ever eaten. To see more articles like this visit our Food & Drink page by clicking here Discovering the Authentic Flavours of St Lucia There’s an old saying that goes: “We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us…” And I believe the phrase also covers a person’s adventures in the discovery of food, partly because what you can learn thousands of miles away can easily be applied back at home. That was what I was thinking on the idyllic island of St Lucia in the Caribbean where I spent a couple of days with two remarkable chefs who work at two entirely separate resorts located at either end of the island, and both - in their own very different ways - are on journeys of discovery that are allowing them to get the very best out of a whole new genre that incorporates genuine, authentic, Caribbean food. And there is a direct link between what they are doing down there in the Tropics, and what is happening across the UK food scene. For example, both chefs are discovering pungent and delicious herbs and spices that, until now, have often been ignored by top chefs in the Caribbean but which have been the secret preserves of the local farmers and growers. You could say exactly the same about the way some chefs and home cooks in Britain are discovering the lights of things like wild garlic, which have always grown here but which have been ignored for decades. If you’ve been lucky enough to go to the Caribbean in previous times you will know that visitors tend to have been served the universal entity loosely called “international cuisine”, with a few dishes like “jerk chicken” thrown in here and there as a bow to local food. For years, indeed, you could have said something similar about many regional British hotels and restaurants which served the same kind of food you could eat in London, Paris or New York, was punctuated now and again by something local like a Cornish pasty or stargazy pie. Now the world seems to have woken up from its lengthy culinary slumber. Tired old usual-suspects are beginning to vanish from menus and are being replaced by real, vibrant, local food that speaks or even shouts of the landscape where it was picked or harvested or caught, and cooked. Exploring Castries Market with a Caribbean Chef Here’s how Peter Juma Mahaba put it when I spent a day with him both purchasing local ingredients at Castries market in St Lucia, and cooking them at Rendezvous, the resort where he is executive chef. “The traveller is seeking new and authentic experiences and food is one of the avenues where they can enjoy this. ‘International cuisines’ can be had anywhere in the world and are typically European in background. The local or Caribbean food is one way in which the traveller can connect to the local culture of the islands and experience a piece of tradition that has been passed down from family to family.” As we walked amid the hot and sweaty stalls of Castries market chatting with the ladies who seemed to be the people in charge of selling everything, Peter went on: “What makes any cuisine memorable is its unique local ingredients along with the traditional and authentic preparation. Using the local products gives us the opportunity to select quality product and have a guarantee degree of freshness for our dishes “The products we can see here in the market offer a different texture, taste and uniqueness which cannot be found elsewhere. The herbs that are available - like seasoning peppers, shadow benny, little leaf thyme and cinnamon bark - add a flavourful dimension which is unique to the islands. This gives us an opportunity to offer an authentic ‘farm to table’ experience which is different and exciting. Peter then cooked me a seven course tasting menu in which each dish featured one of the remarkable items we’d bought from the market. And it was one of the most memorable meals I’ve ever had. Indeed, the Rendezvous is planning to make the market-visit a special feature for visitors who wish to sign up to enjoying a hyper-local meal Tropical Herbs and Spices That Define Caribbean Cooking Two hour’s drive south across the mountains and through the rainforest, the chefs at Jade Mountain resort do not need to go to the market often because his resort has its very own estate, complete with organic gardens where he picks local ingredients and experiments in growing a ever-wider range with a head gardener who happens to have a doctorate in tropical horticulture. The last time I visited the chef had only been in post at the amazingly beautiful twin resorts of Anse Chastanet and Jade Mountain for a few months - and after a career spent cooking in many exotic parts of the world he is being bowled over by the extraordinary range of vegetables, fruits, herbs and spices he is discovering in the Emerald Estate gardens. The garden, surrounded by rainforest just behind the fishing village of Soufriere and just under the remains of a massive old volcano, was without the most exotic horticultural endeavour I’ve ever visited, and we spent an entire morning strolling around it with Stefan tasting herbs and spices I didn’t know existed. Karolin Troubetzkoy, executive director of Anse Chastanet and Jade Mountain resorts also serves as president of the Caribbean Hotel and Tourism Association, and she told me that tourists increasingly ranked food as a primary motivator in their travel decisions. “Visitors to our Caribbean region are looking for unique culinary experiences and locally sourced products. Increasingly, our culinary offerings are driving destination traffic alongside established factors such as accommodation and scenery,” said Karolyn. Farm-to-Table Dining in the Caribbean Back at his kitchens at the unbelievably stylish Jade Mountain, the chef showed me a local fish he’s keen to buy from the fishermen who hunt the coral reefs. It’s called a lionfish and the catching and eating of it represents a true win-win situation. Staff at Jade Mountain had discovered that lionfish have been decimating populations of other marine creatures ever since it had been accidentally introduced to the Caribbean. The chef also discovered that it was delicious to eat. Now the kitchen pays local fishermen to catch these predatory but delicious marine creatures and stage a special event at which the lionfish is prepared in a variety of ways and eaten. To me, this story symbolises all that food should be. By eating good local ingredients we aren’t wrecking the planet - we are helping it to thrive and also putting money into the pockets of local farmers, gardeners, meat producers and fisherman instead of big greedy corporations. Recipes from the Rendezvous resort in northern St Lucia Many of the stranger sounding items like bitter gourd in these recipes appear in larger supermarkets nowadays and certainly in West Indian markets in British cities. Shadow bennie taste remarkably like coriander, only stronger. Avocado and bitter gourd salad Ingredients serves 4 1 piece avocado cut into wedges ½ piece bitter gourd (4oz) 1 teaspoonful sugar 1 cup coconut milk 1 table spoon olive oil 2 cracked bay leaf seeds 1 star anise 1 whole, squeezed orange juice chairman’s reserve rum For tamarind dressing 1 piece tamarind- deseeded and shell removed 1 sprig shadow bennie - finely chopped Grated nutmeg for taste 1 oz onions – finely chopped 4 oz olive oil ¼ green tomatoes, seeds removed and finely chopped - Salt pepper Method, Mix all the ingredients in a gastronomic bowl and chill before serving Method Cut the bitter gourd in half lengthwise, remove the seeds with spoon and slice thinly Soak the bitter gourd in coconut milk for 20 minutes Cook the bitter gourd in salted boiling water for 5 minutes, Pour olive oil in a sauce pan and caramelise the onions, sugar, star anise and cracked bay seeds Add orange juice, bitter gourd and rum, then toss for 1 minute. Chill until required Serve with avocado, organic lettuce and tamarind dressing Grilled Chicken with Mango Kuchela Ingredients serves 4 4 pieces chicken breast ¼ piece garlic clove cut into two 1 whole mango-half ripe, peeled and finely diced 1 bunch shadow bennie, roughly chopped garam masala 1 oz onions – grated 1 green chilli -f inely chopped salt pepper Mix all the ingredients in a bowl and chill before serving For the baste ½ oz extra virgin olive oil 2 medium cloves garlic, mashed with a pinch of salt into a paste ¼ oz lemon juice from about 1 lemon 1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh rosemary 1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh thyme 1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh oregano 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes Mix all the ingredients in a bowl Method for the chicken, Baste the chicken breasts and allow to chill for 30 minutes. Place the chicken on the hot side of the grill, directly above the coals. Sear the breasts for four minutes per side, turning only once and brushing with baste, until golden brown. If the grill flares up, move them to the warm, or indirect, side of the grate. When the breasts are properly browned and cooked, remove from grill. Test for doneness. Serve chicken breast with shadow bennie (or coriander) rice, mango kuchela and celery gravy Zepina (or alternatively, spinach) soup with jerk shrimps Ingredients serves 4 1/2 lb fresh zepina (or spinach) leaves ¼ piece garlic clove cut into two bouquet garni ½ pint of vegetable stock salt and pepper ¼ pint coconut milk 2 oz celery diced 3 oz onions – roughly chopped 2 oz double cream 4 oz shrimps 1 table spoonful jerk marinade olive oil Method Sauté the onions, garlic and the zepina leaves in olive oil. Add the bouquet garni and vegetable stock and cook until the leaves are tender. Remove the bouquet garni and puree the soup in a blender Strain the soup and add in coconut milk, salt pepper and simmer for 10 minutes In a separate pan, sauté the shrimps with jerk marinade and cook for 3 minutes. Garnish the soup with jerk shrimps FAQ Section What is traditional Caribbean food? Traditional Caribbean cuisine combines fresh seafood, tropical fruit, root vegetables, spices and herbs influenced by African, Indigenous, European and Indian cultures. Every island has its own distinctive dishes and flavours. What food is St Lucia famous for? St Lucia is known for fresh fish, green figs and saltfish, breadfruit, tropical fruits, Creole dishes and recipes using local herbs, spices and Scotch bonnet chillies. Can visitors learn Caribbean cooking? Yes. Many resorts and local chefs offer market tours and cooking classes where visitors can learn traditional Caribbean recipes using fresh local ingredients. Why is Caribbean cuisine becoming more popular? Travellers increasingly want authentic food experiences using locally grown ingredients rather than international hotel menus. Caribbean chefs are celebrating regional traditions while creating exciting modern dishes. What ingredients are commonly used in Caribbean cooking? Fresh fish, coconut, plantain, breadfruit, mango, thyme, cinnamon, allspice, Scotch bonnet peppers, coriander-like herbs and tropical vegetables are staples of Caribbean kitchens.

There are luxury resorts, and then there are places that stay with you for the rest of your life. Mirihi Island in the Maldives is one of those rare destinations. Reached by seaplane and surrounded by crystal-clear lagoons, colourful coral reefs and powder-soft white sand, this tiny island delivers everything travellers dream about when they imagine the Indian Ocean. During my stay I discovered not only remarkable natural beauty but also exceptional food, outstanding hospitality and some of the finest snorkelling I have experienced anywhere in the world. White sandy palm-strewn beaches? Tick. Crystal clear warm seas? Tick. Colourful, bountiful, coral reefs (for the most part, shark-free)? Tick. Fabulous weather? Tick. Fabulous local food? Tick. Friendly people? Tick. What more can you say? Not a lot, really. Not when you’ve spent the best part of a week on a paradise island that is only 200 metres long. Not when you’ve spent 15 minutes walking right around it one way six times - and doubled that number by circumnavigating it in the other direction. Which brings me to the one big question that people ask time and again about the Maldives… After a day or two on a tiny atoll, what are you going to do? Well, I know there are people who get bored easily, even when they’re in paradise - but I am not one of them. Actually, I found a great deal to occupy my mind during my stay at the amazing Mirihi Island Resort and would very gladly have doubled or tripled my time there. Arriving by Seaplane at Mirihi Island For a start, a resort like Mirihi offers the ultimate chill-out zone. There are no cars - no traffic at all. There’s no noise, save for the occasional visiting seaplane upon which you will have arrived having enjoyed a 45-minute scenic flight from the Maldivian capital of Maale. Describing an arrival at Mirihi is well worth the column-space. The Twin Otter seaplane will have banked hard allowing you a seagull’s eye view of the tiny palm-covered islet and its surrounding azure sea and the pilot will have throttled back to allow for an ultra-smooth landing on the mirror-like water. The island boat will come out to the pontoon and staff will take your luggage and politely call you by your christian name, even though they’ve never met you before. Why Mirihi Feels Like Your Own Private Island The people who work at Mirihi are an intelligent bunch (they probably search for an image of you on the internet so that they can recognise you when you arrive) - and they are extremely friendly and polite. One of them will suggest you take off your shoes as the boat pulls away from the plane and heads towards the jetty. She is saying: “You might like to take off your shoes now - we will take them with your luggage to your rooms. The things is, you won’t be needing them until you leave…” Barefoot Luxury in the Maldives As she is saying the words and you are slipping off your footwear, so you are beginning to realise that you are having one of those “pinch-yourself” moments. The wooden jetty, the white sand beach, the tiny islet with its palms beyond… Surely this is a place where movie-stars and prime ministers go on holiday? It’s not the kind of place a chap raised in a humble abode in the English countryside has any right to be in… But here you are. And they are all smiling, calling you Martin and taking you on a sandy path through the palms and out over another jetty across another beach to a series of thatched villas built on stilts above the reef. One of them is yours - and it is huge and airy and luxurious. You open the sliding glass doors and walk out onto your private balcony and look down the steps that will take you straight into a vast endless tropical fish-tank. And you think: “This will do me very nicely indeed. In fact, cancel the return flight.” Staying in an Overwater Villa You are hot and sweaty after the long flight from the UK and the connection at the busy airport - so you grab the facemark, snorkel and fins the staff have given you for your stay and you go down into that cooling, fabulous, underwater world beneath your suite. Just for a few minutes, just to cool off and relax… And one hour later you realise you’re still out there exploring the reef and will be late for lunch. Not that there is such a thing as “late” in the Maldives. It is one of the most relaxed places in the world. In fact, at the Mirihi Island Resort they have even set the time to be being one hour later than anywhere else in the watery nation so that guests can make the very best of the daylight hours. Mirihi is out on the western fringes of the Maldivian archipelago, so this makes sense. Not that you will need a clock, unless you have arranged to meet your pals or fellow guests for lunch or dinner. Talking of which, the food is superb. In fact, it is the best resort food I have eaten in over 40 years of travel writing. Maldivian cuisine is a fat-free, super-healthy, delicious sensation - and there’s plenty of Sri Lankan and Southern India food to go with it. Executive chef Felix Bamert makes sure there are more than 20 different curries on show each afternoon and evening, and there will be a new main theme to dinner day after day. There is a high-end waiter-service restaurant at one end of the isle (great place for cocktails and sunsets) but the main buffet-style dining centre is massive and airy - and the range of salads, cold cuts, mains, sweets and goodness knows what else is bigger than any other resort offering I’ve ever seen. And everything is freshly made. So, apart from eating and drinking, what to do in paradise? Diving, Dolphins and Ocean Adventures Not surprisingly, a lot of it is water-based. There’s an excellent diving centre at Mirihi - so excellent they taught me the rudiments of scuba-diving and had me down there enjoying the non-snorkel-ish bits of the reef in an impressively short time. I’ve had diving lessons before, but these guys were somehow more instructive, more caring and better at it than the folk who’ve given me underwater experiences elsewhere. Or how about a sunset cruise out to the edge of the atoll so that you can sip cocktails while watching dolphins leap around on the bow wave? That certainly ticked a box for me. But the ultimate boredom-in-paradise busting treat was an all-day cruise aboard Mirihi’s own elegant yacht… Again we went out to the edge of the atoll and into the Indian Ocean proper so that we could cruise in a place where giant whale sharks lurk in a tidal zone, allowing the currents to bring them quantities of plankton and goodness knows what other microbial stuff they eat. There were several other boats in the area from other resorts, all full of tourists armed with face-masks and snorkels, all desperate to swim with the whale sharks. It is one of the “must-do” thrills of the Maldives - and there are places where ecologists say it’s gone too far and all the attention is harming those gentle giants. But out here on the remote western fringe of the archipelago that’s not so much the case - and I have to say the local crew aboard our yacht seemed to have the edge on all the rest so we were soon swimming close to the gargantuan creatures when the other boats weren’t. At one point I was just ten feet from a whale shark that must have been more than 20 feet long. It swam slowly and gracefully below me for minutes, before accelerating effortlessly away. To be so close to something so huge and so wild - and thankfully, so vegetarian - was a thing I shall never forget. Later that day we were able to swim among manta rays. And later still we were back on Mirihi for a huge banquet laid out for us on the beach, followed by an extensive rum-and-chocolate-tasting session which went on until the early hours. Bored in paradise? Not me. In fact, I was so busy, I was exhausted and could have done with another week in my private reef villa just to chill-out. FACT FILE about staying on Mirihi Island For more information or to make a reservation visit Mirihi Island or call +960 668 0500 or email info@mirihi.com *Price in pound sterling accurate according to recent exchange rate. FAQ Section Is Mirihi Island worth visiting? Yes. Mirihi is widely regarded as one of the Maldives' most intimate luxury island resorts, offering exceptional snorkelling, excellent dining and a relaxed barefoot atmosphere. How do you get to Mirihi Island? Guests normally fly into Malé before taking a scenic seaplane transfer of around 30 minutes to Mirihi in South Ari Atoll. Is Mirihi good for snorkelling? Absolutely. The island's house reef begins just metres from the beach and is home to colourful coral, reef fish, turtles and other marine life, making it one of the resort's biggest attractions. What is special about Mirihi Island? Unlike many larger resorts, Mirihi offers a peaceful, barefoot experience on a tiny island where everything is within a few minutes' walk. Its combination of luxury accommodation, outstanding service and spectacular marine life makes it one of the Maldives' hidden gems. When is the best time to visit the Maldives? The driest months are generally from November to April, although the Maldives enjoys warm temperatures throughout the year.

Why Maldivian Food Is So Healthy Looking for healthy food in the Maldives? Beyond the picture-perfect beaches lies one of the world's most fascinating island cuisines. Built around freshly caught tuna, fragrant spices, coconut and slow cooking, traditional Maldivian food is naturally nutritious while bursting with flavour. During my stay on beautiful Mirihi Island I spent time with the resort's executive chef learning how authentic Dhivehi dishes are prepared, discovering why the Maldives may have one of the healthiest traditional diets anywhere in the Indian Ocean. Some people feel the need to go the whole cleansing hog, but the rest of us would be content to ring the changes and add a little freshness and zing to our midwinter diets. There is still a need for sustaining soups and stews in the cold weather, of course, but sometimes a dinner that’s somehow lighter and yet intensely interesting is what we need to fire up the tastebuds. As it happens, just before Christmas one year I found myself in a place which offered exactly that. The food of the Maldives is very different from anything I’ve eaten before - it is amazingly delicious, terribly healthy and full of refreshing zing. Fresh Seafood at the Heart of Every Meal And it is a cuisine that can easily be cooked here because, not surprisingly given that the island state is 98 per cent seawater, fish is the main staple. And of course we have the ability to purchase amazingly good seafood if we’re willing to make a quick trip to one of our fishing harbours, or lucky enough to live close to a first class seafood purveyor. As well as fish, the Maldivian people traditionally eat a lot of home-grown vegetables - which is what you are going to do if you live on a tiny atoll. Staples like rice and potatoes are a relatively new thing for islanders who have no room for large paddy fields or potato farms. Cooking Without Heavy Oils There’s also not much room for the growing of anything that will supply you with edible fat, save for the dribble of coconut oil you can get from your local palms. Which is one reason why Maldivian food - sometimes called Dhivehi cuisine - is so healthy. I never saw an overweight islander during the week I was there - and they told me one reason for this was that there’s very little oil used in their food. Take the ubiquitous spice-paste, for example. All over the neighbouring Indian sub-continent and in nearby South East Asia you will find people making spice-pastes with a core lubricant of oil or ghee (clarified butter). But in the Maldives they mix their roasted and ground spice mixes simply with water. At first I suspected the results might be a bit lacklustre but, because the spices are so fresh and vibrant, you don’t miss the fat content at all. Learning Traditional Recipes at Mirihi Island Resort There’s another healthy element to Maldivian cookery that we can emulate here. In a country that only contains two per cent land, there has always, historically, been a severe shortage of cooking fuel. If you know what you’re doing you can make a small fire out of a few coconut husks - and it will burn for a long time - but it won’t allow you to make big roast dinners or anything of that nature. Maldive chicken curry and vegetable curry Instead, careful slow-cooking is the order of the day - a technique which, as most home-cooks will know, is capable of bringing great flavour and tenderness to seemingly tough and inedible foods. Slow Cooking the Maldivian Way I learned all this and a lot more besides from Felix Bamert, who is executive chef at the beautiful, paradise-like, Mirihi Island Resort. Felix is actually Swiss by birth, but he’s spent many years cooking around the Indian Ocean and he is a great student of the island cuisine which now fascinates him. It’s not unusual for him to cook 20 to 30 Maldivian curries a day for both guests and staff on the remote atoll - but even then he had time to give me and some other English journalists an entire day’s worth of cookery lessons. “We have a little bit of oil in some of the dishes - it depends what you cook,” said Felix as we sat down for the first lesson in the tropical heat. “In Switzerland we like to cook with cream - but here there are many dishes with seafood where you don’t need things like cream. They don’t have milk products at all and oil was always very expensive and difficult to get so they created a very light food style for their cuisine. “Even when you compare it to Indian or Sri Lankan food - they need a lot of calories for the small portions they eat, but here in the Maldives where they are fishing all the time, they don’t need to get in so many calories. A Chef's Secrets for Authentic Island Curries “They like to eat very light food. When you see our Maldivian team members - they are all very slim. They eat fish, fish, fish - then coconut and rice. Then they eat a lot of small bites - like a form of tapas. “It’s different from everywhere else I’ve cooked,” said Felix. “The circumstances are different. The people are different. The food culture is different. I’ve never been anywhere were people eat this amount of fish. Even for breakfast they eat fish. And they even have a type of cakes with tuna - kind of sweet and salt and spicy. “What I learned here first was actually to cook in the Sri Lankan style because most of the kitchen staff come from there. Then I realised our waiters are all Maldivian and we weren’t cooking for them in the canteen. Since then I began to learn and we’ve brought in mostly Maldivian food - and the waiters are happy and everyone is proud. “The spice mix is very typical for the Maldives - you include roast rice and coconut and you get a smooth paste which is easily absorbed and also you get a full range of flavours. They cook without very much heat - everything is on low or medium heat - it’s not with a wok like Chinese or Thai style. It gives them much more time. Which actually is a bit like the Maldives itself - you always have more time here. There’s no pressure.” One dish that I found amazing was the Maldivian chicken curry which Felix showed us. In just a tiny dash of oil he fried all the usual spring onions, ginger and spices and then added the chicken pieces which had been marinading overnight in tamarind paste. What surprised me was how, in the plain steel pan that had no non-stick coating, the contents began to catch and burn slightly. At which point I’d have either added more oil or some form of liquid, but Felix merely grinned and threw in a large handful of chopped tomatoes. “Don’t worry - they will prevent any more during,” he said, clamping a tight lid down onto the pan. I was dubious and had visions of bits of chicken flesh with one side badly burned and sticking to the bottom of a blackened pan. But not a bit of it… After 15 minutes when we removed the lid, the surfaces of the pan were as clean as a whistle and the moist curry was perfectly cooked. “No, it’s not really how a chef learns - more like how a Maldivian housewife would cook,” smiled Felix. “But I have to say sometimes these old ways are better. The tomato will clean up the pan bottom almost by magic and bring all the caramelised flavours into the curry, which otherwise would not be there for you to enjoy.” There’s both a large-ish buffet restaurant and a high-end classy waiter-service eatery at the Mirihi Resort - and I found myself shrugging just a little when I arrived at the island paradise. You know what hotel buffets can be like - they look good on day-one but by day-five you’re desperate for food that’s been cooked specially to order. Not at Mirihi. It was the best buffet food I’ve ever had and every single night there were a host of different Maldivian curries and dishes to try. Thank goodness I brought some recipes home, I’d be having withdrawal symptoms this January - but as it is I am very happy indeed experimenting with my slow-cooked samples of tropical sunshine. The Maldives may be famous for its turquoise lagoons and overwater villas, but its traditional food deserves equal recognition. Fresh seafood, aromatic spices, coconut and centuries of island ingenuity have created a cuisine that is both wonderfully satisfying and remarkably healthy. Long after I had left Mirihi Island, I found myself recreating these recipes at home—a reminder that sometimes the finest travel souvenirs are the flavours that stay with us. Maldive RECIPE Felix Bamert’s Mirihi Red Lentil Curry 210 g red lentil rinsed well and soak for 30 minutes 1 large fresh tomato 2 curry leaves 1 tsp mustard seeds 2tsp olive oil 1 large onion finely chopped 2 garlic cloves crushed and chopped 1 fresh green chilli chopped 2 tsp turmeric powder 1 tsp ground cumin 1/2 tsp curry powder 1/2 tsp ground coriander 1 whole dried chilli 1 cup of water 1/2 cup of coconut milk 1/2 tsp salt Method Mix the lentils with the curry powder, coriander, cumin and turmeric. Heat a pan with the oil and add the mustard seeds until they begin to pop. Reduce heat and fry the onion, garlic, curry leaves, dry and fresh chilli until golden. Add lentils, spices and tomato to the pan and fill it up with the water - bring to the boil and let it gently simmer covered for five minutes. Add the coconut milk until you have a nice creamy consistency and continue over the heat until the lentils are cooked. Season with salt and enjoy. FAQ Section What is traditional Maldivian food? Traditional Maldivian food, also known as Dhivehi cuisine, centres on fresh tuna, coconut, rice, spices and locally grown vegetables. The recipes have been influenced by India and Sri Lanka while developing their own distinctive island character. Is Maldivian food healthy? Yes. Traditional Maldivian cuisine uses plenty of fresh seafood, aromatic spices and coconut while generally relying less on heavy fats than many other curries. Fish forms the basis of most meals, providing high-quality protein and omega-3 fatty acids. What food should visitors try in the Maldives? Popular dishes include Mas Huni (tuna and coconut), Garudhiya fish soup, grilled reef fish, coconut curries and freshly prepared seafood. Can you learn to cook Maldivian food? Many island resorts and local guesthouses offer cooking classes where visitors can learn authentic recipes using fresh seafood, spices and coconut. Is Maldivian food spicy? Some dishes are quite spicy, but many recipes can easily be adjusted to suit individual tastes. Coconut often balances the heat, creating rich yet fresh flavours.

Located in a spectacular corner of the South Devon coast, Hope Cove is one of those rare seaside villages that seems almost untouched by time. With golden beaches, whitewashed cottages and breathtaking stretches of the South West Coast Path in both directions, it provides the perfect starting point for one of Devon's most memorable coastal walks. We stayed at the wonderful Hope Cove House which has been given a big make-over by the lovely couple who bought the establishment last year and who were our hosts for the weekend - so thanks to them for giving us such a comfortable room and such an excellent breakfast, which was needed to mop up all that wine from the night before. If you like the sound of this walk, check out our other Devon Hikes here By the way, anyone who says they are not up to four and a half miles of up-and-down walking ought to know that I once took two 80-year-olds on this hike, and both completed the stroll with relish. One said she wished she’d worn more suitable gear (she actually carried her handbag around the whole route) but told me she’d worked as a missionary in the depths of the Amazonian jungle for 20 years, so wasn’t in the least bit phased about crossing the airy downs of South Devon. Location: Hope Cove, South Devon County: Devon National Landscape: South Devon National Landscape Trail: South West Coast Path Walk difficulty: Easy to Moderate Distance: (Insert your route mileage) Parking: Village car park Dogs: Yes (check seasonal beach restrictions) Best seasons: Spring, summer and autumn At picture-perfect Hope Cove you have Outer Hope and Inner Hope. The one confusing thing about the two neighbouring communities is their seemingly misplaced names. To me Outer Hope should be Inner Hope, and vice-versa – Outer actually being more Inner in the greater scheme of things if you look at a map. Anyway, the hotel is located at Inner Hope, which is where the coast path climbs away from the buildings to pass through a small stand of trees on its way out to Bolt Tail. This is a very special bit of littoral walking simply because you do not often get such sweeping westerly views along the south coast. Bolt Tail stands proud like a giant tooth nailed onto the eastern extremity of Bigbury Bay – and as such affords as good a panorama as any cape I know. The whole of Bigbury Bay lies before you - but you can see far, far beyond Burgh Island, past the Great Mew Stone, west again beyond the Plymouth ferries to-ing and fro-ing from France and Spain - and on again until that other great headland, The Dodman, seals the horizon with its barren flanks. So please do not be tempted – as one of my walkers was – to take the short cut up across the field and miss the stroll out to the Tail itself. It may be a bit of a haul but it is well worth the four of five minutes extra walking. We stood around on the ancient hill fort which crowns the top of the Tail for a while in the warm autumn sunshine before turning south east along the coast path. It’s along this section that you can peer down the increasingly tall cliffs to spy the Ramillies – which is a rock named after a doomed ship. The writer SH Burton, in his book South Devon Coast, mentions a place called Ramillies and explains that a boat of that name was wrecked here in the hurricane of February 15th, 1790. “Her captain mistook Bolt Tail for Rame Head and thought he was being driven into the Sound,” writes Mr Burton. “When the mistake was realised they let go their anchor and, by cutting away all the masts, managed to ride safely until evening. Then the violence of the wind increased and the cable parted. A midshipman and 25 of the crew made a perilous leap from the stern to the rocks that fringe Ramillies Hole, a narrow cleft. They were saved, but the rest, 708 in all, perished.” Heading south east the coast path climbs for a while until it reaches some 400 feet above the waves, then forgets to do its usual trick of emulating a roller coaster and adheres, instead, to the level confines of the high downs. The National Trust has celebrated this unusually flat bit by installing a wheelchair-friendly path so that the less-abled can enjoy the stunning sea views. Eventually though, the path is hurled into the abyss. The abyss in question being the valley behind Soar Mill Cove, guarded by the craggy reaches of Cathole Point. It is all very wild and untamed, and picturesque and the cove itself is an absolute jewel – so there was a great temptation for us to walk on down to it. But my minder from the South Devon AONB team reminded me that this was billed as a two hour walk and that we were already running late – so we headed off inland past the old radio station on the narrow lane that leads down to the hamlet of Bolberry. At the bottom of the hill we turned left, then immediately right after a few yards – and this took us down into the bottom of the valley past a farm and some cottages, before climbing towards North Bolberry and Higher Barton. It’s the latter that we’re heading for, and we reach it by ducking down the narrow track called Sweetheart’s Path which you will see on the left-hand apex of a sharp corner. The romantic path crosses a shoulder of land and introduces us to the drive that links North Bolberry to Higher Barton – we turn left and head for the latter, but just before we enter its garden find the public footpath that climbs to our right and takes us up to the very top of the ridge. Now it’s simply a matter of turning left on the ridge path that leads almost straight down the gently descending hill that terminates where Inner and Outer Hope meet. A perfect and easy walk in perfect walking country – I am indebted to the AONB team for suggesting it. If you enjoyed this walk take a look at our other Coast Path hikes here Fact File Basic walk: From Outer Hope out to Bolt Tail then east along coast path over Bolberry Down to turn inland at radio masts and head down through hamlet of Bolberry and return along descending ridge. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer OL20 South Devon. Distance and going: just over four miles, fairly gentle climbs, easy going. FAQ Section Is Hope Cove worth visiting? Absolutely. Hope Cove is one of South Devon's prettiest coastal villages, known for its sandy beaches, traditional cottages and stunning South West Coast Path walks. Is Hope Cove on the South West Coast Path? Yes. The South West Coast Path passes directly through Hope Cove, making it an excellent base for walks towards Bolt Tail, Bolberry Down and Salcombe. How long is the Hope Cove to Bolt Tail walk? Depending on your chosen route, the walk is typically around 3–5 miles, with magnificent coastal views throughout. Are dogs allowed at Hope Cove? Yes, although some beaches have seasonal restrictions during the summer months, so it's worth checking before visiting. Where can you park at Hope Cove? There is a public pay-and-display car park close to the beach and village centre. What wildlife can you see around Hope Cove? Keep an eye out for seabirds, seals, dolphins (occasionally), butterflies and colourful wildflowers along the cliffs. When is the best time to visit Hope Cove? Late spring and early autumn offer warm weather, quieter paths and some of the best walking conditions.

Few places capture the spirit of winter quite like Canada's Yukon. With endless forests, frozen lakes and snow-covered mountains, this vast northern wilderness offers the perfect setting for one of the world's most unforgettable adventures—travelling by traditional dog sled. It's an experience that combines exhilarating outdoor adventure with a fascinating glimpse into the region's pioneering history and Indigenous heritage. Did You Know? The Yukon covers almost 500,000 square kilometres. Whitehorse is the territory's capital and largest community. Dog sledding has been an essential means of transport in northern Canada for generations. Winter temperatures regularly fall below -20°C, creating ideal sledding conditions. Why Go Dog Sledding in the Yukon? Sledging was winter-occupation number one for children who grew up in the UK’s mainly warmish damp West Country. In the Exmoor area, that meant a brief 20-second ride down a short sharp hill - which was exhilarating enough, but we kids used to dream of what it would be like to go for a real sledge ride across what used to be called The Frozen North. A sledge-ride like the one we’d read about - one towed by dogs through vast landscapes where the snow lay deeper than a house. And then one day I was enjoying such a sledge-ride in Canada’s vast empty north-east quarter where winter is writ very big indeed. Just being there, in a place where temperatures can dip to minus 50, is an adventure. Looking out of your hotel window at the all-embracing deep-freeze is a thrill. And travelling around in a place that is as big as Western Europe but which only has a population half that of a medium sized British market town is, somehow, breathtaking and astonishing. The immensity of the empty white-zone doesn’t necessarily mean void and silence. There are people and they do some thrilling things - like, for example, stage an annual 1000-mile long race in which extremely tough men and women take on the elements with the help of a handful of dogs. The Yukon Quest, held every February, is the longest such race in the world and what it demands of the “mushers” - who drive their dog-sled teams the equivalent of travelling from London to North Africa - is simply beyond imagination. The racers are allowed just one named helper who can give aid at a few stops along the way, but for the most part the mushers are alone out there in the wilderness that lies between Whitehorse in the Yukon and Fairbanks in Alaska. Apart from driving the dogs the mushers must look after them by arranging hay bedding at night and taking off the little Day-Glo booties each wears to protect its paws from ice crystals. Indeed, each dog paw has to be massaged and oiled after the rigours of a long stage. Imagine… it is cold enough to freeze the tears in your eyes; it is dark and snowing and you strike camp; put up your tent… And then you must see to 56 canine feet. You will already have started to boil the dog’s meat-stew on board the sled before you come to a halt - but only after you’ve seen to the bedding, feeding and foot-work can you grab a bite for yourself. This is followed by two hours sleep, and then you’re off in the appalling conditions again. And you will be doing this for nine or ten days! I attended the Yukon Quest and watched the mushers during their preparations and followed them for half the race - and I can only assume they must be made from a different grade of genetic material. I know this because I had a go at dog-sledding. An hour’s drive out of Whitehorse in the mountains around beautiful Fish Lake there are several businesses which provide the mushing experience for tourists. I’ve seen it on TV and vaguely thought it might be a bit of fun. But only a bit. It’s never been close to the top of my must-do list. But it is thrilling, exciting and, somehow, just slightly life-changing. There is something ancient and primeval about being towed through a vast white wilderness by a gang of man’s best friends. And, believe me, the dogs really do become your best friend out there in the freezer. For a start, you cannot believe how strong they are. First-time visitors are given just four dogs for a day out in the mountains – I weigh 13-stone but my team never ceased running, nor showed any signs of wanting to slow down. The most difficult part is the very start when the team will pull away like a bolting horse unless you put all your weight on the brake. For an hour I stabbed steel teeth into the ice, but it did little to slow the dogs down. That gave me even more respect for the professional mushers who race the Quest with 14 dogs. I loved every minute of my fortnight in the Yukon and will put more articles about my adventures up on the website soon. FAQ section Where is the Yukon? The Yukon is Canada's westernmost territory, bordering Alaska. Its capital, Whitehorse, is the main gateway for visitors exploring the region. Is dog sledding in the Yukon suitable for beginners? Yes. Most operators provide full instruction, making dog sledding suitable for first-time visitors as well as experienced outdoor enthusiasts. When is the best time to go dog sledding in the Yukon? The main season runs from December to March, when deep snow and cold temperatures create ideal conditions. What should I wear for dog sledding? Wear insulated winter boots, thermal layers, waterproof outer clothing, warm gloves and a hat. Temperatures can fall well below freezing. Can you see the Northern Lights in the Yukon? Yes. During the winter months, the Yukon is one of Canada's best places to experience the aurora borealis on clear nights. Is dog sledding safe? Yes. Reputable guides provide safety briefings and experienced sled dogs are trained to work as a team, making the activity safe for most visitors.

Hidden away in the southern Grenadines, Petit St. Vincent is one of the Caribbean's best-kept secrets. This tiny private island offers the ultimate escape from modern life, replacing televisions and traffic with swaying palms, deserted beaches, warm turquoise waters and understated luxury. It's the closest most of us will ever come to living the Robinson Crusoe dream—without sacrificing outstanding food or comfort. There was me the other day wandering alone through the loveliness of a small Caribbean island called Petit St Vincent, feeling a bit Bond-like, somewhat royal, and altogether Robinson Crusoe-esque. Where is Petit St. Vincent? Let me explain why. For a start the journey to PSV, to give it the commonly used abbreviation, consists of the kind of thing Bond might do were he ever to go on holiday. You fly into Barbados with Virgin Atlantic only to be transferred to a small private plane. As it was a private charter aircraft, I asked then pilot if I could sit right up front next to him on the 50-minute flight west to Union Island in the Grenadines. And that was fun. I enjoyed a grandstand view watching how the pilot skilfully banked the little eight-seater Islander down past the steep-sided mini-mountains that loom over Union’s small airport. Then it was a two-minute buggy ride past the colourful Caribbean shacks that make up Union Island’s village-sized capital to a wooden jetty where a powerful launch was waiting to whisk us across those amazingly blue seas to Petit St Vincent. Why Visit Petit St. Vincent? Now comes the royal bit… As the big white launch approaches the jetty we see the manager waiting for us with his wife and a number of smartly uniformed staff who take our luggage and hand us chilled towels and cool drinks. Then, after hand-shakes, we are helped into a small fleet of genuine 1970s Mini-Mokes and driven across this almost impossibly beautiful island to our luxury cottages. A Caribbean Robinson Crusoe Experience And when I say luxury, I really do mean that the 22 villas hit the right spot on so many levels. Yes, they are luxurious - but also they have an architect-designed air of solidity and permanence, mixed with the sort of light, airiness you need when you are located just 11 nautical miles from the Equator. The manager Matt Semark later tells me that although the cottages look as though they were erected on the island within the last couple of years - they were in fact built nearly half a century ago at a time when air-conditioning was unheard of. They were built, indeed (completing my royal theme), at a time when Princess Margaret was regularly visiting Mustique, which is just a few islands up the Grenadine chain. Anyway, with no a/c at the time (there is now) the architect designed the cottages to be as airy and cool as possible, even in the warmest of tropical heatwaves. Staying on a Private Island The Atlantic breeze constantly wafted through my large airy cottage which was situated on a bluff above a white, palm-strewn beach. Indeed, the Trade Winds never ceased, which is why even in the depths of the night I could hear the crashing of waves on the distant reef which protects PSV and which, to some extent, makes the isle what it is. By which I mean, a holiday paradise. Staying on a Private Island I say that as a person who’s been fortunate to work on travel articles for more than 30 years. Of course, every person in need of a vacation will have a different idea about what paradise is - so let me outline the boxes PSV ticks. For a start, it is exclusively a holiday island. Before the accommodation and basic infrastructure was put in decades ago, the isle was owned by an old lady from the neighbouring isle of Petit Martinique, who used it to graze a few sheep. And nothing more. No one lived there. So this isn’t one of those garish, security-conscious, all-inclusive resorts that some parts of the Caribbean go in for where a big company has bought up land, kicked the locals out, and put a big fence around the whole caboodle. You do not feel like you are locked away in some exclusive preserve. Beaches and Crystal-Clear Seas On PSV, most of the staff commute from nearby islands and they are among the most friendly and attentive folk you will ever find at any resort. And because the owners bought an entire uninhabited island, they were able to place the cottages around the place in a way that means no one really looks in on anyone else. A sense of privacy pervades PSV. Indeed, you could say it is paramount. Here is an example of the privacy at work: each cottage as a flagpole outside the door of its extremely private walled garden - and on each pole there is a red and a yellow flag. Hoist the red one and it means you do not want to be disturbed - not by the cleaning staff or anyone else… Hoist the yellow flag, though, and it means you require some kind of service. In each cottage there are pens and parchment with which you can order anything you like (breakfast, dinner, champagne, whatever). Roll up your message, go out to the flagpole and insert it in the small hole. Every 20 minutes a butler will drive around the little roads that service PSV, see your yellow flag and duly take the order so that it can be brought to your cottage at the requested time. This “travelling room service” all comes under the cover price - but I have to say I didn’t use it much as I was there alone and so enjoyed walking through the woods to the main restaurant or the beach-bar for meals and drinks. I had plenty time to chill-out alone throughout the rest of the day. However, if I’d been some kind of weary executive desperate for an oasis of calm - and if I’d taken my wife - I’d have used it all the time. But even then I’d have got out and about - because PSV is lined with fabulous white beaches offering superb underwater swimming. These beaches are dotted with hammocks, sun-beds and shady areas - and each has its own butler service with waiters who come around on bicycles. Very delicious the food is, too. Before he worked on PSV, Matt and his wife ran similar operations in Indonesia, so they’ve brought a chef team who produce the most amazing fusion food that combines South East Asian and Caribbean cuisine. Many members of the island spa-team are also from South East Asia, and there’s a good range of relaxing Indonesian style therapies. I had a massage during a violent thunder and lightning storm, and still managed to sink into a deep sleep on the massage table. Continuing the chill-out theme - you will certainly get your digital detox on PSV. There is wifi at the main reception, but you can’t pick it up in the cottages - so you really do find yourself turning into a kind of fortunate, well-fed, Robinson Crusoe. But, unlike Crusoe, you can escape. The island has an elegant sailing yacht at its beck and call and her local crew took us up to the fabulously beautiful Tobago Keys national park where we snorkelled and were served fabulous barbecued food on deck. Back in my cottage that night, I lay alone on a huge white bed watching a massive white moon rise beyond the palm trees over the white-tinged reef and white sand beach, and I tried to dream up ways of staying for just a little bit longer on what seemed to me to be my very own treasure island. FACT FILE For further information, visit www.petitstvincent.com | +1 (954) 963 7401 Martin flew to Barbados with Virgin Atlantic Country: St Vincent and the Grenadines Island: Petit St. Vincent Region: Southern Grenadines Nearest airport: Union Island (when operational) or Barbados/Canouan with onward transfer Best for: Honeymoons, couples, luxury travel, diving, digital detox Accommodation: Private cottages Ideal stay: 5–10 nights FAQ section Where is Petit St. Vincent? Petit St. Vincent is the southernmost island in St Vincent and the Grenadines, close to the border with Grenada in the southern Caribbean. Is Petit St. Vincent a private island? Yes. The entire island operates as an exclusive private island resort with just a small number of guest cottages, offering exceptional privacy. How do you get to Petit St. Vincent? Most visitors fly to Barbados or another Caribbean hub before taking onward flights and boat transfers to the island. What makes Petit St. Vincent special? Its secluded beaches, limited number of cottages, lack of televisions and phones, outstanding food and unspoilt natural beauty make it one of the Caribbean's most exclusive island retreats. Is Petit St. Vincent good for snorkelling? Yes. The island is surrounded by coral reefs and warm Caribbean waters that are ideal for snorkelling and scuba diving. When is the best time to visit Petit St. Vincent? The dry season, generally from December to April, offers warm sunshine and calm seas, although the island enjoys pleasant temperatures throughout much of the year.

The mysterious summit of Brown Willy rises above the wild landscape of Bodmin Moor as the highest point in Cornwall. Despite its amusing name, the hill offers one of the county's finest walks, with sweeping views, ancient history, rugged granite tors and a landscape steeped in myth and legend. Whether you're an experienced walker or simply looking for one of Cornwall's classic adventures, Brown Willy is well worth the climb. Where is Brown Willy? Cornwall’s highest hill, Brown Willy, is a great big whale-back shaped ridge that stretches from north to south. The 1,378 foot (420 metre) high summit is situated more-or-less in the middle of the long thin crest. From it you can see half the West Country peninsula. On a clear day I have even seen as far as my native Exmoor looming some 50 miles as the crow flies to the north east. Every Cornish person should climb Brown Willy. To live in Cornwall and say you’ve not been to the top of the highest hill is something akin to a Londoner saying they’ve never seen Big Ben. See more of our Cornish Walks by clicking here Walking to Brown Willy The slight problem (or benefit if you think in the same way as me) is that there’s no easy way to reach the hill. You have to earn your sense of altitudinous achievement by walking at least a couple of miles to the great buttress before you can think of climbing it. I imagine the most popular way in is to climb the equally amazing and perhaps even more enigmatic Roughtor (pronounced Row Tor) next door and then go on to Brown Will. Looking at the two neighbouring hills from most angles you'd put money on it that Roughtor was the taller, but it actually loses by 20 metres. It is a flamboyant show-off of a hill that stands proud of the moors and seems to shout "look at me!", whereas Brown Willy just gets quietly on with the business of being biggest. National Trust owned Roughtor is a hill so strewn and cluttered with rock that it's almost as if God, delighted with his second highest Cornish mountain, forgot to clear up the off-cuts... So that’s one way in to the road-less highland that boasts Brown Willy. Another – and I have done this on a couple of occasions when I’ve been utterly bored with driving – is to walk in from the A30. The best way to do this is to turn off at famous Jamaica Inn and head north to a place called Codda Ford. Close to where the lane stops there’s a track which heads off into the moors to cross the young River Fowey then it climbs a knoll introducing you to the huge shoulder of land between Hendra Downs and Leskernick Hill. Beyond lies Brown Willy. Looking across the peat-lands to Brown Willy Sitting on top Brown Willy looking across to Rough Tor Reaching this area from Jamaica Inn is a simple enough thing to achieve – all you have to do is drive under the dual carriageway, north of the pub, and take the small lane that heads off from the feeder road. It runs a mile or so directly north under Tolborough Tor before coming to an abrupt end. This is where we parked on the small strip of greensward near the gate. When we were there a man and a woman were also preparing to go walking and, as I was a little concerned my map was out of date, I asked if they had a more modern copy of OS Explorer 109… “Explorer 109?” the man said with obvious distaste. “My map is dated from the 1700’s and it will do me. Nothing much has changed up here.” The lonely path to Brown Willy on Bodmin Moor He was right. Even this small distance from the busy A30, you are plunged into the antediluvian world of the great high-level plains. Which is a bit of a falsehood really, because quite a lot has changed up here down the ages. To begin the hike, simply go through the gate at the end of the lane, turn right and follow the bridleway which descends along its ancient rocky bed to eventually cross the young River Fowey. It then continues north by climbing a knoll and introducing the walker to the huge shoulder of land between Hendra Downs and Leskernick Hill. The latter is due north and, once you can see its rock clitter clearly, it’s time to leave the bridleway and strike off towards the summit. Leskernick Hill is famed among archaeologists as being the location of some of the most remarkable early dwellings in the country. And as you walk up to the summit you’ll see the rocky remains of some of the 50-odd prehistoric homes which once stood here. It was undoubtedly a busy community. Nearby there are stone rows, stone circles and goodness knows what else, where these early folk could have amused themselves doing whatever they did in such places. Just north, between Leskernick and Buttern Hills, we came across the deepest groove in the West Country. I can only imagine the giant rut – which is some 50 feet deep and more than 100 feet across – is what remains of the tin streaming, which I know for a fact went on up here. We walked around the western flank of Buttern Hill to find the source of the River Fowey before marching due west across High Tor to reach the northern buttresses of Brown Willy. Our walk now took us south down over the ridge, then left over Catshole Downs and up to Catshole Tor. On the tor there is one singular rock and in the middle of the rock there is one indentation which happens to be the size and shape of a cat. So I wondered… But I didn’t wonder for too long – because my map was still insisting this was private ground and I had no right being here, so off we went, south east, to Tolborough Tor. Readers with good memories will recall that we parked our car under this eminence – and sure enough there it was on the greensward just a few hundred metres downhill to our right. As we walked, so a man came towards us with a scythe. I couldn’t see the expression on his face, but wondered if he meant to have words with us about the act of trespass. Which is why we repaired without more ado to the aforementioned Inn where we enjoyed a pint despite the loud music and the general air of motorway. Fact File Basic hike: from Codda Ford just north of Jamaica Inn, up Leskernick Hill and onto Buttern Hill before turning west for Brown Willy. Then over Cornwall’s highest peak to return across Catshole Downs. Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 109. Distance and going: six miles, can be rough and boggy in places. TS Eliot wrote of 'old stones that cannot be deciphered' and of 'the still point of the turning world'. FAQ section Why is Brown Willy famous? Brown Willy is the highest hill in Cornwall at 420 metres (1,378 feet) and is one of the best-known landmarks on Bodmin Moor. How long does it take to walk Brown Willy? Most circular walks take between two and three hours depending on the chosen route and weather conditions. Is Brown Willy difficult to climb? No. Although there is a steady ascent across open moorland, most walkers with a reasonable level of fitness can complete the walk comfortably. Where do you park for Brown Willy? The most popular parking areas are at Rough Tor car park or nearby Bodmin Moor parking areas, depending on your chosen route. Can you walk Brown Willy and Rough Tor together? Yes. Many walkers combine the two summits into one of Cornwall's finest circular walks. Is Brown Willy suitable for dogs? Yes, although dogs should be kept under control because livestock graze on Bodmin Moor and ground-nesting birds may be present. What is the best time of year to visit Brown Willy? Spring and autumn often provide the clearest views and most comfortable walking conditions, though the hill can be enjoyed year-round with suitable clothing.

Dining out in Cagliari Sardinia is one of Italy's most fascinating food destinations, yet many visitors never discover the extraordinary flavours hiding beyond the island's beaches. From handmade pasta and pecorino cheese to bottarga, fresh seafood and robust local wines, Sardinian cuisine reflects thousands of years of history and tradition. During my visit I uncovered a remarkable culinary heritage that began with an ancient ingredient once known as "Sardinian Gold" and led me into one of the Mediterranean's richest food cultures. If you enjoy thos post take a look at other SEAFOOD ARTICLES here Fish in Cagliari central market I admit that it was late at night and that a great many glasses of fabulous Sardinian wine had gone down the hatch in one of the most wonderful restaurants in which it’s been my pleasure to dine for years. But anyway, my thought processes in that ancient eating-house in historic Cagliari went something like this… “In all my years I have never tasted anything like this before. Why not? If these few, powerful, thin, golden, shards - which are flavouring an entire celery salad - are made of nothing but salted, dried and pressed grey mullet roe, why on earth aren’t we making this stuff in the UK?” What Is Sardinian Gold? I have searched the internet and found plenty of imported vac-packed bottarga (to give this salted fish roe its universal name) for sale, but so far have located none made in the UK. Which seems a great pity, as there are plenty of grey mullet in our waters that would provide the basic means. It’s not a fish you’ll find on any endangered species list - the humble mullet gets a full five-out-of-five in the Marine Conservation Society’s sustainability rating. If there are people making and selling bottarga here, I apologise - please let me know about your product. In the meantime, I would recommend fish-lovers to try it by purchasing a small pack off the internet - although I will warn you that it’s not called Sardinian Gold for nothing. Anyway, bottarga is just another example of certain foodstuffs which appear in a long list I compile when I travel abroad on journeys of culinary discovery. A list which is added to when I end up thinking: “This is a very delicious thing to eat - and it’s made of something simple that we have at home. So why is it we don’t have a similar dish or ingredient in the UK? Why did the poor folk of yesteryear not have such traditions - because this kind of peasant food would have helped them survive in hard times?” I once interviewed an old Scillonian fisherman who told me that back in the day he’d seine-net the straits between Bryher and Tresco and catch so many mullet they didn’t know what to do with them. At the same time, I have read reports of the early Scillonian folk living in near starvation conditions. Is there something I’m not getting here? Fish roe is nutritious in the extreme, even if it is preserved in salt. Why weren’t the Scillonians salting down the mullet roe? Why isn’t there a Cornish bottarga tradition? If you want to visit an island that does exactly the opposite - a place which goes the extra mile in preparing and preserving every single ounce of edible substance when it’s on hand or in-season - then try Sardinia. I’ll be even more explicit: take the quick flight down to Cagliari having looked up the Charming Accommodation group on the internet (http://www.cagliariaccommodations.com)… I recommend this loose grouping of boutique hotels and B&B establishments because their individual owners work together to help and advise visitors so they can get the very best, most authentic, experiences - the kind of tips which you’d never be given in a larger conventional hotel or an Airbnb. Enrico Cao (left) who manages a wonderful B&B It was a gang of representatives from this group - lead by my new pal Enrico Cao who manages a wonderful B&B called The Place in the heart of Cagliari - who took me to the aforementioned restaurant and then started ordering local delicacies. I think - but cannot be sure - that I eventually wailed the words “No more! Please no more!” after the 15th course. The food at Su Tzilleri’e su Doge - an ancient restaurant built into the even more ancient city fortifications up on Cagliari’s main hill overlooking the port - was superb. And every single dish cooked by owner Claudio Ara was specifically Sardinian, and more probably a speciality from the island’s southern region. Certainly, every ingredient came from within 20 kilometres of the city. And here’s the thing… We are not talking posh food like beef steaks or prime cuts of local tuna. Almost all the things we ate came from the nose-to-tail ethos of cooking, and so included items that were not for the faint hearted. For example, after the bottarga and celery salad we were served a single pot of fish balls bobbing in boiling oil. On closer inspection I realised they were a kind of fishy faggot - and learned that various bits and bobs of edible flesh like the cheeks and heart had been minced together and wrapped in the washed lining of a fish’s stomach. If this sounds grim, all I can say is that these morsels were light and spectacularly delicious. And again, I found myself wondering why the UK has no tradition of what you could call fish-faggots? Vegetable stall in Cagliari market To be honest, this gargantuan meal, became a bit of a blur after that - but I do remember eating pasta with sea urchin roe (OK, so we don’t have much in the way of sea urchins in UK waters), various small clams and other assorted shellfish, mountain snails and tripe. And what tripe it was… Nothing like the white meaty chewing gum I was fed as a child. This was soft, melt-in-the-mouth stuff - big on savouriness, small on chew-ability. So tripe goes into a slightly different listing for me. One where the British do have a tradition of eating the stuff, but somehow we’ve managed to consign it to history. With the rather ironic exception that the washed stomach lining of a beef animal is nowadays served at a handful of very posh UK restaurants. Simple savoury snack with beer in Cagliari market The next day Enrico took me to Cagliari’s central market - a foodie Mecca which is said to include the largest wet-fish section of any market in Italy. What can I say about Mercato di San Benedetto? There were ingredients here - like razor clams all prepared and ready for the pot - that you simply cannot buy anywhere in England and yet which grow here. Walking around this market was like visiting 300 seafood delicatessens. And that was only the start because upstairs we explored several acres of meat, charcuterie, poultry and vegetable market. Anyway, back in the UK I am now I’m on a hunt for a grey mullet with a nice big fat roe I can cure. If you're planning a holiday to Sardinia, don't just head for the beaches. Seek out the family-run trattorias, village bakeries and local vineyards where centuries-old traditions continue to thrive. For anyone who believes travel is best experienced through food, Sardinia remains one of Europe's great undiscovered culinary destinations. FACT FILE Martin stayed with Charming Accommodations: https://www.facebook.com/cagliariaccommodations/ — at one of their B&Bs, the J&O' Luxury Suite (https://www.bedandbreakfast.eu/bed-and-breakfast-it/cagliari/j-o-luxury-suite/3964617/) His informative local guide, Enrico, manages The Place - for information email info@theplacecagliari.com or visit www.theplacecagliari.com. Frequently Asked Questions About Sardinian Food What food is Sardinia famous for? Sardinia is famous for its fresh seafood, bottarga (salt-cured fish roe), pecorino cheese, handmade pasta such as malloreddus and culurgiones, roast suckling pig (porceddu), traditional breads and excellent local wines. What is 'Sardinian Gold'? 'Sardinian Gold' is a nickname often given to bottarga, a prized delicacy made from salted and cured grey mullet or tuna roe. It has been produced on the island for centuries and is valued for its rich, savoury flavour. What is the most traditional dish in Sardinia? Some of Sardinia's best-known traditional dishes include malloreddus (small ridged pasta), culurgiones (stuffed pasta parcels), porceddu (roast suckling pig), fregola pasta and a wide variety of fresh seafood dishes. Is Sardinia a good destination for food lovers? Absolutely. Sardinia combines ancient culinary traditions with outstanding local produce, including artisan cheeses, olive oil, wines, seafood and seasonal ingredients. It's one of Italy's most rewarding destinations for anyone interested in authentic regional cuisine. What wines should I try in Sardinia? Popular Sardinian wines include Cannonau, Vermentino di Sardegna, Carignano del Sulcis and Monica di Sardegna. Many local wineries offer tastings alongside traditional Sardinian dishes. When is the best time to visit Sardinia for food? Spring and autumn are excellent times to visit, with comfortable temperatures, seasonal produce and numerous food festivals. Summer is ideal for combining beach holidays with seafood dining, although it is the busiest season. Where can you experience authentic Sardinian cuisine? The best places are often family-run trattorias, agriturismi (farm restaurants), village markets and coastal fishing towns, where recipes have been handed down through generations. Is Sardinian cuisine different from mainland Italian food? Yes. While it shares some similarities with mainland Italian cooking, Sardinian cuisine has developed its own distinctive identity over thousands of years, influenced by Mediterranean, Spanish and North African cultures, with a strong emphasis on local ingredients and traditional recipes.

Lydney Harbour Most places where people interact with the sea have changed a good deal over the past few decades - for example, some old harbour areas are on the up-and-up as developers see an opportunity, while other coastal towns slowly sink into a tidal mud of decline. You are more likely to find the latter along the shores of the Bristol Channel, precisely because of that one word: mud. There’s a lot of it in and around the giant estuary which has the second highest tidal range in the world. I dislike mud as much as the next person, but I do love the way many of the Bristol Channel’s seaside locations have managed to retain an authentic and unspoilt charm. West Country coasts are dotted with woebegone wharfs, has-been harbours, and jettisoned jetties. This peninsula - with its steep hills, marsh-filled vales and fast flowing rivers - was a lot easier to access by sea before the days of steam railways and paved roads. Slowly but surely, though, the havens of old began to silt up and fall into disrepair as industries disappeared and land-based forms of transport improved - and this has especially been the case along the Bristol Channel. The Severn at Lydney I was thinking all this the other day as I explored a Severn port I’d never visited before. We were on the way to the Forest of Dean (for last week’s Hesp Out West) when I spotted a signpost to Lydney Harbour - and we decided to take a look because of a charming book called Any Muddy Bottom – A History of Somerset’s Waterborne Trade, by authors Geoff Body and Roy Gallop (published by The History Press). Discovering Historic Lydney Harbour They describe some of the changes which have occurred along the difficult-to-navigate, high-tide-fall, coast. “For centuries Somerset depended on its harbours and rivers as its lifeblood,” say the authors, who tell the story of the channel’s unique vessels and the skilled men that use them. More than 2000 years of history is explored, from the earliest waterborne activity to the present day. Lydney Harbour lock-gates The Monument to Britain's Busy Past The old harbour at Lydney, where the once industrialised Forest of Dean meets the shifting, silting River Severn, stands as a monument to Britain’s busy past. The sun was out the and we were able to cross the little swing bridge located at the threshold where a one-mile inland canal meets the waters of the inner harbour basin. Crossing here allows you to stroll onto the finger of land that forms the outer harbour breakwater. This impressive stone pier acts as a shield, pushing out into the mudflats to create a semi-tidal outer basin that buffers incoming vessels from the estuary’s powerful currents. Following this exposed spine down to its tip brings you to the harbour’s towering lock gates - a dual-gate system which is a marvel of maritime defence. They are massive - you can see the gates are around 30 feet high when the tide is out. The Remarkable Lock Gates The lower sea-gates open to take in incoming craft at high water, while the heavy inner gates facing inland, form a chevron that seals the freshwater basin. They stand as a silent, imposing bulk, holding back the canal’s depth even when the retreating Severn turns the outer estuary into miles of exposed mud and sand. Lydney Harbour lock You can stroll across the narrow footbridge on top of the inner lock to reach the excellent little Hips Harbourside cafe, which has a fantastic choice of cakes and snacks at extremely reasonable prices - especially when compared to seaside outlets in other better known West Country locations I could name. A Harbour That Once Changed Britain Somehow, I was able to enjoy my slice of cake all the more in the knowledge that this now quiet backwater served as a vital maritime gateway since the days of Henry II. But it was the dawn of the 19th century that really transformed the place. After it was built between 1810 and 1813 to trans-ship the rich yields of coal and iron ore from the Forest’s mines and forges, the harbour and its one-mile canal began to bustle with furious activity. In its Victorian heyday, more than 2,000 vessels a year braved the Severn’s treacherous tides to export hundreds of thousands of tons of cargo. And then, the inevitable decline… Commercial traffic slowly ebbed away in the 20th century, with the final coal shipments departing in 1960, followed by the closure of the historic timber barges in the late 1970s. Now managed by the Environment Agency, the harbour has found a tranquil second life. The industrial clatter has been replaced by a small marina, walking trails, and public art installations which trace the old railway tracks. But it manages to remain a atmospheric destination - one where visitors can look out across the vast estuary and ponder the immense power of the Severn. You can see the Severn Bridges from Lydney Harbour A Voyage to Uphill For some reason the whole vibe of the place reminded me of the little Bristol Channel harbour at Uphill, near Weston-Super Mare. If you were in a boat and you followed the deep-water shipping channels - navigating out of Lydney’s gates, dodging the treacherous sands around the Shoots, passing under the two Severn Bridges, and swinging past Avonmouth and Portishead before cutting across to Weston Bay - it would be a voyage of roughly 35 nautical miles to reach Uphill. There’s another excellent little cafe there - very popular with cyclists enjoying the Brean Cycle Trail… But the actual harbour area presents an air that soughs a weary sigh… A place that time forgot. The harbour at Uphill in Somerset Uphill has what is officially described as a marina - but it’s like no other marina I’ve seen - and in some ways all the better for it. A variety of vessels - some wonderfully up-and-together, others in various states of decay or in the process of getting-it-together - lie dotted around various mudbanks and reed-beds, many leaning this way and that at alarming angles. I love such places. Love them enough to make me jump into my Bristol Channel Flatner (if I owned one of the lovely old wooden pulling boats indigenous to these waters) and make my way from Uphill’s sheltered drying pill, down to the historic wharf at Combwich on the River Parrett. A voyage of roughly 14 nautical miles but, as with any journey in or around the great arc of Bridgwater Bay, a trip entirely governed by the Channel’s immense tidal regime. Slipping out of the River Axe on the high water, a skipper would face a coastal run of only nine nautical miles across the muddy, shallow flats of the bay, but they would have to stand well off the coast to avoid the sands of Berrow and Gore, and keep the lonely spine of Brean Down astern while steering toward the flashing white sectors of Burnham-on-Sea’s low lighthouse. Combwich Harbour And only then would you arrive at the mouth of the River Parrett. Here, a final leg requires navigating another five nautical miles upstream along a notoriously fickle channel - both winding and hemmed in by the expansive Steart Marsh mudflats. Combwich Harbour Eventually, the river narrows - its fierce, brown currents pushing hard against your hull - until the reassuring stone face of Combwich Wharf finally appears on the western bank. The quiet, highly tidal haven, played host to surprisingly hefty coastal sailing ketches in more recent centuries. Historical Seamanship and Forgotten Coasts I describe this brief voyage because it’s almost impossible to imagine the skill and seamanship such journeys would have required in the days before internal combustion engines. Messers Body and Gallop report that: “Shipping activity began at Combwich sometime in the 14th century and, as far back as 1480. The Anne - carrying cork, hides and fish on the Minehead-Bristol run - called there, and corn was being exported. “In later years Irish and other ships called regularly with coal, wine, iron, millstones, beans and oil. All this in a tiny creek, which was nevertheless the site of the first harbour and settlement along the course of the River Parrett.” From this unlikely harbour, a voyage west would continue, past the present day nuclear power station and the site of Hinkley Point C, to places like Lilstock, Watchet, Blue Anchor, Minehead and Porlock. The beach at Lilstock “Much of the coast between the Parrett Estuary and the Devon border is quite exposed, with a shingle shoreline and low cliffs,” say the authors of Any Muddy Bottom. “A few modest streams reach Bridgwater Bay in the long coastal stretch between Stert Point and Watchet, but the only working harbour (along that section) was at Lilstock. The shingle foreshore represented a convenient spot for small sailing vessels to discharge their cargoes of coal and Culm for Sir John Acland’s estate lime kilns and for his home at Fairfield House.” Such are the ephemeral vagaries of our long lost ports… IF you like the idea of visiting Lilstock check out our local walk by clicking here Here is a story about little Lilstock, where now barely a trace of anything man-made survives at all: “When Isabel, the daughter of Sir John’s son Peregrine, was advised to live by the sea to aid her delicate constitution a small dwelling was built for her on the heights above the stream’s final course through the pebble bank. There she could entertain and enjoy the sea air, while on the bank itself a promenade was constructed to accommodate leisure outings in her coach. At the same time, around 1830, an enclosed dock was constructed between the promenade and the heights behind. Remains of the old harbour at Lilstock “It became increasingly busy with the incoming cargoes of fuel and occasionally other commodities. A few dwellings were built just along from the harbour entrance, coastguards were stationed there from 1848, and then a customs officer from 1855. On occasions there could be up to as many as three vessels in the dock, some able to secure an outward load of estate timber, burnt lime or corn.” By the end of the 1900s lonely Lilstock was lonely no more: “The pier had become a fashionable spot, with carriages bringing parties for picnics supplied from a butler’s pantry and shelter at the end. Paddle steamers called on the way to and from Burnham, Cardiff, and Ilfracombe, bringing Victorian tourists for a brief stay in a pleasant little spot.” Within 30 or 40 years, all this had vanished. Everything. Today you’d be lucky to see a single angler or a heron. Which, in a way, is so typical of the long-lost ports and pills of the Bristol Channel. For this is the seaway where the sea itself disappears twice a day thanks to that giant tide fall - and, as it ebbs and flows, ships, pleasure boats and just about everything else that requires water is left high, but not so dry, in a temporary landscape of mud. A view of Uphill Harbour from Brean Down To read more about the ancient port of Watchet click here Frequently Asked Questions about Lydney Harbour Where is Lydney Harbour? Lydney Harbour is on the River Severn in Gloucestershire, close to the Forest of Dean. It connects to the Severn Estuary via a historic canal and lock system. Can you walk around Lydney Harbour? Yes. Visitors can walk across the swing bridge, explore the harbour walls, enjoy views over the Severn Estuary and follow nearby walking trails. Why was Lydney Harbour important? During the 19th century the harbour exported coal, iron ore and timber from the Forest of Dean. At its height, more than 2,000 ships visited annually. Is Lydney Harbour worth visiting? Absolutely. It offers industrial heritage, fascinating engineering, peaceful waterside walks, wildlife and one of the best-preserved historic harbours on the Severn Estuary. Is there a café at Lydney Harbour? Yes. Hips Harbourside Café overlooks the marina and is popular with walkers and cyclists.