A surprise find in the Roman Colosseum…

The year is 1945 and ash, smoke, poverty and despair rise through the rubble of Europe. Nearly ten million Soviets died on the eastern front. Eleven million in the concentration camps. And the Soviet Red Army have just captured Vienna…

Picture the scene. You’re walking through a Swedish market, your young daughter holding your hand. She sees row upon row of sweet candy canes, bright luminescent swirls of sugar and mint that gleam in scarlet and white, holly leaf green and ivy, forming…

The older I get, the more I enjoy cooking classes. With an opening statement like that, I’m in danger of whirling around in a cartoon swirl and remerging as an immaculately groomed housewife from the 1950s: hair set, rosy-cheeked smile, skirt that sticks out like a snipped triangle and the scent of freshly baked cookies following me around like a caricature cloud…

Dust rose from the ground as the horse thundered past and the sun began its ablutions. It painted pinks and pomegranates, amber, pistachio, charcoal and soft apricot rust across the walls of Petra before calling it a day and turning in for an early night…

Italian food. There was a time when I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but I can barely remember that now. The moment my train slowed to a stop in Trieste (and, if I’m honest, quite a while before that) my daydreams wandered…

So, to celebrate gingerbread, gluhwein and twinkling bright lights, I bring you this post: the Best Christmas Markets in the World. (Only, it’s not really the whole world. Just the countries between Turkey and Germany. But let’s face it, that wouldn’t make such a good title…

Have yourself a very Merry Swedish Christmas! Yes, I’m busy writing up the nitty-gritty of the Iron Curtain and all the details of…

“You have blood on your hands,” she said as she jabbed me in the ribs. “And you’re celebrating mass murder.”

As a travel writer with a British passport, the first statement is something of an occupational hazard…

A clock plods through its strict rhythm as the clink of china echoes through the drawing room. A Union Jack plays hide-and-seek at the window when the teapot isn’t watching and a platter of cucumber sandwiches make themselves comfy for afternoon tea.