Shimla - but different

Lord Kitchener's Himalayan house provided an escape from the hurly-burly of Shimla; it still does, only now it's a sumptuous hotel with an infinity pool. Kevin Rushby checks in

Different view ... Wildflower Hall today It was soon after arriving in Shimla that the terrible thought struck me. I was standing outside Domino's Pizza watching the crowds stroll past: youths in Marilyn Manson T-shirts, girls in blue jeans. Then I suddenly had an awful feeling that nothing was right for me. I can't think how it happened: the road up had been choked with traffic as usual, the hillsides were buzzing with construction work, the population - like everywhere in India - was said to be six times what it ought to be. Everything was absolutely normal, except me. I staggered into the Starbucks-lookalike coffee bar and grabbed a double espresso. My problem was that Shimla was just not sufficiently hill station-like. Where were those wonderful men in their handlebar moustaches taking tiffin in their far pavilions? And where might be the chowkidars politely muttering, "Tea-toast, Sahib? Or a will it be peg of brandy?" I shuddered, finished my coffee and went outside. A boy in an Eminem shirt slouched past. A girl chatted on her mobile phone. Two men were loudly discussing their jobs at a call centre. India's rapid economic progress is certainly playing havoc with some of our beloved misconceptions about the place. And none is more cherished than those glorious mountain retreats of the Raj. Of the many examples in India, Simla (now spelled Shimla) was the most famous, a town that began as a tranquil hilltop hideaway for burned-out army officers. In early prints one can still recognise the saddle of land at 7,200ft where the town now rests, and where the first dak bungalows were built in the 1820s. The rain on one side of the roofs ran away into the Bay of Bengal eventually, that on the other went to the Arabian Sea. Little wonder that, in 1864, when the British were looking for a commanding position for a summer capital, they chose Simla. From the outset there was a strict regime for the hill station devotee: nature walks, fresh air and sordid love affairs. By the time they built the Mall, a long promenade along the length of that saddle, it had become de rigueur for the burned-out officers to be hunted down and married by eagle-eyed widows. Kipling loved it all, and mined the rich vein of material it provided. His biographer Lord Birkenhead was rather sniffy, dismissing the "furtive adulteries, the pathetic suicides - the provincial femme fatales". But Kipling saw the drama and magic in it. Even in his day - he first visited in 1883 - there were those doomsayers who were pronouncing the hill station dead. To get the true experience, it was said, one had to step away, along one of those many forested ridges that stack up on Shimla's horizons all the way to Tibet. Lord Curzon decamped 20 miles. Kitchener, while in town, retired up a high hill and glowered down ("a devouring mass of molten energy," Curzon called him). His house is now the Oberoi hotel group's sumptuous Wildflower Hall, a place somewhat different to the one Kitchener knew - would he have lain in the infinity pool at night, as I did, gazing at distant snow-capped peaks? Perhaps not, though the fine dining and deeply traditional drawing rooms would have surely met with his approval. Located on a forested ridge one thousand feet above Shimla town, the Hall has the separation from the hurly-burly that Kitchener wanted, but it is necessarily a thoroughly modern hotel. Sitting in front of a log fire one evening, reading about that lost era of the Raj, I decided to do the same as Kitchener: step away, take the trail and search for some of that former atmosphere. Next day, with hotel guide, Kalpa, I stepped out the front door of Wildflower Hall and set off into the trees. It's not possible these days to avoid roads completely, but we managed as best we could, wandering through deep forests filled with flowers and butterflies. Occasionally there were clearings of cow-cropped grass with stunning views across the valleys. Kalpa told me tales of polyandrous marriages among the peoples of the Himalayan valleys and of festivals dedicated to flowers that bloom only for a few days on mountain tops. "All those things are gone, I suppose?" I asked, still unshakeably attached to my notion of Shimla as a modernised ruin. But Kalpa shook his head. "Oh no, there are women in my village in Kinnaur Valley who are married to more than one husband. And the flower festivals still happen every year." We moved on, stumbling across a place called Craignanu where a dilapidated colonial bungalow sat in a sea of marigolds. The aged chowkidar opened up for me. Similar government resthouses exist all over India and Pakistan, and can still be used, if you care to negotiate the local bureaucracy. In the living room I found a cabinet filled with old library books - potboiler novels from the 20s, none of which had been stamped out since 1954. "We don't get many visitors," admitted the chowkidar. "Except the leopard - he comes quite often. I caught him on the veranda yesterday." A little further along the path I stopped to talk to Naraindra, a farmer, who confirmed the news of the big cat. "There's more than one," he complained. "They ate my goats." I asked him about all the changes that had come recently. "Wasn't life better in the old days?" Naraindra was adamant that it was not, despite the leopards. "My father worked for the Maharajah of Patiala over the hill at Chail," he said. "A very cruel man. Now we have roads, schools, hospitals, money. Before, they gave us poor people nothing." Joining the road, I could see plenty of the more recent development: concrete shells of buildings going up and the dusty scars where roads cut across deforested hillsides. The village of Naldehra had its own mini-boom going on, too: chalet developments that aspire to be Swiss. I took a room in one, and at sunset watched Indian families up from Chandigarh playing at Bernese Bollywood, pullovers draped around shoulders and après-ski whiskies in hand. Meanwhile the monkeys raided their chalets. Back in Shimla the following day I talked to Anil Bhardwaj - a good man to discuss the changes that have happened. His father had fled Lahore during partition, arriving in Shimla with a bullet lodged in his jaw to remind him of the horrors of communal violence. He had started with a dry-cleaning business that evolved into a clothing shop, then moved into tourist souvenirs - every incarnation of the building lovingly preserved in the signs on the facade. Fifteen years ago Anil took over and made it into a successful trekking agency, but now the newly economically vibrant India is changing that business. "There's so much road-building going on - some treks we did three years ago are no longer possible because roads have arrived and spoiled the atmosphere. Our clients want to escape the roads, step back in time." Was he planning yet another incarnation for the family business then? He chuckled. "No. We do have to drive deep into the mountains now, but once there the trekking is good. We've started doing some walks that cross over into Tibet. It's a pity about some beautiful places that have been lost, but we're constantly finding new ones." I told him of my own desire to find the spirit of the old hill station. "Go up to the Club," he advised me. "It's a place that doesn't change much." He sent me along with a friend of his, the journalist and writer Raaja Bhasin. The Club is right in the centre of town and the Mall. One side of the building houses the dilapidated 1887 Gaiety Theatre where Michael Palin did a turn during his Himalaya series; the other is the club, guarded by a strict set of rules, including the somewhat ambiguous, "Gentlemen are expected to dress up appropriately." The place was busy: several fine moustaches quivered over the tea and pakoras, a few bejewelled fingers were toying with card games. Kipling would have felt quite at home, teasing a little scandalous gossip from the ladies. Raaja took me on a tour, pointing out that the theatre was to be fully restored under a new cantilevered steel roof that would also create space for a modern playhouse. Afterwards we strolled along the Mall, dodging the children riding on yaks and playing impromptu games of cricket. I had given up my simplistic notion of a despoiled Shimla. The walk with Kalpa and now this tour had convinced me that the old hill station still had charm. But, I asked, what about that other side to the hill station, the peace and quiet, the sense of nature, the evening chills that came from jungle mists rather than over-enthusiastic air-conditioning? Was that still available? Raaja thought about that. "Tranquility in Shimla is not so easy," he said, "Wildflower Hall has it. But if you want a bit of nostalgia, you should go to Kasauli - an old hill station about two hours' drive from here." To reach Kasauli, one follows the main road out of Shimla to the plains, twisting down and down through endless hairpin bends. Then, after a couple of hours, you turn off the main highway and start up again on a side road. Immediately I noticed a difference: the ugly concrete ribbon developments stopped, the trees crowded in, and with them came the sound of cicadas and birds. "The whole hill is army land," explained the driver, "And since 1948 they have not given permission for any new building." At 6,335ft we emerged in Kasauli and abandoned the car to walk. It was exactly as I had hoped: tin-roofed bungalows with names like Waverley and Rosedene sitting in deep lawns fringed with scarlet canna lilies and pots of marigolds. Every house had a chimney - evidence of log fires for chilly evenings - and from the verandas were stunning views of endless misty jungle ridges. At the Ros Common Hotel I took lunch and watched the monkeys playing in the trees below. A sign commanded: "Self-eatables are not allowed. Please do not pluck the flowers or plants." It occurred to me, as I tucked into curried beans on toast, that for the first time in this trip I could not hear even a distant engine - nothing except birds and insects. Later, strolling along the lane that runs the length of the ridge of Kasauli hill, I met Sonu, a youth in jeans and baseball cap. "Wasn't it boring here? Didn't he prefer Shimla?" But he refused to be typecast as the modern teenager, despite his looks. "I like it here," he insisted. "I wouldn't change a thing. Shimla can keep its cars and noise." We stopped to look at the view. Below us was a little wooden bungalow, freshly painted in butterscotch and sky blue with deep shady verandas, the balustrades laden with geraniums in rusty old tins. A man was reading a newspaper in a deckchair on the lawn, sipping what looked like a gin and tonic. Sonu grinned at me. "I'll meet you here in 20 years' time." "Why?" "I bet you that nothing will have changed." We shook hands on a wager that - as I freely admitted to him - I fervently hope to lose.

Jewel in the crown: a palace fit for a Nizam

The Taj Falaknuma, one of India's most opulent palaces, is opening its doors half a century after being closed down, giving guests the chance to experience the lavish hospitality of life in the Raj

Sitting pretty: the pool at the Taj Falaknuma Palace. Photograph: Sanjay The extravagance of the Nizams of Hyderabad needs no introduction. Until losing power at India's independence, their princely state endured for two centuries, presiding over a huge chunk of the Deccan. A byword for profligacy and for spending on a truly lavish scale, the Nizams' dynasty rivalled large countries in terms of its wealth. Of the seven Nizams who governed Hyderabad from 1720 to 1948, the richest was the last, Mir Osman Ali Khan, who was regarded as the wealthiest man on earth – his portrait graced the cover of Time magazine. As recently as 2008 he was rated fifth highest on the Forbes All-Time Wealthiest List (Bill Gates ranks 20th). He had his own mint, printing his own currency, the Hyderabadi rupee, and a vast private treasury. Its coffers were said to contain £100m in gold and silver bullion, and a further £400m of jewels. Among them was the fabulously rare Jacob diamond, valued at some £60m today, and used by the Nizam as a paperweight. There were pearls, too – enough to pave Piccadilly – hundreds of race horses, thousands of uniforms, tonnes of royal regalia and Rolls-Royces by the dozen. But it was the Nizams' great love affair with palaces that cost more than anything else to maintain. They owned more than a handful in Hyderabad alone, staffed by many thousands of servants, retainers, bodyguards, eunuchs and concubines. Chowmahalla Palace, circa 1945. Photograph: Pablo Bartholomew/netphotograph.com The most favourite of all was the Falaknuma. Set on a hillock with sweeping views across Hyderabad below, the Falaknuma Palace was laid out in the shape of a scorpion with a double stinging tail. Known as "Mirror of the Sky", it was constructed in the classical style from Italian marble, with hints of art nouveau. No expense was spared to create it – a European masterpiece on the plains of central India. The Nizam's prime minister, Viqar ul Omra, conceived the palace as a lavish residence for himself. The foundation stone was laid in 1884, but the building wasn't completed for almost another decade. In that time the prime minister was forced to borrow funds to finish it – money he had no chance of ever earning. The story goes that to save face his wife suggested a wily plan. Inviting his master Mehboob Ali Pasha, the sixth Nizam, to stay, the prime minister waited to be extolled for creating such a glorious pleasure dome. And when the praise was lavished, Viqar ul Omra offered the building to the Nizam as a gift. Accepting graciously, the ruler reimbursed the full cost – a pittance to a man of such colossal wealth. The palace soon became a great favourite with royal visitors, among them King George, Queen Mary, Edward VIII and Tsar Nicholas II. It represented a fragment of Europe in a principality whose wealth exceeded most of their wildest dreams. But with the withdrawal of the privy purse and the subsuming of Hyderabad into independent India, the billionaire lifestyle came to an abrupt end. The palaces were closed up, their doors fastened with wax seals by order of the courts. And for decades they slept, like something from a child's fairytale. The Falaknuma was no exception. For 30 years or more almost no one was permitted entry and the place went to rack and ruin. Yet just before reaching the point of no return, Princess Esra, the Turkish-born former wife of the current Nizam (who still has the title but nothing else), stepped in. Realising the terrible loss about to occur, she brokered a deal that would save not only the Falaknuma, but other Nizam properties. For an extendable lease of 30 years, the Falaknuma has been signed over to the Taj Group. As part of the arrangement, the luxury hotel chain agreed to foot the jaw-dropping bill for renovations. Every detail was overseen by Princess Esra herself in a transformation that took more than a decade to complete. Once again sparing no expense, the princess brought in experts from all over world, each one charged with the solemn duty of returning the apple of the Nizams' eye to its original state. And the result is a royal palace fit for a Nizam again. As the standard bearer leads the way up the great bowed staircase, the thing that strikes you first is the silence. There's nothing for miles around, and in India such seclusion is itself a symbol of wealth. Inside there's a vestibule, its walls and ceilings adorned with frescoes, Greek urns and alabaster nymphs. There's no reception desk, no concierge, none of the trappings of a hotel. Rather, there's a sense that you are a guest in the Nizam's home. Step through into the main body of the palace and you enter a world that disappeared half a century ago. In the distance there's the delicate chiming of a Louis XIV timepiece and, nearer by, a row of liveried factotums stand to attention, awaiting instructions. The royal suite. Photograph: Sanjay Once welcomed in whispers, and suitably indulged with refreshments, I was taken to my suite in the Zenana wing, where my luggage had already been unpacked by a valet. Lavish yet understated, the 60 rooms and suites of the Falaknuma exude the sense of luxury achieved by real wealth. A little later the palace historian, Prabhakar Mahindrakar, begins the palace tour. A towering figure of a man, dressed in a flowing black sherwani, he walks softly over the rosewood parquet. We stroll into the ballroom, with its great Venetian chandeliers, gilt ceiling, teak and walnut furniture, and miles and miles of silk. "Before Princess Esra saved the palace," says Prabhakar, "I thought it would simply crumble into dust. You should have seen it. In this very room the curtains were rotting, the upholstery eaten away by termites and ants. There were cobwebs everywhere, rats the size of cats, and unimaginable amounts of dust." He leads the way out on to the landing, illuminated by Carrera marble lamps and adorned with portraits of the Nizams looming down in giant rococo frames. Next door is the Jade Room. Haute Chinoiserie in style, it's festooned with objets d'arts and has yet more magnificent chandeliers and an intricate geometric parquet floor. The hotel's Adaa restaurant. Photograph: Sanjay Prabhakar paces softly through to the Hukka Lounge, with its multi-stemmed water pipe, chaise longues and embossed leather walls. And slipping through a small doorway to the left, we emerge into the cavernous dining room. Running down the centre is one of the longest dining tables in the world. Thirty-three metres in length, made from teak and rosewood, it can seat 101 guests and was once laid with the Nizam's gold cutlery and plates. He may have owned the palace, but it is Viqar ul Omra whose monogram is all over it. Just about everything from the dining chairs to the stained glass bears his initials: "VO". Even the library ceiling is monogrammed. Inspired by the one at Windsor Castle, the room has 6,000 rare volumes, including a series of oversized leather-bound tomes entitled Glimpses of the Nizam's Dominions. Flicking through them, you get a sense of the limitless power and wealth held by the Nizams. The palace historian, Prabhakar, suddenly seems overcome with melancholy. Kissing his fingers, he touches them gently to the book. "We're all equal now," he says, "but I must admit I wish the old days were still here."

Ten Top Paris Pavement Cafes

In spring Paris's pavement cafes come to life. John Brunton picks his favourite terraces to soak up the scenery and the sun

As spring arrives, so Parisians head to their favourite cafes to while away the day on a sunny pavement terrace - a Gallic ritual that begins with a strong black coffee in the morning, through to a kir or pastis at lunchtime, and then chilled rose or a ballon de blanc for the evening apero. Ever since smoking was banned, pavement terraces have mushroomed and now some worried neighbourhood town halls are trying to enforce strict limitations on how far a terrace can actually stretch across the pavement. The police are even trying to ban the evening picnics that are so popular on the city's most beautiful pedestrian bridge, the romantic Pont des Arts. But rest assured, cafe owners may have to pay a few fines, but this is one Parisian tradition that is never going to disappear. Everyone has their own secret address, but here is a selection of landmark locales, fashionable hangouts and popular neighbourhood cafes.

1. Cafe de Flore

Enjoying a cafe and croissant on a shady pavement table outside one of Saint Germain's great literary cafes is one of the ultimate Parisian experiences, and even though the prices are totally over the top, it is worth splashing out at least once in your life. The great dilemma though is whether to choose http://www.lesdeuxmagots.fr/Les Deux Magots or Cafe de Flore, side by side but perennial rivals to attract the Rive Gauche intelligentsia for over a century. Best choice has to be the Flore, which was the favourite rendez-vous of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre, and today, its discreet charm is still just that little bit classier than the more ostentatious Deux Magots.
• 172 boulevard St Germain 75006, cafe-de-flore.com, +33 1 45 48 55 26

2. Aux Folies

While the City of Light may not be an ethnic melting pot like London and New York, the brilliant Belleville bar, Aux Folies, offers a dazzling multi-cultural slice of Parisian life. Whatever time of the day or night, there is always a buzz sitting out on the crowded pavement terrace here. Belleville is still nostalgically remembered by the French as being the gritty home of the likes of Edith Piaf and Maurice Chevalier. But today it has become a far more authentic Chinatown, mixed in with North African food stalls and couscous restaurants.
• 8, Rue de Belleville, 75020, +33 1 46 36 65 98

3. Au Petit Fer a Cheval

The Marais is the oldest part of Paris, with opulent palaces and mansions that date back to the time of Les Liaisons Dangereuses. While tourists flock here for culture and chic shopping, locals know the Marais more as the city's prime gay neighbourhood. Au Petit Fer a Cheval - the Horse Shoe Bar - is a friendly, cosmopolitan locale that attracts a stylish clientele, and the couple of tables out on the pavement are desperately sought out as the rue Vieille du Temple is the Marais' main drag. Just opposite the bar, check out La Belle Hortense, a bookshop that doubles as a winebar.
• 30, Rue Vieille du Temple , 75004, + 33 1 42 72 47 47

4. Le Sancerre

Steer well clear of the tourist-trap bars around the Sacré-Coeur church in Montmartre, especially the Place du Tertre, and instead wander over to the much funkier adjoining neighbourhood, Abbesses. Open seven days a week, from 7am until 2am, Le Sancerre is a feisty mix of bohemian locals, bikers and transvestites, students and bemused tourists. Sitting out on the pavement terrace gives you a brilliant view, though you're better off with a glass of wine or a beer than the over-priced cocktails.
• 35 rue des Abbesses, 75018, +33 1 42 58 08 20

5. Chez Prune

The bars, cafes, boutiques and restaurants that line the bank along the Canal Saint-Martin have transformed what was once a sleepy part of town hidden away off the Place de la République into one of the hippest parts of Paris. Chez Prune has become an institution, looking out over the canal, so arrive early if you want to grab a table outside. Across the water at the Jemmapes Bar, prices are cheaper and everyone sits right on the water's edge, but they don't have the same licence as Prune, so you have to make do with plastic glasses, not the best way to enjoy a chilled rose wine.
• 36, Rue Beaurepaire, 75010, +33 1 42 41 30 47

6. Pause Cafe

There are sprawling pavement cafes all around the impressive Place de la Bastille, but to really put your finger on the pulse of this cool "quartier", search out Pause Cafe, just off the bustling rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine. With its sunny terrace, this is the perfect spot to chill out with a lazy breakfast of orange pressée, café au lait and melt-in-the-mouth croissants. Ever since it featured in the cult Parisien movie, Chacun Cherche son Chat (Everyone's Looking for their Cat), the Pause Cafe has attracted a fashionable Bobo (Bourgeois Bohemian) crowd.
• 41, Rue de Charonne, 75011, +33 1 40 21 89 06

7. Le Select

Montparnasse has changed a lot since the decadent days of the Belle Epoque when an explosive mix of chic cafe society and bohemian artists flocked to grand Art Nouveau locales like La Coupole and the Closerie des Lilas. But today, it is still worth grabbing a table on the terrace outside legendary literary cafe, Le Select, once the haunt of Hemingway, Picasso and Henry Miller. The place really hasn't changed much since it opened in 1925 - apart from the prices which are not cheap. For sure, there will be plenty of tourists, but you'll also be rewarded with a delightfully cliched, but authentic, slice of Left Bank life, with students earnestly discussing philosophy, businessmen holding an impromptu meeting or elegant fashionistas taking a break from shopping.
• 99 boulevard du Montparnasse, 75006, +33 1 45 48 38 24

8. Cafe de la Paix

If you really want to see just how crazy Parisian drivers can be, there is no better spectator seat than the front row of the terrace of the historic Cafe de la Paix, which looks right out over the frenetic crossroads at the Place de l'Opera. Sit back and watch the free cabaret, though if you splash out to enjoy half a dozen oysters and a glass of Chablis, expect a hefty "addition" of €31. The Cafe is part of the Le Grand Hotel, which was built in 1858 by the same architect as the sumptuous Opera Garnier, so be sure to at least have a look around the incredible interiors of the cafe and the splendid Winter Garden in the hotel itself.
• 5 Place de l'Opera, 75009, cafedelapaix.fr, +33 1 40 07 36 36

9. Cafe Charbon

Rue Oberkampf is a long, narrow street that runs all the way from near Bastille up to Belleville. During the day it is a quiet laid-back place, but when the sun goes down it transforms into one of the funkiest nightlife sectors of Paris. You can choose between hip locales like the Mecano, Chez Justine and Nouveau Casino, but the place that first began the Oberkampf revolution is the Cafe Charbon, and a table on its pavement terrace is still the ultimate spot to be seen and for people-watching.
• 109 Rue Oberkampf, 75011, +33 1 43 57 55 13

10. Cafe Beaubourg

The Costes brothers are style gurus who have been behind pretty much every trend-making cafe, bar and hotel in Paris for the last two decades, beginning with their seminal Cafe Costes through to the uber-chic Hotel Costes on rue St-Honoré. When the sun is shining, it is difficult to beat their cool Cafe Beaubourg, whose terrace has a prime view over the Pompidou Centre and assorted mime artists, musicians, fire-eaters, puppeteers and comics performing on the Esplanade in front of the museum. Prices are not cheap, but you can linger as long as you want over a chocolat chaud.
• 43 rue Saint-Merri, 75004, +33 1 48 87 63 96

Your Travel Dilemmas Answered

This week, Lonely Planet's Tom Hall tackles your questions on flights to Egypt's Red Sea resorts, a 'big' birthday bash in Venice, cruises from Florida and low-cost travel around south-east Asia

Jet2 will not be flying to Sharm el Sheikh (pictured) or Hurghada from the end of February. Photograph: Getty Images I've read that Jet2 has cancelled flights to Red Sea resorts from 1 March. I'm not flying with Jet2, but am booked to travel over the Easter weekend. Is this a sign of a lack of confidence in the area? If so should I be worried – and are others likely to follow suit?
Chris Adkinson
Jet2 is stopping flights to Sharm el Sheikh and Hurghada from several UK airports from 1 March, but for the rest of February you can book to fly there. The airline says: "While the Red Sea resorts are not currently affected, the safety and comfort of our customers is our number one priority, and as such we do not want them to face the stressful uncertainty of whether their holiday will go ahead as planned."
This is consistent with Jet2's decision to cancel departures to Tunisia, another currently unpredictable destination, through this summer. Neither decision is expected to cause other carriers to follow suit.
The obvious missing piece in the jigsaw is how fast-moving and unpredictable political events play out in both countries and the effect this has on safety for tourists. What Jet2's move does do is remove any element of uncertainty from its – and its customers' plans. It says feedback from customers suggest they are "relieved" by their decision.
As the statement from Jet2 notes, Red Sea resorts continue to be unaffected by events in Cairo and other major cities. Responding to the Jet2 story in trade mag Travel Weekly, some agents suggested that this decision could be motivated as much by Jet2's belief that demand for flights to the Red Sea is likely to drop off over the next few months as by safety concerns.
My mum turns 60 in April and has always dreamed of going to Venice. So, for her birthday, my dad has arranged for both of them, plus my brother and me to go to Venice for four days. We fly on Monday 4 April and return on Thursday 7 April. We'll definitely do the big sites like St Mark's, but can you suggest less well-known sights? My mum is into art, music and literature but I'm sure she would love to see anything that is interesting or reflects Italian culture. Also, I know it can be hard to find a good but reasonably priced restaurant. Ideally we would like to go for a special celebratory meal on one night and eat at more everyday trattorias for the rest of the trip.
Ellie Lambert
With four days you can cover the principle historic and artistic sights, but I would suggest taking it slowly. Intersperse diving into St Mark's Square and Basilica, the Accademia and the Peggy Guggenheim Collection with simply strolling around, especially in the Dorsoduoro and Cannaregio districts. In the latter the Ca' d'Oro, a 15th-century house full of great art, and the strikingly different Jewish ghetto are wonderful, must-see sights.
After two days you may be flagging. If so, hop on a local vaporetto (ferry) out to the islands of Murano and Buranofor another perspective on Venice. On another day you might consider investing in the Chorus Pass, which allows entry to 16 churches around Venice, many packed with great and little-seen art treasures.
To avoid disappointment when eating in Venice, venture far and wide. Anywhere with a multi-language menu or on the more obvious routes through the city is likely to be underwhelming. Some of the city's best food is served in the form of cicheti (small, tapas-like plates) in traditional osterie (pub-restaurants) and bacari (bars) down alleys and on obscure squares. There are some of these around the San Marco, San Polo and Cannaregio sestieri (districts) – finding them can be half the fun. Guardian journalist Gavin McOwan explored some of these last year.
While seeking out these spots will take you off the tourist trail like almost nothing else in Venice, the special meal you're after can be found too. There's a lot of choice in the top-end category. The Corte Sconta, in the Castello district, is one of the best-regarded high-concept places. Or try the classic Fiaschetteria Toscana in Cannaregio. Book for around 8.30pm to give you time for a glass of prosecco beforehand.
We are looking at a holiday for around about 20 June 2011 that incorporates a one-week cruise from Orlando round the eastern Caribbean. Some websites refer to this as the rainy season for the Caribbean – likely to be quite cloudy but warm. Can you offer any further information. I love the warmth, could persevere with cloud, but would hate constant rain.
Ann
I was a little thrown by this question originally, as when I last went to Orlando it was pretty much slap bang in the middle of Florida. Cruises stated as departing from Orlando in fact leave from Port Canaveral – on Florida's east coast, close to the famous Cape and 52 miles from the City Beautiful. Most cruise lines put Port Canaveral in brackets, like an airport claiming proximity to a big city putting its true location in as an afterthought like Frankfurt-Hahn and Venice Treviso.
As well as "Orlando", these cruises usually call at Nassau (Bahamas), St Thomas and St Maarten in the eastern Caribbean and as San Juan (Puerto Rico). According to the always useful Weather to Travel (Tomorrow's Guides, £8.99), June is the wettest month of the year in Nassau. There is on average twice as much rain as in May and around 50% more than July. The weather tends to be hot and humid, and though you can expect it to rain most days, this should be concentrated into afternoon downpours, which tend to be brief and heavy. If you're on a cruise you may find that rain isn't too much of a problem as there'll be plenty to do below decks, but showers could have an impact on how much you enjoy your time ashore.
I'm planning a three-week trip around south-east Asia in August. We are visiting Singapore, Bali, Thailand and Kuala Lumpur so far. Do you have any tips for low-cost travel between these locations? Also, can you recommend a place in Thailand with a bit of nightlife and a beach but not the raucous shores of Koh Samui or Ko Phangan?
Barrioprincess
As I noted in the live blog last week, there's a mind-boggling array of low-cost carriers operating in south-east Asia. Big players include Air Asia (whose hubs are Kuala Lumpur, Johor Bahru, near Singapore, Kota Kinabalu, Kuching, Bangkok and Jakarta), Jetstar Asia and Tiger Airways (both with hubs in Singapore). In Thailand try Thai Airlines' low-cost subsidiary, Nok Air, and Bangkok Airways. Any experiences readers have of flying with these airlines are welcome in the comments section. Of course, there are also inexpensive bus and train links between many destinations.
Requests for alternative Thailand come up a lot; I've recently recommended Ko Lanta, Ko Tao and Ko Chang. Any other suggestions?