Richard Zahra

Carlisle castle has for centuries been a solid guardian, defending the Western approaches into England from the Scottish raiding armies and serving as a centre of justice for the surrounding region. Carlisle is today the foremost city of Cumbria – that tourist magnet, better known as the Lake District. It is hard to imagine that in the past, this idyllic area was seen as a bleak, unstable frontier land, where raiding and killing was a way of life.

Walking along the bridge that leads to the outer gatehouse of the castle, you will be greeted by thick, low-lying, red sandstone walls. Towards your right you will see the grim square keep, squatting behind sturdy buttressed walls as if to take cover from the roaring cannon of besiegers.

Carlisle Castle was described in an 1847 Gazetter and Directory of Cumberland as ‘…a most important fortress, and was looked upon as one of the keys of England.’ Situated at the west-end of the once turbulent Anglo-Scottish border, it was once considered as the gateway to western England. No wonder it has changed hands between English and Scots for several times and has seen many a besieging army at its walls. In its heyday, Carlisle Castle was one of the most formidable fortresses of the British Isles.

The Castle was erected in 1092 as a timber structure, on a mound overlooking the River Eden, by King William Rufus who wanted to strengthen the defences of Norman England against raids by the Scots. In 1122, his brother Henry I converted the timber castle to a stone fortress, giving it a permanence that was to last to the present day.

Carlisle Castle can claim that it is the only English castle to have been in Scottish possession for 22 years. In 1135, King David I of Scotland, famed for his insatiable urge for building abbeys and monasteries, took advantage of the civil war in England that pitted Stephen against Matilda. He took over the Northern Counties of England with the pretext of helping Matilda. The silver mines of the region must have swelled his coffers considerably and helped to pay for his expensive hobby. So Carlisle Castle became Scotland’s castle and it seemed that David was very fond of it. In 1153, the King passed away in the little chapel of its keep. Four years later, the castle was firmly in English hands once again. It was retaken twice more by Scottish monarchs but these occupations were short-lived.

That meticulous and ruthless soldier, Edward I of England, saw the importance of Carlisle Castle and had it strengthened. He was a great castle builder as the imposing castles of Northern Wales testify. Edward, ‘The Hammer of the Scots,’ saw that Carlisle Castle provided the perfect staging base for his military campaigns. His forces would muster inside the city while supplies and siege engines could be assembled in the safety of the castle. Carlisle Castle became his northern headquarters so Edward had a Great Hall built for the benefit of his Royal Household. These buildings were demolished in the 19th century to make way for modern buildings. The improved defences of Edward I were to prove their value long after his demise. After the battle of Bannockburn (1314) the victorious Scottish army led by Robert Bruce unsuccessfully besieged the Castle. The irony of it all was that a few years before, his own father had been Governor of Carlisle for Scotland’s arch-enemy Edward I. Allegiances were very fickle at the time!

In the 15th century, the use of cannon became widespread and Carlisle Castle received a series of modifications in response to the new technology. Richard of Gloucester, later to be vilified as Richard III, who was for a while Captain of the castle had the first gun tower built. His personal boar motif has been carved by some hapless prisoner kept in the keep. During Henry VIII’s reign, the castle went through serious modernisation. The keep and the ramparts were modified to house guns and a massive half-moon battery was built to protect the core of the castle in case the outer bailey fell. In 1568, a most charming guest was held captive at the castle. Mary Queen of Scots also had a tower named in her honour. It was a pity that Elisabeth I did not find Mary so charming!

During these centuries, Carlisle castle assumed the important role of Border fortress, guarding the relatively flat land of the West March. It became the seat of the English Warden, a post occupied first by the Lords Dacre, and later by the Lords Scrope. The Wardens had the very difficult job of keeping at heel riotous and murderous border families like the Armstrongs, Bells and Grahams, who were deeply engaged in reiving both sides of the border. Being a March Warden was a daunting task. The pay was miserable and simply doing your duty meant that you’d make many enemies amongst a vengeful and unscrupulous people. No wonder that many wardens succumbed to the temptation to join in the looting and killing – if you can’t beat them, join them, they say! The loot must have been a welcome supplement to the measly Warden’s wages. And if the Wardens thought themselves safe behind the sturdy walls of the castle, they would soon receive a nasty surprise. In March 1596, Scott of Buccleuch, Scottish keeper of troublesome Liddesdale, mounted a commando raid on Carlisle Castle to free a notorious thief, Kinmont Willie, from the clutches of Lord Scrope. The raid was ruthlessly successful and made poor Lord Scrope lose face with his Queen – how could anyone free a prisoner from one of the strongest fortresses of England? According to that piquant piece of Scottish propaganda, the Ballad of Kinmont Willie, this is what the rogue had to say to Lord Scrope as he was being released:

‘Farewell, farewell, my gude lord Scroope!

My gude lord Scroope, farewell!’ he cried –

‘I’ll pay you for my lodging maill,

When first we meet on the border side.’

When England and Scotland were united in a single crown under King James, the Borders were abolished. However, Royalist Carlisle Castle saw a besieging Scottish army once again in October 1644 that reduced the castle defenders to living on rats. In November 1745, the Castle and city were taken by the Jacobite forces of Bonnie Prince Charlie Stewart. The following month, the castle was retaken by Cumberland the Butcher who had the Jacobite garrison imprisoned within the dungeons and some of the Jacobite soldiers ruthlessly executed. It was a time when mercy was at its lowest.

From the 18th century onwards, Carlisle castle housed the military. Following the French revolution, the English authorities feared trouble from malcontents like the Radicals and Chartists. They put weapons in the Castle and placed a strong military presence to guard it. In the 19th century a succession of barracks were built within the bailey and some of the older buildings were demolished in the process. Today, the castle is the headquarters of the King’s Own Royal Border Regiment. It is not unlikely that were you to visit the castle, you would meet a trooper meticulously polishing his brass. If you are lucky, he might even tell you about the ghosts that lurk within the old castle!

Stand above the pedestrian bridge that spans over Castle Way to get a good view of the Castle’s south-east face – its red sandstone perfectly complemented by the lush green of the well-tended lawn. You will not fail to notice the white flag with the red motif of English Heritage fluttering from the rooftop of the keep. Ramble along the sturdy castle battlements and walk along worn flagstones inside the thick-walled towers and you’ll get the same feeling of oppressive security that the Castle’s defenders must have felt in times of trouble. And if you feel the need to find out more about Border history, Tullie House Museum and Carlisle Cathedral are just across the road.

Normandy, with its 2000 varieties of apples, is France’s foremost cider-making region. Together with its neighbour Brittany, Normandy supplies 70 percent of the whole French cider output.

The heart of this cider-making region is the Pays d’Auge, just east of the city of Caen. In 1974 La Route du Cidre, a marked route that takes visitors directly to the doorstep of the best cider-makers, was set up. Visitors following this trail can indulge in an extravaganza of cellar-visiting and cider-tasting, enabling them to sample both the beverages and the heart-warming hospitality of the Norman farmers.

The setting up of an official Cider Route was conceived in 1973. The idea was to create a marked route that would enable visitors to discover the backcountry of Normandy while sampling the products of the region. The project was realised a year later on the initiative of the Canton de Cambremer council who decided to call this circuit La Route du Cidre. The Canton of Cambremer lies within Pays d’Auge, a quaint, hilly region that borders flat marshland. The union of farm-cider producers of Cru de Cambremer embarked on operation ‘Open Cellars’, whereby visitors were actively encouraged to visit the cider-making cellars and buy the products directly from the farmers. The Cider Route was marked with placards saying Route du Cidre and Cru de Cambremer near the entrances of farms that welcomed visitors for cider-tasting.

By following the 40-kilometre Route that links the best cider producers of Pays d’Auge, you can enjoy varied landscapes including the typical hedgerow-lined fields of Normandy and the traditional half-timbered cottages of the Pays d’Auge. The route takes you through quaint villages like Cambremer, Druval, Beuvron-en-Auge and Bonnebosq.

Characteristic placards saying Cru de Cambremer are a mark of quality. Cru de Cambremer ciders are produced according to long-established methods and have a slightly bitter flavour that makes them delightfully thirst-quenching. Their typical honey-yellow shades and apple aromas will equally please sight, smell and taste. The producers who display that denomination have been united since 1961 in a union called syndicat des producteurs du Cru de Cambremer. These were pioneers in renovating cider-bottling methods to meet the demands of an ever-changing market. The union spurred the project for turning Pays D’Auge cider into a distinctive AOC product. In 1996 they were granted the right to mention ‘cider of Cambremer’ on their labels.

The best ciders of Normandy bear the AOC (Appellation d’Origine Controlé) mark. This means that the cider is linked to a specific region that has characteristic soil properties, climatic conditions, and particular varieties of apples. AOC guarantees ciders that are of a consistently good quality. To be branded AOC, a cider must rigorously conform to specifications issued by agricultural authorities. Furthermore, ciders can also be branded Pays d’Auge to highlight their distinctive qualities.

Every year, during the first weekend of May, the union organises a traditional contest for their products in the village of Cambremer, as part of the celebrations known as Festival des produits AOC en Normandie. It seems that these producers have vowed to turn each visitor into an expert cider-taster!

The small, serene, hilltop town of Monteriggioni, set in the beautiful Chianti countryside around Siena, is a spyglass on a bygone age of knights, damsels and fierce battles. Dramatically perched upon a gently-sloping hill, Monteriggioni keeps a watchful eye over the surrounding countryside. Its ancient walls are guarded at intervals by tall, solid, quadrangular towers, which give the town the look of an enormous crown, placed on a gigantic head.

The warm September sun feels mellow and pleasant in the cool evening as you exert yourself up the hill to approach the town from the southern side. You are greeted by the Porta Romea, one of the two arched Gothic gateways set between towers, which provide access to the town. The old masonry of the gateway is made of neatly-cut rectangular stone slabs; a collage of different forms and shades.

Monteriggioni, or ‘Mons Rigionis,’ as it was called, was built around 1214 when the Podesta’ of Siena ordered a fortress to be constructed. Its task was to defend the northern frontier of the Sienese lands from the aggressive Florentines. It was sited close to the Via Francigena, an important medieval route that formed part of a road network, linking Rome to the rest of Europe. It was the way that led travellers and pilgrims, who crossed the Alps, to Rome and further to Jerusalem.

As the Middle Ages progressed, Siena and Florence became deadly enemies and fought each other in endless wars for supremacy in the region. Monteriggioni was the sight of many skirmishes. In August 1554, its captain Giovannino Zeti, treacherously handed over the fort to the Florentines to ensure his own safety. Zeti played an important part in the destruction of Siena’s defence system, which eventually led to its downfall.

There are no medieval written records left of Monteriggioni, except one, the author of which is incidentally still quite well known! Dante, in his Divina Commedia, noted that the walls of Monteriggioni were ten metres high, with towers looming ten metres higher. He compared giants to the tall towers of Mons Rigionis for size!

Piazza Roma, the town square is the heart of Monteriggioni. Here tranquillity is captivating. The hustle and bustle of popular towns like San Gimignano seems a world away. You will often see a few tourists idling by the well at the further end of the piazza and others scattered amongst the cafés having a drink or an ice-cream.

Old buildings, with the characteristic terracotta tile-covered, sloping roofs surround the square. Their green wooden shutters are often shut to fend off the sun’s heat. At the far end of Piazza Roma stands the little church of Santa Maria Assunta. It has a simple, dignified and harmonious façade, built from a collage of polychrome stone bricks that seemed to fit in with each other with jigsaw-puzzle precision. The circular window on top of the arched doorway is an eye through which the church has gazed intently for hundreds of years upon those who ventured through the Piazza. The small belfry at the back, with its small, suspended bronze bell, is the shrill voice by which the church still draws the attention of people, believers or not.

Walking the length of the town’s short main street is no great exertion. The vicoli (alleys) lie huddled between ancient houses full of charm. An old woman watering the potted geraniums in her balcony or a senior seated on his own threshold grinning toothlessly at passers by are common sights reminiscent of a bygone age.

Walking out of the Porta Romea you will find a path that circumvents the walls of the town. The view is stunning. Standing in the cuddling shadow of tall cypress trees, you can breathe the lush countryside of Chianti. The serried ranks of vines are a testimony of the rich viticultural heritage of the region, which led to the creation of Italy’s best renowned wine - Chianti. Countless olive groves, the fruits of which are pressed into Chianti extra virgin olive oil, are a veritable fount of liquid gold.

The countryside provides an interesting, eye-pleasing canvas that encompasses hills, villas, woods, orchards and cultivated fields. Each of the surrounding hills is crowned by some villa, farmhouse or stronghold, each with its own tale to tell.

The middle ages were a turbulent era in history of the region. Fear and anxiety must have assailed the townsfolk whenever they saw enemy armies marching in the distance, trampling heedlessly on cultivated land and leaving smoking ruins in their wake. Those feelings must have reached fever pitch when the distant, menacing armies became less distant and more menacing as they closed in to attack the town.

Times change, and thankfully, sometimes, for the better. Indulging in a delicious ice cream at the garden terrace of a café in Piazza Roma will erase thoughts of bygone wars to replace them the delicious pleasures of la dolce vita. Yet it is precisely that tingle of excitement for bygone days of peril and adventure, evoked by Monteriggioni, that gives it the edge over many other more renowned Tuscan towns which were spoilt by progress.

Troldhaugen, the summer house of Norway's most famous classical composer, Edvard Grieg, lies on a high point above Lake Nordas, about 5 miles south of the city of Bergen. Grieg once described his romantic house 'my best composition hitherto'. Troldhaugen means 'house of trolls' and perhaps Grieg called it so because he and his wife Nina were quite short 'trolls'.

Grieg became quite famous during his lifetime and received great gifts. He often travelled abroad with his wife who had a rich soprano voice and interpreted his works with great mastery.

Grieg had his villa built in Victorian style between 1884 and 1885 by the architect Schak Bull. Every summer, he, his wife and his only daughter would move into the villa and he would seclude himself in the wooden lakeside hytte, a comfortable Norwegian hut, and would rap at his piano to compose his dreamlike music. It is easy to understand how the soft combination of water and surrounding greenery would have inspired Grieg.

Grieg was not a healthy man and died in his early sixties. Nina then sold the house to his cousin who eventually donated it to the people of Norway. She later visited her one-time summer home because she lived to a venerable old age.

The house has been perfectly conserved with the aim to celebrate the life and works of the great composer. The house remains as Grieg left it, with his manuscripts lying about in various rooms. Grieg's Steinway grand piano, which he received as a present for his silver wedding anniversary in 1892 can be seen in the comfortable drawing room. In the past this room was used was used as a venue for musical evenings. Grieg's piano is still in working order in and on special occasions Grieg's music is still played on it.

Toldhaugen is the perfect setting for a summer evening concert. In 1985, the Chamber Music Hall, housing 200 people, was built for the purpose, and later the Edvard Grieg Museum was added.

Walking along the path that descends to the lakeside, you will find Grieg's and Nina's burial stone monument. Their ashes were buried, according to Grieg's wishes, in the side of a cliff overlooking their beloved lake. He had told a friend that he wanted to be buried there, facing west, so he could see the last rays of the setting sun every day. Just like his music, Grieg wanted to add a romantic flavour to his journey in the afterlife.

Click below to hear Grieg's piece of orchestral music 'In the Hall of the Mountain King', part of the 'Pyr Gynt' suite

The Lake of Menteith is a bowl-shaped, picturesque stretch of water, just one and a half mile long. It has attained fame as the only ‘lake’ in Scotland thanks to its popularity as a tourist destination during the 19th century. Victorian tourists flocked to this far flung place encouraged by the advent of the railway, and gradually, the use of the Scottish 'Loch' was replaced by the English 'Lake'.

 Limpid Waters

The Lake is framed by a dramatic scenic cornice. The richly wooded east and south banks rise gently away from the shores. At its eastern extremity, the lake curves to form pretty little bays whose gravelly shores overhung by trees seem to invite romance. The northern fringes of the lake stand beneath the long shadow of the rugged Hills of Menteith, whose sheer front is cut by sharp notches that look like giant scars.

The Hills of Menteith

The surrounding woods and hills evoke a cozy feeling and  shelter the lake from raging storms. From the southern shores extend the lands and woods of the sprawling estate of Cardross,. Here the lake is bisected by a jutting wooded finger of land called Arnmach, that projects to within a few hundred yards of Isle of Inchmahome. Legend has it that Arnmach was the unfinished road built by fairies, who had been unwittingly summoned by a past Earl of Menteith when he opened a magical book that was part of the family heirloom.

The ruins of Inchmahome Priory, preserved by Historic Scotland

Three islands stand over the lake waters. The largest, Inchmahome, is perhaps the most visted thanks to the romantic ruins of the medieval priory, built on this secluded island in 1283. It is crowned with ancient trees and boasts a number of delightful coves with splendid views over lake, woodland and hills. This priory gave refuge to Mary Queen of Scots in her childhood, when she was taken there for a short spell following the defeat of the Scottish army by the English at the battle of Pinkie.

A glimpse from within the Priory

Westward of Inchmahome lies the smaller Isle of Inch Talla with the ruins of a castle that was once the seat of the Earls of Menteith. The smallest isle, Dog’s isle, huddles close to the western shore and is believed to have housed the kennels of the Earls of Menteith who were passionate breeders of terriers.

Inchmahome Isle

The lake of Menteith, with its historical associations, intriguing legends and breathtaking panoramas is a perfect escape; a place synonymous with tranquility, perfectly symbolized by the gentle lapping of the lake water on the pebbly shores. It is best savored by combining the visit to the historic Priory with a day out, perhaps picnicking beneath the towering ancient trees to breathe the dream-like landscapes reflected in the clear water.

A cosy nook on the Isle of Inchmahome

The view across the valley to the hamlet of Mgarr

The Great Fault of Malta is a natural geographic barrier, a giant step that separates the northern portion of Malta from the rest of the island. This natural obstacle has been exploited for the island's defence since the rule of the Knights of St John, when in 1722, a number of permanent infantry entrenchments were built.

It was the British however, during the second half of the 19th century, that fully fortified this fault. In 1875, they built a number of forts and batteries at strategic points to impede enemy forces landing from the north from advancing towards the important Grand Harbour area, the hub of the Royal Navy in the Mediterranean. During the 1890s, all the forts and strongpoints were linked together by a continuous infantry defensive wall that traced the contours of the landscape - a Hadrian's wall on a small scale. Valleys running through the fault were plugged by means of fortified bridges.

The latest technology of the day was used in building the fortified lines, making them state of the art. Batteries, ammunition depots and searchlight emplacements were erected to complement the defences, and behind the lines, on the ridge of Imtarfa, a complex of barracks was built.

In 1897, the fortifications, then nearing completion, were named Victoria Lines to commemorate Queen Victoria's diamond jubilee, and that is how they are still known today. The advances in weapon technology however soon rendered these fortifications obsolete. By 1907, with the exception of the major forts, the Victoria Lines had been completely abandoned by the British soldiers. The emplacements were left to decay and though still imposing to this day, they represent the quintessential British folly!

The central part of these fortifications, known as Dwejra Lines, is one of the most picturesque sections of the Victoria Lines and the walking along this stretch, one can admire some of the most eye-catching Maltese scenery. To appreciate the loftiness of the lines, walk along the main road that leads from Mosta to Mgarr. Take the first turning left, marked Dwejra. The road winds up steeply past a few superbly sited villas.

The Victoria run along the lie of the land

Eventually, you will go through a fortified bridge that pierces the thick wall. Taking a right turn the path will skirt the whole length of the lines. Walking in the shadow of the wall, you will be sheltered from the howling north-west wind on a stormy day. Yet, when you climb up the escarpment, you will get a sprawling view of the lush valley below. The hamlet of Mgarr, with its imposing church dedicated to the Assumption of Our Lady, lies on the other side of the valley, while far beyond, you will make out the island of Gozo, Malta's sister island.

The lush valley beneath the wall, dotted with greenhouses, can be walked by means of a footpath that starts off near the fortified bridge. Initially the path skirts the wall then winds its way downwards amidst small, terraced fields. Terracing has been used in Malta since time immemorial to prevent soil being washed away from slopes. The fields are lined with wind breakers, often prickly pears whose thick leaves resemble teddy bear ears, or screens of cane. Eventually, the footpath reaches a dead end and you will have to back track.

The arable face of Malta

The dry ditch beneath the fortified lines was planted with fruit trees. At regular intervals, you will find sturdy gates piercing the think ramparts. Walking astride the ramparts, you may shelter beneath Aleppo pines and wattle trees. A number of military buildings line the way, including officers' quarters. Today they are being used either as farms or as recreational rooms by their lucky proprietors or appropriators.

Eventually the route will lead you to Bingemma, a peaceful hamlet with a quaint chapel built on a rocky cliff face overlooking sprawling countryside. Here the defences continue in the form of a bridge spanning a narrow valley choked by thick growing shrubs and trees. The bridge walkway is walled and pierced by numerous loopholes from which defenders could target an invading force.

Loopholes in the wall

The Bingemma chapel, dedicated to Our Lady of Itria was built in 1680 over what looks like a cave but which in fact is a Punic tomb. The hillside is in fact riddled with dug-out Punic tombs.

Looking at the opposite face of the valley from the chapel side, you will make out a honeycomb of caves that may date back to the Bronze Age, but which were also used in Punic times and by the early Christians. They also served as shelters for Mgarr farmers during World War II.

If you feel energetic you can trudge down the road that crosses the valley to Mgarr. On the other hand, you can take the road that winds its way back on the side of the secluded Qlejgha Valley. If it has rained recently you will see one of the most affluent watercourses of Malta running along the valley floor. On the far side of the valley, lying on a long-crested ridge, the British-built clock tower of Mtarfa is a prominent landmark, highlighting the site where barracks and later a military town were built. Beyond, the lofty ramparts of Mdina, Malta's ancient capital are also visible.

A Maltese farmhouse

Hiking along the Dwejra Lines during the rainy months, you will see the lush face of Malta in its full bloom, with fields and valley sides draped in green and speckled with yellow tufts of cape sorrel and the royal scarlet of clover. In summer, the green gives way to browns and honey colours, punctuated by regular green stripes of cultivated crops. Walking this corner of Malta during weekdays, you will experience a deep feeling of isolation, a blend of peaceful tranquillity and eerie loneliness, which the past inhabitants of Malta must have felt when the island was still a long way off from the frenetic pace of modern life.

Il-Qolla - a knoll overlooking Qlejgha Valley, just behind the Victoria Lines

One of the twenty chapels

The Sacro Monte (Sacred Mount) was built on a hillock overlooking the old village of Orta San Giulio and the splendid Lago d'Orta. It is a devotional itinerary consisiting of twenty chapels depicting the high points in St Francis of Assisi's life, which were built to harmonise with the lush vegetation and picturesque landscape in which they are immersed.

We parked at the base of the hill and walked it all the way up the steep, winding trail that leads to the summit and to the chapels. By the time we reached the top, we were panting and sweaty because of the September heat of. Thankfully, the towering beeches, oaks, pines and hollies provided us with shelter and the soothing shade allowed us to cool out and regain breath.

Saint Frances being brought before the Bishop of Assisi after giving off all his clothes and running around naked

The chapels are decorated with frescoes and life-size terracotta figures. The author of the project, Padre Cleto da Castelletto Ticino chose St Francis as a model for living a Christian life, echoing the life of Jesus Christ. The project, started in the late 16th century, followed the wake of the Counter Reformation, when the Church of Rome did its utmost to stop its believers from converting to Protestantism. The episodes were depicted in a pleasant and credible manner and the artists used local people as models so that the devotees, often illiterate, could follow the saint's life and understand that this message was not only intended for the rich and noble but for common people too.

Obtaining the Pope's permission to set up a new religious order

The work started in 1590 but lasted more than a century. The first chapels were built in late-Renaissance style, in which intimacy, realism and simplicity were predominant. A change in style took place during the second half of the 17th century and the theatrical feel of the Baroque era took over. This feel can be appreciated in the lively and colourful terracotta figures. Later, rococo touches were added until the last quarter of the 18th century, when the last chapel was built in neoclassical style, the Cappella Nuova, albeit it was never completed.

Fresco

The artists, although living in an austere era, left their mischievous imprints in their work. For instance in the depiction of carnival, there is a very rough, masculine man dressed as a lady. In another scene, depicting Saint Francis' temptation, a well-tanned she-devil dangles her droopy breasts ineffectively before the saint.

Man in lady's clothes

She-devil

Just beyond the restaurant stands a large wooden Pinocchio, and here visitors can perch on a terrace and enjoy stupendous views of Lago d'Orta and the island of San Giulio. It is a magical place that puts you in tune with the beauty of Creation and sets you in a frame of mind to contemplate the Divine mysteries that guide our lives.

View of Lago d'Orta from the Sacro Monte

Flåm, pronounced Flom, is a small village by the shores of Aurlandsfjord, Norway, situated at the point where the rugged and awesome Flåmsdale valley meets the fjord. It is easily reached by railway via the prominent Oslo-Bergen line. The train trip from Oslo to the mountain station of Myrdal takes around five hours. Travellers then change to Flåmsbana, a privately-owned railway line that takes them through a steep descent down breathtaking Flåmsdale.

The train ride from Oslo Central Station to Flåm is a worthwhile trip in itself as you can laze comfortably for hours soaking in stunning scenery - unless, as happened to me, you hear a dry announcement on the PA system saying, 'I am sorry but the engine has broken down.'

Don't be too bothered though - such instances of rotten luck are rare as Norwegian railways are famed for their excellent performance. In no time at all, another locomotive pulled our train back to the nearest station and a number of coaches were waiting to take the passengers to their various destinations with the minimum of fuss.

I missed the Myrdal - Flåm trip, because the coach took us directly to Flåm. The coach trip cost me an extra four hours to reach my destination, but in return, we were driven along Aurlandsdale, a valley of intense, rugged beauty.

The weariness from such a long trip soon wears away when you come face to face with mighty mountainsides whose white peaks are shrouded in misty clouds. Flåm is a little village set right in the middle of such terrain. Thin, white waterspouts suckled by water from the melting snow, snake their way down the steep mountain flanks. They feed the gushing river running along Flåmsdale, which spews its cool, limpid water into Aurlandsfjord. You feel both elated and belittled by the savage beauty of rock and water that engulfs you.

Lodging in Flåm is a bit limited as the village is quite small. If you opt for luxury then the Fretheim Hotel is the place for you. It is the largest hotel in town (118 rooms) and from the rooms you get stunning views of Aurlandsfjord. There are also a few other small hotels, although in general, they are quite pricy.

If you are on a budget, or prefer living closer to nature, then Flåm Camping could be what you're looking for. You are assured a warm welcome by Gjertrud Håland, the owner - a very practical woman who is always ready with lots of useful tips about what to do in the area, plus maps and leaflets.

I opted for Flåm Camping and my wife and I were billeted to a bijou, spick-and-span pine cabin complete with bunk-beds, cooking facilities and small terrace where we could sit down and sip tea while enjoying the long, romantic Norwegian twilights. Sleeping on the bunk-beds made us feel like two naughty kids on a camping trip!

Most visitors justifiably come to Flåm to ride the renowned Flåmsbana railway, one of the visitor must-do's of Norway. Mr Bengt Hammer, Sales Manager of Flåmsbana railway, explained that the Flåm railway line had been built to provide a means of communication for the isolated inhabitants of Flåmsdale. The railway provided the only connection to the Oslo-Bergen line and had been used to transport goods and post.

In 1998, the Myrdal-Flåm railway was bought from the National Railways by a consortium of locally-owned companies. Privatisation gave the new stakeholders the flexibility to exploit Flåmsbana's uniqueness and convert it from a normal railway line to an exciting railway journey, where passengers could experience a ride that would take them from sea level to a staggering 866 metres of height. Flåmsbana is one of the steepest train journeys in Europe, and certainly one of the most spectacular. Mr Hammer told us that Flåmsbana had become the fifth most popular tourist attraction in Norway with the number of passengers growing steadily every year. The income from the locally-owned railway was being used to improve the Flåm locality.

'Various local entities,' said Mr Hammer, ;such as the railway, Fretheim Hotel and the Flåm Port Authority, have been striving to turn Flåm into a base for visitors, not just a pass-through destination.'

The building of a new quay for cruise liners has turned Flåm into an important destination for cruises sailing along Sognefjord that is the world's longest and deepest fjord.

If you are intent on enjoying nature at its best, then Flåm is a goldmine. Most tourists catch the Flåmsbana railway at Myrdal, go down to Flåm, and then board a ferry or cruise to some other part of Norway, missing out on the beautiful country that shelters Flåm. Why not go against the trend and follow the train trip against the tourist tide? Board the Flåmsbana at the bottom of the valley from Flåm and enjoy the steep ascent to Myrdal. As the train starts off in a slow rumbling ascent along Flåmsdale, you will see quaint, colourful timber houses, nestled on the meadows at the bottom of the valley. The frothy waters of the river add a perfect touch to this idyll. Crane your neck and you will glimpse the lofty peaks, veiled in shawls of white, tufty clouds.

The train's horn sounds like an animal call echoing through the high-walled valley. Its smooth pace will enable you to tuck in as much of the scenery as you could possibly digest. There is enough of it to numb the senses. Lofty, ice-capped peaks; sheer, tree-clad mountainsides; raging streams; gushing waterfalls - it is a place where nature has concentrated enough of its wild beauty to stun the most discerning visitor.

The journey will take your through a number of tunnels hewn into the mountainsides. Each time the train pops out from a tunnel, you will realise that you are one step closer to the peak. If you happen to notice a tiny train station perched atop one of these peaks, you can rest assured that Myrdal station is close by.

When the train comes to a sudden halt, you'll be in for a surprise. Disembark upon the wooden viewing platform and you?ll have a close encounter with Kjosfossen waterfall. It is nature at its most powerful. Tons of water plummet every second down a sheer drop of ninety-three metres, to shatter on the rocks below. The water roars louder than an aeroplane engine and colossal clouds of spray fume out of the gurgling waters to envelop you in a cool cloud.

From Kjosfossen the train winds its way up to slide smoothly into Myrdal station, a small outpost of civilisation set atop a great wilderness.

During summer, Myrdal bustles with activity. It is the lifeline that connects Flåm to Oslo and Bergen, the two main cities in Norway. You will meet people from all walks of life and all ages: tourists, hikers, cyclists, campers.

At this point you are faced with a choice. You can take the train back to Flåm or if you have the guts, you can walk down the valley. The latter choice is definitively the most rewarding. The path is 21 kilometres long but it is always a downhill trod. If you are to walk, make sure that you have comfortable walking shoes, a snack-filled rucksack and a good raincoat.

Take the old service-road that winds its way down the valley. Don't be upset if the day starts off dull and overcast. Often, when the sun rises fully, the low clouds are blown away and the day brightens up when you least expect it.

If you're not a tough walker, just keep the train tickets handy and if you get too tired you can hop on the train going back to Flåm from any of the nine intermediate stations. But don't underestimate the revitalising effect that nature might have on your body and mind - it works wonders. Rambling amidst an inspiring collage of roaring waterspouts, angry gorges, lofty summits and lush meadows, your feet are unlikely to complain.

If you're a social type, you'll be happy to know that you are likely to meet interesting people rambling or cycling their way down, and maybe a few crazy ones going up too!

The walk down to the mouth of Aurlandsfjord should take around six hours of leisurely walking. During the last part of the trip, you will reach Flåm church, standing guard over colourful, bijou houses, whose hedges are trimmed to perfection and gardens tended lovingly. You will notice that the river will have changed its schizophrenic identity from the narrow, angry snake, up-valley, to a wider, tranquil sheet that mirrors subtly its surroundings.

Enjoy the sweet weariness after the long walk by spending the evening in Flåm, relaxing to the sight of the fjord painted in the exquisite colours of the Norwegian twilight.

If the walk along the valley is too much for you, you can opt for shorter, less tiring hikes. For instance you can walk four kilometres along the fjord to Otterness, a collection of old farm buildings perched on the flank of a hill between Flåm and the town of Aurland. The buildings date from the 18th century and are being used to display traditional Norwegian crafts and cuisine. Keep in mind that the displays are closed on Sundays.

The walk is worth every ounce of energy spent. From its lofty position, aided by a sunny day, you will be rewarded with astonishing vistas of Aurlandsfjord. Flåm will appear as a tiny Lilliput miniature while the white cruise-boats look like dinky toys floating on the fjord's mirror waters. Let yourself go and spend a few hours' rest sprawled on the grassy terrace of Otterness, feasting your senses.

If you like rambling and are inspired by nature, a summer visit to Flåm will certainly exceed your expectations. Dramatic scenery, exciting activities and friendly people make it a spot worth lingering in. Flåm is also the ideal starting point for seaborne travels along Sognefjord. It is the departure point for cruises to other parts of Sognefjord and a fast ferry travels daily all along the 200-kilometre fjord to Bergen, on the west coast, with many intermediate destinations that are worth exploring.

The natural waterfalls of Bruar, 10 miles north of Pitlochry, Scotland, have been attracting visitors since the early 18th century. The steep, rugged Bruar gorge was part of the large estates of the Dukes of Atholl.

Visitors walking up the gorge today will be engulfed by the pleasant sound of water gushing through its narrow gorge and slipping down the three falls. The primeval banks are thickly wooded with Scots pines and larches, whose ages vary from 35 to 100 years, though occasionally you might encounter a rhododendron planted during Victorian times for embellishment. The ancestors of these old trees were planted by the 4th Duke of Atholl, following the advice of the greatest Scottish poet – Robert Burns.

In 1787, Robert Burns, the Bard of Scotland, made a trip to admire the Falls of Bruar. The slopes of the gorge were bare and stark, so Burns wrote The Humble Petition of Bruar Water in which he urged the Duke to plant its sterile banks with trees. After the poet died in 1796 that the Duke commissioned the creation of a wild garden in his memory. Trees were planted and paths, decorative bridges and summer houses were built to add a human element to the wild aspect of the falls.

Burns had been impressed by the foaming water gushing savagely over ancient, colourful rocks that had been worn smooth like glass. He wrote:

‘Here foaming down the skelvy rocks

In twisting strength I rin;

There high my boiling torrent smokes

Wild roaring o’er a linn.’

When I walked along the slippery, muddy pathways during my visit, it had just rained heavily and I saw the torrent gushing along in an unbridled downward charge. The force of the water dashing from pool to pool raised fine, misty clouds of water and took my breath away.

Since the 18th century, the Falls of Bruar have attracted many celebrities of their time, including the English poet William Wordsworth, the artist William Turner and Queen Victoria. These notables of the past have trod the same two stone bridges that still span the gorge, which were built by the 4th Duke of Atholl solely for the purpose of allowing visitors to appreciate his wonderful waterfalls. The formality of the paths built for the Duke has been blurred and softened over time by the inexorable onset of nature, giving the Falls of Bruar their captivating wild aspect again. Robert Burns captured the joy he derived from visiting these falls in his verses:

‘Enjoying large each spring and well

As Nature gave them me,

I am, altho’ I say’t mysel,

Worth gaun a mile to see.’

The Lake of Monate is a tranquil sheet of water dwarfed by its neighbour, Lake Maggiore. This pretty, little lake is surrounded by lush, rolling hills and the tiny communities of Osmate, Cadrezzate, Monate and Travedona.

A large portion of the lakeshore happens to be private property, but driving through Cadrezzate, turning just before a water sports shop, you will find a short road that leads to a circular clearing by the lake shore. In good weather, it is common to find feasting families here, with the children splashing in the clear lake water and the parents lying on mats sunbathing. Lake of Monate is blessed in being one of the very few lakes in the region whose water is so clean as to allow bathing.

On a sunny day, the lake is radiant and enchanting. Beautiful lakeside villas are fronted by gardens whose boundary is the lake itself. Private wooden quays are flanked by colourful moored boats, swaying gently to the occasional ripple. Patches of water lilies add a dash of colour to the jet blue of the lake water with their pink and cream flowers sprouting out of their floating leaves. Pines, poplars and willows line the edge of the shore, boldly defining its perimeter in dark green.

Sitting with your feet dipping into the cool water, sliding the smooth pebbles gently beneath your soles, a dreamlike sense of peace will rise up like sap to infuse your whole being.

It is strange that such an enchanting place is associated to a legend of cruelty and revenge - the curse of the sunken castle. So the legend goes:

A gorgeous young lady of Osmate named Bianca was deeply in love with a soldier who was away fighting. She was unflinchingly loyal to her love, and firmly turned down any suitors without second thoughts. When the young feudal lord of the area proposed to marry her, but she turned him down too. Young, handsome and rich, he thought that no maid could possibly turn him down. But Bianca was adamant. The lord, stung in his pride, was so angry at Bianca that only revenge would soothe his ego. He sent a messenger across his lands declaring that he would torture and execute anyone who supplied water to Bianca and her old mother.

Bianca therefore had to get her water from the torrent of Monteggia. After some time, her mother fell ill and was struck down by high fever. The old lady needed to drink fresh water frequently so in despair, Bianca went to the feudal lord?s castle. When he received her, she threw herself at his feet and begged him to spare her mother from such suffering.

The lord replied in an ice-cold tone, 'Hate breeds hate. May the hag die of thirst!'

Bianca sprang up and shouted, 'Curse you! Curse all those who are close to you and who support you! For refusing a sip of water to a poor, old lady, you shall die cursed and shall be tormented by an unquenchable thirst for eternity. May Heaven be my witness!'

Just as she rushed away, a violent storm blew up. The well in the bailey started gushing water like a severed artery, and in a short while the castle and the lord?s land were completely submerged. There were no survivors. At dawn, the angry sky went silent and there was no trace of the cruel lord's castle. Where it had been now stood a little lake - the Lake of Monate.

This story reminds me that often, in life, a state of peace and happiness can only be attained after going through great upheavals.