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Beauty of the Balkans

While the stocks of countries like Croatia are on the rise, there are other places on this European peninsula still far from most tourists’ paths. Photographer and Olympus Visionary Chris Eyre-Walker explores Montenegro and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

A House for Essex

Anything designed by Grayson Perry is sure to have more than a touch of the kooky about it, and this holiday house, inspired by fairy tales, shrines and baroque architecture, is no exception. Perry, in conjunction with architectural firm FAT, created the two-bedroom home based on a character called Julie, for whom he produced an entire backstory.

It’s just one of a number of homes in a series by Living Architecture, an organisation that aims to increase appreciation of architecture by offering immaculately designed properties at reasonable rates. We love everything about it, from the ceramic green and while tiles (depicting safety pins, cassettes and hearts) covering the exterior to the Lego-like kitchen.

Leap of Faith

"Are you scared?” Petr asks me as he untangles the spaghetti of coloured chords attached to a large orange chute laid out behind us. I’m staring over a cliff that drops almost 2000 metres down to a miniature Swiss village. I can’t respond.

“You just have to walk fast when I tell you. Then everything will be fine. You are not too heavy. Soon we’ll be flying!” He’s laughing as he tells me this. “You are lucky today. Fiesch is the best place in the world for flying!”

And with that my new best friend takes a big step forward with me strapped to his front. We walk awkwardly together like clumsy Siamese twins. The chute catches the wind and my steps get decidedly longer. “Keep walking!” yells Petr. “I am!” I yell back, finally finding my voice, only to stare down at my feet frantically pedalling air as the lush green mountainside drops away.

It is suddenly quiet but for the wind hissing past my ears. My initial fear is replaced by awe as I stare, mouth agape, at the jagged white teeth of the Swiss Alps around us. To my left I can make out the white highway of the incredible Aletsch Glacier, winding its way from the peaks of Jungfrau and the Eiger down towards the Rhône valley. In the distance to my right the Matterhorn towers through the clouds.

The Valais region of Switzerland is a mecca for paragliders, with the valleys creating a perfect storm of thermals and winds. Petr tells me the record for the longest flight was recently set at more than 11 hours. The pilot flew wind-assisted from Fiesch to Zurich and back.

I ask Petr what happens if you lose a thermal and have to land far from home. He laughs and tells me they simply jump on the nearest train. “Swiss Rail is the best in the world. Always on time. We can fly anywhere and get home easy!”

I’m in no hurry to get home though, and as we rise over the undulating valleys below, I ask Petr if he can fly me to Zurich airport tomorrow. He laughs again and says: “Catch the train. You are too heavy!”

Luxembourg

If you’re a tiny country in a huge continent crammed with history, culture and gastronomic delights, what is it you can offer that your more famous neighbours can’t? That’s easy – more of the same, but in a simple, clean, easy-to-navigate package. Take that, rest of Europe!

Luxembourg, officially known as the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, epitomises everything that’s exceptional about this region. Cycle or hike in the hills, head to valley of Moselle to taste the local wine at cellar doors, explore some of the more than 50 castles around the country, and let your hair down at festivals that run the gamut of themes from contemporary film to medieval times.

Its people are a mix of different nationalities – primarily French, German and Belgium – and at any time you’ll likely meet more travellers than locals. That’s one of the minor downfalls of being such a tiny nation.

The lively capital, also called Luxembourg, is a mix of the new and historic. Its old town is World Heritage listed – during the early sixteenth century its fortress was considered the most impressive in Europe. For those who’ve worked up a hunger exploring, the city has an impressive four Michelin-starred restaurants (there are 11 around the country).

Ukraine

Whether you travel for incredible scenery to discover stories about the past or to meet people from far outside your social set, you won’t be disappointed in Ukraine. Sure, it’s had its troubles, but that doesn’t change its all-round beauty.

The capital, Kiev, on the Dnierper River, is best known for its vast gold-domed churches, but there’s a definite mix of old and new. Seeing the potential in the tourism dollar, money has been ploughed into luxury hotels, as well as huge nightclubs (the party starts at midnight and goes well into the next day) and fancy restaurants.

The city of Lviv, near the border with Poland, is another city steeped in layers of history. Be sure to visit a banya (Russian-style sauna) while you’re there, and partake of the city’s reinvigorated nightlife, where cavernous clubs and hidden bars are all part of the action. For a bit of film history, head to Odessa, on the Black Sea. Here, in 1925 the famous Odessa Steps massacre sequence was filmed for Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin. We don’t suggest you re-create the set-up, but you can certainly see where it was staged, as the steps are the main thoroughfare from the harbour to the city.

For rolling, forested landscapes head to the Carpathians in the country’s southwest. Here, you’ll discover a rural way of life since the mountains are home to the Hutsul people, who maintain may of the traditions – a colourful style of dress, travel by horse, the art of egg decorating known as pysanka – of the Ukraine of old. The area is popular with hikers in summer and skiers in winter, and houses the country’s largest national park.

Make sure, before you make any travel plans to Ukraine, to check the latest travel advice.

Torre Trasita

Lord it up above the turquoise waters of the Amalfi Coast and play king of your very own castle with a stay at Torre Trasita. Jutting from a rocky cliff near the Italian town of Positano – once a small fishing village favoured by Romans on vacay – this former watchtower has been part of the landscape since the sixteenth century. Restored this year with all the trimmings of a seaside hotel, the torre sleeps six in style.

Order insalata di frutti di mare (seafood salad) to be delivered from a local restaurant to the blue-tiled terrace up top, and wash down 360-degree views of the town that inspired Picasso with a chilled glass of bubbles. If your creativity stirs there’s even a piano for you to play – after all, all nobles fancy a tinkle on the ivories from time to time.

Romania

If crumbling castles set atop craggy mountains are your jam, Romania is the country for you. This is a place where the past is all around, from those aforementioned fortresses to the simple subsistence lifestyle practised in some of the more far-flung villages.

As a contrast, Bucharest is a capital city going places. Layers of its past, including its bleak and more recent communist history, can be seen throughout the streets, but there is also lively bar scene in Lipscani, the old town.

The Danube Delta, with its outstanding birdlife, and the Carpathian Mountains, where hiking trails traverse alpine meadows and pass glistening lakes, are great for outdoorsy types. Channel your inner bohemian as you hang out in towns like Vama Veche on the Black Sea, or get close to the legend of Dracula (and the real life stories of Vlad the Impaler, who is said to have spiked 80,000 of his enemies during the fifteenth century) in Transylvania. As well as visiting Bran Castle (thought to be the inspiration for Dracula’s home in Bram Stoker’s novel), hunker down in a hide in the forests near Brașov to spy bears, enjoy the thermal salt waters of Bear Lake, and sample palincă, the local plum brandy. Watch out: one shot is fine, two might leave you on the floor.

Monaco

Monaco may be the second smallest country in the world, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in swag. The world’s wealthiest cruise into town in their Lamborghinis, check in to their suites at the Hôtel Hermitage or the Fairmont Monte Carlo then head for lunch at Joël Robuchon. Well, the city-state does have an exceptionally low company tax rate.

Chances are, though, if you’re anything like us, you probably don’t have wads of cash to burn in the designer boutiques of Cerle d’Or or on box seats at the Grand Prix. That doesn’t mean you should avoid Monaco all together. Monte Carlo is beautiful and easily walkable – head to the clifftop garden near the Town Hall for views of the harbour. Window shop, stare at the millionaires in their ostentatious cars and wander around the cathedral where Princess Grace is buried. If you do want to live it up, hire a yacht and sail down the French Riviera for a couple of hours or get dressed up (there’s a strict dress code) and head to the Casino de Monte-Carlo. During summer you can even play roulette on a terrace overlooking the bay.

Just don’t forget to take enough snaps to rival those of the Rich Kids of Instagram. #Blessed.

The Slow Road

An irresistible aroma draws me out onto the terrace where I am momentarily distracted by just how green everything is – vines, fruit trees, fold after fold of forest-covered mountains all the way to the jagged peaks of the Apuan Alps. I follow my nose to the open-air kitchen beneath a slate roof where Gigliola Galanti, owner and chef extraordinaire at Agriturismo Saudon, is cooking rabbit and potatoes in a testo, or cast-iron pan, over an open fire of vine shoots.

As the summer sun’s rays slant low across the family’s terraced vineyards and vegetable garden, six of us sit down to a supper of fried zucchini flowers, salumi, roasted eggplant and the spectacular testo dish, all washed down with glasses of Saudon’s red wine, homemade from pollera, a local grape variety. By the end of the meal, Gigliola has challenged us to a game of bocce on the Pozzo di Mulazzo village pitch, not far from her sixth-century stone house. After a trouncing, we discover tiny Pozzo regularly fields one of Italy’s championship bocce teams.

Experiences such as these pepper adventures in Lunigiana, a tucked-away region straddling northern Tuscany and eastern Liguria. Its fertile river valleys are bordered on three sides by the Apennine Mountains and, in the south, by the Apuan Alps, source of Carrara marble. Less than an hour from cruise-ship–clogged Cinque Terre to the west and the touristy hill towns around Florence to the south, this ancient land of the moon – with its mysterious stone idols, medieval castles and walled hamlets – still moves to the rhythms of old ways.

History on the Magra River: the medieval town of Pontremoli.
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Thanks to the efforts of the enterprising Farfalle in Cammino, a non-profit association of young local guides, interlopers can now draw aside the tourist curtain to immerse themselves in an Italy thought to have long disappeared. Now it’s possible to walk the ancient Via Francigena pilgrimage route, ride horses through chestnut forests, explore churches and castles in peace, bike along quiet country roads and feast on mouth-watering local dishes with new-found friends.

Lunigiana has a fascinating story to tell and Francesco Bola, president of Farfalle in Cammino, is here to share the tale. In the Museum of the Stele Statues, part of the walled town of Pontremoli situated at the confluence of the Magra and Verde rivers, I am gobsmacked by a collection of ancient anthropomorphic stone structures standing a metre-and-a-half high. More than 80 chiselled figures with their half-moon–shaped heads have been discovered all over Lunigiana. Dating as far back as 4000BC, these statues of weapon-wielding men and full-breasted women speak of a pre-Bronze Age culture many believe worshipped the moon. The Romans defeated them in the second century BC, and promptly built a temple to the moon at Luni.

Jumping a thousand years of history, Francesco points out a pilgrimage artefact that once adorned the facade of San Pietro church in Pontremoli – a twelfth-century carved stone labyrinth showing the one true way to Christian enlightenment. Pontremoli was first documented in the diaries of the Archbishop of Canterbury in 990AD as one of the places he slept on his Roman pilgrimage. The route he took on the Via Francigena is now being developed as the next great pilgrimage and is set to rival the overcrowded Camino de Santiago in Spain.

We get a visceral view of Italian history as we stroll the town’s narrow, winding streets. As we pass the Great Bell Tower, Francesco tells me hostilities between the rival factions of the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor were so fierce a wall was built through the heart of Pontremoli. Each side had its own central square, palaces, hospital and bridges, many of which still exist even though the wall has been torn down.

By the Renaissance, Pontremoli had evolved into a tax-free zone attracting wealthy merchants who built the grandiose, domed Chiesa Cattedrale Santa Maria Assunta on the site of a medieval church as thanks to the Virgin Mary for saving the city from the plague. Moving from the sacred to the everyday, we visit the baroque Palazzo Dosi Magnavacca, one of Pontremoli’s many elaborate town houses. Its ceilings and walls are embellished with allegorical trompe l’oeil paintings depicting Greek myths transposed with the faces of the merchant patriarchs.

“So many Tuscan towns are overcrowded with tacky souvenir shops, while here our culture is still intact,” Francesco tells me over lunch of rare-breed Zeri lamb with handmade pasta as we discuss the allure of the region. “I think Lunigiana defines the art of slow travel, where you can discover the soul of a place and enjoy its unique food.”

Following his advice, I walk with nature guide Franco Ressa on a bucolic section of the Via Francigena, which tracked the easiest route through the mountains and valleys for pilgrims and traders alike. We take centuries-old paths above olive groves and family vineyards, their vines staked between ash trees in the old way. Franco shows me ancient moss-covered stone walls that once anchored orchards and we savour an old-fashioned variety of local apple, called mela rotella, plucked from low-hanging trees in the woods. He takes me to one of the river’s many green pools, perfect for swimming, its large round boulders cool under our bare feet. Snacking on golden plums, we meander through tiny hamlets, each with a shrine and water fountain, and cross the arched sixteenth-century Groppodalosio Bridge, one of Via Francigena’s landmarks as it descends from Cisa Pass towards Pontremoli.

As he points out deer prints and porcupine trails, Franco tells me you can explore a host of different landscapes in Lunigiana. “There are chestnut and beech forests, not to mention blueberry meadows with glacial lakes in the Tuscan-Emilian Apennine National Park and marble quarries in the Apuan Alps whose ridgelines offer panoramas all the way to the coast. There are even canyoning adventures in Stretti di Giaredo, just 10 minutes from Pontremoli.”

Trying out another form of slow travel, I join Simona Polli, vice president of Farfalle in Cammino, on an electric bike adventure up hills to castles and down dales through acacia forests to medieval walled villages. In an inspired move, the group uses e-bikes for excursions around the rolling countryside. Note the word ‘rolling’ here is a euphemism for a landscape that would soon exhaust the energies of most amateur cyclists. Instead, these ingenious bicycles make you feel like a power pedaller – the harder you push, the faster you head up the hills. You can even recharge the bike’s batteries by going downhill in low gear.

It is the perfect way to traverse hamlets like Ponticello, where we fill our water bottles at the communal well, see stone tower houses where villagers used to barricade themselves against invaders, and navigate narrow tunnels where blacksmiths and cobblers plied their trade. We admire two more ‘warrior’ steles inside the stark eleventh-century Romanesque church of Pieve di Sorano, effortlessly cycle hills to explore Malgrate Castle, now the site of summer cultural festivals, and meander through the medieval market town of Bagnone, with its Ponte Vecchio bridge over a river torrent.

In the Byzantine walled village of Filetto, a popular antiques centre, we feast on Lunigiana’s famed testaroli, an oven-baked pancake cooked on a cast-iron griddle, cut into diamond shapes and cooked like pasta, before it’s served with parmesan and pesto. Here, too, I try another local specialty called lardo di Colonnata, a cold cut made from pork back fat covered with spices like sage, rosemary, salt and garlic and aged for six months in Carrara marble containers.

At the Agriturismo Montagne Verde, I meet three generations of the Maffei family, who have converted a monastic tower into a zero-kilometre restaurant championing all the delectable products from their farm and forests. They also restored the village of Apella into rooms and apartments, and planted vegetable plots that guests are encouraged to use. Here, they extract chestnut, acacia and wildflower honey from hives in the hills, and beside the swimming pool, with its drop-dead mountain views, is an historic chestnut drying mill, still used each autumn when local women bring in the harvest from the forest. It is the perfect base for hiking the Tuscan-Emilian Apennine National Park, which surrounds the property.

Overlooking the fields of Lunigiana to the Apuan Alps.
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Horseriding through the forest.
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For all its history and beautiful geography, Lunigiana’s greatest treasure is its agriturismos (farmstays). Their fabulous food evokes a real sense of place and they offer terrific opportunities to meet locals who have a palpable connection with long-standing traditions. I learn, for instance, how to taste ultra-fine olive oil and pure natural honey, and how chestnuts have sustained a culture through feast and famine. Each family chef is as blow-me-away impressive as the next one, serving dish after exquisite dish – chestnut pancakes with ricotta and honey; sweet Treschietto onions; sgabei (fried bread) with homemade salumi; ripieni (stuffed vegetables); beef tagliata with porcini mushrooms; and chestnut semifreddo.

On my final day, I explore the countryside on horseback with Andrea Verdoni from Il Picchio Verde Agriturismo. We follow tree-lined trails beside farms and olive groves, slosh through streams under stone bridges, and canter across fields burnished gold by the afternoon sun. Finally, we clip-clop up a cobblestone path to the fortified hilltop village of Cassolana Monti, with another castle wedged into the rock under enormous spreading oak trees. It feels like the centuries have fallen away and the lord of the manor will welcome us with trumpets and a banquet. Yet I can’t imagine how anything could better the feasts I have already enjoyed from this ancient landscape as enchanting as it is real.

Away with the Fairies

Where is it? She usually leave it ’ere somewhere,” Nicolas says, rummaging around in the damp undergrowth. “Voila! ’ere it is,” he exclaims, tugging on something jammed between two moss-covered stones. With a knowing glint in his eye, he carefully coaxes a dirty green bottle out from its hiding spot.

I nearly choke on my trail mix. “Is that a bottle of…” “Absinthe, oui,” Nicolas says, finishing my sentence. He gives the bottle a rough wipe down with his wrinkled hands and, in a swift pirate-esque moment, rips the cork out with his teeth. The dank forest air is instantly filled with the sweet aroma of aniseed and wormwood.

Nicolas produces two small glasses from his backpack and splashes some light-green liquor into each, before carefully topping them up with fresh spring water from a trickling fountain. Needless to say, this is a far cry from the flaming sugar cubes and mornings of amnesia that tend to accompany absinthe drinking back home.

Watching the majestic Swiss Alps float by from my comfy train carriage.
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It’s not yet noon and I look up from my glass, staring deep into the lush valleys of the Swiss Alps. “Who on earth leaves bottles of absinthe hidden in the forest?” I ask my hiking companion. “La fée verte, the green fairy,” Nicolas says. “She leaves them everywhere, always she has done this.” I’m dubious and pretty sure the wormwood has already taken effect, but something about this mystical environment makes me believe him. Besides, I don’t care what colour she is – if a fairy is willing to stash booze in the forest for thirsty hikers to stumble across, then she is my kind of fairy. Leaving a buck for a tooth seems pretty lame by comparison.

I arrived in Val-de-Travers, in Neuchâtel, western Switzerland, not really knowing a single thing about the place. When I thought of Switzerland, I imagined meticulous watchmakers with curly moustaches, plump chocolatiers and rosy-cheeked women in aprons singing in the hills. I honestly never thought I would find myself in the absinthe mecca, the birthplace of this often feared, always misunderstood, potent liquor that is reputed to have hallucinogenic properties.

A sign on a log cabin by our hiking trail tells the story of the green fairy.
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Bouquets of wormwood dry in the attic of La Valote Martin.
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Illegal in its nation of origin until 2005, and still outlawed in many countries today, absinthe elicits an intrigue unlike any other liquor on Earth. On one hand, it has been condemned by lawmakers, the church and society for a century. On the other hand, it has been revered as the elixir of creativity and worshipped as a cultural icon of nineteenth-century impressionist artists, writers and poets. Among absinthe’s prophets were Oscar Wilde, Vincent van Gogh and Picasso. The reason for this love–hate relationship lies in its magical ingredient: the allegedly hallucinogenic, locally grown herb artemisia absinthium, commonly known as wormwood.

“Bah, oui, you will go crazy,” Nicolas says. “But you must ’ave at least 60 glasses for it to do this. Most days I ’ave just 40!” I’m not sure if Nicolas is joking or not. Either way, I reckon it’s safe, although the forest does appear a little more vivid after my second glass. Nicolas, like most absinthe producers here, once operated a clandestine distillery, and still talks fondly of his days as an outlaw. I get the feeling he misses it, as though legalising absinthe took a bit of the fun out of it. I’ve tasted the nectar of the green fairy and, I must admit, I’m hooked. It’s like no other drink I’ve tried before, and nothing like the fluorescent-green rocket fuel they call absinthe back home. It’s delicate and delicious, has a sweet aniseed taste, not dissimilar to pastis, and carries a bouquet of fragrant herbs. However, there is one distinctive bitter herbal note that sings out above the rest. It’s the wormwood, I just know it.

I’m keen to see this mystical wormwood plant for myself so I ask Nicolas if he can take me to a local plantation. It’s not exactly a difficult request since just about everyone in the valley grows wormwood in their backyard; however, he knows of a grower nearby who is also an ex-bootlegger. He has a decent wormwood plot sitting outside his micro-distillery, Nicolas says, so we take a short stroll to the town of Boveresse to check it out.

Francis is kneeling among a small patch of silver-green plants in a pretty little garden flourishing in the shadow of a large, old-fashioned Swiss country mansion. The old building is covered with painted green window shutters that were no doubt used not so long ago to hide illegal goings-on from the prying eyes of local police officers and informants.

He looks up from his prized garden of wormwood plants and, with a big smile, beckons me to come and take a closer look. On close inspection, I’m a bit disappointed. I guess I kind of expected this infamous plant to have menacing purple flowers or at least spikes.

But, no, it’s quite simply a low-lying herb with pretty leaves sprouting from a soft stalk. Nicolas, obviously enjoying my enthusiasm for his life-long passion, crouches next to me, plucks a small green leaf and stuffs it in his mouth. With a playful smile he screws up his face up. “Tres amer!” Translated it means very bitter, although I know he’s secretly enjoying it. I follow suit and bite off a small piece of wormwood leaf. It’s bitter, sure, but it’s also surprisingly delicious. It has that exact herbal note I had fallen in love with in the absinthe we drank earlier in the forest.

I’ve tasted the nectar of the green fairy and, I must admit, I’m hooked. It’s like no other drink I’ve tried before, and nothing like the fluorescent-green rocket fuel they call absinthe back home.

We clunk our way up the mansion’s creaky wooden stairs, following Francis’s son and heir to the family distillery as he leads us up to the drying room. Still in use today, it is here his father once hid his precious wormwood harvest. At the top of a tight spiral of wooden stairs we emerge into a dark attic. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, my nostrils are filled with the most beautiful herbal aroma. It’s scrumptious, and I find myself breathing as deeply as I can through my nose, savouring the delicious fragrance.

Beams of light stream through small cracks in the wooden walls, catching plumes of dancing dust particles and illuminating hundreds of bouquets hanging from the rafters. There is wormwood everywhere. Like most artisanal absinthe producers in the region, Francis has his own family recipe that includes a unique blend of homegrown wormwood and herbs, including green anise, fennel, peppermint, hyssop, coriander, cardamom, elecampane, star anise, licorice, dittany, angelica and many other (sometimes secret) botanicals.

Back at the cellar door, I sample the house produce (La Valote Martin), and get myself a small takeaway bottle. I’ve got a train to catch – more villages and distilleries await.

During my time in Val-de-Travers I visit many small, family-run artisanal distillers. The majority have been producing absinthe for generations and are proud to proclaim they continued to do so illegally during prohibition. Most grow wormwood, often in their backyard, and produce their own style of absinthe. Every family recipe is unique, using different herbal blends and varied amounts of wormwood, which is still heavily restricted by law today.

There are more than 20 absinthe distilleries along the Absinthe Route, just about all of which have a cellar door where you can taste their produce and buy a bottle to take home. All of the bars and restaurants serve local absinthe, and every afternoon around 5pm is l’heure vert (the green hour), when you can see locals sitting in bars and cafes around tabletop water towers happily chatting away over cloudy green glasses. This region is the Châteauneuf-du-Pape of absinthe.

Tucked away in quaint little villages along the trail are countless restaurants and, to my surprise, many of them utilise wormwood in their regional cuisine. (It really is considered a herb here in the valley.) For me, the standout dishes are beef fillet in absinthe gravy and absinthe soufflé. Far from a gimmick, the gravy is heavily infused with the liquor, giving it a great kick and bitter-spice note I just can’t get enough of. The soufflé comes with a pool of absinthe in the centre and is served with an entire bottle of the stuff on the side, “Just in case you wanted more…” God, I love this place.

I couldn’t be more impressed and surprised by what I’ve found here. Imagining a group of people who operated for a century as backyard bootleggers, I had expected to encounter a heavy-drinking, cagey bunch of moonshine-trippers with chips on their shoulders. But this vision could not have been further from the truth. This mind-bogglingly lush, beautiful valley is home to a community of proud, intelligent, moderate, friendly artists who love what they produce and are more than happy to share their secrets with visitors. Join the trail and chances are you will get stuck at each cellar door for hours, sipping absinthe as locals regale you with daring tales from their days as clandestine distillers and tall stories about the green fairy. And, if you’re lucky, you just might find a bottle of absinthe stashed in the forest.

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region: Europe