Why you shouldn’t always assume that the Subway, Metro or Underground is the best way of getting from A to B in cities.

When I’m in a city I don’t know particularly well, I tend to fall into a common trap when it comes to getting around. Usually, I want to use public transport – and there will either be a public transport map in my guide book or I can pick one up while I’m on the ground.

Such maps are extremely useful, but they tend to only show the alpha form of public transport. If it’s a city that has a Metro/ Subway system, then the map will probably do a grand job of showing where the Metro/ Subway stations are and where the lines go. If it’s a city that runs on trams, the map will show all the tram lines.

The trap I fall into is that I’ll only look at the forms of public transport marked on the map. In New York, the Subway will be the only option I’ll consider for example.

A recent visit to London showed me the folly of this. For all the user complaints, London Underground is generally excellent. It is extensive, trains are frequent and most parts of London that a visitor will want to go to are well covered.

But the Underground is not always the best option for getting from A to B. When you have to change lines to go a relatively short distance, it often takes roughly as long to walk.

During my recent stay, I needed to get from my hotel near St Paul’s Cathedral to the Harold Pinter Theatre. Doing it as a one stop tube journey would have entailed 26 minutes of walking (to Cannon Street, then from Embankment). Two stops would have taken longer (changing at Embankment then getting off at Piccadilly).

Luckily, my wife suggested looking at the Transport For London Journey Planner (which is superb, incidentally). It turned out that the number 15 and 23 buses departed from just up the road, dropped us off pretty darned close to the destination and took less than half an hour to do so.

In this instance, the bus was a much better option. And a much more enjoyable one too – it doubled as a mini sightseeing tour.

There must have been countless other occasions where I’ve gone the long, awkward way round using trains and trams, even though a bus went pretty much where I needed it to go. So I’m considering this a lesson learned for the future – when in an unfamiliar city, it’s always worth spending a few minutes digging around online, or in a tourist information office, for information on bus routes and timetables.

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STEP ONE: Look at the seat number on your boarding pass.

STEP TWO: If told to use the back steps, use the back steps. If told to use the front steps, use the front steps.

STEP THREE: Go to your seat. It’s the one written on your boarding pass. That’s the big clue.

STEP FOUR: Put your bag in the overhead locker.

STEP FIVE: Sit down in your seat.

I know, I know – this is seriously tough. That they don’t give out medals at the end is a dreadful oversight.

It’s even tougher, however, for those born without opposable thumbs. These poor souls are incapable of taking anything they may desperately need from their bag for that twenty minutes between take-off and the seatbelt sign going off – such as sweets, a book or a magazine featuring a fascinating story about Cheryl Cole – before getting on the plane. It can only be done whilst blocking the aisle and surrounded by well-wishers who are in no rush to get to their own seat.

There are also the poor souls who can’t read complicated letter and number combinations such as “38F”. They end up sat in seat 36D, desperately confused and wondering whether it’s OK to stay there when someone who has “36D” on their boarding pass shows up. It’s unfair to expect them to look at their boarding pass and the clearly marked seat numbers under the overhead lockers.

With all these almost impossible hurdles, it’s a wonder that planes ever manage to take off at all. That they do is a clear indication of just how amazing humans can be.

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David Whitley samples a few drops in the only winery in Liechtenstein – and finds it’s fit for a prince.

It is possibly the most absurd winery in the world. In icy cold conditions, suitable for drinking mulled wine but certainly not growing it, are a few short rows of vines. They look shrivelled up for the winter, as well they might, and a few hardy goats amble amongst them. The backdrop is thoroughly spectacular, however, with the snow-doused Alps making the tiny vineyard look even smaller.

This little patch of viticulture is pretty much it for the world’s smallest wine producing nation. According to United Nations figures, Liechtenstein produces just 80 tonnes of wine per year. For a sense of perspective, compare that to the five million churned out by France. Or, even better, the 77,000 and 45,000 produced by Algeria and Uzbekistan respectively.

Effectively, therefore, the entire country’s output is the result of one stubborn individual deciding that it’s perfectly possible to make a great pinot noir here. Even if it’s on pretty much the only flat piece of land in a microstate almost entirely dominated by huge peaks.

It would be pretty much obligatory to go in for a sample based on this alone, but it gets even better once you discover precisely who that nutter is. The vineyard belongs to the Prince of Liechtenstein. It’s not just exclusive – it’s royal too.

It’s rare to get a winery owned by the ruling family, but then again, it’s even rarer that a country is named after the person that bought it. Liechtenstein dates back to the days of the Holy Roman Empire and Imperial Germany, where lands and estates were routinely horse-traded amongst a few rich families. Capitalising on a rival falling on hard times, Johann Adam Andreas Liechtenstein bought the domain of Schellenberg in 1699, and shelled out on neighbouring Vaduz in 1712. His prime motivation was to get a seat in the Imperial Reichstag; under the arcane rules of the day, the requirement for this was to have lands directly held by the Empire. The Liechtensteins had plenty of land in Bavaria and Austria, but none of them counted. These token purchases sorted that little problem out, and were then ignored as much as humanly possible.

However, over the years, they became more than just strategically useful. The two domains were merged and given the family name while the empire started to crumble. As the nation-state model took over from the random assortments of dukedoms and principalities, Liechtenstein was left as a forgotten throwback. Not incorporated into anything else, it remained and became a sovereign state almost by accident. It wasn’t until the ascension of Prince Franz-Josef II in 1938 that the family could actually be bothered to live in the country they ruled.

Since the Princes have deigned to pay attention, the country has industrialised massively. Out went the dairy farming, and in came the false teeth factories. Liechtenstein proudly boasts that it is the world’s leading exporter of dentures, as well it might.

However, the wine industry (low scale that it may be), dates back to well before the country had its belated co-option into the modern world. When that land was purchased four centuries ago, a fledgling wine-making operation came with it. Like an old, forgotten bank account, it kept plodding away whilst its owners probably knew very little about its existence.

This is no longer the case, and there appears to be a fair bit of princely pride invested in the winery. It appears to be labouring under the impression that it is in some sun-drenched Mediterranean idyll, and is painted in a warm, summery pink. There’s a rather grandiose villa feel inside, too – certainly more high and mighty than quaintly rustic. A few people scurry around in a room that’s clearly designed for functions, but nobody seems desperate to attend to a curious straggler walking in off the street.

During opening hours, it is possible to just amble up for a free tasting. It’s on the outskirts of Vaduz, but that’s just a short stroll from a bus station in a hilariously miniscule capital ‘city’ of fewer than 6,000 inhabitants. With no-one by the tasting table, it’s possible just to wander around in the Prince’s lair with impunity. There’s an extensive cellar containing wines from across the world – Australia to Austria, South Africa to Switzerland – while the main foyer is crammed with cases of bottles bearing the Liechtenstein label. These, it emerges upon closer inspection, don’t count as part of that meagre 80 tonnes. Most of them are grown on the family’s estates in Austria, which is frankly cheating.

Eventually, a member of staff saunters down the stairs and discovers that there’s a stranger nosying around the Prince’s Precious Things. It’s time to drink Prince Hans-Adam’s finest tipples.

Tastings of anything under the Liechtenstein label is free. A bottle of one of the Austrian-grown varieties (Liechtenstein brut, for the sparkling wine obscurists) is opened and glug-glugged into the glass. Not bad. Not bad at all. But it’s the exclusive stuff that’s the real drawcard.

The Vaduzer Pinot Noir 2006 is part of that 80 tonnes. It is only sold in Vaduz, and the only way to get hold of the world’s smallest wine producer’s vintage is to go there and get it yourself. To slug it back for free in the royal Hofkellerei, therefore, seems overwhelmingly decadent.

The real surprise comes with the taste though. Forget all thoughts of buying a bottle just to take back as an amusingly undrinkable gift along the lines of Ukranian pseudo-Champagne or Welsh Cabernet – it’s fantastic. Sharp, crisp and instantly more-ish (to use the technical wine tasting terminology), it appears as though the mountain air and sub-Alpine soil has worked wonders. Whether it’s post-digestive donations from the goats, or a hitherto unknown tradition of wine making in a country ignored ignored for so long even by its own rulers, it’s a drop fit for a king. Or rather, a prince.

This story was originally written for the Sun-Herald in Sydney.

You don’t usually see the Golden Gate Bridge from this angle, do you?

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Don’t forget your camera now!

The perfect, meticulously-searched guide to Any City In The World for people who, for some bizarre reason, have only allocated 24 hours to explore it.

06.00: Assuming your flight landed at one minute past midnight, and thus fits handily within the 48 hour format, make sure you get up to see the spectacular sunrise over the smog-filled bay. It’s definitely worth it, even though you only got to bed at 3am after a long flight, interminable passport control queue and traffic-clogged journey into the city.

08:00: Café Pretence is a great in-the-know breakfast spot just three Metro line changes or a $40 cab fare away from your hotel. Never mind that breakfast is included in your hotel deal – this is definitely worth the effort. It’s full of people who say: “Life’s too short for bad coffee” three times a day, seemingly unaware of the logical flaws in the statement.

09.30: Take another $40 cab ride back to near your hotel, where the Church of St Dull has some wonderful columns to look at and a shiny thing behind the altar.

11.00: Following your unnecessarily long time in the Church of St Dull, head to the wonderful Museum of Something Only Really Interesting To Locals. It’s full of artefacts relating to a princess from four centuries ago, and there are some rooms decorated with old furniture.

13.00: Time for a 16 course lunch at the city’s finest degustation restaurant, Merkin. It will take at least three hours, but try and squeeze it into one in order to fit with this completely arbitrary schedule.

14.00: Take an hour-long guided walking tour of some tat shops with the excellent Generic Walking Tours – it’s a great chance to learn about things that are explained better and in more detail in your guide book. The tour starts a half hour walk away from Merkin, finishing a half hour walk away from the Royal Palace.

15.00: Hurtle to the Royal Palace to catch the changing of the guard ceremony, so you can compare it to every other changing of the guard ceremony you’ve watched as a result of 24 hour city guides.

16.00: The highlight of the day is the Only Museum In The City worth going to. Ration yourself to the ticket desk queue and the toilet, however – the museum closes at 16.30.

17.00: You can’t come to Any City In The World without taking a perfunctory boat cruise that goes up and down the river for two hours, windy conditions and a patchy microphone making the commentary almost impossible to hear. So, go on, get on the boat.

19.00: Time for dinner at Very Fancy Restaurant – an undoubted highlight of Any City In The World’s culinary scene. Allow yourself 35 seconds after getting off the boat to change out of your sweat/ rain-drenched clothes, have a shower and a nap. It’s also worth ensuring that you booked a table at Very Fancy Restaurant at least 17 years in advance.

21.00: Head to the It’s Something Of A Local Institution Bar to drink an extremely expensive and, in retrospect, not particularly good cocktail. In the company of hundreds of other tourists and no locals.

22.00: Watch three extremely bored men playing melody-free symphonies of self-indulgence in Jazz Bar The Author Hasn’t Actually Visited, But Feels He Ought To Include Because It’s A Jazz Bar That’s Supposed To Be Semi-Legendary.

23.59: Get on your plane, after precisely 24 hours in the city. Please ensure that your flights leave you exactly 24 hours. Also, don’t worry about the packing, collecting bags from the hotel, getting to the airport and getting through security bits – that happens by magic.

The Brunswick Heads beach: my kind of beauty.

David Whitley heads north of Byron Bay to learn why Australians are so proud and protective of their beaches.

Australia’s attachment to the beach is something that cannot be explained in adequate terms anywhere else. The rest of the world likes the beach, but nowhere else is it such an integral part of the psyche.  Australia is a country where people will happily give up their weekends to volunteer for lifeguard duty, and surf-lifesaving clubs bicker amongst themselves about which was set up first.

If you want to rile an Aussie, um and ah about the quality of Australia’s beaches. Say that they’re good, but no better than elsewhere in the world. After all, there are great beaches in Asia – or the Pacific Islands, or South America, or the Caribbean, or…

You won’t get that far, of course. Equivocate for a couple of seconds, and the diatribe will start. “Aussie beaches are the best in the bloody world, mate.” Then they’ll reel off a list of brilliant beaches; gradually wearing you down until they find one you’ve never been to or heard of. “What, you’ve never been to Bungabunga Cove? Well go to Bungabunga Cove and then tell me that Aussie beaches aren’t the best in the world.”

Of course, a lot depends on how you define a great beach. Miami’s South Beach is world class for people-watching. Others go by whiteness of sand, size of waves and length (incidentally, the world’s longest beach is in Bangladesh).

And in truth, it’s often the case that the most famous beaches aren’t the most impressive. This is certainly the case in Australia. Bondi Beach tends to underwhelm if you’ve had it built up – it’s famous because it’s the closest to central Sydney rather than Sydney’s best. Whitehaven Beach in the Whitsundays is absolutely stupendous for its looks and squeaky white sands. But it’s clogged with daytrippers getting their photo taken, and you can forget about swimming or surf.

Neither of these really represents the Great Australian Beach. For that, you have to get in a car and veer towards the coast when you realise you’re safely out of tour bus range.

Just north of Byron Bay, I pulled the car up outside the Brunswick Heads Surf Lifesaving Club. I walked through the gap in the vegetation on top of the dunes, and emerged on the Brunswick Heads Main Beach. There were a couple of people doing yoga, and a couple of people walking their dogs. They were barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things, though. The epic sweep of the sand dwarfed them. To my left, a breakwater in the distance signified the entrance of the Brunswick River to the Pacific Ocean. To my right, I could see Cape Byron. Well, just about anyway – the sand stretched for miles and miles.

It was too early for the surf lifesavers; there were no flags up to swim between. Instead, there was a raw majesty in the savage waves, breaking multiple times before they hit the shore and spray spitting off them as they hit a climax.

The sand wasn’t raked, there wasn’t a sunbed in sight, and the only building to be seen behind me was the surf lifesaver’s hut. This is what people mean by the Great Australian Beach. Something so wild and ferociously mesmerising, on such a scale, yet with only the barest nods to human ‘improvement’.

I stood entranced, losing all sense of time. I’ve no idea if it’s really the best beach in the world or even Australia – there are many along the coast that are similar – but the power and the edge-of-the-world aura does it for me.

Disclosure: In Byron Bay, David stayed in the very cool authentic Airstream Trailer at the Atlantic Guesthouses as a guest of Destination New South Wales.

Hmmmmm. Niiiiiice…

A musician’s art project in Berlin offers up possibly the weirdest accommodation in Germany, as David Whitley found out…

It wasn’t a promising welcome. My instructions had led me to a building covered in scaffolding, with various parts taped off by workmen in grubby white overalls. They weren’t the only obstacles to getting in – Propeller Island’s reception is only open from 8am to noon, and a key had been left for me in a tiny safe outside the gallery next door. An enterprising test, given that both hotel and gallery signs were obscured.

The hike up ill-lit dark staircases to my room on the third floor was hardly the most delightful of welcomes either.

Ordinarily, this sort of thing would be the cause for discontented grumbling. But the normal rules don’t apply at Propeller Island. Frankly, any whining about practicalities and comfort is void when you’ve agreed to sleep in a coffin.

Room 31 – ‘Gruft’ – is perhaps the oddest of the hotel’s somewhat distinctive rooms. This is no mean feat. Others include an upside-down room where the furniture hangs down from the ceiling (you sleep in concealed compartments in the floor) and a simulated prison cell.

It’s as much an art project as a hotel. It’s the brainchild of Lars Stroschen, an avant garde musician and artist who decided some of his less bizarre ideas could be turned into accommodation. As hotels go, it is proudly unconventional, but undeniably striking.

A quick look at my room told me I could forget about pillow menus and turndown service. Through an entrance hall decorated with wooden shipping crates – a nice little nod to Dracula, there – I found myself presented with a specially constructed wooden platform. On top of it were two white coffins, with red crushed velvet lining and crosses cut through the roof. A little note on the coffin lid read: “No sex in coffins please. Box may break: coffins for one person only.”

That would indicate that people have tried it before. Visions of grunting goths getting jiggy, I can confirm, do not make the prospect of sleeping in a coffin any more appealing.

Should I have wished to bring an innocent young virgin back to my lair, I would have had to retreat to the double mattress. The extra bed is accessed by heading down the steps under the wooden platform, where it forms part of a bewildering maze that can only be crawled through on hands and knees. A few interesting surprises are included within that maze, including a green-lit glass cabinet containing a sheep skull. For endowing that macabre effect, it goes marvellously with the Sauron’s eye-style red lights on the wall.

It wouldn’t be too hard to be freaked out by it, but it’s amazing how much the coffin just feels like a normal bed once your eyes are closed. I crashed to sleep without any nightmares and forgot where I was until the next morning.

The en-suite bathroom was somewhat bleak without being grim. Toiletry underprovision was an irritating flaw – just a pot of liquid soap by the sink – but the key crime was that the fun seemed to stop at the bathroom when the theme could have easily been extended.

I’d already decided to switch rooms for the second night, so I headed down to reception to get the new key. It’s small, with racks of Lars Stroschen’s CDs for sale and a help-yourself bar working on a honesty payment system for anyone wanting a drink in their room. Inside a rainforest-themed common area, the breakfast spread was a minimalist continental affair, but the quality of the meats, breads, cheeses and yoghurts laid out was surprisingly good.

After the coffin experience, the second night’s room was a return to comparative normality. The ‘Flying Bed’ may look like it’s levitating in the photos, but the effect is achieved by balancing it on hidden supports. The floor, however, is far from standard – it slopes fairly steeply upwards to magnify the floating furniture effect. That’s a bit trippy when you stagger to bed at 2am after a night out.

The room is also lined with fairly hefty cables leading to the wall-mounted “Atmosphere Creator”. Essentially, the room has its own in-built sound system, with speakers in each corner. There are six channels to choose from, which constantly loop Stroschen’s musical creations. They veer from Vangelis-obsessed spacey sounds to whalesong via what can only be described as atonal bleeping.

In many ways, Propeller Island is very Berlin. It’s an ever-morphing anything-goes city where subcultures and street art flourish. Experimentation is a cherished part of the dynamic character, and numerous areas fizz with a deeply amiable verve.

The problem is that Propeller Island isn’t in one of those areas, when perhaps it should be. It’s in residential Wilmersdorf, a perfectly pleasant but anodyne part of West Berlin. Getting there from the parts of the city that would be the hotel’s spiritual home involves a two-change train journey and a bit of a trudge. No matter how excited you are by your off-its-nut crazy room, that schlep is always going to be a bit of a passion killer. Still, that’s heartening when you start contemplating what previous guests have got up to in your coffin…

Details: 58 Albrecht Achilles Strasse, 10709 Berlin, Germany .  +49 30 891 90 16, www.propeller-island.de.

Notes: David booked directly, paying 245 euro for two nights. This included a 15 euro charge for switching rooms on the second night. Each room is priced differently, with single person rates from 69 euro to 115 euro. It’s 15 euro extra if two people stay in one room. Breakfast costs an extra 7 euro.

What’s the gossip?

“Each of the guest rooms is radically different in its decor and theme, and each may delight or appal you with its quirks.” – Frommers.com.

Verdict

David Whitley, who paid his own way and visited anonymously, says: “Propeller Island is a real gloves are off place. Go expecting standard hotel comforts and you’ll hate it. But, frankly, if that’s what you want you wouldn’t have booked it in the first place. It’s somewhere you stay to tell others you’ve stayed there; where the Facebook photos will convey more joy and adventure than the reality. It still has that lick-lipping sense of fun and absurdity though.”

Disclosure: Reviewed on 1 and 2 August 2012. A version of this review was originally published in International Traveller.

The lobby of the Luxe Manor: Not exactly shy.

An area by area guide to the best accommodation options in Hong Kong for all budgets and traveller preferences.

Tsim Tsa Shui

The tip of the Kowloon Peninsula is where many of Hong Kong’s hotels are clustered, and it’s where the territory is at its brashest. Neon and touts for tailors compete to shout the loudest, but Tsim Tsa Shui also home to many of the best cultural attractions. The Hong Kong Cultural Centre, Space Museum and Museum of Art line the waterfront, while the History and Science Museums are tucked further back. A coast-hugging promenade includes Hong Kong’s take on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the views out over Hong Kong Island make up one of the world’s great cityscapes.

Recommended: Icon

The Icon’s back story is almost as interesting as the end product. It was built as a training hotel for Hong Kong’s next generation of hotel managers – it’s owned by the Hong Kong Polytechnic University and the students seamlessly blend into the noticeably youthful staff.

In creating this multi-million dollar project, however, they’ve torn up the rule book. The Icon has no chain affiliations and has been specifically designed for Hong Kong by Hong Kong designers and architects. Meanwhile, over 200 specially commissioned artworks spice up the public areas. Amongst the welcome innovations are paperless check-ins, staff deliberately recruited for character and attitude from outside the hospitality industry, free mini bars and a complimentary ‘timeless lounge’ with gym and pool access for late check-outs. And that pool is quite something – heated, outdoor and with a spectacular unfolding view of the skyline.

Curving bathroom walls make for intelligent use of space, whilst all the robe and slipper luxuries are in place. The feel is what counts though – the Icon is young, fresh and entrepreneurial rather than staid expense account territory.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$1,920 (£158). 17 Science Museum Road, Tsim Tsa Shui East. T: 00 852 3400 1000.

Best for families: Salisbury YMCA

Pretty much perfect location near the Star Ferry terminal and kid-friendly waterfront museums, with top drawer views out over Victoria Harbour? Tick. Rooms at a standard far above what you’d expect in a YMCA? Tick. All manner of facilities – including a climbing wall, indoor swimming pool, gym and squash courts? tick. Children’s corner stuffed with books, educational toys and games? Tick.  It’s no wonder this place is often sold out – get your bookings in well in advance.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$912 (£75), family suites from HK$1,650 (£136). 41 Salisbury Road, Tsim Tsa Shui. T: 00 852 2268 7888.

Best for flamboyance: Luxe Manor

The most fun hotel in Hong Kong by several light years, the Luxe Manor is not afraid to sprinkle the glitter. The themed suites are superbly OTT, but the standard rooms have a wow factor too. Floors that look like fireworks displays, seductively curving furniture, picture frames painted onto the walls and frequent individualisations make this the top spot for anyone who loves their luxe without the cookie-cutter. The bar is one of the most strikingly appealing in town too.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$1,386 (£114). 39 Kimberley Road, Tsim Tsa Shui. T: 00 852 3763 8880.

Kowloon

The rest of the Kowloon peninsula has a real-life feel to it. It’s partly gritty, but more plain down to earth. Most of the hotels and areas of interest for tourists are along three intermingled pseudo-suburbs which stretch along the spine – Nathan Road. Jordan, Yau Ma Tei and Mong Kok are hives of market stalls, electronics shops and shabby stores selling unidentified dried goods. They’re ripe for the ‘bustling’ and ‘vibrant’ clichés often associated with Hong Kong. This is where you’ll find Hong Kong’ simmering heart, and abandon all visions of it being a Western city in Asia; it’s overwhelmingly Cantonese, with the odd concession.

Recommended: Langham Place

The Langham Place has a massive likeability factor that raises it above Hong Kong’s herd of luxury alternatives. It’s both the sort of place you could happily cocoon yourself away in and one that encourages you to get out and explore. For the latter, the free iPad loan scheme is superb. Guests can check the Apple tablets out with them, and use the pre-loaded tour routes, English to Cantonese translations and roaming internet connection. The hotel also offers gratis guided walking tours of the area that show off Hong Kong’s traditional side.

For guests wanting respite rather than reconnaissance, the hotel’s huge, modern-leaning art collection is worth exploring too. Top Trump-style cards are provided for those wanting to know what’s where and who it’s by. There’s also no need to head out for dinner – the on-site Ming Court offers some of the best Cantonese cuisine in the world and holds two Michelin stars.

The rooms veer towards peace rather than panache, with mighty comfy beds and bulging bathroom amenity kits. Surprise extras – be they fresh fruit or a head massager – tend to arrive every evening.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$1,650 (£136). 555 Shanghai Street, Mong kok. T: 00 852 3552 3388.

Best for local life: Cosmo Mong Kok

Situated just to the east of Mong Kok’s frenzied markets, the Cosmo is a Westernised oasis surrounded by curious local shops and genuine Cantonese street life. The hotel has a slick, modern feel, with a lot packed in. Lots of mirrors are used to make the rooms look more spacious than they are, but the price is usually right. Massage showers, flat screen TVs and electronically controlled blinds are amongst the additions that give it great bang for buck, while the free shuttle bus to other areas of Kowloon is mighty useful.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$660 (£54). 88 Tai Kok Tsui Road Kowloon. 00 852 3987 2288.

Best for added extras: Eaton Smart

Smart’s the right word here. Rooms are on the small side, although that’s Hong Kong for you. They are immaculately presented, however, with a sense of tailored style and an impressive array of amenities. Umbrellas, maps and iPod docks are standard. The real charm is in what’s thrown in, however. Free t’ai chi lessons, market tours, bottled water and cocktail vouchers hidden in dim sum baskets show that the emphasis is on giving the best guest experience possible.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$968 (£80). 380 Nathan Road. T: 00 852 2782 1818.

Central

Central is Hong Kong Island’s major hub. It’s where the ferries come in, the major rail lines connect and much of the territory’s business gets done. The office towers are surrounded by shopping palaces, whilst the boisterous entertainment district of Lan Kwai Fong is tucked in between the commerce and the climb up to Victoria Peak. This is Hong Kong’s high temple of conspicuous consumption and navigating through the overpasses and malls requires years of specialist training – but a few colonial remnants and glorious multi-tiered parks manage to take the frenetic edge off.

Recommended: Upper House

There are many words you may associate with Hong Kong, but chances are that serenity isn’t one of them. That rare quality is something the Upper House manages. Perched high above the Pacific Place complex, this is for people who prefer their service seamlessly unobtrusive as opposed to obsequious and measure luxury in feel rather than facilities. For example, at this price, the absence of a pool is glaring. But by Hong Kong standards, the rooms in this all-suite hotel are gigantic. They start at 70 square metres and, due to the building’s unusual design, every one is a corner suite offering grand views in two directions. The bathrooms, with limestone-clad free-standing tubs, are huge – try resisting the urge to throw in the bath salts and watch the sun go down as you soak.

Beers and soft drinks from the mini bar are free, while opening the cupboards unveils jars full of sweeties, cakes and cookies to munch through. And, despite producing their own little city guide books, the Upper House has created rooms you just don’t want to leave.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$4,950 (£407). Pacific Place, 88 Queensway. T: 00 852 2918 1838.

Best for pampering: Landmark Mandarin Oriental

In terms of location, you’ll struggle to get much better. Lan Kwai Fong’s bars and restaurant are on the doorstep, but far enough away not to disturb, while credit card-busters are right on top of the designer label-heavy Landmark mall. The large, daringly-designed and well-equipped rooms are marvellous, but the spa is the real star. Results-driven treatments – many specifically designed for male guests – plus sprawling heat and water facilities make it the top choice in town for more indulgent individuals.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$4,730 (£389). 15 Queen’s Road Central, the Landmark. T: 00 852 2132 0188.

Best for chilling on the cheap: Garden View YWCA

It’s sat on the hill above the main buzz of the Central district, but you’re making a green for scene trade-off. The Garden View is right next to the Zoological and Botanical Gardens and Hong Kong Park. The rooms have a bit of a Premier Inn vibe – hardly dazzling, but very little wrong with them – although many have lovely views out over the gardens and city skyline. The small but well-equipped fitness suite and lap-worthy outdoor pool are added bonuses.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$792 (£65). 1 MacDonnell Road, Mid-levels. T: 00 852 2877 3737.

Wan Chai and Causeway Bay

Lying to the east of Central, these two districts merge into one somewhat. Despite markets that spread out over some of the smaller streets and the sort of frenzied development that seemingly no part of Hong Kong can escape, the British era hasn’t yet been entirely glossed over here. This is partly due to the presence of Victoria Park and the traditional firing of the Noon Day Gun at the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter. The Happy Valley racecourse – one of Hong Kong’s best evenings out – is found where the suburbs overlap at the southern end.

Recommended: J Plus

Not everyone’s going to like the J Plus – there is more than a whiff of pretentiousness about it – but it’s certainly not dull. Walk into the lobby and it feels like you’ve stumbled across preparation for a fashion photoshoot. Gilded Queen Anne sofas, African-print rocking chairs, wooden wheelbarrows and shimmering purple curtains add up to a whole lot of odd. The rooms themselves are less eclectic, but have an immediately distinctive Philippe Starck look. Unapologetically bright white furniture is allied with luxury marble walk-in showers, but the cleverness comes in dividing off sections of the room with sheer white curtains. The kitchenettes, living area and bedroom are kept separate – giving a suite feel in what’s realistically just a fairly large room. The tech requisites – flat screen, DVD player, iPod dock, free WiFi – are all in place, whilst nice touches such as booklets for ordering in food and free soft drinks in the minibar add a thoughtful warmth. Should you wish to mingle with the beautiful people swanning around downstairs in what may as well be the set for a perfume ad, complimentary afternoon cakes and early evening glasses of wine are served up for guests.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$1,705 (£140). 1 Irving Street, Causeway Bay. T: 00 852 3196 6000.

Best for business on a budget: The Fleming

There are some trade-offs for the price – the fitness centre is at a separate club five minutes away, rooms are hardly cat-swinging arenas – but the Fleming is an affordably stylish joint on Hong Kong Island. Magnifying make-up mirrors, iPod docks, DVD players and plasma TVs help on the relaxation front, while comfortable work desks plus ironing board and safe combos are handy for those in town on business. The deluxe rooms are more suited to long-stayers and come with kitchenettes.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$1,080 (£89). 41 Fleming Road, Wan Chai. T: 00 852 3607 2288.

Best for budget travellers: Alisan Guesthouse

The word ‘guesthouse’ can invoke terror in anyone who has stayed in one of Hong Kong’s many, many bad ones. The Alisan gets it right, though, and it shows in the friendly, helpful staff. Spread over multiple levels in a Causeway Bay tower block, rooms are simple but clean and comfortable. Air conditioning, a small TV and an en-suite bathroom come as standard, as do free local phone calls and WiFi.

Rooms: Doubles from HK$440 (£36). Flat A, 5/F Hoito Court, 275 Gloucester Road, Causeway Bay. T: 00 852 2838 0762.

Disclosure: This story was originally written for National Geographic Traveller. David stayed as a guest of the Icon, Eaton Smart, Upper House and Langham Place. Details correct as of January 2012 when this was researched.

Burger and chips. Take THAT, Blumenthal.

The annual San Pellegrino list of the best 50 restaurants in the world has been released again – and it’s no surprise to see some famous and incredibly expensive names at the top of the list.

To some people, this list is disgustingly elitist and the restaurants contained within it have too much of an emphasis on experimental food.

These are fair points, but my bugbear is with the style of dining featured in almost all of the restaurants included.

It seems to be regarded as a great restaurant, you must focus on a degustation menu, where lots and lots of tiny dishes are brought out over the course of a few hours. Each dish is designed to appeal to a different part of the palate, showing off the chef’s incredible talent and grasp of flavour profiles.

I can see why, as a one-off novelty, this might be regarded as enjoyable. But it’s a vastly overrated form of dining, with the emphasis placed firmly on the person making the food rather than the person eating it. It’s the food equivalent of an interminable jazz solo, played almost entirely for the musician to show off how good he is, rather than for the benefit of the audience who are sitting there hoping he might break out into a melody at some point.

I’m happy for this form of eating to exist, but I don’t like the idea that it’s the only way a meal can be great. Quite frankly, a lot of the time, it’s not great. The dishes are often unsatisfying, the meal is needlessly drawn out, the atmosphere is one of high alertness rather than relaxed conviviality and there’s a staggering whiff of pretentiousness about the whole thing.

So we end up with Best Restaurant lists that are basically about one style of dining. It’s the equivalent of a music chart that only features Brian Eno-esque ambient noodling, or Footballer of the Year shortlist made up entirely of left wingers.

It’s possible to do a traditional three courses and do it well. I’m far more interested in restaurants that do a superb interpretation of dishes I want to order than I am in restaurants that create dishes just to show off what they can do. There’s nothing wrong with cooking an amazing steak or serving a world class paella.

Chefs – dinner and the restaurant experience should be about me, not you.

Pittsburgh from the Duquesne Incline.

David Whitley follows in Batman’s footsteps in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, discovering the Warhol Museum, Duquesne Incline, The Strip, Cathedral of Learning and more.

Heinz Field has recovered well. Last time I saw it, the pitch was exploding beneath the feet of the Gotham Rogues running back as he headed for a touchdown. The Dark Knight Rises, it seems, employed a few special effects.

The football stadium isn’t the only part of Pittsburgh to take a stunts-and-CGI bashing in Christopher Nolan’s finale to the Dark Knight Trilogy – the city stood in as Gotham during filming. And, like Bruce Wayne, it has undergone quite a transformation.

Pittsburgh is a city inextricably linked with the steel industry; the name conjures up images of smokestacks and heavy industry. It is often lumped in with depressed Rust Belt cities such as Detroit, Michigan and Akron, Ohio.

This is a bracket it clearly doesn’t belong in. The steel mills are long gone; any smoke is likely to be found wafting up from food carts, noise comes from chirruping birds rather than clanking machinery and the only thing that stinks is the form of the Pirates baseball team.

Pittsburgh is built around the confluence of three rivers in western Pennsylvania. A vaguely triangular sliver of land slides into the gap, and it is filled with an eye-catching assortment of skyscrapers. Either side, a series of pastel yellow bridges peel off like a centipede’s legs.

From the top of the Duquesne Incline – one of two cable railways that link the city’s south side with the Mt Washington running above it – the view is staggering. USA Today once named this perch as the second most beautiful place in America.

It’s not the only accolade bestowed on the city. National Geographic Traveler plucked it out as one of the best places in the world to visit in 2012, Hotwire rated Pittsburgh top for hotel bargains, ABC City Guides for Kids called it the number one family fun destination, and the Economist has picked Pittsburgh as the most liveable city in the US for four consecutive years.

The Cathedral of Learning.

The plaudits come, partly, due to a world class cultural scene. The steel mills may have given way to high-tech industries and education but the proceeds from them are still sloshing around. Steel magnate Andrew Carnegie directed much of his philanthropic largesse towards the city that made him rich. The Carnegie museums of science, natural history and art would probably be the star attractions anywhere else, but they’re overshadowed by the only one in four-strong Carnegie collection not to bear his name.

The Warhol Museum is the largest single artist museum in the US, and it’s a towering tribute to the king of Pop Art. It’s spread over six floors and contains over 8,000 works by Pittsburgh native Andy Warhol. But for all the Campbell’s soup cans, Jackie Kennedy screen prints and scary-haired self-portraits, it’s the biographical aspect of the museum that sticks in the memory.

His early works – including some 1946 paintings of women by a produce truck – offer the first surprise. Warhol was known for his mass reproduction art, but he was an incredibly accomplished painter and illustrator. Before he was famous in his own right, he was highly prized by art directors of major magazines because he could draw pretty much everything, and do it very quickly.

Warhol had his fingers in so many pies that it’s a wonder he found time to sleep. His frenetic activity included modelling, setting up magazines, taking up near permanent residence in the Studio 54 nightclub and managing the Velvet Underground.

One room captures the feel of this whirlwind beautifully. It’s darkened, and features scores of TV screens with a stool and headphones next to them. Each plays an episode of one of Warhol’s 1980s TV shows on a loop, but the combined effect is sensory overload.

Warhol the voracious collector is just as interesting as Warhol the artist. One gruesome room displays his collection of suicide photographs obtained from news agencies. Another houses his ‘time capsules’ – Warhol would hoard documents, photographs and other objects that he found important at the time, put them in a box, then seal and date it when full.

The spirit of experimentation lives on in the Mexican War Streets. This largely residential mini-suburb is full of picturesque brick and clapboard houses, but it also plays host to the Mattress Factory. Since 1977, this pioneering installation-only gallery has been showcasing room-sized works that visitors can wander through. It’s a deeply weird experience that veers from hallways full of outstretched hands holding bread rolls to kaleidoscope-like cubes with coloured dots on the floor and mirrored glass on the floor and ceiling.

There are no prizes for guessing what the Mattress Factory used to be, but it fits a general theme. Pittsburgh rarely destroys when it can repurpose. Most of the old freight railways from the steel days have been turned into walking and cycling tracks, while two of the hottest bars in town follow the same model. Bar Marco serves up cocktails in an old fire station and Altar offers beats and bands in an old church.

The two neatly bookend The Strip, an area to the northwest of the city centre that should set even the most disciplined stomach rumbling. For Pittsburghers, the icon here is the original Primanti Brothers outlet. Local legend has it that the sandwiches – piled high with fries and coleslaw – were originally designed so that freight truckers could eat them at the wheel without making a mess.

But the food heritage goes way beyond enormous sandwiches. Sylvia McCoy runs the Burgh Bits and Bites tours through The Strip, concentrating largely on family run businesses that have brought recipes and ingredients in from all over the world.

“A lot of what makes the food interesting is the history behind it,” she says. “For a long time, people wouldn’t come to the Strip. It was wholesale only. Now, on the weekends in particular, everyone’s coming here to shop, and there are food carts cooking something up on every corner.”

The tour passes through Polish pierogi, 8^th generation bakers, chaotic sushi counters and custom-made Syrian-style hummus. The star, however, is Parma Sausage Products.

Employee Casey Romig isn’t shy about why. “We make the greatest Italian meats in the world,” he says as he hands out a tasting plate of prosciutto that has been aged for between 15 and 18 months.

“We’ve run out of prosciutto before because we’d sooner not serve it than serve it before it’s ready.”

But, as with the rest of Pittsburgh, a blue collar feel remains in The Strip. It’s a city that’s as proud of the 100 licensed premises within nine blocks on East Carson Street as it is of any cultural institution. If it was a person, Pittsburgh would be the boy from a working class background who’s done well for himself but has held on to his roots.

It’s a city that feels instantly comfortable, happier in the black and gold of its sporting teams than haute couture. But it consistently manages to throw up things that are thoroughly spectacular. And along with the Warhol, the views from the Duquesne Incline and the food on The Strip, that includes the Cathedral of Learning.

It’s the sort of building that makes you double-take as you come into view. It’s a heavy-looking 42 storey Gothic structure that is completely out of place with everything around it and towers over any competitors from miles around. Inside, students sit with their laptops under gloomy church-like arches – it’s the main building of the University of Pittsburgh.

Yet the lecture theatres on the first and third floors throw up something completely different. The 29 ‘Nationality Rooms’ are created in the style of different countries. One feels like a Turkish bathhouse, another the central courtyard of a Ghanaian village, another a Buddhist monastery in India.

They’re not flashy – just loving recreations of what would have been found in small towns and villages across the world centuries ago. And, in a way, they sum Pittsburgh up – clever, unpretentious, multi-cultural and capable of producing the most wonderful surprises. Forget Batman – America has another secret superhero.

Do it yourself…

Duquesne Incline – 1197 West Carson Street; 00 1 412 381 1665; www.duquesneincline.org

Warhol Museum – 117 Sandusky Street; 00 1 412 237 8300; www.warhol.org

Mattress Factory – 500 Sampsonia Way; 00 1 412 231 3169; www.mattress.org

Carnegie Museums of Art and Natural History – 4400 Forbes Avenue; 00 1 412 622 3131; www.carnegiemuseums.org

Carnegie Science Center – 1 Allegheny Avenue; 00 1 412 237 3400, www.carnegiemuseums.org

Bar Marco – 2216 Penn Avenue, 00 1 412 471 1900,

Altar – 1620 Penn Avenue, 00 1 412 206 9719, www.thealtarbar.com

Primanti Brothers – 46 18th Street, 00 1 412 263 2142, www.primantibros.com

Parma Sausage Company – 1734 Penn Avenue, 00 1 412 391 4238, www.parmasausage.com

Cathedral of Learning – 4200 5^th Avenue; www.nationalityrooms.pitt.edu

Stay: The Fairmont is Pittsburgh’s top upscale option – it’s fresh, centrally located, right next to the theatres in the Cultural District and serves up excellent fusion cuisine in its Habitat restaurant. Room rates start at $189 per night. 510 Market Street, 00 1 412 773 8800, www.fairmont.com/pittsburgh.

Explore: The Burgh Bits and Bites tours of The Strip cost $35 per person. 00 1 212 209 3370; www.burghfoodtours.com

Tourist information: www.visitpittsburgh.com

Disclosure: David was a guest of the Fairmont Pittsburgh and Visit Pittsburgh. This story was originally written for Voyeur, the in-flight magazine of Virgin Australia.

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