30 Years Of Taking The Road Less Travelled
The best places to visit in the USA & Canada this autumn
In search of India’s tigers Explore historic Jeddah Hit Belize’s Garifuna Trail
The North Wales Way Mesa Verde NP Peruvian umami Cultured Bordeaux Kenya
In south-west Colorado lies the largest archaeological preserve in the USA, a series of vast cliff dwellings whose residents ‘vanished’ overnight. But was the answer to their disappearance in plain sight?
“This is North America’s Machu Picchu, except it is far less well known around the world,” beamed Liz, our hotel concierge in Durango, Colorado, as she described how to find the scenic route that leads to MesaVerde National Park.The ruins we were headed to are in fact centuries older than the more famous Inca citadel, but we would soon discover that the two locations share a similarly extraordinary setting, as well as an air of mystique around their creation stories.
MesaVerde means ‘GreenTable’ in Spanish, defined by a people who were pioneers in misnaming geographical phenomena.The site is actually a cuesta (a ridge with a slight incline), only this one is made up of many smaller flat-topped hills (mesas) that are scattered between the canyons. In reality, it is even more impressive than its name suggests.
Yet we were not here just for the magnificence of Mother Nature. In 1906, Mesa Verde became the first US national park that was protected not only for its natural beauty, but for its cultural significance. Normally, such sites are given ‘national monument’ status, but the landscapes unfolding before us were certainly worthy of their designation. For visitors, it’s like suddenly stumbling across a lost city inside the Grand Canyon.
After driving uphill for over 45 minutes, we were greeted at the park’s entrance by Eric Sainio, Mesa Verde’s supervisory ranger. Eric was eager to woo us with Mesa Verde’s pièce de résistance, the ‘Cliff Palace’, otherwise known as the most expansive site of ancient cliff dwellings in North America.
“It will be a great introduction to this place, its people and its history,” assured Eric as we walked from the car park towards the edge of a mesa.The short hike between the car and the site included rock staircases and treacherous cliffside pathways, and it proved a fascinating, if vertigo-inducing, journey, leaving me breathless, not least due to the elevation of over 2,000m.
These perilous pathways are one of the reasons why visitors must be accompanied by a park ranger when visiting a cliff-dwelling site, and booking well in advance is essential for popular spots like the Cliff Palace. Approaching it was like walking through Petra’s Al Siq Canyon and catching your first view of the Treasury.The final reveal at the end of the path was truly magical, and in timing our visit for the start of the golden hour, it meant that the whole place was bathed in a beautiful light, the ruins shining in hues of orange, red and yellow.
In front of us lay North America’s largest cliff dwelling, sheltered in an alcove on the side of the mesa and opening out onto spectacular views of the canyon below.
“The majority of this site dates from the 11th and 12th centuries,” explained Eric as he guided us among the impressively restored multi-storey edifices.“We know with certainty that this was not a palace, but early European
visitors could only attribute such architectural magnificence to a palatial residence.”
Modern archaeological research shows that this dwelling site was an important centre for the ancient community that lived here, known as the Ancestral Pueblo people. Its 150 rooms are spread across multi-storey edifices, including 21 kivas, circular rooms that are usually underground and covered by a roof of timber and soil.These rooms are common throughout the park and the broader region.
“The kivas had both ceremonial and spiritual significance, and were at the heart of both family and community,” explained Eric. Indeed, the conditions for life here were, despite the inaccessibility of the location, very good. “We knew that the people were thriving because they had corn supplies stored for up to three years,” he continued.
Dabbing the sweat from my brow, I asked why they would build their homes in such a precarious location. Eric’s answer put another spin on the notion entirely: “This was a sheltered and protected setting, rather than precarious,” he countered, going on to explain how the local people made the most of the unique geographical characteristics. For example, the Cliff’s Palace’s southern positioning meant a longer growing season with more days of sunshine, while the buildings were well protected from seasonal rains.
“There’s a lot of soil that you get to capture. You can also capture more of the monsoonal rainwater,” added Eric as he demonstrated the well-sheltered storage areas.
Mesa Verde’s generally arid climate supports a rich ecosystem of more than 1,000 species of flora and fauna. In our first few hours in the park, we had seen wild turkeys, vultures, a hawk, ravens and glimpsed a nesting pair of golden eagles. I was particularly impressed by the local yellow-headed collard lizard, whose bold colours and unexpectedly friendly nature proved endlessly entertaining.
As we concluded our visit to the palace, Eric rattled off a few more statistics, explaining that there are over 5,000 archaeological sites in Mesa Verde. Gearing up for a long day ahead, I gently fanned my forehead at the thought of it, only for him to add that just 600 of them are cliff sites, and only three of those are currently open to the public.
The park’s spectacular cliff dwellings were in fact the very last ones to have been built here, I learned. “The earliest ruins are at the top of the mesa, where most of the community lived for many centuries before descending the cliff,” Eric explained as we ended our visit by heading back topside.
Intrigued, I resolved to find out more, so the following day I joined guide Alex Prime for a cyclical drive around the earlier ‘Far View’ sites. These lie at the top of the
“This was a sheltered and protected setting, rather than precarious”
“Ohushed October morning mild, thy leaves have ripened to the fall,” wrote Robert Frost in his ode to the American autumn, beguiled by the changing of the leaves, the ripening of the grapes and the almost imperceptible slow-down in the natural world after the frenzied heat of summer had passed. It’s no wonder he was so enchanted by this annual changing of the guard. As the weather cools and the leaves begin to turn, the USA and Canada transform into vibrant kaleidoscopes of colour.
Nature is prompted to put on its most splendid shows, from the wildly beautiful northern lights to the wildlife readying itself for winter; and with fewer crowds to spoil the view, it’s often a better time to explore the coasts, countryside and cities across the continent. Add to that a host of arts festivals, events and attractions that fill the calendar from September to November, and it’s hard to imagine why you would want to travel at any other time.
To track down the best autumnal experiences, we’ve canvassed local experts across the USA and Canada to find out what they love about this time of year.
Words Katie McGonagle, Jim Bamboulis, Amy Bizzarri, Jennifer Broome, Priscilla Blossom, Karen Burshtein, Gareth Clark, MaryRose Denton, Carolyn B Heller, Nathalie Katinakis, Jessica Wynne Lockhart, Shelley Cameron-McCarron, Diana Lambdin Meyer, Lola Méndez, Misty Milioto, Vikki Moran, Diane Selkirk, Cristina Slattery, Rebecca Toy, Taryn White and Brandon Withrow
From fiery fall foliage to art fairs and harvest festivals, autumn opens up a wealth of experiences across the USA and CanadaAlamy; Shutterstock
Seeing the rich hues of autumn is a special experience. But for those who are colour-blind, those vivid shades can be impossible to tell apart. That’s why Tennessee’s state parks have introduced viewfinders that use special lenses to enable those with colour-blindness to see the leaves in all their bright, blazing glory.
Leigh Gardner, ranger at the Justin P Wilson Cumberland Trail State Park, says: “People who cannot perceive red-green colours can use these viewfinders to see the autumnal colours change. We have an Access 2030 initiative to create more accessibility – paved trails, parks with all-terrain wheelchairs – so folks with limited mobility can see more of the park, and we don’t charge an entry fee because we’re trying to make sure that the parks remain accessible to all.
“The waterfalls start to pick up toward the end of fall, so if you’re lucky, you’ll get that waterfall-autumnal colour combination as you enter the final weeks of November.” KM
You can’t talk about fall on Cape Breton Island without mentioning Celtic Colours International Festival, a nine-day musical and cultural romp that brings the island community together. Gaelic-speaking Scottish Highlanders brought music, dance and language to the eastern edge of North America nearly three centuries ago, and it has been passed down the generations to form part of today’s living culture.
Mabou native Dawn Beaton, the festival’s artistic director (and a talented fiddler), says: “Fall in Cape Breton is tough to beat. The highlands burst into colour, accompanied by the sound of fiddles, guitars, Gaelic singing and step-dancing.
“Celtic Colours takes place every October and offers an islandwide window into this culture, with concerts held in community halls, schools, churches and theatres. As you drive the island, look for workshops and community turkey dinners, or join in on a family square dance or milling frolic.”
Just 45 minutes’ drive south of Tucson lies Sonoita. This is wine country, and as far removed from the cactus-strewn deserts of Arizona as you’ll find, especially when the grape harvest gears up in autumn and the slopes still glisten green from the August monsoon, explains Todd Bostock of Dos Cabezas Wineworks.
“South of Tucson, the road starts to climb, the hills begin to roll and you can reach up to 1,300m. It’s quite a bit cooler up here, so back in the 1970s, when they were looking for places
“Little St Simons Island is the jewel of the Georgia coast,” says Stacia Hendricks, director of special projects at The Lodge on Little St Simons Island. “Geologically it’s quite young – only about 4,000 years old – but it is one of the few remaining islands that was never harvested of its canopy.
“Georgia’s coast has 14 major barrier islands and five major river systems, so we have estuaries where freshwater and saltwater mix, making great feeding sites for migratory birds. The peak of that migration is late September and early October.”
This is the time to spot red knots, which travel from the tip of South America to the fertile feeding grounds of the Arctic, along with black-bellied plovers, long-billed curlews and rainbow-bright painted buntings.
“My favourite is the American oystercatcher. It’s an extraordinary bird that can live up to 40 years and eats a bushel of oysters each day. It’s not just happenstance that birds stop in Georgia; the more we learn about the journey, the more astonishing it is. This has been going on for millions of years and we are only beginning to scratch the surface of understanding.”
in the Four Corners states to grow high-value, low-water crops, they picked Sonoita as having the most potential for cultivating wine grapes. Our vineyard now grows 30 varieties.
“There are ten wineries open for tastings in the area, and services in Tucson can pick you up and drop you off for the day. We’ve also got the Santa Rita Mountains on our doorstep –Mount Wrightson (2,882m) even has grapevines growing wild on its slopes. It’s dry and warm in early autumn, so pack a picnic and head out.” GC
Autumn in the Black Hills revolves around one thing: buffalo. Custer State Park’s annual round-up, held on the last Friday of September, sees visitors flock to watch cowboys wrangle the 1,400-strong herd and visit the park’s annual craft market, says Lydia Austin, visitor services supervisor at the park.
“Wildlife in the Black Hills was once hunted to extinction by miners and homesteaders. So, when the park reintroduced buffalo in 1914, we let them roam free, but they soon began eating us out of house and home. It was decided then that we needed to manage the herd.
“We did this at first by butchering them, which took off during the Second World War because buffalo meat wasn’t part of the rationing programme. Then, by the 1960s, more and more people were starting up ranches, so we rounded up the buffalo for an auction instead. It took off.
“Now you can buy everything here from street food and bull whips to actual buffalo during this period. But it all stems from the annual drive, which is still a vital part of herd management in the park.” GC
As India celebrates 50 years of its Project Tiger conservation scheme, we visit the reserves of Madhya Pradesh to see how its success has impacted a tiger population that once looked in danger of disappearing
Words James Draven
Asambar deer sniffed the air in Madhya Pradesh’s Pench National Park. In unison, the surrounding members of its herd, each the colour of rusting iron, stopped grazing from the wind-rippled grasslands. Heads lifted, glistening nostrils flared and all eyes scrutinised the tree line. A languorous grey langur monkey – drunk on fermented mahua fruit and dozing on a fallen branch – opened one eye.
You can often see langurs and sambar together. They have a symbiotic relationship because sambar can detect a predator’s scent on the breeze from over a kilometre away; in return, the langurs are sharp-sighted when up in the treetops, and messy eaters too, sloppily dropping half-eaten fruit to the sambar below. Neither makes a conscious effort to help the other, but they are inextricably linked by an ecosystem.
Then the alarm call sounded. An unseen jungle babbler bird, invisible above a thick canopy of leaves, emitted the first signal. Through the bush telegraph the call was taken up by scores of other birds until the hitherto silent forest became a riot of panic and white noise.The sambar deer scattered, and then the langurs – all suddenly sober – zipped improbably up the smooth trunks of teak trees, some with their babies clutched to their chests.
Birds took flight, their maelstrom of beating wings a hailstorm of television interference against the sky.The jungle roared like radio static. Everything was in sudden motion but us; our driver slammed his brake pedal to the floor and our emerald-green Maruti-Suzuki Gypsy 4WD – ubiquitous and identical in India’s wildlife reserves – ground to a standstill on the mud-baked track.
“That must be him,” whispered our guide,Vanan, who had previously remained silent. I’d nearly forgotten he was there; the wildlife does all the work for him. The alarm call is a guide’s best friend but, after several days spent in fruitless search of our quarry across three of India’s tiger reserves, I too was attuned to the signals that warned of approaching predators.We spent much of our time stationary: watching, listening, waiting.
It was the end of a long day searching Pench National Park for signs of a Royal Bengal tiger.With little tree cover compared to some of India’s more densely forested reserves, I had high hopes that this would be the place where I would finally spot one. About four hours earlier, we’d had a false alarm when we came across a fresh paw print, or pugmark, on the track that was the size of a saucer. Embossed into the dusty ground, on top of the fresh tyre treads of other 4WDs, the tiger must have been incredibly close, but the evanescent cat clearly hadn’t cared to stop for tea.
On this occasion, however, we had a bit more luck. From a tangle of undergrowth, which we’d already scrutinised with binoculars and telephoto zoom lenses without discovering anything, a hulking tiger languidly stepped out onto the track. Scowling, with its cover blown and its prey beyond reach, it plodded across the roadway in front of us. Regarding our idling 4WD with house-cat nonchalance, the tiger vanished into the undergrowth on the other side of
the trail, leaving a vacuum in his wake.We exhaled as one. The whole experience had lasted less than ten seconds. For just a moment, that dusty track was a stage. In the faded pastel hues of the gloaming, in a theatre encircled by packs of bill-print-grey langurs, flocks of grey hornbills and sounders of ash-coloured wild boar, the tiger hogged the spotlight, burning bright as if lit by sodium lamps. But once he exited, stage right, enveloped by the safety curtain of the jungle, my heart dropped from the gods to the foot of the orchestra pit.The wildlife chorus groaned into the distance.The greatest show on Earth was over – for now.
I have been besotted with tigers since infancy. So much so that despite being something of a night owl, this trip across India’s national parks and tiger reserves had seen me rising merrily each morning at 5am, when it was so cold that my camera lens – trained on dewdrop-bejewelled dawn landscapes and steam-shrouded waterholes – was clouded by my own hot breath.
But there was another reason for my enthusiasm, as this is a special year for tigers. In 2023, India marks 50 years of ProjectTiger, a conservation effort that has ensured now is the best time for sightings of these big cats in recent memory. Indeed, the number of wild Royal Bengal tigers in India has more than doubled in the 21st century alone.
Prior to this intervention, the situation had become desperate. Despite being the country’s national animal, an estimated 80,000 tigers fell victim to hunting in India between 1875 and 1925. Maharajas, monarchs, officials and trophy hunters slaughtered these creatures with guns, snares, poisons and spears.Their heads can still be found – stuffed, mounted and moth-eaten – on walls, while their skins continue to warm the floors of historical palaces.
This carnage continued well into the 20th century. Prince Philip and Queen Elizabeth were even photographed on safari with a dead tiger, which was reportedly shot by the Duke of Edinburgh in 1961 in what later became Ranthambore National Park – it was the same year he became president of theWorldWildlife Fund.The widespread practice of killing tigers for profit and sport led to a sharp decline in their numbers, and by the late 1960s, they were on the brink of extinction in the wild, with some estimating there were fewer than 600 remaining in India.
In 1973, the government, led by Indira Gandhi, initiated Project Tiger, a conservation programme aimed at managing and safeguarding tiger habitats.Additionally, the SpecialTiger Protection Force was established to combat the menace of poaching. By the time of India’s 2006 census, there were still just 1,411 tigers remaining in the wild; today things are looking far rosier. On 9 April 2023, in honour of ProjectTiger’s 50th anniversary, Prime Minister Narendra Modi released the results of this year’s All India Tiger Estimation, revealing there are now 3,167 in India. That’s about 70% of the world’s wild tiger population. ProjectTiger’s conservation initiatives have involved educating village populations near to the parks on the benefits of conserving the species; remunerating locals who
“In the faded pastel hues of the gloaming, the tiger hogs the spotlight“
Predator and prey (clockwise from top left) Pench NP was only a sanctuary back when Project Tiger was launched in 1973 – it is now one of over 50 national parks in India taking part in the landmark conservation scheme; sambar deer are a Bengal tiger’s favourite prey, even if their top speed is a good 10kph quicker than their tormentor; the eagle eyes of the grey langur make a great early warning system when scouting for tigers; the ruddy mongoose is a fearsome predator of snakes and even produces its own anti-venom; the Indian peafowl leaves quite the impression; a kingfisher in flight; (previous spread) the real king of the jungle
A slow drive along the North Wales Way, from the English border to Anglesey, reveals not only a land of incredible local food and castles, but a region that is slowly reimagining itself
Words David Atkinson
Angharad encouraged me to stick my nose deep into the barrel.
“Go on,” she smiled, “give it a good sniff. The Madeira wine one is my favourite.” Somewhat fazed, I obliged and inhaled deeply while she talked the rest of the group through the process of using old bourbon and sherry casks to mature post-fermentation whisky.
“I was always a brandy girl, but I’ve come to appreciate the complexity of whisky,” she told me as we headed to the tasting room for the end of our visit.
I had joined the distillery tour at Penderyn in Llandudno just days afterWelsh whisky was awarded Protected Geographical Indication (UK GI) status – a recognition of its all-Welsh operation. It came as a revelation to me. After all, I’d visited NorthWales many times before, first as a child and then later with my own children; in all that time, I’d enjoyed its castles, coastal walks and seaside breaks, but never its single malts before.
The all-female distillery team at Penderyn in Llandudno, along with the company’s sister sites in Brecon and Swansea, will soon be producing up to 2.5m bottles of whisky each year, having recently beaten the Scottish and Irish to the plaudits at the Spirits Business World Whisky Awards. By the time I’d extracted my nose from the cask, I was already starting to see North Wales in a new light. But, then again, that was the idea all along.
My visit to the distillery was part of a road trip along the North Wales Way, one of three new national routes devised by Visit Wales to look afresh at regions most people think they already know.Visitors often travel from the North Wales border, outside Chester, to the tip of Anglesey in a day, either bombing down the A55 or trundling the train line that chugs alongside it, but they miss out on all the fun by doing so. I have certainly been guilty in the past of being too preoccupied with the destination to realise that the journey, spanning 120km of seascapes and mountains, reveals epic tales of Welsh heritage, folklore and adventure, among other delights. It was time to look afresh at North Wales.
I had started my NorthWales odyssey a few days earlier by revisiting a couple of the region’s big attractions, beginning at Caernarfon Castle. Its impressive fortifications form part of the ‘iron ring’ of castles constructed under King Edward I to crush the 13th-century rebellion of the Princes of Gwynedd. Along with the castles at Conwy, Harlech and Beaumaris, it has attracted UNESCO World Heritage status, but its story is now also getting a bit of a twist. A recently unveiled £5 million pine-and-glass upgrade to the King’s Tower gatehouse is recasting the imperial history of Edward’s bastide (fortress town).
The idea behind the project, according to lead custodian Hannah Litherland, was to shift the story from Edward to the hands of the people who built the castle, including local stonemasons and female embroiderers. As such, 12 new sculptures were commissioned to symbolise the skills of these medieval craftspeople.A new viewing platform, meanwhile, looks out over the city walls – which were, ironically, built to keep the Welsh out – and gazes over to the mountain passes where the local resistance once gathered.
WordsLynHughesandEmmaThomson
PhotographyWilliamGray
As efforts to restore Al-Balad, Jeddah’s historical district, take hold, we get an exclusive peek at how art and culture are taking centre stage
Restoring Jeddah’s historic district offers not just a connection to another time for visitors, but a vital link for a local community that still considers it very much a part of the present
When I tipped my head to the side, I could almost hear the clop of camels’ hooves on the cobblestones, their saddle bags bulging with cloves, pepper and ginger from the Far East; porcelain, jade and silk from China; and cardamon, cumin and turmeric from India, all unloaded from dhows that had sailed up the long barrel of the Red Sea. Some of them would have been led out into the desert by traders, others marched upstairs and into the kitchens of coral-stone mansions so tall that they carved the sky into thin blues lanes.Today, the dromedaries may have disappeared from the streets, but you can still buy spices in the souks, hear the call to prayer issuing from candle-like minarets and step inside the ancient homes of Al-Balad, Jeddah’s UNESCO-listed Old Town.
Jeddah started life as a modest fishing village, but when the third Caliph, Uthman Ibn Affan, visited in 624 AD to swim in its waters and pray on its soil, he declared it the main entry port to Makkah (Mecca) and its fortunes changed almost overnight. Devotees travelling for Hajj (the pilgrimage to Mecca) flocked through the city walls – which were only torn down in 1947 – and the town
became a major stopping point on the silk, spice, coffee and incense trade routes.
Over the centuries, many explorers have passed through Jeddah, including Ludovico de Varthema, Ibn Battuta, Richard Burton and TE Lawrence (better known as Lawrence of Arabia).When writer Paul Salopek visited Al-Balad in 2013 as part of his ‘Out of EdenWalk’ – a 38,600km odyssey to retrace our ancestors’ global migration routes – he wrote: “Modern-day Saudi Arabia has lost so much of its memory beneath sleek highways, parking lots, hotels, malls,” but here “is a remnant world – a preserved square kilometre of remembering.”
However, during the 1970s oil boom, locals moved out to modern complexes and the Old Town was largely neglected. On average, two buildings per year either fell down or were lost to fire, so in 2018, the Ministry of Culture appointed the Jeddah Historical District Progam (JHD) to oversee the restoration of Al-Balad. The area comprises four districts – Harat Al-Sham, Harat Al-Mazloum, Harat Al-Bahar and Harat Al-Yaman –and contains five historic souks, 36 mosques and 650 centuries-old mansions. Even today it still hums with
busy brick-oven bakeries and traditional coffee shops, and has its own 170-year-old restaurant.
“Old cities are like bodies, the lanes like veins – they arise organically. And that hasn’t been lost in Al-Balad,” said Ahmed Angawi, founder of artist collective Zawiya 97 (see p179). Indeed, the area has managed to maintain a sense of community down the years, whether that is found in locals gathering five times a day to stand shoulder to shoulder while praying at Al-Shafi’i Mosque with its 800-year-old minaret, or in those joining the Jeddah Academy of Fine Arts for its outdoor classes, it is a familiarity that endures. Many of the people who work here have memories built into its old coral stones.
“My grandfather was a merchant in Al-Balad, and my mother still buys her groceries here,” said Rawaa Bakhsh, communications manager for the JHD, as we sat in her office inside the 120-year-old Beit Jamjoom in the heart of the Old Town. “In some restored places around the world, the soul has been sucked out – not here.This isn’t a ‘living museum’ – our aim is to regenerate and revive.These houses long for their people. Like two lovers, they thrive when they’re together.”
The JHD is aiming to avoid the mistakes that have been made by other cities around the world in restoring their old quarters.
“We don’t want a Venice or Dubrovnik. So, cruise ships will have to moor 2km away,” said Abdulaziz Alissa, director general of the JHD. “This includes returning to how it looked in 1948, when the sea lapped at the shores of the old city,” he added.
There is a real sense of time travel here. Perhaps it’s because in Saudi Arabia it’s still the year 1445, thanks to the lunar Hijri calendar, or because just north of Al-Balad sits the cemetery which legend says was the burial place of Eve, who is said to have alighted on a mountaintop here after she was exiled from Paradise. Indeed, the name Jeddah is believed to derive from the Arabic word ‘jaddah’, meaning ‘grandmother’ (Eve is often called the grandmother of humanity), and it has been suggested that the city may be one of the world’s oldest.What is undeniable is the feeling of being transported to another era as you wander the alleys of Al-Balad. I guarantee you’ll be listening for the clop of a camel around each corner. ET
If you think that Bordeaux is just about wine, then you’re in for a shock; this is a stylish, cultured city that is constantly reinventing itself, writes Mary Novakovich
France’s wine capital becomes more irresistible every year. Between its culture, history and food, Bordeaux balances all the ingredients that make a city appealing. Its surrounding vineyards produce some of the world’s top wines, while gastronomic inspiration comes not only from the nearby coast but also from high-quality beef and south-west France’s delicious duck and goose dishes. But it is how the city brings these elements together that is so exciting.
You can see the restaurants’ ingredients on display just south of the city centre in Bordeaux’s biggest food market, Marché des Capucins. Then head north to see how Bordeaux transformed its old maritime district, Bassins à Flot, into a gleaming, cosmopolitan neighbourhood that holds several of the city’s most fascinating sights. Obviously, the Cité du Vin, the city’s impressive homage to wine, is one of them, but also pop into the Halles de Bacalan for gourmet treats and local produce. At the Vivres de l’Art, you can even discover how an 18th-century navy
warehouse found a new lease of life as an arts venue, exhibition hall and artists’ residence.
Before you leave the Bassins à Flot district, make time for a visit to the largest digital arts centre in the world. Step into the Bassins des Lumières and you will lose yourself in immersive digital art exhibitions – it’s almost like walking into a work of art. The current shows take you into the vivid worlds of Salvador Dalí and Antonio Gaudí (both until 7 January 2024). The setting is just as compelling: the exhibition spaces take up a former submarine base built by the Germans during the SecondWorldWar.
It’s just the latest of many cultural transformations Bordeaux has undergone since the mid-1990s. Since then, some 5,000 grand but greying 18th-century buildings have been spruced up and now form part of a 150-hectare UNESCO World Heritage site. Start in the Place de la Comédie and marvel at the colonnaded façade of the Grand Théâtre before wandering past Cours du Chapeau Rouge’s stately townhouses and towards 44.8378° N, 0.5792° W
The Bordeaux area is not just famous for its wine. While many people associate caviar with eastern Europe, France is the world’s third-largest producer, after China and Italy. The bulk of its farmed sturgeon eggs come from the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region, specifically around the Gironde estuary and the Garonne and Dordogne rivers. The country’s leading producer, Sturia, even has its HQ here.
From cathedrals to vineyards (clockwise from above) Bordeaux’s Cathédrale St-André is a magnificent sight, though that didn’t stop it from being turned into a lead factory and a warehouse for food during the French Revolution; the Galerie Bordelaise is one of the most elegant covered shopping passageways in France and is accented with dazzling gilt finishes and wrought-iron twists; the 19th-century Three Graces fountain stands at the heart of the Place de la Bourse and was originally created to replace a statue of Napoleon Bonaparte, which in turn had replaced one of the king that had been torn down during the revolution; there are plenty of bars to slake your thirst in the city; the merlot grape is a native of Bordeaux and is the region’s most widely grown grape variety
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