An evening with Verdi

One by one they introduce themselves, shaking hands. Nabucco, La Traviata, Rigoletto, La Forza del Destino, Otello. I was meeting the members of the Club dei 27, a Verdi appreciation society unlike any other. Every Thursday, they gather in a vaulted wine cellar in Parma, the central Italian city that celebrates the opera maestro in a particularly spirited manner.

Verdi was born 40km away in Busseto, but that’s close enough for the Parmigiani to have adopted the man who changed Italian opera, and was the inspiration behind a wonderfully elaborate opera house that rivals La Scala in Milan.

The men of Club dei 27 – and it’s only men – have been meeting since 1955 over a glass of wine, sharing their love of Verdi and genially arguing over his music. They each take the names of Verdi’s 26 operas – plus his Requiem – which makes the introductions somewhat surreal and sweetly amusing. Un Giorno di Regno (real name: Enzo) ushers me into the vaulted meeting room, where wooden chairs are neatly lined up against the wall. It’s not their usual Thursday, and about a third of them have made a special exception to meet me on a Monday.

As we all shuffle into the room, Un Giorno di Regno says: “This is what we do when we welcome guests.” The lights dim, and the club members line up in front of me. Someone has turned on the CD player, and the sound of the "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves" from Nabucco seeps gently into the room.

The men begin to sing along to the recording, quietly at first. Their eyes are half closed, moved by the music as it crescendos. I am too, and I can feel my eyes pricking slightly. It is one of the most evocative pieces of music Verdi ever wrote, in which he transposed the 19th-century Italian desire for statehood to biblical times.

I’m still enveloped in the cocoon of sublime music when Un Giorno di Regno tells me about the other work that the Club dei 27 does. Its greatest pride is the education programmes it runs in local schools. Children as young as six are introduced to opera in an entertaining and unintimidating way, which has proved a huge success. Some have gone on to study classical music and opera formally at a conservatoire, Un Giorno di Regno tells me with a beaming smile.

I’m then shown the opera wall of fame, on which stars of the opera world have been given maestro status by the Club dei 27. Singers and conductors have been awarded this honour, some posthumously, others in the room in which I’m standing. These stars, too, are given the same musical welcome I received. I spot Placido Domingo’s photograph on the wall.

“So Placido Domingo was here too? And did you greet him the same way you greeted me?”

“Yes,” the men answer.

“But wasn’t it a bit daunting to sing in front of one of the world’s greatest tenors?”

“No,” says Un Giorno di Regno, in all seriousness. “Singing this aria is like singing our national anthem. We sing it with the same sense of pride, and no fear of who might be listening.”

Opera for the masses indeed.

A visit to Auschwitz

It’s the numbers you can’t take in. The 1,300,000 people murdered systemically at the two main camps at Auschwitz, 90 per cent of them Jews. The numbers of people sent directly to their deaths at the second camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau. The numbers slowly or quickly tortured and terrorised and worked to death at the first camp set up in 1940 near the Polish village of Oswiecim.

It’s the corridors filled with photographs of the murdered – taken in their striped uniforms and looking dazed. Two Czech identical twin girls who died within two months of each other. Members of the Polish resistance who were betrayed and sentenced to death.

It’s the cells where prisoners were starved to death, or left without oxygen to die slowly. It’s the small wooden bench where prisoners were strapped before being whipped. Beside this barracks is the death wall, where thousands were shot after being tortured.

It’s the infirmary where prisoners who wouldn’t get better were given lethal injections. The inmates called it the crematorium waiting room.

It’s the gas chamber and the ovens.

It’s the look of shock that hits the faces of teenagers on group tours when they reach the room of children’s shoes. The long window case beside this is stacked with suitcases covered with names, dates of birth and addresses of Jews who were told they would be reunited with their belongings as soon as they came out of the showers.

It’s the knowledge that once you leave Auschwitz I and travel 3km to Auschwitz-Birkenau, you leave a camp of torture and sadism to a camp with only one purpose: extermination of the Jewish race. As quickly as possible.

It’s where the railway track goes under the gate of death to the end of the line. It’s covered in snow when I visit, and the biting wind cuts through layers of modern hi-tech winter clothing.

It’s knowing that most of those who survived until January 1945 had died on the death march when the Nazis evacuated the camp.

It’s realising that only 7,500 were found alive by the Red Army.

It’s the numbers you can’t take in. And the evil. 

... In with the new

We decided to see the year out in northern France, with nothing planned beyond booking a hotel room in Boulogne-sur-Mer's old town. The French love New Year's Eve – probably more than Christmas. Time to bring out the oysters, foie gras and champagne, and it's on New Year's Eve – not Christmas – when people sell bunches of mistletoe to be kissed under at midnight. With this in mind, I thought that even a diabolical weather forecast shouldn't get in the way of a fun French new year.

It did, of course – at least in the beginning. The ferry crossing was truly awful as the ship bounced its way across the channel. Thank goodness seasickness disappears the moment you step off a ship.

Most of the old town's restaurants were resolutely shut, or had no plans to stay open for le Réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre, as New Year's Eve is called in France. Eventually we found Le Parisien, a cosy little place that was taking bookings, albeit with a €5 deposit. Seconds after walking out, we were accosted by a restaurateur we tried earlier but who wasn't opening that evening. He was out of breath. "I tried to stop you. Did you make a booking there?" Well, yes, we did. "Oh God, it's horrible. Really nice owner but the food is terrible. You'll regret it in the morning." Marvellous news.

Still, there was the town to wander round, which we haven't done for many years. Twinkling lights hung everywhere, keeping up the festive air. The mulled wine in Le Français café was delicious, and it was just as entertaining watching the elderly locals file in two by two for their glass of sparkling wine.

Dinner ended up being perfectly adequate – nothing worse than some of the mediocre meals we'd had in France before. As it was only just past 10pm, we headed into the lower town to find a place in which to see in the new year. Bars we had seen open earlier were closing their doors. It wasn't looking promising. We spotted a crowd outside Le Français smoking under the awning. Ah, just the spot. "Soirée privée" said the sign. Oh. The smokers commiserated with us and helpfully pointed out another bar down the road that should be open. "Where are you from? Are you from the region?" We're from Britain. "Eengleesh!" said one woman delightedly. "Oh, they'll let you in. Come on, let's find the owner." Sure enough, the anglophile owner – who had a poster of Princess Diana and Union flag bunting on one wall – was happy to let a couple of strangers loose among what was obviously a close circle of friends.

Hilariously dire French television was broadcasting a cabaret extravaganza as we drank wine and waited until midnight. The bar owner ostentatiously placed a chair under a large bunch of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Midnight struck and the room erupted in a frenzy of cheek-kissing – four pecks each in this part of France. Not surprisingly it took a while to get to everyone. The person who gets kissed under the mistletoe is guaranteed happiness for the year. I stood under it and my husband gave me the now customary four pecks. "Not like that!" the crowd chorused. "On the lips!"

Another glass of sparkling wine later (on the house) and we left the bar on a tide of goodwill and shouts of "bonne année!". Even the rain had stopped, and we were ridiculously pleased with ourselves for having stumbled into such an unexpectedly delightful New Year's Eve. The glow carried on into New Year's Day, when the sun came out and we joined what looked like half the northern French population  taking a seaside stroll along the promenade in the nearby beach resort of Wimereux. Lunch of mussels and whelks at the Cap Nord restaurant on the seafront was an excellent way to start the year. Even the sea behaved itself and was as smooth as glass on the return crossing.

As so many of my travels have to include meticulous planning ahead, sometimes it can be a joy just to go with the flow.

Out with the old ...

I'm not alone in thinking that New Year's Eve is horribly overrated. Too many expectations, too much hysteria and far too many restaurants charging five times the usual rate for a "special" menu. I like the idea of marking the end of a year and the beginning of a fresh new one, but I'm not so keen on the forced jollity.

The best New Year's Eves are the ones that take you by surprise – when nothing is planned yet everything falls into place. Some years ago when I was living in Bristol, my friends and I were at a loose end one New Year's Eve, having left it too late to sort anything out. The only restaurant table in town was for 7pm. All right, we thought, at least we'll be well fed. Just around the corner from the restaurant was the only pub in town that didn't require buying a ticket in advance – and it had a decent DJ. Great, a bit of dancing would go down well. There we ran into mates who told us about a nearby party hosted by mutual friends. Armed with plenty of booze we had the foresight to buy earlier, we were welcomed with open arms. Snow was falling gently when we walked home at 4am, marvelling at the night sky and pleased we weren't shivering in a horrendous queue for non-existent cabs.

I had the great luck to spend a couple of New Year's Eves skiing in France, and if I had my way (and the budget) I'd do this every year. The French love the occasion even more than Christmas – and why not, when it's another excuse to bring out the oysters and champagne? In a Pyrenean village we joined the party in the local ice skating rink, while people of all ages strolled with streets with bottles of champagne and somehow turned outdoor drinking into a civilised event.

And this year? Well, it's France again, but not quite in a magical mountain setting. We decided on a whim to book a ferry to go to Boulogne on the northern French coast, a place we'd visited many times before – but never on New Year's Eve. A quick trawl through the internet revealed a distinct lack of restaurants that can be bothered to open, and those that are have put on one of those dreaded "special" menus. So we're off with no plans, nothing in place – apart from emergency supplies of cheese, pâté and fizz. The only thing that's certain is the dreadful weather forecast. Wish me luck. And Happy New Year.

Olympics guide to London transport

This summer, London's beleaguered public transport system will be hammered as rarely seen before. The expected mass exodus of the natives to avoid the Olympics is unlikely to happen to any great extent, so millions upon millions of people will have to be squeezed on to our antiquated Underground. This will result in an awful lot of grumpy people (that'll be me, then) muttering in disbelief at tourists' inability to grasp the basics of travelling in London. Here are a few tips to reduce the grumpiness, if only by a smidgeon.

1. How to use the escalator in a Tube station
Patronising title, I know, but believe me, people still need a lesson in this. It all boils down to this: STAND ON THE RIGHT AND KEEP THE LEFT CLEAR FOR PEOPLE TO WALK. Wonderfully simple logic, I know, but hard for many to grasp. It's not just tourists who ignore this, of course. But, really, it's just good manners. That leads me to ...

2. Don't block the entrance
You reach the entrance, or the exit, or the ticket gates, or the train platform, and there they are – a cluster of people who arrive and just stop. And don't move. And then wonder why you're scowling at them as you try to get through the throng. Shuffling over just a few feet will make a difference.

3. How to board a train
More patronising tones, but I'm standing firm on this. A Tube train finally arrives and what do you do? We'll, what you don't do is stand in front of the doors and prevent people from getting off. Because this will just delay your chance to get on the train. Another simple piece of logic routinely ignored. And once you do board, bear in mind that there's a pretty good chance that someone will be behind you and will want to get on the train as well. This is not the signal for you to saunter on and just stand in front of the doors. Expect to get nudged forward, with varying degrees of politeness.

4. A couple of Tube tips
London Underground trains have buttons on the doors that indicate "open". They don't actually do anything. The doors will open automatically. Also, regular Tube passengers are accustomed to a juddering stop-start motion of the train as it tries to leave a station. This means people are leaning too heavily against the doors, which will prevent the train from leaving. So don't lean on the doors. Yes, it is your fault.

5. Other forms of public transport, namely Boris Bikes
London's bike-rental scheme has been a huge success – too much so for many people (yep, me again) who find it considerably more difficult to find a functioning bike now that everyone can rent one easily. The problem is that many people who happily hop on one of these things have no idea of the rules of the road. You wouldn't get in a rental car and blithely ignore the law, yet that's what people do with bikes. Not just naughty, but dangerous. Here are a few basics.

5a. We drive and cycle on the left – gauche – sinistra – links – izquierda – esquerda – levo – etc
That also applies to bike lanes. Do try to bear that in mind. And don't let your kids weave all over the path, even if it's within a park. You might think you're in a safe place, but there are plenty of speeding cyclists (this time not me) who are in a hurry and have little patience with people who get in their way.

5b. Know when to give way to oncoming traffic
When you come to a crossing or any sort of junction and you see broken lines in front of you on the road, that means you do not have right of way. Let other people – be they pedestrians or other cyclists – pass first. I really wouldn't ignore this rule. People will get hurt.

5c. Indicating when you're going to turn would be helpful now and again
Stick the appropriate arm out if you're turning left or right. We can't always read your mind. This inability to indicate applies to cars as well, but that's another story.

What all of these points boil down to is to remember that there are other people travelling with you – in London's case, anything up to nine million people. So take a moment to pay some attention to your surroundings and you might just keep some of the natives (including me) from growling too loudly behind you.

Hotel websites – less is more

It's an easy trap to fall into. A hotel wants to revamp its website and has a quick trawl through the web to see the latest concepts. It finds a web designer who assures the client that all the latest online bells and whistles

will be just the thing to entice potential

guests. The result is a website that is so

teeth-clenchingly annoying that the punter is put off before he even thinks of setting foot in the place.

This is a familiar whinge from travel writers, whose needs are often different from an average holidaymaker. We're usually up against a deadline and need to find basic information very quickly. A phone number, for example. Or an address. These would be quite handy to have on the opening page. Too often they're not. And I don't want to know about a toll-free number that doesn't work for international callers. (US hotels, I'm looking at you.)

But surely travel writers aren't the only people who sit impatiently while an elaborate intro wastes your precious time. If a website gives me the choice to "skip intro", I always will. There's nothing in the intro that shouldn't appear in the main site.

And then there's music. It doesn't belong on hotel websites. End of discussion. No arguments. The mute button goes on at once.

Photo galleries are lovely, useful and all part of the fun. Please make them easier to click through. Don't have each photo open its own window. It's very tiresome.

My biggest bugbear is one that involves a fundamental reason for choosing a particular hotel: the room rates. I want a list of tariffs for all types of rooms and showing the different seasons. A minimum and a maximum. Very simple. What I don't want is to have to input my dates before I'm told what offers fall on those dates. I need to know early on if the hotel is within my price range. Going through the whole inputting-of-dates rigamarole is another time-wasting nuisance. It also doesn't endear me to the hotel, as I automatically assume that it's afraid to be honest in its dealings. Why does price have to be something to hide? I'm fully aware that hotels want to have the flexibility to drop their prices at certain times and will offer incredible discounts. But I'd rather have a reasonably clear indication of the price range to begin with.

When I read flowery prose about the "essence" and the "philosophy" of the hotel, my eyes glaze over. And then I get angry when they neglect to tell me important information about the hotel's layout – such as that new annexe they built that is a 10-minute walk from the hotel.

But all of this matters not a jot when I can't get on to the site to begin with – because it's only in Flash. So that immediately excludes iPhone and iPad users, those people who are being continually bombarded with brilliant new travel apps for their devices. So don't forget to ask that clever web designer to come up with an HTML version too.

I'm curious to hear what experiences hoteliers have had with their websites and how they've affected business. Feel free to pass on your thoughts.

Are excursions worth it?

Some friends of mine were visiting Europe for the first time, and they chose to take a guided tour that zoomed through four countries in 10 days. You know the sort: if it's Tuesday this must be Belgium. I'm not necessarily criticising this kind of tour, as many tourists find that it's their best economical option. What does annoy me, however, is the excursions offered by the tour companies. They argue that it's the way they make money out of these cut-price tours, as the travel costs are kept to a minimum. That might be true, but it's unfair on the customer.

The tour operators rely on the fact that many of their clients are first-time visitors and don't know what they want to see, or that they don't feel confident enough to strike out on their own. Or even that they can't be bothered and prefer to be led. But do the companies really need to charge up to four times what a tour is worth – or, worse still, charge for attractions that are free to begin with?

To take some examples: an excursion in Paris takes in the Louvre and Notre-Dame, charging €45 for the privilege. A full ticket at the Louvre is €14 and Notre-Dame is free. If this hugely overpriced excursion includes jumping the horrendous queues at the Louvre, then people who are pressed for time might consider it money well spent. But it's free to visit Notre-Dame, and the cathedral even organises its own free tours. Similarly, a "special" night-time trip on a bateau mouche (excluding dinner) on the Seine costs €32, when a trip usually costs only €11.

The Rome excursions are just as daft. You can pay €69 to visit the Vatican and Colosseum with the tour company, or pay €30.30 for both on your own. There's even an excursion to Piazza Navona and the Pantheon (pictured) for the ludicrous sum of €32. Both places are free, so why not just buy a map?

It doesn't take much effort to do a bit of research on your own before you set off and make some decisions about what you want to visit. If you have only one day in Paris or Rome, you might just want to take in one major attraction and leave the rest of the time to explore and have a delicious lunch. You might enjoy getting a feel for the place rather than just ticking off a list of places you feel you have to see.

What all hoteliers should know

For the past four weeks, I have been in France researching the latest Frommer's guidebook to Provence. This involved 21 different hotel/apartment stays in 27 nights. Over the years, I've stayed in more hotels than I can remember, but having this prolonged period away from home has really focused my mind on what hoteliers consistently get wrong – as well as what they do right.

First things first: all hoteliers should spend at least two nights in their own hotels – with their luggage. If you're male, then get your wife, sister or other frank female to do the same. Too often no one bothers to get a woman's point of view. This is daft, as it's usually the woman who chooses the accommodation for the family holiday.

Secondly, the bathroom. I've stayed in brand-new five-star hotels with fantastic showers that have leaked all over the floor. And why can't people put a shelf in the shower? All those lovely fittings and nowhere to put your shampoo except on the floor. If a designer tries to tell you that shelves will "spoil the line", slap him. Oh, and a strong hook wouldn't go amiss either for people with hanging toiletries cases. (In fact, hooks in general are a good thing. More, please.)

Beautifully designed bathrooms with very deep basins look lovely. But spare a thought for short-sighted women who need to get close to a mirror to put on makeup. If the main mirror is three feet away, have the decency to put a small makeup mirror on the side wall. To those hotels that have already done so, thank you. It's very appreciated.

A special plea to French hoteliers that, unfortunately, will go unnoticed: put up a shower curtain. Otherwise, if you're determined to have an open shower, then leave a huge pile of towels to mop up the floor. If you've gone to the trouble to put up a shower screen, try to find one that actually works.

Small pedal bins in the bathroom are the work of the devil and should be banned. As are those chrome covers for the toilet roll. It is not aesthetically displeasing to see an uncovered bin or a naked toilet roll. We can handle it, trust me.

Very rarely are there enough plug sockets for today's traveller. These days, not many of us go around without a mobile phone, laptop, digital camera, iPod, etc, and all of them need to be charged up at some point.

And another thing: full-length mirrors. They don't need to take up much space and can easily be fitted behind the door of a wardrobe. Speaking of wardrobes, can we have more than five hangers? And can we have deep enough hanging space for dresses? I recently stayed in a supposedly "superior" room whose wardrobe was too short to hang a T-shirt.

I want to hug hoteliers who have the trust to leave a proper hair dryer in the bathroom – one that doesn't require constantly pressing a button to get the silly thing to work. Some people's hands cramp quickly. Thankfully, some manufacturers have come up with a model that is stuck to the wall but has a proper on-off switch. They do exist; I've seen them.

If you advertise free wifi, do make it clear when it works only in reception and not in the rooms. During this trip, I stayed in everything from two-star to five-star hotels, and not a single one charged for wifi. The luxury hotels that do are just being greedy. Add it to the cost of the room if you feel the need.

I have yet to see the point to a turndown service, except for the chocolates and perhaps a bottle of water. They're intrusive, almost always done when you're still getting ready to go out, and it's not very relaxing to feel compelled to tidy up before you go out for the evening. Leave the chocolates and the water during the morning clean-up.

Hotel breakfasts have become ridiculously overpriced and this is something that deserves its own blog post. Since when did the cost of breakfast equal or exceed the price of lunch?

Most of these suggestions require very little expense, and most hotels can certainly afford the odd hook or mirror here and there. These little things might sound insignificant, but they all add up.

Done roaming – a cautionary tale

You would think, with the amount of travelling I do, that I would have sussed out the confusing world of mobile phone roaming charges. Evidently not, as my recent phone bill from Orange shows. I seem to have fallen into a classic trap of getting severely stung by extortionate roaming charges while abroad. And all thanks to a rubbish little app.

Ever since I got my first BlackBerry, I have been careful to buy additional travel data bundles that would allow me to access my emails without spending a small fortune. The trouble started when I apparently responded to an Orange text while I was in France early this year. As I was approaching the limit of my travel bundle, Orange asked me if I wanted my roaming limit lifted. Although I don't remember sending the text, Orange maintains that I did – even though I hadn't reached my data bundle limit. And no one pointed out that lifting the limit is for all time – not just for that trip.

Two trips to France later, I came home to find a massive bill, even though I had bought data bundles. What on earth was causing my phone to rack up this huge bill? I always turned off the updating facility on Twitter, for example, and even deleted the official Twitter for BlackBerry app that didn't give you this option.

Then I remembered that I had downloaded the only free BlackBerry app that tracks the number of Boris bikes that are in London's docking stations. The default setting meant that the app was merrily updating itself EVERY 30 SECONDS while I was in France. How can I have been such an idiot not to check all the settings? I've since deleted the app (which didn't work very well anyway), put the roaming limit back in place and bought another data bundle for my trip next month. If I bust the limit, so be it. Bear that in mind if I don't respond to your emails relatively quickly.

Right, must get back to work and make some money to start paying off this monstrous bill. By the way, has anyone figured out quite why mobile phone companies charge such ridiculous amounts for roaming? I'd like to hear a rational answer.

When readers fight back

I was happy to see a feature in the Daily Telegraph recently about one of my favourite French ports, Sète. Anthony Peregrine wrote an enjoyable article about this unpretentious town that isn't really on the radar of most UK visitors. It's a bit scruffy, yes, but it's a real working port that has more important business to attend to than pandering to tourists: namely its huge fishing industry. Anthony was up front when he described some parts as run down. St-Tropez it isn't, nor does it want to be. I discovered it accidentally 10 years ago, and have been visiting ever since.

So I was quite taken aback when I saw the scathing comments from readers at the bottom of the article. Several called it a dump, suggesting that people would be better off visiting Slough. Another wondered if Anthony had ever actually visited the place. Considering that Anthony has been based on the South of France for a couple of decades, my guess is that he would have made Sète's acquaintance by now. Then there was that inevitable comment about writers swanning off on all-expenses paid trips and feeling compelled to write something good about a place even if it's a slagheap. (Why does everyone assume that all travel writers are on expenses? Most of us aren't.)

I've been to Sète numerous times over the past 10 years, and – bar one occasion – in a personal capacity. Why do I come back again and again to this place that supposedly makes Slough look good? For precisely the reasons Anthony explains in his article, and in one I wrote a couple of years ago (which you can read here if you fancy). If you want overcrowded expensive beaches, stick to the Riviera. If you want exquisite seafood and long, empty sands that stretch for miles, then give Sète a go. With any luck, you won't run into Sète-baiting Telegraph readers.