Statistics can tell us all sorts of things. They can be very complicated. Or they can be simple. But they are best when presented in the raw. So, here, uneditorialised, unedited, in a no-holds-barred list kinda format, are one six-year-old’s marks out of ten for everything-she-could-fit-into-one-weekend-at-Disneyland-Paris. I’ll warn you now, her scoring can be erratic, over-emotional, and downright dubious, but I can assure you it’s honest and it’s authentic.

In the spirit of open data, crunch her numbers however you wish. They are after the fold / below the photo.

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Whether you’re into German rieslings or Spanish bubbly, there are some great day-trips for wine lovers, writes Donald Strachan.

Alsace, France

The lowdown: The place names sound German, the wine bottles look German, the local dialect, Elsassisch, has a definite Germanic twang to it. But this is France, and the wines are distinctively French.

Highlights of this 200-kilometre route, tracking the Vosges mountains from Thann in the south to the border of the Palatinate in the north, are bunched up in the central stretch around Colmar and Selestat. The favourite tour bus stop is Riquewihr, which would normally be good reason in itself to avoid it, but this uniquely Alsatian walled village stays (just) the right side of kitsch. And, anyway, it’s home to Hugel and Dopff au Moulin, the best exponents of local white wines.

Alternatively, the co-operatives at Turckheim and Beblenheim make great stops to try gewurztraminer in its natural home. And while you’re at it, the region is one of Old Europe’s best for gastro-tourism – Michelin-starred restaurants are scattered like hundreds and thousands, and Alsace onion tart is unmatchable.

Base yourself in: Everyone else heads to Colmar for chocolate-box holiday snaps, but to avoid high-season crowds try Selestat. [Read more →]

For me, Brittany will always be the place where, aged nine and a half, I had my first taste of foreign food. Just hearing the name conjures up a crowded campsite, queues for the showers, the staccato drone of rain battering canvas and my dad reversing our new Citroen into a bollard at Portsmouth harbour.

But for the French, Brittany is renowned for salt – specifically, for Breton fleur du sel. It is somehow appropriate that a place where authentic local dishes (and pizzas) come with crab and cockles, or lobster and langoustines, should have made its name from the sea. [Read more →]