Ladies do walk their poodles in Paris and the Italians really are an effervescent bunch. And yes, both do indeed make some of the best food on the planet.

And if names like Paris, Avignon, Aix, Tuscany, Florence and Rome conjure up images of Art House movies with subtitles and romance, then a couple of days spent there will have you wishing that you weren’t living here on the tip of Africa, but could somehow be transported back in time and be born a Frenchman or an Italian.

Soppy I know, but isn’t that what travel and holidays are supposed to do?

I’m no foodie and, to be honest, I’m a lot more comfortable with a braai tong or a steering wheel and gear lever in my hand than knives and forks (you work from the outside inward, right?) at a fancy dinner table.

Which is pretty much what friends said when they heard where I was going and what we were going to do.

However, if like most South Africans you enjoy good food, wine and company, a trip to the heart of Europe’s gastronomy regions is well worth the effort. I mean, travel and food; who could ask for more?

So, there we were; a group of journalists from around the world about to tackle whatever food, wine and liqueurs they could muster.

Essentially, the Trafalgar Tours package is put together for you to visit places not normally on the tourist itinerary and throughout the trip the two tour directors we had in France and Italy were simply outstanding. Essentially google on call at the front of the coach.

The Be My Guest concept takes you into the heart of the kitchen and allows you to experience the food of the region up close and personal.

It was on the first day when we arrived in Paris that I saw the lady walking her dog while I was on my way to the Tabac des Tornes to buy a local SIM card.

It more or less set the tone for the rest of our time there because when you’re a tourist in countries like France and Italy, books and films have pretty much shaped how you perceive them.

Just mention Amsterdam in any conversation.

Anyway, a night trip through Paris taking in the Champs-Elysées, Palace of the Louvre and Arc de Triomphe and a walk about the streets managed to work up a good appetite.

What about dinner in À La Petite Chaise founded in 1680 and still serving food? Why not indeed.

A hangout over the centuries of artists, writers, politicians rouges and raconteurs.

On the menu: Champagne; gratinated onion soup; salmon marinated in dill with a wholegrain mustard cream sauce; duck foie gras with apple chutney. Main course: grilled sea bass fillet with a basil marinade; duck breast roasted with apple and armagnac brandy sauce; grilled beef steak with a pepper sauce. Dessert: iced nougat with hazelnut, served with a red berry sauce; bitter chocolate cake with a light custard sauce; dessert made with milk cream and served with caramel.

Hungry yet? And that was only the first night! You get the picture though…

For the first time I had foie gras, and only because it was the first evening with a group of strangers that I didn’t ask for another helping or three. Can’t have the Yanks and Canucks thinking we Africans enjoy our food too much.

Before you get on the high-speed TGV to Avignon, take a walk around the Gare de Lyon at the station, probably one of the world’s finest examples of an Art Nouveau building. The detail, as with most of the buildings and architecture we saw, is breathtaking.

Travelling at around 300km/h in comfort to Avignon in the train beats an eight-hour coach trip hands down, particularly when all the luggage, ticketing and travel arrangements are taken care of and all you have to do is munch on a macaroon.

What’s a macaroon? Not pasta – Italy would have to wait a day or two – but a meringue-type biscuit made only the way the French can.

I also didn’t quite get it until I had one or two on the train and one for dessert at Le Jardin du Quai in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue where Chef Daniel Hebet provided a demonstration on how they make them. I have the recipe, in French nogal.

Chef Daniel, by the way, made the most fantastic lunch and this is why taking the less-travelled road allows you to experience something away from the madding crowd.

If you’re into antiques, then hit the alleys in l’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue and take something home that you can boast you bought in Provence.

A not-too-long coach drive down the road takes you to Avignon, the City of the Popes, called thus because of, surprise, surprise, a conflict between the Papacy and the French crown. Clement V wasn’t overly keen on moving from France to Rome so moved his court to the papal enclave at Avignon. Seven popes reigned at Avignon from 1309 to 1367. But, and again no surprise here, two years later there was another disagreement which led to the Western Schism ending in 1417. So you get a lesson in making macaroons and a bit of Roman Catholic history thrown in on the same day.

The upshot of this is that there is a magnificent papal residence to explore and the only seal of the Vatican outside the Vatican City.

More importantly, though, is that the popes enjoyed experimenting with and making wine, which gave us Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which roughly translates to “The pope’s new castle”.

Man alive, that stuff is the real deal. I suppose wine tasters would have some very flattering, flowery way to describe it; my take on it is earthy and chewy; essentially drink as much of it as you can.

Starting the day at 9am is ideal; it means a leisurely beginning after breakfast and not a mad scramble to make it to the coach, often with a slight thumping in the cranium.

Before we headed to Baudouin Parmentier’s organic vineyard and chateau to have yet another outstanding meal that included earthy beef pasta with goat’s cheese overlooking the quintessential French countryside in autumn, we popped into the local street markets in Aix.

It got me wondering why we as a nation have become so Americanised while many cities in Europe maintain that village atmosphere where the public and local restaurateurs buy their fresh produce.

We go gaga when we have a rare opportunity to stroll through a market selling meats, cheeses, vegetables and real home-made goodies… the French and Italians have them almost daily in a centuries-old city square, while we mostly have to trudge to the local supermarket.

A quick hop by plane over the mountains and you’re in Rome, having to change your “bonjour” to “buongiorno” on the day Silvio Berlusconi agreed to bonga-bonga as prime minister, on to the coach and four hours later into the real Tuscany – not the pseudo houses and estates that litter the Gauteng landscape.

Here you stay at the Villa il Poggiale, built around 1408 (yip, about 250 years before Jan van Riebeek did his thing in Cape Town), bought by the Vitta family after World War II and transformed into a unique hotel by their sons after their parents’ passing.

Like a house, each room is different: mine was originally part of the stables and was self-catering with an impressive fresco painting on the ceiling. Dinner is a typical Italian affair, with antipasto all the way through to dessert accompanied with Chianti and lots of laughs.

The fun part of Be My Guest is being able to buy ingredients and prepare them yourself. We met Chef Libero on the way to the market where he promptly gave each group e20 and a list of ingredients in Italian that we had to buy ourselves.

Much laughter as our group managed to get the veggies, enabling us to browse the central Florence market for some clothing and trinket bargains. Well euro bargains at least.

Libero’s Ristorante I Tre Pini is set in the Chianti hills and his staff quickly had us dressed in hair nets and aprons, not a pretty sight.

We made Pasta, la ribollita, la pappa al pomodoro, la panzanella and cantucci, a fantastic experience. While waiting for the food to be served and sipping on Italy’s finest, two gentlemen serenaded the group and asked the women in for a dance, lots of fun and laughter, and as Italian as Ferrari and Alfa Romeo.

Running late – dancing and drinking can do that to a tour group – we headed for the San Miniato al Monte church overlooking Florence.

Building started in 1013 and without my nose growing longer, is the final resting place of Carlo Collodi – author of Pinocchio. To walk into a church (or any place of worship) that old is one of the privileges of travelling and to see what those who came before us did and built is humbling to say the least.

Talking of privilege: gazing at the statue of David sculptured by Michelangelo between 1501 and 1504, after having seen the four unfinished sculptures of captives intended to adorn the grave of Pope Julius II in Rome, you have an inkling of the genius of the man.

If it weren’t for the women sitting on the benches staring at his (I’m told) perfect butt, you would be forgiven for thinking that you were an extra in a brochure.

Markets, food, wine, churches, music, Michelangelo and finally a stroll on my own over the Ponte Vecchio or Golden Bridge where a man proposed to his girlfriend… talk about sensory overload. (She said yes, by the way.)

Before leaving Florence and returning to Rome, no visit is complete without spending time at the home of Count Francesco MiariFulcis, who also has a pope in his family’s lineage. His 300-hectare farm has been producing olive oil for generations and a fascinating tour through the factory from harvest to having a taste of freshly pressed oil is surpassed only by the – yes, you guessed it – food. All grown and made on the farm or in the region. By this stage, I think everyone was looking forward to the drive back to Rome, at least a few hours without having to keep the jaw muscles occupied and a chance to let the the taste buds relax.

A final evening of some heavenly Italian cuisine in the heart of Rome ended what almost all I spoke to agreed was one of the best visits they had ever had.

Rome or the Eternal City has to be a trip on its own – listening here, Brendan? – walking over bridges and driving on roads where Julius Caesar and his mates charged around in their chariots before Christ was born takes some getting used to. And that’s not even taking into account the Colosseum, Forum or Circus Maximus.

If you want my advice, call your doctor, up your dose of cholesterol medicine, max your credit cards or rig a government tender, but if you’re serious about travel and can appreciate good food, make a plan.

l Willem van de Putte flew with Trafalgar Tours, which put together a customised tour included in its At Leisure Paris & Provence and the First Class Flavours of Italy itineraries.

Tel: 011 280 8400

www.trafalgartours.co.za - Saturday Star