Aleppo, Syria

It's my second visit to Aleppo, Syria's northern city. The first was five years ago and much has changed. On one hand, the atmospheric Christian Quarter, Al-Jdeideh, is now home to a clutch of new boutique hotels housed in gorgeous restored Ottoman mansions. The focus of these houses, tucked down narrow cobbled alleyways, is the courtyard: an entertaining area always featuring a tinkling fountain and gnarled old citrus tree whose branches reach for freedom through the open atrium above. The best hotels and restaurants have really made these restored courtyards a feature, sensitively breathing life back into the tiled floors, marble walls and ornate carved wooden ceilings in the adjacent rooms, so today's visitor only needs a little imagination to feel like a merchant traveller on the ancient Silk Road bearing precious spices from the East.

On the other hand, the central Old City area around the citadel seems to have declined a little. Maybe it was just because it was Friday - the holy day of the week for Muslims - but the area lacked the buzzing atmosphere it had five years ago. Most disappointingly, the grand and opulent Yabhoulga al-Nasery hammam opposite the citadel appears to be closed for the long term, its front windows smashed and barred up. However, a swish, brand spanking new Carlton hotel now optimistically occupies pride of place in the old hospital building, sandwiched between the citadel and the rambling souqs. On the day of our visit the hotel had been open for less than a week, but I can see it doing well on account of its plush facilities and amazing location.

Dinner at Sissi House, in one of the aforementioned grand Ottoman mansions, was a chance to enjoy Aleppan food, regarded as the best in Syria. Borrowing from neighbours Turkey and Lebanon's cuisines, the typical menu features muhummara, a rich and tangy dip made from roasted red peppers, walnuts, chillies, garlic paste and pomegranate molasses; sujok, crispy fried pastry rolls filled with spicy lamb sausage meat; and lamb kebab with a sweet, sour and rich cherry sauce garnished with toasted pine nuts. We washed this all down, along with the usual hummus, baba ghanoush and flatbread, with Syrian wine - a surprisingly tasty blend of 75% cabernet sauvignon and 25% merlot.

Cappadocia, Turkey

Goreme, the peaceful little village built in and around ancient volcanic rock pinnacles in central Turkey, is a welcome change from all the cities we have been spending time in recently. Sitting on the hotel terrace in the pale but warm December sun I have a perfect view of the cave houses carved into the "fairy chimney" rocks, vying with minarets to be the skyscrapers of Cappadocia. In my hand is a glass of local red wine; a ruby-red, berry-flavoured blend of two grape varieties: Okuzgozu and Bogazkere. The only sounds are emanating from birds. After an overnight train trip from Istanbul to Ankara, followed by a four-hour bus trip to get here, I decide I'm in heaven and resolve to do nothing else today but look at the view, become further acquainted with the local fermented grape juice and have dinner.

We found the latter easily - being December, the village was eerily quiet and we had the pick of the dozen or so restaurants open at this time of year. At Cappadocia Pide House, reputed to produce Goreme's best pide (Turkish pizza), we started with a spicy minced lamb version, the home-made dough fluffy and crispy in just the right places.

We opted to sample a couple of the region's own dishes next. Chicken "sac tava", a rich, tomatoey, oniony stew, arrived simmering in an iron dish on top of a paraffin flame. Much more exciting, however, was the "desti kebab" of beef, onions and spicy tomato sauce, slow-cooked in a sealed terracotta jug and presented at our table by the chef who demonstrated the correct technique for smashing the top off with a sturdy knife.

The best way to see the region's unique landforms is by hot air balloon. Early every morning, weather-permitting, a flock of balloons rises over the valley ridges near Goreme, silently drifting up and down over the fairy chimneys and ancient frescoed cave churches, as the sun creeps above the horizon and throws a gold blanket over the landscape.

  

Istanbul

It's impossible to get sick of Turkish food. After three days and countless kebabs in Istanbul I still feel like I could eat them forever. Something about char-grilled meat and spices always gets my mouth watering.

An unseasonably warm 20 degree day greeted us at Sirkeci station near the city's Sultanahmet district, which is crammed with sights including the famous Blue Mosque, Roman Hippodrome and Byzantine underground water cisterns - giant underground caverns with vaulted ceilings held up by intricately carved columns.

My highlight was the spectacular Aya Sofia. Built during Byzantine emperor Justinian's reign as an attempt to demonstrate Constantinople's power as the capital of the eastern empire, the massive domed structure dates from around 500 AD. It spent its first thousand years as a church and was converted into a mosque in the 16th century. Evidence of both incarnations remains - from intricate mosaics depicting scenes of Mary and Jesus to beautiful Arabic calligraphy. It now serves as a museum.

After a late lunch of lamb shish kebabs - cheap, cheerful and incredibly tasty - a ferry trip across the Bosphorous was a great way to unwind after a long day's sightseeing, watching the sun set behind the minarets and domes of the old city.

A change of scene was in order for the evening so we headed over the bridge to Beyoglu, the buzzing party district. It was Saturday night and the main pedestrian street was so crammed with people that the little antique tram that runs the street's length could barely squeeze through. We followed the crowds to Nevizade Sokak, one of the area's party streets. It was so crowded we could barely squeeze though between the pavement restaurant tables and the cheerful mobs of revellers. We took the first table we could find, right next to the passing crowds outside Demgar restaurant. We ordered plates of tasty mezze: lemony aubergine purée topped with garlic yoghurt; cubes of fava bean paste spiked with dill; crispy breaded fried calamari and prawns sizzling in butter, washed down with Turkish wine and raki, the local aniseed-flavoured spirit. The party carried on into the wee hours in the street and in the historic houses along its edges, which have been converted into multi-storey pubs - their roof terraces giving a bird's eye view of the crowds below.

The best kebabs we had in Istanbul were at the Grand Bazaar on our last day in the city. Hidden down a tiny alleyway deep in the souq is Carsi Kebap, no more than a hole-in-the-wall charcoal grill dishing up plates of juicy lamb, salad and flatbread to weary shoppers perched on stools at low tables in the alleyway. The place also does a roaring trade feeding some of the bazaar's 4000 stall holders, with delivery boys ferrying tray-loads of takeaway kebabs from the grill through the maze of lanes to their hungry recipients.

Plovdiv, Bulgaria

A night spent on a grubby, uncomfortable Communist-era sleeper train meant we arrived in Sofia having had little sleep. The carriages still feature their original coal-fired heating, so it felt a bit like travelling in a moving railway museum as we trundled along with coal smoke trailing into the compartment.

We arrived in Sofia to rain so quickly decided to carry on to Plovdiv, Bulgaria's second city and home to a Roman theatre and atmospheric old town. Getting to Plovdiv would also cut a few hours off our overnight train journey to Istanbul that night.

A scenic four-hour trip through forests and mountain villages took us to Plovdiv. Sunshine and a temperature of around 16 degrees meant we could enjoy a refreshing beer outside in the city's main pedestrian street. The Roman theatre was underwhelming so we opted for a wander through the cobbled lanes of the hilly old town and a splash-out lunch at the quaint Hebros Hotel. We felt we deserved it, seeing we were enduring two consecutive nights on sleeper trains.

Starters were marinated wild mushroom salad with dried apricots, and pan-fried foie gras with fresh green apple slices and sweet balsamic reduction. We washed them down with a Bulgarian white wine, a tropical-fruity and zingy Traminer.

Next came venison fillet, cooked perfectly rare and accompanied by avocado and mushroom tartare; and a stew of chicken, tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes and olives, richly flavoured with stock and garlic. To go with these dishes we chose a delicious Bulgarian red, a 2006 Melnik, which displayed ripe berry flavours, soft tannins and subtle oak from spending nine months in French barrels.

The town's bar scene turned out to be lively and studenty, and dirt cheap - the bill for three local 'Kamenitza' beers, a glass of wine and a 1.5 litre bottle of water was the equivalent of just over four pounds.

Back to the station then for our journey to Istanbul. Another Communist-age train, but a whole lot dirtier this time. The toilets were so filthy I had to walk the entire length of the train before I found one that was in usable condition. And a 2am stop at the Turkish border, where we had to get off the train and queue at a desk for entry formalities, meant it was another sleepless night.

Belgrade

Belgrade's central pedestrian street, Knez Milhailova, was buzzing with after-work shoppers as we scouted the adjacent side streets in search of beer and dinner. The city, situated at the confluence of the Danube and Sava rivers, has history stretching back millennia but a decidedly modern feel today. Architecturally, its mishmash of styles reflects various conquests in history, from the Turks to the Austro-Hungarians. But housed in the ground floors of the grand old buildings lining Knez Milhailova are the ubiquitous Prada, Starbucks and Zara.

At a characterful little bar down a side street, decorated with antique furniture, old pictures and 1950s wireless radios, we enjoyed a pint of Serbia's Jelen pilsner before being driven out by thick cigarette smoke (smoking is as popular as breathing in eastern Europe). We headed to the curiously-named '?' restaurant for dinner - housed in an 18th century tavern, all crooked floor boards and wooden stools. It would feel like the tourist trap it probably is if it weren't for the staff: a family who treated us like regulars, stopping past our table to crack a joke and top up our glasses. We filled up on burek, a filo-pastry pie filled with white cheese; followed by Serbia's specialty - a huge plate of char-grilled meat.

Belgrade is a great place after dark, as we found out after dinner when the city's bars really came alive, but it's hard to fill a day there. Even after spending the morning at the hotel catching up on email, once we had ticked off the citadel and grabbed lunch at a bakery in the picturesque cobbled Skadarska lane, Lonely Planet failed to come up with any further suggestions that grabbed our attention. So we filled a couple of hours in the shops until we deemed it a respectable hour to go to a bar and fortify ourselves for the upcoming overnight train ride to Sofia.

       

A night and a day on trains - Krakow to Belgrade

The overnight train to Budapest was luxury compared to the ageing Silesia Sleeper from Prague to Krakow. Our compartment in the brand-new carriage featured hotel-quality sheets, real pillows and ample duvets, a hand-basin, coat hangers, a power socket and complimentary bottled water. Even so, we struggled to get much sleep with the train roaring and lurching south through Slovakia into Hungary.

Some puzzling changes occurred during the night. As we pulled out of Krakow station, our carriage was at the back of the train and we could look straight out at the tracks disappearing into a snowy vanishing point behind us. A bathroom visit in the small hours revealed an engine car attached and us travelling the other way. In the morning, we were going in the original direction again and there was a passenger carriage attached to ours.

Breakfast in Budapest and then a daytime train to Belgrade. A day off from our holiday bringing the welcome chance to relax in our spacious and cosy six-person compartment occupied only by us for most of the journey, and to watch the white plains pass by out the window. By the time we reached a small town called Kiskoros, the snow had turned to rain and high-trained vineyards became the dominant feature of the bleak flat landscape. There are no platforms in the small towns the train stopped at, so the boarding passengers have to throw their bags up into the carriage and scramble aboard from the tarmac beside the tracks. A woman and her grandson joined us in our compartment for a 15-minute stretch. The train paused in a field outside a small village and they jumped off and hurried across the wet grass through the rain.

So here I am writing, reading and watching the wet, featureless landscape pass by. Even though it's raining there is a hoar frost that hasn't melted, so the grass, scrub and trees are coated in shiny silver. We'll arrive in Belgrade at around 6pm, in good time for dinner and drinks in the renowned party town.

Krakow

It was snowing again as our night train, the "Silesia Sleeper", groaned its way out of Prague's main station and headed east through a flat, dark, snowy landscape. We had booked berths in a four-person couchette, the private lockable compartments having been sold out. We were apprehensive about this, with reports on the Lonely Planet forums of various crimes ranging from petty theft to people boarding the train, knocking passengers out with ether-soaked rags and making off with their belongings. But as it turned out we had no need to worry, as we had the whole cabin to ourselves and the door locked securely from the inside.

Another blizzard welcomed us to Krakow early the next morning and we plodded through ankle-deep snow, dragging our wheelie bags, to our hotel where early-check in allowed us to have a welcome rest and shower. No point trying to tick off the sights with 20 metres visibility and snow falling horizontally, so after a quick browse through the Christmas market and the shopping arcade inside the medieval cloth hall, we settled for the opportunity to thaw out over an unhurried lunch.

The slightly kitsch but perfectly cosy Miod Malina was a great choice. We sat near the roaring wood-fired oven, and as we defrosted from the inside out with little meat-filled dumplings submerged in beetroot soup, and sour soup made from fermented rye with hard boiled egg, sausage and onion, we watched our pork ribs sizzle away in the oven. They were melting and tender with a sticky plum glaze. My main of Polish dumplings turned out to be a dessert - comforting doughy balls stuffed with preserved plum filling.

We completed our day of indoor sightseeing with a bit of shopping interspersed with visits to tiny bars hidden down the old town's medieval streets. The unpasteurised Polish beer commonly on offer, Kasztelan, tastes good. We noticed many locals drinking their beer with straws. And of course we had to try the vodka of which the Poles are so proud. My favourite was the hazelnut flavoured version - like liquid Belgian sea shell chocolates.

The next day was clear and sparkling and -8 degrees Celsius. We saw the castle and snacked on moreish fried dumplings at the Christmas market: spiced spinach, cheese, cabbage and meat fillings inside crispy pastry. Also irresistible were the pork and onion skewers cooked over charcoal and served with sauerkraut, which came with the welcome chance to warm our hands over the coals.