Missed out on a holiday this summer? Beat the crowds – and save a few pennies – with our  recommended autumn short breaks, say Sarah Marshall and Polly Weakes

Few hotels can boast a bar built around a national monument, but rather than being made of bricks and mortar, the treasured centerpiece of Masseria San Domenico’s al fresco dining area in Puglia, Italy, is a living, photosynthesising organism.

I’m sipping espresso and nibbling homemade taralli (small, circular breadsticks) beneath the heavily-laden boughs of an olive tree.

According to an official census conducted earlier this year, there are 66 million olive trees in Italy’s southern state Puglia, some of them more than 2,000 years old.

“We consider them national monuments,” says the hotel’s marketing manager, Genny Mansi.

Nearly half of Italy’s olive oil originates from the region, and the autumn harvest period is one of the best times to visit.

Roughly an hour’s drive from either Bari or Brindisi airports, Italy’s agricultural bread basket has been criminally overlooked by British visitors, who have traditionally opted for holidays in Tuscany or the Amalfi coast.

But that’s now changing.

Food and hospitality are the region’s biggest selling points and the wonderful family-owned Masseria San Domenico offers both in abundance.

Puglia is also a region rich in history, something I’m reminded of on a visit to the Unesco village of Alberobello.

Even the Masseria dates back to to the 15th century when it was used as a watch tower by the Knights of Malta.

When Ghent’s city centre was declared car-free in 1997, there were more than a few grumbles.

But 16 years on, the city’s become a cycling mecca, and there is little to complain about.

Although I’m not a cycling enthusiast, Ghent appeals as a laid-back, culture-packed city that’s easy to reach by Eurostar. When I arrive, though, I can’t move for bikes.

Keen to live like a local, I head for bike hire shop Max Mobiel, which sits between the towering Belfry of Ghent and St Nicholas’ Church.

Bike hire is really cheap: a half-day rental costs just seven euros. However, you can also bring your own bike on the Eurostar from 15 euros each way.

Pedalling at a gentle pace, I weave in and out of the central streets, passing local “Ganda” hams which hang like a art installation from hooks in the Great Butcher’s Hall, on my way to the imposing Castle of Counts.

As I ride along the canals, I make a beeline for the marvellously graffiti-filled Tweebruggen Street and head into Ghent’s Old Quarter.

From there, I take in some more culture by cycling to St Peter’s Abbey.

Back in the centre of town, I head for Graslei and Korenlei – two streets divided by a canal, where friends meet and socialise.

Despite a few wobbles with getting my front wheel stuck in a tram line – the trick is to cross them horizontally, apparently – I find cycling in Ghent a breeze. The fact there are few hills is helpful, but the ease of my journey is mainly down to the friendly, respectful attitude towards cyclists.

Before I return to the train station, I enjoy a plate of waffles at cafe Max, then visit the lanterns on Sint- Veerleplein. Built as an art instillation, the candles are said to flicker whenever a baby is born in Ghent.

Ithought only actors in stage productions of The Sound Of Music still wore lederhosen, but standing at the breakfast buffet of the Hotel Edelweiss & Gurgl in Tyrolean village Obergurgl I’m proven wrong.

Next to me is a man in short leather breeches with braces. Admittedly, he is alone.

Other hikers preparing to tackle one of the 213,000mplus peaks in the scenic Otztal Valley have made the more sensible choice of wearing Windstopper jackets and Gore-Tex shoes.

But his outfit’s a reminder that hiking is a distinctly Austrian pastime. And if you want to join the thousands of walkers who revel in Alpine beauty, this is the place to do it.

The sound of clanging iron bells echoes through the valley as herds of sheep and Tyrolese grey cattle graze, and at times I swear they’re running through Do-Re-Mi.

I choose a trail running alongside a brook of glacial melt water, stepping over clusters of tiny blue and violet star-shaped flowers.

Due to a combination of altitude and poor fitness, my pulse races faster than the Autobahn speed limit and I feel the urge to relieve an Austrian hiker of her walking poles. But when my heart almost stops, it’s for a different reason.

Sparkling icy blue, the Gaisbergerferner glacier tumbles from the jaws of the Hochfirst and Liebenerspitze mountains. Faced with this mighty landscape, I feel as small as the Alpine flowers I’d passed on my way.