From Kielder Observatory, I can see Mars, Venus and Mercury, and all with the naked eye. I can’t see the rings of Saturn — but only because somebody has stolen them. The planets dangle in a line beside the forest track to the pearl strands observatory, suspended from wooden gallows and wobbling slightly in the wind.

Anywhere else, a row of giant extraterrestrial gobstoppers would be a pretty surreal ornament on top of a remote fell. But Kielder isn’t anywhere else. It’s a whole world of strangeness, and after a couple of days here, the feeling that I’ve wandered into some kind of bizarre sci-fi universe is becoming ever more gripping. Take the observatory itself, which juts out from the heather behind me. Opened last year to architectural acclaim, it comprises several stripped-pine cubes and looks as if it arrived flatpacked from Ikea.

Half a mile along the track, I come upon another surprising structure, hollowed into the side of a crag. Through a tunnel I go, and into an underground dungeon, cone-shaped and weirdly windowless, with a hole at the apex through which the heavens seem to bulge, a  wholesale pearl earrings ball of blue.

This is Skyspace, an installation by the Californian artist James Turrell, and when I stand in the dead centre, my head becomes an echo chamber, and freshwater pearl necklace every sniff or splutter booms like a thunderclap between my ears.
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However, the clever (or crazy) kitchen sorcerers at Jacque-Imo’s Café in New Orleans, Louisiana, conjured up a savoury cheesecake whose main ingredient is the toothy swamp monster.

Alligator is an alternative meat that is fairly common in Louisiana due to the commercial farming of the reptile in the southern state.

While the most lucrative part of freshwater pearl earrings  the gator is its skin, the meat is also sold to specialty meat markets and funky eateries like Jacques-Imo’s who turn this powerful predator into a harmless and delicious appetizer made of cheese, alligator sausage and shrimp.

If you weren’t bitter before eating bitter melon, you will be after. It’ll turn any Pollyanna into a pucker-faced diner with one bite.

Momordicin is the component within this wart-riddled fruit that is responsible for its absolute astringency, and it’s a very bitter pill to swallow. Various methods are used to cut the bitterness of the bitter melon, like salting or blanching. In Pakistan, lamb and cultured freshwater pearl spices turn the bitter melon into a lively plate called karela gosht.

Oft times in life, enduring bitterness can lead to benefits, in this case, they are a combination of vitamins and minerals that have been shown to lower blood-sugar levels in diabetics. There is also early evidence of treating HIV.

Perhaps a good ad agency could conceive of a more appetizing name for this bloody slice of sandwich meat. Otherwise, this German cold cut (called blut zungenwurst in German) is quite delicious. It’s made with cow blood and tongue, seasoned, cooked, chilled, turned into a loaf, then sliced uber-thin and placed delicately between a crusty roll.

Although difficult to locate in common delis, a good German deli or pearl jewelry wholesale meat shop will carry it. The flavor of blood tongue is subtle relative to other blood delicacies like Chinese pig blood cake. Its flavoring is derived from spices such as anise. But it still does taste vaguely like a trickle of blood from a finger cut.

Living quarters are spartan — single bed, sink, four walls, door — and the manual labour is shared. Gabriel makes an unapologetic face, but he needn’t have bothered. Punch-drunk from fighting an unwinnable battle with endless e-mails and relentless deadlines, I’m ready for the coldest of turkey.

Which is probably just as well. When the bells ring for freshwater pearl jewelry dinner, it is like walking onto the set of Cadfael, minus the television-standard catering. The scalped monks sit at long wooden tables, with kaleidoscope light coming through stained-glass windows, and stare wordlessly at their neatly folded napkins.

Bells are rung, a Latin Grace is sung by the abbot. I wonder excitedly what Middle Ages delight might be served — roasted swan, perhaps, or haunches of venison? That a metal tray is brought in, bearing inch-deep soggy pizza, is something of an anticlimax.

On my bedroom window, I had spotted two stickers. “In this place, I shall give peace,” read one. “A life without Whitesnake is not a life for me!” proclaimed the inflatable water games other. Perhaps the brothers’ tastes have moved on. There are no obvious fans of hair, let alone hair metal. As for squealing solos on electric axes, there isn’t so much as a lute in sight.

The silence creates a curious atmosphere. It’s both convenient — farewell, awkward small talk! — and somewhat problematic. A request for the salt becomes an elaborate charade, a clearing of the throat an ear-splitting intrusion. So hard are you concentrating on not speaking, your body plays perverse games.

Sneezes come from nowhere, pockets of trapped wind well up as if by cruel magic. When the monk on my left proffers a jug of plum juice, I instinctively want to thank him. Instead, I clap hand over mouth just in time and settle for a conspiratorial wink. From the expression on his face, one man’s conspiratorial may be another man’s salacious. The pearl necklace plum juice remains untouched for the rest of the meal.

Partly by way of recompense, partly because there is absolutely nothing else to do, I follow the monks into the dark abbey for Compline, the final prayers of the day. So spookily restful is it — Gregorian chants echoing off the bare stone walls, incense snaking slowly upwards, candles crackling and waving — that retiring to bed afterwards, as they do, seems perfectly natural, even though it’s not yet 8.30pm.

Yoga retreats? Light- weight. Spa breaks? Mollycoddled. I am kneeling on a cold stone floor, surrounded by shaven-headed men in hooded white robes.

The only light comes from four guttering candles that send shadows towering along the vaulted ceiling. Dawn is still an hour away. This, I want to freshwater pearl jewelry shout, is a real escape from the modern world. I want to, but I can’t — I’ve taken a vow of silence.

As stress-busters go, it gets no more hardcore. A 12th-century monastery in the north of Scotland, tucked away in a hidden glen, inhabited only by Benedictine monks and their occasional guests.

For miles around, there is nothing but ripe nature — conifers and copper beech trees on the slopes up above, bulging orchards and small fields of cabbages and freshwater pearl necklace potatoes down below. Highland cattle and gimlet-eyed goats watch curiously as you creep up the curving drive.
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So medieval is the scene, you expect to be greeted at the old oak door with a goblet of chilled mead. Instead, Brother Gabriel ushers you into the ancient cloisters and whispers the rules of your stay: silence at all times, meals with the monks at lunch and dinner, optional Latin services throughout the day. Laptops are banned, mobiles a no-no.

Not only is it known as the sunniest place in Vietnam, Mui Ne also has perfect conditions for watersports due to its consistent cross-onshore winds and having the lowest rainfall in the country. As a result, it has become a mecca for wholesale pearl jewelry kite-surfers and has attracted a cool, young crowd — and with them, a laid-back, surfy vibe.

Shoulder dislocation (an unfortunate side-effect of kite-surfing, so I’m told) didn’t really appeal, so I was happy to duck out and sit in Jibe’s, a cool little beach bar, sipping a mango daiquiri and watching the primary colours of the sails streak across the waves. As night fell, the kites were replaced by a string of fishing boats, their lights sparkling along the horizon as they trawled for squid and shrimp. By morning, those too were gone, to loose freshwater pearl be replaced by the occasional coracle being punted along by a wizened old fisherman.

Mui Ne offers a dozen or so luxurious bungalow-style resorts, as well as some cheaper guesthouses, excellent restaurants and some supercool bars — the most stylish I found being Sangkara, a newly opened beach club that seems to have borrowed heavily from the chillout rooms of Ibiza. Jibe’s is also a hot ticket for sundowners in the evenings, and often organises beach parties on Saturday nights. The Sailing Club, a four-star resort with a surfside restaurant, does a mean coconut and rum, as well as an ­interesting western-style menu; who would have thought that passion fruit and beef would go together?

Of course, you can’t stick to western menus when you’ve gone all the way to Vietnam. Local favourite is a fantastic seafood restaurant a little way out of cultured pearl jewelry town — racily named Cay Bang. With seating for hundreds, it heaves at the weekend, particularly on Sundays Freshly caught fish, lobster, crab, whatever, is kept (alive) in pools. You choose your supper from what can only be ­described as an aquarium, and it goes from pool to pan to plate in about 10 ­minutes flat. Three of us feasted on barbecued squid, stir-fried morning glory, noodles, crayfish and crab for less than £15, beer included.