The Complete Guide To: Kitsch travel

SHOULD I ADMIRE OR DERIDE THE ATOMIUM?

Both. Kitsch is not necessarily bad. An object can satisfy the dictionary definition - "worthless pretentiousness in art" - but at the same time can be daring, inspiring and popular; and the Brussels Atomium is all of those things. The nine spheres represent a molecule of iron magnified 165 billion times. Built for Expo '58 on the high ground of the Heysel Plateau, it was instantly acclaimed as a symbol of modernity that captured the optimism of the age. War memories were receding, Sputnik had bleeped into space, and 40 million people visited the attraction in its first year. The plan to dismantle it when Expo 58 closed was hastily abandoned, and Brussels found itself with a piece of atomic kitsch as a permanent landmark. As the years passed, the steel and aluminium-clad construction began to rust and creak, and a facelift was urgently needed when it closed in October 2004.

A new lease of life for the Atomium (00 322 475 47 78; www.atomium.be) starts today, with additions comprising a restaurant at the highest point of the top sphere; another sphere containing a permanent exhibition celebrating the 1950s; and a third, opening in the autumn, specially for children, who get in free. Admission for over-12s is €7 (£5), rising to €9 (£6.30) on 1 May.

WHAT ELSE SURVIVES FROM THAT ERA?

Another 1958 arrival was Japan's attempt to eclipse the Eiffel Tower in the form of the Tokyo Tower - at 333m, 13m taller than the French original. At birth, it was the most recognisable landmark in the Japanese capital, but over the years other buildings have grown up around it, reducing the startling impact of its illuminated white and orange girders. The preponderance of Japanese kitsch at street level also diverts the eye. In a city where love hotels are decked out as wedding cakes or ocean liners, a copy of a 19th-century European tower becomes less of an eyesore than it would have been in, say, Rome or Athens. Today, the Tokyo Tower is a broadcasting relay station and entertainments centre, with an aquarium, wax museum, "holographic mystery zone" and mountainous displays of souvenir tat. Its redeeming feature is the wonderful views, from its two observation platforms, of Mount Fuji and Tokyo Bay. The higher you go, the more you pay: admission to the Grand Platform (150m) is 820Yen (£3.90); the Special Platform, at an altitude of 250m, requires an extra 600Yen (£2.80).

Three years older than the Atomium and Tokyo Tower, the Palace of Science and Culture transformed the 1955 skyline of Warsaw - and instantly became a laughing stock. Conceived by Stalin as a gift to the people of Poland - who never asked for it - this dismal skyscraper, 231m high, was grotesquely out of place in what was then a low-rise city. Half a century later it is still the tallest building in Poland. The Palace is an uneasy mixture of Soviet brutalism and kitsch. Almost every detail offends the eye. On Stalin's orders, an inappropriate spire crowns its 43 storeys - to distinguish it from American skyscrapers of the period. In an effort to soften the impression of being a vertical barracks, it is decorated with 550 ornamental sculptures, giving rise to one of many unflattering descriptions: "the elephant in lacy underwear". Like the Tokyo Tower, its main attraction is the observation deck, 30 floors up, to which admission is free. Yet even that is mocked:

Q: "Where's the best view in Warsaw?"

A: "From the Palace of Culture, the only place where you can't see it."

ANY EXAMPLES OF KITSCH FURTHER BACK IN HISTORY?

No end of them, but since identifying kitsch is essentially a matter of taste, it comes down to personal opinion. One man's kitsch can be another's masterpiece, and even a masterpiece can be kitsch if it is constructed out of place and out of time. Two notable contenders can be found in Agra, India and Brighton, England.

AGRA? SURELY NOT THE TAJ MAHAL?

Some purists regard the mausoleum built by the Moghul potentate Shah Jahan as the epitome of kitsch. It was completed in 1630, when every other large building in that part of the world was made of red sandstone, but the Shah decided that the ultimate tribute to his beloved wife, who died while bearing their 14th child, should be constructed out of imported white marble. The result, which took 20,000 workers 22 years to complete, is undeniably awe-inspiring. Who can fail to be moved by its scale, symmetry and haunting beauty, as it appears to glow in the light of the moon, or be suspended in mid-air when the dawn mists rise from the river?

But some features of the Taj have come to the attention of the kitsch inspectorate. In the harsh light of day, the white marble can seem chillingly sterile. The building is disproportionately large, dwarfing the two sarcophagi at its heart. Big is not necessarily beautiful. Nor is unbridled opulence: there are decorative elements, measuring just three square centimetres, containing as many as 50 inlaid gemstones. Some letters of the Koran verses on the walls have been distorted to maintain the uniformity of design, and there is an unnatural, obsessive geometry about the spacing of the plants and flowers. In anywhere less splendid, all this might be dismissed as the height of bad taste, and raises even more questions about the Taj Mahal's many imitations.

THE ROYAL PAVILION IN BRIGHTON BEING ONE?

This palace of fun is undeniably beautiful, but it gains a kitsch rating on several counts. Starting life as a humble Sussex farmhouse, it was transformed first into a neo-Classical villa, and then upgraded (1815-23) into something resembling the Taj to reflect the exotic, but dubious, pleasures of the playboy Prince Regent. It is safe to say that restrained good taste, harmony with the surroundings and fidelity to the original were not uppermost in the Prince's mind when he gave his instructions to architect John Nash.

Instead, the Royal Pavilion (01273 292820; www.royalpavilion.org.uk) became an eye-catching amalgam of all things eccentric and extravagant, ranging from the Moghul-influenced exterior to the Chinese gilded dragons and south-east Asian carved palm trees inside. The gaudy scene of some of the wildest parties of 1820s England gave birth to the expression "Regency Kitsch" - but Brighton would be much the poorer without it. There are guided tours daily from 10am-4.30pm between October and March; 9.30am-5pm April-September; admission £6.10.

HOW DOES BRITAIN MEASURE UP AS A CENTRE OF KITSCH CULTURE?

Not a world leader, but it has its moments. Brighton, indeed, has become the UK's unofficial capital of kitsch, with venues such as the Hotel Pelirocco (10 Regency Square; 01273 327055; www.hotelpelirocco.co.uk), which turns a taste for the trashy into a unique selling point. Each of its 19 rooms, which start at £50 a night with breakfast, celebrates pop art, culture and music. One, dedicated to a Japanese artist, is done out in bright orange with black polka dots; another, after Salvador Dali, has an upside-down fireplace.

Other British attractions worthy of mention include the over-tartanised Loch Ness and Edinburgh Castle; Blackpool Pleasure Beach and umpteen other seaside resorts, model villages, holiday camps and theme parks.

A glorious example of 1920s kitsch is Portmeirion, in north-west Wales, where local architect Clough Williams-Ellis designed and built a fantasy village to support his contention that a naturally beautiful place can be developed without being defiled. His collection of Mediterranean-style buildings, arches, statues and gardens - which took 50 years to complete - achieves this, and the village's cult status was assured when the TV series The Prisoner was filmed there in the 1960s. Portmeirion (01766 770000; www.portmeirion-village.com) opens every day from 9.30am-5.30pm, admission £6 - unless you stay in one of the properties on the site. You can get into the swing of things by travelling there on the narrow-gauge steam railway from Blaenau Ffestiniog.

WHERE DOES AMERICA STAND IN THE LEAGUE TABLE OF KITSCH?

With the possible exception of Japan and a United Arab Emirate or two, no one does kitsch like the Americans - and nowhere does it as shamelessly as Las Vegas. Like Dubai, another playground created out of the desert, virtually everything in Vegas is themed on something that belongs elsewhere - and the bigger the theme, the more vulgar it becomes. Dubai may be constructing offshore pleasure islands arranged like a giant palm leaf and a map of the world; one of its shopping malls has pyramids and a Sphinx modelled on ancient Egypt; a hotel and condominium complex has "Venetian" gondoliers and canals. But Vegas got there first.

The pleasure city's principal shrine to kitsch is a block or two east of The Strip. The Liberace Museum (1775 East Tropicana Avenue; www.liberace.com) resembles a Dali-esque grand piano, paying homage to the extrovert performer for whom no prop was too vulgar, no arrangement too schmaltzy, and who famously reacted to criticism by "crying all the way to the bank". Inside, the museum displays his most garish clothes, cars and jewels. There are two vintage Rolls-Royces - one painted red, white and blue; the other decked out in tiny, mirrored tiles. One of his outfits is said to be encrusted with 650,000 rhinestones; another is sewn with 22-carat gold thread. The collection is both jaw-droppingly awful and utterly absorbing, and the museum is worth supporting because its heart is in the right place. Before he died in 1987, Liberace set up the not-for-profit Foundation for the Performing Arts, which hands out millions of dollars in scholarships to schools and colleges. The museum opens every day (Monday-Saturday 10am-5pm; Sunday noon-4pm); admission is $12.50 (£7.40).

WHERE ELSE FOR AMERICAN KITSCH?

Looming stone-facedly over the plains of South Dakota, the images of presidents Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt have turned the unremarkable Mount Rushmore into a quintessential American monument, alongside the Statue of Liberty and the Lincoln Memorial. From a distance, the visages have a pharaonic stature, evocatively captured by Alfred Hitchcock in his 1959 thriller, North by Northwest. But did the founders of the Republic have pharaohs in mind when they wrote the constitution? Viewed at closer quarters, the carvings are revealed to be somewhat roughly hewn, but they're not as crude as the commercialisation disfiguring the base of the mountain. Here you find classic US roadside kitsch - a vast gift shop and ice-cream parlour, with casinos, mini-golf courses and waterparks close by. Sadly, there is no further sculpting space on the mountain - otherwise we could have been paying homage to Bill Clinton and George W Bush.

Two hours due south of Mt Rushmore, another unlikely construction presents itself as classic kitsch, but may turn out to have lasting value. Carhenge (www.carhenge.com) was assembled in 1987 by an engineer returning to Alliance, Nebraska for a family reunion. During a lull in proceedings, James Reinders could think of nothing better to do than to spray-paint 38 old cars a ghostly grey, and arrange them precisely as the Druids laid out Stonehenge, with a 1962 Cadillac taking pride of place in the crucial heel stone position. The alignment of the cars is remarkably faithful to the Wiltshire circle as it looks today, with some grey hulks buried in the sand at improbable angles to replicate the fallen stones. It has even become a place of pilgrimage for American "druids" celebrating the summer solstice. It's ridiculous, but it would be rash to dismiss it as whimsy. Carhenge will never achieve the longevity of Stonehenge, but it might well outlast the gas-guzzling automobile as we know it today, in which case - like many kitsch monuments - it will prove to be ahead of its time.

The same will never be said of the monumental piece of kitsch that gave Baker, California a place in the record books. In 1991, the town erected a giant thermometer, 134ft tall.

WHY THAT PARTICULAR HEIGHT?

Because Baker, a roadstop on the flat desert highway, styles itself as the Gateway to Death Valley, where the temperature reached 134F in 1913. Heat is naturally a burning issue in Baker, where the mercury frequently rises above three figures, and the construction of this folly has fulfilled a lifetime ambition for a local businessman, who shelled out $700,000 (£400,000) on the project. A three-sided digital display and almost 5,000 lamps ensure that the thermometer is visible at all hours, whether the rest of the Baker community likes it or not.

CHRISTMAS KITSCH?

Look no further than the office, workshop, reindeer park and souvenir shopping complex of Santa himself, located precisely on the Arctic Circle near Rovaniemi, a bleak paper-making town in northern Finland. Santa Claus village (00 358 16 346 270; www.santaclausvillage.info) attracts 400,000 visitors a year, and the airport has become the third busiest in the country - not only in the run-up to Christmas, but in high summer too, when there is no let-up in the Yuletide carols piped around this cutesy Lapland community.

Santa, as it turns out, runs a vast corporation, extending to an internet television channel and a global reach so comprehensive that if you plant a compliant child on his lap, give the man in the beard advance notice, and pay the requisite fee of €20 (£14), he will converse in any European language, as well as Japanese and Swahili. Technically, the lap-sitting is free of charge, but you have to stump up for the photograph that records the event - which is why you are politely dissuaded from using your own camera. Santa's post office does a roaring trade cancelling mail with the postmark "Santa Claus Village, Lapland, Arctic Circle", but the Made in China stamp on numerous products in the souvenir shop rather gives the game away.

DO THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIONS FALL INTO THE SAME TRAP?

The Roman Catholic Church, with its rich iconography, is the most vulnerable to exploitation by tacky souvenir manufacturers, who line the environs of shrines and cathedrals around the world, quite forgetting what Jesus did to the traders in the temple. Ever coveted a Virgin Mary-in-a-snowstorm paperweight? Head to St Peter's Square in Vatican City, or the approaches to the two major shrines of Lourdes in southern France and Fatima in Portugal.

It was at Lourdes where I found the most tasteless object known to man: a hologram arrangement with an illuminated halo which, when lightly disturbed, magically mutates from bearded Jesus to his smooth-skinned mother, and back again. The Lourdes phenomenon has spread to South America: the beach resort of Mar del Plata, 400km north of Buenos Aires, has a full-scale replica of the French grotto, and scale models of Bethlehem and Jerusalem for good measure.

WHICH BRINGS US BACK TO... DOH

Salzburg will attract record numbers of tourists this year - some of them celebrating the 250th anniversary of Mozart's birth, but others more concerned with paying homage to the Sound of Music, the Rogers and Hammerstein musical set in the beautiful Alpine countryside surrounding the city.

Rival coach companies climb every mountain to revisit the slightly sickly adventures of the Von Trapp family, ferrying fans around such evocative locations as the gazebo used for "I Am Sixteen Going on Seventeen", the nunnery where Maria was a novice, and the garden where she and the children sang "Do-Re-Mi". Or rather, where they might have sung it, if most of the film hadn't been shot in Hollywood. In a final, exquisitely kitsch touch, each passenger on the four-hour Sound of Music Tour (which costs around €35/£24) is given a packet of Edelweiss seeds to take home. You don't get one of those at The Magic Flute.

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