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, it was instantly acclaimed as a symbol of modernity that captured the optimism of the age. 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.

Reopened recently, Atomium's (00 322 475 47 78; www. atomium. be) new additions comprise 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 over12s is 7, rising to 9 on 1 May.

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. One notable contender can be found in Agra in India.

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? 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 wedding-cake building is disproportionately large and 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.

Where does America stand in the league table of kitsch?

With the possible exception of Japan and the United Arab Emirates, 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. On festival occasions the real Venice can look kitsch enough, but translate that to Venice-in-Vegas or to Dubai's hotel complex complete with Venetian gondolas and the kitsch factor knows no bounds.

Las Vegas's principal shrine to kitsch however 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. The museum opens every day (Monday-Saturday 10am-5pm; Sunday noon-4pm); admission is 10.

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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.

Thankfully, there is no further sculpting space . . . otherwise we could have been paying homage to Bill Clinton and George W Bush.

Christmas kitsch?

Look no further than the office, workshop, reindeer stable 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, 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 the 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 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 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 16 Going on 17', 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) is given a packet of Edelweiss seeds to take home. You don't get one of those at The Magic Flute.