Recipefiesta

From husky sledding and chasing the northern lights in Lapland to bear-spotting in Transylvania, here’s our pick of wild and magical snowy breaks in Europe

At Ruka, the first skiers of the year slalomed down the slopes on 2 October. Just inside the Arctic Circle, Ruka’s long snow-sure season and cosy village atmosphere make it a popular ski resort with Finnish families. The long polar nights mean there are only a few hours of dim twilight each day, but the slopes here are floodlit, so that never stops play.

From a ghostly hill fort on the South Downs to a haunted farmhouse in remote Northern Ireland, you guide us to some frightfully scary places

• Tell us about an escape in the wilds of Scotland – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

Dunnottar Castle, perched on cliffs above the crashing North Sea, is one of Scotland’s eeriest places. The most haunting part is the Whigs Vault, where more than 160 prisoners were confined in dreadful conditions in 1685. Standing in that dark chamber, it’s impossible not to imagine their fear and suffering. With my Fraser ancestry, the castle’s history feels especially poignant. The names of multiple Frasers are recorded, their details written on the wall. The wind whistles through the stonework, the waves thunder below, and there’s a sense that the past hasn’t quite left. It’s beautiful, tragic and wonderfully spooky, especially beneath Aberdeenshire’s brooding grey skies.
Rosie

A new trail in the national park traces the legacy of Welsh industry, while offering some of the UK’s finest riverside and mountain walks

The vital moment comes a couple of hours into the walk. I drop down from a tussocky hill towards the village of Y Fron. There’s an abandoned slate-quarrying machine and a grassy track that suddenly emerges on the rim of a deep lake-filled crater. The water is the colour of an old bruise. Around the rim is a fence of lichen-crusty slates like gravestones. It’s a dark, brooding spectacle and totally unexpected. At that moment, I know that whoever designed this route knew what they were doing.

This is the Llwybr Llechi Eryri (Snowdonia Slate Trail), an 83-mile hike that follows a great loop around the national park, starting in Bangor and ending in Bethesda. It strings together a series of abandoned slate quarries with some of the finest riverside and mountain walking in the UK. I’m doing just three days, starting in Llanberis and heading to Betws-y-Coed via stops in Beddgelert and Llan Ffestiniog.

The untamed, magical landscape takes in a vast national park, palatial houses and a sculpture garden and museum stuffed with Van Goghs – all easily accessible by bike

One minute I’m cycling through an expansive dusty pink stretch of heathland with sloping sand dunes in the distant horizon, the next I’m winding through a fragrant Scots pine forest as sunlight filters through the branches of red-barked trees to make a kaleidoscope of white shapes on the trail floor ahead.

I’m in Hoge Veluwe National Park, a 5,400 hectare (13,000 acre) nature reserve in Gelderland, about an hour and a half from Amsterdam. It’s crisscrossed by 25 miles (40km) of cycling paths, and around 2,000 free-to-use white bikes are available for visitors to explore the ever-changing scenery.

Ahead of Netflix’s Chronicles of Narnia dropping early next year, we discover the fantastical landscapes that fired the Belfast-born author’s imagination

On the gable walls of the tough, working-class streets of east Belfast, the mystical beasts of Narnia vie for brick space with balaclava-wearing loyalists. The murals of the city have long projected the power of paramilitaries, but in recent years they have also begun to reflect the more positive contributions made by other local people, including the author CS Lewis.

Lewis was born in Dundela in 1898 in an attractive terrace house that has sadly since been demolished to be replaced by rather unattractive flats. But elsewhere in this part of the city, the Lewis connection is being built on and celebrated. CS Lewis Square is in the Holywood Arches neighbourhood and has a short walking trail featuring metal sculptures of Mr and Mrs Beaver, Mr Tumnus and other beloved characters from The Chronicles of Narnia. The centrepiece is a gigantic Aslan, towering over all from atop a circular mound.

One large ski chalet in the French Alps and 17 strangers. An organised trip for solo travellers is a leap into the unknown

Everyone had their reasons for joining the trip. Louisa from south London was putting her life back together after a split from her partner; first-timer Tim was strapping on ski boots following years of hesitation; and Lexi from Bristol had a classic case of the non-skiing boyfriend.

I was there because I needed a ski gang. None of my friends ski, and my brother was out of action with an injury. Not only that, I needed a good night’s sleep. I love my two-year-old son dearly, but I have somehow spawned an insomniac – still waking four times a night. Weary from bedtime battles, Holly, my partner, bluntly pointed out we could both benefit from “a temporary break from family life”. In other words: separate holidays.

Gondolas on demand, electric piste-grooming and chemical-free snow cannons – how Laax is ‘greenstyling’ its future

It’s the worst ski resort nightmare: hillsides of shaggy yellow grass streaked with slush under a leaden sky that’s coughing up sleet. Parts of Europe – places previously accustomed to crisp snow fields and pristine blue skies – are now facing this calamity, something meteorologists might describe as a British winter.

Not everywhere, of course. Only lower altitudes are seeing such disasters. Higher up, normal service continues. I’m in the Swiss resort of Laax, where most of the slopes are at about 2,000 metres, lofty enough to be snow-secure, for now. The halfpipe is busy with dudes in baggy trousers and headphones nonchalantly practising their double corks. On the traditional pistes there are four-year-olds who could probably ski before they could walk. And then – Switzerland has its wacky side – three young men in first-world-war greatcoats on antique wooden skis propel themselves with rough-hewn quarter-staves.