Recipefiesta

Orchards, dairies, vineyards and farm shops are among the delicious pit stops on a new series of ebike tours around the county

It’s farm-to-fork dining at its freshest. I’m sitting at a vast outdoor table in Herefordshire looking out over rows of vines. On the horizon, the Malvern Hills ripple towards the Black Mountains; in front of me is a selection of local produce: cheeses from Monkland Dairy, 6 miles away, salad leaves from Lane Cottage (8 miles), charcuterie from Trealy Farm (39 miles), cherries from Moorcourt Farm (3 miles), broccoli quiche (2 miles) and glasses of sparkling wine, cassis and apple juice made just footsteps away. This off-grid feast is the final stop on White Heron Estate’s ebike farm tour – and I’m getting the lie of the land with every bite.

Before eating, our small group pedalled along a two-hour route so pastorally pretty it would make Old MacDonald sigh. Skirting purple-hued borage fields, we’ve zipped in and out of woodland, down rows of apple trees and over patches of camomile, and learned how poo from White Heron’s chickens is burnt in biomass boilers to generate heat. “Providing habitats for wildlife is important, but we need to produce food as well,” says our guide Jo Hilditch, who swapped a career in PR for farming when she inherited the family estate 30 years ago.

Tuck into great food and drink at hotels, farms and B&Bs in France, Ireland, Portugal and beyond

A hamlet of restored rural buildings in the Ortolo valley in Corsica reopened in June as A Mandria di Murtoli. Guests can stay in a former sheepfold, stable or barn, or one of five rooms in the main house. Three of the smaller properties have private pools, all rooms have terraces and there is a big shared pool. The buildings have been refurbished by Corsican craftspeople in a minimalist Mediterranean style, using local materials.

As retrofitted sections of the Boyne Burnett Inland Rail Trail begin to open, cyclists are flocking to what one day promises to be Australia’s longest rail trail – and a 271km opportunity for dwindling townships

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The ghost station of Many Peaks is enclosed in a jumble of rocky and timbered hills. There is not much else to Littlemore now than a farmhouse and a sign.

These sleepy and forgotten places in the Boyne Valley of central Queensland were once linked by hundreds of kilometres of train lines that swept an inland arc between the ports of Maryborough and Gladstone. Now, sections of those tracks are being gradually retrofitted for slower forms of transport: the foot, the horse and the bicycle.

On the border with Slovenia, the Italian region of Friuli–Venezia Giulia continues a centuries-old tradition of farms opening their doors and serving up a feast to the public

In Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere, travel writer Jan Morris described the city’s many faces and “ambivalence”, maintaining that, unlike most other Italian cities, it has “no unmistakable cuisine”. But I had come to Trieste to experience, if not a cuisine, then a culinary tradition which, to me at least, does seem unmistakable: the osmiza scene of the surrounding countryside.

An osmiza (or osmize in the plural) is a Slovene term for a smallholding that produces wine in the Karst Plateau, a steep rocky ridge scattered with pine and a patchwork of vineyards that overlooks the Adriatic Sea. Visiting osmize is a centuries-old tradition in which these homesteads open their doors to the public for a fleeting period each year. Guests order their food and wine at a till inside – where a simply tiled bar, often set into local stone, might boast family photos, halogen lights and a chalkboard menu – before heading outside to feast at long Oktoberfest-style tables and benches.

From a herring festival in The Hague to the best pizza in Rome, our tipsters share their perfect foodie travel moments
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Despite its name, Flag Day (Vlaggetjesdag) in Scheveningen – a seaside resort close to The Hague – is actually more about fresh herring. Fishmongers bring in the first catch of the year in June, the hollandse nieuwe, and mark the start of the herring season with festivities, marching bands, wearing traditional costumes, and even an auction of the first vat of fish to raise money for charity. Don’t miss the chance to share a jenever (gin) with a Scheveninger, who will tell you how this year’s herring compares with last year’s.
Olivia

A new walking tour offers a chance to meet the city’s Ukrainian community, with stops for hearty dumplings, castle views and shared histories

Before arriving in Edinburgh, Nataliya Bezborodova’s impression of Scotland was shaped largely by Hollywood. “My knowledge of this country was pretty much based on the film Braveheart,” she admits with a laugh, standing before the grand neoclassical columns of the National Galleries of Scotland. As if on cue, the castle’s daily gun salute fires overhead, scattering pigeons and punctuating our conversation with a jolt.

Three years have passed since the 47-year-old anthropologist left her home in Kyiv for Edinburgh, after the Russian invasion. Celluloid warriors have long been replaced by the rhythms of life in a city she now knows like the back of her hand. So well, in fact, that she has launched a walking tour revealing a layer even locals might miss: the story of Edinburgh’s vibrant Ukrainian community.

A trek along the Kosovo section of the Via Dinarica offers majestic Balkan scenery, magical stories and sobering reminders of this area’s recent history

There are stone bunkers shrouded in the mist on the hillside to my right, just shy of the ridgeline marking the Albanian-Kosovo border. To my left, the view is not just clear but startlingly beautiful.

I’m able to see back down to the tiny mountain hamlet of Gacaferi, where I’d slept the previous night, to look across the deep greenery of Deçan Gorge beyond, over dense pine forests and grasslands that pop with pink and yellow wildflowers, and gaze all the way to the 2,461m summit of Çfërla and the rugged peaks of western Kosovo’s Accursed mountains.

A site in the pine-clad hills of Andalucía is part of a chain that seeks to connect with nature and outdoor adventure while offering a stylish glamping experience

A few years ago, camping with friends, I watched in awe as Becky set up her pitch. While the rest of us were stringing out guy ropes on tents as glamorous as giant cagoules, she arrived with a bell tent, duvets instead of sleeping bags, sheepskin rugs and vintage folding chairs. For all the talk of breathability, practicality and “high performance” gear, it was Becky’s tent we all wanted to sleep in. In the years since, I have never quite achieved her level of camping chic – until this summer, when I discovered the innovative Spanish camping brand Kampaoh.

It all began back in 2016, when Kampaoh CEO Salvador Lora and his partner were backpacking in the Dominican Republic. One night they came across a campsite with pre-erected tents within which were mattresses and blankets. “We were in the middle of nature, surrounded by peace, and lacked nothing,” he tells me.

An eco farm in this unspoilt valley, just an hour from Llubljana, makes a great base for mountain forest hikes, lake swims and homemade organic feasts

I wake to the peal of church bells as sunlight streams into my room and go out on to the balcony to look up at Mount Storžič. My base, Senkova Domačija, an organic family-run farm just outside the village of Jezersko, is so picturesque it looks like an AI hallucination: an ancient farmhouse with beautiful wooden outbuildings, cows grazing in small green fields, organic vegetables growing neatly in rows, and a backdrop of some seriously dramatic mountains. The Slovenian capital Ljubljana may be less than an hour away, but here in the Jezersko valley, just 3 miles from the Austrian border, it feels like another world.

Bordered on the east by the Kamnik-Savinja Alps, and on the west by the peaks of the Karavanke mountain range, and with a tranquil green lake at the bottom of the valley, there’s a tangible sense of apartness – an idyllic escape from the world.

A handful of returning locals and adventurous tourists are breathing new life into Nyksund, a remote coastal outpost in Norway’s wild northwest

We land on a white sand beach under jagged black mountains. A sea eagle, surprised to see humans, flaps away over the only house with a roof on it – the rest are in ruins. “Hundreds of people used to live here,” says Vidar. “In the days when you had to sail or row, it was important to be near the fishing grounds. Now there’s just one summer cabin.”

Jumping out of the boat, we walk along the beach. My daughter, Maddy, points out some animal tracks. “The fresh marks are wild reindeer,” says Vidar. “The older ones could be moose – they come along here too.”

While it can be a wallet-friendly way to holiday, exchanging homes or minding someone else’s isn’t for everyone. Here, frequent travellers share their tips

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Free accommodation in someone else’s home might seem like an easy hack for cheap travel, but there’s more to house-sitting and swapping than a free room.

While sitting usually involves caring for pets in exchange for accommodation, swapping requires participants to make their own home available to others for the pleasure of staying for free in someone else’s.

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With rising temperatures causing chaos worldwide, what does it mean to be a tourist in a world on fire?

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“Where shall we go on holiday?” would not, ideally, be a stressful question.

But the world in 2025 is far from ideal, and summer breaks in Europe and North America are no exception. Holiday hotspots are being ravaged by heat, fire, floods and drought as fossil fuel pollution warps the climate – and travelling to reach them in planes or on cruise ships spews far more planet-heating gas than anything else you and I are likely to do. (Rocket enthusiasts such as Katy Perry and Jeff Bezos, I assume, have not yet subscribed to Down to Earth.)

‘We cannot do it the way our fathers did’: farmers across Europe struggle to adapt to the climate crisis

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The ‘wonderfully wild’ Grand Tour de Tarentaise trail caters for both experienced hikers and first-timers, with cosy mountain refuges offering the perfect place to recharge

‘This is probably the wildest place in the whole of the Vallée des Belleville,” says Roland, our guide, sweeping one arm across a bank of saw-toothed peaks as though conducting a great, brawny orchestra. My husband, two sons and I are midway through a four-day stretch of the Grand Tour de Tarentaise hiking trail in the French Alps, and we’ve stopped near the top of Varlossière, a roadless side valley among a great arc of mountains that runs to the west of the ski resorts of Val Thorens, Les Menuires and Saint-Martin-de-Belleville. Hiking up here from Gittamelon, a rustic, summer-only mountain refuge in the neighbouring Vallée des Encombres, we’ve paused to exhale breath, and to inhale the primeval views.

High peaks loom either side of us, their shocking green flanks underscored by an elegantly designed bothy and its shepherd-dwelling twin, and we can hear the rush of water far below. It’s midmorning but the moon is low and large in a cloudless sky, adding to the otherworldly scene. Climbing higher, an eagle flies past almost at eye level, no more than six metres away. Though we meet three other hikers on the other side of the Col du Bonnet du Prêtre, the 2,461-metre (8,074ft) pass that leads from Varlossière to the Nant Brun valley – and detect from sheep bells that at least two shepherds must be somewhere among the great folds of these hills – it feels as though the landscape is ours alone.

Beyond the tourist haunts there’s another side to Vis, with quiet beaches best explored by kayak and paddleboard, vine-covered hills and affordable waterside restaurants

I’m watching overtourism in action. Within the iridescent marvel that is Croatia’s Blue Cave, four boats holding about a dozen people each have an allotted 10 minutes before we motor back out again so that the next batch of visitors can float in. About 1,500 people a day visit this beautiful grotto on the island of Biševo, the biggest attraction within the Vis archipelago, two hours and 20 minutes south of Split by ferry. After paying the €24 entrance fee, I’m left underwhelmed by this maritime conveyor belt. At least the 45-minute foot ferry from Komiža, on the archipelago’s main island of Vis, to Biševo’s Mezoporat Bay, the launch point for boats to the Blue Cave, is only €4.

Many of the other cave visitors are on one of the countless speedboat tours departing from all over Dalmatia and crowding into Mezoporat Bay before whizzing off elsewhere. I’m staying on Vis itself to take a longer, slower, more satisfying look at the island, where I spent a night three years ago and which I’ve been hankering to revisit ever since. Despite the overwhelming popularity of the nearby Blue Cave and its speedboat tours, plus the boost in tourism on Vis after much of Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again was filmed here in 2017, I know there’s a quieter, mellower side to the island, and it doesn’t take long to find it.

It is more than a century since Joyce crossed Europe by rail but there is still inspiration to be found on the overland journey to Trieste

When James Joyce first travelled from Dublin to Trieste in 1904, he went via Paris, Zurich and Ljubljana. Zurich, because he mistakenly believed a job to be awaiting him there, and Ljubljana because – groggy after the night train – he thought they’d pulled into Trieste. By the time he twigged, the train had departed and, without ready cash, Joyce and his partner Nora Barnacle had to spend a night on the tiles.

Preferring to travel by train, when I received the invite to be writer-in-residence at the James Joyce summer school in Trieste, I wondered if I might follow Joyce’s route. But repair work on Austria’s Tauern Tunnel prevented me from taking the exact route. Besides, today’s TGV tears through France at nearly 200mph, in comparison to the 25-60mph speeds at which Joyce would have navigated Switzerland and Austria. A night on the town in Milan is just as good for the muse.

It comes at a steep price, but the remodelled luxury train from Sicily to Rome immerses passengers in the country’s culture as well as passing through stunning scenery

‘If anyone mysteriously vanishes, I can be Poirot,” said the passenger from India, twirling his moustache. It felt as though the spirit of Agatha Christie’s most famous character – best known for solving the Murder on the Orient Express – was lingering in the breeze at Palermo’s sublime botanical garden, which had been transformed into a makeshift waiting room for the 40 or so travellers about to board an Italian replica of the fabled train.

Sipping espresso and sampling cannoli, the classic Sicilian pastry, the curiosity and suspicion for which Poirot is famous was palpable as the passengers subtly sized each other up. But the only mystery waiting to be unravelled over the next couple of days was whether their Rome-bound journey on La Dolce Vita Orient Express would live up to their dreamy expectations.

To maximise the thrill and romance of taking a night train, our rail expert recommends the best cafes, sights and facilities near your departure station

You may dash for your morning commuter train, but you won’t want to rush for the sleeper to Vienna. The Nightjet train to the Austrian capital is the most illustrious departure of the day from Amsterdam. There is an art to conducting the perfect departure and the perfect arrival, the bookends of a thrilling overnight journey.

There are four major hubs for sleeper services across western and central Europe: Amsterdam, Berlin, Vienna and Zurich. Then there are secondary nodes at Budapest, Brussels, Milan, Munich, Paris and Prague. Most of the region’s night trains start or end in one of these 10 cities. Whatever your departure point, savour the moment by going for an aperitif and a relaxed dinner before boarding. And upon arrival, don’t just dash on – linger over a coffee and let the morning, and the city, develop around you.

With a bucket list of journeys that would take her from Tromsø to Palermo and Istanbul, our writer rekindles her love affair with long-distance train journeys

Snug, I stretched in the darkness, waking as the thump of wheels slowed to the tempo of a heartbeat. I could sense that the train was approaching our destination, so shuffled down the berth, easing up the blind to find a ruby necklace of brake lights running parallel with the tracks.

It had rained overnight and the road was slick, the sky a midnight blue, a D-shaped moon fading in the corner. Dawn was minutes away, and I could just make out the jumble of houses on hills, lights flicking on as though fireflies lay between their folds.

Briony Mason researches the alternative to visiting the south-west in a car from Lincolnshire

Re Phoebe Taplin’s article (Coves, caves and Agatha Christie – a car-free tour along the English Riviera in Devon, 19 August), my in-laws live in Devon and we visit often from our home in the East Midlands. It is a long drive, with little to look at along the M6/M5, and Phoebe’s trip sounded so charming that I thought perhaps the train would provide us with an alternative. A quick look on a tickets app advises me that for the bargain price of £450 the four of us could travel to Torquay in seven hours and six minutes with four changes (each way), which would probably be an adventure in itself, possibly with fewer charming spots and seafood snacks. I could read an entire Christie novel in that time, however, provided the kids’ electronics stayed charged for long enough.
Briony Mason
Rowston, Lincolnshire

Last year, two South Australian farmers were ‘going broke’. Then visitors became entranced by their Highland herd

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She can barely see me – young Honey’s golden fringe falls well past her eyes. But the 11-month-old Highland calf trusts me, allowing me to nestle in close to brush her long, shaggy coat up along her neck. She tilts her head towards the sky, her wet pale pink nose catching the sun – she loves it. And for a moment, nothing else matters.

I’m at Wildhand Farm, a 10 hectare property in Willunga Hill, South Australia. Little more than 12 months ago, budding farmers Alice Cearns, 29, and Reece Merritt, 37, were “going broke”. Their income from growing and selling native Australian flora and proteas was not enough to support their growing family. They began hosting flower-arranging workshops for the public but, in a twist of fate, their two Highland cows stole the show.

From scenic circuits of Wales and Scotland to a ‘ferry sleeper’ to Sicily, our tipsters sit back and soak up the views

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Starting from the border town of Shrewsbury, a spectacular multiday circuit of north Wales is possible: take the Cambrian Coast line through Aberystwyth, Barmouth, Porthmadog, then the gorgeous Ffestiniog Railway to Blaenau, where you can link back to Llandudno on the coast, and return to Shrewsbury (change at Llandudno Junction). There’s no shortage of accommodation, allowing you to stop and explore without rigid planning. The Cambrian coast and the seaside towns are a largely unexplored jewel outside summer.
Dave Thomas

Jveuxdusoleil (I want sun) taps into a key part of Parisian culture: drinks on the terrasse, as many fear the extinction of the bistrot

In August, Paris is uncharacteristically quiet as hordes of residents scatter to the country’s beaches and coasts for a yearly month of vacation. Businesses close and the city nearly grinds to a halt. Among those who remain, there is an eternal, quintessentially Parisian quest: hunting for a balmy terrasse bathed in sunlight for an evening apéritif.

Finding the perfect seat on the pavement outside a cafe may be a matter of a chance stroll or a timely text from a friend. This summer, though, a digital solution has gained popularity in an extremely French instance of the old Apple slogan “there’s an app for that”: Jveuxdusoleil, an app that tracks the sun’s movement through the city’s maze of buildings to pinpoint exactly where you can claim a sunny spot on a terrace for your coffee. It arrives at a precarious moment for this particularly Parisian pursuit.

Start with Andy Goldsworthy’s earthy installations at the Royal Scottish Academy, then head outdoors to discover more of his work, alongside pieces by Barbara Hepworth, Antony Gormley and Charles Jencks

A distinct farmyard smell lingers near the muddy Sheep Paintings. People walk slowly between two dense hedges of windfallen oak branches, or stand silently in a fragile cage of bulrush stems with light seeping through the mossy skylight overhead. I’m visiting the largest ever indoor exhibition of work by Andy Goldsworthy, one of Britain’s most influential nature artists. His recent installations have a visceral sense of rural landscape: hare’s blood on paper, sheep shit on canvas, rusty barbed wire, stained wool, cracked clay.

The show is a sensory celebration of earth – its textures and temperatures, colours, character. The seasons cycle through an ongoing multidecade series of photos featuring the same fallen elm. There are leaf patterns and delicate woven branches, crusts of snow, lines of summer foxglove flowers or autumn rosehips. Andy Goldsworthy: Fifty Years is a National Galleries of Scotland (NGS) exhibition in the neoclassical Royal Scottish Academy building.

27 August 1925: Favourite meals include breakfast on the banks of the Seine, lunch at the top of an Alpine pass, tea in the Highlands and dinner in Bolzano’s Waltherplatz

All readers of Jane Austen will remember Mr Woodhouse’s objection to his daughter’s portrait of Harriet Smith. “It is very pretty,” he said to Emma, “just as all your drawings are, my dear. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is that she seems to be sitting out of doors with only a little shawl over her shoulders, and it makes me think she must catch cold.” “But, my dear Papa,” protested Emma, “it is supposed to be summer, a warm day in summer. Look at the trees.” “But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear,” replied her Papa.

We may be sure that Mr Woodhouse would have regarded the suggestion of a meal out of doors as not only dangerous but almost indecent, and that the meals prepared by the impeccable Serle, who understood how to boil an egg better than any other, were served in a room from which all draughts were rigorously excluded. It is true that he travelled to the picnic at Donwell Abbey in his carriage with one window down, but while the others were enjoying themselves in the open air he was safely ensconced by a fire in the most comfortable room that the Abbey contained.

On a trip to the eastern Aegean isle with my mum after my dad died, we found inspiring landscapes, delicious local produce, and a profound sense of peace

There are no signs to the hot spring, but I locate it on the map and we drive to the end of the paved road. Overlooking the sea is a stone bench someone has dedicated to her parents, “with gratitude and love as deep as the Aegean”. My dad died recently and the words strike home. I’m glad my mum has joined me on this little adventure.

We walk down to the deserted cove at Agia Kyriaki thermal springs. There are old fishing shacks with stone-slab roofs, and shuttered cottages. Down an unmarked path, we find a rock pool where hot waters bubble gently from the sand, blending with the sea to a perfect temperature. Immersed in the healing mineral bath, I look up at juniper trees and blue sky, lulled by lapping waves and cicadas.

Mystery, history, unbeatable views and delicious local produce await in this idyllic corner of south-west England, which can be explored by foot, ferry, steam train and bus

Outside the train window, there’s a flickering reel of flowering fruit trees, lambs and swans nesting on the marshy levels. Following the Exe estuary towards Dawlish, where the railway runs along the beach, flocks of waders are gathering on the sandbanks, backed by boats and glinting water.

I’m heading for the Dart valley and the English Riviera, AKA Torbay, to explore by foot and ferry, river boat, bus and steam railway. The area promises wine, walking, seafood and an eclectic history from prehistoric cave-dwellers to Agatha Christie. It’s easy to assume a Devon holiday must involve driving, but it can be even better without. On previous trips, I’ve stayed in Exeter and toured by train, or based myself in Torquay to walk the coast path and take the boat to Brixham. This time, I’m testing the limits of what can comfortably be done without a car by staying in an old farmhouse in the countryside, half a mile from the nearest bus stop.

We don’t need to venture to Africa to see lions and zebras roaming the plains – we can watch them from the veranda on our fun-packed Dutch family holiday

There is a moment on our first evening at the Beekse Bergen safari resort that stops us all dead in our tracks. The kids are wearing the khaki safari hats from the welcome packs left on their wooden bunk beds, and we are relaxing on the veranda of our hotel room, with panoramic views of the “savannah”.

From this elevated position, we’re studying our neighbours on this 10-day holiday in the south of the Netherlands: Nubian giraffes, white rhinos, antelope, zebras and ostriches, all intermingling on the plain, metres in front of us. The light is fading and a heatwave is enhancing the African theme of Beekse Bergen. In the humidity, our impromptu animal quiz, aided by our in-room brochure, is halted by a low, menacing rumble.

Our daughters wanted very different things to us on our week in Andalucía. Would letting them bring plus-ones make it work?

They’ve packed too much, surely? The cabin crew do not look thrilled as I try to help squeeze each bag into the overhead lockers or the footwells under the seats in front. My 19-year-old has brought five and a half bikinis – we are away for a week – and her sister, four. (For comparison, I’ve taken my one and only pair of trunks.) The 19-year-old’s boyfriend has mercifully adopted a more minimal approach – just one wheelie for him – while the 17-year-old’s best friend has a different outfit for every day.

If there is an unusual sense of excitement among us right now, then it’s because of the extra human baggage in tow. The fact that each daughter has been permitted a plus-one on our family summer holiday this year means that we can still be together, but mostly apart.

With the help of an adventure platform that connects campers with landowners, we have a remote corner of Exmoor all to ourselves for the night

You can find it on Spotify in playlists for insomniacs, but on a Friday afternoon on Exmoor, we are happily listening to the real thing: the gorgeous ambient sound made by grasshoppers, birds and the buzzing insects that momentarily fly in and out of earshot.

The view is just as serene: the deep-blue Bristol Channel in the middle distance, golden fields just in front of us and, in our immediate surroundings, huge expanses of grasses and wildflowers. Our tent is pitched between two strips of woodland, which provide just enough shade. To complete the sense of calm wonderment: for 24 hours, we have this piece of land completely to ourselves.

The rainforest is lush in the wet season, says Kuku Yalanji man and local tour guide Juan Walker, and year-round you can find long stretches of deserted beaches

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I was born and raised in Mossman, 20 minutes from Port Douglas, and have worked in tourism on Kuku Yalanji country since 1999.

When I was young, Port Douglas was a bunch of local fishers, a handful of shops and the pubs. When the Sheraton resort opened in 1987, development really kicked off. Now it’s one of those scenic resort towns you find all over the world.

Holidaying with teenagers can be tricky, but our tipsters have discovered glorious destinations and exhilarating activities to keep them entertained

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Slovenia! We started in Lake Bled. Teens loved the Dolinka ziplines, the summer toboggan run, hiking in Vintgar gorge and swimming in Lake Bled. You can hire paddleboards and boats. If you have the money, there is rafting and canyoning too. After seeing the incredible Postojna cave, we went up the Vogel cable by Lake Bohinj. Half-board at the Bohinj Eco hotel kept the teens amply fed and it also has an aquapark, bowling and plenty of games to boot. We finished the trip off with shopping in Ljubljana and the best ice-cream ever at Romantika. Three happy teenagers.
Sue

A four-minute train ride from Amsterdam Centraal is an easygoing world of floating homes, art galleries and inexpensive waterside bars

The evening sun glints across the quiet marina, and the wooden gable ends of the houses lean gently into a street whose silence is broken only by the trundle of an occasional bicycle. I’m having a glass of inexpensive, decent wine in a waterside bar: and even on this picture-perfect night it’s quiet, with every customer around me speaking Dutch.

This can’t be Amsterdam, can it? A city that’s overpriced, heaves with tourists, and is awash with busy canals and traffic. It feels a million miles away. In fact, the city centre is just 20 minutes up the road, because this is Nieuwendam, whose houses date from as long ago as the 16th century, built atop the dyke that kept the sea at bay from the pasture land that grew the crops to feed the city. I’m drinking in Cafe ’t Sluisje, which for the last decade has been run by local residents. This is the most scenic quarter of Noord, the Amsterdam on the other side of the water from Centraal station.

They may be the most basic form of shelter imaginable, but for the author of The Book of the Bothy they embody the magic of staying in the wild, even on a wet weekend in the Lake District

‘Do you think I’m going to be cold?” asks my friend Ellie as we navigate the winding roads of Mosedale, on the north-eastern reaches of the Lake District, while rain batters against the windscreen. It’s a fair question. Both the Met Office and Mountain Weather Information Service are clear – being in the Lakeland hills will not be pleasant this Friday night, due to a sudden cold and wet snap. But there’s another reason she’s asking. I’m taking her to stay in her first bothy – that’s a mountain shelter left open, year-round, for walkers, climbers and outdoor enthusiasts to use, free of charge, with no way to book.

Unlike mountain huts in other parts of Europe and the world, they weren’t built for this purpose. They are old buildings left to ruin in wild places – former coastguard lookouts, gamekeepers’ cottages, remote Highland schoolrooms – before the Mountain Bothies Association (MBA) began to maintain them, offering shelter in a storm. And during this particular storm, shelter is definitely needed.

Known as the ‘Garden of Europe’, this easy-living Spanish region is heaven for foodies and wine lovers

‘My grandmother, a widow, sold her livestock in the 1940s and bought this land to start a vineyard. That’s where she made the wine,” says Pepa Fernández proudly, pointing towards a weathered building no bigger than a garden shed. We’re standing between two fields on a chalky road skirted by poppies, daisies and thistles. One field is lined with neat rows of lush vines, the other with small bush vines soon to bear monastrell grapes (the most dominant variety in these parts). In the distance, a sandy-coloured mountain range peppered with pine trees sits beneath a cloudless blue sky.

Pocket-sized Pepa is the face of Bodega Balcona, a family-run organic winery in Spain’s south-eastern province of Murcia. The vineyard lies in the picturesque Aceniche valley, in Bullas – one of Murcia’s three wine DOPs (denominaciónes de origen protegida), alongside Yecla and Jumilla. Each has its own wine route, scattered with museums and vineyards.

This tucked-away corner of north-west France is home to beautiful beaches, salt marshes and cider

The saying goes “curiosity killed the cat”, as if being nosy is a bad thing. As I stood knee-deep in the cool Atlantic Ocean, marvelling at the beauty and emptiness of the Plage de Port Lin, I decided this was nonsense: without this little detour, “just to have a look”, I’d never have discovered Le Croisic, on the Guérande peninsula. The downside is that time isn’t on my side: it’s past 5pm and I’m supposed to be at the big resort, La Baule-Escoublac, six miles east by now. But the presqu’île (a “nearly island”), as the French call it, tucked in the corner where Brittany meets Pays de la Loire, is calling out to be explored.

First, though, a late afternoon dip in the sea is too hard to resist, and I wade into the water, sharing a delighted smile with fellow swimmers. Two elderly women in flowery swimming caps nod a cheery “Bonsoir” as I take my first strokes. Afterwards, I wander up the coast a little way. A row of belle epoque villas overlook the rocky coastline, and I climb down on to the sand in front of them to look west at the enchanting view of the small headlands jutting into the sea and scattered black rocks in silhouette.

Stockholm’s 30,000-strong archipelago is rightly famous, but the sandy beaches and cabins just down the coast are more accessible and full of local flavour

I moved to Stockholm from London for work a decade ago. As a newcomer with a passion for nature, I remember being eager to soak up the region’s archipelago of 30,000 islands and rocky outposts. But I was overwhelmed by complex public ferry timetables to dozens of places ending in the letter “ö” (the Swedish word for island) and uninterested in pricey cruise boats packed with tour groups.

Then a former flatmate recommended Nynäshamn, which is on the mainland but embodies much of the nature and spirit of Stockholm’s archipelago. It’s home to a tasteful waterfront of colourfully painted bars and restaurants and a harbour packed with boats every summer, from simple dinghies to luxury yachts. Beyond, you can look across a clean, calm stretch of Baltic Sea, towards the island of Bedarön, flanked by pine trees and a smattering of dark red detached houses.

Find the Med a bit too hot to handle? Then head for the more temperate Cantabrian coast and its fantastic beaches, superb seafood and relaxed vibes

While we all know that “costa” is simply the Spanish word for “coast”, for most of us it has a much wider meaning, evoking all sorts of images, both positive and negative. It may be beaches, fun, cold beers and tapas at a chiringuito (beach bar) with your feet in the sand. Perhaps you’re thinking of childhood holidays in a thrillingly huge hotel, where you happily stuffed yourself with ice-cream and chips for a fortnight. More recent memories might revolve around showy beach clubs with exorbitant prices. If you’ve been to the costas of eastern or southern Spain in the past few years, however, you may have reluctantly concluded that your favourite resorts are now a bit too hot for comfort.

This year, there has been a lot of buzz about “la España fresca”, or cool Spain, but, in reality, Spaniards have been thronging the northern coast in summer for decades, decamping to Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria and the Basque Country. This is particularly true for residents of Madrid and other cities in central Spain that are stifling in July and August.

A trip to Perisher with four kids might put their inheritance on ice, but I’d rather spend it with them than leave it to them

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They say you can’t take it with you – money, that is – so this winter I decided to put a dent in the retirement coffers and take the grandkids skiing. Four of them, from a tentative 11-year-old to a fearless four-year-old with zero concept of danger and an arm just out of a cast. Sure, the whole snow experience might give my credit card a touch of altitude sickness, but at this time of my life I’m choosing to invest in memories over inheritance. I’ll remind myself of that when the credit card statement arrives.

It was a chance, too, to test out my ski legs at my old stomping ground at Perisher, in the mountains of Kosciuszko national park.

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Ayr, Bangor and Millom routinely bring up the rear in coastal town polls, but they offer a calmer alternative to the brash traditional seaside resorts

• Where tourists seldom tread, parts 1-17

Tis the season to be beside the seaside – and to hype and critique coastal towns in surveys and rankings. I suppose lists of this year’s “in” and “out” resorts help tourists decide where to go; no point going to Skegness for Michelin-starred food, or to Salcombe for a laugh and cheap beer. Less obvious coastal towns provide more nuanced fare. Perhaps the most alluring spots are those where we don’t forget the sea. These three towns are routinely ranked last resorts or else ignored altogether, but they offer more than stuff to eat, drink, buy and post on socials – and are close to swimmable beaches.

Mountains, butterflies, bears and pelicans are among the natural wonders in the stunning Prespa lakes region, which straddles three countries

I’m on a steadily rising road in northern Greece as swallows sweep over the burnished grasses to either side of me and pelicans spiral through the summer sky. Gaining height, the land thickens with oak forests and a Hermann’s tortoise makes a slow, ceremonial turn on to a sheep track at the edge of the asphalt. And then, just as the road briefly levels out before corkscrewing down the other side, a glittering lake appears beneath me – a brilliant blue eye set in a socket of steep mountains. I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve crossed the pass into the Prespa basin on my way home from trips into town, but the sight of shimmering Lesser Prespa Lake – often striking blue in the afternoons and silvery at sunset – takes me back to the summer of 2000 when I saw it for the first time.

A little over 25 years ago, my wife and I read a glowing review of a book about the Prespa lakes region. In the north-west corner of Greece and an hour’s drive from the towns of Florina and Kastoria, the two Prespa lakes straddle the borders of Greece, Albania and North Macedonia in a basin of about 618 sq miles. We’d never heard of Prespa until then, but the review of Giorgos Catsadorakis’s Prespa: A Story for Man and Nature got us thinking about a holiday there, imagining a week or two of walking in the mountains, birding around the summer shores and enjoying food in village tavernas at night.

With unique views, fascinating history and opportunities for wildlife-spotting, taking a small boat across a river or to an island can be a holiday highlight

The hills of the Scottish Highlands were still in sight when the cry went up: “Whale!” And there it was, a humpback on the port side of the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry, blasting a great cloud of mist from its blowhole, then with a farewell flick of its tail, disappearing into the Atlantic. On other voyages you may see glorious sunsets, rare migratory birds, ruined castles and historic lighthouses. Unlike the classic road trip or the great railway journey, however, the humble ferry rarely makes it to anyone’s bucket list. They are a means to an end, only chosen by necessity. And yet, the UK has some of the best and most exhilarating voyages within its borders. From exciting river crossings to island odysseys that test the mettle of the best sea captains, these boat journeys can be the high point of any trip.

Navigating to a backwater pub or brewery and around one of Britain’s last wildernesses is a magical way to explore

Make this the summer you get back out on the water, with fish plopping beneath you, bulrushes shimmying and kingfishers darting by. Even if you don’t have your own kayak or paddleboard festering in the garage, there are dozens of excellent hire places and guided tours up and down the country, on beautiful rivers, lakes, canals and coastlines. I’ve spent a couple of years researching a book about the loveliest, and here are five of my favourites.

The luminous Milky Way is not the only feature that makes space feel close in the Central Desert – you can also witness the aftermath of stars that fell to Earth

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“You didn’t mention camping on Mars.”

My wife had a point: thin air, thinner soil, extreme UV, rocks straight from a Nasa red-planet image, jagged ranges – all ideal backdrops for a movie set. No wonder the place was considered for training by the Apollo program. Its sparse life forms include an intimidating shrub whose thorns mimic the stingers on the scorpions that come out after dark. A harsh, forbidding place, but beautiful too. We made shade with our camper awning and waited for magic time: the desert at dusk.

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Scientific models suggest the meteorites hit Earth at 40,000km/h in an explosion akin to the Hiroshima blast.

A new company is offering swimmers the chance to cover the same distance as a cross-Channel swim but in friendlier waters – and with some tempting stops en route

From the port of Stari Grad, one of the oldest towns in Europe, we slip into the water and begin swimming out of the harbour, past the church of Saint Jerome and around a pine-clad headland to a nearby bay on Hvar’s northern coast. We emerge like an amphibious invasion force – about 160 swimmers, making our way to the hotel pool bar where drinks await. So far, so civilised. But this is only a warm-up …

On 24 August 1875, Captain Matthew Webb became the first person to swim the Channel, slathered in animal fat to fend off the cold. At the time, it was heralded as a feat of near-superhuman endurance. One hundred and fifty years later, I signed up for a modern take on the 33.3km (21-mile) swim (the shortest distance across the Channel, although Webb was blown off course and ended up swimming something like 63km). This Croatian adaptation involves swimming between islands off the Dalmatian coast, is split across four days and includes a welcoming hotel (the three-star Places Hvar by Valamar) to recuperate in at the end of each day. And thankfully, neoprene has replaced tallow.

From Paris to Athens, we pick hidden havens to escape the summer heat and tourist crowds

El Capricho, on the outskirts of Madrid, is one of the city’s lesser-known parks. It was built in 1784 by the Duke and Duchess of Osuna, and visited by 18th-century artists such as Francisco de Goya. Its 17-hectare gardens were designed by Jean Baptiste Mulot, who also worked on the Petit Trianon gardens at the Palace of Versailles. They are in three sections: Italian, French and English landscape. The park also has a small lake, a labyrinth, a bandstand and a mansion. One fascinating feature is an underground bunker, built in 1937 during the Spanish civil war – there are free guided tours at weekends.
Open weekends and public holidays, 9am-9pm, April to September, then 9am-6.30pm, October to March, esmadrid.com

Even if you’re there for the festival, which starts on Friday, there will be moments you’ll want to take a breather. A local writer suggests the best gardens, walks, beaches, parks and more

To the south of popular parkland the Meadows, Bruntsfield Links offers a quieter, calmer stretch of green, free of Big Top entertainment. Book a table at cute wine bar and cafe Margot for brunch and order french toast with ginger-poached pears and bay-leaf custard, or hot smoked trout with leek fritters. Later in the day stop by for oysters, small plates and natural wine by the glass. Bag a window-seat or a table outside to enjoy views of Arthur’s Seat, which at sunset seems to glow pink and gold. Sister restaurant LeftField on the same corner is gorgeous for an elegant dinner with the same incredible views.

Little known Queyras nature park promises blue-green lakes, mountain views, pretty villages and plenty of cheese – but almost no crowds

The baguette was fresh from the boulangerie that morning, a perfect fusion of airy lightness and crackled crust. The cheese – a nutty, golden gruyère – we’d bought from Pierre: we hadn’t expected to hike past a human, let alone a fromagerie, in the teeny hillside hamlet of Rouet, and it had taken a while to rouse the cheesemaker from within his thick farmhouse walls. But thankfully we’d persevered. Because now we were resting in a valley of pine and pasture with the finest sandwich we’d ever eaten. Just two ingredients. Three, if you counted the mountain air.

As lunches go, it was deliciously simple. But then, so was this trip, plainly called “Hiking in the French Alps” on the website. The name had struck me as so unimaginative I was perversely intrigued; now it seemed that Macs Adventure – organisers of this self-guided walk in the Queyras region – were just being admirably to the point.

Most visitors stick to the coast, leaving the wild interior to hikers, cyclists and fans of mindfulness

I wasn’t expecting the welcoming chorus of “woofs” that greet me when I arrive at FitCamp Montenegro. Then again, the name, suggestive of a 1970s-style fat farm, is misleading. Based in a rustic farmhouse in the hills north-east of Nikšić, the country’s second largest city, the Yoga getaway I’m here to sample may focus on wellness and plant-based food – the antithesis of traditional Montenegrin fare – but its friendly dogs and cats would de-stress many a frazzled urbanite.

“We especially want to take care of solo travellers, tailor stays to their needs, and help them reconnect with themselves and nature,” says co-owner Andjela Djokic, as amiable Sivi, part hunting dog, part sheepdog, trots out for a sniff.

Whales and dolphins may have proved elusive, but the islands off Cornwall cannot fail to impress with their subtropical plants and Caribbean-like beaches

At Penzance South Pier, I stand in line for the Scillonian ferry with a few hundred others as the disembarking passengers come past. They look tanned and exhilarated. People are yelling greetings and goodbyes across the barrier. “It’s you again!” “See you next year!” A lot of people seem to be repeat visitors, and have brought their dogs along.

I’m with my daughter Maddy and we haven’t got our dog. Sadly, Wilf the fell terrier died shortly before our excursion. I’m hoping a wildlife-watching trip to the Isles of Scilly might distract us from his absence.

A project offering free car rental is revitalising the medieval villages north-east of Lisbon by finally making them easily accessible to visitors

Twisting along roads flanked by cherry trees, granite boulders, vines and wildflower-flecked pastures, I wind down the windows and breathe in the pure air of Portugal’s remote, historic Beira Interior region. The motor is silent, the playlist is birdsong and occasional bleating sheep; all is serene. “This is easier,” I say to myself with a smile, recalling my previous attempt to visit the Aldeias Históricas – a dozen historic hamlets bound by a 1995 conservation project – using woeful public transport. Revisiting this unspoilt pocket of Portugal, 155 miles (250km) north-east of Lisbon, near the border with Spain, is going to be effortless in an EV. And, best of all, the transport doesn’t cost me a penny.

An hour before, I arrived in Castelo Novo, a four-hour train ride from the capital, and currently the sole hub of the Aldeias Históricas’s Sustainable Urban Mobility Scheme. It was launched in 2022 to address local transport issues by providing five free-to-hire electric vehicles, alongside other community-supporting projects. It sounded too good to be true, but I booked the maximum three-day rental – enough time to see at least nine of the villages. I was informed that if I arrived by train, someone would meet me at the station.

Lesser-known isles, from a quieter alternative to Capri, to a gem in the heart of Helsinki and the smallest of Ireland’s Aran Islands

• Tell us about your favourite coastal break in northern Europe – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

Procida, in the Bay of Naples, is not as famous as nearby Capri and Ischia, but is all the more appealing for it. Not a tourist trap but an island where people actually live, it’s a delightful slice of unhurried Italian life. The island is small enough to be explored on foot or by bicycle, though there is a bus service too. There are many pretty little beaches for swimming, sunbathing and picnicking – our favourite was Il Postino, where scenes from the movie of the same name were filmed. As people still fish for a living, there’s no shortage of wonderfully fresh seafood in the restaurants. A local delicacy is lemon salad, made from the enormous, thick-skinned lemons unique to Procida. Villa Caterina B&B’s orchard of lemon and orange trees provides fresh juice and marmalade for breakfast, and the rooms have wonderful views of the island and the bay, with Vesuvius looming in the distance and Naples only 45 minutes away by ferry.
Bernie G

The resort is extending its bucket-and-spade appeal to a new generation with a raft of investment, a series of new festivals and some original offerings on the food and accommodation front

Cleethorpes Pier, circled by the local gull squad, looks at its picture-postcard best. Ahead of the lunch crowd making for Papa’s Fish & Chips restaurant, I’m taking a seat in the pier’s ballroom to hear seaside historian Kathryn Ferry talk about her latest book, Twentieth Century Seaside Architecture.

Ordering a pot of tea, I’m taken back to my student days. Back in the late 1990s, the ballroom hosted Pier 39, a sticky-floored nightclub where getting your heels wedged in the planks after too many vodkas was considered par for the course. Following a shift waitressing at a nearby fish restaurant, our girl gang would douse our hair in Charlie Red body spray to mask the fug of haddock before dancing the night away where the Humber estuary meets the North Sea.

They wear traditional dress, play ancient melodies on violins and accordions, but the women of this island outpost ensure that it is more than just a living museum

“Welcome to Kihnu. We are not a matriarchy,” says Mare Mätas as she meets me off the ferry. I’ve stepped on to the wild and windswept Kihnu island, which floats in the Gulf of Riga off Estonia’s western coast like a castaway from another time. Just four miles (7km) long and two miles wide, this Baltic outpost is a world unto itself that has long been shielded from the full impact of modernity, a place where motorbikes share the road with horse-drawn carts, and women in bright striped skirts still sing ancient sea songs. But Kihnu is no museum – it’s a living, breathing culture all of its own, proudly cared for by its 650 or so residents.

Mare, a traditional culture specialist and local guide, promptly ushers me into the open back of her truck and takes me on a whistlestop tour of the island, giving me a history quiz as we stop at the museum, the lighthouse, the cemetery and the school.

A clifftop bunkhouse built for the RAF during the second world war is perfect for a kid-friendly escape – with great views, sea swims, hiking and otter spotting

It’s not always possible to take a holiday, but sometimes the yearning to be somewhere else, to leave the pressures of daily life behind, is too hard to ignore. Last bank holiday weekend, with a 13th birthday to celebrate and a row of suns on the weather app, we found a solution. Our family of four, plus two of my sons’ friends, would drive two hours west, to Devon. We’d stay by the sea, go cycling and swimming, play Perudo and sit around a campfire, eating birthday cake. And be home the next day. We’d be 24-hour party people. Only less rock’n’roll, more rock pools and bacon rolls.

The catalyst was discovering Brandy Head on a Google Maps scroll. Like a mini youth hostel, sleeping six, with one double bed, two twin bunks, a shower room and an open-plan living, dining and kitchen area, this boxy little building sits on the clifftops between Sidmouth and Budleigh Salterton, accessible only on foot. Perched nearly 60m above sea level, its terrace is the big selling point, enjoying such gull’s-eye views of the sea that it feels like surfing a very tall wave every time you step on to it.

Austria’s upgraded sleeper proves an exciting way to travel between two absorbing, family-friendly cities for our writer and her young daughters

Toasted ham baguettes in hand, we cheered as the new-generation Nightjet drew into Vienna Hauptbahnhof. It was a little before 7pm, and as the carriages hummed past I felt a rush of joy, like celebrity trainspotter Francis Bourgeois, but without the GoPro on my forehead. For more than three years I’ve been documenting the renaissance of sleeper trains, and I’d wondered if I might one day tire of them. But the thrill seems only to intensify each time I embark on another nocturnal adventure, this time with my two daughters – aged eight and five – who were already arguing over the top berth. The first four carriages were designated for travellers to the Italian port city of La Spezia, the other seven carrying on to Roma Tiburtina, where we would alight at 10am. Once in Rome we had 24 hours to eat classic carbonara, dark chocolate gelato, and bike around the Villa Borghese before taking a train to Florence.

Austrian Federal Railways (ÖBB) has played the lead role in resuscitating Europe’s night trains. Towards the end of 2016, ÖBB launched its Nightjet network on 14 routes, using old rolling stock it bought from Deutsche Bahn. Then, to the delight of train nerds like me, it launched a brand-new fleet at the end of 2023, and now operates 20 routes across Europe. We were now on board this high-spec service, which smelled of freshly unpacked furniture, the carpets soft underfoot, the lighting adjustable to disco hues of neon blue and punk pink.

Fun and educational outdoor activities in the wild that will coax kids off their screens this summer

There’s no escaping sea and sky on Tiree, as the Inner Hebridean island is only 12 miles long and 3 miles wide. Shallow seas provide rich feeding grounds for marine life, and it is one of the UK’s best spots for whale watching. Tiree Sea Tours – a member of the WiSe national training scheme for minimising disturbance to marine wildlife – offers half-day and full-day sea-faris (from £75). Visitors can also try to spot basking sharks circling the island in the plankton-rich waters at viewing spots in Hynish Bay or Caoles, or from the deck of the CalMac ferry over to nearby Coll. Sunset Pods’ two cabins (from £700 a week, one week minimum stay in July-August) sleep four and offer views over Balevullin beach, a Dark Sky discovery site and home to Blackhouse Watersports.

Some of the most priceless holiday memories cost next to nothing – as my four-year-old son and I have found on our forays into nature around the UK

‘Aliens!” The call came loud and shrill from the trees as I scanned the foliage for the unmistakable shape of my four-year-old son. For a moment, nothing stirred. The beams of light from the sun spotlit a nearby clump of bracken so intensely it reminded me of the torches Mulder and Scully used in The X Files.

Then, a rustle came from up ahead. “Quick! I found them,” he yelled before disappearing into a clearing between the pines. I walked on, to find, in front of us, the curved edges and spherical lines of a UFO, coloured so dark it nearly blended into the shadows. It was, of course, a metal sculpture representing the alien vessel said to have landed here over 40 years ago. On top of it stood my son.

From trekking, camping and rock pooling in the UK to swimming in Austria’s lake district and hiking through forests to Dracula’s castle
• Tell us about your favourite waterside pub – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

For 28 years we have been going to West Hook Farm in Marloes, Pembrokeshire, to camp. The farm has some lovely showers and toilets, and nothing else apart from beautiful fields full of meadow grass. The swifts and swallows dart along the top of the grass to eat bugs at dawn and dusk. All day long you can hear beautiful birdsong from birds such as skylarks. The fields run alongside the beautiful coastal path, which has a hedgerow full of wildflowers and birds. This is the most beautiful place on Earth (when it isn’t raining). The numerous beaches are full of soft white sands. Our children have grown up playing free in the fields on their yearly holiday – no computers, just outdoor fun.
Em

The Maasroute is the ideal entry-level, multiday bike trip for young children – flat with plenty of riverside cafes, family-friendly campsites and ice-cream stops en route

As early as I can remember, I’ve always got a thrill out of poring over a map, tracing wavy river lines with my fingers, roads that connect and borders that divide – all the routes I could take. The freedom of heading out on my bike and not knowing where I’m going to pitch my tent that night. Now that my children are aged seven and nine, I wanted to introduce them to the liberation of this kind of adventure. They adore a day out on their bikes, but this was to be our first multiday bike trip as a family of four, so it was crucial to find a route easy and fun enough to captivate them.

The Maasroute follows the course of the Maas River as it meanders for 300 miles (484km) through the Netherlands, from the inland city of Maastricht to the Hook of Holland, then loops back to Rotterdam. It forms part of the much longer Meuse cycle route (EuroVelo 19) that stretches from the source of the Maas (or Meuse as it’s known in France) on the Langres plateau, travelling through the French and Belgian Ardennes before crossing into the Netherlands.

Finns’ deep affinity with nature is blossoming in its restaurants, where a new generation of chefs are fusing local wild produce with more exotic flavours – all at reasonable prices

Unexpectedly, porridge is a Finnish obsession, available in petrol stations, schools and on national airline flights. But Helsinki’s gastronomic offerings are a lot wilder, featuring reindeer, moose, pike perch, salmon soup, herring, seaweed – and even bear meat. And from summer into autumn, Finns’ deep affinity with nature blossoms, fusing local organic produce with foraged berries and mushrooms. This inspires menus to feature whimsical fusions of textures and flavours, all straight from the land.

Garlanded with superlatives, from “friendliest” and “happiest” to “world’s most sustainable city”, this breezy Nordic capital is fast catching up on its foodie neighbours. Enriched by immigrant chefs, the youthful, turbocharged culinary scene now abounds in excellent mid-range restaurants with affordable tasting menus – although wine prices are steep (from €10/£8.60 for a 120ml glass). Vegan and vegetarian alternatives are omnipresent, as are non-alcoholic drinks, many berry based. Tips are unnecessary, aesthetics pared down, locals unostentatious and dining starts early, at 5pm. And, this being Finland, you can digest your meal in a sauna, whether at an island restaurant (Lonna) or high in the sky on the Ferris wheel (SkySauna).

From checking documents and what you may need to carry to factoring in motorway tolls and how to pay them

If you are driving your own car to mainland Europe this year, there are plenty of things to think about in addition to how you are going to fit all your stuff in the vehicle.

Where his family once farmed on a wild fringe of the Lycian shoreline, one man has built his dream retreat

Aged seven or eight, planting onions on his father’s land above Kabak Bay, Fatih Canözü saw his first foreigner. Before the road came in 1980, his village on the jagged coast of south-west Turkey’s Lycia region was extremely remote, isolated by steep valleys and mountains plunging into the sea. It took his family two days to get to the city of Fethiye on winding donkey tracks, to sell their apricots, vegetables and honey at the market. Despite his shock at seeing the outside world intrude for the first time, Canözü remembers thinking even then that tourism was the future.

Four decades on and having trained as a chef, Canözü has not only built a restaurant and 14 tourist cabins in Kabak, he has married a foreigner too: a former Middle East correspondent from England, who came here to research a novel and ended up falling in love. Now they are raising their family on this wild fringe of Anatolia’s Turquoise Coast, a region that Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, founding father of the Republic of Turkey, is said to have called the most beautiful in the country.

Slovakia is gaining an international reputation as a hot spring haven, offering affordable and high-quality spa treatments in breathtaking buildings

‘Centuries ago people used to say, ‘In three days the Piešťany water will either heal you or kill you.’” My guide Igor Paulech is showing me around Spa Island – a hot-spring haven in the middle of the Váh River that runs through Piešťany, Slovakia’s most prestigious spa town. Just an hour north of Bratislava by train, the town and its spa-populated island are packed with grand art nouveau and art deco buildings.

There’s a faint aroma of sulphur in the air as Igor paces ahead, past peacocks and ponds full of lilies, imparting his home town’s history. The hot water that springs from beneath the island sandbank has created what we’re all here for: a blueish medicinal mud that’s rich in hydrogen sulphide and sulphur.

If you’ve ever been tempted by naturism, there is nowhere better to try stripping off than the idyllic, car-free Île du Levant

The trail hugs every curve of the cliffside. On my left, the Mediterranean Sea swirls beside craggy rocks, while flowering plants unfurl on my right. A quarter of France’s coast is lined with similar sentiers des douaniers(customs officers’ paths), which were once used to patrol the sea. The difference on this trail is that I’m wearing nothing but my backpack.

Off the coast of the southern French resort town of Hyères, Île du Levant is home to the only naturist community of its kind, the Domaine Naturiste d’Héliopolis. For 93 years, this rustic Eden has lured free-spirited lovers of nature and authenticity, as unabashedly naked as Adam and Eve before they ate the forbidden fruit. On every visit, I’ve found that when people shed their clothes, they shed their pretence. Unlike traditional naturist retreats where nudity is de rigueur, Héliopolis is peppered with clothing-optional spots. This makes it the ideal place for travellers to dip their toes into the naturist way of life.

The NSW coastal city has changed dramatically, says Newcastle writers’ festival’s Rosemarie Milsom. It now has excellent eateries, new arts festivals and bustling breweries

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Newcastle is on Awabakal and Worimi country. It has changed dramatically since I moved back here from Sydney in 2008. The cityscape is full of cranes with lots of new apartment blocks and hotels. The light rail is a newish, if controversial, addition and great coffee is everywhere.

A lot more tourists come here now. In her memoir The Taste of Memory, the late, great writer Marion Halligan described Newcastle as “that well-kept secret of a place”. Well, the secret’s out!

After serious floods and landslides, some of the great trans-Alpine routes have reopened – with new services added – offering unforgettable train journeys from Austria to the Adriatic

The planning of main rail routes through the Alps was shaped by national ambition and rivalries. The opening of Austria’s Semmering railway in 1854, the Mont Cenis route (also known as Fréjus) between France and Italy in 1871 and Switzerland’s Gotthard tunnel in 1882 defined the broad contours of Alpine railway geography in the late 19th century. But Habsburg planners were keen to secure better links with Adriatic ports, so in 1901 they sketched out a bold plan for the Neue Alpenbahnen (new Alpine railways), of which Austria’s Tauern railway was the most important. It opened in 1909. When it closed for rebuilding in November 2024, it was a sharp reminder of how much passengers and freight rely on a handful of key Alpine rail routes. Lose one key Alpine link and the effects of that closure are felt across Europe.

The last couple of years have been tough for Alpine rail operators. Landslides, floods and derailment have played havoc on the lines. So three cheers for the more recent good news stories. The important Mont Cenis route reopened this spring, having been shut after a landslide in August 2023 (though there was a wobble last week when another landslide briefly interrupted services). That closure necessitated the cancellation of all high-speed trains between France and Italy. These links have now been restored, allowing travellers this summer to speed from Paris to Turin in just 5hrs 40mins, or from Lyon to Milan in under five hours.

Exploring the magical landscape that inspired Narnia and stars as a location in Game of Thrones – just an hour outside of Belfast

Where is the finest mountain panorama in the UK? As a nine-year-old I was taken up Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) and told it was the best. Even in those days, it was a struggle to see much except the backs of other people. The following summer Scafell Pike got the same treatment and the next year we climbed Ben Nevis. I disagreed on all counts. For me, Thorpe Cloud in Dovedale was unbeatable, despite it being under a thousand feet tall. What convinced me was the diminutive Derbyshire peak’s shape: a proper pointy summit with clear space all around, plus grassy slopes that you could roll down. The champion trio could not compare.

This panorama question is in my mind as I begin hiking up Slieve Donard, Northern Ireland’s highest peak (at 850 metres), but a mountain often forgotten by those listing their UK hiking achievements. And a proper peak it is too, with a great sweeping drop to the sea and loads of space all around, guaranteeing, I reckon, a view to beat its more famous rivals.

A short stretch of chalk cliffs on the island of Møn could soon become a world heritage site due to its unique ecology of wild orchids and geology of 30-million-year-old fossils

As we sauntered along sun-splashed woodland paths, our knowledgable guide Michael started to explain the links between the local geology and flora. The unusually luminous light green leaves of the beech trees? “That’s due to the lack of magnesium in the chalky soil.” The 18 species of wild orchid that grow here? “That’s the high calcium content. You see? Everything is connected.”

That’s a phrase my companion and I kept hearing at Møns Klint on the Danish island of Møn. This four-mile (6km) stretch of chalk cliffs and hills topped by a 700-hectare (1,730-acre) forest was fashioned by huge glaciers during the last ice age, creating a unique landscape. In 2026, a Unesco committee will decide whether Møns Klint (“the cliffs of Møn”) should be awarded world heritage site status, safeguarding it for future generations.

The spectacular Shetland archipelago – with its dive-bombing gannets, ancient settlements and endless horizons – is the perfect spot for a holiday with kids

It takes us 38 hours – two trains, a tube, the Caledonian Sleeper, a day in Aberdeen, a hire car and the NorthLink ferry – to reach Shetland from our home in Oxfordshire, and yet the immortal words “Are we there yet?” are not uttered once. When the ferry docks at Lerwick, the kids, Lydia (11) and Alex (eight), are uncharacteristically silent as we take in the view: the town huddled on a low hill, the water shimmering in the morning sun, and islands as far as the eye can see.

We are spending a week in the archipelago, travelling first around Mainland, the main island, and then north to the less populated islands of Yell and Unst, linked by regular ferries. It turns out to be the perfect location for a family holiday: short journey times (it takes 80 minutes to drive from the southern tip of Mainland to the northern) combined with the sea almost always being in view, and the excitement of a boat or ferry trip every day.

From Llandudno’s promenade and Scarborough’s spa to Folkestone’s Creative Quarter and Portobello’s thriving community, these places offer a magical mix of tradition and innovation

Some British resorts are about the beach. In others it’s walking along the prom. The fashionable ones push gastronomy, drink, street art, culture. Others stick to arcades, funfairs, kids’ stuff. Llandudno delivers all of these and a bit more besides – and it does so unpretentiously, warmly and ever so slightly Welshly.

Fishing villages, lighthouses, seabirds and beachside cafes star in our tipsters’ favourite spots from Derry to Cornwall

• Tell us about a favourite family back-to-nature trip – the best tip wins a £200 holiday voucher

Between Aberystwyth and Cardigan the quiet coastline is sublime, with incredible sunsets, dizzying and spectacular coastal paths, gorgeous quiet beaches and dolphins. Start in Dylan Thomas’s old stomping ground, New Quay, and follow the coastal path south along cliffs and past Cwmtydu beach before finishing at gorgeous Llangrannog, where you get two beaches for one (perfect Cliborth beach requires a lower tide to access). Kayaking and surfing are great, and the Pentre Arms provides refreshments with a view.
Matt Lunt

From Ipswich’s medieval treasures to Ramsey’s seaside charm and Lancaster’s chilling legacy of witches and slavery

• Where tourists seldom tread, parts 1-16

The place names are tiny poems: Silent Street, where sound was deadened with straw out of respect for convalescing soldiers during the Anglo-Dutch wars of the late 17th century; Smart Street, named after a benevolent merchant and library builder, William Smarte; Star Lane for Stella Maris, Our Lady of the Sea; Franciscan Way, leading to Grey Friars Road, evokes monkish times. Thirteen medieval churches rise above the old town, some in disrepair. Others are renascent: St Mary-le-Tower was recently redesignated as a minster in recognition of its value to the community and its 1,000 years of existence. That’s not so long ago in a town settled very early – perhaps as early as the fifth century, and established by the seventh – by the Anglo-Saxons.

History comes to life on a hike through the woods and wagonways of County Durham, which takes in mining, trains, an award-winning museum – and corned beef and potato pie

The Great Northern Coalfield once provided the raw fuel that powered Britain through the Industrial Revolution. For over two centuries, coal from the mines of Durham and Northumberland was trundled down a maze of wagonways and rail lines to the coast to then be shipped to London.

The mines are long gone, but eight miles north of Durham city, relics of the north-east’s industrial heritage can be found hidden amid ancient woodland and a steep-sided gorge.

While other parts of Spain struggle with the pressures of over-tourism, these wild, expansive and almost tourist-free mountains are a lungful of fresh air

As with paint colours or lipstick shades, naming a mountain range requires serious consideration. It should suggest character, create intrigue, and kindle desire. Who doesn’t want to explore the Crazy Mountains of Montana, or make a fiery pact with California’s Diablo Range? While studying a map of Spain, my interest was piqued by a patch of grey and green emptiness bearing the enticing words: Sierra de la Demanda.

I’ve travelled all over Spain for work and play in the last two decades, but somehow these “demanding” mountains had eluded me. Located in the remote northern interior, halfway between Madrid and Santander, their isolation (and a dearth of English-language Google results) only added to the mystique. The Sierra de la Demanda covers a vast area across Spain’s least populated regions of Burgos, Soria and La Rioja. An investigation of more detailed maps revealed an almost roadless expanse of limestone peaks, valleys, ravines, rivers, gorges and glacial lakes, with the highest peak, San Lorenzo, towering at 2,271 metres (7,451ft). The calling was real.