Recipefiesta

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

‘Unlike any other kind of fear’: wildfires leave their mark across Spain

Europe scorched by wildfires – pictures from space

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.