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As pubs nationwide buckle under soaring costs, one Argyll village spent three years buying and restoring theirs – and has ambitious plans for the future

It’s opening night at Scotland’s newest community pub, Oakbank Inn, which sits on the Holy Loch in the village of Sandbank, Argyll. It’s a clear, cold night, and the inn couldn’t look more welcoming: a cosy glow from within the historic building, the Cowal hills beyond. The Christmas lights are twinkling, the glasses are charged and there’s a palpable sense of goodwill, cheer, and plenty of pride in the air. By 6pm, it’s buzzing. Locals are already propping up the bar as a stylish woman sweeps in and bags the last table. She is Debbie Rycroft, a local haberdasher. “A pint in my own local,” she smiles happily, relishing a toast with her husband and equally dapper 19-year-old son.

First-night hiccups are limited to a wonky nozzle and a brief worry about a small radiator leak. “How many people to fix a heater?” quips someone as a line of concerned faces survey the scene. Almost immediately, a punter walks in with a radiator key. All sorted. Someone orders a Guinness; the bartender pulls it off. A two-part pour, pitchblack perfection with a balanced, creamy top. Good things come to those who wait? Well, this one’s been three years in the making.

There’s no shortage of stunning scenery and daytime activities in the Lakes. Now, an observatory is offering stellar nocturnal events too

A tawny owl screeches nearby in the dark and her mate replies, hooting eerily from the forest below. A white dome floats in the gloaming above a plain black doorway outlined with red light, like a portal to another dimension. I’m in Grizedale Forest, far from any light-polluting cities, to visit the Lake District’s first public observatory and planetarium, which opened in May.

Grizedale Observatory offers immersive films in the planetarium and three-hour stargazing events that go on late into the night. There are sessions on astrophotography and, on moonless nights, dark sky astronomy with the chance to see “a glittering tapestry of stars, galaxies, nebulae and star clusters”. Its director, Gary Fildes, is a veteran in the field, having founded and led three UK observatories over two decades. The goal at Grizedale, he says, is to create “an immersive, year-round astronomy and science destination that brings the beauty of the Lake District skies to visitors”.

Festive sea swims are pure joy – and also blow away the cobwebs, unite communities and raise money for charity. Here are some old (and new) favourites

Felixstowe, Suffolk
A proper community affair, with hundreds of participants resplendent in festive finery racing into the North Sea at 10am sharp while much of the town gathers along the promenade to watch. The event raises funds for St Elizabeth Hospice, and every year brings new tales of heroics and even romance (there’s been the odd mid-plunge proposal). The atmosphere is as heartwarming as the water is not. Afterwards warm up with a stroll around town, with its four-mile promenade and seafront gardens.
10am, £16, stelizabethhospice.org.uk

If meeting Santa is on your family wishlist, this trip on a festive sleeper train from Helsinki to Rovaniemi, with reindeer and huskies thrown in, is Christmas with jingle bells on

Christmas was only a few days away and the Finnish capital of Helsinki was ringing with festive cheer as we explored the Tuomaan Markkinat in Senate Square, sipping from mugs of hot, spicy glögi (mulled wine), and biting into joulutorttu (jam-filled puff pastries shaped like catherine wheels). A cold front had brought abundant snow and inhaling was rather painful at -8C, but nothing could still the tremble of excitement.

Along with my husband and two young daughters, I was here to take the Santa Claus Express to the northern city of Rovaniemi, the heart of Finnish Lapland – and the “official” home of Father Christmas. A regular commuter train for the rest of the year, come late November the Santa Claus Express is Finnish Railways’ flagship service, offering the ultimate sleeper-train adventure. As I checked my watch and announced it was finally time to make our way to Helsinki central station, the girls were pink in the cheeks, eyes sparkling from all the surrounding golden lights.

With ancient standing stones and modern midwinter festivals, the West Penwith peninsula is a land of magic and mystery

The light is fading fast as I stand inside Tregeseal stone circle near St Just. The granite stones of the circle are luminous in this sombre landscape, like pale, inquisitive ghosts gathered round to see what we’re up to. Above us, a sea of withered bracken and gorse rises to Carn Kenidjack, the sinister rock outcrop that dominates the naked skyline. At night, this moor is said to be frequented by pixies and demons, and sometimes the devil himself rides out in search of lost souls.

Unbothered by any supernatural threat, we are gazing seawards, towards the smudges on the horizon that are the distant Isles of Scilly. The clouds crack open and a flood of golden light falls over the islands. My companion, archaeoastronomer Carolyn Kennett, and I gasp. It is marvellous natural theatre which may have been enjoyed by the people who built this circle 4,000 years ago.

This tiny country is awash with atmospheric castles, many of which you can stay in, making for a magical wintry break. And it won’t cost you a cent to travel between them

The top of the tower had disappeared in the mist, but its bells rang clear and true, tolling beyond the abbey gates, over the slopes of frost-fringed trees, down to the town in the valley below. Final call for morning mass. I took a seat at the back of the modern church, built when the Abbey of Saint Maurice and Saint Maurus relocated to this hill in Clervaux, north Luxembourg, in 1910. Then the monks swept in – and swept away 1,000 years. Sung in Latin, their Gregorian chants filled the nave: simple, calming, timeless. I’m not religious and didn’t understand a word, but also, in a way, understood it completely.

Although mass is held here at 10am daily, year-round, the monks’ ethereal incantations seemed to perfectly suit the season. I left the church, picked up a waymarked hiking trail and walked deeper into the forest – and the mood remained. There was no one else around, no wind to dislodge the last, clinging beech leaves or sway the soaring spruce. A jay screeched, and plumes of hair ice feathered fallen logs. As in the church, all was stillness, a little magic.

The most exciting places our writers came across this year, from untouched islands in Finland to an affordable ski resort in Bulgaria and the perfect Parisian bistro

On a midsummer trip to Ireland, I saw dolphins in the Irish Sea, sunset by the Liffey, and misty views of the Galtee Mountains. The half-hour train journey to Cobh (“cove”), through Cork’s island-studded harbour, was especially lovely. As the railway crossed Lough Mahon, home to thousands of seabirds, there was water on both sides of the train. I watched oystercatchers, egrets, godwits and common terns, which nest on floating pontoons. Curlews foraged in the mudflats, and an old Martello tower stood on a wooded promontory.

From contemporary art exhibitions to eccentric festivals, regional Australia has no shortage of big events over the summer of 2025-2026

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Icons of Pop Art: Warhol and Lichtenstein, Mudgee
Two of the 20th century’s most influential artists, Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein have works on display at Mudgee Arts Precinct. Visitors can take a look at Warhol’s iconic Campbell’s soup cans up close, or get comically existential with Lichtenstein’s Reflections on the Scream.
On now until 15 March 2026.

Most metros use plastic or metal, but the distinctive fabrics on London’s network are full of clues to its history

When I first came to London from Yorkshire in the late 1980s, I found the tube replete with bizarre novelties. Among them was the way most trains required me to sit sideways to the direction of travel, as on a fairground waltzer. Directly opposite me was another person or an empty seat, and while I knew not to stare at people, I did stare at the seats – at their woollen coverings, called moquette. I have since written two books about them, the first nonfiction, Seats of London, and now a crime novel, The Moquette Mystery.

I was attracted to moquette firstly because it, like me, came from Yorkshire (most of it back then was woven in Halifax), and whereas many foreign metros have seats of plastic or steel, moquette made the tube cosy. Yet it seemed underappreciated. The index of the standard history of the tube, for instance, proceeds blithely from Moorgate to Morden.

It’s a far cry from the sun-kissed beaches of Cape Town where she grew up, but the simple pleasures of a seaside village in Cornwall draw the author back year after year

The idea of the sea that I grew up with was associated with sundowners and souped-up cars and skipping classes to sunbathe with the models who took over Cape Town’s beaches each summer. As a student, long nights would end, not infrequently, with a swim at sunrise (until, one morning, the police arrived to remind us that sharks feed at dawn). So it’s hardly surprising that, after moving to Norwich to study in my 20s, the British seaside trips I made felt tepid. Cromer, with its swathe of beige sand sloping into water an almost identical colour, seemed to suggest that over here, land and sea were really not that different from one another. That the sea as I’d known it – with all its ecstatic, annihilating energy – was an unruly part of the Earth whose existence was best disavowed.

It was only several years later, burnt out from a soul-destroying job, that I took a week off and boarded a train to Cornwall. I was 25, poor and suffering from the kind of gastric complaints that often accompany misery. With a pair of shorts, two T-shirts and a raincoat in my backpack, I arrived in St Ives and set off to walk the Cornish coastal path.

You don’t have to be a child to enjoy Seiffen, the magical ‘home of Christmas’ where they’ve been making traditional wooden toys for hundreds of years

I feel terrible … I’ve left the children at home and Seiffen, nicknamed Spielzeugdorf (The Toy Village), is literally a Christmas wonderland. Every street is alive with sparkling fairy lights and soft candlelight. There are thousands of tiny wooden figurines, train sets and toy animals displayed in shop windows, wooden pyramids taller than doorframes and colourful nutcracker characters. Forget elves in the north pole, this is the real Santa’s workshop. For hundreds of years, here in the village of Seiffen, wood turners and carvers have created classic wooden Christmas toys and sold them around the world.

Near the border of the Czech Republic, Seiffen may be well known in the German-speaking world as the “home of Christmas”, but so far it has been largely missed by English-speaking seasonal tourists. Tucked away in the Ore Mountains, about an hour and a half south of Dresden, it is not the easiest place to get to by public transport – the nearest train station is in Olbernhau, nearly 7 miles (11km) away. Buses are available, but we opt for a hire car and make our way into the hills, arriving the day after the first snowfall of the year. The roads are cleared quickly, but snow clings to the branches of the spruce trees. We half expect to see the Gruffalo’s child, but only spot a rust-coloured fox making its way through a fresh field of snow.

A cultural initiative in Piedmont is unlocking a trove of priceless medieval frescoes in rural churches

The Santa Maria di Missione chapel in Villafranca Piemonte, northern Italy, stands at the end of a long cornfield. Behind it, the mountains rise gently, their outlines caressed by the sun. The colours of autumn frame the 15th-century frescoes that embellish the structure’s interior, painted by Italian artist Aimone Duce, of the Lombard school. The chapel is the municipality’s oldest religious building, serving about 4,000 inhabitants, and stands on the site of a pre-existing building dating back to 1037.

Inside the small chapel, my footsteps echo softly against the walls, breaking the stillness of the surrounding countryside. The sharp scent of plaster mingles with the earthy smell of the fields outside, carried in on the wind along with the sweetness of wheat. Light filters through the narrow windows, catching the vivid hues of a fresco that depicts the seven deadly sins – a theme often revisited in medieval iconography.

Italian sweets, Irish smoked fish, honey cakes in Belgium … travel writers choose the stores and local delicacies they make a beeline for when travelling

I fell in love with Belgian snacks when cycling the amateur version of the Tour of Flanders some years ago. The feed stations along the route were crammed with packets of Meli honey waffles and Meli honey cake. I ate so many that I suffered withdrawal symptoms after finishing the last of them at the end of the 167-mile route.

In the snowy mountains of Grövelsjön, visitors can get a rare glimpse into a little-known traditional way of life – and sleep in a tipi under the stars

On the summit of a snow-covered hill, two men sit on a patch of lichen, their backs against their snowmobiles. They are wearing thick padded clothing and hats with ear covers. One is scanning the valley with binoculars, the other is checking their drone. “We’ve got a speaker on it to play various calls. Thermal imaging helps. The dogs do the rest.” The younger of the two men, Elvjin, pours out tots of strong coffee for everyone. “The main job at this time of year is to keep the herd up here where we can see them,” he says. “When they start calving, the danger from bears, wolverines and eagles increases. We need to see them.”

If I had a mental picture of reindeer herding before arriving here in the mountains of western Sweden, it certainly did not involve drones and thermal imaging. But that is the aim of this trip: to see an authentic and little-known European way of life, which for centuries suffered repression and abuse, only to be swiftly cannibalised into tourist-trap Santa experiences – all sleigh bells and traditional embroidery.

Wonderful art, amazing design and beautiful locations have drawn our tipsters to chapels, churches and cathedrals from Norway to Bulgaria

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The Tromsøysund parish church, commonly called the Arctic Cathedral, in Tromsø is a modernist delight. The simple, elegant exterior that reflects the surrounding scenery and evokes traditional Sami dwellings is matched by an interior that has the most comfortable pews I have ever sat on. The stunning glass mosaic titled the Return of Christ at one end may not be to everyone’s taste, but to me had power and majesty. Exiting this magnificent building after an organ recital to be met by the northern lights flickering overhead was awe-inspiring.
Bruce Horton

A new overnight bus service in the Netherlands, Belgium and Switzerland offers comfort and sustainability

I feel my travel-scrunched spine start to straighten as I stretch out on the plump mattress, a quilted blanket wrapped around me and a pillow beneath my head. As bedtime routines go, however, this one involves a novel step – placing my lower legs in a mesh bag and clipping it into seatbelt-style buckles on either side; the bed will be travelling at around 50mph for the next 12 hours and there are safety regulations to consider.

Last month Swiss startup Twiliner launched a fleet of futuristic sleeper buses, and I’ve come to Amsterdam to try them out. Running three times a week between Amsterdam and Zurich (a 12-hour journey via Rotterdam, Brussels, Luxembourg and Basel), with a Zurich to Barcelona service (via Berne and Girona) launching on 4 December, the company’s flat-bed overnight sleeper buses are the first such service in Europe.

By avoiding the famous hotspots and travelling in December, we enjoy culinary delights and historic charms without the summer crowds

The copper pot is filled with a custard so golden it looks like liquid sunshine. Our waiter carefully ladles the sugary, egg-yolk elixir, zabaglione, into two bowls for dunking warm pansarole doughnuts. Our conversation stops, a silent competition to nab the last one. We are literally living la dolce vita.

This dessert is a tradition in Apricale, a fairytale-like village in Liguria, Italy’s crescent-shaped region that hugs the Mediterranean. It’s a far cry from crowded Cinque Terre and posh Portofino to the east. This western edge, on France’s south-eastern border, feels more authentic and calmer in the winter, with more local people than tourists. Unburdened from competing with others for reservations, you are free to live in the present. Let spontaneity be your guide – or, in my family’s case, our appetites.

From city rooftops to seafront winter wonderlands, these are some of the best places to slide into Christmas

Leicester Square in the West End of London has its first ice rink, encircling the statue of Shakespeare that has stood on the spot since 1874. Unusually for a London pop-up rink, there are tickets available every day for walk-up visitors, with skating sessions starting every 15 minutes from 10am to 10pm. A bar serves hot chocolate, mulled wine and mulled cider, and Christmas market stalls surround the rink. The attraction is run by Underbelly, best known for its shows at the Edinburgh festival fringe, and is raising money for the Angel Child Fund at The Brain Tumour Charity (optional £2 donation).
Adults and teens from £14.50, under 13s from £9.50, families from £40, until 4 January, skateleicestersquare.co.uk