Unspoilt beaches and a turtle rescue centre in Turkey
Travelling down Turkey’s Turquoise Coast, my wife and I stumbled on İztuzu beach by accident. Almost three miles of sand stretches in a slender spit between a river delta and the sea, ringed by high mountains.
In 1987 construction had started on a giant hotel complex. But İztuzu – now known as Turtle Beach – is one of the Mediterranean’s most important breeding grounds for loggerhead turtles. An international campaign was launched, and the development plans were shelved. Now it is strictly protected. The beach was busy with sunbathers, but lying down is forbidden in the broad swathe of sand from which hatchlings emerge.
We visited the rescue centre that rehabilitates victims of boat collisions and fishing net entanglements, where loggerheads float in tanks of salt water. The principle of coexistence, which many see as at the heart of modern Turkishness, extends to marine life too. And the water felt lovely.
Nick Hunt
Lincolnshire’s (less blingy) answer to Cape Cod
Travelling to north Lincolnshire this year, I liked Cleethorpes more than I expected, and I liked Humberston Fitties very much indeed. Snuggled behind sand dunes, the Fitties is one of Britain’s surviving plotlands – the informal, self-built chalet camps that emerged in the late 19th-century.
The Fitties is now a designated conservation area. It’s not as makeshift as it once was but, well, there’s something about it, a working man’s Cape Cod with an outsider-ish air. Local-born Julie Connell remembers holidaying here in the 1970s: “My parents owned a chalet. In those days the lighting was by oil lamps. I can still remember the smell.”
I stayed at Little Haven, one of three chalets Julie now rents out. Happily, it has all mod-cons but still retains the Fitties spirit. “It’s magical,” Julie adds. “The Fitties envelops you with its shabby-chic mentality, its mix of people and their passion to protect the place for generations to come.”
Chalets, sleeping four or five from £110 a night, holidaystaycations.co.uk
Sarah Baxter
All life is under Marseille’s southern sun
Pull up a chair outside Chez Yassine; order a steaming, spicy leblebi (chickpea stew) and a bottle of thick house lemonade; watch it all unfold. Watch Marseille seethe and teem and toil under a huge southern sun. Watch the women open shuttered windows, and the men of the markets hawk apples, blenders, bins. Sip a beer on the steps of Cours Julien while the last of the light lifts graffiti off golden walls. Hear a pianist play at a beachside bus stop. See the young ones with salted smiles dance outside galleries, in fish restaurants, under pine parasols. Wake up next day with a hangover, a croissant, a cafe. Do it all again.
Go to Marseille for a hymn to the miracle of cities. Nowhere with such manic diversity should work. But just enough love is just enough to make it sing. Here is a world of people who want to live, and share this one life.
James Gingell
The best fish soup I’ve ever eaten, Poland’s Baltic coast
Right on the beach at the Gulf of Gdańsk, a bay of the Baltic Sea, is Bar Przystań, which has been serving seafood and cold Polish beer for 25 years. You can order fried Baltic flounder or herring tartare but what most people turn up for, even in the height of summer, is the fisherman’s soup with halibut, salmon and herbs. The queues for this bowl of deliciousness can be long and that’s because it is generous, filling yet light and a meal in itself. It was certainly the best fish soup I’ve ever eaten (and it cost less than £5). As for Sopot, a 20-minute train ride from Gdańsk, it is a wealthy and quite glitzy “see and be seen” sort of a place with fabulous villas set just back from the beach. Come summer, it can get very busy indeed, and Bar Przystań is a nice down-to-earth spot far enough away from the crowds who tend to gather at Sopot’s best known attraction – the longest wooden pier in Europe.
Caroline Eden
Graves breathe their stories near Carcassonne, France
There are few surprises left in Carcassonne, its history tidied up. However, a few miles from the city, at the village of Villarzel-Cabardès and in the grounds of Château Villarlong, our host suggested we might walk to the Necropolis of the Visigoths. No signs pointed our way to the ancient monument through rock-strewn vineyards, hard-baked by the sun, but a pine-covered hillock, rising from the flat plain, enticed.
And there, breaking free from the earth, lay the limestone tombs, “like a wound working a foreign body to the surface of the skin”, as author Owen Sheers once put it. The 44 graves are aligned east to west. Many are small, perhaps for the young. Nothing on the hill has been tidied; the graves still breathe their stories.
As we left, I felt that if I turned around the graves would have vanished, and in their place the Visigoths would be standing among the pine trees, looking at me.
Christopher Morris
Fascinating industrial history on Cumbria’s coastal railway
The journey from Preston boded badly. Rain-loaded clouds were inbound. On getting off the train and crossing a puddle-pocked road to be met by an office block and a statue of the late footballer Emlyn Hughes, I wondered about my decision to visit the Lancashire bit of “Cumbria” rather than Cumberland or Westmorland.
But preconceptions were blown away along with the storm. Barrow-in-Furness turned out to be a fascinating, historically complex, even beautiful place. The Dock Museum tells the story of an epicentre of iron, steel and shipbuilding. In 1871, the Bishop of Carlisle described Barrow as “one of the miracles of our time; I look upon it with that same sort of wonder with which some […] regard the pyramids”.
I crossed over to Walney Island, passing workers’ tenements on Powerful Street en route to the beach – there to drink up views north to Black Combe fell, from which, Wordsworth said, “the amplest range of unobstructed prospect may be seen that British ground commands”. I, though, went in the opposite direction, to dreamy Piel Island, with its pub and castle ruin.
Barrow is on the sublime Cumbrian Coast railway line – doable as part of a big Lancaster-Settle-Carlisle loop. It has an abbey as impressive as Tintern. Fernando Pessoa, Postman Pat and Dave Myers all sang its praises. Now I have. You will, too, if you go.
Chris Moss
Wineries and walking trails in Germany’s borderlands
Nestled in the south-western foothills of Baden-Württemberg, the Markgräflerland isn’t necessarily the first place visitors head for when visiting Germany’s Black Forest. Close to the French and Swiss borders, the region is better known for its wines than its walking trails – though there’s plenty of the latter to be enjoyed. Most of the wines grown around here, as with Baden and Germany more broadly, are white, and many of them have similarities to wines from Burgundy, which is just a couple of hours away and enjoys a similar climate. Alongside well-known varieties such as weissburgunder, silvaner, Müller-Thurgau and riesling, be sure to sample a gutedel (chasselas in French), a grape unique to the region that has been produced since the middle ages.
Freiburg im Breisgau, which has oodles of history and a large student population that keeps it vibrant all year round, is a charming base. In summer, head to the striking cathedral for the city’s summer wine festival, or hop on to the Baden Wine Route or Markgräfler Wiiwegli, which showcase local cuisine, family-run vineyards and some great scenery. They can be enjoyed on foot or by bike, and Basel, should you fancy a day trip, is just a 40-minute train ride away.
Paul Sullivan
Whizzing through the mountains of Andalucía on e-bikes
It’s the carpets of wildflowers that stick in my mind. I’d come to Sierra de Aracena and Picos de Aroche natural park in Andalucía in spring, expecting olive groves and sleepy villages, but the blooms brought a childlike joy.
This sparsely populated area near the Portuguese border in Huelva province, just an hour and a half from Seville, has its own microclimate, which paints the valleys and meadows with a lush brush. I was here to sample a new e-biking holiday and – whizzing up hills, through forests, passing cobbled hamlets and pretty churches – soon discovered how much fun mountain biking can be.
Finca El Moro, my charming base near the town of Fuenteheridos, has three restored cottages, all with their own little pool. The 75-acre farm was abandoned during the civil war and brought back to life by Britons Nick and Hermione Tudor in the 1990s. Now run by their daughter Daisy and her boyfriend Eliott, e-mountain biking holidays were introduced for the first time this year.
Circular routes take in the best of the area, with different holidays pitched to different levels of expertise (or you can just stay at a cottage and go out for an afternoon). I’ve heard it’s just as magical in autumn too – the perfect excuse to go back.
Jane Dunford
A prickle of porcupines in Lazio, Italy
It was on maybe the third day of our trip staying in a villa in the Lazio countryside that we decided to visit Rieti, a 30-minute drive away, on a dull, rainy evening. We found a charming town with a taverna run by three sisters where we ate delicious pasta, but it was on the way back that we made our greatest discovery.
Despite being on a regular tarmacked road, the journey turned into a safari. As we turned a corner we were confronted by an angry porcupine, its spikes puffed up, in the middle of the road. The brakes were slammed on amid cries of disbelief. We drove on but as we turned the next corner we were confronted by not one but four porcupines, all displaying their quills in fury. Again they scuttled off into the bushes. Not believing there could be any more surprises, we turned a third corner only to be confronted by a family of wild boar trundling across the road. Who knew Lazio could be so wild?
Max Benato
Secret restaurant that brings a taste of Middle East to Helsinki
Pulling aside the curtain at the back of Gastro Grill Mure in Helsinki, I found The Room, a tiny 14-seater space that’s a restaurant with a difference. It was the start of a dazzling food journey following the path of the chef Kozeen Shiwan. His gold grills glittered as he told us about the menu, which reflects the story of his life, from the day a grenade landed in his family’s back yard in Iraq.
Dishes echoed their journey from Sulaymaniyah to northern Europe as Middle Eastern flavours – smoked olives in black lime, medjool dates – and Nordic staples – biodynamic beetroot and foraged flower petals – combined. It blew me away; a 10-course menu is €149 but worth every penny. It’s just one of the diverting foodie delights on offer in the city. At Hakaniemi food hall I tried classics such as sea buckthorn shots and sauna-cured ham; Yes Yes Yes is a joyful vegetarian restaurant in a former McDonald’s, which somehow makes it all the better (mains from €16). I always love visiting Helsinki – it’s vibrant, colourful, and beautifully designed – and I never leave hungry.
Laura Hall
Falling in love with island life in Læsø, Denmark
The industrial harbour at Frederikshavn was my introduction to Danish island hopping, the ferry departing as my bus from Aalborg arrived. Rescued by a warm pub and a deep bowl of fiskesuppe, I caught the next boat, arriving on Læsø after dark.
By morning I was smitten, with a dip in the sea, then breakfast at Guesthouse Læsø (shots of aquavit optional). The island is ringed with beaches, and from the clean waters the industries of salt, langoustine and seaweed keep visitors well fed and top Danish restaurants supplied. I traversed the vast Rønnerne salt marshes on a tractor tour, then visited Læsø Salt, where mineral-rich salt from the groundwater is extracted using medieval methods.
Later, I donned armpit-high waders and followed Rie Ladefoged of Læsø Tang into the sea, armed with scissors for a foraging lesson. Back on dry land we toasted bladderwrack on a campfire, before a slap-up langoustine feast at Hummerens restaurant.
Ailsa Sheldon
Slow travel and bear-watching in Estonia
Before I even got near the bears, the train ride to Estonia, via Poland and Lithuania, was a revelation. I broke through the “this takes too long” apprehension and enjoyed every minute (a four-day Eurail pass is £245 adults, £183 under-28s, £220 over-60s). By the time I reached Estonia, I could have turned back for home quite contented with my trip. But there was something in the woods I wanted to see.
The Estonian bear population plummeted to below two dozen in the 1920s, but now it’s somewhere up around 1,200. In all that time, there’s only been one serious injury, as far as I could ascertain: a fisherman who got bitten when he accidentally came between a mother and cub.
With guide Bert Rähni of NaTourEst I hiked to a hide near the Russian border and sat waiting. Just after sunset, a female bear ambled into view. She only stayed for about five minutes, but it made for an incredible experience.
Kevin Rushby
An abandoned Brutalist hotel in Spain
We came upon the tiny medieval village of Alarcón by accident, while driving the back roads home from Andalucía last winter. Its castle, positioned atop a rocky promontory on a deep gorge of the Júcar River, has been tastefully converted into one of Spain’s most impressive Parador hotels.
Stay the night, then venture three miles out of town and you’ll find a different but equally intriguing example of Spanish hospitality – the vast and abandoned Hotel Claridge on the old Madrid-Valencia road. Built in 1969, its Corbusier-inspired concrete curves make it one of the finest examples of Brutalist architecture in Spain. A stylish hotspot in the 70s and 80s, the arrival of the A3 motorway sounded its death knell. Now it stands crumbling by the roadside, ripe for exploration …
Lois Pryce
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Stone circles and star-gazing in County Tyrone
Between the Davagh Road and the Blackrock Road in the Sperrin mountains of County Tyrone, I found myself in a liminal space between present and past. At Davagh forest, a state-of-the art observatory opens up the darkest skies in Ireland via a high-powered telescope and interprets the abstract wonders of the universe. The clock started to wind back on the path from the observatory through a woodland of Scots pine and then on to a boardwalk that traverses a landscape of bog, heath and ancient farmland.
Crossing the Blackrock Road about 20 minutes later, I stepped over into the neolithic age. The Beaghmore stone circles – seven circles, 10 rows of stones and 12 cairns artfully arranged – are not as incongruous a sight as seeing Stonehenge from the A303, but are all the more impressive for their unobtrusiveness, their lack of scale and the sense that they have been stumbled upon. Much as they were when they were first discovered by a farmer cutting peat in the 1930s.
Andy Pietrasik
Matisse’s late masterpiece is filled with colour, France
In the final decade of his life, when ill-health prevented him from painting, Henri Matisse made “cut-outs” – shapes snipped out of paper. This method enabled him to produce an astonishing late work: a chapel just outside Vence, a medieval walled village in south-eastern France. During a trip to Cannes this autumn, I made a pilgrimage there, taking a train to Cagnes-sur-Mer, a bus to Vence and a final walk to the chapel.
Matisse designed every detail of the Chapelle du Rosaire: the simple whitewashed building itself; the altar, crucifix and candle-holders; the murals; even the priests’ vestments. Most glorious of all are the stained-glass windows. Bright yellow, green and blue glass floods the chapel with colour and light. “This work has taken me four years … and it is the result of my entire working life,” said Matisse at its consecration in 1951. “Despite all its imperfections, I consider it to be my masterpiece.” He died three years later, at the age of 84.
Rachel Dixon
Relaxing in style at a magical B&B in Brittany
As soon as my family and I arrived at Le Manoir Caché (doubles from €80), a beautiful B&B in the village of Merdrignac, we fell under its spell. Its owner, Anoushka Lewis, a former London theatre producer, is renovating the 18th- and 19th-century manor house, and its relaxing atmosphere comes courtesy of her flair for hosting and for decor. The three double bedrooms – one can be changed to a twin – have been decorated with colourful print fabrics and vintage furniture. As well as the sprawling garden, there is a roof terrace used for art workshops and yoga retreats. The generous breakfast includes copious pastries, homemade jams and superb coffee.
After a day out exploring central Brittany including swimming at the nearby Lac de Trémelin, we came back to Le Manoir, where Anoushka had lit the barbecue for us to cook on and had set the outdoor table stylishly; there was even a chandelier hanging from the tree above our heads.
Carolyn Boyd
In September, three friends, Arturo Romera Figueroa, Martin Phillp See and Antonio Tapia Baudesson, with backgrounds in farming, cooking and hospitality, breathed new life into a traditional Madrid bar in the diverse neighbourhood of Carabanchel.
Leaving the 1980s decor untouched, they reopened La Capa as a modern Spanish restaurant championing local producers. At lunchtimes, the restaurant is packed with customers tucking into a €23 set menu that changes daily to showcase seasonal ingredients. In the evenings, the à la carte selection offers familiar favourites such as tortilla de patatas, escalope and sea bass – alongside a nod to chef See’s Philippine heritage with dishes such as lumpia (a type of spring roll).
La Capa’s olive oil hails from the Jaén region, with producers occasionally stopping by to share their stories – and oil – directly with diners.
Leah Pattem
A historic mountain village in the Julian Alps
Like many great discoveries, we ended up in Planina v Lazu after a chat at a bar. When thunderstorms scuppered plans for a family hike (I was travelling in Slovenia with my kids – nine and 11) to Triglav national park’s highest mountain hut, a fellow hiker recommended Planina v Lazu, a settlement with written records dating back to the 16th century, instead.
We set off down the mountain, hiking through dense forest and crossing wildflower meadows until we reached a clearing dotted with wooden huts, owned and preserved by the Stara Fužina-Studor Agrarian Society. Farmers from lower-altitude villages still own and use the huts in summer.
It was a surprising hub of activity; a tapping hammer echoed and kids fussed over a stubborn llama. We lingered longer than expected, visiting Petričev stan – the settlement’s best-preserved building and living museum – and sampled cheese from Farm Gartner. We haven’t stopped contemplating a slower life in the shadow of the mountains ever since.
Holly Tuppen
Time travel in Valença, Portugal
Time moved backwards as I crossed the bridge over the River Minho from Spain to Portugal – and that’s not just me trotting out an overused travel writing trope. As I walked a few metres south from Tui while walking the Camino Portuguese, part of the Way of Saint James, I went back one hour.
The time difference is a quirk from 1940 when Spain changed its time zone to match German-occupied Europe. But that wasn’t the only thing that seemed firmly in the past: the pace in Valença is decidedly slow.
A 13th-century star-shaped fortress encircles the entire town, hiding within a labyrinth of cobbled streets, stone houses, tiled walls and tiny shops selling the linen the region is famed for. The cafes were akin to stepping into someone’s front room, and for very little cash we were treated to caldo verde soup served with broa de milho (cornbread), all overlooking exquisite views of the Tui hills and the river that divides them. I’m not religious, but sitting on the fort wall eating my bread, I may just have said a little prayer of thanks to Saint James for my best discovery of the year.
Phoebe Smith
Walk from Scotland’s lowlands to its Highlands, with pubs aplenty
There is a very clear moment on the Cateran Trail, a 64-mile circular walking route through Perthshire and Angus, where you leave the lowlands of Scotland and enter the Highlands.
It comes after you have climbed the saddle between Ben Earb and Meall Uaine, stepping into the southernmost reaches of the Cairngorms national park. Until this point, the route is one of gentle hills and farmland. Here, the Munros of Scotland spring up and announce themselves: Creag Leacach and Glas Maol backdropping the Spittal of Glenshee, a village where several valleys meet and two rivers converge.
You stand on a geological fault that has separated cultures, languages and livelihoods for thousands of years, and which, in some respects, still does.
This trail, which celebrated its 25th anniversary this year, is Scotland in miniature. It passes rivers and abandoned mills, agricultural land and livestock, rewilded havens where beavers now swim, and mountains not so easily shaped by human tools. Oh, and there’s a cracking pub at every stop along the way. That’s important.
Stuart Kenny
A 100mph meal to remember in the Pullman dining carriage
Lunch opened with fresh pea and watercress soup and warm, olive-studded bread – all prepared in a tiny kitchen that’s moving at 100mph – and the lemon tart had a citrussy kick. It’s a surprisingly good meal (£37 for two courses, £44 for three). There’s a Pullman dining car on two weekday trains each way between Paddington and Plymouth, and one each way to Swansea. I regularly travel by rail to Wales and Cornwall so this was a discovery to savour.
In 1867 George Pullman introduced his palatial dining carriages in the US, and Great Western started running them in the 1920s. A century on, it came as a revelation to find that dining cars are still a thing. While you feast, the hills and estuaries hurtle past outside the window.
Today’s vibe is smart corporate rather than dazzling luxury. But with white tablecloths and real chinaware, the experience still evokes a golden age of rail. On a Tuesday lunchtime, the carriage is empty apart from one other diner who’s arrived on spec and is enjoying a half bottle of red. Passengers with first-class tickets can book ahead, while those in standard class can ask on the day and see if there’s room. I know I will.
Phoebe Taplin
A hearty feast for a traveller fresh off the train in Vienna
In between sleeper trains, I was mooching around the vicinity of Vienna station looking for a late lunch. It was drizzling and cold when I passed the steamed-up window of what appeared to be a deli. But when I nosed inside the door, the aroma of slow-cooked broth and comfort drew me in.
The single waitress waved me over, translating a daily-changing German menu. She recommended the schweinebraten – roast pork shoulder – which arrived pooling in intense gravy with a fat spicy dumpling and sweet bacon cabbage on the side.
Nothing on the menu at Edelgreisslerei Opocensky cost more than €20, and once I’d finished I browsed the deli at the front for pots of cashew pesto and hunks of bergkäse cheese for the onward journey. Having forgotten the name, I found myself back in Vienna a year later and wandered around until I found it again, the food even better than before.
Monisha Rajesh
Pilgrimage to a playwright’s pub in County Kerry
Billy Keane emerged from the misty March evening into the amber glow of his Listowel pub in County Kerry looking like a character from one of his father’s plays. I had wanted to come here – John B Keane’s pub – for years, ever since I saw my older brother perform in John B’s play The Field in a musty town hall a lifetime ago.
Outside, it’s just a lantern-lit sliver of William Street, but inside, the place stretches deeply into honeycombed wood surfaces, with a black range. The walls are papered with John B’s production posters as well as photos of past visitors, such as Brendan Behan, Seamus Heaney, Gabriel Fitzmaurice and Kate Winslet, so the place gives off more of an off-Broadway vibe than a traditional bar.
John B’s plays were inspired by the fabric of the local community, according to Billy. Or as a local once quipped: “He took down what we said and charged us to read it.”
Vic O’Sullivan
Escape the crowds to walk among Montmartre’s legends, Paris
On a Sunday morning, the hilltop neighbourhood of Montmartre, former haunt of artists such as Monet, Renoir and Van Gogh, has all the charm of Wembley Park tube station on match day, and twice the crowds. Escaping down a steep, winding lane, we found ourselves at the gates of Montmartre cemetery and stepped gratefully into its leafy embrace.
To walk among the moss-covered tombs of La Cimetière du Nord (as it’s officially known) is to immerse yourself in the city’s artistic life. We paid our respects to the film-maker François Truffaut, admire the graveside statue of Nijinsky, depicted in his iconic role as Petrushka the puppet, and sought out the final resting place of Edgar Degas, who captured the vibrancy of Montmartre’s nightlife in his paintings. Perhaps nobody embodies this spirit more than Louise Weber, star of the Moulin Rouge. She is buried in a quiet corner, her tombstone decorated with a single red carnation.
Joanne O’Connor
