JRNY Travel Magazine - Issue Six by jrnymag.com

JRNY ISSUE SIX

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Taiwan is delighted to support Issue Six of JRNY Travel Magazine. Taiwan, a captivating blend of cultures, beckons travellers to embark on an immersive journey through diverse landscapes and memorable encounters on a stunning yet compact island. Traverse the majestic Yushan mountains, indulge in the tantalising street-food scene of Taipei, and discover firsthand the intricately woven tapestry of tradition and innovation that sets Taiwan apart as one of Asia's most extraordinary destinations. Experience 'The Heart of Asia' for yourself, where the past and present harmoniously intertwine, leaving an indelible impression.

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ISSUE SIX The JRNY Team Founding Editors: Kav Dadfar & Jordan Banks Editor-in-Chief: Emma Gibbs Sub-Editor / Head of Digital: Simon Willmore Art Direction & Design: Jo Dovey Picture Editor: Diana Jarvis Contact Us For general enquiries, partnerships or sales, email us at info@jrnymag.com Thanks JRNY Travel Magazine would like to thank Judith Neilson and the Judith Neilson Institute for Journalism and Ideas for their generous and continued support. Follow us Website: jrnymag.com X: @jrnymag Instagram: @jrnymag Cover Image By F11 Photo, Dreamstime | Taipei skyline at sunset. Issue Six First published October 2023. ISSN 2752-7077 (Online)

The articles published reflect the opinions of the respective authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the publisher and editorial team. All rights reserved. JRN Magazine Limited. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the cases of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. JRNY Magazine Limited reserves the right to accept or reject any article or material and to edit this material prior to publication. Published in the UK by JRNY Magazine Limited This magazine was printed in the UK by The Manson Group Ltd, a subscriber to the Forest Stewardship Council and Programme for the Endorsement of Forest Certification Schemes, promoting responsible management of the world’s woodland resources. In addition to forest management and certification, The Manson Group Ltd is working in compliance with ISO1 001:2015 (Certification pending approval), has reduced landfill waste by over 0 through waste segregation policies, with all paper, cardboard, plastics and used printing plates recycled in a responsible manner and employs new technology and processes within its printing facility, such as LED lighting and the use of electric delivery vehicles, to reduce its carbon footprint. For more information, visit tmgp.uk/enviro and www.mansongroup.co.uk/environment

CONTENTS

Reinventing Boston BOSTON, USA

Greener Heartlands BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

050 The Call of the Wild GREENLAND

Coastal Bounty WALES

084

150

038

A Natural Capital CAYMAN ISLANDS

The Elemental Coast BRITTANY & NORMANDY, FRANCE

IN THIS ISSUE 2

142

108

096

The New Superstars TORRES DEL PAIN NP, CHILE

The Heart of the Sahara ALGERIA

132

ISSUE SIX

120

A Slow Boat Through The Cyclades CYCLADES, GREECE

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The Beautiful Island TAIWAN

JRNY Magazine World Travel Photography Awards

A Land Less Ordinary SOUTH AUSTRALIA

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WELCOME TO ISSUE SIX When we started putting this issue together, it was with the loose theme of ‘sustainability’ in mind. In truth, I’m loath to call this our sustainability issue – not least because sustainability shouldn’t just be a one-off thing but rather something we strive towards in all our issues. Still, it’s a common thread that runs through all of the articles in this issue, and will, I hope, introduce you to the many facets and possibilities of that word. When it comes to travel, sustainability isn’t just about being low carbon (though, of course, that helps), it’s about supporting the communities of the places we visit, looking after the natural environment, and ensuring that we leave only a positive impact behind. In our cover story, Sarah Gillespie embraces all of these on her trip to Taiwan, where preservation – to both natural and manmade landscapes – and modernity work alongside each other. It’s a similar theme in the UK’s much-overlooked 'second city', Birmingham, which Richard Franks explores on foot, by bike and in a kayak. A slow boat is also Alice Barnes-Brown’s method of transport around the blissful Cyclades in Greece If you’re like me and led by your stomach on your travels, then Portia Jones’s piece about foraging along Wales’s glorious Pembrokeshire coastline will have you desperate to give it a go. Fabulous local food – and wine – is also a key part of a visit to South Australia, as Karen Edwards shows us, and is central to the rejuvenation of the historic city of Boston, as Ellie Seymour writes. In South Greenland, Laura Hall joins one of the first polar bear watching tours, getting an unforgettable glimpse of these huge predators. Wildlife is also the theme of Mark Stratton’s article, as he witnesses turtle release in the Cayman Islands, and of Steph Dyson’s visit to Chile, where pumas are stealing the limelight. Our two photo essays show off two equally striking but very different landscapes: Paul Prim takes us along the storm-lashed coastline of Brittany and Normandy in France, while Nicholas Holt leads us into the heart of the Sahara in Algeria. Finally, we were blown away by the huge number and amazing standard of entries we received for our inaugural photography competition – thank you to everyone who took the time to enter. After a huge amount of deliberation and discussion, we’re delighted to reveal our winners and some of the best photos within this issue. We think you’ll agree that these evocative images are among the very best examples of travel photography. You can see the shortlists for each category at jrnymag.com/shortlist. Thank you for your support of JRN – we hope you love this latest issue. And don’t forget to head over to our website where you can read more fabulous articles as part of our new interactive “Narratives” section, listen to our podcast and set up a subscription so you don’t miss out on any of our future issues. Thank you.

Emma Gibbs Editor-in-Chief

THE BEAUTIFUL ISLAND

The Beautiful Island E X P L O R I N G

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P R E S E R VAT I O N

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M O D E R N I T Y

PHOTOS BY JORDAN BANKS

G I L L E S P I E

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C O M P A N I O N A B LY A N D

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T OPENING SPREAD:

Changchun Temple in Taroko National Park. LEFT:

Driving buggies through Chishang’s rice paddies. BELOW:

Cartoon-themed buggies for hire in Chishang.

he Portuguese called it Ilha Formosa: the beautiful island. And, despite making my living with words, I’ve always struggled to call Taiwan anything but. It’s a place with the power to reduce even the most erudite to facile adjectives. It defies description, but I will attempt one now. Taiwan is tiny – about half the size of Ireland. It’s part-tropical, part-subtropical, yet ridged down the centre with snow-tipped mountains: a topographical map resembles a Bixi, the dragon-turtle hybrid of Chinese lore. Most people here are ethnically Han Chinese, but a period of Japanese occupation (1895–1949) has left its mark – most notably in kawaii, a quality of childlike cuteness. Bubble-eyed characters squish out from every corner; waitresses chant ‘xie xie!’ (thank you!) in increasingly higher pitches. A cloud of jingles trails me around every metro station and corner shop. Visiting Taiwan feels like being hugged by a giant stuffed bear. It feels progressive

and democratic; it feels like a place in which nothing bad can happen, a sort of Scandinavia of the East. I ponder this as I choose which cartoonthemed buggy I will drive through the rice paddies of Chishang, in southeastern Taitung County. My gaze alights on Hello Kittys and Pikachus before my guide, Michelle Chiu Shan Chieh, suggests that I might like one ‘with the flags of your country’. She points at a Thomas the Tank Engine garlanded with Union Jacks. I climb in and test the accelerator. The engine screeches like a squashed cockroach, shattering the idyll, but then settles into a relaxed putter as we pull out onto the road. Despite their beauty, Chishang’s rice paddies went largely unnoticed until two early 2000s adverts filmed in Chishang – one for Mr Brown Coffee and one for EVA Air, starring Japanese-Taiwanese actor Takeshi Kaneshiro – started drawing 2,000 daily visitors here. The main road was renamed Mr Brown Avenue; the tree featured in the EVA Air advert became the Takeshi Kaneshiro Tree. The crowds brought wealth, but they also brought litter and vandalism, triggering protests from rice farmers, a governmental appeal to visitors and an eventual ban on non-agricultural vehicles during the harvest season of July and August. Now, it’s pristine; the rice grasses are soft and uniform, like the fur of a plush toy. The mountains of the East Rift Valley hug the fields on either side, their peaks nuzzling into damp, fluffy clouds. At the Takeshi Kaneshiro tree, a neat queue for photos has formed. Two supporting cables are the only evidence of the typhoon that blew the tree down in 201 – the effort to right it involved the government, the military and two arborists flown in from Japan. We return our Thomas buggy to its owner and head north up the east coast past fields of pineapples, each fruit covered by a brown paper hat. Tra c-controlling robots guide us into the correct lane. We stop at the city of Hualien for Taroko National Park and its eponymous gorge, carved by the Liwu River. It thunders over

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LEFT TO RIGHT:

Tunnel of Nine Turns, Taroko National Park; Walking across one of the suspension bridges at Taroko National Park; Pavilion overlooking the gorges of Taroko National Park; Train passing through ingshui li s

marble rocks, gathering minerals; by the time it meets the sea, it’s an impossible, bubble-gum blue. As we pull up at the Swallow Grotto viewpoint, the sound of manic twittering informs me why it is known as such. Above, mountains of black marble and white gneiss melt into the valley like a monumental ice

M O U N TA I N S O F BLACK MARBLE AND WHITE G N E I S S M E LT I N T O THE VALLEY LIKE A M O N U M E N TA L ICE CREAM

cream. Leaching groundwater has gouged potholes out of the cliff face, as if with a metaphysical spoon. The tunnel we stand in has less poetic origins. ‘This was blown up using TNT in the 1960s,’ says Michelle. Dotted around the park are further examples of past human folly. As we walk the Baiyang Trail tunnel, Michelle explains that it was originally meant to lead to a power station, a project that was shut down in 1984, following protests. Bats have claimed the tunnel; they utter wet, indignant squeals as we pass. Taroko’s national park status, achieved in 1986, saved it from further ignominy. Manmade projects were all but banned; nature regrew. ‘ ou can’t pick up anything now; not even a fallen leaf,’ says Michelle. ‘ ou leave with nothing but your memory.’ The sounds around us, however, seem less than natural. The buzzsaw shriek of cicadas cleaves the air, and everyone’s eardrums. Firework-like whoops, Michelle tells me, are those of a Formosan whistling thrush. I squint at the trees but see nothing. It is only later, while washing my hands at the car park toilets, that I spot a flash of purple in the bathroom mirror. I whip round and see the thrush alight on a wooden post, iridescence dancing over its wings. Seconds later it swoops into the gorge, leaving the human world behind. From here, Taiwan’s highways feather out into squiggly roads, the kind on which you dread meeting a bus – and we occasionally do, sparking a delicate dance on the mountainside.

THE BEAUTIFUL ISLAND

At Jiufen, we greet the coast again, with its calligraphic swirl of islands and bays. One day in the 1890s, a worker was washing his lunchbox in a nearby stream when he saw gold swirling in the water. The Japanese wasted no time, hacking the Kinkaseki (now Jinguashi) gold mine out of an adjacent mountain; Jiufen went from village to boom town. After the mine’s closure in 19 7, the town went into decline – until the 19 9 film A City of Sadness, filmed in Jiufen, triggered a tourist boom and the opening of several retro, lantern-festooned teahouses. The best known of these is A-MEI. The popular legend about A-MEI – that it inspired the bathhouse from Hayao Miyazaki’s animated classic, Spirited Away – is untrue, but understandable. Like that bathhouse, it’s rendered in green, red and gold with the precision of a concept artist. Inside, Michelle unfurls a bamboo menu with a rolling clack and orders Oriental Beauty – the Taiwanese queen of teas, a frequent guest of honour at the world’s finest hotels. The waitress, well-versed in the requirements of royalty, works quickly. She pours water – heated to exactly 5°C – onto the leaves, waits for 20 seconds, then decants the tea through a filter; into a second, ‘nosing’ cup; and then, finally, into tiny porcelain drinking cups. ‘The older generation will enjoy the tea with snacks and gossip,’ Michelle says,

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

The hillside teahouses of Jiufen; Street vendors in Jiufen. OPPOSITE PAGE, CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

Waitress at A-MEI; Lanterns adorn the streets of Jiufen; A woman practises calligraphy in Jiufen; Jiufen Xiahai City God Temple.

THE BEAUTIFUL ISLAND

THE CAPRICIOUS N O RT H W ES T E R N C L I M AT E HAS THRASHED OUT A SURREALIST LANDSCAPE O F LU N A R C RAT E R S A N D CHARRED TOFU ROCKS.

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT:

Collecting seaweed in Heping Island Geopark; The otherworldly landscape of Heping Island; Schoolchildren learn about the island’s biodiversity; Taking the plunge in Heping Island’s swimming baths; Our guide, Leo Yip Tsz Ho.

taking a long, luxurious sniff from the nosing cup. ‘They’re not gonna use teabags.’ It’s the sort of ritual that would usually be lost on the young – and yet, it’s the young who are filling out A-MEI. Ironically, Michelle tells me, it was the ultimate Taiwanese convenience drink – bubble tea – that reignited their interest in tea and brought them here. Feeling high on a high-end caffeine hit, we switchback down the mountain to Heping Island Geopark, where the capricious northwestern climate has thrashed out a surrealist landscape of lunar craters and charred tofu rocks. A stiff wind is whipping up the waves; foam seethes between stony teeth. Heping Island has the odd distinction of being Asia’s first tourist attraction to be awarded an ISO standard for sustainability, in 2021. ‘We used to have barbecues, litter,’ says park guide Leo Yip Tsz Ho. ‘We want to give this place back to the animals.’ Entrance to the park now requires a guide, with numbers strictly limited.

Over the last five years, a concerted conservation effort has seen the number of plant and animal species here increase by 50 percent. They’re easy to spot: indigo damselfish and white Formosan lilies pop against the bleak greys of stone and sky. A lone elderly woman stoops among splashes of green seaweed, scooping it into a mesh bag. She is a ‘sea lady’, one of the few people still permitted to enter the park unaccompanied. Originally, this seaweed was sold to dumpling shops, but it’s now also made into vegan-friendly jelly and a bubble tea-like drink at the Heping Island tourism centre. ‘The sea-lady culture is disappearing,’ says Leo. ‘We found a different way to support them.’ Around the corner, a group of children are taking a ‘sea lady’ course provided by the centre, which Leo hopes will revive the tradition. I watch as they pick up seaweed with one hand and hold onto their parents with another, their high-vis vests flapping around their knees.

THE BEAUTIFUL ISLAND

After a quick photo stop among the painted houses of Zhengbin Fishing Port, we speed towards the capital, Taipei. As apartment blocks sprout from the forest with increasing regularity, scooters snake onto the highway in their hundreds. At each tra c light, they slow with a shuddering inhale, then race away with a roar. Taiwan is a country of 10,000 temples, but also 10,000 convenience stores, and nowhere is this dichotomy more obvious than in two of Taipei’s main shopping districts: Ximending and Dadaocheng. Ximending is where you go to win a bulbous pink penguin at a claw machine; where the scent of fried chicken and Korean moisturiser clashes in an oily perfume. Knee-socked teens body pop on a rainbow crosswalk, illuminated by ever-shifting billboard pixels. It’s as buoyant as bubble tea, a sugar rush and a caffeine buzz in one. Dadaocheng, conversely, is like a set meal, ornate and fragrant. Its main road,

Dihua Street, is one of Taipei’s oldest, its 1 50s houses an apothecary box of mostly unidentifiable ingredients. ‘They dry anything,’ says Michelle, pointing at a row of dried squid, their crispy tentacles splayed in apparent surprise. I chew on dried guavas and mangoes; their concentrated sourness contorts my lips in an involuntary pucker. At ao De Herb, ao Shengxiong hands me a syrupy brown tea made from Chinese mesona, a type of mint. Shengxiong’s grandfather, Yao De, set up the herbal medicine shop in 1949. ‘We use natural ingredients – not artificial – to benefit our health,’ says Shengxiong.

THIS PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

Eating lunch in Dadaocheng; Dried mango; Colourful houses o heng in shing ort OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Burning incense on Dihua Street, Taipei; Lunchtime diners on Dihua Street, Taipei.

TA I WA N

THE BEAUTIFUL ISLAND

Shenxiong’s father is stu ng lemongrass and mugwort into muslin bags, creating fragrant ‘spa packs’ to dunk in the bath. As he hands some to me, he tells me that they will repel evil spirits, should any appear during my evening ablutions. Before leaving Taiwan, Michelle and I head to Longshan Temple to take care of my remaining spiritual needs. Like a fractal, Longshan yields ever more intricate patterns on approach: gold transoms resolve into horses and warriors, while dragons on the swallowtail roof reveal themselves to be jiannian mosaics, made from the cut-up shards of ceramic bowls. Most Taiwanese follow some form of Chinese folk religion, which picks the best bits from Taoism, Buddhism and Confucianism and adds a few other folk gods (my favourite is the sea goddess, Mazu – for her 1,0 th birthday last year, her image was flown around the city

in a helicopter that sprinkled holy water on her devotees). The main deity of Longshan is Guanyin – the Buddhist Bodhisattva of mercy – but over a hundred deities are present in total, spanning the breadth of human experience: health, love, fertility and academic success. In Taiwan, religion is not just freely expressed, but is free for everyone – including foreigners – to partake in. I encounter no resistance as I weave through worshippers, eventually coming face-to-face with Guanyin. Michelle says that she will tell my fortune, sending me off with something to think about. As I cast wooden divination blocks on the ground, I wonder what godly edict could surpass the teachings of Taiwan. Its treasures are less obvious than those in more visited nations, but by looking beyond the billboards and my own ba ement, I had uncovered the restorative powers of nature and tradition, as invigorating as a mountain stream. Moreover,

TA I WA N

PREVIOUS SPREAD LEFT TO RIGHT:

Morning rush hour in Taipei; Scooters zipping through Taipei’s streets. CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT:

Yao de Herb; Interior courtyard of Longshan Temple, Taipei; Ornate exterior of ongshan e le Stu ng lemongrass tea into muslin bags at Yao de Herb.

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

E A Air ies to Taipei Taoyuan TPE from a number of international destinations, including London Heathrow via a brief stop in Bangkok and New York City. B E S T T I M E TO G O

Taiwan is at its driest and least humid from October to December. Monsoon season runs from June to September, though it’s less rainy than in other parts of Asia. isit in February for Taipei’s Lantern Festival, or in March to see cherry blossoms. C U R R E N C Y New Taiwan

Dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT+8 FO O D

Street food reigns supreme, with night markets in every city selling seafood, steamed buns, dumplings and more. And, of course, there’s the ubi uitous bubble tea. W H E R E TO S TAY

The Shangri-La Taipei has the best view in the city from its rooftop pool. There’s also an excellent pool at the Parkview Hotel, one of Hualien’s few five-star stays. H OW TO D O I T

Taiwan’s superb train system runs right around the island, making private transport virtually unnecessary. For local metros and buses, pick up a prepaid EasyCard at any convenience store. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

I had discovered a people who – in their own gentle, mild-mannered way – would do anything to preserve it. Guanyin finally allows me to draw a fortune card. Michelle translates. ‘Dig into the ground to get spring water, and work hard to get it at first. Meet the soulmate unexpectedly, and – holding hands together – ascend to the blue sky.’ Just then, a bell rings and Guanyin’s worshippers break into the Great Compassion Mantra, their joined voices exerting a strength that could lift the clouds.

Taiwan’s finicky weather calls for both a waterproof jacket and a sun hat. Take insect repellent for rural areas. WHY GO

For marble mountains and teeming forests for the most ex uisite temples you’ll see in Asia and, most of all, for the people, who are kindness personified.

ABOVE:

Young woman praying at Longshan Temple, Taipei.

The writer was a guest of ai an touris ith ights provided by EVA Air.

Paid partnership with E VA A I R

TA I WA N

Fly with EVA Air I don’t often look forward to a long-haul flight – but, having previously experienced the wonderful hospitality in Taiwan, I was intrigued to fly with Taiwanese airline EVA Air, one of only ten SKYTRAX-rated five-star airlines in the world. I had Premium Economy tickets from Heathrow to Taipei, with a short stop in Bangkok. My previous experience with Premium Economy elsewhere was that it conferred extra legroom but little else; however, EVA Air won World’s Best Premium Economy Class and Best Premium Economy Class Airlines in Asia at the SKYTRAX Awards, so I was sure that something would set it apart from the rest. Upon boarding, it became clear that EVA Air’s Premium Economy cabin offered much, much more than a standard Economy experience. I settled into a huge, exceptionally comfortable chair and was thrilled to find that my legs could barely reach the seat in front. Also provided was a thick, luxurious blanket and a custom Kipling amenities bag decorated with an illustration of the Lanyang Museum in Yilan, Taiwan. It was the perfect start to the perfect journey. EVA Air also won the SKYTRAX award for World’s Best Premium Economy Class Catering, so I was eager to try the food — and I was not disappointed. Premium Economy has its own menu, with a choice between Western- and Asian-style meals. To get into the spirit of my trip to Taiwan, I ordered the Asian menu and was presented with a mouthwatering glazed chicken breast on a bed of noodles, alongside a prawn cocktail and a mixed-leaf salad. What should have been an arduous, long-haul flight instead passed in a pleasant haze of fragrant Asian cuisine, comfortable sleep and the ever-present smiles of the crew. Speaking of the crew, their uniforms deserve a special mention — their green blazers and pink pinafores were so perfectly pressed as to seem unreal. When we landed at Bangkok, I couldn’t believe how quickly time had passed. At the EVA Air lounge in Bangkok – Premium Economy passengers who are EVA Air Silver, Gold or Diamond card members or Star Alliance Gold card members can access EVA’s Business Class Lounge here – I greedily scooped up bowls of tom yum soup and mango sticky rice, washed down with fresh coconut water. As I surveyed my well-appointed surroundings, I realised that — despite having flown for over 11 hours at this point — I was already looking forward to my next journey.

SARAH GILLESPIE FLEW TO TAIWAN WITH EVA AIR

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

JRNY

MAGAZINE WORLD TRAVEL PHOTOGRAPHY AWARDS SPONSORED BY

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ GRAND WINNER ★ LIANG HAIKUN

During the Spring Festival in China, lions are used as a mascot for good luck and driving away demons and evil spirits. In Zhaoqing City, there has been a custom of 'frying lions' during the festival since the Song Dynasty. Today, everyone takes turns lighting recrac ers and thro ing 'lions' until they are blown to pieces, symbolising the driving away of evil.

P E O P L E C AT E G O RY

★ C AT E G O RY W I N N E R ★

★ C AT E G O RY R U N N E R - U P ★

SANCHAYAN CHOWDHURY

People travelling by train during Eid-ul Adha, one of the biggest Muslim religious festivals, in Chittagong, Bangladesh.

MERIÇ AKTAR

he last u alo she herd in o u nar illage in a seri ro ince ur e on his a ac ho e ith his herd o around hundred u alos

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

SYED MAHABUBUL KADER

Thousands of people performing Friday prayers on the street outside the Ijtema ground at the Biswa (world) Ijtema in Tongi, Bangladesh all tra c on the road is sto ed during ra ers his is the second largest congregation o usli s a ter a

YANRONG GUO

Workers transporting salt in Chongqing, China.

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

C I T I E S C AT E G O RY ★ C AT E G O RY W I N N E R ★ NILLES LAURENT

A an athing his u alo in Agra‘s Yamuna River in front of the a ahal e does the tri from his nearby village twice a day, in the morning and in the evening.

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ C AT E G O RY R U N N E R - U P ★

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

RABIN CHAKRABARTI

Passengers jumping onto trains at Tongi Junction Railway Station in Ga i ur istrict o Bangladesh

NURLAN TAHIRLI

he iconic e dar Ali e entre in Ba u A er ai an on a cloud da he scene as re iniscent o a assage ro James Lillis's book 'A Walk in Dreams', where he describes a man surrounded by smooth, white surfaces.

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

AZIM KHAN RONNIE

Ganga Aarti is a religious and spiritual ceremony performed every evening along the ghats of the Ganges River in Varanasi, India. The ceremony is a celebration of the sacredness and purity of the Ganges and attracts thousands of people from all over the world.

BILLY DINH

Daily commute on Line 6 of the Metro in Paris, France.

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

L A N D S C A P E C AT E G O RY

★ C AT E G O RY W I N N E R ★

★ C AT E G O RY R U N N E R - U P ★

JOSEPH ANTHONY

An aerial view of an island in an estuary near Eyrarbakki in southern Iceland.

GIOVANI CORDIOLI

A storm at sea in Varadero, Cuba.

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

NGUYEN HUU THONG

other and her son chec ing their ar in u ang hai ietna no n or its rice terraced rice elds uring autu n the hole region is co ered in the gold colours o the rice elds hich are read to har est

ALEX HARFORD

A cockle collector at low tide among wooden poles used to hang sea eed or dr ing in u ang an on the east coast o hina

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

W I L D L I F E C AT E G O RY ★ C AT E G O RY W I N N E R & OV E R A L L R U N N E R U P ★ BAMBANG WIRAWAN

A tiger in the rainforest of East Java, Indonesia.

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ C AT E G O RY R U N N E R - U P ★

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

HARRY SKEGGS

A gri l at ai

ear at allo Ba Alas a

ANUP SHAH

A id cto er a ternoon during the long dr season in en a s aasai ara he e ra s hoo es s lattered ud on the sogg ground as the ri er crossing egan

W O R L D T R AV E L P H O T O G R A P H Y AWA R D S

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

LALITH EKANAYAKE

A lion-tailed macaque mother runs with her baby clinging on in South India's Western Ghats.

his is the rst e er ra el aga ine World Travel Photography Awards. With over 5,000 entries from around the world, our panel o udges had a di cult ti e choosing a inner So a massive thank you to everyone who entered, and a huge congratulations to all the shortlisted and high-commended entries, and, of course, to our winners. Judges: a ad ar aga ine ordan Ban s aga ine Jonny Bealby (Wild Frontiers) Michael Pullman (Wild Frontiers) Michael Yamashita (Photographer) icola Baile hoto ditor hotogra her Rach Stewart (Photographer) auren Scott ditor hotogra her Ines Ilic (Photographer) Casey Coyle (Art Advisor) Sponsors: Wild Frontiers wildfrontierstravel.com

★ H I G H LY C O M M E N D E D ★

DAVID FAIRS

A mother humpback teaching her calf to breach, at Bass oint e South ales Australia

Coastal bounty

C O A S TA L B O U N T Y

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F O R A G I N G

VA R I E D P O R T I A H E R

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B O U N T I F U L

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L E A R N S D I N N E R

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A L O N G

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WA L E S

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y dinner is staring at me’ is not something I expected to say in my adult life, but this is Wales, and things are different here. The meal in question is a velvet swimming crab – Britain’s largest swimming crab, with a body covered in fine hair and a famously feisty attitude. This distinctive crustacean has been carefully plucked from a foamy tidal pool on a wide beach near Saundersfoot in south Pembrokeshire, and its stalked, cherry-red eyes swivel wildly. I’m collecting crabs for dinner as part of a foraging course on finding Wales’s abundant wild edibles and learning how to prepare and cook them on the shoreline.; Pembrokeshire’s varied coastline and clean, nutrient-rich waters are a haven for marine life and provide boundless foraging opportunities for a coastal feast. Here you’ll find a well-stocked seafood

larder, everything from laver seaweed to molluscs, prawns and edible plants – if you know where to look. This is my first time as a hunter-gatherer and, naively, I wasn’t expecting eye contact with my entrée. Our jovial foraging guide Craig Evans appears unfazed as he inspects our sizeable crab find. ‘You’re lucky,’ he says in a melodic Welsh accent, ‘you’ve found one with loads of white meat.’ Craig should know: since childhood, he’s been scouring the Welsh coast and countryside for wild foodstuff, including clams, cockles, crabs, sea vegetables and plants. Now 62, he documents his foraging finds on his popular ouTube channel, Coastal Foraging with Craig Evans, and runs coastal foraging experiences year-round along the Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire coastlines. Under Craig’s enthusiastic and expert guidance, I learn more about Pembrokeshire’s

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Crabs, mussels and clams are just some of the edible delights found among the rock pools of Pembrokeshire. THIS PAGE:

The rocky, sandy coastline of Pembrokeshire.

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robust coastal ecosystem as we walk down a densely brambled trail toward the rhythmic lull of the ocean. Craig won’t say precisely where we’re going – foragers like to keep their favourite spots and methods secret, and he’s already issued three ‘redaction’ requests before we set foot on the beach. I follow Craig and his excitable golden retriever Llew (‘lion’ in Welsh) out of the prickly trail and onto a sheltered cove that gradually opens into a wide sandy beach. It’s a very low tide on this secret, shallow-shelved beach; the sea has retreated far from the shoreline, leaving wave-rippled shimmering sands and exposed tidal pools brimming with stranded sea creatures. ‘The lower the tide, the more there is to forage,’ Craig says, clutching a large fishing net. He explains to the assembled group that our mission is to secure crabs, clams and mussels for a tasty seafood supper before the tide turns. Craig closely follows the tide patterns for optimal foraging opportunities for his clients. ‘I’m governed by the moon really, like a werewolf,’ he says, laughing and taking enormous strides while Llew bounds ahead barking. We quickly traverse the damp sand and head towards barnacle-encrusted rock pools to first harvest mussels. Even as a first-time forager, these are easy to spot, their blue-

black oblong shells tightly anchored to the seaweed-strewn rocks. These bivalve molluscs are also a vital component of the intertidal ecosystem in Britain. Known as ‘filter feeders’, they contribute to improved seawater quality by removing microscopic particles and excess nutrients as water flows over their gill filaments. I scramble ungracefully over slippery, jagged rocks as Craig yells over the wind and instructs the group to collect large mussels and to spread picking out. ‘The tide can lift them up and wash the rest away if you take too many from one spot,’ he says, gesturing to a generous cluster. Sustainability, he adds, is vital to foraging responsibly in Wales. You should only collect species growing in abundance, while also ensuring you cause no harm to the environment or run afoul of local regulations. As I delicately pluck mussels from the exposed rocks, my attention turns back

ABOVE FROM THE TOP:

Suandersfoot Bay; Morfa Bychan beach. LEFT:

Foraging guide Craig Evans plucks a crab from a barnacle-encrusted rockpool. OPPOSITE (CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT):

Mussels and razor clams; ra ns Star sh

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to Craig as he explains that gathering live shellfish for personal consumption – subject to conditions – is legal in the UK. Phew, a seafood crime is thankfully averted. With our basket half full of briny bivalve goodies, we notice the sea advancing towards us, triggering Craig’s self-proclaimed ‘tide anxiety’. It’s now a race against the ocean for our considered picking. The mussels slowly become submerged in the rising waves that swirl and cover the rock pools, narrowly escaping our roving fingers and cooking pot. Mussels secured, we move up the beach to hunt for common prawns and crabs to add to our growing haul and find a suitable watery depression in the rocky terrain. Its salty edges are lined with crusty barnacles, layered seaweed and ruby-red anemones, dotted jewel-like among the sharp contours. Craig announces that we’ll find prawns here, and I don’t doubt him. Half-submerged in the rock pool, he confidently reaches under a crevice with a triangular fishing net and swiftly scoops out a handful – this is evidently not his first rodeo. As a born and bred city girl, I’ve never seen a prawn outside a ‘surf and turf’ context. They’re surprisingly pretty with their elegant curlicue tails and tiger-like stripes that adorn their translucent shells. I suppose this is the ultimate point of a foraging course – to develop a newfound appreciation of

THE MUSSELS S L O W LY B E C O M E SUBMERGED IN THE RISING WAV ES T H AT SWIRL AND COVER THE ROCK POOLS.

biodiversity and to find and feast on edible species that coexist with us. While common prawns aren’t considered a threatened species, sustainable gathering practices are essential to ensure populations in Pembrokeshire remain stable. This ecoconscious ethos is fully embraced by Craig. ‘I don’t just go foraging to find food but also to research how everything in the environment interacts,’ he says as we admire our small prawn haul. ‘If something is taken away from nature, it creates a void. It’s all about finding the perfect balance.’ As Craig waxes lyrical about natural equilibrium, the approaching tide again redirects us and shifts our focus from prawn gathering to clamming. Concealed below the golden sands are delicious treasures – soft-shell clams, another edible bivalve OPPOSITE PAGE:

Craig Evans and his Golden Retriever, Llew. ABOVE:

Portia and her full basket of mussels. LEFT:

Craig Evans stirring a seafood stew, gently bubbling away on the ‘Solva Stove’.

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mollusc found in the UK. Clams live in the intertidal zone – the wet area between high and low tide. This is currently exposed, so it is the best time to search for tell-tale signs of life in the shifting sands. ‘They have a syphon which comes up to the top,’ says Craig as we walk along the frothy surf line. ‘So when the tide comes in, the syphon will come out, and they suck in water through it and feed on the organic matter.’ I follow his tried-and-tested advice and look for a ‘clam show’ – small, circular depressions on the surface of the sand, known as ‘siphon holes’, which squirt water. The direction and angle of these holes provide subtle clues to the clam’s position below the surface. I find a ‘squirting’ hole and carefully dig with my hands to locate the clam without damaging the shell. But, despite using Craig’s ‘secret methods’, I lack confidence in my clamming, and my tasty find burrows further down, evading my novice grasp. Luckily, I’m foraging with a pro clam collector, and we soon have a stash of decentsized and healthy-looking molluscs to add to our seafood stew. Our wicker basket now full, we head to a pebbled cove to prep our coastal cuisine and begin our well-earned ocean-toplate feast. We scrub the mussels clean and wash the prawns in fresh seawater as Craig

prepares a ‘Solva Stove’ – a specially cut log of wood used for zero-waste outdoor cooking. Our prepped haul is placed in a cooking pot and paired with Welsh butter and previously foraged wild garlic, rock samphire and edible flowers that provide a colour pop. As the steel pot sizzles over the crackling fiery log, Craig talks us through food safety and explains that he only collects fresh shellfish from clean water areas to ensure they’re safe for human consumption. ‘Temperature kills everything,’ he says while checking our fragrant stew. The mussels pop open as the pot simmers over the wood fire, releasing sweet, delicate juices. Prawns tenderise and blush with pink hues, and the dull browns of the crabs shift to vibrant shades of orange and red. Dinner is finally ready, and we’re starving. Soon, we have overflowing bowls of freshly cooked mussels, prawns, crabs and clams, the salty coastal flavours hitting our tongues as waves roll in and greedy gulls circle above. After, mindful of the rapid incoming tide, we quickly wash our pots and pans and pack up, leaving no trace of our foraging exploits. The waves are already washing away our footprints, ready to reset the table with another coastal bounty.

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Portia tucks into the freshly foraged and cooked seafood stew. RIGHT:

A pot of crabs, razor clams and samphire ready to be cooked.

THE MUSSELS POP OPEN AS THE POT SIMMERS OVER THE WOOD FIRE.

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A pot of foraged crustaceans and locally picked edible flowers is cooked over a wood fire. Photo Credits: Portia Jones; Alamy and Dreamstime.

WA L E S

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Take the train to Pembrokeshire and book a local taxi to the coastal foraging course meeting point – the exact location is sent to you a few days before (most of the courses take place within around 20 minutes of Tenby and Saundersfoot). You can also drive or take a bus from Cardiff to Tenby and Haverfordwest. B E S T T I M E TO G O

Tide plays a crucial role in coastal foraging; you’ll have better finds when the tides are the lowest. These extreme low ties are called spring tides and only occur around 15 times yearly. C U R R E N C Y GBP T I M E Z O N E GMT FO O D

You can eat whatever you catch on a foraging course, so start scouring that shoreline! If you’re staying longer, Pembrokeshire is packed with independent bakers, brewers, artisans and innovative chefs, who together create a must-visit food scene. W H E R E TO S TAY

Stay at family-run B&B The Manian for a cosy stay only two miles from the coast and the seaside town of Saundersfoot. H OW TO D O I T

Book Craig’s coastal foraging course online at coastalforaging.co.uk. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Always assume rain in Wales and pack appropriately. Bring waterproofs and sturdy hiking boots, as the weather can change rapidly. WHY GO

To learn about the delicate balance of marine ecosystems while searching for your gourmet supper and developing a new appreciation for wild foods.

REINVENTING BOSTON

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Reinventing Boston

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REINVENTING BOSTON

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Inside the Koji Club; Alyssa DiPasquale, owner of the Koji Club. ABOVE:

Enjoying sushi and karaoke at the Koji Club. OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP:

The Charles River Speedway at dusk; Entrance to the Charles River Speedway; Socialising at the Charles River Speedway; Super Bien, a Latin Americaninspired grocery bar; Travel-themed cocktails at Birds of Paradise; Putting the nishing touches on dishes at Birds of Paradise.

e like to think of The Koji Club as the hip auntie who spoils you rotten,’ laughed owner Alyssa DiPasquale as she poured me a glass of sparkling sake from Hiroshima in Japan. I had no idea sparkling sake was a thing until now, but then I’m no expert. ‘It is definitely a newer and more innovative style of sake and a trend growing because folks are falling in love with it,’ she explained. I took a sip and waited for the flavour to hit. I’m reminded of slightly sweet lemon sherbet. The Koji Club was Boston’s first sake bar when it flung its doors open in 2022. ‘It was tempting to set up shop in New York City. We had plenty of attractive offers, but I’ve lived in Boston my whole life, so I wanted to contribute to the city’s community of small businesses,’ Alyssa said.

I was at the Charles River Speedway, a complex of historic buildings dating to 1899, five miles from downtown Boston and just a mile from Harvard University. Fewer than three years ago, the buildings here were derelict with peeling paint. Today’s youthful shopfronts leave little reminder of its past, in what’s become a vibrant new marketplace that represents Boston’s community of independent businesses in miniature. Under the same roof: the Belleweather Salon, where hairdresser-owner Melinda is booked up ten to 12 weeks ahead; Super Bien, a Latin-American ‘grocery bar’ glowing iridescent pink, with South American treats like natural wines, beer and homemade empanadas on offer; Birds of Paradise cocktail bar with a travel-themed twist; and Notch Brewery for local beers, to name but a few. ‘The Koji Club is basically a cosy wine bar specialising in sake,’ said Alyssa, ‘and our menu follows suit, too. We have sake, Castellarano olives in sesame oil with togarashi from a local spice shop, quality Japanese table rice with

USA

BEYOND ITS BIG-HITTING HISTORICAL SITES, THERE’S AN EDGIER SIDE TO T H E C I T Y. my mom’s quick pickles, and a Japanese curry empanada in collaboration with our Speedway neighbours, Super Bien.’ I took my sake and empanada to enjoy in the suntrap Europeanstyle beer garden, lined with wooden tables set on white gravel and hung with string lights. Boston’s revolutionary history will always be its biggest draw, with the well-trodden Freedom Trail and Harvard University walking tours attracting record visitor numbers. But beyond its big-hitting historical sites, there’s an edgier side to the city. One where shiny glass towers mingle with 1 00s BeauxArts buildings, hotels are getting designer makeovers, sleek galleries and food halls are finding new homes in old spaces, and onceabandoned green spaces are being revitalised with colourful murals.

REINVENTING BOSTON

‘Boston is a city where it’s easy to bring new ideas to life and where people like to innovate,’ self-taught French artist Ceclie Ganne told me as she pottered around her studio in the SoWa Art and Design district, just a mile south of downtown Boston. Here, 19thcentury warehouse buildings that once housed clothing and piano factories are now home to cool galleries, design shops and artists’ studios. ‘I work as a professor most of the time,’ she told me. ‘Boston is packed with colleges, universities and tech start-ups, which lends a feeling of youthful optimism and energy to the city. People aren’t scared to turn old ideas upside down and start over. It’s a mood that inspires me every day, and nourishes my brain and my paintings.’ Clearly, the city’s 1 00s nickname, the ‘Hub of the Universe’, remains relevant. Cecile has been working at her SoWa studio for just over two years, during which time she’s turned it into a tiny art gallery. ‘I didn’t want it just to be a place to store my materials. I tried to imagine a person’s journey through my studio, what they would see first and then next, so their visit would be an immersive experience.’ The result is a compact, free-flowing space that feels calm and allows viewers to focus on her paintings without distraction. During SoWa First Fridays, creators invite the public into their studios to see them at work. This behind-the-scenes glimpse is part of SoWa’s appeal. ‘Having long conversations with people interested in my work is what

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A mural in the SoWa Art and Design district; The interior of artist Cécile Ganne’s studio; Interactive creations in the SoWa Art and Design district. OPPOSITE:

The Rose Kennedy Greenway

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BOSTON IS A CITY WHERE IT’S EASY TO BRING NEW IDEAS TO LIFE AND WHERE PEOPLE L I K E TO I N N OVAT E . I love most about being part of the SoWa community,’ Cecile said. ‘Their questions give me insights and a greater perspective I wouldn’t otherwise have.’ Lunch was calling so I headed north to High Street Place for another taste of Boston’s food hall scene. It opened in 2022, in an atrium between two historic buildings, one of which is an Art Deco National Historic Landmark that was home to the United Shoe Machinery Corporation, which sat at the heart of the region’s economic life in the 1930s. Now it’s packed with cool food outlets, like Wheelhouse, where an ‘Old Timer’ burger – American cheese, pickles, onion, shredded lettuce, ketchup and mustard – hit the mark. After, a slow stroll over to nearby Rose Kennedy Greenway helped walk my lunch off. This 1 -mile ribbon of park doubles as an open-air art gallery of installations and sculptures. Welcoming me was a giant mural of artist Robb Gibbs’s daughter, Bobbi Lauren, wearing a tracksuit and standing next to an old-school boom box. She was looking out into

REINVENTING BOSTON

Dewey Square, directly at me, it seemed – or maybe at my dessert: a melty yet moreish ice-cream taco from Sugar Skulls, experts in frozen treats with a Mexican twist. My final spot for soaking up the city’s contemporary spirit was the ever-expanding Seaport District, a mile east. As well as shops, bars, breweries and restaurants, this buzzy waterside district is home to the Institute of Contemporary Art, a modernist building at the heart of Boston’s modern art scene and a pioneer in the transformation of the area. In its boxy first-floor gallery, I was taken in by the sight of American artist Simone Leigh’s monumental, curvaceous bronze figures of African female forms. Larger-than-life and dressed in traditional materials, they cut thought-provoking forms against the starkness of the space. Another striking element of the ICA: the building’s glass design, one side perfectly framing the view north across Boston Harbour. From here I spotted the museum’s second outpost, the ICA Watershed, a brisk tenminute boat ride away on the museum’s tiny shuttle. It’s set in a giant once-abandoned

copper-pipe factory at the Boston Harbour Shipyard and Marina – in the city’s oldest neighbourhood. As I stepped off the boat, away from the city-centre hubbub, the peaceful atmosphere seemed to bring with it a sense of nostalgia. Though many of the low brick buildings and warehouses here have also been modernised, they are markedly different

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Boston Logan International Airport is around three miles from downtown Boston, and easily reached by subway, airport bus or taxi. B E S T T I M E TO G O

Spring (May and June) and autumn (September and October) are ideal times to visit Boston, for the best weather and fewer crowds. C U R R E N C Y US dollars T I M E Z O N E GMT -4 FO O D

Boston’s intoxicating food scene has it all. Seafood restaurants are its mainstay, like the buzzy Union Oyster House, the city’s oldest, where you can shuck oysters in an upstairs booth John F Kennedy once sat in. W H E R E TO S TAY

The Omni Hotel in the shiny Seaport District is within walking distance of the city’s main sights. The compact, stylishly decorated rooms have oor-to-ceiling glass windows with great views across the city. H OW TO D O I T

The Meet Boston website (meetboston.com) is packed with ideas for things to do organised by theme, as well as restaurant and hotel recommendations. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Comfy walking shoes – Boston has a compact, easily navigable centre that has earned it the nickname ‘America’s Walking City’. WHY GO

from the gleaming skyline across the water. Looking back, it seemed clear to me that Boston is a city that manages to stay true to its roots while embracing innovation. At once both unwaveringly traditional and energetically forward-thinking – one part buttoned-up grandmother and the other a youthful, hip auntie who likes to spoil you rotten.

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The recent Guadalupe Maravilla Exhibition at Boston’s ICA; The exterior of the ICA in Boston’s Seaport District.

To discover Boston is neither staid nor stuffy and that there’s more to the city than time-worn cobblestone streets and red-brick heritage. The writer travelled as a guest of Meet Boston

Photo Credits: Kristin Teig, Christian Phillips, Super Bien, Birds of Paradise, Ellie Seymour, Cécile Ganne, Dreamstime, ICA Boston/Mel Taing.

Paid partnership with S WA R O V S K I O P T I K

SEE THE UNSEEN with Swarovski Optik

SCOTLAND

SWAROVSKI OPTIK is one of the world’s leading manufacturers of high-precision long-range optics, specialising in the development and manufacturing of the highest-quality long-range optical instruments. SWAROVSKI OPTIK’s binoculars, spotting scopes and optronic instruments are products of choice for demanding users. The company’s success is based on its innovative strength, the quality and intrinsic value of its products, and their functional and aesthetic design. A love of nature and a sustainable mindset and behaviour have been deeply rooted within the SWAROVSKI OPTIK culture for decades. This a reciation of nat re is an essential art of co an hiloso h and is re ected in its en iron entall friendl rod ction and long-term commitment to nature-conservation projects, such as its recent project to protect 285 acres of tropical rainforest on Costa Rica’s Osa Peninsula.

Paid partnership with S WA R O V S K I O P T I K

OPENING SPREAD:

The Quiraing on the Isle of Skye. THIS PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM RIGHT:

The CL Pocket is a folding, compact binocular and comes in both green and anthracite; The CL Pocket has an impressive 8x or x agni cation or a s ooth viewing experience; Compact and lightweight, the CL Pocket is the perfect binocular for carrying on long journeys. OPPOSITE PAGE:

The Old Man of Storr on the Isle of Skye.

SCOTLAND

OPPOSITE PAGE:

Sligachan Old Bridge on the Isle of Skye. THIS PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT:

A weight of just 970g (34.2oz) makes the ATC 17-40x56 a top choice for rough terrain and remote areas; Thanks to its length of 258mm (10.2in), the ATC spotting scope ith angled ie ill t in an ac ac The ATC/STC impresses with spectacular colour intensity and razor-sharp images.

SCOTLAND

OPPOSITE PAGE:

NL Pure has groundbreaking optical performance, packed into the smallest possible design. THIS PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP:

B ac ac is co act et er s acious o ering a secure t co ined ith a light eight ure has the largest e er eld o ie ith al ost indiscerni le edges that allows you to experience nature as never before; The oc et co es ith a choice o eld ag and carr ing strap – seen here with Mountain.

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Atlantic Puffin. OPPOSITE PAGE:

The Swarovision technology built into SWAROVSKI OPTIK binoculars offer pin-sharp contours, high-contrast and true-to-life images, allowing you to make out every detail.

Paid partnership with S WA R O V S K I O P T I K

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The award-winning Duisdale ouse otel o ers reath taking views of Skye’s southern Sleat Peninsula and is perfectly located to explore the local wildlife and attractions found in the ‘Garden of Skye’. THIS PAGE TOP AND BOTTOM RIGHT:

The intimate home-away-fromhome Toravaig House, situated on an elevated south-facing area of the Sleat peninsula and within walking distance of Torabhaig distillery, has 11 luxuriously comfortable rooms that are ideal for group gatherings and celebratory holidays. OPPOSITE PAGE TOP:

The historic Skeabost House Hotel is set on the shoreline of Loch Snizort and one of the best sal on shing ri ers on the island of Skye. Located in its own private grounds, Skeabost o ers the s lendour o a stately home, with elegant and spacious bedrooms, plus a decadent dose of cosiness than s to generous re laces andtactile decor. OPPOSITE PAGE BOTTOM:

The newly renovated bar of the Duisdale House Hotel.

Paid partnership with S WA R O V S K I O P T I K

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The historic Skeabost House Hotel.

SCOTLAND

NEED TO KNOW B P B AC K PAC K 2 4

The outdoor BP Backpack 24 from SWAROVSKI OPTIK has space to carry everything you need for nature photography but is also compact in size. The spacious inner section allows access from three sides, and it comes with a special compartment to safely carry a pair of binoculars. C L C O M PA N I O N 8X 3 0

The CL Pocket is a folding compact binocular with exceptional optical uality. t offers maximum viewing comfort, even for long periods, and fits perfectly in your hand. The twist-in eyecups can be individually adjusted, ensuring that eyeglass wearers can also make the most of its large field of view. Available in either x or 10x magnification, the CL Pocket guarantees a smooth viewing experience and comes with a field bag and a carrying strap available in two designs: Wild Nature and Mountain. N L P U R E 8X 4 2 B I N O C U L A R S

The revolutionary field of view up to and the barely perceptible edges of the NL Pure ensure outdoor explorers are fully immersed in their natural surroundings. The incredibly compact optics of these binoculars have a unique ergonomic housing, which ensures that the NL Pure 42 fits perfectly into the hand. ATC 17- 4 0X 5 6 S P OT T I N G S C O P E

The ATC’s light weight of just 70g and compact dimensions of 25.8cm makes it SWAROVSKI OPTIK’s smallest and lightest telescope and the ideal companion for carrying on trips across rough terrain and remote areas. Find out more at swarovskioptik.com SONAS COLLECTION

The Sonas Collection is made up of three stylish boutique hotels on the Isle of Skye including Toravaig House Hotel, Duisdale House Hotel and Skeabost House Hotel. Independently owned and run by awardwinning hotelier Anne Gracie Gunn and her family, each hotel has its own individual personality. All are dedicated to providing chic bedrooms, delicious food with a local twist and, most importantly, deliver great Highland Hospitality. Find out more at skyehotel.co.uk BROUGHT TO YOU IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

Photo Credits: Kav Dadfar, Jordan Banks, P66: Dreamstime.

A LAND LESS ORDINARY

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he lukewarm sea is lapping at my feet as I sit, legs outstretched, in the gold sand. It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon on the west coast of the Eyre Peninsula; the sun is high in the cobalt sky, and there isn’t a single cloud to be seen. To my right, a man stands with a can of lager in his hand next to his teenage son, both holding fishing lines in the water. A nearby esky – or cool box – filled with ice awaits their catch. ‘Got another one!’ the boy bellows as he presses the rod handle against his chest to vigorously wind in his reel. ‘Nice one, mate – that’s tea sorted,’ his dad replies, smiling. Other than our small group of friends and this father and son, there isn’t another soul on this sprawling beach. A few weeks ago, in the height of the school holidays, it would have been a different story, with local families joining friends and neighbours by the sea to cool down under the scorching summer sun. ‘Only the locals really know about this spot,’ my friend Lisa had said earlier as we started the descent through the bush, picnic blankets in hand. ‘It’s a bit of a secret.’ As an honorary resident, thanks to my husband growing up here, I’ve been fortunate to visit many of South Australia’s ‘secret’ spots over the last eight years. What I’ve learnt is that it’s the very existence of places like these that makes South Australia tick. More so, the community bond that takes place against such

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backdrops is impressive. Low-key and far from overwhelmed – this state is its own best kept secret. ‘When you come to South Australia, especially the Eyre Peninsula (EP), you get the real Australian experience,’ suggests local tour operator David Doudle. ‘Essentially, the great outdoors is what we’re all about but we can give people a mixed bag of experiences because we have everything here – the wildlife, the landscape, the beaches, the lifestyle… it blows people away. You won’t get this anywhere else in Australia.’ David, a former grain farmer and sheep shearer, set up Australian Coastal Safaris in 2005. It took another five years or so before he

took the plunge away from farming altogether, to work full time organising and leading tours around the EP. Now based in Port Lincoln, the peninsula’s largest city, David is able to showcase the highlights of the region through bespoke itineraries. From visiting fish farms and learning about the local agricultural land, to stopping for coffee in family-run caf s, Australian Coastal Safaris makes it a part of their programme to uplift other local businesses. ‘When we started, there were no tour operators available on the Eyre Peninsula. It’s taken years to work out what appeals here,’ he explains. ‘After some trial and error, we created three- to five-day itineraries, where

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Australian Coastal Safaris can take you to many of the secret beaches on the Eyre Peninsula. LEFT:

Horseback riding on the beach. BELOW:

Exploring another secret beach on the Eyre Peninsula with Australian Coastal Safaris. RIGHT:

Finishing the day with a ca re and coo out

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we show people the best of the EP according to their interests. ‘Then, at the end of the day, we light a fire and have a happy hour out in the bush, serving local beer, wine or gin and a platter of locally produced food. The crackle and scent of the fire is special because most people don’t usually get to experience that. We sit back to the sound of the birds singing or, on a clear day, maybe the thump of a kangaroo tail hitting the ground as it hops around, perhaps even the odd koala grunting. It’s all nature, nothing is scripted.’ Spanning from the Simpson Desert in the north to Kangaroo Island in the south, South Australia covers 203,227 square miles of south-central land. Within that vast area lies a variety of environments including the towering fossiliferous limestone cliffs of the Great Australian Bight, the temperate grasslands around the Murray River, the semi-arid cereal and sheep farms of the Yorke and Eyre Peninsulas, and the central Flinders ranges. When the settlers arrived in December 1836 – almost 50 years after the colonisation of the east coast at Botany Bay – there was a

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Aunty Angelena and Nicola Palmer at Watervale Hotel; Nicola Palmer, chef at the Watervale Hotel, sourcing produce from the on-site gardens. THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP :

The tasting room at Koerner Wines; The Koerner vineyard in Clare Valley.

strong desire that this province would be built on free immigration, refuting the convict history of other already-established Australian cities such as Sydney, Hobart and Brisbane. This brought a more diverse settlement to the region, with the British Government agreeing that this new colony would be a place of religious freedom and progressive civil liberties. As was the case throughout much of Australia, however, the arrival of the European settlers brought conflict and disease to the local Indigenous population, the Kaurna people, who had been living off the land around what is now Adelaide for at least 40,000 years. Over the next few decades, the Frontier Wars resulted in the death of an untold number of native Australians, with the ancient Kaurna culture almost completely destroyed. More than 200 years on, the country still struggles to fully acknowledge the devastating consequences that colonisation brought to its Aboriginal communities. However, there are local changemakers who are determined to advance the narrative. Warrick Duthy and his partner Nicola Palmer – owners of the Watervale Hotel – are two such business owners who tell me just how valuable Aboriginal know-how has been in transforming their small, local pub into a popular, sustainably run eatery. The couple work closely with Ngadjuri elder Angelena Harradine, known as Aunty Angelena, in learning about the land around them. Much like the Kaurna communities, the Ngadjuri also lived off vast expanses of land, with their traditional ground stretching from Gawler, in the south of the state, to the Flinders Ranges in the north. Watervale falls within Ngadjuri Country.

A LAND LESS ORDINARY

‘The Ngadjuri people were seasonal migrators with an incredibly important spiritual understanding of the Watervale Valley,’ says Warrick. ‘They moved between six “food bowls” of land – between the Barossa Valley in the south to the Southern Flinders Ranges in the north – managing each of those “bowls” as a sustainable source of food and nutrition. They did this every year, for over 40,000 years. We have so much to learn from them, especially around land management. ‘The Ngadjuri talk about the “little people” in the soil. What they mean is there is life in the soil and if you don’t respect that life, your

plants will get sick and people won’t get fed. It’s a lesson from ancient times that is an essential part of food sustainability. Everything comes down to the quality of the soil.’ With this understanding, Warrick and Nicola teamed up with biodynamic farmer Jared Murray to create a working organic farm, Penobscot, that uses permaculture growing principles. This commitment to regenerative agriculture has been the backbone of the farm-to-plate restaurant’s success. ‘Aboriginal people have been underrepresented despite being here since ancient times,’ explains Warrick, who opened

THERE IS STILL A CALMNESS AND SERENITY WHEN YOU WALK ACROSS OUR LAND.

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A koala among the trees. ABOVE:

angaroos at o n Ba

the Watervale Hotel to become a space for healing and reconciliation events between the Ngadjuri and Watervale Valley communities. ‘Now it’s time to start listening because there is so much to understand about sustainable living from their way of life.’ The Watervale Hotel menu offers a changing daily menu packed with fresh vegetable and fruit dishes from Penobscot farm. The meat and poultry are sourced from nearby farmers, Martindale and Greenslades, allowing for not only a local but an ethical and traceable supply chain. Executive Chef Palmer, known as Watervale’s ‘low-waste, no-waste ninja’, constantly looks at how produce can be used e ciently. ‘If we use cauliflower heads in our dishes, we look at whether we can make kimchi out of the leaves,’ Warrick tells me. ‘And while we haven’t bought a tomato in four years, Nicola has learnt how to dehydrate, ferment and preserve products to create tomato sauces, relishes, smoked relishes, and pickles.’ The wine, of course, mostly originates from the nearby Clare Valley, as well as

South Australia’s other wine regions including McLaren Vale, Riverlands, Coonawarra, the Barossa Valley and the Adelaide Hills. More than half of Australia’s wines are produced in these areas, typically on family-run estates. Koerner Wines was started by brothers Damon and Jono who, as children, witnessed their parents running a successful grapegrowing business. Curious to see what they too could achieve within the wine industry, Damon Koerner studied viticulture and oenology at Adelaide University before launching a family business that would not only grow grapes, but also lead the wine-making process. ‘In 2014, we bought some fruit from local grape growers and made 180 cases of wine,’ says Damon. ‘Now we’ve just finished our tenth vintage, and we’ve produced nearly 300 tonnes of wine, which is over 20,000 cases.’ South Australian wines ‘reflect the place from which they come’, according to Damon. The Clare Valley Riesling, for example, has a ‘soft, chalky character’ as the grapes are mainly grown in limestone, while the Chardonnay is ‘tight and lean-bodied with a denser flavour’

in homage to the heavy clays, sandstone and ironstone of the Adelaide Hills. The reds – a Sangiovese and Cabernet Sauvignon from Clare and a Gamay and Pinot Noir from the Hills – are light, fresh and fruity. ‘We try to get our wine into the bottle with minimal interference,’ Damon tells me. ‘We only add a little sulphur dioxide as a preservative because we have to, but a quality product always comes from the best quality terroir.’ ou can find Koerner wines at local restaurants around Adelaide and the surrounding wine regions. The Stanley Bridge Tavern is great for a bottle of local Chardonnay and a chicken schnity (schnitzel) burger, Damon says, while the Crayfish Hotel pairs perfectly cooked steak with a great local Pinot Noir. ‘I think the Covid-19 pandemic showed us just how self-su cient we can be as a state,’ he adds. ‘Even when our borders were shut, local businesses continued to do well by supporting each other.’ The brothers also run a small cellar door facility at Gullyview Vineyards on their Clare Valley family estate. Open on weekends and public holidays, it’s ideal for couples and small

groups. In the Adelaide Hills, appointmentonly tastings – where visitors can also take a short tour behind-the-scenes – are an intimate way of learning about this humble winemaking process. ‘Our parents taught us to respect everyone involved in the process, and work together – and we do that really well,’ says Damon. ‘We want to make wine that will help people remember South Australia and what they have seen here.’ Further south, in the Barossa Valley, that sense of community is just as strong. This is where a 19-year-old John Howard Angas settled in 1843, establishing a 20,000-acre farm. The challenge today, says John’s great, great granddaughter-in-law Jan, is in maintaining the same small-scale, family-run farm in an everchanging, consumer-facing world. ‘There is still a calmness and serenity when you walk across our land. People who come to stay with us often say it’s like stepping into a past world,’ she tells me, with a smile. ‘We are still a mixed farm, although today we are much smaller. We grow different

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The endless sands at o n Ba RIGHT:

Memory Cove.

SOUTH AUSTRALIA

THE UNTOUCHED COASTLINE STRETCHES FOR MILES, SOMETIMES WITHOUT ANOTHER S O U L I N S I G H T.

varieties of sheep for meat and wool, as well as chickens, crops, an orchard, a vegetable garden and a substantial vineyard. When our lamb goes to local restaurants, such as Harvest Kitchen and FINO Seppeltsfield, or Anchovy Bandit in Adelaide, our history and experience is shared on the menu so people can understand where their food comes from.’ While it is tempting to choose just one production line to focus on, which tends to make more money, the Angas family relish farming on a smaller scale because it keeps them ‘connected to what the food and landscape are about’. Those words ring true in every aspect of South Australian life. This isn’t a state

overflowing with flashy attractions and ultrachic hotels to draw in tourists. Instead, it remains faithful to its roots – inviting travellers to immerse themselves in the local culture, fully and unapologetically. South Australia, I’ve learnt, is a place where the untouched coastline stretches for miles, sometimes without another soul in sight, where friends gather at the local football club on a Saturday night to celebrate the community’s sporting heroes, and where wine tastings operate out of tin sheds on the side of the road. This is a place where normality thrives – and that’s more special than you can ever imagine.

SOUTH AUSTRALIA

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Adelaide, the capital of South Australia, is served by domestic and international ights. B E S T T I M E TO G O

The shoulder seasons of spring (late September to November) and autumn (late February to April) are recommended for daily sunshine with less scorching temperatures. C U R R E N C Y Australian dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT 10.5 FO O D

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Hutton Vale Farm in the Barossa alle he ar has di erent arieties o sheep, used for both meat and wool; Surveying the landscaoe at Hutton Vale Farm. Photo Credits: South Australian Tourism Commission, Australian Coastal Safaris/Isaac Freeman, Watervale Hotel.

Most menus serve freshly caught seafood, and locally sourced meat dishes such as steak and lamb, with seasonal salads and vegetables. W H E R E TO S TAY

The Watervale Hotel offers stays at their one-bedroom Penobscot farmhouse; in the Barossa, Hutton Vale’s cottage and camp-style accommodation is ideal for families and couples. Australian Coastal Safaris has a four-bedroom beachfront property in Port Lincoln. H OW TO D O I T

For a full taste of South Australia’s wild surroundings, spend at least two to three nights in the Barossa alley, Adelaide Hills and Clare Valley, before exploring the vast Eyre Peninsula. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

A reusable bottle – tap water is safe to drink here. WHY GO

South Australia is the state Australians themselves love to visit, thanks to its quintessential laid-back ethos. t’s the place where travellers and hosts become mates over a beer – and where small, community-run businesses are the backbone of the tourism industry, so you know your tourist dollar is going to the right place. The Responsible Traveller by Karen Edwards is published by Summersdale and available now.

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even Mile Beach seems the perfect place to begin a new life. In gummy heat, the Caribbean tide flops lethargically onto the hot talcumwhite sands with barely a splash. I look back at the beachside condos and imagine having this view of paradise every day. Regrettably, this new life isn’t mine – travel writing is unlikely to furnish me with a tax-free lifestyle on Grand Cayman Island, just south of Cuba – but that of a two-yearold green turtle. The turtle, with a carapace patterned like inlaid glass, is focused on reaching the ocean having just been released onto the beach by the Cayman Turtle Centre (CTC). The steering-wheel-size turtle, nurtured in captivity, briefly halts and looks around with large dark eyes. Turtles were first identified in the Cayman Islands in 1503 by Christopher Columbus, who saw so many he named these islands ‘Las Tortugas’ – a moniker that attracted seafarers, including English explorer Sir Francis Drake, who coveted the animal’s meat. Although Cayman society moved on from pirates, shipwrecked mariners and freed slaves, turtle has nonetheless remained on the menu. Today’s turtle release is one of many Cayman initiatives to conserve the biodiversity here, which is higher in species (though not abundance) than the Galapagos. The islands’ iridescent birds, marine species and giant land-dwelling reptiles face challenges as economic development and introduced species squeeze their natural habitats, particularly on the largest and busiest of the three islands, Grand Cayman.

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THE CARIBBEAN TIDE FLOPS L E T H A R G I C A L LY ‘Green turtles are synonymous with islanders’ food and by the late 1960s few were nesting here,’ says Geddes Hislop of CTC. The turtle we watch is from CTC’s ‘Head Start’ scheme, which rears the animals and releases them when they’re between two and five years old. ‘By raising the eggs ourselves, we give them a better chance of survival,’ says Geddes. So much so that the 34,000 turtles released by the CTC since 1979 constitute 90% of all those now nesting on Cayman beaches. The local appetite for turtle remains however, and, to my surprise, Geddes goes on to explain that the CTC sacrifices 500 turtles annually for the local meat market; doing so undercuts illegal poaching, with the government subsidising the CTC turtle meat so that it’s significantly cheaper than the black-market value. As I question the ethics of this, Geddes sighs. ‘It gets my hackles up, this debate about conservation against preservation,’ he says. ‘Preservation is about watching them decline. It’s what museums do. If we shut down legal harvesting, turtles could disappear from our beaches within six months.’ He tells me that the CTC’s educational work with children involves discouraging eating turtles. ‘There’s been 500 years of eating them here, so it may

ONTO THE HOT TA LC U M -W H I T E SANDS WITH B A R E LY A S P L A S H . take another few generations for them not to be seen as food.’

OPENING SPREAD:

A green turtle swims among the o shore ree s PREVIOUS SPREAD:

Over the next few days, I explore the wilder eastern coast of Grand Cayman where I find more birds than banker’s Bentleys and visit mangroves and wild beaches untouched by the urbanism of the island’s western coast. One evening, I kayak off Rum Point amid bioluminescence, each paddle stroke triggering sapphire-blue sparkles in the dark seawater.

Sunset at Seven Mile Beach on Grand a an ABOVE, LEFT TO RIGHT:

A green turtle, transported by bucket, ready to be introduced to the sea; A green turtle a es its a into the sea RIGHT:

Geddes islo ro a an Turtle Conservation helps carry a green turtle towards the sea

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Casanova is now incandescently blue, so time to move on. By the early 2000s the blue iguana population had been decimated by habitat loss, feral cats and road accidents. Yet the existential threat came from non-native green iguanas. ‘Greens were inadvertently introduced on Grand Cayman from Central America. They outcompete the blues and carry a bacterium deadly to them,’ says Peri. The programme’s initial aim was to breed then restore 1,000 blue iguanas to the wild, which was preceded by the culling of almost one million green iguanas. By 201 the aim had been achieved and the species was delisted from critically endangered on the International Union of Conservation Network’s red list. et the reptile’s travails are not over. On their eventual release into the wild they face predation by feral cats. Peri says they want to euthanise these strays, but a court injunction by an American pro-cat society blocked this. ‘It’s frustrating,’ says Peri. ‘We release them into the wild and they’re killed by cat.’ Visiting the facility helps fund the blue iguana programme and it’s illuminating to discover the warmth of individual personality in these coldblooded reptiles – like passive Peter who loves being fed banana while being scratched under his chin. ‘It’s in humanity’s interest to protect them,’ says Peri. ‘When injured they heal almost immediately. What could this mean to future human medicines?’ Further rare iguanas rear their reptilian jaws the next day after a short flight to one of

The birdlife is vibrant throughout my travels. Cayman records over 2 5 species and is an important migratory transit stopover between the Americas. Visiting the National Trust Botanical Gardens, I spot endemic Grand Cayman parrots, with blue underwings and rose-coloured throats, but I am distracted by one of the world’s most endangered reptiles, which Cayman conservationists are locked into a battle to save from extinction. There were only 30 blue iguanas left in the wild by 2001. Since then, the Blue Iguana Conservation Programme’s facility alongside the botanical gardens has been captive rearing them to be rewilded. Upon entering the facility here I encounter one of their biggest males, the immovable Casanova, who watches me intently. ‘They have strong jaws. One of our team almost had his finger bitten off,’ says Peri Smalldon, a young keeper at the project, showing me around. Casanova is a ft-long, 30lb alpha male and is bright blue. I ask why they are this colour. ‘Nobody really knows,’ he says, with a shrug. ‘But the males get bluer when they see another rival in their territory.’

I SPOT ENDEMIC G R A N D C AY M A N PARROTS, WITH BLUE UNDERWINGS AND ROSE-COLOURED T H R OAT S .

CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP LEFT:

Booby Pond Observation Tower; A Cayman parrot at the National Trust Botanic Gardens; A blue iguana; A red-footed booby.

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IT’S A SLOWMOTION BALLETIC WORLD DRESSED UP FOR MARDI GRAS.

OPPOSITE, CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

A ello ooted oo A water lily at the National Trust Botanic Gardens; A blue anole; A northern i er ood ec er ABOVE:

he lu at a

an Brac

the two Cayman ‘Sister Islands’. Our Twin Otter aeroplane bumps down on Little Cayman’s runway, scattering clucking chickens. This tiny island – just ten miles long and home to 200 islanders – already seems a world apart from the tra c, malls and condos of Grand Cayman. The surrounding Caribbean Sea supports pristine coral reefs that are so special that acclaimed marine biologist Dr Sylvia Earle’s foundation, Mission Blue, recognises them as part of their ‘Hope Spot’ network of the world’s finest marine areas. My first stop is the National Trust’s Booby Pond Nature Reserve in the mangroves where magnificent frigatebirds with cherry-red crops like inflamed airbags face-off against redfooted boobies. There are simply thousands of each species nesting, and I watch with dismay as the boobies arrive with their catch of fish only to be mugged and relieved of it by the acrobatic frigatebirds.

‘They steal the boobies’ food by harassing them until they drop it. You must ask why boobies nest so close to their nemesis? Perhaps, as their name suggests, they’re not the brightest,’ says Peter Hillenbrand, a National Trust volunteer. The frigatebird population of 10,000 is the largest in the Western Hemisphere. Tania Laser, a German conservationist, arrives to help me find endemic rock iguanas. They’re found only on Little Cayman and neighbouring Cayman Brac but their population size halved between 2015 and 2019 and numbers are now down to around 1, 00. Tania takes me to view underground burrows from which the rock iguanas slowly emerge as the sun heats up. They’re as large as blue iguanas but a dusty fawn-like colour. Mrs Oliver is out first, followed by Mookie, Oldie and Lemon, among the 130 who frequent the site. Tania has names for them all. ‘They’re my little dinosaurs,’ she says. Above ground, they orientate sphinx-like towards the sun. ‘When it’s too hot late afternoon they’ll go back into their burrows to cool down,’ she says. Rock iguanas originated in Cuba and somehow floated over to Cayman two million years ago. They’ve near-disappeared from neighbouring Brac, so Tania has been carrying out research, in conjunction with several international agencies and the Department of Environment, to save them. ‘Around 50 are killed on roads each year so I put up signs urging people to slow down. But the issue is feral cats who take the young iguanas. I hardly see any [of the reptiles below three years old. There’s no new generation coming through.’ Frustrated by the same injunction as on Grand Cayman blocking cat eradication, she’s started a project to rear young rock iguanas and shows me hatchlings in small cat-proof cages around

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the visitor centre. Despite this, she’s pessimistic about their future. ‘If I release them, they’ll be cat food. If we don’t start controlling the cats, we will lose them forever.’ Perhaps the cats need the control of an apex predator, I muse later that afternoon as a white-tipped reef shark steams towards me while I snorkel. I pull my face from the warm seawater to hear Beth Chafin of the Central Caribbean Marine Institute (CCMI) saying, ‘Don’t worry, he always does this, he’s socially awkward.’ Sure enough, Jaws skulks off and I continue enjoying the exquisite coral reefs. We’re at a drop-off called Jackson Bay, heralded by Jacques Cousteau as one of the world’s greatest dives. Gorgonian sea fans swish with the currents, and there are pufferfish, stingrays, thick-lipped parrotfish – and green turtles, likely ones nurtured by CTC. It’s a slow-motion balletic world dressed up for Mardi Gras. We keep our eyes open for Nassau groupers, chunky fish that weigh 50lb and have been overfished to the brink. The site we dive at is classified as the grouper’s last spawning aggregation site in Cayman (a sort of grouper Tinder hangout), which is protected by the imposition of a no-take fishing zone. ‘We’re doing a lot of educational work with schoolchildren,’ Beth tells me. ‘They can learn how to protect their own backyard.’ The next-door island of Cayman Brac is geologically eye-catching due to the raised coral reef that runs for 12 miles along its spine, like a petrified tidal wave. I’m shown around by Philipp Smith, a chilled local guide. My optimism for great wildlife sightings is momentarily dented when he proclaims, ‘I don’t know so much about this animal stuff.’ But this proves to be a minor hiccup as we’re soon ticking off bats in limestone caves and brown-footed boobies nesting atop the arid limestone bluff. What heartens me about Brac is the islanders’ harmonious coexistence alongside its rare species. Not least at Hotel Le Soleil d’Or, which nurtures 20 acres of farmland on the bare limestone plateau. Some 0 of the

crops from here, including soursops, satsuma, starfruit and dragon fruit, are used in the hotel’s restaurant, thus lowering the reliance on longdistance importation. Head gardener Randal Inociaan takes me around the garden to watch endemic Cayman Brac parrots and rock iguanas plundering papayas planted especially for them. ‘They work as a team,’ he says. ‘The parrots are messy eaters and dislodge the fruit, which the iguanas pounce on below.’ Callaloo greens and pumpkins are also planted as ‘distraction’ trees. ‘They distract animals from eating the more precious crops, such as herbs and salad items, which go to the restaurant. There’s enough for us all to share – although I’ve given up on figs as the birds don’t leave any for anybody.’ On my last evening, I think of the CTC’s turtle release I’d witnessed. The released turtle had neared the ocean, eyes fixed on real waves for the first time in its life. With one effort it had dipped underwater and propelled off into the horizon. I found myself wishing this ocean traveller a long and successful life. Cayman reflects the battle many small nations are undertaking to fight for biodiversity, and while it may be hard for the islands to shed its reputation as a less-than-opaque tax-haven, the efforts being made to save their true capital – of nature – are admirable. ABOVE:

riendl stingra s in the ater o ac son Ba Grand a an OPPOSITE:

Underwater sights witnessed on a scu a di e ro ac son Ba Photo Credits: Cayman Underwater Images, Dreamstime, Mark Stratton Ala a an slands ouris

C AY M A N I S L A N D S

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

British Airways (ba.com) operates non-stop flights to Grand Cayman’s Owen Roberts International Airport. The ‘Sister Islands’ of Cayman Brac and Little Cayman are only served by small Twin Otter planes from Grand Cayman (for more information see caymanairways.com). B E S T T I M E TO G O

With warm temperature rarely dipping below 26ºC, the only potential bump in the road of climatic paradise is the hurricane season from June to November, though this does coincide with the main turtle nesting season. C U R R E N C Y Cayman

Islands dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT-5 FO O D

Great seafood can be found throughout, but I sought out plant-based options on this trip including meat-free Caribbean cuisine in Bread & Chocolate (cafe.ky) and French-style dishes at superb seaside bistro Vivo (vivo.ky). W H E R E TO S TAY

There’s a good range of accommodation, including Kimpton Seafire Resort on Seven Mile Beach, and Hotel Le Soleil d’Or on Cayman Brac. H OW TO D O I T

Cycle to see the wilder eastern coast with Eco Rides Cayman (ecoridescayman.ky) and kayak amid bioluminescence with Cayman Kayaks (caymankayaks.com). M U S T- PAC K I T E M S

Waterproof camera and binoculars. WHY GO

Seeing the wilder side and meeting the people of these beautiful islands offers a different narrative to their otherwise more common portrayal as a tax haven.

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FRANCE

The coastline of Brittany and Normandy in northwestern France is, in my opinion, one of the best regions for landscape photography in the country. A road trip along the north coast from the town of Étretat, famous for its striking white cliffs and rock formations, past fairy-tale-like Mont Saint-Michel, to the many lighthouses of Brittany will take you past a variety of striking coastal landscapes. Though beautiful all year round, winter is when this region is at its most dramatic – perfect for some amazing photography. PHOTO ESSAY BY PAUL PRIM

T H E E L E M E N TA L C O A S T

OPENING SPREAD:

Frosty sunrise, Mont Saint-Michel, Normandy. ABOVE:

Waves colliding at Lesconil, Brittany. RIGHT:

Phare du Four, Brittany.

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ABOVE:

Ost Pic lighthouse, Brittany

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Men Ruz lighthouse, Brittany.

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Low tide seen from the dunes, Normandy.

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A storm rages at Goury lighthouse, Normandy.

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Moidrey windmill in Normandy on a frosty winter morning; A couple brave the waves at Raoulic lighthouse, Brittany; A frosty and foggy morning at Normandy’s Mont Saint-Michel. OPPOSITE PAGE:

Summer sunset at Arche de Port Blanc, Quiberon, Brittany. FOLLOWING SPREAD:

The sun sets over low tide in Normandy.

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Driving to Normandy and Brittany by car from the UK (via ferry or the Channel Tunnel) and the rest of continental Europe is straightforward. There are airports at Caen, Rennes and Nantes, plus good rail connections from Paris. B E S T T I M E TO G O

The winter storm season is the best time for landscape photography, and while the weather can get wild it’s never extremely cold. Summer can see many of the coastal areas become packed out. C U R R E N C Y Euro T I M E Z O N E GMT+1 FO O D

Don’t miss out on galettes and crêpes – savoury and sugary pancakes – which are often washed down with excellent local cider. Another local speciality is andouille de Guémené, a sausage made from pork intestines. As elsewhere in France, there’s plenty of delicious cheeses to try, particularly locally made camembert. W H E R E TO S TAY

Gîtes (rural holiday cottages) and campsites make great bases from which to explore, and there are also some lovely small hotels in the seaside towns and villages. H OW TO D O I T

You’ll need a car to fully explore – most major train stations have car-rental companies nearby. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

This is the rainiest region in France, so no matter the time of year you’ll need a waterand windproof lightweight jacket. In summer, don’t forget your swimming costume to make the most of the fabulous beaches. WHY GO

To soak up the amazing seascapes of this region, and to get a real taste of France.

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‘T PREVIOUS SPREAD:

Puma following a herd of guanacos in Torres del Paine National Park at dusk. LEFT:

Lago Nordenskjöld and Cuernos del Paine peaks at sunset in winter. ABOVE:

Tour guide Tim Connelly.

here are two big superstars,’ Tim Connelly, my French guide tells me with a twinkle in his eye. ‘There’s Blinka, who’s iconic because she’s got a bad eye,’ he continues. ‘And the other is her younger sister, Petaca. Hopefully, we’ll see at least one of them.’ No, we’re not hunting down celebrities: we’re plotting our excursion into Chilean Patagonia’s most famous national park, Torres del Paine. Here, mountains have traditionally been the star attraction. Three granite prongs erupting like chipped teeth from the Paine Massif mountain range form the eponymous ‘Torres del Paine’, the centrepiece of a park that draws some 300,000 annual visitors. Similarly emblematic are the jagged Los Cuernos: two gargantuan horns of pale granite sandwiched between dusky purple metamorphic rock. They stand shoulder to shoulder with the equally looming Cerro Paine Grande. During the summer months, hikers flock to the W, a trail navigating through landscapes of glassy lakes fed by glaciers peeling away

from the Southern Patagonian Ice Field and serrated mountains that form an eastern spur of the Andes. All in all, Torres del Paine plays host to some of the planet’s most astounding natural scenery. But, due to a combination of pioneering conservation and a shift in perceptions towards one of the region’s most elusive animals, the park has increasingly found a new set of superstars: pumas. Swaddled in layer upon layer of warm clothing, we head out into the crisp sunshine of the Patagonian winter, frost crunching underfoot. June to September are the quietest months for tourists and therefore the best time for puma spotting – even if night-time temperatures can drop below -7°C. Above us, lenticular clouds settle like UFOs on top of Cerro Paine Grande, while at its feet, Lago Nordenskj ld shows a mirrorlike glaze. Much of the terrain of this 227,298-hectare park is a mix of southern beech forests, which have been depleted by devastating hiker-induced fires scarring the landscape, and mile upon mile of Patagonian steppe. The latter is stippled with the scuttling, leggy rhea (a distant relative of the ostrich) and herds of honey-coloured guanacos (a far

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TORRES DEL PAINE P L AY S H O S T TO SOME OF THE PLANET’S MOST ASTOUNDING N AT U RA L S C E N E RY.

closer cousin of the llama). And somewhere, in among all this natural pageantry, roam an estimated 100 – ‘if you consider adolescents, it could quickly get up to 300,’ Tim points out – almost perfectly camouflaged pumas. Experts believe Torres del Paine to be home to the highest density of pumas anywhere on Earth. Our minivan rattles its way across the park, depositing us at the trailhead of the Aonikenk path. This 4½-mile route leads to 4,000-year-old indigenous cave paintings and is perfect for puma watching thanks to its vantage overlooking the steppe. From the path’s high point, we look towards the snow-draped granite of the Paine Massif and spot a herd of guanaco a few hundred yards away from us on a ridge, snatching placidly at tufted coirón grasses. When it comes to finding the park’s elusive predators, which are often dubbed ‘ghost cats’ because of their ability to evade humans, Tim has form. He started out as a tourist guide in South Africa’s Kruger National Park before moving to Patagonia via a stint in Nepal. Today, he’s guiding for Chile Nativo, a local operator that was among the first to

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offer puma tours a decade ago. But his career highlight came during the pandemic when he worked as a puma tracker for the Chilean Patagonia episode of Netflix’s Emmy-winning documentary series, Our Great National Parks. It was narrated by the one-and-only Barack Obama – although, ‘I didn’t get to meet Obama,’ he says, wistfully. Tim talks me through how to locate a puma in a landscape of bristly golden grasses and ragged bushes of calafate and murtilla that offer near-perfect camouflage for this sandy-coated cat. It’s all about the guanacos, he says. A handful position themselves a little away from the herd to act as guards, keeping their eyes peeled for any unwanted visitors. Tim gestures across the plain in front of us, pointing out individual guanacos at various distances from the others. ‘We’ve got eyes over there, over there and over there. We can hear them if they start alarm calling. ‘When they spot a puma, they’ll continue calling and looking at it to make sure they don’t lose it. So when you hear the call, you work out where it’s coming from, and then look where they’re looking,’ he explains quickly.

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A rhea stalking across the plains. RIGHT, FROM THE TOP:

Horses graze on the plains beneath the jagged peaks of Cerro Paine Grande; Sunset at Cerro Paine Grande.

T H E N E W S U P E R S TA R S

‘Sometimes you might have another guanaco nearby also looking at the same puma – and boom, you can triangulate.’ Andean condors circling above – enticed by a kill – and the piercing warning calls of the lapwings that peck and squeal hauntingly across the plains are two other handy clues for puma spotting. Despite belief to the contrary, this ‘makes these cats the easiest to track over such huge distances,’ he enthuses, turning back towards the plain to scan his practised eyes across the vast open space. A few minutes later and his patience is rewarded. Tim catches the cackling, repetitive trill of a guanaco in the distance. He gestures to a lone sentinel and then another, expertly scanning the area towards which both are facing. Then we spot them: a pair of pumas, one larger and darker in colour than the other, their backs to us as they saunter away through the scrubby grasses, their lunch plans clobbered by the keen eyes of the guanaco guards. A male and a female, Tim confirms. The female could have been Blinka, although, without a closer view, it’s hard to be conclusive. As thrilled as I am by the sighting, Torres del Paine’s pumas remain controversial.

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While everyone I speak to assures me they pose very little risk to humans if treated with respect, incidents have occurred. A couple of years ago, a child was followed by a puma cub along the Aonikenk trail; the path is now only accessible with a registered guide and a sign warns visitors about puma attacks. More widely, in a region where sheep ranching has been the main industry since the late 1800s, these animals have historically faced a tough reception. ‘Here, it’s very common to hunt pumas,’ Gonzalo Vargas, the chief guide at Estancia Cerro Guido tells me. Founded in 1905, this still-working ranch hugs the national park’s eastern limits. Fifteen thousand sheep graze alongside 1,500 cows on its 100,000 hectares of land, making it one of the largest ranches in the area. In 2005, the owners opened the property up as a guesthouse, transforming the ranch’s historic 1920s buildings into a boutique hotel 14 years later. Since 2020, they’ve been offering wildlife tours as their focus has switched from sheep to pumas. Puma hunting has been prohibited since 1980, but it’s only over the last decade or so that attitudes towards these cats have begun

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A herd of guanacos grazing beneath the Cerro Grande Paine. OPPOSITE, CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

A camera trap; Horses at Estancia Cerro Guido; Pía Vergara assesses the camera traps; The Estancia Cerro Guido minivan heads out on a puma-spotting mission.

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An elusive puma. FOLLOWING SPREAD:

Lago Sarmiento

to shift. In June 2022, the ranch founded the Cerro Guido Conservation Foundation, whose goal is ‘to figure out how to have human activity, ranching and wildlife inside the ranch,’ Gonzalo explains. ‘But having a conservation project here is kind of a conflict, because, historically, the pumas have been enemies of the sheep farmer.’ Conservationists often argue for the removal of all traces of human impact on an area they’re seeking to protect. However, the foundation views this as impractical and not reflective of the needs of the Patagonian communities whose jobs and culture are bound up within the ranches. Instead, they’re committed to showing how conservation can go hand in hand with human activity. Tourism has proven to be a key way for this to be achieved. Estancia Cerro Guido operates tours across their land to teach visitors about the ranch’s integrated approach to conservation and sheep farming; proceeds from these and the hotel help fund the foundation’s work. On these tours, the biggest crowd-pleasers are the 20 Maremma and Great Pyrenees sheepdogs employed to protect the sheep from pumas. Initially used in Europe against wolf attacks, these fluffy, seven-stone dogs are raised within the flock. They grow up to become guardians of their woolly brothers and sisters, using scent marking to deter hungry pumas. But not everyone has been persuaded. ‘We tell the gauchos “we’re going to bring these dogs and they’ll solve the problem you’ve been having for a hundred years” – they say, ”yeah right,”’ Gonzalo says. ‘That’s the biggest challenge. It’s not just conservation, it’s changing the culture.’ Numbers are slowly proving the impact of their innovations, however. A trial in 2022 introduced dogs to a field of sheep for the winter; during this period, the number of sheep lost to pumas dropped from an average of between three and seven per cent to just one. Ongoing research hopes to further improve the e cacy of the dogs and how they can be used to prevent puma attacks. A key player in puma conservation is Pía Vergara. A former wildlife photographer, she began working with Cerro Guido in 2018 to conduct research into the pumas; she’s now the executive director of the foundation. Pía shows me one of the 30 camera traps used to track and identify the pumas – each, like Blinka and Petaca, has scars or other identifiable features – allowing them to observe how they exist in this terrain and whether they’re mating or have cubs. Other species have been spotted as a result of these camera traps, too, including the nearthreatened and rarely-seen pampas cat. For Pía, puma conservation is an integral part of protecting the land and the people who rely on it. ‘The long-term goal is to conserve our natural and cultural heritage and leave it to the next generations as a better place,’ she

tells me. Her work with the pumas is a crucial factor in this. ‘When you protect the puma, you protect all the rest of the species within the ecosystem,’ she says, looking down from a clifftop on the outskirts of the ranch back towards the national park and the silvery stone of the Paine Massif. Pumas have been described by researchers as ‘ecosystem engineers’ for their impact on their wider environment. ‘When the puma kills, everybody eats,’ Gonzalo adds, noting how condors, caracara, foxes and other types of scavengers are known to feast on the carcass. The foundation, alongside Panthera, a conservation organisation that works with wild cats around the world, has also contributed vital research to global understanding of the puma. Currently, most research is focused on North America and has suggested that pumas are solitary animals. ‘But it’s not like that here. We’re learning new things about the behaviour of pumas in Patagonia,’ Gonzalo explains. Back in the national park and it’s clear that as the surrounding ranches find ways to adapt to the presence of pumas, the pumas themselves are doing the same thing. Tim tells me how one of our superstars, Petaca, has taken to using the paved road for hunting: forcing guanaco onto the roads that bisect the park, she watches as their hooves slip beneath them and then pounces in for the kill. It’s unique behaviour expertly adapted to her environment – and one I’m still optimistic we might see. The possibility of more puma sightings lies in the hands of our second tracker, José ‘Wayaja Puma’ Vargas, who’s been roaming the park on foot and in his truck all day. A former ranger, he’s spent the past ten years tracking these big cats and wears the trademark beret of Patagonia’s gaucho cowboys pulled low over his eyes from the sun. Luck is again on our side; a walkie-talkie alert lets us know he’s found something and we hotfoot it across the park. Our destination is a lay-by above the shores of Lago Sarmiento, a sprawling body of water that’s either glassy smooth or whipped into a frenzy by the park’s sometimes 75mph winds. Today, it’s a picture of serenity. Another truck is parked a few yards away from us; its Chilean owner has been here almost the entire day. I soon see why. A hundred yards or so on the plains below us and partially concealed by the swaying, ochre grasses, lies one of our superstars: Blinka. Her two cubs cuddle up to her, a male, darker in coat, and a female, slighter and more golden. Tim tells me how rare it is to see the male, before we fall into a reverential silence. It’s impossible to take my eyes away from this picture of unbridled domestic bliss; this new symbol of Torres del Paine National Park’s irrepressible natural beauty. I’m sold. Move over mountains: there’s a new star in town.

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A SPRAWLING B O DY O F WAT E R T H AT ’ S E I T H E R GLASSY SMOOTH OR WHIPPED INTO A F R E N Z Y.

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

From the Chilean capital, Santiago, fly to Puerto Natales, the town closest to the national park. Local tour operators can organise transportation and tours. B E S T T I M E TO G O

Lower visitor numbers during the winter months can increase your chances of spotting a puma; however, heavy snowfall between June and August can scupper tours. September to early November and April and May are the quietest but most accessible months. C U R R E N C Y Chilean peso T I M E Z O N E GMT -3 FO O D

Cordero al palo (spit-roasted lamb) is a Patagonian staple, often brushed with chimichurri and served with a glass of Chile’s ubiquitous wine varietal, Carménère. W H E R E TO S TAY

Chile Nativo’s tours include a night in their Riverside Camp. H OW TO D O I T

Arrange a two-day puma tracking tour with Chile Nativo (chilenativo.travel), whose expert guides will take you out to visit puma hotspots around the national park. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

A telephoto lens; at least 500mm is needed for the best photos of these cats. WHY GO

Photo Credits: AWL Images, Steph Dyson, Dreamstime, Alamy.

With companies such as Chile Nativo seeing pumas on practically every single tour, there are few places in the world where it’s as easy to glimpse these incredible big cats in their natural habitat. And, ask any professional landscape photographer where to find the world’s most dramatic natural scenery and Patagonia will likely be their answer. Combine these two things and you’ve got one of the most remarkable places on the planet.

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‘S

o, uh, do you want the good news or the bad news?’ our captain asks as we sail over a choppy Aegean. The Edwardianstyle dining room is rocking around us. ‘The bad news,’ we plead. ‘Okay!’ he replies, his cheery Croatian cadence suggesting that no news could be truly bad. ‘The wind at Mykonos is so strong, we can’t anchor as planned. Even the big cruise ships are refusing to go. We’ll go to Paros instead – which, in my opinion, is even more beautiful.’ Instantly adapted itineraries are one of the perils of journeying through the Cyclades on a souped-up sailing ship, but this sort of slow travel beats steadier forms of transport any day. At just 545ft long with a passenger capacity of 170, this is a more intimate way to island-hop than conventional cruising. The surprise reroute to Paros happened long after I’d settled into life aboard the Star Flyer, as my journey actually began at the port of Piraeus. We’d quite literally set sail from here, leaving behind the engine rumble

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of floating hotels and roll-on-roll-off ferries with only the Star Flyer’s 21 sails and the summer Meltemi wind to propel us into the Mediterranean night. A battlemented monastery watched over the bay of the first island we drifted into, Patmos. This monastery is dedicated to St John the Theologian, a Patmian exile who wrote the apocalyptic Book of Revelation in AD95 while shuttered away here. I followed black-robed priests as they huffed up ancient stone steps to the complex, fragrant jasmine covering both the walls and the faint smell of exertion.

Founded in 10 , the fortified citadel contains ten chapels, each kitted out with golden Byzantine icons and swinging, glittering incense burners. There’s also a 2,000-volume library, but more impressive is the monastery’s museum. Biblical parchments dating back to the 5th century sit side by side with major works of religious art, including a rumoured El Greco painting and a showy sapphire crucifix personally donated by Catherine the Great. This was but a taste of the Patmian artistic pedigree. Soon after, I caught two artists restoring a gold mosaic hidden in a

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Sailing the waters of the Cyclades at sunset. OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE LEFT:

The chapel of the Monastery of St John the Theologian; Nuns sitting in the courtyard of the monastery; Religious souvenirs on the streets of Chora, Patmos. ABOVE:

Aerial view of the Monastery of St John the Theologian.

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niche. The pair were using low-tech tools – specifically, all-purpose spray and toothpicks – but their work was painstaking as they picked away at decades of dirt. ‘Siga, siga,’ (‘slowly, slowly’) said one; their task is one that must bend to the will of the cleaning gods. Leaving behind the monastery walls, I found art in even more forms. Since the 1960s, when Greece first became fashionable for foreigners, the medieval houses of Chora have attracted style icons. In its chalky alleys, I passed the atelier of visual artist Katerina Mourati – whose statement jewellery has been exhibited from Athens to Paris – and the studio of Marina Karella, who paints remarkably threedimensional watercolours (and just so happens to be married to Prince Michael of Greece). A day later, the Star Flyer set down off Amorgos, the easternmost Cycladic island. It felt like the edge of the world: the eastern side of Amorgos is all sheer limestone cliffs and the death-defying roads, hiking trails and monasteries that cling to it. It’s glorious, but inhospitable. The monks of Hozoviotissa certainly found the landscape unwelcoming when they first arrived here in AD 12. Our guide, Maria, explained: ‘An icon of the Virgin Mary – Greeks call her Panagia – had miraculously floated from Palestine to the beach at the bottom of this cliff in the 9th century, so a monastery was needed to house it. But each time the monks downed tools, they’d find the previous day’s work destroyed by the fearsome winds.’

Frustrated, they prayed to the Virgin Mary. When they returned to work the next day, their tools had been mysteriously placed higher up the cliff, which the monks took as a sign from the heavens, building the monastery there instead (although, as in Patmos, the monastery you see today wasn’t completed until 10 ). It’s an impressive feat: the monastery is only 16ft wide but has eight floors and packs in over 70 rooms. I ducked beneath the low door, carved with ripe fruit, before ascending flight upon flight of uneven steps to the bell tower. From here, I could see why those monks persisted: this breath-snatching vista at the very edge of the Cyclades evokes a sublime sense of surrender to something bigger than oneself. I stepped back into the narrow building’s cool embrace, where a novice monk offered weary travellers three staples of Amorgion life: cold water, sticky sweet loukoumi (Greek delight) and rakomelo – honey-infused liqueur. I’ve adored Greece and all its consumable exports my whole life, but had sworn off both loukoumi and rakomelo thanks to an over-indulgence in both. That all changed at Hozoviotissa. Served in a crystal bowl, the pillowy chunks of pink and yellow loukoumi were moreish and indelibly sweet, while the amber-coloured rakomelo – with just enough flakes of crystallised honey floating in it to prove it was homemade – slipped warmly down my throat, one shot at a time.

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An artist restoring a mosaic in the Monastery of St John the Theologian; Walking through the streets of Chora, Patmos; A scooter winds through the narrow streets of Chora; The courtyard and church of Virgin Mary the Saviour in Chora. THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Hiking up to the Monastery of Hozoviotissa, Amorgos; The clear waters and rugged landscape of Amorgos.

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Windmills overlooking the island of Patmos. BELOW FROM LEFT:

A cafe in Chora; Chicken gyros, Paros.

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It was after Amorgos that the Star Flyer‘s course changed, thanks to the Meltemi winds that were buffeting Mykonos. Paros, our new destination, has much in common architecturally with our original destination: windmills, sugar-cube houses with painted doors, chapels on mountain peaks and, in the seaside village of Naoussa, bougie caf s open until the early hours and boutiques stocked with crochet souvenirs. In recent years, Mykonos has come under fire for overcrowding – hardly surprising in an island of such spellbinding gorgeousness. Paros, however, has so far avoided this fate and I’m able to move freely through its weblike streets. Islanders, however, fear that this could be about to change, with the normal population of 15,000 swelling by five times that number of tourists in the summer of 2022 alone. When I stop for a gyros (grilled meat in pita bread), I overhear a local guide say, ‘We

don’t want to be the next Mykonos, but it’s happening already.’ I’m pleased our ship was diverted to Paros, so I could see the island before it falls victim to its own beauty. Back on the ship for nightfall, the Star Flyer unfurls its sails and the wind, calmer now, takes us out into the expansive darkness of the Myrtoan Sea as we sail towards Spetses. Although the island is a playground for weekending Athenians (it’s only two hours by hydrofoil), it maintains a fierce identity of its own: the soil is far more fertile than any other on our Cycladic itinerary, with cypress trees springing up on every hillside. In addition, cars are banned here – save for a few taxis – making alternate modes of transport, from horse carriages to e-bikes, the way to get about. I’m struck by how even the architecture bucks the trend: yellow Italianate holiday villas, the French Riviera-esque Poseidonian Hotel, and the Neoclassical mansions of maritime magnates kept in a glorious state of arrested decay – one of which even has Egyptian sphinxes guarding its door. However, there’s only one mansion I want to visit here: the Laskarina Bouboulina house. Eponymous Bouboulina, born to a family of sailors and made rich by a series of upwardlymobile marriages, decided to dedicate all her money and time to her country’s cause in the 1 21 Greek War of Independence against the Ottoman Empire. From her family home in Spetses, she built ships, commanded fleets and even bribed Ottoman o cials, arguably serving as the only female admiral in history (until the 20th century).

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I’M PLEASED OUR SHIP WAS DIVERTED, SO I COULD SEE THE ISLAND BEFORE IT FA L L S V I C T I M TO I T S OW N B E AU T Y.

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Kolympethres Beach, Paros; Boats on the tur uoise aters o aros The whitewashed harbour of Naoussa.

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The mansion’s main entrance is flanked by two cannons and a plaque with a quote from the historian Ioannis Filimon: ‘Before her, the cowardly are strong and the brave retreat’. The house is as eccentric as Bouboulina herself; as I move through English, French, Spanish and Italian-style rooms, portraits of Bouboulina helming ships stare down at me. A model of the ship she commissioned, the 300-tonne Agamemnon, takes pride of place in one room, flying Bouboulina’s own flag. But there are also some personal touches, too, from the gold-threaded headscarf she wore to a collection of Chinese tableware she was particularly fond of. Spetses is covered with secluded stony beaches, smoothed by glassy, blue-green seas. The little coves at Ligoneri, a mile from the museum, contain water so clear that you can see your shadow move along the seabed as you swim: it’s this almost-artificial hue that has me falling deeper in love with Greece each time I visit. Below my floating feet, I see silvery melanouri (saddled sea bream) weaving in and out of seagrass to hide from human eyes. Instead of hailing a cab back to the port, I enlist a noble steed to trot me along the coast. In amateur Greek, I ask for its name. ‘Melina,’ her driver says, with a smile, stroking her beadbedecked neck. Her name, which translates as ‘Honey’, makes sense when I look at her shiny chestnut-coloured coat. Melina makes steady pace along the flat road, and good-naturedly pauses whenever her driver wishes to stop for an animated chat about the day’s (foot) tra c. Blissful though Spetses is, I return to my comfy cabin a little more exhausted than usual. It’s the last night of the cruise, and as I watch the red glow of Athens appear over the horizon, the air is almost unbearably hot. The hottest July in 50 years is about to strike Greece, causing wildfires and wreaking devastation across the country. Peter, our ponytailed Bavarian cruise director, fills the airwaves on our final morning with a monologue on the environmental benefits of cruising on this ‘mega-yacht’, which uses sail power for around 70 of the time and a fuel that’s low in polluting sulphur for the rest. ‘Whenever we have the opportunity to sail her, I promise you, we will sail her,’ he reassures us as we prepare to disembark into the punishing heat. Maybe going back to the basics of seafaring – sail power and smaller ships – could provide a more planet-friendly way to cruise. In Greece, at least, it feels like a more authentic one: I feel an a nity with the fishermen and sailors who have navigated the winds and waves of these islands for millennia. And, when I board a 2,000-capacity hulk of a ferry a couple of hours after disembarking the Star Flyer, I find myself yearning for the bowsprit nets, the chorus of waves and even the swaying rooms of my slow boat through the Cyclades.

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Water sports at Paralia Agia Marina, Spetses; An aerial view of Spetses harbour at sunset; Horse and carriage along the promenade, Spetses; The Star Flyer. OPPOSITE PAGE:

Paralia Agios Mamas beach, Spetses. FOLLOWING PAGE:

The Church of St Panteleimon, Amorgos.

SPETSES IS COVERED WITH SECLUDED STONY BEACHES, SMOOTHED BY G L A S S Y, BLUE-GREEN SEAS.

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GREECE

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Fly into Athens International Airport, then take the train to Piraeus to board a cruise or ferry to any of these islands. Alternatively, fly to Mykonos and island-hop from there. B E S T T I M E TO G O

The busiest and hottest months are July and August, when domestic and international tourists flock to the Cyclades. Try June or early September for a quieter but still warm break. C U R R E N C Y Euro T I M E Z O N E GMT +2 FO O D

With around 200 islands, food in the Cyclades is incredibly diverse. Generally, meat dishes are more popular than fish. On Amorgos, try patatato, a slow-cooked meat stew with potatoes and wine. W H E R E TO S TAY

Almost every island in the Cyclades has a range of accommodations, from family-run guesthouses to five-star hotels. H OW TO D O I T

The Star Clippers Northern Cyclades route runs on select dates from May to September, and provides a relaxed way to see these isles. Visit starclippers.com. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Under no circumstances forget your UV-400 sunglasses: the bright sunshine and white buildings of the Cyclades make for a blinding combination. WHY GO

Ruined temples, villages with a heart and soul, photogenic scenery, luscious local cuisine and Blue Flag beaches to sunbathe and swim at – perhaps a better question is, ‘why wouldn’t you go?’

Photo Credits: P128: Star Clippers.

The writer was a guest of Star Clippers with flights provided by Greece National Tourism Organisation.

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The Algerian Sahara is an otherworldly landscape of sandstone arches, eroded pinnacles, rock forests and colossal dunes. Located in the southeast of the country, Tassili N’Ajjer National Park covers over 30,000 square miles of the Grand Erg Occidental, one of the great sand seas of the Sahara. A Unesco World Heritage Site since 1982, its sandstone rock outcrops are peppered with Neolithic rock art from when the Sahara was a green savanna. In this vast, little-visited landscape, you can experience the incredible sunrises, sunsets, and deep silence of this vast desert. PHOTO ESSAY BY NICHOLAS HOLT

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Tuareg guide Tito relaxes on the slopes of Tin Merzouga, the highest dune in Tadrart Rouge.

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One of the many striking rock formations in the Tassili N’Ajjer.

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Climbing a dune at sunset – a Saharan ritual.

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Tuareg guide Tito in his tagelmust.

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View from the inside of a Toyota Land Cruiser – the contemporary alternative to the camel; A Tuareg guide shelters from the heat of the midday sun; i e or re ection in the oasis valley of Essendilene; An eroded sandstone ‘rock garden’ in the Tassili N’Ajjer. FOLLOWING PAGE:

An eroded sandstone rock formation in the Tassili N’Ajjer. These unique, wind-scoured rocks are often used as navigation aids by the Tuareg.

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Wild camels graze on a plain in the Tadrart Rouge area.

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A Tadrart Rouge landscape, known for its s ectacular red orange dune elds

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The reward of an early start – a spectacular Saharan sunrise.

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Tuareg guide Tito points to ancient engravings of elephants – a reminder of the African humid period, when the Sahara was a green savanna.

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A member of our party takes an evening walk to experience the incredible silence of the Sahara Desert.

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A 4x4 descends a steep dune in Tadrart Rouge.

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Tuareg guide Tito relaxes on the slopes of Tin Merzouga – the highest dune in Tadrart Rouge.

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

International flights arrive into Algiers International Airport, from where you can take a domestic flight to Djanet Airport (2hrs 15mins). B E S T T I M E TO G O

November to March, for warm days and clear skies. Avoid the summer as temperatures are very high and desert travel is not advisable. C U R R E N C Y Algerian dinar T I M E Z O N E GMT+1 FO O D

This region is famous for its delicious dates, which make a nutritious snack. Tuareg (the semi-nomadic people of this region) specialities include taguella, a delicious flatbread cooked in the hot desert sand and often served with harira, a rich tomato soup, or chorba frik, a delicious soup prepared with lamb. W H E R E TO S TAY

While in the desert, visitors stay in tents. There is a variety of accommodation available in the oasis city of Djanet, from simple lodgings to comfortable hotels. H OW TO D O I T

The only way to explore this region is by 4x4 on an organised tour. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Sunscreen, sunglasses and a hat are essential throughout the day to protect you from the harsh desert sun. It’s worth buying a Tuareg tagelmust (headscarf) in Djanet’s souk before you go into the desert. Pack some warm clothes as the nights can be cold. WHY GO

The Algerian Sahara is home to some of the world’s most wondrous and little-visited landscapes. Drinking tea with your Tuareg guides around the campfire at night, under a canopy of stars, is an unforgettable desert experience.

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WE SWAP THE PEDESTRIAN HUM FOR THE SOOTHING SWOOSH OF OUR PADDLES.

ENGLAND

T OPENING SPREAD:

Canals in central Birmingham. LEFT:

Exploring the city by kayak on a Hidden Birmingham History tour. TOP RIGHT:

Uncovering the city’s secrets by kayak.

he rising sun pierces the murky sky as we coast beneath the narrow railway bridge. A coconut floats beside us, followed by another. Apartment balconies fade into harsh factory walls and the towpath disappears as we swap the pedestrian hum for the soothing swoosh of our paddles. We’re five minutes into the new Hidden Birmingham History kayak tour and it’s already eerily quiet. Probably too quiet. I’m soon distracted by something in the corner of my eye and accidentally veer towards an overhanging tree. ‘For all the city’s industrial heritage, Birmingham is surprisingly green,’ says my electric-blue-haired guide Lily Sheppard, who chuckles as I collide with a gnarled branch. My excuse for the lapse in concentration is the heron that’s been tracking us, plonking itself on the towpath and flapping away whenever we get within a few feet of it. ‘I’ve seen all sorts along the canals: swans, geese, kingfishers,’ Lily says, ‘even the tail end of an otter disappearing under the surface.’ She’s right: Birmingham is green. In fact, with more than 600 publicly accessible parks and open spaces, it’s one of Europe’s greenest cities. Herons are a common sight along our waterways, but otters surely not These cute, elusive creatures are perhaps not associated with urban canals – certainly not in the UK’s most major inland city – but I soon learn that since 2000 they have indeed been spotted in the region. More recently, in 2020 otters were caught on the Black Country Wildlife Trust’s motion sensor cameras as far inland as these very waterways. Even the most optimistic of people wouldn’t have predicted that otters would soon be spotted in my home city, or that I’d be kayaking our once industrial, working

canals. But here I am, gliding beside an otherwise inaccessible part of Birmingham, learning about canalside coal wharfs and glass factories, and hearing about Hannah Hobbis, a Victorian bloodletter who worked on the towpath treating ailments with leeches. The three-mile round-trip departs from the Roundhouse: a peculiar horseshoe-shaped building at the heart of the region’s canal network. The Roundhouse was constructed in 1874 following the surge in popularity of Birmingham’s canals, which were first cut in the mid-18th century to transport heavy goods like coal and iron. Then called Corporation Wharf, the space was a central civic hub where council workers who carried out essential jobs such as road repairs and sewage collection would base themselves. By the 19 0s all commercial tra c along the canals had stopped, workers moved out and the Roundhouse lay empty. It slowly fell into disrepair and was at risk of being lost forever, but in 2001 the Canal & River Trust acquired the property and set out the optimistic task of repairing and repurposing the Roundhouse for future use. In partnership with the National Trust, and having secured grants and funding from Historic England and The National Lottery Heritage Fund, the Roundhouse could finally move forward with its extensive renovation. With the help of dozens of volunteers, it reopened in July 2021: again as a civic space, but this time as a public-facing tourism hub from where sustainable activities like kayaking could sprawl outwards. The canals have now been repurposed as urban greenways for all; as part of the Roundhouse’s commitment to the cause they also work with volunteers and other local businesses on regular canal clean-ups. The coconuts are here to stay, though, according to Lily. ‘They come from local Hindu celebrations,’ she says, adding that they’re

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THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

You might be lucky enough to spot a resident otter as you glide along the canals; The Roundhouse. OPPOSITE PAGE:

The canals function as urban greenways for those on the water or on the towpath.

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released into the water as offerings to Ganga, the Hindu river goddess. Birmingham has been sailing towards a greener future for some time now; an aim only accelerated by hosting the 2022 Commonwealth Games, the most sustainable yet. Its carbon-neutral goals were aided by an impressive sustainability pledge that promised to plant 2,022 acres of community forest, drastically reduce single-use plastic and promote active travel to and from the games, among a wider-ranging ‘to do’ list that was largely met. Public transport was free with all Games tickets – of which more than 1.5 million were sold – and so were bicycles for the duration. Some 26,000 riders took advantage of the free cycle hire on offer during Birmingham 2022, clocking up an impressive 49,000 miles in total. Keen to lean on the legacy, I pick up a cycle outside Birmingham New Street station and head for one of the most industrious, creative parts of the city: the Jewellery Quarter. It was here, at varying points, that the Titanic’s whistles, the original FA Cup and 75% of the world’s pen nibs were manufactured, and 40 percent of the UK’s jewellery output is still produced here. We’re not called the City of a Thousand Trades for nothing. My afternoon ride clocks in at a short but sweet ten minutes, with the city’s industrial versatility on show once again; I pedal from high-rise city-centre developments towards repurposed factories and warehouses. At the foot of Constitution Hill, on approach to the Jewellery Quarter, an unmistakable shawarma waft drifts from the open window of one of my favourite restaurants, Syriana, which, in truth, makes dealing with the incline all the more challenging. I’m heading for a late lunch at The Hive, a social enterprise project that provides healthy food and work-experience opportunities to students from Argent College next door. Its workshops – often open to the public – tap further into sustainable practices. ‘We recently held a woodworking workshop where people could come along and learn the ancient skill of bodging,’ said Sophie Slade, Heritage Programme Manager at Argent College, as she points out a quartet of bare plywood chairs in the café. In modern language ‘bodging’ means to repair something clumsily, but in ancient terms is better associated with traditional woodworking – often greenwood – that creates unique pieces with individual quirks, ensuring materials don’t go to waste. The Hive is perhaps best known for its rooftop urban micro-farm where students grow everything from multicoloured tomatoes and elephant garlic to juicy pears and edible flowers for its ground-floor vegetarian cafe. It’s here I enjoy a meat-free Scotch egg served with a punchy couscous salad packed with vegetables from the rooftop. Menus here don’t last too long — they’re based on what’s available for harvest.

EVEN THE MOST OPTIMISTIC OF PEOPLE WOULDN’T HAVE PREDICTED T H AT OT T E R S WOULD SOON BE SPOTTED IN MY HOME C I T Y. 147

GREENER HEARTLANDS

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

The garden at The Hive; Jeanette and Tom Pell at their zero-waste café-bar Kilo Ziro; The interior of Kilo Ziro; Croquettes at Kilo Ziro.

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ENGLAND

I spend the next few hours milling around the Jewellery Quarter’s famous Heritage Trail on foot. I find solace in Key Hill Cemetery – the city’s first garden cemetery, built in 1 36 – where the famous politician Joseph Chamberlain and inventor of Bird’s Custard, Alfie Bird, are buried. But it’s the preservation of the district’s historic buildings, like the gorgeous Renaissance-revival Argent Centre, that are most striking. Formerly W E Wiley’s pen factory, the building has been repurposed to house several local businesses and the Pen Museum. Further on is St Paul’s Square, the city’s only surviving Georgian square and home to an 18th-century church of the same name. Many of the square’s buildings, such as 3 St Paul’s Square – now the Jam House music venue – are Grade II listed. I end my trip in the city’s creative quarter Digbeth where I meet Kilo Ziro cofounder Jeanette Pell at her zero-waste café bar and refill taproom in the Custard Factory. The concept was a UK first. ‘We know that living in a big city like Birmingham makes zerowaste living impossible,’ admits Jeanette, as she points out the refillable wine station. ‘But with this unique concept we eliminate waste packaging where possible and hope to educate others.’ Kilo Ziro is the brainchild of Jeanette and her husband Tom who also cofounded pioneering zero-waste supermarket The Clean Kilo. They know their stuff. The store previously occupied this site and has since relocated to the south Birmingham suburb of Bournville, near the Cadbury factory. ‘We aim to work with as many local providers as possible,’ she says, adding that the freshly baked sourdough is picked up from local restaurant Baked in Brick each day, just 85 steps from the shop’s front door. Yes, I counted them. I sink into the leather sofa next to the wine wall. Restaurant manager Toby offers me a glass of sweet artisan cider first: it’s made using fallen apples from Worcestershire trees pollinated by the bees kept on the roof of the very complex Kilo Ziro resides in. Next arrive gloriously oozy cheese croquettes, made by a local chef using cheese cuttings that would otherwise go to waste, and crispy red pepper arancini balls coated in breadcrumbs from a surplus loaf. After, I pair a fruity glass of Côtes du Rhône with a locally- sourced cheese board of smoked gouda, double Gloucester and goats’ cheese, but am soon defeated. In true Kilo Ziro fashion, I ask for a box to take the rest home. I leave pleasantly surprised that surplus food could be put to such good use, and amazed that after 32 years of living in Birmingham I can still find unexpected corners of joy. This is some city, alright. Photo Credits: West Midlands Growth Company, National Trust Images, Dreamstime, Alamy, the Hive, Kilo Ziro.

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Birmingham New Street is served by trains from most major cities across the country. From outside the UK, y into Birmingham International Airport, a tenminute train journey from the city centre. B E S T T I M E TO G O

Visit between April and September/October for festivals and outdoor activities like kayaking and cycling. C U R R E N C Y GBP T I M E Z O N E GMT FO O D

You’ll find food from all corners of the globe in Birmingham but the city is most known for the balti, a type of curry cooked fast on a high heat and served in the same thin, steel-pressed, at-bottomed balti bowl it was cooked in. Try Shababs in Sparkbrook for an authentic meal. W H E R E TO S TAY

Aparthotel, Staying Cool at the Rotunda is about as central as you can get. Rooms come stocked with local goodies including uarter Horse coffee beans, Birmingham Brewing Company ales and Clean Kilo sweet treats. H OW TO D O I T

Roundhouse Birmingham’s kayak tours operate throughout most of the year; waterproof trousers are provided. Unlock a bike with the Beryl phone app to cycle between the dozens of West Midlands Cycle Hire docking stations around the city. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

A camera for the views from the Rotunda, and a waterproof jacket for canal-based activities. WHY GO

After hosting the most successful Commonwealth Games in history, Birmingham is a city on the up.

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THE CALL OF THE WILD

THE CALL OF

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THE

WILD GREENLAND

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THE CALL OF THE WILD

f you hear three rings on the bell in the night, it means there is a polar bear on board,’ says the captain, Poul-Erik, pointing to a brass bell hanging near the kitchen area. ‘Lock your door and don’t come out.’ I gulp. It’s a chilling ending to my first day in Greenland aboard an expedition ship floating off anchor in an uninhabited fjord. We are most definitely in polar bear country: part of my group saw a small party of bears running along the rocky coastline and splashing into the water as they arrived. Arriving on the second flight, I missed it, and was left scouring the beach, looking for giant paw prints in the sand. I settle down to sleep, imagining a bear bowling down the narrow corridors, trashing everything in its wake. I’m in Greenland as a guest of Visit South Greenland to find out more about tourism and how it is developing in the southern part of the world’s largest island. That includes this pilot expedition, scoping out how polar bear watching trips could work in this part of the country. In March 2023, the Greenlandic Government passed a law making it legal to go polar bear watching for the first time – but only from a safe distance, with a locally registered firm with a permit, and with the wellbeing of the bears in mind at all times.

OPENING SPREAD:

An aerial view of Qaqortoq. RIGHT:

Viewing the ice sheet from the expedition boat. OPPOSITE PAGE:

A lone polar bear among the rocks.

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While South Greenland itself is reachable via direct flight from Iceland, there’s no mass-transit option to this fjord. Instead, it’s a two-hour helicopter ride over the immense Greenland Ice Sheet, its grey-white skin stretched and wrinkled over an endless uninhabited landscape. But the rewards are there for the few who make it. One of those rewards is seeing a special population of polar bear you can’t see anywhere else in the world. A decades-long study by the University of Washington’s Polar Science Center, in collaboration with local fishers and hunters and the Greenland Institute of Natural Resources, published its findings last summer on these remarkable bears. Genetically distinct, they survive by hunting seals on slush ice, rather than floating ice, and live in the deeper fjords rather than out to sea. Better than average swimmers, they swim around the fjords and to land instead of being at the mercy of floating pack ice in spring, giving them better survival prospects than populations elsewhere. In this part of Greenland, where great gashes of fjords lead down to the sea, and the water is choked with ice, it’s more than a little cut off from the modern world. This unique population appears to be thriving, according to the scientists monitoring them, giving hope that despite the pressures of melting sea ice, these bears may be able to adapt to survive in a future with fewer icebergs.

EVERY WHITE OR OFF-WHITE PIECE OF ICEBERG LOOKS LIKE A POTENTIAL POLAR BEAR TO MY SEARCHING EYES.

THE CALL OF THE WILD

G R E AT G AS H ES O F FJ O R D S L E A D D O W N T O T H E S E A , A N D T H E WAT E R IS CHOKED WITH ICE. Back to our own survival, however: special as these bears are, I don’t think I want to see one that close. I ask if we should really be scared that a bear might board the boat, unsure if this is just theatrics on a first day. ‘No,’ a crew member says, shaking his head. ‘Not really. We have enough guns on board to invade Russia.’ I’d seen them earlier, stacked up on the boat’s outside deck, near a full leg of lamb that was hanging from a hook like a beacon. The guns are a precaution but an important one: last year a polar bear got on

board a mining-company ship and had to be scared away by helicopter. The crew on my ship sets an all-night watch – just in case. After a peaceful night, we spend the next three days cruising the fjords and inlets, sailing up to glacial tongues and past towering icebergs, looking over wilderness landscapes where thyme creeps the ground beside underbrush studded with crowberries and blueberries. My eyes hurt from looking at everything but they can’t stop. Ice crunches under the Targa boat as we slow down, making it judder. It’s like sailing in a slushie, chunks of ice pinging against the metal hull. For a brief moment I have a sense of how terrifying it was for Knud Rasmussen and the raft of 19th-century

explorers sat in their wooden ships, powerless against the solidifying sea, as they heard the beams of their boats creak and splinter beneath them. My breath rises in a cloud. I scan the featureless moraine, the grey and brown shale mountains, for something moving, something with a cub or two. But not so much as a seal pops its head up in the water. Poul-Erik stands next to me at the bow, scanning the horizon. This time of year, early September, is a good time of year to come and look for bears, he tells me, when they are typically eating berries on land. I do a bit of a double take. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him that these apex predators eat tiny pieces of fruit. I’d been led to believe they filled their bellies with much more substantial food, but it’s true: they are great foragers. Another surprise: icebergs come in many colours. Some are as white as icing sugar, but others take on blue, greyish or turquoise hues, depending on age and how compressed the ice has been over time. They float, shaped by the wind, rain, hail and sun. Every white or off-white piece of iceberg looks like a potential polar bear to my searching eyes. All the rocks along the shoreline look like polar bears too. ‘Don’t look for white, look for more of a yellow, nicotine colour,’ counsels Poul-Erik. A diet of seal colours polar bear fur – seal fat is yellow – turning it this yellowish colour. ‘The ladies are paler,’ he continues, “a purer white colour, because all ladies are more beautiful.’ Perhaps they don’t get enough of a look in on the seal fat, I think.

Still, there’s nothing. Freezing grey fog creeps in, turning the water into a dark grey mirror studded with icebergs. I can’t see more than 100yds away. The hairs raise on my arms and not just because of the cold. The whiskery head of a bearded seal pops up in the water, looking at us with wide liquid eyes, before disappearing back into the water. Everything else is still and ominously calm. The icebergs reflecting in the water looked like sculptural works of art before. Now they look like skulls. I keep thinking a bear will poke its head up from the water and start swimming towards us. We power on, the fog lifting a little as we cruise on slowly past rocky shores and mossy mountains.

OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP:

The ice sheet and crystal clear waters of South Greenland; Ripe crowberries; The ice sheet near Icefjord. THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Exploring Icefjord in a small boat; Weather-sculpted ice ergs o Greenland s southern coast.

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THE CALL OF THE WILD

And then one does. About 200yds away, close to a rocky shore, a bear is casually swimming along. It stops in the water briefly, spying the boat, and turns towards us. It looks at us, black nose visible against its yellow fur. It takes a moment, focusing on us, to decide what to do. Then almost with a shrug, it swims to the shore, shakes its pelt out like a dog, and clambers, surprisingly quickly, up the hillside beyond, past a thin waterfall cascading down the black rocks, and away from view. The small male bear is rounded and healthy looking, robust. I feel like rubbing my eyes. The experience was over in a couple of minutes but I know it is something I will replay in my mind for the rest of my life. I breathe a sigh of relief that it didn’t swim towards us – small though it was from a distance, it had a swagger of power to it, the sense of weight and purpose of an undefeated heavyweight boxer. I would not want to encounter it any closer than that. One of the strangest things for me about seeing a polar bear in the flesh is a sense of relief. Relief that they exist in the wild still, and relief that they aren’t all skin and bones, struggling on the edge of existence by scavenging in dustbins and barely scraping by. Of course, as one swallow doesn’t make a summer, one chubby polar bear does not prove that polar bears are faring well; nobody would ever claim that. But this bear, so the team suggests, might never have seen humans before. It’s a wild thought. Beyond the stark, settlement-free fjords, South Greenland has more treasures to uncover. The glaciers, icebergs and fjords were to be expected, but the charming little towns, and the familiar-looking Unesco-listed farm scenes didn’t match my map of an extreme wilderness where people have to fight for survival. Not that it’s easy living here, not at all, but there is an overwhelming warmth and friendship that I really didn’t expect, particularly during a stay in the region’s largest town, Qaqortoq (population: 3,050).

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I meet Kristine at a kaffemik, a traditional Inuit coffee morning that is used to celebrate key life events. The experience has been adapted to allow a traveller-friendly experience for the culturally inquisitive, with local people opening their homes to share coffee, cakes and stories of life in Greenland. I admire the photos on her wall of her relatives, living in tents and off the land in years gone by. Kristine disappears for a moment and then reappears wearing her nuilarmiut, a traditional beaded top with a colourful zigzagging yoke, and beautiful matching kamik boots. (Fun fact:

CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP LEFT:

Colourful buildings in Qaqortoq; The town of Qaqortoq set between snowier, loftier peaks; ristine sho s o her nuilarmuit beaded top; Kristine shares anecdotes with the visitors; learning local cra ts at the a e i

GREENLAND

GREENLANDERS BELIEVE T H AT T H E R E , U N D E R T H E WAT E R , L I ES T H E I R M O S T I M P O R TA N T S P I R I T, T H E MOTHER OF THE SEA.

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the traditional Icelandic jumper, the lopapeysa, takes its cues from this Greenlandic national dress.) Her cake is wonderful and the experience of going into a Greenlandic home so welcoming, it is like visiting a long-lost friend. Just up the road from her, Sten, a wonderful local craftsman, welcomes us into his workshop where he sells necklaces of carved bone and polar bear claws, and talks about his youth in the 1960s as a member of

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GREENLAND

FROM THE TOP:

The Uunartoq Viking Spa; Visitor relaxing in the Uunartoq Viking Spa. Photo Credits: AWL; Laura Hall; Marco Fisker; Mads Pihl; Visit Greenland, Dreamstime.

the Beatles’ – and Cliff Richards’ – fan clubs. It is like being in the home of a friend, but a friend who lives in a town that’s home to a seal-skin factory, where views overlook a harbour, kayak club and passing icebergs. It is unreal to think of him as a teenager dreaming of the bright lights of Liverpool. Qaqortoq is a good base for touring the south: boat trips leave to explore the riches of the region, including Viking ruins on uninhabited islands, experimental greenhouses and local sheep farms, where a delightful hiking trail can take you from one to another on a touring route across a Unescolisted landscape. By far my favourite trip is to the island of Uunartoq, where the boat route traced a dramatic fjord lined with towering dark mountains, their tops white with snow. A thousand years ago, this island was frequented by the Vikings, and it didn’t seem a reach to imagine one of their great longboats coming into view along the fjord, sail unfurled to take the breeze. The island itself had long been inhabited by Inuit before the arrival of the Vikings, but it was the warriors’ intervention that turned it from an island with a small hot spring to a spa destination. After mooring the boat beside a crescent of white sand – one of the most perfect beaches I’ve ever seen – we walk up the hillside to find a small wooden changing room and a large pool of steaming 37°C water. Bubbles rise in a line from the dark silt at the bottom of the pool as we rest against great boulders set around its edge, put in place by the Vikings a thousand years ago, soaking our bones in water that is said to be good for arthritis. I don’t think there’s a more impressive spa in the world than this one, encircled by mountains, sat at the top of a rise overlooking turquoise blue water with icebergs floating by. What it lacks in facilities, mood music and massages, it more than makes up for in atmosphere. The fjord plays home to occasional whales; on our return we pass one, a semicircle of black sliding out of the water beside the boat. Greenlanders believe that there, under the water, lies their most important spirit, the Mother of the Sea. When people despoil her territory, by overfishing or throwing rubbish into it, she fights back, taking the bounty of the sea into her long hair and keeping it back so hunters and fishers come home emptyhanded. She’ll only release the prey back when penitence is shown and a shaman intercedes with her. The ancient tale is the perfect metaphor for life: disrespect nature, take more than you should, and you will be punished. Keep things in balance and life will continue. After this trip, witnessing the wildest spots on the planet and the most astonishing wildlife, I can’t think of a more appropriate spirit to honour. All power to the Mother of the Sea.

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

You can y to Narsasua , South Greenland, on celand Air and Air Greenland, via Reykjavik or Copenhagen. B E S T T I M E TO G O

Summer June–September is the best time for hiking, exploring and experiencing long, light nights. Conditions are more unpredictable during the rest of the year. C U R R E N C Y Danish krone T I M E Z O N E GMT-2 FO O D

Local food in Greenland can be challenging: seal, whale and muskox feature on menus, while vegetables, imported, are in short supply. Look out for local fish, prawns and lamb. W H E R E TO S TAY

Hotels are expensive and basic by international standards. n a orto , Hotel a orto hotela orto .gl puts you at the heart of the action. For a splurge, Tasermiut Camp tasermiutcamp.gl offers an incomparable Greenlandic camping experience. H OW TO D O I T

Regent Holidays regentholidays.co.uk offers South Greenland tours and tailormade trips. Note that, by law, only Greenlandic tour operators can offer polar bear watching trips, which makes them more rewarding all round. Numbers for these trips are capped at around 100 for the full season. See visitgreenland.com and visitsouthgreenland.com for more information. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Hiking boots, layers, waterproofs, a camera and plenty of patience: unavoidable delays happen. WHY GO

Greenland is a once-in-alifetime, perspective-shifting place to visit. t’ll make you fall in love with the world.

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O U R CO N T R I B U TO R S SARAH GILLESPIE Sarah is a freelance writer based in Glasgow. She regularly contributes to The Times, The Telegraph, The Guardian and National Geographic Traveller. On her first visit to Taiwan in 2017, she and her mum each drank around 50 bubble teas in four weeks. They have never fully recovered.

sarahjcgillespie.com sjcgillespie

P O RT I A J O N E S Portia has spent years traversing the globe and having many misadventures. She now works as a freelance travel Journalist and hosts the Travel Goals Podcast. Portia specialises in adventure travel, destination guides and city breaks. Her work has appeared in The Times, National Geographic and Lonely Planet.

pip_says pipsays

ELLIE SEYMOUR Ellie is a Brighton-based travel journalist who specialises mostly in the USA. She gets excited about food, hotels and history, and is happiest road-tripping. California. She’s the author of three books: Secret Brighton: An Unusual Guide, Secret Sussex: An Unusual Guide and Grand Hotels of the World.

wordsbyellieseymour.com ellieseymourwriter

K A R E N E DWA R D S Karen is a freelance editor and writer, who specialises in responsible tourism. She contributes to a variety of titles including High Life, JRNY and Time Out, and is the Sustainability Editor at Wanderlust. Karen is the author of The Responsible Traveller, a guide to reducing social and environmental impact while travelling.

karenedwards.co.uk KarenNEdwards_writer

M A R K S T R AT TO N Mark is first and foremost a traveller, both independent and persistent, who writes and photographs, as well as dabbling a bit in radio. He loves the remote corners of the world and all animals, and turns his words for national UK titles and BBC radio – written from either his laptop on the go or his wild Dartmoor base.

markstrattontravels.com MarkofDartmoor

PAU L PR I M Paul Prim is a professional landscape photographer from France. He’s also a physics teacher. Every school holiday is an opportunity for him to take one or two weeks to discover and photograph a country in the world. He’s obsessed by Europe’s volcanic islands and craters.

primpaul.picfair.com primpaul

S T E PH DYS O N Steph Dyson is a bilingual freelance travel writer and guidebook author whose love affair with Latin America was born in 2014. Since then, she’s lived in four countries across the continent and visited many others, writing stories about sustainable adventure travel, indigenous communities and the powerful positive impact of tourism.

worldlyadventurer.com worldlyadventurer

A L I C E B A R N E S - B R OW N Alice is a travel writer with bylines in The i, National Geographic Traveller, Wanderlust, Lonely Planet and more. She’s had a lifelong passion for Greece, its culture and its people, spending her recent sabbatical living in Athens and learning Greek. Aside from its seaside, sunshine and spirit, she thinks the best thing about Greece is its catalogue of epic Eurovision hits.

alicebarnesbrown.com abarnesbrown

N I C H O L A S H O LT Nicholas is a British photographer and writer with a love of remote places. His photography has been recognised by The Sony World Photography Awards, The Royal Photographic Society, and Arles Open Walls. Editorial features include Geographical, Suitcase, and Bradt Travel Club Magazine. His favourite adventures usually involve climbing or camels.

nicholasholt.co.uk _nicholasholt

R I C H A R D FR A N K S Richard is a freelance travel writer and journalist based in Birmingham, UK. Richard specialises in writing about adventure travel, the great outdoors and music-based tourism across Scotland, the West Midlands and USA. He writes articles and guidebooks for BBC Travel, National Geographic Traveller, The Telegraph and The Times.

richardfranks.co.uk richardfrankstravel

L AU R A H A L L Laura is an award-winning writer based in Copenhagen. She writes about Scandinavia for the likes of BBC Travel, Kinfolk, The Guardian and AFAR, and has authored guidebooks to Copenhagen and Reykjavik, along with a children’s book about the cultures of the world, One Day, So Many Ways. She’s currently writing a book about swimming in Scandinavia.

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Taiwan is home to 16 distinct indigenous ethnic groups, long predating Chinese immigration. These indigenous groups each have their own languages and offer unique traditions in culture, music and arts, making Taiwan the cradle of Austronesian cultures.

Taiwan beckons with a wealth of hidden treasures waiting to be explored. Delve into the richness of its indigenous traditions and arts for an inviting and unforgettable travel experience.

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