JRNY Travel Magazine - Issue Nine by jrnymag.com

Scottsdale, Arizona, is honoured to support Issue Nine of JRNY Travel Magazine.

Towering saguaro cacti. Majestic mountains. Vibrantly hued sunsets.

In Scottsdale, Arizona, untamed Sonoran Desert beauty blends seamlessly with contemporary luxury. This sunny Southwestern city offers an escape from the ordinary, where top-tier resorts, world-class dining, and a thriving arts and cultural scene are just steps away from the serenity of nature. Whether you're hiking through the breathtaking McDowell Sonoran Preserve or indulging in a rejuvenating spa experience inspired by desert botanicals, Scottsdale is where you can find your balance, embrace the present moment and discover a deeper connection to the world around you.

We hope this issue of JRNY inspires you to visit Scottsdale and explore all the wonders our Sonoran Desert city has to offer.

THE LUXURY GATEWAY TO THE SOUTHWEST

Desert Dreaming SCOTTSDALE, USA

The Docta and the Little Sea CÓRDOBA PROVINCE, ARGENTINA

Time and Tide MERSEA ISLAND, UK

062 114

S amp to Sea GEORGIA, USA 0

Spirit of Adventure SPAIN & PORTUGAL

076

Up Close and Personal SABI SANDS NATURE RESERVE, SOUTH AFRICA

050

The JRNY Team

TRAVEL MAGAZINE JRNY

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

Commercial Manager: Sophie Stoneham

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.

Website: jrnymag.com : @jrnymag

Instagram: @jrnymag

Cover Image

By Jordan Banks | Crossing the Salt River on horseback, Scottsdale, Arizona

Issue Nine

First published October 2024.

ISSN

2 52- 0 (Online)

W ELCOME TO ISSUE NINE

It’s that time of year when it feels like there are two options: head for sunnier climes, or embrace the short days and cooler weather. If it s the former you re after then you ll spoilt for choice in this issue. Lynn Houghton kicks things off with a trip around Scottsdale, Arizona, where she discovers its artistic soul and desert adventures. Staying Stateside, Brian Thacker explores the abundant wildlife of southern Georgia home to wild horses and alligators.

Wildlife is also the focus of Simon Willmore s trip to Sabi Sands in South Africa, where it s a tight call as to which big cat steals the show, while the biodiversity of underthe-radar Mar Chiquita captivates Shafik Meghji as he travels around Argentina s C rdoba province. Sarah Gillespie introduces us to the vibrant and varied festivals of the Philippines – an absolute riot of colour from start to finish – and, in his photo essay, Kav Dadfar explores the little-known historic sites of northern Jordan

In Cyprus, Kirsten Henton heads away from the better-known beach resorts to walk its trails and discover ancient ruins, and finds that tradition and modernity are thriving hand in hand. James March takes to arguably one of the most beautiful cruise ships (even calling it such feels like a misnomer) to explore the captivating coast of Spain and Portugal, finding plenty to fuel his curiosity both onboard and on dry land.

If good food is what you re after, then we have plenty to entice you on that front. In the Netherlands far northern coastal provinces, Diana Jarvis meets people bringing change to the landscape and the larder. Meanwhile, I had the difficult job of spending a weekend on Mersea Island in Essex, sampling its ridiculously delicious oysters and local wine – with a fabulous little hotel there, it s the ideal winter getaway.

In this issue, we also have the pleasure of announcing the winners of our second annual photography competition. As always, the standard of entries blew the judges away, and there were far more amazing images than we have room to feature in these pages. Last month also saw the launch of our first-ever issue of JRNY America – you can find out more about this exciting new quarterly magazine on our website (jrnymag.com). While there, you can also subscribe to future issues (of both magazines), read more articles as part of our interactive Narratives section, and listen to our podcast.

Thanks for reading!

Emma Gibbs Editor-in-Chief

DESERT DREAMING

DREAMING

SCOTTSDALE’S OASIS-LIKE POSITION HAS LONG APPEALED TO ARTISTS, MUSICIANS AND EXPLORERS, AND MAKES IT THE IDEAL BASE FOR DESERT ADVENTURES.

W ORDS: LYNN HOUGHTON PHOTO S : JORDAN BANKS

Dust devils appear, whipping up sand in a circular frenzy like mini tornados. These stretch and expand 5ft into the sky with incredible ferocity and remind me of the gyrating inflatable tube men that inhabit car forecourts. They seem to be alive, angrily scooping up pale sand from the valley floor, flinging it up into the sky then back down to earth again.

My vantage point is the roof of an eight-storey tower at the Hotel Valley Ho. Built in 195 , just five years after Scottsdale was incorporated, this property has kept much of its original ’50’s style. Though Scottsdale has expanded from a one-square-mile dot on the map to the sprawling city it is today, only a few buildings remain from the original settlement, including a 1930s adobe church, the former post office (now Porters Western Saloon) and the Mexican mercantile. Artistic souls have long been

drawn to this desert settlement, including painter Fritz Scholder, performers Nils Lofgren and Stevie Nicks, and renowned architects Frank Lloyd Wright and Paolo Soleri.

Looking east, flat sun-baked land sprawls for miles under searingly blue cloudless skies, punctuated only by the soaring heights of the MacDowell Mountains. Much of this vista is reservation land belonging to the Akimel O’odham tribe, whose ancestors migrated here millennia ago. Their name translates to “People of the river”, but when this early Indigenous clan met the colonising Spanish, they were incorrectly called “Pima” – a name that stuck. The O’odham thrived along the Salt and Gila rivers for many hundreds of years, creating lifegiving canals that are still in use today.

THE AREA’S MOST DISTINCTIVE NATURAL FEATURE IS THE ICONIC SAGUARO CACTUS

By a country mile, the area’s most distinctive natural feature is the iconic saguaro cactus. Tall, thin with extending arms’, they are only found in the Sonoran Desert, and initially only grow an inch a year. After ten years, this accelerates to two inches per annum and these prickly giants can achieve heights of over 130ft. Some believe these sentinels of the desert are resurrected braves, with each appendage representing one of their wives. Hikes along any number of trails in the area, including the Gateway Loop Trail in the McDowell Sonoran Preserve, highlights this species as well as other

desert flora and fauna. Our guide Cactus Jack, who leads the Sonoran Explorin’ hike based at Scottsdale’s Boulders Resort Spa, tells me that Saguaro Cactus can live 200 to 250 years.

This terrain is the greenest desert in the world. And it is remarkable that domestic animals, wildlife and humans survive temperatures that soar to over 41 C

THIS SPREAD CLOCK W ISE FROM BOTTOM LEFT: iant aguaro cactus he owers o the hedgehog cactus i ing the ateway oo in the cDowell onoran reserve

in the desert Desert cacti actus

re aring a ric ly ear

W E ARE SOON RIDING IN THE SHADO W S OF THE FOUR PEAKS,

W EAVING BET W EEN THE CACTUS, GLOBE MALLO W

FLO W ER BUSHES AND PALO VERDE TREES

during summer.

I hit the road and make my way to Saguaro Lake Ranch Stable, 32 miles east of Scottsdale, for a horseriding session by the Salt River. I’m heading out on a trail ride with Lottie Connolly, cowgirl and manager of the stables.

A true dyed-in-the-wool Arizonan, Lottie greets me like long-lost family. “What’s your riding experience ” she asks. As I haven’t ridden in over a year, I confide that my legs may well turn to jelly after any time in the saddle. “Don’t worry,” she says. “An adult beverage and a hot tub will solve that problem.” Lottie tells me that she grew up around livestock and remembers “lots of eggs” being part of her childhood. She became a trail leader about seven years ago and has never looked back. The clutch of horse enthusiasts who have joined this ride appreciate this experienced leader.

My horse, Clark, is saddled up and ready for me to mount. After a brief group lesson, we are soon riding in the shadows of the Four Peaks, weaving between the cactus, globe mallow flower bushes and palo verde trees growing along the riverbank. Clark and I have a bit of a splash at the water’s edge while Lottie points out places where they have seen otters and javelinas (wild pigs) scampering about, enjoying a cooling bath. During that moment, my worries about leg cramps are forgotten. Emulating the pace of life in the Old West, our trail ride is feels like the perfect choice for an authentic

Western experience.

Early the next day (after recovering from horseriding with suggested hot-tub soak) it’s onto a more vertical outdoor experience: boulder climbing. “Nose over toes” is the mantra introduced by Bob Pettit, one of the climbing instructors based at Boulders Resort Spa, which helps us visualise good posture as we hike to reach the boulders. We scramble up a steep, rocky and gravelly hillside to reach the starting point. Above the mesquite foliage, we get a good view out beyond the resort and its golf course to the rugged hills in the distance: craggy mountains and creeks lined with palo verde trees.

The granite boulders on our other side are dotted with large screws and bolts, with a rope through them, which will act as anchors for us climbers. Bob teaches us specific techniques, including foot positions and hand grips for clinging to the granite, to help us achieve a smooth ascent. Most, including me, chose the smaller boulder to climb, with an ascent of only about 3ft; nonetheless, it’s exhilarating to be almost suspended like this.

A quieter part of the Salt River meanders

west from Saguaro Lake, about 20 miles from Scottsdale’s Old Town. Here, kayaking, rafting and fishing are king. With the sacred Red Mountain as a backdrop, the water makes an enchanting gurgling sound while fly-fishermen flick their lines out to catch Snake River cutthroat trout. Several hundred feral horses live along the river’s banks, and it’s possible to spot a bald eagle nest. Other wildlife that thrives here includes red-winged blackbirds, roadrunners, turkey vultures, gophers and beavers.

My small group, organised by REI Co-op Center outfitters, takes to the water with kayaks and a raft at Canal Hawes Trailhead Park. We are soon paddling towards the confluence of the Salt and Verde rivers where we manoeuvre into a shallow, quieter section of water. As we paddle, guide Kate Cameron points out historic sites and interesting wildlife. There is a stoic green heron perched along the shoreline and evidence of old docks with crumbling foundations. Along the way, we stop at the appropriately named Jumping Off Rock’ for a refreshing swim. It’s only possible to use the river with the permission of local tribal people; the discovery of ancient burials on the mountain makes this a sacred area.

After the kayak experience, I head to Taliesin West, on the northeastern outskirts of the city’s Old Town, to find out how the magnificent landscape fired the imagination of architect Frank Lloyd

THIS SPREAD CLOCK W ISE FROM TOP LEFT: aliesin est xterior cul tures in the grounds he uir y interior itting roo heatre

Wright. Relocating to the desert in 193 , Lloyd Wright acquired 500 acres of untouched land; here, he began building what could be described as a compound, with a family home, a workshop classroom for his apprentices, a library, theatre and cabaret, making use of the natural materials that surrounded him. Along with his huge cohort of apprentices, many of whom camped in the surrounding desert, Lloyd Wright created an oasis of calm and order in what could otherwise be described as a hostile environment.

Now a UNESCO World Heritage site, a guided tour of the property provides insight into the workings of a great architectural mind. Each room was created to allow visual access to the outdoors and the whole place works with its environment, such as the self-styled pergolas’ –roofs created from canvas to repel the elements and allow in diffused light.

Leaving Taliesin West, I head back into the Old Town. Its name is a bit of a misnomer – there were only a few buildings along the main street here by the 1950s. But, while it may at times resemble

THE OLD TO W N BECKONS W ITH ITS SALOON-TYPE BARS, TEX-MEX RESTAURANTS AND EMPORIUMS

the Wild West’ section of a theme park, its art galleries, including Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art (SMoCA) and Western Spirit: Scottsdale’s Museum of the West, provide inspiration. Many paintings, sculptures and installations here celebrate the unique colours of Arizona’s landscape: not just ochre, dusty pink and intense blue, but bronze, vermillion and turquoise, too. These are colours that are seen not just in the landscape but in and around homes, shopping centres, places of worship and even schools.

The Old Town also beckons with saloon-type bars (I enjoy sampling an Arizonan favourite – margaritas), Tex-Mex restaurants and a variety of emporiums.

The Native American Market on Main Street features artisan products, jewellery, pottery and sundries such as Native Ground Winter’s Coffee, produced by the local Salt River Pima Maricopa Indian Community.

Wandering a few blocks south to Scottsdale’s old arts district, I stop at the award-winning FnB Restaurant. Chef Charleen Badman opened her establishment here, at Craftsman Court, in 2009 and it was soon declared “the epicentre of creative Arizona cuisine” by ood ine magazine; many more accolades have followed, including the prestigious Best Chef Southwest award

in 2019. Charleen, who is known for her heavy focus on local produce, was born in Tucson but lived in Scottsdale for 14 years before relocating to New York City to develop her cookery skills. It was in NYC that she began experimenting with local produce, something that she brought back with her to Scottsdale.

The 1940s building is festooned with stained-glass windows and has a dark, moody interior. It’s easy to see why Charleen’s inventive veggie menu is a hit. It starts with crunchy spring vegetables and heirloom tomatoes before moving on to pasta with fava beans and leeks. The fresh flavour of the produce is absolutely delightful – and even better when washed down with a scrumptious Arizonan Tempranillo,

Charleen is also dedicated to community work and is part of the Blue Watermelon Project. “We are chefs and food advocates working with the community to assist schools in rethinking relationships with foods,” she tells me. “We’re teaching children about the importance of what they eat.”

Less than five miles north of downtown Scottsdale is Cattle Track, an artists’ colony based on a former farm that has a wellhead that existed long before the town. The settlement was given its moniker in the 1930s, when it played a vital role on cattle drives, when animals were brought here to drink before being driven west to the Phoenix stockyards or east to Los Angeles.

On my visit, I meet Janie Ellis who grew up here and still lives in the compound. In those early days, she tells me, there weren’t any roads here – only a ferry across the Salt River to connect to Tempe. Today, a select group of artisans have taken up residence, setting up studios in old barns and apartments in farm structures. Each artisan has a different skill: some create lithographs or sculptures, others make ceramics, drawings and paintings.

As my Scottsdale adventure draws to a close, I head for a different view of the desert: floating above this remarkable landscape in a hot-air balloon. Arriving at the take-off point, huge, deflated balloons, looking like bedding for giants, lie on the ground ready to be inflated.

Soon filled with heated air, our balloon is ready for flight and we clamber into the basket. Rising above the desert

floor, the quiet is only punctuated by the occasional roar of the burner flame.

Below us are mischievous jack rabbits and a couple of roadrunners scampering among the cacti. The sky is painted in watercolour shades of pink, purple and blue, with the sun’s cool early-morning glow slowly revealing every undulation of the distant mountains. It is the perfect way to end my time in this desert oasis.

NEED TO KNOW

GETTING THERE

Several airlines offer direct flights from the UK to Phoenix, 8 miles southwest of Scottsdale, including British Airways, KLM, Finnair, United, American Airlines and Jet Blue.

GETTING AROUND

Scottsdale’s town centre is walkable, but hiring a car is a must for going further afield. Hybrid and electric cars are available with the larger companies, including Avis, Hertz, Enterprise, Dollar or Alamo.

BEST TIME TO GO

With year-round sunshine, there isn’t really a bad time to go, however temperatures can be high in July and August.

W HERE TO EAT FnB Restaurant in the arts district, The Mission in Old Town for modern Latin cuisine, and Buffalo Chip Saloon and Steakhouse in Cave Creek, north of the city.

W HERE TO STAY Hotel Valley Ho (hotelvalleyho.com), Mountain Shadows Resort (mountainshadows.com) and Boulders Resort and Spa (TheBoulders.com).

FURTHER INFORMATION experiencescottsdale.com visitarizona.com

WILDLIFE CATEGORY

OVERALL INNER

3 page 24 bottom) 1 page 22 23 previous)

PEOPLE CATEGORY

page 26 27 previous)

LANDSCAPE CATEGORY

CATEGORY W INNER

Photographer: Xuejun Long

Location of the shot: Lake Magadi, Kenya

erial photography of a e agadi, enya, coinciding with the rapid transition from the rainy season to the dry season. he evaporation of freshwater meant that the chemical sediment at the bottom of the la e surfaced, forming a large number of connected patterns. hese patterns often lasted only a few days. ith the arrival of the dry season, a large area of the la e surface would become a dry riverbed. was fortunate to have caught this opportunity, when groups of amingos came into the scene.

Photographer: Jeet Khagram Location of the shot: Deadvlei, Sossusvlei, Namibia

t the brea of dawn, the rst rays of sunlight pierced through the Namib esert, illuminating eadvlei in a soft, golden glow. he silence of the morning was soon interrupted by a gentle yet persistent breeze, stirring the ne desert sand into delicate swirls. he two ancient trees remained motionless frozen in time, while the world around them seemed to wa e with the winds. n the distance, two travellers appeared, their silhouettes blending with the dust-laden air. ith each step, the early morning breeze swept across their path, as if guiding them through this surreal landscape. he interplay between light, wind and dust created a moment of uiet magic the ind of beauty that only the Namib esert can o er at sunrise.

HIGHLY

Photographer: Robert Downie Location of the shot: Channel Country in southwestern ueensland, Australia

ery rarely, the desert comes alive. Flooding rains create channels and long-dormant grasses spring to life. he ood slowly moves on, water evaporates, and the grasses dry out at di erent rates due to the channel topography, creating the colour patterns you see. ventually, all this grass will die, and the land returns to sleep for another generation.

Photographer: Xu Zhang

Location of the shot: Mangya City, inghai Province, China

his is spring in a high-altitude area. he owing water contains sulphur and ensures there are no plants growing around. he locals also call it the evil s ye .

CITY CATEGORY

Photographer: Azim Ronnie Location of the shot: Gor-eShahid Boro Math, Dina pur, Bangladesh

outh sia s largest id-ul- itr congregation, held in or-e- hahid Boro ath, ina pur, Bangladesh. ccording to the organisers claim, over , devotees participated in this id congregation. he prayers began at am with devotees coming from di erent parts of the region. id-ul- itr is a uslim festival of happiness, celebrated all over the world.

Photographer: Javier Arcenillas Location of the shot: Atocha, Madrid, Spain

he tocha tation emorial is a monument in adrid, pain, dedicated to the victims of the arch , terrorist attac s. hese attac s, also nown as the bombings, were a series of coordinated bombings on commuter trains. he bombings claimed the lives of people and in ured over , others, ma ing them one of the deadliest terrorist attac s in pain s history.

he memorial was inaugurated in and stands near tocha tation. It consists of a large cylindrical glass structure, metres tall, symbolising the day of the attac . he interior of the monument is inscribed with messages of remembrance for the victims, written in several languages, and illuminated in natural light.

Photographer: Azim Ronnie Location of the shot: Buriganga River, Bangladesh

he Buriganga iver is lled with boats and their passengers in the morning commute in ha a. he Bangladeshi capital is one of the most densely populated in the world and home to around million people.

This is the second JRNY ravel aga ine orld ravel hotogra hy wards ith over entries ro around the world our anel o udges had a di cult ti e choosing a winner o a assive than you to everyone who entered and a huge congratulations to all the shortlisted and highlyco ended entries and o course to our winners

Judges: Kav Dadfar (JRNY Magazine)

Jordan Banks (JRNY Magazine)

Diana Jarvis (JRNY Magazine)

Jord Hammond (Photographer)

Sarah Lyndsay (Photographer)

Rick Smolan (Photographer)

Sponsors: Visit Mississippi visit ississi i org

Aphrodite’s UNDER

ANCIENT GODS AND GODDESSES STILL RULE CYPRUS, W HERE TRADITIONS INSPIRE INNOVATION ALONGSIDE AN APPRECIATION FOR SIMPLE, SLO W LIVING AT ITS BEST.

Aphrodite’s SPELL

W ORDS: KIRSTEN HENTON

PHOTO S : JORDAN BANKS

BIG-SCALE TOURISM

REMAINS LARGELY AT BAY, HEMMED TO THE ROCKY COAST SO INVITINGLY PUNCTUATED W ITH SANDY BEACHES

In his timely 19 2 travelogue, Journey into Cyprus, celebrated travel writer Colin Thubron mused that the island

“elicit s awe and a strange excitement,” something I find myself concurring with before I’ve even touched down in Paphos, Cyprus’s fourth city. The weight of history, myth and legend attached to this eastern Mediterranean isle – it is, after all, the birthplace of Aphrodite, goddess of love, passion and beauty – ensures it’s impossible not to feel as Thubron did over 50 years ago.

Big-scale tourism remains largely, and literally, at bay, hemmed to the rocky coast so invitingly punctuated with soft sandy beaches, more than 0 of which hold the increasingly sought-after Blue Flag accolade. Holidaymakers began arriving here in earnest in the latter part of the 20th century and many still head to its affordable resorts, which guarantee the longest summer season and warmest waters of popular Mediterranean holiday destinations.

Yet, just a short distance inland from the well-stocked towns and stylish hotels on which the island’s economy is significantly dependent, a more traditional slice of Cyprus persists unabated. Here, shepherds tend to flocks, homemade halloumi is served warm, orchards grow thick with lemons and oranges, vines sigh under their bunches, and trees droop with avocados, nuts and olives. Farmsteads, fresco-filled monasteries and sacred tombs rest among the forested valleys, steep gorges, irrigated open plains and wooded hillsides of the Troodos Mountains

THE SURE-

FOOTEDNESS

OF THE ISLAND’S ROAMING GOATS W OULD BE HANDY HERE

that silently encircle the island’s highest peak, Mount Olympos.

After a brief overnight on the edge of Paphos, we scoop northwards through verdant landscapes to the Akamas Peninsula. This now-protected finger of land, a promontory that from 1960 until 2000 was occasionally used as a firing range and exercise ground by the British military, marks the westernmost point of Cyprus.

It’s recognised for its endemic species across 1 ,000 hectares, ,000 of which constitute state forest. Endangered green and loggerhead turtles nest on its beaches, migratory birds take flight from its canopies and its unadulterated ground is carpeted with threatened, if not rare, plants and flower species – all surrounded by a sea of clear turquoise tones rated the cleanest in Europe.

Our feet soon pound the path of Aphrodite’s Trail, one of a pair of circular

routes (the other is Adonis, naturally) through the Akamas National Forest Park, a fabulous 4 -mile trek where the island’s beauty rivals that of its namesake. Both paths begin close to the coastal town of Latsi at the Baths of Aphrodite, a secluded pool in an intimate shaded grotto, where fig tree roots – the lifeblood of the most sensual fruit – dangle and water trickles from limestone cracks on its journey seawards.

According to legend (of which there are many), Aphrodite met her lover Adonis here, who drank the water and fell passionately in love with her. Following the lead of our energetic guide Panicos Neophytou, we dutifully splash the spring water around our faces three times, guaranteeing (possibly) immortality, (maybe) fertility or (perhaps) an aphrodisiac effect worthy of the deity, depending on who you ask.

After an initially gentle zig-zag

above Chrysochou Bay, the path turns inland before sharply heading skywards, morphing into an assault course of limestone boulders and rocks dispersed on the copper-stained earth; the surefootedness of the island’s roaming goats would be handy here. Snaking through fragrant juniper, carob and pine trees as we ascend beneath the unfiltered sun, the hillside awash with colourful wildflowers, including the national bloom, the endemic lilac Cyprus cyclamen, it’s a sweaty climb.

Eventually, the ground gives way to a more considerate gravel path and we wind up to the breezy summit. “Please,” Panicos says anxiously as we reach the exposed shrubby plateau, “be careful where you step.” Pondering the great expanse in all

created a place quite unlike anywhere else. From ancient Greek kingdoms and Egyptian dabbling to the extensive Phoenician, Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman periods, as well as, latterly, the British, Cyprus has borne it all and evolved as such. As Thubron writes, “So rich and complex is the island’s history, so various the blood which it has mingled, that it is impossible accurately to trace its maturing.”

its springtime splendour, some 1,168ft unguarded below us, I step away from the rock’s porous edge to avoid an undignified tumble.

Descending the narrow hairpin path that clings to the hillside, I spot the popular Blue Lagoon in the distance while contemplating all that this land has seen, for the story of Cyprus is one of repeated invasion, occupation and assimilation, which continues into the present day.

An island caught between east and west, geographically part of western Asia, culturally aligned with southeast Europe, Cyprus is not only a tangle of ancient myths but a fusion of influences from the continents that surround it.

Millennia of imposing empires have

There’s no denying that the entanglements of Cyprus’s past have led to its present. After all, this is an island divided, in which the northern third remains occupied by Turkey, whose troops landed in 19 4 and never left. Neither, for that matter, have the British, who retain two overseas territories here.

At lunch, tucking into a vast selection

of grilled fish, succulent prawns and the freshest Greek salad doused in lemon (as I’m told all food is and should be in Cyprus), while we watch fishing boats bobbing in Latsi’s harbour, I’m struck by how easy-going the people are given the still-contentious nearby occupation that requires a 112-mile-long demilitarised buffer zone known as the Green Line patrolled by UN peacekeepers. It sits somewhat at odds with a nation’s romantic icon. As our waiter Christos casually says, “it’s just life here now.”

Geography may have determined Cyprus’s role as an international crossroads but geology shaped much of its trade and economy over the centuries. Incorporating one of the world’s largest copper ore deposits, it’s been mined in some form here since 4,000 BCE.

Add minerals such as iron, chrome and gypsum, as well as its long-standing propensity for producing wine (around 5,000 years) and effectively growing crops that favour its sub-tropical climate and soil, and it’s no wonder Cyprus has been regarded as one great big natural resource.

Swirling south into the heartland of the Paphos region, the roadside bursting with giant yellow fennel as well as almond and walnut trees in full blossom, we pass

terraces of twiggy-looking vines clipped back for winter that hint at our destination.

Ascending the steps of familyrun Tsingarides Winery, a low-lying stone building in the village of Lemona, we receive the now-obligatory feline inspection before meeting owner Angelos Tsangarides on the sun-drenched terrace. The winery, sensitively constructed from local stone, opened to the public around 20 years ago and remains relatively new compared with the vines the family have been tending on its carefully managed estate for generations longer.

Combining its grapes with those of other vineyards, the stainless-steel tanks, neatly enveloped along with all the required industrial paraphernalia and a cool, barrel-stuffed cellar, produce 1 different types of wine, five using their own grapes exclusively, equating to around 300,000 litres per year.

While traditions run deep, Tsingarides Winery is always looking to the future. Its vineyards were the first in Cyprus to be certified organic and, as Angelos says, “You have to follow trends, which is interesting with wine; sometimes it’s a new Sauvignon Blanc then it’s a Chardonnay; it’s ever-changing.” The biggest shift he predicts is that “in my opinion, in ten years you will see more and more non-alcoholic

and low-alcohol wine,” before confirming that he has plans to offer low-alcohol wine too.

Having arrived on the sacred day of Tsiknopempti, a festival of huge meateating proportions enjoyed ahead of Lent, the more formal part of our tour is curtailed as the family gears up for the festivities, which we are warmly invited to join.

We settle for tasting the winery’s wares, a mixture of white, red and ros tipples of different acidity, sweetness and dryness. I quickly arm myself with a bottle of the lightly tongue-tingling and deliciously dry white inistery, a steal at , and we leave the celebrating Tsingarides to the sound of sizzling steaks

and popping corks.

Given that vines have striped the landscape for centuries, it’s perhaps unsurprising that there’s more than one use for the abundant grape. In the village of Arsos at the foot of the Troodos Mountains, we venture inside Ms Elena Markantoni’s workshop (To Stafyli Allos Pos Kai Oxi Mono in Greek) who’s busy ladling custard-like palouze (a combination of grape juice, flour and mastic – a sort of pistachio tree sap – with a dash of rose water and signature additions of basil and lemon geranium) into small glass dessert bowls.

“Grape juice is one of the best natural cures for constipation,” Elena beams.

Across a red tartan cloth-covered table with a hoppiness hanging in the air, I tentatively taste this delicacy as Elena explains how the versatile, bowel-shifting remedy of grape juice is used to create a multitude of nibbles, jams, dips and sauces.

The shelves of her workshop tempt with treats like kiofteri: palouze left to set and cut into chunks, eaten with a coffee or sometimes quince-like with cheese. The squidgy texture and caramel colour belie a not-too-sweet bite reminiscent of low-sugar wine gums. Then there are the unmissable soujoukkos, a traditional snack we see drip-drying, made by stringing nuts like almonds or walnuts together before being dipped and coated in palouze. This process, which is repeated as much as three times a day for a week, gradually layers the thick, jelly-like concoction, which sets before being sliced.

I ask if this undeniably laborious way

LEFT FROM THE TOP: Fresh herbs; Elena ar antoni a ing alou e with her other

RIGHT FROM THE TOP:

Drying alou e ocal gra e syru

of creating an island speciality will still be going strong in years to come, to which Elena confidently replies, “It’s a tradition that won’t die. Younger generations like their waffles, their ice creams but this comes from their grandparents.”

We head coastwards to the UNESCO site of Kourion, a vast jumble of Roman and Christian ruins layered upon earlier Greek ones interspersed with detailed

mosaics. The star attraction is the curvaceous first-century CE theatre whose acoustics we put to the test, standing in the middle of what was the stage lobbing out shrieks only to hear them reverberating right back at us. They knew a thing or two about architecture, those ancients.

And only in the land of the ancients would you find more UNESCO-stamped

Greco-Roman remains in a place called New’ Paphos Archaeological Park, another protected site to the west, founded in around 300 BCE. We traverse the impressive ruins with their intricate mosaics, columns and villas before venturing further back in time to the sea stack of Aphrodite’s Rock, or Petra tou Romiou.

The Theogony, a poem written around 00 BCE by Hesiod, would have it that after a frisson between Gaia (mother of Earth), Uranus (god of the sky) and their son Cronus, Uranus had his genitals cut off and thrown into the sea, from where Aphrodite emerged among the foaming waves around Aphrodite’s Rock.

Whether such beauty was born from such brutality, no matter; here, the pebbly beach, appropriately one of the island’s most beautiful, is scattered with swimmers while climbers scale the stacks to soak up the sunshine. Another popular myth sends

the brave swimming three times around the rock in search of eternal youth, good fortune, fertility and/or true love.

There’s no escaping Aphrodite and the spell she’s cast on Cyprus, especially Paphos. What strikes me as we watch couples old and young enjoying the peace of the beach is that she represents far more than just ‘love’: her symbolism is in everything from fruit (pomegranates), plants (roses and myrtle) and wildlife (doves and swans) to natural formations, hillsides, ruins and even souvenirs and resort names.

In reality, she represents a love of the old ways, of tradition, heritage and landscape. While Cyprus moves to the beat of the modern world, people from near and far will continue to treasure the legends of the Greek gods and goddesses who shaped the island’s founding folklore. Thubron wrote that Cyprus’s “beauty is of contour and light” and perhaps that’s true of the Aphrodite effect here too –something ethereal, intangible. After all, isn’t that what love is all about

THIS PAGE: Foundations illars and osaics at ew a hos rchaeological ar

RIGHT: eachgoers at hrodite s oc

NEED TO KNOW

GETTING THERE

Fly to Paphos International Airport, around four miles southeast of Paphos. It’s the island’s second-largest airport and the main arrival point for exploring the west of Cyprus.

GETTING AROUND

Although Cyprus has a good public transport network, for ultimate freedom you’re best hiring a car. Drive on the left to explore the deepest corners of the Troodos Mountains, Akamas Peninsula and countless hillside villages.

BEST TIME TO GO

Cyprus is very hot in the height of summer, especially if you’re planning to hike. Spring is a great time to see the island in bloom, with April, May and June some of the best months to visit.

W HERE TO EAT

Best arrive hungry: Cyprus is all about massive mezes; lots of small dishes appearing one after another, from salads, fresh bread and seafood to endless plates of grilled meats. Contemporary Fettas Tavern and more traditional Antigo in Paphos both offer splendid examples while the outdoor harbourside tables at Y+P Fish Tavern in Latchi, owned by vivacious Yiannis and Petros, promise a splendid setting for a seafood feast.

W HERE TO STAY

Coral Beach Resort (coral. com.cy), 25 minutes north of Paphos, is a great base with wonderful sunsets. Further south, the swish Amara Hotel, (amarahotel.com), 20 minutes east of Limassol, offers a luxurious stay.

FURTHER INFORMATION

Find everything you need to shape your trip to Cyprus at visitcyprus.com. You can also plan all your cultural stops with Visit Cyprus’s dedicated website, heartlandoflegends. com.

SABI SAND NATURE RESERVE IS HOME TO THE BIG FIVE, BUT IT’S THE SMALLER, MORE SURPRISING SIGHTINGS THAT MAKE IT A SECOND-TO-NONE SAFARI EXPERIENCE.

PERSONAL CLOSE AND UP

W ORDS: SI W ILLMORE. PHOTO S : KAV DADFAR

PERSONAL

AHEAD OF US IN THE GRASSES, STREAKS OF ORANGE, OCHRE AND BLACK START TO MATERIALISE INTO A FAMILIAR SHAPE

Ahuge Lucozadeorange sun ripples above the horizon, painting the sky with brushstrokes of pink, claret and blue, as our Land Cruiser bounces down the track, kicking up yellow dust into the morning air.

There’s been a sighting of two male lions but they are less than 800yds from the edge of the park so we’re in a race against time to reach them before they go out of bounds. Our driver and ranger Ruan Mey, his loaded rifle perched strategically on the dashboard, is rushing us to the northern reaches of Sabi Sand Nature Reserve, 30 miles from the MozambiqueSouth Africa border.

Donald Temba, our tracker, points right and Ruan punches the vehicle down off the road into the undergrowth. We crunch over wild basil and aniseed, wafting spicy fragrances into my nostrils.

“A lion pride’s range is huge: they’ll roam around five different reserves,” Ruan explains. “They’ll rarely spend more than a day in one location.” This is ranger lingo for “We need to see the lions now or we’ll miss them”.

The transience of the cats’ appearance today is a metaphor for their entire existence. “Lions are dominant for only two to three years, and they’ll die at about 14,” Ruan says as he slows our vehicle – this is surely a good sign (the vehicle slowing, not the lion dying). “Once defeated, they might be dominant in one other place, but after ten years they’ll have no dominance anywhere.”

Ahead of us in the grasses, streaks of orange, ochre and black start to materialise into a familiar shape. “A lion’s mane looks silky soft but it’s actually more like protective steel wool,” says Ruan. “It’s clear that this lion has eaten well and has been mating recently – his mane is larger and darker. It literally looks better.”

There I was, thinking that a mane was simply a lion’s luscious locks – turns out, it’s more like sex-activated body armour.

PREVIOUS SPREAD: Nine-year-old leopard, Ntsumi.

Temba

Ruan Mey; Safari vehicle looking at the male lions.

Ruan and Donald have been tracking together for a year, working a pattern of 42 days on, 14 off, so they’re as in tune as two humans can be, which we learn as we jostle northwards, scanning frantically for an ever-elusive leopard. A lilac-breasted roller flits overhead, its neon purple chest and dark red face a luminescent contrast to the gold and brown all around us.

“There she is!” someone squeals. We all look to our left. False alarm. We go back to scanning the plains, straining our eyes for a tawny-brown needle in a yellow haystack.

And then, she’s right there – just in front of us, in the middle of the road. We can’t believe our eyes, or our luck. We’ve stumbled across Ntsumi, a nine-year-old who has successfully raised four cubs,

which is very rare. Leopards are incredibly difficult to spot – our photographer has been on 20 safaris and never seen one – and yet the park here is so pristine they just walk along the paths. As if to confirm my disbelief, Ruan says, “Donald can spot a leopard in the highest tree or in the densest shrub – but never in the road!”

As we make our way back to the lodge, Ruan explains that rangers follow rigorous training. “Every road, pond and dam has a name. We sit an exam where you look at a map of the area and they remove the place names. You have to fill in the blanks to answer questions like, If a leopard cuts south from this road, where is it ’.” It’s a bush version of the Knowledge, with white rhinos instead of black cabs.

Just then, a crackle comes over the

radio. There are some unusual visitors in camp this evening: lions. “They can reach 45mph when hunting,” Ruan says as we hurtle down the darkening path. “But they regularly hunt for themselves, not in prides. They actually spend most of the time by themselves.”

The lions in our camp had not got the memo. There are six of them, blocking our path, prowling around the 13 lodges and suites that make up Sabi Sabi Earth Lodge.

“What’s counterintuitive is that you can get closer to animals in a car than on foot,” explains Ruan. No kidding,’ I think as one lion passes, just a few inches away from my fianc e. “Despite the vehicle weighing 2 tonnes, the animals are used to it – but they would run off if a solitary human appeared 50yds away.”

We arrive back at reception to a literal warm welcome: our host Goodness passes us a scented hot cloth and asks, “Would you like to change for dinner If so, one of our rangers will escort you down the path to your lodge.” For some reason, we decide to stay in the main hotel area.

OPPOSITE PAGE

FROM THE TOP: lioness yawning

A dazzle of Zebras.

ABOVE FROM THE TOP:

Sabi Sabi Earth Lodge

roo s all o which have rivate swi ing ools

THERE ARE SIX OF THEM, BLOCKING OUR PATH,

PRO W LING AROUND THE LODGES AND SUITES THAT MAKE UP SABI SAND EARTH LODGE

“Wow, she’s a long way from home,” whispers Ruan the next morning. We’ve found a lioness, a member of the Southern Pride, who should be 30 miles further south. She may be lost or unwell, but she can still make a mean noise: a rumbling, resounding growl.

“It’s a contact call – not a full roar so she doesn’t draw attention to herself,” Ruan says. She’s so aware of her surroundings, though, she can still stroll through the shrubland like she owns the place, her backside majestically swinging back and forth like a nonchalant Kardashian at a fashion show. The word catwalk’ has never been so apt.

Just as I’m writing anecdotes about socialites, the low grunting screech of impala cuts through the air. One, then five, then 30 similar noises surround the vehicle, indicating the presence of a large herd. Ruan laughs. “They’re taunting the lioness as they know they’re safe; they can outrun her if they have to.” It’s the savannah version of “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough”.

An hour later, it’s lunchtime for two bull elephants. That’s mainly because it’s always lunchtime for elephants: they spend 18 hours a day eating, consuming 330lbs of vegetation in the process. No wonder elephants have 40,000 muscles in their trunk – eating is a serious workout.

On the menu today is redbush willow, an ever-increasingly difficult dish to stomach, Ruan tells us. “As the elephant disturbs the plant, it secretes tannins –the tree protects itself by becoming more bitter-tasting. Soon the elephant will have to move to another bush.” Only another 300 bushes to go for today’s calorie quota

A fork-tailed drongo flits in and out of the elephant’s legs, knowing the disturbance to the plant will provide insects to eat. It’s another example of harmony in nature. At Sabi Sand, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’re in a Disney movie: on the way back to the lodge, a pair of ringneck doves fly down in front of the vehicle, leading us home.

Our night-time game drive starts with a lot of wildlife, very quickly. White-tailed lapwings hover overhead as hippos and alligators wallow at the watering hole. We marvel at the shining golden webs of the orb-weaver spider, we listen to the bray of zebras – a squealing honk not unlike a dreaming dog – and we hope that buffalo won’t upturn our vehicle (they could if they wanted to). For many game drives, this would be a successful day out. But the tracking teams based at Sabi Sabi Earth Lodge are just getting started.

The evening’s aim is to find a leopard cub – just about the hardest creature to find. But we’ve heard promising signs and

PREVIOUS SPREAD: One of the lionesses in our camp.

THIS SPREAD CLOCK W ISE FROM TOP LEFT: A lioness from the Southern Pride; Bull ele hant u alo

cruise off towards a termite hill 30 minutes away. Ruan parks up and cuts the engine as the sky turns from pale blue to navy grey, and we collectively hold our breath. At first, there’s no movement. But then an amber-coloured ear flicks in the grasses and we catch the pearlescent glint of gold-green eyes. It’s her.

One of the two cubs born three months ago is waiting for mum in the relative safety of the termite hill. Of course, when it comes to safety, relative’ is the operative word: the rangers haven’t named this cub yet, for the simple, crushingly sad fact that cubs don’t get a name until they are 15 months old – as they only have a 50 survival rate until then.

BUT SABI

SAND

HAS ONE FINAL ACT BEFORE THE CURTAIN FALLS:

ABOVE: Lion cubs.

RIGHT: Leopard cubs.

As if we’re unable to imagine the danger the cub is in, a hyena stalks down the path to our right. Fortunately, it’s clear to see that the hyena has eaten recently. Phew.

Ruan tells us the cub and her sister made a kill recently: a banded mongoose. “When mum came home, the cubs were so proud they brought the kill to show her – but they never actually ate it as mongooses have a funny smell!”

He explains that hunting is essential for the cubs at this age, to build up their confidence – even if the result is a little stinky.

We stay there 20 minutes, awestruck. However, as pink clouds begin to trace the treeline, it’s time to leave. As we trundle back to the lodge, a crushing

tiredness comes over me. The sensory overload has been exhausting. But Sabi Sand has one final act before the curtain falls on our visit to the savannah theatre: Ruan turns down a steep gradient to look into a dried-up riverbed and we catch a glimpse of two lion cubs, suckling at their mother. It’s a heartwarming finale to a lifeaffirming three days.

On the way to Skukuza airport for our flight to Johannesburg, I realise I’ve become part of a very lucky group of people. I’ve seen all of the Big Five: lion, leopard, rhino, elephant and buffalo. Even more rare, I’ve seen leopard and lion cubs. In some ways, I have completed’ safari. But, I know that, in reality, my interest in – no, my addiction to – safari has only increased.

N D N W

GETTING THERE

British Airways, Virgin Atlantic, KLM and mirates offer direct flights to Johannesburg. From here, you’ll need to fly with Airlink to Skukuza Airport (one hour), which is 4 minutes’ drive to Sabi Sabi arth Lodge.

GETTING AROUND

The only way to get around Sabi Sand Nature Reserve is via Land Cruiser. Most resorts and lodges will provide airport transfers as part of your stay.

BEST TIME TO GO May to September is usually the best time to visit as it provides the ideal combination of pleasant weather and good wildlife spotting.

W HERE TO EAT & STAY Family run since 1 , Sabi Sabi arth Lodge (sabisabi. com lodges earth-lodge) is ust about the pinnacle of safari accommodation. The resort not only has state-ofthe-art lodges, a gym and a spa, but it offers an e clusive dining option in a different location each evening and its own wine cellar.

FURTHER INFORMATION sabisabi.com

TIME TIDE

JUST T W O HOURS FROM LONDON, MERSEA ISLAND IS THE IDEAL DESTINATION FOR A W EEKEND OF LONG W ALKS AND OYSTER EATING.

W ORDS: EMMA GIBBS

The drive to Mersea Island is stressful. Not because of the M25 (curiously devoid of traffic jams), bickering kids (left with the grandparents) or even my decrepit car (still working for now), but because of the Strood.

This half-mile causeway that connects Mersea to mainland Essex is generally flooded by any high tide of more than 4.5m – and today’s is expected to be over this. With high tide due at 12.30pm, and the road occasionally impassable for as much as two hours because of it, we set off extra early.

In the end, though, we don’t realise that we’re on the Strood until we reach the other side and are greeted by a sign saying Mersea Island’: farmland had given way to what I assumed was marshland, patchworked with grass and mud and skinny waterways, but was in fact the Strood Channel. It doesn’t really feel like we’re on an island either; the roads from the Strood head inland first, and within minutes we are making our way through the surprisingly tightly packed streets of West Mersea, the island’s main settlement.

It shouldn’t really come as a surprise, I suppose, that Mersea Island doesn’t always feel like an island – spanning only about seven square miles, there’s no point

THE MUDFLATS ARE PEPPERED

W ITH OLD

BOATS,

MANY CONVERTED INTO HOUSING

along its coastline where land is not in sight across the water. West Mersea itself could, at times, be any other small-town in southern England, with its smattering of charity shops, museum tucked next to the church and busy caf s. But as we wander along Coast Road, the waters of the River Blackwater reveal themselves, then the saltmarsh, the mudflats – peppered with old, large boats, many of which have been converted into housing – and then the restaurants and sheds serving up seafood, and the island feel is very much upon us.

“Mersea’s basically built on oyster shells – even the houses have foundations

“IS THIS TOO MANY OYSTERS?” W E ASK EACH OTHER

made from them,” Tom Haward, operations manager of Richard Haward’s Oysters, says as we look out over the pale green waters that lie between us and his 14 acres of oyster beds in the Blackwater River. He bends down and picks up a shell, and for the first time I notice that the entire shore by our feet is in fact oyster shells, some beautifully contoured, others smoothed flat by time and tide.

The molluscs have been cultivated in and around the island since the Romans first discovered native oysters here some 2,000 years ago – they then introduced rock oysters, which are still thriving in our changing climate, unlike their more delicate cousins.

These days we tend to equate oysters with money – thanks in part to their association with yuppies in the 1980s and ’90s – but for centuries they were the food of the poor, who used them as a meat substitute.

Richard Haward’s Oysters was established in 1 69 by William Haward Senior – making Tom an eighth-generation oysterman. “Oysters should be accessible to everyone,” he says. This is reflected in the company’s prices which, even at their stall in London’s Borough Market, start at just 1 an oyster. “We’re cheaper than our competitors,” he says, with a typically understated shrug, “but it gives everyone the chance to try them.”

Tom shows us into the shed where trays of oysters, sorted by size, are purified in UV-filtered Mersea seawater before, 42 hours later, being ready for sale. “We can pick 4,000 oysters in two hours,” Tom

says. “We sell 14,000 a week wholesale and shuck a further 11,000 at our Borough Market stall.” The company still uses the same oyster beds that his fifth greatgrandfather did, picking every oyster by hand just as he would have.

The position of Mersea, particularly its west coast where the Blackwater River and Strood Channel meet, is ideal for oysters. “It creates a bottleneck of water and a concentration of food for them,” Tom says. The company replenishes the oyster stock every few years, which also helps them to thrive. “The more oysters there are in the sea, the better it is for biodiversity, and the better it is for the oysters. There’s millions of oysters out there, filtering millions of litres of water.”

After chatting with Tom, there’s nothing else to do than try Mersea oysters for ourselves. “Once I start, I can’t stop,” Tom had said, and this ends up being

the motto we spend our days by on the island: at our first stop, Seafood at Dawn, we order twelve alongside a selection of tapas-style seafood dishes, and then another dozen because the first are just so good – almost creamy, their brininess perfectly offset by the acidity of the shallot vinegar.

That evening, we order another six in the sleek restaurant of The White Hart, our hotel for the weekend, washing them down with an elegant glass of white wine from a vineyard in nearby Colchester. “Is this too many oysters ” we ask each other, not really needing an answer.

The next morning, we ask the

breakfast staff what else there is to do on the island. “Walking, mainly,” is the answer, which is always encouraging to hear while the rain is slapping against the windows. Still, we’re more than used to damp seaside holidays, so we head out, hoods up and heads bowed against the wind, to walk north along the coast. We pass the higgledy wooden houses of West Mersea’s Old City and soon are walking along wild and empty marshland. When the rain gets too much, we hurry back and order plates of oysters from Duke’s Seafood, huddling together under the awning to eat them.

After lunch, we drive out to Cudmore Grove Country Park on the east side of the island, chasing the sun. We’re in luck; as we park, the clouds seem to dissolve

and the pebbly shore – dotted again with oyster shells – glints in the light. We follow the raised path that skirts the edge of the water-speckled mudflats and marshes, looking first out towards the beach huts of Brightlingsea and then the neat fields on the other side of the River Colne. While the mainland looks almost close enough to swim to, the island feels distinctly separate.

When we come to leave Mersea, we forget to check the tide times. As we near the Strood, the water is already lapping at its sides, spray arching up from the wheels of the cars on it. We turn around and head back to The White Hart, where we sink into comfy chairs, order a round of drinks, and contemplate another plate of oysters. The mainland can wait.

N D N W

GETTING THERE

The easiest way to reach Mersea is by car. Trains run from London to Colchester’s two stations, from where you can take a 2 -minute ta i or a bus to the island.

GETTING AROUND

The island is small enough to see a significant chunk on foot you can walk around the entire island in around five hours. However, a car will make e ploring easier.

BEST TIME TO GO

To make the most of its coastal position, come between May and September though of course beachworthy weather can never be guaranteed. The most important thing to bear in mind is the tide, which can impact getting on and off the island.

W HERE TO EAT

Oysters and seafood are, unsurprisingly, the main draw, and much of what’s served will have come in from local waters. In West Mersea, a string of great places lines the shore, including The Company Shed, Duke’s Seafood and Seafood at Dawn. The menu at the White Hart Inn focuses on seasonal, local food as well as Richard Haward’s Oysters, you can e pect local meat and vegetables on the menu, and some great local drinks, too.

W HERE TO STAY

The best place to stay on the island is The White Hart Inn (whitehartinnmersea. co.uk), which manages to be elegant and stylish but also supremely comfortable, unpretentious and friendly. Opt for Mehalah, at the top of the building, which has a lovely view out towards the water.

FURTHER INFORMATION richardhawardsoysters.shop visitmerseaisland.co.uk visitesse .com

THE ULTIMATE TROPICAL ESCAPE

estled in the lush hills o t ucia s a relotte ay ind a er anding esort has undergone a reathta ing trans or ation he resort lends editerranean char with ari ean war th o ering new luxury villas stunning cean oint esidences and reva ed a enities Fro rivate ools overloo ing the sea to chic outdoor s aces er ect or lounging ind a er is the ulti ate tro ical esca e he resort s resh design co ines natural wood so t neutrals and vi rant lues ca turing the island s essence hether dining on locally sourced cuisine or relaxing y the each ind a er ro ises a serene getaway stee ed in co ort and style

N D N W

GETTING THERE

The resort can arrange car and helicopter transfers from St Lucia’s international airport, which is served by direct flights from the UK.

BEST TIME TO GO

St Lucia en oys year-round balmy temperatures. December to March offers the most sunshine and driest weather, though April and May still offer good weather conditions. If you love a carnival atmosphere, come in summer for the island’s festivals.

ABOUT

A Mediterranean-style -acre property, Wind ammer Landing Resort and Residences is nestled in the glamorous hills of St Lucia’s Labrelotte Bay. In 2 2 , the resort debuted a new look following a transformative multi-million dollar renovation.

ROOMS

There are 22 rooms and suites, all of which blend a modern Mediterranean style with island vibes to create a lu urious escape. The smaller villas offer private plunge pools or terraces. The lu urious new beachfront Ocean Point Residences are two- and three-bedroom villas with infinity pools, multiple outdoor terraces and access to a guest lounge.

AMENITIES

As well as si swimming pools, there’s windsurfing, SUP, kayaking, snorkelling, diving, tennis courts, a spa, gym and a kids’ club. Guests can also en oy daily e cursions and nightly entertainment or ust kick back and rela in a hammock.

FOOD

The resort’s e tensive dining options range from a legendary steakhouse to a sophisticated beachside restaurant. All support the island’s farmers and fishermen and serve up the freshest of ingredients. In addition, the resort’s signature restaurant, Dragonfly, has had an e tensive renovation and now features The Perch by Dragonfly’, a rooftop bar and lounge where locals and tourists alike mingle over innovative cocktails and menu offerings, while taking in sweeping views of the Caribbean Sea.

FURTHER INFORMATION wind ammer-landing.com

BROUGHT TO YOU IN PARTNERSHIP W ITH

Photos: Windjammer Landing Resort and Residences

Spirit of ADVENTURE

A LUXURY CRUISE ALONG SPAIN’S MOST CAPTIVATING COAST ABOARD SEA CLOUD SPIRIT, A SHIP LIKE NO OTHER.

W ORDS: JAMES MARCH

PHOTOS:

KAV DADFAR

SPREAD:

ABOVE:

PREVIOUS

Sea Cloud Spirit in o en water

LEFT FROM THE TOP:

Sea Cloud Spirit docked in Bilbao; James climbing up to the mast; The sails of the ship ully o en

Guests getting ready to oard odiacs

It looks like a doddle. The web of rigging leading up to the first platform of Sea Cloud Spirit’s 190ft main mast feels sturdier than a worn Dr Martens boot, while 1st Officer Anatoly Maslov wraps me in a cacophony of clips and hooks. But the higher I climb, the more the ropes narrow. Footing has

to be more precise and looking down suddenly becomes a sweat-inducing proposition. With the crew barking out helpful instructions from above, I hang back at an unnatural angle and heave up the futtock shrouds to the safety of the solid platform.

Distant faces on the deck below crane their necks skywards and break out in applause. Given that this was the merely lowest of the mast’s perches, I feel a little

like a child who’s just completed his tenmetre swimming badge. There’s little time to soak in the moment, but that minute or two amid a mass of white sails high above the Cantabrian Sea is remarkable. But then again, nothing about Sea Cloud Spirit is ordinary.

Spain’s northern coast isn’t an obvious choice for a luxury cruise. Exposed to the wild Atlantic, this is a rugged wind-sculpted landscape studded

with proud cities, while its interior is a lush canvas of dense forest and misty mountains. It’s also arguably Spain’s most fascinating corner.

The capital of the fiercely independent Basque Country, Bilbao was once an industrial metropolis of smoking chimneys and howling factories until a devastating flood in 1983 forced the city to rethink itself. Fast forward 40 years and the reinvented city is a nirvana of food and art, the pi ce de r sistance being Frank Gehry’s iconic Guggenheim Museum.

The Guggenheim unfurls like a radiant golden flower and is Sea Cloud Spirit’s first onshore excursion. It’s an inspired choice to begin our journey, though my mind constantly drifts to the ship waiting quietly to depart. I’ve never been on a cruise before and have always been a little dismissive of them, perhaps owing to some free-spirited travel hubris.

Flanking a lonely harbour arm at Bilbao’s vast Gexto port, Sea Cloud Spirit looks nothing like the other ships docked.

A bright white three-masted windjammer with a sleek gold-accented bow, its elegance is arresting and looks like it may have once ferried around Roaring Twenties-era glitterati. But appearances can be deceiving. Only constructed in 2021, Sea Cloud Spirit is essentially a larger modern version of the original Sea Cloud, an elaborate private yacht launched in 1931 by Marjorie Merriweather Post, once the wealthiest woman in the United States.

With space for around 120 passengers, its four decks are a blur of brass and mahogany and are manned by an 85-strong international crew hailing from Denmark, Canada, South Africa, the Philippines and beyond. There’s a bottle of champagne sitting inside an ice bucket in my splendid cabin, its fresh condensation trails slowly tapering down the glass. I pop the cork on my personal balcony, feeling faintly ridiculous. Engine and bridge tours are on the itinerary, as well as a host of well-heeled dinner receptions. There’s also a spa, gym, library and a lounge with

a Steinway Grand Piano, where onboard lecturers host talks and tastings revolving around our upcoming destinations.

This six-day jaunt takes us along Spain’s Cantabrian Sea before lurching south around Galicia and into Portugal, stopping at Gij n, A Coruña and Vigo and finishing in Porto.

Night falls and the ship’s diesel engines gently power up, slipping us out of Getxo and into the warm Atlantic evening. My balcony softly rocks from bow to stern, and a soapy wake forms as the boat pierces the ink-black sea below. Distant lights flicker from the shore like flames around an altar and my first cruise is underway.

The next day, Sea Cloud Spirit glides into Gij n’s industrial port like a ballerina dancing into a Brooklyn dive bar. Gij n is the largest city in the Asturias region and, five miles from the gloomy port, its charming old town fans out around a mast-strewn harbour. Glasses clink around jovial tables while a man plays an

OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP: The

o the shi climbing to open the sails; One of the decks o the shi

Guggenheim;

crew

RIGHT FROM THE TOP: Gijón seafront; San Lorenzo beach in Gijón; One of the o cers in the ridge

organ on the Plaza del Marques, behind which is a warren of narrow streets. But it’s on the Parque Santa Catalina’s windblasted headland where I see why they call this northern strip of Spain the Costa Verde ( Green Coast’). Clutching my hat in strong gusts, the ragged hills north of San Lorenzo beach could be Cornwall or Normandy. I take refuge inside Casa Oscar, a traditional Asturian sidrería where drinking anything other than cider would be sacrilege. Faded photos line the yellowing walls and, at a cramped table, a metallic contraption holding a green cider bottle upside down is placed in front of me. Angle your glass below and push the button to pour. It’s low-key theatrical, but wonderfully quirky. No English is spoken here, which only makes me like it more. There are no cider machines back on Sea Cloud Spirit, and I’m ok with that. Instead, I take a stool at the Lido bar and order a beer from bar manager Anton

Campos, an affable Filipino who’s been with the company for over 25 years.

“I started on the old Sea Cloud – the old lady’ – and then ea loud , and now I’m here,” he says, handing me a glass. “It’s like a family. When you come back you see the same people on board. It’s very important.”

Anton has had a front-row seat on this extraordinary trio of ships for a generation and he can see why the re-bookings keep coming. “Some of the guests I’ve known for many years,” he tells me. “Some I met 18 years ago, and now they return with two grown children.”

Thus far, the sails have been curled up around the skeletal masts, but the following morning they’re in full bloom. It’s mesmerising watching the cat-like crew shimmy up the rigging to alarming heights and slowly unfurl all 32 sails. From the angular jib sails above the bow to the high

LEFT FROM THE TOP:

The hill north of San Lorenzo beach; The view ro the to o the hill; A sculpture on top o the hill

RIGHT FROM THE TOP:

The main outdoor deck and bar on Sea Cloud irit nton a os

FROM HERE I CAN APPRECIATE EVERY CONTOUR, EVERY ROCKY PROMONTORY, EVERY FLASH OF

W ILDLIFE

mizzen mast above the stern, Sea Cloud Spirit quickly becomes complete.

With the sails out and the wind in our favour, Captain Vukota Stojanovic cuts the engines. The silence is glorious. Only the mellifluous ruffle of the sails after a gust and the gentle waves lapping below penetrate the calm. The captain explains that he can pass closer to the coast when sailing with wind, saving around 30 miles while offering better views of the land. Sea Cloud Spirit looks like it could have been sailing 100 years ago, but this is the moment it feels like we’re sailing in another time period.

It’s also around now that I begin to appreciate how little of a hurry we’re in; that seductive, transitory element of a cruise that goes beyond any frivolous, luxurious furnishings. From an aircraft window, the views are fleeting, but from here I can appreciate every contour, every rocky promontory, every flash of wildlife. As someone in a perpetual rush, it’s somewhat liberating.

Overnight we slip quietly beyond Asturias and into the orbit of Galicia, Spain’s westernmost region. A Coruña’s port is far more integrated into the city than Gij n’s and though we ease into the city before 8am, a scattering of people stop, gawp and grab photos of Sea Cloud Spirit

This is one of Spain’s rainiest cities but there’s a soft light over the harbour this morning and we exit to take an excursion 3 miles south to the pilgrimage town of Santiago de Compostela. One hour later our coach is passing backpack-straddling hikers with regularity as we wind our way through the city’s leafy suburbs.

The Camino de Santiago (in English, the “Way of St. James”) is the famous Christian pilgrimage route that originated in the Middle Ages but has only taken on modern popularity since the 1980s. In the ’ 0s, a mere handful of travellers made the gruelling 500-mile journey from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port on the French border to Santiago de Compostela, but now over 400,000 pilgrims make the trek every year.

The ornate Santiago de Compostela Cathedral is the Camino’s terminus and as we walk into the widescreen Praza do Obradoiro we’re greeted by an eccentric scene. Soundtracked by a relentless bagpipe player, multicoloured backpacks and skinny trekking poles are scattered across the square and every pilgrim group seems to be in a different state of reverie. Some look tired and lie down staring at the cathedral in contemplation, while others take ecstatic selfies and whoop and holler and hug. There’s chanting and dancing, and a general heartwarming exuberance.

The city itself is pretty but also a

OPPOSITE PAGE CLOCK W ISE FROM TOP LEFT: Captain Vukota to anovic rew o ening the sails rew tying sail ropes on the deck; Sea Cloud Spirit with all the sails o en

THIS PAGE: A Coruña seafront; Plaza María Pita in oru a ld own

tourist-heavy slog. It’s something of a relief to return to Sea Cloud Spirit as the afternoon heat cranks up.

“I love that the ship is authentic and that people come for the real maritime experience,” says Nils Lachner, a gregarious freelance sommelier and lecturer from Germany who joins the ship frequently throughout the season. “I feel that a lot of people who choose to go on a sailing ship usually have a story themselves, and they’re really interested, which makes it easy for us lecturers.”

We chat on the sun-drenched Lido deck while gliding into Vigo, Galicia’s largest city and where Sea Cloud Spirit was built three years previously. Later this evening, Nils is leading an outdoor tasting session here on Portuguese wine.

“To me, it’s important to teach every person something they didn’t know before,” he says. “And to show them

regional specialities, like there’s a special way to pour a Basque wine. So the coolest thing is to show them on the ship and then the next day they step off, go to a local wine bar and see it poured exactly the same way. That’s authentic cultural heritage they’re seeing.”

Nils’ wine lectures are entertaining affairs. Multilingual and often involving audience participation (to my selfconscious horror, I was hauled up in front of the class during one), they’re also informative while fostering a convivial atmosphere between multinational guests.

Vigo sits barely 1 miles north of the Portuguese border and is sheltered by the high green hills fringing the Ria de Vigo estuary. With such hefty natural infrastructure, it’s little surprise that it is

Spain’s largest port.

The city centre is a hilly web of tight streets, which brings merciful coverings of shade on this 30 degree day. But with the 1 th-century hilltop Fortress of El Castro being Vigo’s main sight, the sun is inescapable. The site of several battles against British, Dutch and French forces, the fortress is a local symbol of pride showcasing some of Europe’s most widescreen views from its 460ft-high summit. The entire region seems to unfold, from the port’s hulking cranes in the east to distant C es Islands to the west. It’s astonishing and Vigo is worth a visit just for this.

We leave the city under a blanket of shimmering stars but awake the following morning to a ghostly fog. Horns are

sounded at regular intervals to make other ships aware of our presence while a milky sun tries its hardest to push through the haze. My phone can’t find signal but finally flickers into life as we roll into a mistshrouded Porto, the final stop.

Shafts of light form over the murky barrels inside Niepoort Cellars, highlighting spindly cobwebs and scratched numbers. This famous old port house began in 1 42 but its musky warehouse dates from 1 3 and looks (and smells) virtually unchanged. Porto’s Vila Nova de Gaia waterfront is lined by busy tourist-friendly port cellars, but Niepoort is different and visiting is another privilege of travelling with Sea Cloud Spirit

“We only do tours by appointment as we don’t want to lose the essence or soul of this place,” explains Marcella Lebl, Niepoort’s tourism coordinator. “It means a lot to us.”

The tasting cellar is like a mini-

medieval banqueting hall, with its tiled arch, suit of armour and expertly carved wooden chairs. The genial tasting gets progressively more spectacular, as an easy-going 2022 ruby port gives way to intense 20- and 30-year-old tawnies. Bottlings from 19 and 194 are the extraordinary crescendo, and I stumble out into the golden light of a Porto sunset, with the Dom Lu s I Bridge looking resplendent.

Tomorrow a new set of passengers fill up Sea Cloud Spirit and sail for Portugal’s remote Azores islands. And yes, I desperately wish I could join them.

OPPOSITE PAGE

CLOCK W ISE FROM TOP LEFT: Marcella Lebl; Nieport Cellars; view across igo

THIS PAGE FROM TOP LEFT: Nils Lachner; Sea Cloud Spirit; Fortress o l astro

N D N W

GETTING THERE

London Gatwick, Manchester and Bristol all offer direct flights to Bilbao, taking ust over two hours. Get o Cruise Port is around a 2 -minute ta i from central Bilbao and minutes by metro.

GETTING AROUND

ach cruise stop offers around four to five hours of e ploring in the respective destinations, with the possibility of guided e cursions at an e tra cost (you’ll ideally need to choose these before the boat departs).

BEST TIME TO GO

Northern Spain’s unpredictable Atlantic-facing climate means summer is the best time to travel especially if you want to en oy Sea Cloud Spirit’s languid sun deck.

W HERE TO EAT

Sea Cloud Spirit’s onboard meals are magnificent but do make the most of the port stops as this part of the Iberian Peninsula is home to some iconic dishes. Sample pintxos in Bilbao, cider and tortilla in Gi on and port and pastel de natas in Porto.

W HERE TO STAY ven the starting cabins on Sea Cloud Spirit are immaculate, though for this ourney it’s best to select one on the port (left) side of the ship. It’s land-facing most of the way and you’ll en oy some fine views.

FURTHER INFORMATION seacloud.com

S AMP

TO

THE S W AMPS, CANALS AND COAST OF SOUTHERN GEORGIA OFFER A W ILDNESS THAT’S OFTEN OVER W HELMING IN ITS ABUNDANCE AND W ILDLIFE.

ORDS: BRIAN THACKER PHOTOS: KAV DADFAR

SEA

The huge black metal-scaled beast with dead eyes growls at us, guttural and angry like a cornered dog. We had been on the other side of our small pontoon boat admiring the beautiful yet carnivorous hooded pitcher plant when there was a loud thud. We’d unknowingly bumped into a 12ft alligator who had been sunbaking among a bed of lily pads.

“Stay at least 15ft away from an alligator,” our guide, Deb, had told us earlier. We are mere inches away.

Finally, the growling stops and he just stares at us with eyes that could kill. Deb had told us that there hadn’t been a single alligator attack in the 80 years that Okefenokee Swamp has been a wildlife refuge, but nonetheless I keep my distance.

These ancient creatures are killing machines. Like their cousin, the Tyrannosaurus rex, alligators have large buccal cavities to accommodate massive jaw muscles that can clamp down with over a ton of pressure. Perhaps I was also worried that there was some payback due; the night before, I may have eaten one of

his friends when I had fried gator tails for dinner.

Our 90-minute boat tour had begun on the wide Suwannee Canal, which was built as an attempt to drain large portions of the Okefenokee in the 1890s. The ashen clouds had looked menacing, but with everything above reflected perfectly in the smooth, ink-black water, it seemed as if we were floating in space between two heavens. The clear water was the colour of Southern sweet tea, stained by the tannins from decaying leaves.

HIGH TIDE HAS TURNED THE MARSH INTO A SEA

FILLED W ITH

W AVES OF SMOOTH CORDGRASS

S W AYING IN THE CURRENT

“You can drink it,” Deb had told me. “It’s like drinking a salad.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I said, eyeing the murky water churning in the boat’s wake.

Coming to an intersection in the canal, we turn and the scenery suddenly changes dramatically: the tall, cypresstree fringed canal is replaced by a great field of water lilies with broad leaves the size of dinner plates. Meanwhile, floating white and pink flowers add a splash of vivid colour to the grey day. We spot more gators lazing in the shallows, watching the boat glide by. More than 800 species of plants and animals thrive here, but there is no question who sits at the top of the food chain: the alligator rules the swamp, and this has been its home for thousands of years.

The Okefenokee Swamp, which straddles the border of Georgia and Florida, is one of the largest, most ecologically diverse wetland ecosystems on the planet. Known as the “Land of the

Trembling Earth” by the Indigenous tribes, the swamp is a 00-square-mile peat bog of floating islands, cypress hammocks and wet prairies. It’s wild, untouched and untamed.

“If you were to look at a satellite picture of the United States at night, you would see all these lights,” Michael Lusk, the Refuge Manager, told me. I’d met Michael earlier at the Richard S Bolt Visitor Center for a briefing on the refuge, its history and those alligators. “There’s a big dark spot in the southeast corner of Georgia. That’s us.”

“How many alligators are there in the refuge ” I asked.

“We don’t really know,” Michael said. “They are hard to count. Somewhere between 15 and 30,000. There’s about a 120 miles of water trails and if you kayaked all of it, you would only see about 2 of the refuge. There are huge swathes of the swamp that humans can’t even get to.”

On our return boat trip to the

THE BOARD W ALK MEANDERS THROUGH TEH S W AMP UNDER A CANOPY OF GREY, DRIPPING MOSS THAT LOOKS LIKE

HALLO W EEN DECORATIONS

visitor centre, the rain that had been threatening all morning comes down with a vengeance. We huddle under the boat’s awning while the torrential downpour ripples the water so hard it looks like the whole swamp was made up of boiling water.

When the rain clears, I go for a short walk along the Chesser Island boardwalk to Owls Roost Tower. Just going for a

walk here is not easy to do. This is a world governed by water. The boardwalk meanders through the swamp under a canopy of grey, dripping moss that looks like Halloween spiderweb decorations.

One of the first things I notice in this quiet place is the noise. I stand still for a second and I hear the natural orchestra: the melodious chorus of songbirds; crickets chirping; bullfrogs grunting like wild boars; and what sounds like marbles clacking together, from the ubiquitous pig frog.

I climb to the top of the 40ft Owls Roost Tower and am treated to sweeping views over Seagrove Lake, although I feel like I’m in an air-traffic control tower as a constant stream of graceful white ibises take off and land on the shores of the lake.

The next day, I drive for an hour to the west side of the refuge to Steven C Foster State Park. There I meet up with Interpretive Ranger Chris Turtleman’ Adams. A seventh-generation swamper’, his family has been living in and around this swamp for over 180 years.

“There were families here that never saw the outside world until the early 20th century,” Chris tells me in his thick southern drawl. “I’ve often said that we’re about 40 years behind the rest of the country. My granddaddy didn’t have electricity or running water in his house until 1968.”

This time, I am heading out into the swamp in a tiny metal dinghy, which allows us to get deeper into the swamp. Chris expertly manoeuvres it through narrow channels where dense brush, tangled riots of trees and thorny vines are competing for every inch of ground.

I’m awestruck as we pass a towering 500-year-old cypress tree, but Chris can trump that.

“There is a cypress tree in Okefenokee that is 950 years old,” Chris

explains. “In its lifetime, it would have witnessed and survived maybe hundreds of large fires that were completely ecosystem altering.”

It’s hard to fathom something that old still living. When it was but a sapling, Genghis Khan was leading the Mongol army across Asia, the Bubonic plague was sweeping through Europe, Marco Polo was travelling to China, and there were no European settlements anywhere in the Americas.

Set far into the swamp is Billy’s Island where, in the early 1900s, the Hebard Lumber Company built a logging camp

for 500 people that included a railroad, theatre, barber shop, school and juke joint. Before we set foot on the island, however, there is a slight obstacle: we must wait for a gargantuan gator to get off the jetty landing.

Once ashore, Chris leads me through a trail of towering oaks, sweet gums and a swathe of ferns, but it turns out time and nature have conspired to erase the memory of the logging town. There are a few rusted relics of machinery and railway equipment but, for the most part, it is what it always has been: unspoiled and overwhelming in its wildness. ABOVE: eo le fishing in teven Foster tate ar OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP: illy s sland hris urtle an da s

immediately spot a wild horse: a white stallion nibbling grass on the wide, manicured lawn next to the dock. Except it’s not lawn it’s a field that’s been trimmed by grazing horses.

THIS PAGE, CLOCK W ISE FROM ABOVE: Feral horses in ront o Dungeness state aughing ulls u ted tit ouse ellow illed cuc oo

OPPOSITE PAGE, FROM THE TOP: he ruins o Dungeness state oardwal over the salt arshes

Less than an hour away from Okefenokee is the Georgian coastline, with puzzle pieces of sandy barrier islands formed by the rise and fall of sea level during the last Ice Age. The largest of those is Cumberland Island, a narrow 1 -mile stretch of land made up of old-growth maritime forest, windswept white beaches, saltwater marshes and ancient live oaks gnarled and tortured by the salt breezes from the Atlantic.

The island is only accessible by a 45-minute ferry ride from the town of St Marys, and on this perfect blue-sky day, I alight at the Dungeness dock and

Cumberland is home to around 150 feral horses, and they have made these palm-tree-filled grasslands look like the immaculate grounds of a five-star resort. Historians disagree on how and when these horses came to the island, but they are thought to be descendants of Spanish steeds brought to Cumberland in the 1 th century.

But it isn’t horses that I am looking for this morning – I am joining a birdwatching tour. “There are 400 species of birds in Georgia,” our guide Sarah says, beaming, “and 320 of those are on Cumberland Island.”

We head down a gravel path flanked by giant oak trees that shade us from the blaring sun and it only takes a minute for us to spot four different birds.

Sarah doesn’t even need to see the birds. “That’s a summer tanager,” she says,

pricking up her ears to the sound of a quick-fire and rasping chirruping. Next up is a painted bunting – a veritable artist’s palette of rainbow plumage featuring a head of indigo blue, a splash of orange on the cheeks, wings of green and a red breast.

Later on we walk through the grounds of the 19th-Century Dungeness Estate. Only brick and stone bones remain of the 59-room mansion that was once the winter home for one of the kings of America’s industrial Gilded Age, the Carnegies. They built a property so elaborate it took 100 staff just to maintain it. We march right through the pictureperfect scene of horses and their foals ambling in front of the bright green mosscovered ruins to check out the newest residents of Dungeness: a nest of ospreys that has taken up the “penthouse suite” on top of the mansion’s tallest chimney.

We end our tour in the salt marsh at the western end of the island. High tide has turned the marsh into a sea filled with waves of smooth cordgrass swaying in the current. The abundance of waterfowl, from great blue herons to snowy egrets, mean we chalk up another ten birds on our viewing list – making a total of 35 on our one-hour tour.

It is only a ten-minute walk from the marsh to the beach, and I am soon in snow-white coastal sand dunes where knotted and bent dead trees sit among tropical palm trees. A narrow sandy track

leads me to a wide, powdery beach that stretches as far as the eye can see. My bird list continues to grow as I watch terns soaring on ocean breezes, brown pelicans divebombing a fish in the surf, and sandpipers pecking holes in the cannonball jellyfish washed up on the beach.

A white horse gallops through the rolling dunes; there is much debate about whether the horses should even be here on the island, but to me they seem to embody the wild, free spirit of Cumberland Island.

There are 50 miles of backcountry trails here, and I don’t see a single person on my hour-long hike deep into the maritime forest. The track, which is carpeted with bright-red dead leaves, meanders through a lush forest with Spanish moss dripping from twisted limbs that look like alien creatures. Sunlight flickers down through the forest canopy, casting ever-changing patterns of shade and light on the forest floor and green palmettos.

On my long stroll back along the beach, I stop to see a big black vulture gleefully tearing up what was left of some large bird. Three other vultures circle above. Later, when I stop for a rest at a picnic table near the dock, I notice something moving out the corner of my eye. I gasp with delight – right next to me is an armadillo, with its perfectly symmetrical armour that looks like

something designed by the US military. As it casually snuffles through leaves in search of a late lunch, a pair of horses saunter past.

In this small corner of Georgia, you are surrounded by unparalleled wildlife and an untamed wilderness that feels like another world. But it’s a world you want to be part of.

N D N W

GETTING THERE

Florida’s Jacksonville International airport is served by international flights; it’s only a -minute drive across the state border from Florida to Folkston (for Okefenokee) or St Marys (for Cumberland Island).

GETTING AROUND

Renting a car is probably best; that way you can easily access Okefenokee’s different entrance points. ou will need to book ahead for the ferry from St Marys to Cumberland Island (cumberlandislandferry. com).

BEST TIME TO GO

It gets incredibly humid and hot in July and August (and nasty bugs are out in full force). Spring and autumn are the best time to visit, when the weather is warm but lacks the oppressive heat.

W HERE TO EAT

The small town of Folkston has great Thai food at Thai Smile Cuisine. In St Marys, you’ll find everything from fresh seafood to spicy Southern comfort food; try Seagles Restaurant for fried alligator tails.

W HERE TO STAY

Folkston is the closest town to the eastern entrance of Okefenokee. The Inn at Folkston (innatfolkston. com) serves up a wonderful breakfast, including those famous Georgian peaches. The gateway to Cumberland Island is the charming town of St Marys, and the Riverview Hotel (riverviewhotelstmarys. com) is right across the road from the ferry.

FURTHER INFORMATION e ploregeorgia.org city cumberland-island fws.gov refuge okefenokee

OUTBACK AND BEYOND

Best known for its aboriginal culture, diverse landscapes and abundant wildlife, Australia’s Northern Territory (NT) has so much to offer the adventurous traveller. Explore the NT’s rich history and aboriginal culture dating back nearly 65,000 years, from traditional practices to contemporary arts and more. Experience the varied and striking terrain of the outback by land, water or air – from helicopters to hot-air balloons over Alice Springs. Discover unique flora and epic views as you hike along scenic trails, swim in crystal-clear waterfalls and gorges, or camp beneath the southern sky, surrounded by breathtaking scenery the whole time. Savour local cuisine made from fresh, regional ingredients: join a gourmet food tour in Darwin, dine under the stars at Uluṟu, or enjoy a sunset dinner cruise through Nitmiluk (Katherine) Gorge, to discover the distinct flavours of the Territory. The NT is also home to impressive ecosystems and unique wildlife, from prehistoric crocs to hundreds of species of birds and bounding kangaroos. The Territory also boasts two dual-listed UNESCO World Heritage Sites: Kakadu, one of Australia’s largest national parks, and iconic Uluṟu-Kata Tjua.

ABOVE: Discover the avours o Darwin s resh sea ood

BELO W : indil each unset ar et

DARWIN

ABOVE: Darwin tro ical water ront city

BELO W : a estic i i Falls

ABOVE: Fishing in rnhe land

BELO W : ultural ex eriences at irr

ARNHEMLAND & KAKADU

ABOVE: rocodile at ellow aters a adu

BELO W : re reshing di in agu a natural lunge ool and water all

ALICE SPRINGS & KINGS CANYON

ABOVE: he natural wonder and cultural land ar that is ata ua

BELO W : ed entre road

EXPLORE THE NORTHERN TERRITORY

The sheer size of the Northern Territory is impressive, spanning six times the size of the UK. With its spectacular landscapes, experiencing the authentic Australian outback is a must.

The Red Centre, encompassing Alice Springs, Ulu u-Kata Tju a National Park and Kings Canyon, is the heart of Australia. A trip here offers a unique insight into Australia’s rich Indigenous culture with opportunities to visit colourful art galleries, take in beautiful sunsets, hike famous trails and be amazed by the night sky as the stars come into view.

Darwin, the tropical capital of The Top End is a bustling, waterfront city filled with street art, local markets, art galleries, cool caf s and gin bars. Outback adventures are in easy reach with three beautiful national parks within three hours of the city including Kakadu, Nitmiluk and Litchfield, plus remote Arnhemland in the northeast corner of the Territory.

With its unique landscape, local charm and deep cultural experiences, the NT is a destination for travellers who are seeking a true connection to country and culture.

DESTINATIONS

1 . ALICE SPRINGS

This quirky outback town is surrounded by amazing landscapes, remote communities and a rich history. Renowned for its art galleries, Kangaroo Sanctuary, historic sites such as Anzac Hill and natural wonders such as the West MacDonnell Ranges, which are laced with trails like the Larapinta Trail, and swimming holes, it’s a destination with a relaxed vibe and unforgettable experiences. Alice Springs is also known for hot-air ballooning, providing a breathtaking perspective of the area’s adventurous side as you soar over the stunning desert landscape. From cultural attractions and landmarks to a continuous calendar of vibrant events, there’s truly nowhere else like Alice Springs.

2 . KINGS CANYON

A three-hour drive from Ulu u, in Watarrka National Park, Kings Canyon is one of Australia’s most majestic sights. Carved into a rocky plateau with giant, sweeping views, the Rim Walk takes you past richly coloured sandstone walls towering over 980ft high, through ‘Priscilla’s Crack’ to the beautiful ‘Garden of Eden’, home to calm pools, tropical plants and a maze of weathered domes. A walkers’ paradise, you can also explore by 4x4, camel and helicopter tours. Bruce Munro’s Light Towers art installation is a mesmerising experience at sunrise or sunset.

3. ULU A

Ulu u, an awe-inspiring natural landmark and a place of profound spiritual importance, is one of the world’s most remarkable formations. Rising 1,142 ft

above the plains, this ancient monolith, formed over 550 million years ago, dominates Australia’s Red Centre and stands as one of the country’s most iconic symbols. For the Aangu people, Ulu u-Kata Tju a National Park holds deep cultural significance where the land and ancestral heritage are inseparable. Explore the base by foot, camel, segway, bike or by helicopter, and immerse yourself in local culture with a dot painting class or wood-carving workshop.

4. DARWIN

The NT’s tropical capital, this laid-back city offers a rich mix of World War II history, bustling harbour, vibrant art and festivals, and an Asian-influenced culinary scene. Relish local delights like barramundi and Kakadu plum at top dining spots, or hang out at Mindil Beach Sunset Market and enjoy a bowl of Darwin’s iconic laksa at Parap Market. Get ready to clap with locals at sunset, when the sun treats you to a technicolour sky as it melts into the ocean. For adventure, take a crocodile cruise, spot wildlife in the wetlands and swim in nearby waterfalls – or take a Heli Pub Crawl tour for a pint to remember on the white sands of Crab Claw Island.

5. KAKADU

Discover the ancient culture and rugged beauty of Kakadu, one of Australia’s largest national parks. Spanning over , 00 square miles, this World Heritage Site is rich in both cultural and natural wonders. Explore ancient landscapes with waterfalls, lush rainforest, and wetlands teeming with unique wildlife.

Marvel at 65 000 -year-old Aboriginal rock art, and learn about the Bininj/ Mungguy people’s traditions. Cruise the YellowWater Billabong, spot crocodiles, and witness sweeping views of surrounding floodplains at the Ubirr lookout – one of Kakadu’s stunning Aboriginal rock art sites.

6. ARNHEMLAND

Discover true paradise in Arnhemland, one of the largest Aboriginal-owned reserves in Australia. Explore rugged coastlines, white sandy beaches and savannah woodlands where traditional Aboriginal culture thrives. Enjoy exotic island retreats, historic sites and chartered fishing trips, or simply relax by the pool. Stroll along the beach overlooking the Arafura Sea, join a Yolngu cultural tour, visit art centres and walk interpretive trails. End your day with freshly caught seafood at a local restaurant to truly immerse yourself in the unique experiences this remote and special region offers.

7. KATHERINE

Discover Nitmiluk National Park, home to the majestic Nitmiluk (Katherine) Gorge with cliffs that glow in changing light. On the outskirts of Katherine, this expansive park features 13 breathtaking gorges carved from ancient sandstone. Explore the park on foot, passing through rainforest, Aboriginal rock art sites and refreshing swimming holes. You can also discover the gorge by canoe, cruise or helicopter to take in the full spectrum of this stunning natural landscape.

NEED TO KNOW

GETTING THERE

Darwin International Airport is the gateway to Australia. Flights from London take around 1 hours and involve a stopover; Singapore Airlines and antas operate frequent services from the UK.

GETTING AROUND

Daily flights operate between Darwin, Alice Springs and Ulu u; smaller flights are run between the regional centres by Airnorth, Hire companies operate across the NT, and driving is one of the best ways to e plore the Territory. Local transport options include ta is, airport shuttle, bicycle hire and bus networks. The Ghan is an epic train ourney between Adelaide and Darwin, stopping in Alice Springs and Katherine.

BEST TIME TO GO

The Top nd has two seasons dry from May to October and monsoon from November to April. The Red Centre has four seasons summer (December February); autumn (March May); winter (June August); spring (September November).

W HERE TO EAT

The Northern Territory has a vibrant culinary scene, featuring fresh local produce like barramundi, bush foods and unique flavours influenced by Asian and Aboriginal traditions.

W HERE TO STAY

There’s a choice for all budgets and styles, from lu ury retreats, boutique hotels and safari camps to glamping, camping and hostels.

FURTHER INFORMATION northernterritory.com IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

THE DOCTA

IN THE HEART OF ARGENTINA, THE ELEGANT CITY OF CÓRDOBA PROVIDES THE IDEAL STARTING POINT FOR AN EXPLORATION OF LITTLE-VISITED CÓRDOBA PROVINCE AND, IN PARTICULAR, THE BIODIVERSITY HOTSPOT OF MAR CHIQUITA.

ORDS: SHAFIK MEGHJI

LITTLE SEA AND THE

Northeast of Córdoba, Argentina’s second city, urban sprawl gradually gave way to pancakeflat farmland grazed by dairy herds. A series of nondescript towns were interspersed between the vast estancias, each with a pastel-shaded bus station, deserted plaza and pack of slumbering dogs. Periodically, we passed an industrial plant – one made butter and cheese, another produced Bimbo-brand bread – and dealerships selling tractors and combine harvesters. Over the course of the three-and-a-half-hour journey, the bus, half empty to begin with, steadily emptied until it was just me, the driver and a young police officer with a gun in a holster watching football highlights on his phone.

Eventually, we pulled into the small town of Miramar de Ansenuza to be greeted by a cartoonish flamingo statue the height of a two-storey house. It looked like it had stepped out of a John Waters film. In the distance, a line of palm trees framed a mirror-like, seemingly endless expanse of water dotted with candy-pink flashes. After travelling almost 20 miles inland from the Atlantic coast into the heart of Argentina, I’d finally reached the Little Sea.

The biggest salt lake in South America, almost twice the size of Hong Kong at its largest extent, the Little Sea –Mar Chiquita in Spanish – is a biodiversity hotspot. More than 3 0 species of birds are found here, including Andean, James’s and Chilean flamingos – the population of the latter, present year-round, tops 400,000. There are also mammals such as pumas, maned wolves and – spotted recently in the area for the first time since 1939 – giant anteaters.

In 2022, years of campaigning by conservationists, NGOs and local authorities finally resulted in the creation of a new 2,510-square-mile national park, Parque Nacional Ansenuza, to protect the lake and neighbouring R o Dulce wetlands. It was fortuitous timing. The following year, Javier Milei, a far-right economist, former Rolling Stones cover band singer and climate emergency denier, was elected president. Amid threats to take a “chainsaw” to public spending, the country has since been convulsed with protests, strikes and hyperinflation.

Despite its size, abundant wildlife and elevated conservation status, the Mar Chiquita remains under the radar. The same can be said for C rdoba province as a whole. One of the most diverse – and eclectic – parts of the country, the region has long drawn domestic tourists, yet few foreign travellers make it out here. C rdoba province “is little known outside

PREVIOUS SPREAD: Flamingoes on Laguna Mar Chiquita.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP: ndean a ingos on the Laguna Mar Chiquita; A southern la wing

OPPOSITE PAGE: Sunset on the Laguna Mar Chiquita; The beach at Mar de Ansenuza in Córdoba.

HIGH TIDE HAS TURNED THE MARSH INTO A SEA FILLED W ITH W AVES OF SMOOTH CORDGRASS

S W AYING IN THE CURRENT

Argentina,” says Kevin Begg of Estancia Los Potreros, a cattle ranch offering worldclass horse riding in the tumbling hills of the Sierras Chicas, despite its “spectacular mountains, Jesuit history and trails, award-winning wines, gaucho culture, and outstanding trekking and bird watching.”

Before visiting the Mar Chiquita, I stopped off in the elegant and cultured

city of C rdoba to speak to Lucila Castro, president of Natura Argentina, a conservation NGO that played an important role in the creation of Parque Nacional Ansenuza. Lucila grew up in Miramar, immersed in nature: “I was always doing things outside, always going to the shore, always exploring,” she tells me. “I’m a biologist because I grew up there – and because I love flamingos. But I didn’t want to become a biologist just to study things; I wanted to protect nature and use my profession to change public policy and people’s lives.”

The Mar Chiquita, she explains, is unique: “Three rivers end up in the lake and there are patches of forest, marshlands and wetlands, so it combines a lot of different environments. Because of this, and because the lake is so big, it allows for all these different species to live together. But even though it’s a super important ecosystem, there are still so many things we don’t know about it.”

The walk back from Lucila’s office took me through the shabby-chic neighbourhood of G emes and past the Iglesia del Sagrado Coraz n de Jes s, a striking neo-Gothic church that is missing a steeple (its absence symbolising earthly matter that dies without reaching eternal peace). Further on was the Manzana Jesu tica, a glorious complex dating back to the 1 th century and home to one of

the oldest universities in the Americas, which has earned the city the nickname of La Docta (The Learned). Students wearing pink T-shirts and sipping mate were demonstrating against the president’s plans to privatise higher education. Nearby, in the main square, a group of retirees carried placards with the slogan “No to Milei’s destruction of pensioners”.

C rdoba has always had a spirit of resistance. In May 1969, a civil uprising against the military dictatorship of General Juan Carlos Ongan a was met with repression in an episode that became known as the Cordobazo. Thirty-seven years earlier, the parents of a young Che Guevara moved from Buenos Aires to the town of Alta Gracia, an hour’s drive southwest, in the hope that the fresh air of the Sierras Chicas would ease his chronic asthma. Their home is now a museum with an evocative array of personal possessions (golf clubs, a bicycle, a vintage Mercedes typewriter) and the ashes of Alberto Granado, who accompanied the

revolutionary on his epic motorcycle journey across South America.

But there was an air of rebellion in C rdoba long before Che. The province is dotted with the remains of Jesuit estancias, hubs that combined ranches and farms with workshops, living quarters and churches, built in the 1 th and 18th centuries to corral, convert, coerce and colonise the region’s Indigenous peoples. Increasingly wealthy, powerful and independently minded, the Jesuits were eventually kicked out of Spain’s colonies in South America in 1 6 . Five of their estancias, plus the Manzana Jesu tica, are now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

C rdoba’s rebellious streak exists alongside a quirky, leftfield vibe. The kitsch town of Villa General Belgrano was founded by German crewmen from the Admiral Graf Spee, scuttled off the Uruguayan coast in 1939 following the Battle of the River Plate, the first naval

OPPOSITE PAGE

FROM THE TOP:

A horse ride through pampas grass at Estancia Potreros; Kevin Begg of Estancia Potreros; a horse ride through the Sierras Chicas at Estancia Potreros.

THIS PAGE CLOCK W ISE

FROM THE TOP: Córdoba: Beer houses in Belgrano Avenue; Iglesia del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús; Manzana Jesuítica.

conflict of World War II. Filled with mock castles, Alpine-style buildings, beer halls threatening live oompah bands on Saturday nights, shops selling cuckoo clocks and troll dolls, and restaurants serving sausages, sauerkraut and Black Forest gateau, it hosts a raucous annual Oktoberfest.

Meanwhile, in the northeast of the province, the town of Capilla del Monte has been dubbed the “UFO capital of South America”, with reputed sightings centred around nearby peak of Cerro Uritorco, a wonderful place to hike and climb, regardless of the paranormal chatter and esoteric mysticism.

There are also supernatural stories associated with Miramar. I arrived at the start of winter, on an unseasonably sunny and unexpectedly quiet afternoon, as if the summer tourists had only just left. On the beach I watched dozens of flamingos tiptoe through the shallows of the lake, whose placid waters disappeared into the

horizon, its far shore too distant to see.

The palm-fringed promenade was empty, save for an elderly couple working on a crossword, a bike-riding teenager and a tiny owl the size of a clenched fist perched on a fence post, its head swivelling like R2D2. Despite the lack of customers, the souvenir shops were open and well-stocked with biscuitycakes called alfajores, swimwear and sunglasses, and flamingo paraphernalia – fluffy slippers, soft toys, baseball caps. Restaurant menus advertised steaks, fried fish, calamari and nutria, a semi-aquatic rodent once farmed in the area for its fur.

Completing the out-of-season vibe, the ruins of the Gran Hotel Viena stood on a headland just north of the town. Built

in the 1940s by a German family keen to take advantage of the reputed healing properties of the lake’s water and mud, it grew into a luxury resort featuring Carrara marble floors, bronze chandeliers and a sizeable domestic and international clientele, before closing in the 1980s thanks to a devastating flood. Since then, rumours of paranormal activity (and tall tales of alleged Nazi guests) have swirled around the abandoned hotel, while the shoreline below is scattered with the remnants of its facilities – thousands of bricks and roof tiles, rusted orange pipes, metal rods spilling out of concrete blocks and the star-shaped base of a fountain, illuminated when I visited by a burntorange sunset.

OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP: A sculpture of a beer bottle in Villa General Belgrano; Alfajores –a traditional Argentinan cookie; A typical restaurant in Villa General Belgrano.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP: The Capilla del Monte panorama; Landforms and lake in Capilla del Monte; A canyon at Cerro Uritocoro in the Capilla del Monte.

I JOINED A BOAT TRIP ALONG THE COAST, QUICKLY LOSING COUNT OF THE FLAMINGOS

W E SPOTTED

I spent the next morning with Lucila’s sister, Carolina, exploring the forests, rivers and wetlands surrounding the lake. We hiked along paths, tracing veins of salt left behind by retreating floodwaters, fighting our way through dense undergrowth and inadvertently disrupting a crowd of parrots who exploded into the air at our approach. Beyond a thicket of pampas grass, we spotted red-crested cardinals, tan-coloured rufous horneros and a beady-eyed southern caracara, a bird of prey known locally as a carancho. Further on, a set of fresh puma prints – made as recently as the previous night – led across a mudflat, suspiciously close to the hoof marks of a wild pig.

Later I joined a group of day-tripping Argentine pensioners – the only other tourists I met in Miramar – on a boat trip along the coast, quickly losing count of the flamingos we spotted. All three of the lake’s species are present during the winter and there are plenty of shrimp for them to feast upon, thanks to the increased salinity of the water following several years of droughts in the region, events exacerbated by the climate emergency. “It’s now twice as salty as the sea,” said the captain, Nicol s.

On the way back, we cruised past the Gran Hotel Viena, crumbling and half swallowed by foliage, a reminder of the precariousness of tourism and the capriciousness of the natural world. Miramar already draws Argentine visitors during the summer and the creation of Parque Nacional Ansenuza is likely to boost numbers further in the years ahead. The task now, Lucila told me, is ensuring that tourism grows sustainably, benefiting local people while protecting the vital ecosystems of the Mar Chiquita: “It’s a good opportunity,” she said, “but also a huge challenge.”

N D N W

GETTING THERE

Regular flights connect the UK to Buenos Aires, from here there are frequent flights (around 1 hours) and buses ( 11 hours) to C rdoba. Daily buses (around hours) run between C rdoba and Miramar.

GETTING AROUND

C rdoba and Miramar are both easy to e plore on foot; for the former, ta is and local buses are handy for visiting the surrounding area. Several tour operators in Miramar offer birdwatching trips, guided walks and cruises; for the latter, try strella Azul (tel 4 4 1 ).

BEST TIME TO GO

C rdoba, Miramar and Parque Nacional Ansenuza can be visited year-round; spring (Sept Nov) and autumn (March May) both offer a good combination of plentiful wildlife and fewer fellow tourists.

W HERE TO EAT

There are plenty of good caf s, restaurants and bars in C rdoba’s G emes neighbourhood; for a splurge, head to the nearby, and much lauded, l Papagayo (elpapagayo.com.ar). Miramar has less choice, but there are several decent options in the town centre with menus featuring steaks, seafood, pasta and pizza.

W HERE TO STAY

Azur Real Hotel Boutique (azurrealhotel.com) is the best hotel in C rdoba an intimate, stylish place to stay with an e cellent spa, rooftop terrace and restaurant. Miramar has a range of simple, friendly and functional hotels and guesthouses, including Andaluhe Posada (andaluheposada.com.ar).

FURTHER INFORMATION cordobaturismo.gov.ar turismomiramar.com naturaargentina.org

he writer travelled with Journey Latin America (journeylatinamerica.com), which o ers tailor ade itineraries in Córdoba province and throughout Argentina.

A Life Well Travelled.

From safaris, road trips, voyages and treks, to rail journeys, cultural tours and family holidays, we have everything you need to ensure you live a life like no other.

You’ll take grand tours, discover the edge of wonder and even take a journey into space. Let the world become your playground, for a life well-travelled is a life well-lived.

LANDSCAPES CHANGE

THE COASTAL PROVINCES OF GRONINGEN AND FRIESLAND ARE THE PERFECT DESTINATIONS FOR EXPLORING THE NETHERLANDS AT A SLO W ER AND MORE CONSCIENTIOUS PACE, AND TO GET TO KNO W THE LOCAL PEOPLE AND W ILDLIFE CONTINUING TO SHAPE THEM.

LANDSCAPES OF CHANGE

ORDS: DIANA JARVIS

It’s just after sunrise and a swash of greys, yellows and blues fills the vast mudflat seascape in front of me. Crepuscular rays appear from dense cloud on the horizon and illuminate a tangle of wind turbines in the distance, as if they are the heavenly answer to something.

I’m witnessing this scene from my digs for the night, Eemshotel in the Dutch port city of Delfzijl. It looks like an oil rig, jutting unattractively into the sea, yet the whirling cheep of oystercatchers, the crackle of receding water in the mudflats and a blizzard of barnacle geese flying low over the water makes it feel more like being in a bird hide. This straddling of both the land and sea – industry and nature side by side – seems very apt for my journey around Groningen, Friesland and the Wadden Sea coast of the Netherlands.

PREVIOUS SPREAD: Sunset over the adden ea

THIS SPREAD

CLOCK W ISE FROM TOP LEFT: Eemshotel; An oystercatcher wading in the ud ats in ront o e shotel arly orning light over the adden ea

THERE’S

SILENT ELEGANCE TO THE LANDSCAPE AS THE TURBINES GRACEFULLY TURN,

D W ARFING THE OCCASIONAL TREES BENEATH

Groningen, in which Delfzijl sits, is the most northeasterly Dutch province and a hotbed of industrial activity with the River Ems estuary and several wide canals used by industrial traffic. Inland, vibrant fields of spring-green grass and acidic yellow rapeseed are crisscrossed by a jumble of electricity pylons and more wind turbines, and other fields entirely made from solar panels. There’s a silent elegance to the landscape as the turbines gracefully turn, dwarfing the occasional trees beneath.

The region is also the spiritual home of the European Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), thanks to the vision of Sicco Mansholt, the Minister for Agriculture in the post-World War II Dutch government. He grew up among the flat, fertile farmlands of Groningen and witnessed wartime hunger and subsequent malnutrition – so he made a pledge to never let the Dutch people go hungry again.

The CAP became a Europe-wide approach to the business end of food production that led to the so-called “milk lakes” and “grain mountains” of the

1980s and early 1990s. Production and consumption were very much separated by the pursuit of profit – taste and nutrition really didn’t feature at all in this agricultural equation. The Groningen landscape was shaped by these market forces – with grasslands for cattle to graze and crops grown to feed them.

As the wheel of time has turned considerably in the decades between, the buzzwords have moved from hunger and starvation to sustainability, nutrition and flavour. Born out of this sea change of values is a new food initiative, the Graanrepubliek. Housed in a reconfigured

tramshed, it is a cooperative of 34 members that grow ancient grains and create a range of products from whisky to bread, with profits shared between all members.

We’re welcomed into the slickly revamped glass-fronted interior with a genever (gin’s ancient cousin, made from a blend of juniper-infused neutral spirit and malt wine from rye, malted barley and maize) and tonic drunk through straw made of well, straw!

Laurens Speek, the general manager at Graanrepubliek, tells us that many of the grains grown by the members are based

on einkorn – the mother of all grains, which was originally brought over from Mesopotamia (modern-day Iran and Iraq) during the Crusades.

Over the centuries it was crossed with other grasses including emmer (barley-like ancient grain) and spelt to create the durable and easily harvestable wheat that goes into our biscuits, pasta and breads today.

Laurens leads us into the distillery with its shiny copper pot stills and colourfully lit displays of whiskeys and gins. The quality of the soil impacts flavour, he tells us. Here the soil is a rich sea clay –this whole region was under the sea until the 12th century – and is full of nutrients.

We sample alcohols at various stages of the distillation process including one experiment that is essentially distilled clay. “Can you taste the sea in the clay ” he asks. As the firewater slips down my throat, I can definitely detect the siltiness of the clay but I’m not sure about the sea.

“When the soil is healthy the grain is healthy.” As I type notes into my phone, autocorrect keeps changing soil to soul. But as Laurens eulogises more about the importance of keeping the earth full of nutrients to ensure maximum flavour in food and drink, I begin to wonder if there’s something in that. The soil is the soul of the flavour.

As well as spirit sampling, the Graanrepubliek also offers a tasting menu created with all manner of local produce. The omnivore in me is a little concerned at the idea of a fully vegan dinner, but I’m pleasantly surprised at how full I am afterwards. It’s a colourful spread: fermented blueberries accompany rolled slices of beetroot, dusted with mustard seeds; bright green lovage tops off a dish of celeriac and toasted bulgur wheat; and a dessert of strawberries, vegan cream and rose petals is almost too pretty to eat.

Around 80 per cent of the grain grown locally is currently still used for feeding cattle – black and white Holstein Fresian cows can be seen grazing in many

of the region’s fields. “ Food not feed’ is our mantra now,” says Laurens, explaining that the cooperative is hoping to change this ratio.

Change is also afoot at a former dairy factory in neighbouring Friesland. Suvelfabryk (which literally translates to “dairy factory”) has been transformed into stylish self-catering accommodation with the former milking shed now a cavernous breakfast and games room.

Local chef and herbalist Janet Frieling and her assistant Sanna are busy making our dinner when we arrive. They’ve been out foraging among the fields and hedgerows on the bountiful Wadden coast for a few ingredients that can’t be found in

supermarkets. From the seaside they’ve plucked vibrant orange sea buckthorn berries that are minced and juiced to form the basis of cocktails: mixed with either homemade kombucha or cava. Seaweed butter is made from sea fennel and wakame kelp and served in a huge oyster shell.

Wild garlic buds have been pickled and, on top of smoked carrots and oatcakes, look rather like capers. Frothy white garlic flowers make their way onto a lamb’s lettuce and radish salad and, in another large bowl, beetroot, apples and shallots are garnished with cherry blossom, which I’m surprised to discover is entirely edible.

The wild weeds pesto is an eyeopener, too: dead nettle, garlic mustard and dandelion, chopped, minced and blended with olive oil, salt and a few other secret ingredients. “We don’t have enough bitterness in our diets these days,” Janet tells me. “Dandelions are bitter and they provide excellent support for your liver and urinary tract.” Useful information to know, particularly if I end up having one too many of those buckthorn and cava cocktails.

The following day, we don our wellies and head out towards the Wadden Sea UNESCO World Heritage Coast to see how the whole ecosystem fits together.

We start at the former fishing village of Moddergat, its neatly kept houses and gardens protected from marauding storms by a giant grassy dyke with a herd of Texel sheep grazing on it. Local bird guide Casper Meinders takes us on a walk out to the shoreline, where the sea gently laps at the shingle, composed of a kaleidoscope of shells. The calls of countless birds fill the air and we encounter a decaying wooden palisade, originally created to trap silt and mud to make the land higher. Constantly eroded by the sea, it now creates a stark shape on an otherwise flat and featureless seascape.

Casper has been birdwatching here for 0 years and tells us that it’s like a motorway service station for a range of species going in all sorts of directions. Some, like meadow pipits, overwinter here and then fly south to Africa where they lay their eggs; others, like barnacle geese, overwinter here and go to the Arctic in spring. What brings them all here is that delicious, silty, salty mudflat and its molluscs, crustaceans and worms.

Casper shows us water snails and cockles. “Oystercatchers are used as an indicator species – if they’re doing well we can see what the ecosystem health is like,” he says. The birds can live up to 25 years and, as well as oysters, like to eat cockles. Unfortunately, during the warmer summers of recent years, large quantities of cockles have been dying in the Wadden Sea area, which has knock-on effects for the oystercatchers.

He points out the native cockle shells among the shingle but also draws our attention to non-native mussels from the Philippines – presumably transported here by a ship’s ballast, Casper says. In lean

times for cockles, the oystercatchers have learned how to prise open these mussels and add them to their diet.

So it seems we’re not the only ones adjusting our diet in the face of climate shifts. Much like the oystercatchers and the newfound additions to their diet, I’ve also discovered what dietary adaptability looks like in the face of changing weather patterns and seasonal availability – and it’s all incredibly tasty, nutritious and colourful.

W HAT BRINGS THEM ALL HERE IS THAT DELICIOUS, SILTY, SALTY MUDFLAT AND ITS

MOLLUSCS, CRUSTACEANS AND W ORMS

N D N W

GETTING THERE

Direct Eurostar (eurostar. com) trains run from London St Pancras to Amsterdam Centraal station, taking around four hours. From here, it’s a two-hour onward train journey to Groningen. Book tickets on ns.nl.

GETTING AROUND

Although you can easily explore the area by car, it’s best explored on foot or by bike.

BEST TIME TO GO

Spring and autumn are the best times of year to see the migrating birds, while the warmer, drier summer weather is ideal for e ploring the region by bike or on foot

W HERE TO EAT De Schrieirshoek (hetpaviljoendokkum.nl), set on the water on the outskirts of Dokkum in Friesland, is a delightful place for coffee and locally sourced vegan lunch.

W HERE TO STAY Eemshotel (eemshotel.nl) in Delfziel and Suvelfabryk (suvelfabryk.nl) northeast of Dokkum.

FURTHER INFORMATION visitwadden.nl en

Photos: iStock, Diana Jarvis, Dreamstime

JORDAN’S FORGOTTEN RELICS

Northern Jordan is a land where ancient history whispers through the windswept hills and forgotten paths, revealing stories of civilizations that once thrived in this harsh, rugged landscape. Beyond the well-trodden tourist routes, you’ll discover hidden fortresses, abandoned palaces, and timeless ruins that hold the secrets of Jordan’s rich and diverse past.

PHOTO ESSAY BY KAV DADFAR

THIS SPREAD: The countryside of Ajloun in Northern Jordan is a verdant landscape that ca tivates with its rolling hills dense orests and olive groves cattered throughout the countryside are a ealing s all villages where li e oves at a slower ace o ering a gli se into the rural traditions and agricultural heritage o the country

PREVIOUS SPREAD: he ancient o an heatre in an

LEFT FROM THE TOP: ayyad os ue in an itadel iew o an ro the citadel

THIS PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT:

ABOVE: ocated in the hills s alt s eauti ully reserved tto an architecture has led to it eing recognised as a orld eritage ite

RIGHT:

ne o the ar ets in the la yrinthine alleyways o s alt

ABOVE: Fa ily restaurants in s alt o er a war authentic dining ex erience where traditional ordanian dishes are served in co ho e li e settings

ABOVE AND LEFT: he narrow winding alleyways o s alt are stee ed in history ined with stone houses ar ets and hidden courtyards they showcase the town s tto an ast

LEFT AND ABOVE: ten called the o eii o the ast aresh oasts well reserved o an ruins where ancient streets grand

RIGHT FROM THE TOP:

NEED TO KNOW

GETTING THERE

Royal Jordanian Airlines flies daily to Queen Alia International Airport from both London Heathrow and Stanstead airports.

GETTING AROUND

Guided tours are the best options for visiting remote or less-accessible sites. Exodus offer a 12-day Jordan: Culture & Nature In-Depth tour visiting all of Jordan’s UNESCO sites, plus nature reserves as well as the classic highlights. You can also base yourself in Amman for day trips to AlAzraq, As-Salt, Jerash, Quseir ‘Amra and Qasr Al-Harranah with local tour operators.

BEST TIME TO GO

The best time to visit Northern Jordan is during the spring (March to May) and autumn (September to November) when the weather is mild. During these seasons, the landscape is particularly vibrant, with blooming wildflowers in spring and golden hues in autumn. The cooler temperatures make exploring the historical sites more comfortable.

WHERE TO EAT

You’ll find everything from traditional Jordanian restaurants serving hearty dishes like mansaf and maqluba to Western chain fast-food places in Amman. For an authentic experience, in smaller towns and rural areas, try one of the many family-run restaurants that provide a warm, welcoming atmosphere with homecooked meals that reflect the country’s traditional culinary heritage.

WHERE TO STAY

The capital, Amman, offers everything from highend hotels to charming boutique hotels in historic neighborhoods. In Ajloun, opt for the comfortable but basic and eco-friendly Ajloun RSCN cabins in the lush forest, surrounded by nature and stunning views of the Jordanian highlands.

FURTHER INFORMATION visitjordan.com

PEOPLE Party

A PACKED CALENDAR OF FESTIVALS PROVIDES AN ILLUMINATING W AY TO EXPERIENCE THE CULTURE AND COMMUNITY OF THE PHILIPPINES.

W ORDS: SARAH GILLESPIE

The warriors filed into the narrow street, tribal markings gleaming on their skin. They crouched in turtle formation, turfcovered shields aloft, awaiting command.

These were Iloilo City’s Dinagyang festival dancers: high school students. The Dinagyang warrior is to Filipinos what the cheerleader is to Americans: popular, desirable, the peak of physicality. Their costumes represented the first people of the island of Panay: the indigenous Ati. Panay’s inhabitants today have a mixture of Ati, Malay, Spanish and Chinese heritage.

My family and I watched from the cheap seats on uezon Street, cradling our three-in-one coffees made from powdered milk and industrial quantities of sugar. We’d been here since 6:30am, avoiding the Tetris-like squeeze of Iloilo traffic on Dinagyang Sunday. Some photographers in the media pit had been here since 1am. Most of the crowd were wearing Dinagyang t-shirts and some sort of feather headdress, bought from the roadside souvenir stalls.

One of the warriors from Tribu Salognon, the previous year’s champions, hoisted a banner and whispers rippled through the stands. They had ten minutes to prove to the judges that they deserved to retain their crown. The drummers raised their sticks; the crowd fell silent.

The starting whistle shrieked. The drummers exploded into action, the crack of their sticks like splintering bamboo. Flutes wailed. The warriors marched forth, then whipped their shields up and over their heads – first one line, then the next, the effect like wind-blown grass. They roared as they parted down the middle; female dancers sashayed through the gap, swinging their palm-frond skirts. A huge, segmented crocodile weaved in and out of the dancers. The reigning champions had spent 2.5 million pesos ( 33,400) on this performance, and it showed.

A boat appeared to the rear, carrying datus (chieftains) in embroidered silk waistcoats: they represented Malay settlers from Borneo. They danced back and forth, the Datus eventually bestowing their waistcoats upon the Ati. This was a recreation of the “Barter of Panay”,

where – according to legend – the Ati sold the lowlands of Panay to the Datus in exchange for gold and other luxuries.

Just when harmony had been achieved, another boat arrived – this time carrying pantalooned Europeans. With them, they brought the Santo Niño de Cebu, a gilded image of the baby Jesus and the oldest Catholic relic in the Philippines. It was originally brought to the Philippines by Ferdinand Magellan: a story that didn’t end well for Magellan, though that part was understandably glossed over here.

A screen was assembled, concealing the hasty movement of props. A hum began in the stands – the crowd knew what was coming – and broke into a roar as the screen parted to reveal an 8ft-high model of the Santo Niño. Around it, the Ati

A HUM BEGAN IN THE STANDS – THE CRO W D KNE WW HAT W AS COMING – AND BROKE INTO A ROAR AS THE SCREEN PARTED

warriors, now wearing flame-bright feather headdresses, raised their hands to the sky and shouted, “Viva! Señor Santo Niño!|

Festivals like these take place across the Philippines throughout the year, fusing Indigenous animism with Catholicism. The Ati-Atihan festival in Kalibo is believed to be the first and dates to the 13th century when the Datus first arrived on Philippine shores, and the Ati threw a welcome party. Catholic elements were added during the Spanish colonial period (1565–1898).

The first Dinagyang took place in 1968, when Catholic priest Sulpicio Enderez brought a replica of the Santo Niño from Cebu to Iloilo, and the locals welcomed it with a procession from the airport to the city. These initial celebrations were modelled on the Ati-Atihan but have since grown to become one of the Philippines’ biggest and best festivals.

I should mention that my mother is Ilongga (born in Iloilo), which makes me half-Ilongga and, therefore, biased. But the facts are on my side. Every summer since 2003, the winners of the country’s biggest tribal festivals travel to the capital, Manila, and compete for the chance to be crowned “the best of the best” in the Philippines. Dinagyang has won eight times, including in 2024 – four more times than its nearest rival, Cebu’s Sinulog festival.

OPPOSITE PAGE: Participant in the Dinagyang Festival with the Santo Niño replica.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP: Honoring the Santo Niño at the Dinagyang Festival; Miagao Church and image of St Thomas of Villanueva; Celebrating the Santo Niño at the the Dinagyang Festival.

Dinagyang takes its name from the Hiligaynon word “dagyang”, meaning “merry-making”. Celebrations start in early January, with the Opening Salvo. This is a chance for the tribes, who represent different high schools throughout Iloilo, to do a first run-through of their routines and iron out any kinks. The dancers are without costumes at this point, but the public flocks along anyway and films videos to post to social media, sparking feverish speculation as to who might be this year’s winner.

For the rest of January, Iloilo is a whirl of concerts, Catholic masses, processions and art exhibitions. Iloilo’s Santo Niño is flown to Cebu for a change of vestment; when it returns, it is paraded down the street, just as in 1968. As the main tribal competition approaches, food stalls set up and the streets are heady with the scent of lemongrass-infused chicken inasal and mango butterscotch.

The final weekend is a three-part affair. It begins with the ILOmination competition on Friday night, where tribes don UV paint and LEDs, and luminous floats trundle down Diversion Road. On Saturday, representatives from the region’s smaller festivals – celebrating everything from crabs to mangoes – participate in the Kasadyahan competition to be crowned the best of the best in Western Visayas.

The main event (always on the fourth Sunday of January) is the Tribes Competition between high schools. Each tribe might have two-dozen corporate sponsors, from international conglomerates to the family chicken shop down the road. Performances feature endless props and floats, all underscored by a cacophony of drums.

Despite the accolades and awards, not everyone is happy with the new, shiny,

weeks-long Dinagyang – namely, my mother, who remains nostalgic for the cardboard-and-glue Dinagyangs of the 1970s. “It was more fun in my time,” she grumbled at me the other day. “Everybody

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP: Participants in the Sinulog Festival in Cebu; Floating restaurants on the river at Loboc, Bohol.

OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP: Participants in the Moriones festival in Boac Marinduque island.

got to snake dance on the street after the competition and got smeared with greasy paint, just like the Dinagyang participants. Nowadays, there’s more formality and boring speeches.”

But if polished commercialism isn’t for you, there are thousands of other festivals that you can try. Each one is the Philippines in a microcosm, combining history, religion, music, costume, dance –and plenty of food.

In January alone, there’s the “mother of festivals”, Ati-Atihan, as well as Cebu’s Sinulog, where the dancers perform a flowing, three-step routine inspired by the sulog (current) of Cebu’s Pahina River.

After a relative lull in February, things start hotting up again for Holy Week. At Marinduque’s Moriones festival, the townspeople dress up as Romans in honour of St Longinus, who pierced Jesus’ side with the Holy Lance to confirm his death on the cross. This is also the time of the famous (or infamous) Pampanga Good Friday parades, where devotees known as mandarame are nailed to crosses using real (sterilised) steel nails. A more family-friendly alternative is to partake in Visita Iglesia: the country-wide practice of visiting seven different churches on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. If you’re in one of the four municipalities with a UNESCO-listed Spanish baroque church – Manila, Iloilo, Ilocos Sur and Ilocos Norte – so much the better.

In summer, Filipinos celebrate the harvest season with festivals themed around local products, such as pineapples, rice, fish and taro. The one that tops my bucket list is Manggahan on Guimaras: a celebration of the island’s famously sweet mangoes, with an all-you-can-eat mango buffet and a tribal competition featuring –yes, really – dancers dressed as mangoes. Autumn festivals focus on family and community, with Bacolod’s photogenic Masskara (masks) festival taking place in October.

The Christmas season, of course, is a country-wide festival of its own. One of my earliest memories of the Philippines is of cramming into a jeepney with twenty family members and driving up to Pototan, a town north of Iloilo, for the Iwag (light) festival in late December. My young mind was overwhelmed by trees festooned with constellations of parol: Christmas stars made from Capiz windowpane oysters, gilding every branch in green and gold. There was a charming idiosyncrasy to the light sculptures: there were shepherds and snowmen, yes, but also crabs and coconut trees. I could taste the faint tang of saltpetre in the air; people always started early with the New Year fireworks.

You might think it necessary to plan your trip around specific dates if you want

IN SUMMER, FILIPINOS

CELEBRATE THE HARVEST W ITH FESTIVALS THEMED

AROUND LOCAL PRODUCTS, SUCH AS PINEAPPLES, RICE, FISH AND TARO

to catch a festival; not at all. Such is their ubiquity that all you need to do is turn up, and sooner or later a festival will take place. This has happened to me on several occasions, where I’ve turned a corner and found myself part of some procession or other.

Perhaps the most memorable of these was the Fiesta de Santa Lucia, which takes place in the forest-swaddled town of Loboc, Bohol. I had visited Loboc and its eponymous river to try paddleboarding; my instructor, Arjay, invited me and my mum along to the evening celebrations. Typical Pinoys, I thought: one moment, you’re introducing yourself; the next, you’ve been absorbed into the heart of the community.

That night, we arrived at a chapel barely larger than a bus shelter. Rain pattered against the corrugated iron roofs of houses. I heard the dull thunk of a bell behind me and turned to see a slight boy bouncing up and down on a rope, summoning the residents.

Said residents shuffled in, followed by a quartet of musicians toting battered instruments: trumpet, clarinet, saxophone, ukulele. They spluttered out the first, rusted notes of a Bisayan hymn, and the congregation joined in chorus. Forming a loose procession, we ambled out into the night. At the rear, a group tottered along under a golden figurine of Santa Lucia, the patron saint of children.

Arjay passed candles to us, and we played a game of keeping the guttering flame alive in the wind and rain. I felt stabs of pain as hot wax splattered my feet.

Our procession picked up passengers as it trundled along: children who ran, laughing, from their homes; teenagers who carried a candle with one hand and texted with the other. The elderly villagers who couldn’t join lit

THIS SPREAD CLOCK W ISE FROM TOP RIGHT: Loboc River in Bohol; Guimaras Island mango festival; San Joaquin Parish Church, Iloilo; Participant in a Good Friday crucifixion re-enactment; San Joaquin Parish Church in Iloilo.

candles in their windows and sang as they watched on.

We reached the end of the road, by which time almost the entire village was there. The band made an awkward, clanking reverse through the crowd, and we followed them back to the chapel, where Mum and I, as the only visitors,

were assigned front-row seats.

After some chanting and prayer, a projector and laptop were wheeled in to play goodwill messages from Loboc’s balikbayan (expats). With one in ten Filipinos living abroad, this is a common feature of village festivals. There were technical difficulties, though, and the crowd shrieked with laughter every time the video froze on an unflattering facial expression. Primary schoolchildren toddled through rehearsed dance routines. Elders plied us with mountains of pancit noodles and tuba, a heady coconut wine. After we hugged everyone goodnight, Arjay whizzed us to our hostel on the back of his scooter, the candles blurring around us.

Though small, this festival – indeed, any festival – exemplifies everything I most love about Filipinos. Time and technology have moved on, but festivals ensure that community spirit endures. It reaches across generations, oceans and nationalities – as you’ll find out, when you’re ready to join the party.

THIS SPREAD: Masskara Festival. Bacolod City.

N D N W

GETTING THERE

Thai Airways, Cathay Pacific and Singapore Airlines fly from London Heathrow to Manila via their respective hubs.

GETTING AROUND

Use 2GO Travel (travel.2go. com.ph) for long-haul domestic ferry trips and Ceres Liner (ceresliner.com) for intercity buses. For longer distances, Philippine Airlines (philippineairlines.com) and Cebu Pacific (cebupacificair. com) operate frequent flights between cities.

BEST TIME TO GO

November to January has the best weather overall, though this can vary regionally. December, January and Holy Week (March or April) are the peak festival seasons.

W HERE TO EAT

Beloved nationwide chain restaurant Mang Inasal started life in Iloilo and serves tangy, lemongrass-marinated chicken inasal, a dish that originated across the strait in Bacolod. In Iloilo itself, try batchoy (pork noodle soup) at La Paz Market, and pancit molo (dumpling soup) at Kap Ising restaurant.

W HERE TO STAY

Hotels near festival action include the Richmonde Hotel Iloilo (for Dinagyang), and Citadines Cebu City (for Sinulog).

FURTHER INFORMATION

The Tourism Promotions Board (tpb.gov.ph) has a calendar of festivals on their website. At Dinagyang, most events are free entry but getting a seated ticket for the final two days can be tricky; it’s best to use a travel advisor such as Remote Lands (remotelands.com), which offers an 11-night festival themed tour of Western Visayas. Alternatively, turn up at 4am to secure a standing spot for free and rent a chair from one of the roadside entrepreneurs.

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