ancient

JUST a stone’s throw from Stonehenge, a glamping getaway in Wiltshire is perfect with or without the kids.

Here, Fab Mag‘s Lifestyle Editor Catherine Bennion-Pedley unwinds in a quiet corner of the English countryside.

THE PAD

Vineyard views? Check. Hot tub? Check. Cute resident animals? Check. Yep, Liba Vineyard – a passion project by couple Chris and Louise – is a winner for stays with little ones or couples and their dog.

Nestled in woodland, you will find three surprisingly spacious pods decked out in lush neutrals.

A double bed, sofa bed and fold-down table and chairs, alongside a shower with eco toiletries, keeps things comfy.

Alpacas, geese, chickens and peacocks complete the pretty rural backdrop. Plus, you can book a s’mores kit, £8, to level up your firepit game.

WILD TIMES

I stayed at the English campsite with glamping pods and nearby waterpark

GLAMP DOWN ON THIS

Soak up Scotland’s jaw-dropping scenery from a glamping wagon

EXPLORE

UNESCO World Heritage Site Stonehenge is 15 minutes away – as well as gazing at the mighty rocks, learn how our ancestors made shoes from bear skin and tops from nettles at the visitor centre.

Adult entry costs £23.65, over-fives £11.82 (English-heritage.org.uk).

At Boscombe Down Aviation Collection, kids will love climbing into more than 25 cockpits – one of which even dropped paratroopers on D-Day – and testing the flight simulators.

Adult entry costs £13.50, over-fives £6.50 (Boscombedownaviationcollection.co.uk).

Then pop into neighbouring Dark Revolution Brewery & Taproom for a refreshing Laser Bird – a tasty prickly pear and guava sour beer, £5.35 (Darkrevolution.co.uk).

Feeding lettuce to guinea pigs from custom-made fishing rods is a lot of fun at nearby family-run Cholderton Rare Breeds Farm – watch pig racing and meet cute Highland calves Flo and Mo, too.

Adult entry costs from £8, children from £7 (Choldertonrarebreedsfarm. com). Even better, book a 40-minute Sip & Stroll Tour of the farm’s vineyard.

You’ll get clued-up on English sparkling wine and taste two award-winners, £22.50 per adult (Bluestonevineyards.co.uk).

REFUEL

Nearby Salisbury is a foodie haven. On your way to its magnificent cathedral, pop into Fig & Fox for an iced honeycomb latte, £5, and beautifully curated gifts (Figandfox.co.uk).

Later, order a pretty platter, £25, with a house rosé, £6, at Maul’s Wine And Cheese Bar – the brillat-savarin drizzled in honey and wild boar pâté are must-tries (Maulswinebar.com).

Expect top-notch pizza at Nole on the square – we devoured the pancetta, leek, crème fraiche and crispy chilli special, £17 (Nolepizza.co.uk) – then catch the sun riverside at Sips.

They have 14 craft beers on tap, including Fruli, while international brews line the walls (@Sips.salisbury).

Oh, and the pulled-pork smash burgers at Cholderton farm’s cafe, £14.95, smashed expectations!

BOOK IT

Pod stays for up to four people at Liba Vineyard cost from £139 a night (Liba-vineyard.co.uk).

PACK IT

Stick to Liba Vineyard’s eco values while smelling of a tropical beach.

Sugar-free and packed with antioxidants, it’s our new summer obsession.

For those who still struggle to pack light – we’ve got you!

From royal romances and golfing greats to medieval ruins and legendary fudge doughnuts, this coastal town is one of the most captivating towns in Britain

There are few places in Britain that carry quite as much history, charm and quiet prestige as St Andrews. Perched on the rugged Fife coastline of Scotland’s east coast, this small seaside town has been drawing in royalty, scholars, golfing legends and curious travellers for centuries – and once you’ve visited, it’s very easy to understand why.

Home to one of Britain’s oldest universities, St Andrews on Scotland’s east coast is genuinely special.

It’s a place I’ve visited countless times, but each trip reveals something fresh to discover. During a weekend escape to Lower Largo, a small village in Fife, we dropped into St Andrews for the afternoon. From Edinburgh it’s around an hour and a half’s drive, while from Glasgow it’s an hour and three quarters.

A town steeped in history

The town’s story stretches back well over a thousand years. St Andrews became a major centre of Christianity in Scotland during the medieval period, largely thanks to the legend that the relics of Saint Andrew – Scotland’s patron saint – were brought here by a monk named St Regulus in the 4th century.

It’s also a town that has never been far from the corridors of power. Mary Queen of Scots was a frequent visitor, and the town played a key role during the Scottish Reformation of the 16th century.

Where William met Catherine

Fast forward a few centuries and the town’s most famous modern love story unfolded here. It’s where King Charles III’s eldest son, now known as Prince William, first crossed paths with Catherine Middleton while both were studying at the University of St Andrews in the early 2000s. The pair went on to marry in 2011.

The university itself, founded in 1413, is the third oldest in the English-speaking world and the oldest in Scotland. Its ancient cobbled streets and honey-stoned buildings give the whole town an air of class.

The home of golf

Whether you’re passionate about it or not, most people are probably aware that St Andrews is also famous for its golfing heritage. The Old Course, one of the world’s most famous, features an iconic landmark that calls for a photograph regardless of how often you’ve visited. Our first stop on this trip was the Swilcan Bridge, built over 700 years ago and situated on the course’s 18th hole.

The list of golfing greats who have walked across that modest stone bridge reads like a who’s who of the sport – Jack Nicklaus, Tiger Woods, Arnold Palmer and Seve Ballesteros among them. Setting foot on the green yourself feels bizarre, and the bridge provides the perfect photo opportunity. You’re bound to encounter other tourists, so you might have to wait a moment for your snap, but it’s well worth it.

It’s also popular with non-golfers, as country superstar Luke Combs was even spotted hitting a few balls there recently.

The Jigger Inn

Just a two-minute stroll away lies the fantastic Jigger Inn pub, which was our next destination for something to eat. Dating back to the 1850s, the Jigger Inn is a warm, inviting pub with crackling fires that looks out over the golf course.

There’s an excellent range of drinks at the bar, or you can settle down and order from the menu, which is precisely what we decided to do. No one will persuade me there’s a finer pairing than a Caesar salad, chips and wine, and the Jigger Inn served up all three superbly.

Exploring the town

Properly fed and watered, it was time to explore the town itself. It’s not the biggest, with most shops and attractions scattered across roughly three main streets, but you could easily wander for hours without getting bored. The medieval history is clearly evident as you walk through its streets – in fact, St Andrews retains much of its original medieval street plan, with the three main thoroughfares of North Street, South Street and Market Street dating back to the 12th century.

One of the town’s standout attractions is the ruins of St Andrews Cathedral, situated near the waterfront. Built in 1158, it was once the largest church in Scotland and a truly awe-inspiring structure.

There’s so much to take in around St Andrews that you could almost forget the sea is right on your doorstep. Just beyond the Old Course lies the renowned West Sands Beach, which famously featured in the iconic opening scene of the 1981 film Chariots of Fire. Had the weather been a bit better, it would have made for a perfect seaside stroll, but with the wind battering us from all sides, we decided to continue exploring the town.

Shopping in St Andrews

St Andrews is packed with fantastic shops, ranging from well-known high street names such as H&M and Jo Malone to independent boutiques and one-of-a-kind retailers you won’t find anywhere else.

As an avid bookworm, I was particularly eager to visit Topping and Company, a beloved family-run bookseller with a small number of stores dotted across the UK.

A whole table of signed first editions greeted visitors at the entrance, while the shelves seemed to stretch endlessly upwards and deep into the shop. It’s the sort of place where you could effortlessly lose hours browsing.

Just one final destination remained, and if you’ve got a sweet tooth, you’ll want to pay attention. No visit to St Andrews would be complete without popping into Fisher and Donaldson.

Founded in Fife in 1919, this beloved family-run bakery is known for one thing above all else: its fudge doughnuts. Widely considered the best in Scotland, these gloriously indulgent treats are packed with fresh custard and finished with an irresistible fudge icing. We picked up a few to enjoy with a coffee later, and predictably, they vanished in no time.

St Andrews is just a wonderful destination for a day trip or even a weekend break if you fancy a more leisurely pace. It’s charming whatever the weather, but on a bright summer’s day, it’s unbeatable.

Graffiti has marked the walls of Rome for millennia. Now, as one content creator builds a following cleaning spray-painted walls, his videos are fuelling a wider debate over heritage, street art and where the line between the two should be drawn.

Tell me, Christopher Nolan, when did it first rosy-fingered dawn on you that your favorite type of protagonist — a tormented sinner-hero — was a specialty of the ancient Greeks? Millennia before Matthew McConaughey’s astronaut sobbed over abandoning his family and Cillian Murphy’s Robert Oppenheimer gasped that he had become the destroyer of worlds, the Greeks spun cautionary legends about Odysseus, the Trojan War tactician who outsmarted his own plan to sail smoothly home.

Nolan refuses to tremble before the canon. Grabbing mighty scissors, he cuts and rejiggers Homer and a bit of Virgil to transform these classical texts into his type of tale: one fixated on memory, self-identity, destructive genius and the slippage of time. As ever, it’s light on sex, heavy on wine-dark angst.

Once you endure its opening stretch — an expositional barrage with the pace of an obnoxious cop show — “The Odyssey” ascends as a monument to movie craft with shuddering ships, rough-hewn landscapes and practical monsters who snatch and grab men at random from above like giant skill cranes. Unlike in most mythological tales, the white Corinthian columns have been swapped out for brutal stone architecture. The Parthenon won’t be built for another 800 years; likewise, Athenian democracy is centuries away.

Nolan has anchored his “Odyssey” at the fall of the Bronze Age, a once-great era toppled by wealth-hoarding, diminished trade and climate catastrophes. Fearful of invading marauders, humankind has turned distrustful and stingy, ignoring Zeus’ command to show generosity toward the poor and foreign-born, a cornerstone of faith that would later be repurposed in the New Testament.

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This Odysseus (Matt Damon) is both witness to and wrecking ball of the collapse. Not only does he steal, slaughter and pillage while expecting to be treated with kindness, but he’s also brainstormed the atomic bomb of his day: the Trojan horse, a deceitful invention planted into the sandy beaches of Troy that marks the decline of civilization like the Statue of Liberty in “Planet of the Apes.” Inside this claustrophobic wooden beast, Odysseus and his wild and bloodthirsty Greeks are crammed cheek-to-sandal so tightly that you can’t imagine how they’ll spring into action without first getting a massage. Outside and looking up at it, the pony seems to sneer.

“The Odyssey” is a saga with half a dozen detours and one destination, Ithaca, Odysseus’ kingdom. While he’s been fighting in Troy, his palace has been overrun by men who want to marry his faithful wife, Penelope (Anne Hathaway), and murder his helpless son, Telemachus (Tom Holland). Robert Pattinson’s oily suitor woos Penelope like a “Bachelorette” contestant: “It’s time to live again,” he urges her, certain that Penelope’s vengeful husband won’t come back. Forget that rose, dude, and run away.

Anne Hathaway and Tom Holland in the movie “The Odyssey.”

(Melinda Sue Gordon / Universal Pictures)

After 20 years away — 10 at war, 10 adrift — Odysseus is anxious to reclaim his kingdom. Or is he? Nolan floats a convincing psychological reason why this Odysseus subconsciously believes his duplicitous actions during the war deserve permanent exile from civilization. Although, as is the case with too much of Nolan’s storytelling, he wrongly thinks it’s more interesting to withhold Odysseus’ traumatic hang-up until the ending. The Greeks never tried to confuse the audience in the pursuit of suspense. They delivered their plots arrow-straight to make the dread sting.

Saddled with a silly black beard that eventually goes gray, Damon’s Odysseus is stubborn, overconfident and sacrilegious, but doesn’t bear that much resemblance to the conniving, hypocritical egotist of lore who fretted over his wife’s fidelity while seducing not one, but two, enchantresses, Calypso and Circe. Today’s viewers might demonize Odysseus’ erotic exploits; instead, they’ve been Damon-ized into something innately goodhearted.

The chasteness of Nolan’s version bugs me as it’s insulting he doesn’t trust audiences to grapple with this hero’s moral complexity — and I’m gut-sick that he’s probably right. Plus, it leaves Charlize Theron’s Calypso nothing to do but limply listen to (and medicate) Odysseus like a bored therapist reaching for the lithium. I was hoping for more zest from a blond wearing actual fishnets that could catch sardines.

At least Samantha Morton’s body-horror spin on the witch Circe is terrific. To punish his men for barging into her hut, she digs her fingers inside their skin like clay, remolding them into the swine she claims they are. Her outrage is one of the best ideas in the movie. Likewise, Lupita Nyong’o’s Helen is regal and formidable, but it’s a mistake to double-cast her as Helen’s twin sister, Clytemnestra. The whole reason thousands of men fought a war over the most beautiful woman alive is that there’s only one of them — unless undermining that excuse is the point. (In an aside, we’re told that Benny Safdie’s aloof Agamemnon, hiding under a try-hard scary helmet decorated with a golden spine, really waged it to break up Troy’s trade routes.)

Unlike in Homer or even “Clash of the Titans,” which showed the gods as toga-clad twits toying with mortal lives like action figures, they have little, if anything, to do in this plot. In Homer’s original verse, Athena is as fussy as a stage mother, showing up every few pages disguised as someone mortal to bless both Odysseus and Telemachus with live-action Photoshop filters that make them extra handsome. Here, Holland’s Telemachus gambles Athena is hiding inside half the people he meets until his father chides, “Don’t look for gods in men, you’ll just be disappointed.”

Instead, Nolan balances religion on the spear tip of doubt. The angry sea god Poseidon is reduced to rumors; mighty Zeus withheld to a few well-timed thunderclaps. Even Athena, if that genuinely is whom Zendaya is playing, isn’t that helpful, mostly staring at Odysseus in mute dismay. It’s possible to get to the end of “The Odyssey” and conclude that Nolan doesn’t believe in gods at all. To him, men must be proactive in their own demise. (I’m half-convinced, the way I don’t really swear by the zodiac but nevertheless stopped dating Libras.)

Composer Ludwig Göransson scores the breath-holding assault on Troy to drums that pound faster and faster on our nerves, as does our alarm that Odysseus’ troops aren’t the good guys. Occasionally, Göransson adds a lovely monotone layer of woodwinds or a keening chorus that sounds like the oldest song on Earth.

Conversely, during the talky Ithaca sequences, when the movie is rightly paranoid of losing our attention, the more modern heist-thriller music is flat-out obnoxious, especially in a scene where Odysseus lays out his ruse to infiltrate his house to John Leguizamo’s trusty goatherd, the most lovable man ever introduced throwing a puppy off a cliff. (No, really — it’s the movie’s only outright joke.)

Hoyte van Hoytema’s Imax-framed cinematography is assertive and present, rocking with the stormy waves and peering into the torch-lit darkness where the color palate is as starkly orange and black as an ancient Greek urn. Working with the special effects team, Van Hoytema cloaks the non-digital wizardry of the Cyclops and six-headed Scylla behind naturalistic camera movements and shadows so that, rather than drawing too much attention to themselves, the creatures just feel real. As gray and wrinkled as the bottom of a mummy’s foot, the Cyclops’ face is wonderfully askew, like he was stepped on by someone even bigger than him.

Nolan’s “Odyssey” engraves marvelous images onto the ancient oral poem. One of the most haunting shots is Odysseus sprinting out of Hades chased by an army of the dead who regret following him into battle. In turn, Nolan has sacrificed Odysseus himself to serve his own needs, scrapping the character’s prickly personality to Trojan-horse a message about how empires collapse.

Aghast at the ways of men, he’s dug his own Circe-like fingers into Homer to manipulate the tale into a moralistic “Oppenheimer” prequel. Even Odysseus seems to suspect as much. “Our mistakes will again be forgotten,” Odysseus predicts as the land he loves sails into the Dark Ages while he steers the helm. He’s done unforgivable wrongs. But in that moment, he’s right.

This beautiful woodland has been named among the best in Europe

One of Britain’s last remaining ancient temperate rainforests has been recognised amongst Europe’s most enchanting forest trails this summer. Wistman’s Wood, nestled within Dartmoor, secured third place on the list thanks to its remote location, centuries-old dwarf oak trees and captivating woodland scenery.

Travel specialists at Avis examined lesser-known European forests with Perućica Rainforest, in Bosnia and Herzegovina, claiming the top position and Spain’s Otzarreta Forest taking second place.

Though Wistman’s Wood was the sole British entry, it’s easy to see why this breathtaking location earned its spot.

Located just 31 miles from Exeter Airport, Wistman’s Wood offers convenient access for those exploring Devon.

The forest’s remarkable 500-year-old dwarf oaks have been twisted into gnarled, moss-draped shapes through centuries of Atlantic weather, emerging from a carpet of lichen-clad granite rocks.

The area feels more like a concealed treasure than a typical woodland, offering rewards to those who value ambience, legend and untamed scenery over picture-perfect vantage points.

Writing on Tripadvisor, one recent guest to the woodland commented: “Stunning ancient woodland that will make you feel like you are in a fairytale. A must-visit place. A lovely and easy walk from a small car park opposite the Two Bridges Hotel.

“The woodland is hidden in the fields, you cannot see it from the main road. It roughly takes one hour to reach it from the car park. We visited in autumn on a rainy day, and still, it was magical. This is one of the most unique woodlands you can find in the UK.”

A further visitor enthused: “The wood was fun, the lichen hung like Hagrid’s beard. The sights were astonishing and we saw loads of cows and sheep. I would recommend it to everybody.”

Europe’s most magical forests:

1. Perućica Rainforest, Bosnia and Herzegovina

2. Otzarreta Forest, Spain

3. Wistman’s Wood, England

4. Garajonay National Park, Spain (La Gomera)

5. Trollskogen, Sweden

6. Fanal Forest, Portugal

7. Białowieża Forest, Poland and Belarus

8. Brocéliande Forest, France

9. Saxon Switzerland National Park, Germany

10. Hallerbos, Belgium

One by one, the visitors descend through a tight tunnel cut through volcanic rock into the damp foundations of the Teatro Romano buried beneath Herculaneum, with the weight of 2,000 years of city above them. “This is a time machine,” the guide says, “and we are going back.” It is pitch black as film-maker Gianfranco Rosi’s camera finds torchlight catching the tourists’ transparent waterproof capes, making them appear like ghosts.

Released on the streaming platform Mubi this March, Rosi’s documentary Pompei: Below the Clouds threads a needle from classical antiquity to the present day. Presented in ashen black and white, without narration or interviews, it places the viewer inside the region surrounding Naples and leaves us there, each scene presenting a place and a moment in the area’s long history.

Naples is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, and most visitors see only a fraction of it before boarding the Circumvesuviana at Porta Nolana and riding the narrow-gauge railway east to Pompei or Herculaneum. In Below the Clouds, Rosi does not alight there. He stays on the train, camera in hand, and traverses this seismic landscape – from the Sorrentine peninsula, crowned by Vesuvius in the east, to the lesser-known craters of the Phlegraean Fields in the west. The train, Rosi says, is “my time machine”. His lens draws us into the Naples most visitors never see.

As a film-maker myself, who has lived and worked in Naples for the past 15 years, I was inspired by Below the Clouds to make my own pilgrimage, and boarded the overcrowded, noisy trains I usually avoid.

Before the Circumvesuviana reaches the archaeological site of Pompei, it skirts the Bay of Naples, passing through a number of overlooked towns characterised by a stratification of history visible in the architecture. Drawing into the station of Torre Annunziata, Rosi holds the camera on the visible layers of the town’s history: diamond-patterned Roman brickwork cut from nearby volcanic quarries, Doric columns from an excavated Roman villa, and the still-lived-in mid-century housing blocks rising above them. That Roman villa is worth stopping for. Believed to have been built for Poppaea Sabina, the second wife of Emperor Nero, Villa Oplontis feels like a secret discovery. Its frescoes are almost untouched, its colonnade pristine, and on this day, as always, there was scarcely another soul in sight.

Back on the Circumvesuviana, I head east to Somma Vesuviana. A team from the University of Tokyo has been excavating here for decades, slowly uncovering the Villa Augustea, the imperial estate where the Emperor Augustus is believed to have died in AD14. It was not the great eruption of AD79 that buried the villa, but a later one in AD472. The archaeological treasures still buried across the region are so numerous that tomb raiders have long burrowed into the soft volcanic stone looking for loot to sell on.

A second train line, the Cumana, runs in the opposite direction. It departs from Montesanto station in central Naples and heads west, reaching Pozzuoli in 25 minutes. At the end of the line lies a working port city of 75,000 people living in the basin of one of the world’s most geologically active calderas (volcanic craters). The lore surrounding Vesuvius has long overshadowed the dangers posed by the Phlegraean Fields, which rumble daily beneath the city’s foundations.

Stepping off the train at Pozzuoli, I was hit by the pungent sulphuric smoke drifting over the port. I had timed my arrival for a simple lunch at Abbascio ù Mare (a local favourite serving fish landed from the boats that morning) before visiting the Macellum of Pozzuoli, a 2nd-century Roman market near the harbour. Here, I found the clearest record of what is known as bradyseism, the movement of magmatic fluid and gas beneath the surface of the Earth that lifts and lowers the land, sinking entire towns and raising them again centuries later. Halfway up the ancient columns, I spotted bands of small holes in the stone. These were bored by molluscs when the columns once stood metres below the bay. Rosi’s camera follows the phenomenon underwater, descending into the submerged ruins of nearby Baia, where robed marble figures stand upright on the seabed as shoals of fish drift over mosaics and between their feet.

Between east and west, at the intersection of the Circumvesuviana and the Cumana, lies Naples – known to the Greco-Romans as Neapolis (the new town) because it was new compared with Pompei and Baia. In the centre of the city, at the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, Rosi films Maria, the museum’s archaeologist, deep in the storage vaults. This is what he calls the casaforte (the safe of memory) – shelf upon shelf of fragmented marble torsos, legs and busts, the overflow of 2,000 years of excavation. These artefacts are down here, Maria says, until it is their turn to return to the museum floor above – a mirror, Rosi suggests to me when we speak, of society’s own hierarchies. Like Rosi, I am obsessed with these perfectly formed marble figures, the survivors of catastrophe, that live in the galleries of the museum upstairs among the frescoes and bronzes, pulled from the same volcanic earth that buried thousands of people under Vesuvius.

Rosi juxtaposes the marble torsos with shots of dismembered ex-voto, small metal plates shaped like individual body parts. These are offerings, often left in churches or street shrines along with prayers to saints in exchange for bodily cures.

At the small church of Santa Maria Francesca delle Cinque Piaghe in the Quartieri Spagnoli, one of my favourite corners of the city, hundreds of ex-votos in the shape of pregnant women have been left for the saint of fertility. These practices, still very much alive today, speak to the Neapolitan impulse to marry the sacred and the profane.

Rosi’s film ends in an abandoned cinema somewhere along the train line, its seats destroyed, its screen partly intact. Into this ruin, Rosi projects clips from Roberto Rossellini’s Journey to Italy, a film about the past, playing in a ruin, in a city built on ruins, above a city that was itself once buried. Like a Chronovisor (a mythical 1950s invention that supposedly broadcast actual historical events), the cinema is where the present tense becomes the past even as you watch it. Just like Naples. Just like Below the Clouds.

By the end of the film’s nearly two-hour runtime, the viewer has made the same journey as those visitors descending into the foundations of the Teatro Romano in Herculaneum to behold and reflect on a civilisation buried mid-sentence. Below the Clouds insists, however, that this confrontation does not require a museum ticket. “We are already living inside the catastrophe,” says Rosi.

Pompei: Below the Clouds is available on Mubi. Herculaneum, Pompei, Villa Oplontis, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli are open to visitors. The Circumvesuviana runs from Napoli Porta Nolana east to Pompei and Herculaneum. The Cumana line runs from Montesanto station west to Pozzuoli. Sophia Seymour offers bespoke city walks and itineraries through Looking for Lila