Exploring

In the mirror I’m wearing enormous golden pantaloons, but only I can see them. Children sit in a rock pool playing mermaids, and in the next room there’s a talking pea in a display case, beside a towering stack of mattresses. It’s the world of Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875), one of the 19th century’s most beloved writers. I’m in Odense, on the island of Fyn (sometimes anglicised to Funen) in the south of Denmark, to explore Andersen’s enduring legacy in his home town 150 years after his death, and to discover a few fairytales of my own.

HC Andersens Hus is the city’s museum dedicated to the writer, incorporating his first home. Niels Bjørn Friis from Museum Odense says that in earlier iterations of the museum there was little focus on Andersen’s stories. The writer’s life was explored, but The Ugly Duckling, Thumbelina and The Little Mermaid were nowhere to be found. For visitors who come to Odense seeking storytelling magic, it was a little lacking.

The redesign of Odense city centre, rerouting a major road, provided the opportunity to reimagine how the city’s most famous son could be honoured. A major architecture competition awarded Japanese firm Kengo Kuma and Associates the contract, with the curators’ new approach at the core of the design. The distinctive timber-clad museum with interlinked spiralling spaces opened to great fanfare in 2021. “We’ve tried to create a space where we don’t talk about Andersen, but we talk like Andersen: with humour, irony and perspective,” says Friis. Even the gardens take this approach: “It’s a garden for wanderers and for giants, it’s designed to make you feel small,” he says, a challenge achieved by clever planting, playing with height, scale and many winding paths in a deceptively small space.

Andersen wrote two and a half autobiographies and frequently contradicted himself. HC Andersens Hus takes this approach to heart; often the views of his friends or snippets of letters are presented to gently question the author’s own version of events. “Andersen is the guide, but he’s not reliable,” says Friis. The result is a compelling whirlwind tour of Andersen’s life and art, thought processes and best-loved stories. It’s provocative and playful, for adults and children, with a bonus basement make-believe land, Ville Vau, for the youngest visitors.

Back in the real world, the small city of Odense is charming, with cobbled streets and old wooden houses painted in bright colours. The Andersen legacy is everywhere: the traffic lights feature the writer with his signature top hat, brass footprints provide a free Andersen walking tour, and there’s a sculpture trail too. Every August this dedication peaks with the annual HC Andersen festival, which celebrates the author’s legacy through art, dance, theatre and music.

This year, the week-long festival had 500 shows, most of which were free. As I explore Odense, I meet painted stilt-walkers, ghoulish monsters and an Andersen lookalike telling stories. I hear feminist spoken-word pieces and see an incredible late-night performance featuring acrobatic dancers descending from the town hall and hanging from a crane. Still to come this year are lectures, family art workshops and, expanding the storytelling legacy beyond Andersen, the city’s annual Magic Days festival.

As in most of Denmark, bikes are the best way to get about in Odense and a “cycling highway” winds through the city centre. From Hotel Odeon, I cycle to the free harbour-side swimming pool, then out of town for a loop around Stige Ø, a small island connected by causeway to the mainland. City residents picnic here after work, or enjoy a quiet hour fishing, paddleboarding or swimming.

Back in Odense, I eat at Restaurant Under Lindetræet, where the menu is inspired by Andersen themes and stories. The poem Denmark, My Native Land is featured when I visit, and proprietor Nils Palmqvist reads extracts, translated into English, as he presents each course. It’s an experience repeated often in my days in the city, the fynbo (as residents of Fyn are known) love a yarn and it feels as though storytelling is always on the menu here.

All good fairytale destinations need a castle, and Fyn boasts 123 castles and manor houses across the island. Taking day trips from Odense, I visit Egeskov Castle, Europe’s best-preserved Renaissance water castle. While much of it is open to visitors, Egeskov is also the family home of Count Michael Ahlefeldt-Laurvig-Bille and his wife, Princess Alexandra zu Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg. I wonder if she can feel a pea through a stack of mattresses. The couple are often found in the vast landscaped gardens and play park chatting to visitors.

At Valdemars Castle to the south of Fyn, I meet Louise Iuel-Brockdorff Albinus, the current owner of Valdemars Castle built between 1639 and 1644 by King Christian IV. After a family inheritance dispute that emptied the castle contents, Albinus decided to open her home to visitors and filled it with art, inviting international artists to create site-specific pieces. The juxtaposition of the high cornices and fine wallpapers with Czech artist Jiří Georg Dokoupil’s huge balloon-like sculptures and colourful bubble paintings would no doubt have amused Hans Christian Andersen, who loved to challenge expectations.

From Valdemars Castle, I catch the MS Helge, a wooden ferry built in 1924, which transports passengers around the South Fyn archipelago. This beautiful coastline was last year designated a Unesco Global Geopark for its unique “drowned” ice age landscape. I disembark in Svendborg and rent a bike from South Funen Bicycle Rental. I’m cycling today with Mette Mathiasen from Destination Fyn, who is behind the development of the 410-mile (660km) castles route around Fyn. It’s divided into 14 sections, with local operators offering luggage transfer. We’re exploring a 21-mile section, along the coast to the village of Åbyskov and Elsehoved beach. We pass turreted castles, manors and long stretches of quiet coastline, pedalling along country lanes with hedgerows overflowing with blackberries. Unlike most of Denmark, there are some hills in the south of Fyn, but with quiet trails and the option of an ebike, this is gentle, all-abilities cycling.

As dusk falls, I pedal across the moat to my last castle of the day and my final destination on Fyn – Broholm Castle. Broholm has 700 years of colourful history and plenty of ghost stories, and was a frequent haunt of Andersen, featuring in his 1837 novel Only a Fiddler. From a childhood of poverty to international acclaim, Andersen’s life was quite the adventure. Following in his footsteps on Fyn has been full of castles and colourful characters, with a few surprises too.

The trip was provided by Visit Denmark and Destination Fyn. Hotel Odeon has doubles from 1,100 kroner (£128) B&B. Broholm Castle has doubles from 1,695 kroner B&B

‘Is there anything worth seeing in Latvia?” asked a bemused friend when I explained my destination. “Other than Riga?” Latvia’s capital is certainly worth a visit: a wonderland of perfectly preserved art nouveau architecture with a medieval centre of narrow cobbled streets and enough quirky museums to satisfy the most curious of visitors – most of whom just come for a weekend.

But a short drive or bus ride east of Riga lies another, more expansive and completely empty, wonderland: a wild, post-Soviet landscape of untouched forests, ecologically renowned wetlands, windblown beaches and crumbling castles. Not to mention the newly restored baronial estates where you can stay for the price of an average British B&B. This region, known as Kurzeme, is almost the size of Yorkshire (population: 5.5 million) but with a mere 240,000 inhabitants.

Kurzeme (also known by its German name, Courland) has 180 miles of undeveloped coastline and a good proportion of Latvia’s 1,200 castles and mansions, as well as the ancient valley of the Abava River, listed by World Monuments Watch as one of “100 endangered unique cultural monuments”.

It also boasts Kuldīga, a Unesco world heritage town, and Liepāja an upcoming European capital of culture (2027) – full of languishing art nouveau architecture, and enough former Soviet collective farms, KGB watch towers and military barracks to remind us that history really is just a breath away.

The Latvian bus system is excellent and extremely cheap but I rented a car for a few days to maximise my time. My tour began in Sabile, a town on the River Abava – whose crystalline, beaver-filled waters flow from Kandava to Kuldīga (Sabile is also home to several vineyards where Latvian wine can be tasted). Here, one misty cacophonous morning, I casually flipped open my Merlin birding app. Within minutes it had identified 25 birds including sedge warblers, golden orioles and spotted fly catchers and I had seen marsh harriers. Apparently such a wide variety is perfectly normal: Latvia’s bogs, wetlands, coastal lagoons and ancient forests (53% of the country is woodland while 5% is wetlands) make it one of northern Europe’s best birding sites.

Just a few minutes’ drive outside town is the Pedvāle Art Park, a 100-hectare nature reserve where storks pick their way through swathes of wild lupins and 195 contemporary sculptures from across the world. Founder Ojārs Feldbergs told me the Abava valley is home to 800 species of plant and animal, as well as crusader castles and Viking graves. “It was once a trading route for amber,” he tells me. “The Baltic Sea is the world’s richest source of Baltic gold, which was transported to St Petersburg and the east through this valley for centuries.”

Later, the bucolic beauty and clean waters of the Abava valley, along with its therapeutic sulphur springs, attracted hundreds of German aristocracy, giving the region a disproportionate number of baronial estates. Though these fell into disrepair during the Soviet era when they became collective farms, tractor houses and pig farms, in the past decade many have been painstakingly restored as boutique hotels.

At Kukšu Manor (guided tour €5), I gawped at lavishly painted ceilings and jaw-dropping frescoes. Here, for €185 for a double room, anyone can live, fleetingly, as a Baltic baron. Just north of the valley, I strolled in the walled gardens, vineyards and frescoed state rooms of Nurmuiža Castle and Spa, an elegantly restored estate where you can dip in a wild swimming lake as cranes and storks fly overhead, and double rooms cost from €80. Alternatively, at Padure Manor near Kuldīga, a reconstruction-in-progress often used for film sets, €40 will buy you a bedroom and access to the musty Soviet library that came with the house.

Kuldīga itself, a charmingly dusty town, became Unesco-protected in 2023, thanks to its 17th-century wooden architecture and striking location above Europe’s widest waterfall, the Venta Rapid – crossed via Europe’s longest brick road bridge. The high street – not a single chain store in sight – includes a needle museum, a renovated merchant’s house, and craft shops where I splashed out on handknitted socks for my kids.

At Pagrabiņš, which locals assured me served some of the best Latvian food in Kurzeme, I slurped delicious salty sour soup known as solyanka with a slice of Latvia’s famously dense, chewy rye bread. Afterwards, a 30-minute drive – including a stop-off at the pink, fairytale Ēdole Castle – took me to Jūrkalne, a pretty and utterly deserted beach of bluffs, dunes and pine trees. Pāvilosta, the latest hotspot beloved of Rigan hipsters, lies to the south: an old fishing village where you can grab a flat white (try Cafe Laiva) and watch the rolling Baltic surf or cycle the EuroVelo 13 coastal track to Liepāja.

It’s here, in Latvia’s third largest city that I end my trip. With its lush parks, sandy white beaches and strollable streets of gently decaying baroque and art nouveau buildings, Liepāja makes a great base for exploring the south-west corner of Kurzeme. I stayed in the historic Art Hotel Roma (doubles from €80 a night which includes access to the hotel’s art collection) and ate as often as I could at an exquisitely restored lodgings once frequented by Peter the Great: Madame Hoyer’s Guest House. Although it’s now a museum, the dining room operates much as it did in 1697.

But Liepāja’s greatest attraction must surely be Karosta, once one of the USSR’s largest submarine bases, and a closed military zone for nearly 50 years. Today, it’s a ghostly swill of pristine coastline, brutalist architecture and graffitied Soviet watch towers, with the gold-encrusted domes of the Russian Orthodox St Nicholas Naval Cathedral gleaming, surreally and extravagantly, from its midst.

To fully grasp Latvia’s extraordinary, violent history, I took a guided tour of Karosta prison, one of only a few former military jails in Europe open to visitors. Here, windowless cells once housed revolutionaries, miscreant soldiers and officers of the tsarist army, the Soviet army, the Latvian army, as well as deserters of the German Wehrmacht and “enemies” of Stalin – many of whom had used their metal buttons to scratch their initials into the concrete walls. A little unusually, Karosta prison offers all-night stays (ranging from €15-60 a night) for anyone not averse to paranormal activities – it’s been voted the most haunted place in the world by Ghost Hunters International. I opted, instead, for a recuperative beer from one of Liepāja’s burgeoning microbreweries, mulling over an intriguing part of the world, far from the usual tourist haunts.

The writer travelled independently using the extensive network of Kurzeme’s tourist information offices and with help from latvia.travel. For information on castle and manor house stays visit latvia.travel

The wide Exe estuary glides past the window. Leaning back in my seat, I watch birds on the mudflats: swans, gulls, oystercatchers and scampering red-legged turnstones. Worn down by a busy, admin-heavy summer, I’m taking the train through Devon for a peaceful break that hasn’t needed too much planning.

Exmouth is a compact, walkable seaside town, easily reached by train on the scenic Avocet Line from Exeter. No need for stressful motorway driving and, once you’re there, everything is on tap: beaches, hotels, pubs, shops and cafes, alongside gentle green spaces and ever-changing seascapes.

Before arriving in Edinburgh, Nataliya Bezborodova’s impression of Scotland was shaped largely by Hollywood. “My knowledge of this country was pretty much based on the film Braveheart,” she admits with a laugh, standing before the grand neoclassical columns of the National Galleries of Scotland. As if on cue, the castle’s daily gun salute fires overhead, scattering pigeons and punctuating our conversation with a jolt.

Three years have passed since the 47-year-old anthropologist left her home in Kyiv for Edinburgh, after the Russian invasion. Celluloid warriors have long been replaced by the rhythms of life in a city she now knows like the back of her hand. So well, in fact, that she has launched a walking tour revealing a layer even locals might miss: the story of Edinburgh’s vibrant Ukrainian community.

Bridges Across Borders: Tracing Ukrainian Roots in the Heart of Edinburgh started in June and is the latest in a growing portfolio of women-led immersive walks developed in partnership with Women in Travel CIC, the UK-based social enterprise that fosters gender inclusion in the tourism industry. It now offers seven tours celebrating multiculturalism in its many forms: from a Saudi-led deep dive into west London’s Edgware Road to a sensory stroll along Ealing Road in Wembley, north-west London, with its Hindu temples and sizzling street food. All tour leaders are trained through Women in Travel’s guiding academy, which aims to help women earn an income by sharing their stories with travellers seeking a deeper connection to a place.

The two-and-a-half-hour walking tour attracts a mix of locals and tourists, Nataliya tells me. “I’ve even had people from Ukraine join the group, who had no idea about our shared heritage with Scotland,” she says, as we stroll along Princes Street, the city’s main artery.

Scotland’s Ukrainian population has grown since the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine began in 2022, with about 5,000 refugees arriving via Edinburgh. But, as Nataliya points out, the ties go back centuries. Dominating the horizon, the crenellated outline of Edinburgh Castle looms large. It houses St Margaret’s Chapel, built in the 12th century and named after a queen thought to be a quarter Ukrainian. Edinburgh and Kyiv were also formally twinned in 1989, Nataliya adds. We pass the Scott Monument, its blackened gothic spires piercing the sky. At its base, a kilted busker skirls a haunting tune on the bagpipes.

We are soon puffing our way up and down the leafy slopes of Calton Hill, pausing first at a plaque to Saint Wolodymyr – who helped bring Christianity to Ukraine more than a thousand years ago – and then at the Holodomor memorial stone honouring the seven million Ukrainians who died in the forced famine of 1932-33. “It’s a reminder that these things must never happen again,” Nataliya reflects.

A short walk away lies Royal Terrace, on the eastern edge of New Town, a handsome Georgian sweep of sandstone townhouses by the Scottish architect William Henry Playfair. Tucked between swish boutique hotels and stately homes, blue-and-yellow flags flutter at the Ukrainian community centre.

Inside, a plate of homemade potato dumplings, cooked by the centre’s summer camp children and topped with a dollop of sour cream, awaits. As we tuck in, Nataliya explains how the arrival of recent refugees has rekindled pride among Edinburgh’s older Ukrainian diaspora, whose first major wave came in the 1940s: “The newcomers helped them reconnect with a culture that had gone underground.” Today, the centre hosts coffee mornings, cookery classes and language lessons for the Ukrainian community, alongside a rolling programme of concerts and film screenings open to all.

Back out on the street, trams rumble by as we head west, passing familiar landmarks, including a bronze Sherlock Holmes, keeping watch at Picardy Place in tribute to his creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, born just around the corner. In the shadow of the redbrick Scottish National Portrait Gallery lies our final stop: the Square, a Ukrainian-owned cafe that opened in 2023.

This modest slip of a building, with its slate-grey facade and plant-fringed window, is easy enough to miss. Inside, though, it’s quietly pioneering: the first place in the city to serve both Scottish and Ukrainian staples (though not on the same plate). The full Scottish breakfast – haggis, tatties and all – sits alongside Ukrainian classics such as holubtsi (cabbage rolls stuffed with lightly spiced meat).

The owners, Ievgen and Valentyna Loievska, arrived in Edinburgh from the southern Ukrainian city of Mykolaiv in 2022. “The cafe was our way of bridging cultures and bringing people together,” Ievgen tells me. Within minutes of sitting down, the table groans under bowls of steaming borscht, plates piled high with dumplings, and deruny (crisp golden potato pancakes drenched in parmesan sauce). Just as I think I can’t manage another bite, out comes the grand finale: syrnyky – sweet curd-cheese pancakes swimming in velvety berry juice – as Nataliya shares what creating the tour has meant to her personally.

“Putting the tour together made me realise just how many Ukrainian landmarks are hidden across this city,” Nataliya says. “It’s about finding connections between seemingly distant cultures.”

As we wrap up, I’m handed a doggy bag for the journey home, a gesture that feels more like leaving a favourite grandma’s kitchen than ending a walking tour. An experience that initially seemed a little leftfield now makes perfect sense within the context of this city, I realise. In a place steeped in storytelling, Nataliya’s tour adds a fresh chapter to Edinburgh’s ever-evolving narrative.

Women in Travel’s Bridges Across Borders: Tracing Ukrainian Roots in the Heart of Edinburgh tour runs every Wednesday at midday and costs £58pp, including a taster plate at the Square cafe. Created with the support of Visit Scotland

There are no signs to the hot spring, but I locate it on the map and we drive to the end of the paved road. Overlooking the sea is a stone bench someone has dedicated to her parents, “with gratitude and love as deep as the Aegean”. My dad died recently and the words strike home. I’m glad my mum has joined me on this little adventure.

We walk down to the deserted cove at Agia Kyriaki thermal springs. There are old fishing shacks with stone-slab roofs, and shuttered cottages. Down an unmarked path, we find a rock pool where hot waters bubble gently from the sand, blending with the sea to a perfect temperature. Immersed in the healing mineral bath, I look up at juniper trees and blue sky, lulled by lapping waves and cicadas.

Ikaria, in the eastern Aegean – named after Icarus, the Greek mythological figure who flew too close to the sun – is known for its forests, springs and wine, communist leanings and longevity. Its population of about 8,000 is spread across dozens of scattered villages over 255 sq km, with few dedicated to tourism, and it only really gets busy in July and August. We arrive in mid-June from Kos (ferries also connect Samos and Athens to the port of Evdilos) at the port of Agios Kirykos and drive north-east to Faros, which has a mile of beach without a single hotel. The house we’ve rented for our first few days, Lighthouse Lodge, is perfectly located next to a cafe-bar and two tavernas – the hot spring a few kilometres away.

While Mum reads in the shade of a tamarisk tree on the beach in front of the house, I walk around the mastic- and thyme-covered cape to Drakano tower, with remains of fortifications from the fourth century BC. The lofty peak of Samos and the Fourni islands are the only features in an expanse of blue – the space and light are mesmerising.

A few Greek families with young children linger on Faros beach until dark. At Grigoris taverna, we eat grilled sardines and soufiko, summer vegetables cooked slowly in olive oil, and drink Ikarian red wine. Then we fall asleep to the sound of the waves.

The next day we explore the north of the cape, swimming in the clear turquoise waters of Iero bay, near the cave where legend has it that Dionysus was born.

Getting to Monokampi, a pretty village 15km inland from Agios Kirykos, and our base for the following two nights, requires negotiating the forest-covered Atheras mountain, which stretches in a 40km ridge across the full length of the island, rising to more than 1,000 metres. Our route zigzags up a vertiginous slope, cypresses poking up from the tangle of trees.

We’re late and I call George, owner of Moraitika Farmhouse, to say we’re on the mountain somewhere. “Ten kilometres in Ikaria are not like 10km anywhere else!” he laughs. When we arrive, George shows us around what was his great-grandmother’s farm, lovingly restored over 15 years. Three houses are now tourist accommodation, while the oldest one, from the 14th century, is like a museum to old Ikarian life, with a large fireplace for smoking meat, an inbuilt oven and a secret back door for escaping from pirate raids. A forest of arbutus (strawberry tree), oak, olive and ivy has grown over the once-cultivated terraces and the footpath his grandmother used to walk over the mountain.

In the evening on the terrace, as the sun descends over the sea, we eat local cheese with an organic dry white wine, Begleri – all picked up en route, as we’re a long drive from a taverna. Eleonora’s falcons swoop, an owl hoots and there are tiny, bright lights of glow-worms.

In the cool morning, birds sing their hearts out. We walk through Monokampi’s village square, dominated by a huge plane tree, and follow a sign to Agia Sofia, a hidden chapel built into a rocky spur. Mum points out honeysuckle and walnut trees, and we pick mulberries and plums.

The next day we descend to the coast and continue west, stopping at Karavostamo for a swim and fresh spinach pies from the bakery, then we drive on, looking for a place to stay for the next few nights. We stop above an impressive beach at Gialiskari, but there’s the thump of music from a bar so we keep going.

At Nas, we pull in at a taverna. After a lunch of courgette fritters, herby meatballs and homemade cheesecake with sea views, we think we might have found our place. We walk on until we spy a lush river canyon and a sparkling cove, and soon find rooms at Artemis Studio.

Steps lead down the rock to the bamboo-fringed estuary, where swallows and damselflies flit. The other bank is dominated by the walls of an ancient harbour and a ruined sanctuary for the worship of Artemis, protector of nature and wildlife. The waters flow from the deep, pine-covered Halari gorge, which extends several kilometres inland, with paths leading in various directions. The riverbed, with pink-flowering oleander and little waterfalls, fills with wild campers in mid-summer. For now, quiet reigns.

We quickly fall in love with Nas. Mum swims in the freshwater lagoon with the frogs; I swim in the sea, which is cold enough to leave my skin tingling. When the sun sets into the ocean, we settle on Artemis’s peaceful terrace for baked aubergine with kathoura cheese and red peppers, and goat roasted in olive oil and wine. The taverna is run by Thanasis, a musician who offers tours of his family’s organic farm, and Anna, who has a ceramics studio and shop, where we take our time choosing pretty jewellery.

After a breakfast of fresh juice, eggs and Ikarian smoked ham at nearby Reiki cafe, we head on to our next stop, in the village of Agios Polykarpos. We’re staying at Monopati Eco Stay, which has studios of stone, wood and bamboo, with large windows framing a magnificent view of blue sky, canyon and forest.

The owner says we will find his 87-year-old mother in the garden. Svelte and sprightly Popi, covered up against the sun, is thinning out her basil plants and beams at us. She shows us terraces filled with courgettes, sweet potatoes, aubergines and tomatoes. The next day she picks me apricots, shows me how to make basil pesto with walnuts and sunflower seeds, and tries teaching me to dance the ikariotiko, with a deep laugh when I mix up the steps.

Her philosophy is: good food, good thoughts and outdoor exercise. Every morning, she looks at the magic of nature and feels gratitude. “We only have one life – we must make the most of it.”

Mum and I feel that exact sentiment as we wave goodbye. We’ve made the most of our two weeks of discovery in Ikaria. We leave not only revived by good food and rest, but energised and inspired by the sweeping landscapes and time together, with precious memories to last a lifetime.

Lighthouse Lodge, Faros, from £105 a night (sleeps 4, minimum three nights); Moraitika Farmhouse, Monokampi, from £55 per house (sleeps 2-4); Artemis Studio, Nas, from £40 per studio (sleeps 2); Monopati Eco Stay, Agios Polykarpos, from £80 per studio (sleeps 4-6, minimum three nights)

Tottenham are exploring a deal for Crystal Palace and England forward Eberechi Eze.

Thomas Frank is looking to bolster his options in the final third after attacking midfielder James Maddison was ruled out for the majority of the season with an anterior cruciate ligament injury.

Eze scored 14 goals across all competitions for Palace last season, including in their 1-0 win against Manchester City in the FA Cup final.

The 27-year-old made his England debut in 2023 and has won 11 caps for the Three Lions, including three appearances at Euro 2024.

Tottenham are also in talks with Manchester City over a move for Savinho but multiple sources have indicated that Eze is now emerging as a player of serious interest for Spurs.

There is no confirmation as to whether Tottenham will look to progress with deals for both Brazil winger Savinho and Eze.

Thick white cloud hangs outside the windows of Rifugio Segantini, a mountain hut 2,373 metres up in the Italian Alps. But it is shifting, revealing glimpses of the majestic Brenta Dolomites before us: a patch of snow here, a craggy peak there. The view is tantalising, and a couple of times I have run outside in a kind of peekaboo farce to see the full display, only for it to pass behind clouds again.

The refuge – cosy, wooden-clad and packed with hikers – is named after the Italian landscape painter Giovanni Segantini, who was inspired by these mountains. His portrait hangs on the walls and his name is embroidered on the lace curtains. A simple stone building with blue and white shutters in Val d’Amola, the refuge is dwarfed by its rugged surrounds, with Trentino’s highest peak, the snow-capped 3,556-metre Presanella, as a backdrop. The entries in the guestbook are entirely by locals.

For most British hikers, the eastern parts of the Dolomites, like the Tre Cime di Lavaredo and Lago di Braies, towards Cortina, are better known. Few come to Trentino, and fewer still come to this part of the Adamello Brenta nature park. This, I am told, is the wild part of these mountains: less explored, with fewer tourists, and rousing “bigger emotion”, according to my mountain guide Nicola Binelli. (He climbed Presanella for the first time when he was six.)

I’m here to sample the new Via delle Valli (the Trail of the Valleys), a network of 50 hiking routes covering 50 of Trentino’s mountain valleys, which launches this month. It runs from ski capital Madonna di Campiglio down to Lake Idro, taking in both the Brenta Dolomites and the Adamello glacier, Italy’s largest. Some are gentle family-friendly strolls; others are remote challenging climbs for which a mountain guide is recommended. Trails can be walked in a day, or strung together in a multi-day trek, making use of the area’s mountain huts (open from June to September) and bivouac shelters. But exploring the whole route is a long-term project, intended to be walked over weeks, months or even years.

These trails existed before, but they have been unified under the Via delle Valli. Their signage is being updated, maps and GPX files have been made available online, and a “Valley Passport” has been introduced, which hikers can stamp at each valley as an encouragement to return. Each valley has a local ambassador, intended to pass their love and knowledge of the area on to others.

The initiative, which has been three years in the making, is the brainchild of local tourist board manager Loredana Bonazza, who was inspired by Spain’s famous Camino de Santiago. The idea, she explains, is to tempt mountain-lovers away from the area’s hotspots, like Madonna di Campiglio and Val Genova, and towards adventures on lesser-charted trails. “Every valley is different,” she says. “We forget everything [in the mountains]: our stress, our jobs, our family problems. You really feel connected with the mountain. The result is: per scoprire; per scoprirsi. To discover; to discover yourself.”

My focus is on two contrasting valleys – the rocky, rough Val D’Amola and neighbouring verdant Val Nambrone, where we begin by exploring one of its jewels: the breathtaking (literally) Lago Vedretta, at 2,600 metres. We climb from another hut, Rifugio Cornisello (newly renovated and all timber and glass), through green alpine pastures, up over a rocky lip, where the lake appears in all its glory. The landscape remains frozen, even in late June, with sheets of ice thawing into pale blue water. You’d be forgiven for thinking it was Patagonia, rather than Italy.

There are around 100 bears in Trentino, as well as wolves, foxes, chamois, falcons and eagles. But on the way back to the refuge, where we are spending the night, we take a detour up above the turquoise Lago di Cornisello Superiore to spot fluffier mountain residents: marmots.

There are plenty of them up here, promises Debora Rambaldini, ambassador for Val Nambrone and the first woman in the area to become a forest guard. We follow her up a lush green spur dotted with wildflowers, and stand in silence, listening to the sounds of rushing water. Rambaldini puts a finger to her lips. There, a flush of reddish fur, a marmot darting between rocks, bushy tailed. And better still, another sunbathing on a rock below, eyeing us with suspicion.

The following day, we head to Val D’Amola. The route takes us around the inky Lago Nero and up over the Bocchetta de l’Om pass, backpacks fully loaded. Val D’Amola is only a few kilometres away, but it is a different world. It is more peat and bog, more Lord of the Rings. The water – grey here, not blue – thunders rather than babbles. But after lunch it’s our ascent up to Quattro Cantoni, a steep ledge and the gateway to the next valley, that reveals more of these mountains’ wild side. The cloud hangs low and thick, and apparently a storm is coming – soon. The sky rumbles above. Scrambling over rocks, tiptoeing on ledges and gingerly crossing patches of snow, the route is humbling: a reminder to improve my mountaineering skills. But safely back at Segantini, I feel elated. And the storm never comes.

At Segantini, just as we sit down for our hearty mountain dinner of polenta, the clouds finally part. Seen from Cornisello, these jagged, teeth-like Dolomites appeared pastel pink in the sunset; now, they are slate-grey, foreboding, capped with snow. They fill the whole horizon. As the sky darkens, we can see the twinkling lights of another hut, the vast Tuckett which sleeps 120 people, slowly appear on their black flanks.

I head to bed happy, and feel my heart racing with the altitude. It’s a small, six-bed dorm room, with a window that looks back towards the way we came. Occasionally, distant flashes of lightning illuminate the room, disrupting the dark and quiet. Sleeping – and waking – above 2,000 metres, though, is special. Ordinary life, below the clouds, feels a long way down. Time slows, you can only focus on the present, the company, the view. Afterwards, a little part of me will stay up here at Segantini, waiting to come back and explore more of these wild mountains and the secrets of the Via delle Valli.

The trip was provided by Trentino Marketing and the local tourist board. Dorm rooms at at Rifugio Cornisello €65 B&B or €90-€100 half-board, and €85 half-board at Rifugio Segantini. For more information about the Via delle Valli, visit campigliodolomiti.it

As we sauntered along sun-splashed woodland paths, our knowledgable guide Michael started to explain the links between the local geology and flora. The unusually luminous light green leaves of the beech trees? “That’s due to the lack of magnesium in the chalky soil.” The 18 species of wild orchid that grow here? “That’s the high calcium content. You see? Everything is connected.”

That’s a phrase my companion and I kept hearing at Møns Klint on the Danish island of Møn. This four-mile (6km) stretch of chalk cliffs and hills topped by a 700-hectare (1,730-acre) forest was fashioned by huge glaciers during the last ice age, creating a unique landscape. In 2026, a Unesco committee will decide whether Møns Klint (“the cliffs of Møn”) should be awarded world heritage site status, safeguarding it for future generations.

Using Interrail passes, we took the train from London to Vordingborg (Møn’s nearest railway station) via the Eurostar, with overnight breaks in Cologne going out and Odense, Denmark’s third-largest city, coming back. There’s an efficient bus service both from Vordingborg station to Møn (over an impressive bridge) and on the island itself but, for maximum flexibility, we hired electric bikes in Stege. About 12 miles from Møns Klint, Stege has been Møn’s main town since early medieval times. Home to impressive ancient ramparts and a bijou museum, it’s a good place to stock up since most of the island’s shops are found on the winding high street.

One wind-and-battery-assisted pedal to Møns Klint later and Michael was taking us about 500 steps down to the beach, the scene of cliff collapses so immense that the spoil sometimes forms peninsulas sticking out a quarter of a mile into the sea. Besides being a cartographer’s nightmare, the slowly dissolving chalk also turns the water by the shore a milky white, giving it a distinctly Mediterranean flavour. Almost every stone we picked up was a 30m-year-old fossil of some sort – Michael identified squid, sea sponges, sea urchins and oysters.

Another day we spent meandering along Klintekongens Rige, the longest of Møns Klint’s nine waymarked footpaths. The nine-mile circular trail sent us up and down and up and down through the forest; into the 18th-century “romantic gardens” of Liselund, where the bass-heavy croaking of glistening frogs contrasted with soprano peacocks; and down to a long stretch of beach for a mini adventure clambering over fallen trees and mounds of tumbled rock while the Baltic Sea lapped almost up to the cliff face.

When the sun went down we met up with night-time guide Susanne, who walked us into the darkened forest and interpreted the cries of tawny owls and scampering noises in the undergrowth (the owls’ potential dinner). The islands of Møn and Nyord form Scandinavia’s first Dark Sky Park, so we were able to gaze up at a panoply of stars while Susanne made us one of the tastiest gin and tonics we’d ever drunk, with mint from her garden and a wild rose syrup from petals she’d foraged that day.

The next morning, we explored the area’s mountain bike trails with Uffe, a guide, like Michael, from the GeoCenter, the local interpretive museum (where an exhibition on biodiversity is appropriately called “Everything is connected”). Along the way, he pointed out splendid displays of lady orchids and a herd of goats whose grazing improves biodiversity. Then, having barely broken a sweat, we suddenly found ourselves out of the woods and atop Denmark’s eighth-highest peak. Aborrebjerg is a humble 143m high, but still provided us with panoramic views across Møn and the shimmering sea. Later, we took to the water on a paddleboarding tour from the village of Klintholm Havn with Kesia from Møn Surf, appreciating the grandeur of the mighty chalk cliffs from another angle.

At night, we slept in a modern and stylish apartment at the nearby Villa Huno – an eco-build with a living roof and a view over a peaceful lake. We strolled around it one evening, stumbling across a woodpecker guarding the remains of a medieval fort, before enjoying a tasty dinner in Koral, Villa Huno’s summer-only restaurant. After a couple of nights we switched to a well-appointed bell tent next door at Camp Møns Klint. Then, as a base for exploring the island of Møn further, we pedalled west to Ellevilde boutique hotel. New owners Kirstine and Kenneth recently moved down from Copenhagen, leaving their highly regarded Restaurant 56 Degrees. Kenneth’s small plates blew us away – imagine a Danish Ottolenghi – with many ingredients from the garden or neighbouring farms. The sweet pickled onion and rhubarb salad, and the wonderfully crisp herby flat breads that accompanied a gazpacho, will live long in the memory.

Møns Klint represents a mere sliver of the island of Møn, so we spent our last day exploring its mostly flat countryside on our electric bikes. A cycle path runs parallel to the island’s main road, and all the smaller roads we used were essentially car-free, which made for a very relaxing experience. We raced hares along hedges; marvelled at some wonderfully eccentric medieval frescos in Elmelunde church; bought ceramics from a friendly potter called Jacob; and stopped off at little flea markets in islanders’ front gardens.

Crossing the wind-blown bridge on to the tiny island of Nyord (population 35), we watched lapwings at play and visited Denmark’s smallest museum. Not much larger than a telephone kiosk, it is a former lookout shelter that tells the stories of those who guided boats through the perilous straits nearby.

In Nyord’s only village, also Nyord, we dropped into Noorbohandelen for some rum mustard, one of the many flavoured varieties that are a local speciality. We admired their aesthetically satisfying shelves of bottles filled with all manner of colourful spirits made on the premises, before lunching alfresco at their cafe on a correspondingly colourful salad, as swallows tore joyfully about the sky above our heads.

The trip was provided by southzealand-mon.com, with travel provided by Interrail. An Interrail Global Pass for 4 days travel within a month costs £241 adults, £217 seniors, £180 12-27s, 4-11s free with an adult. Villa Huno has apartments from £145 a night. Camp Møns Klint has tent pitches with electricity from £40 a night. Ellevilde boutique hotel has doubles from £119 a night

The small white signs with red lettering are dotted through the landscape: “Military training area – keep out”. It adds to the eerie feel of unusually quiet roads and twisted Scots pines, which gather the long summer dusk around them.

But when we arrive at our accommodation on an old farm bordering a forbidden area where the British army conduct secretive manoeuvres, the whole place sings with peace. A red kite cavorts in the breeze over handsome parkland, a cuckoo calls and, down by the Wissey, a gin-clear chalk stream, reed warblers chunter from deep within the rushes.

If ever a region deserved to be its own county, it’s Breckland. This is a unique swath of south Norfolk and north Suffolk dominated by sandy heathland. It has an unusually dry climate more typical of central Europe and is notable for its rare plants and birds. Once an area dominated by inland sand dunes and commercial rabbit warrens, since the 20th century it’s been planted with the pines and conifers of Thetford forest. These woods offer a wealth of walks but there is also the vast Stanta army training area, 30,000 acres in size, where people cannot go – and other species thrive.

Breckland is a stronghold for charismatic endangered birds such as the goggle-eyed stone-curlew, dashing forest-dwelling goshawks and enigmatic, nocturnal nightjars. It’s home to ultra-rare and fantastically named plants and invertebrates, from the prostrate perennial knawel to the wormwood moonshiner beetle. It has every conservation designation going and would undoubtedly be a national park if so much of it hadn’t been commandeered by the military.

This land is usually overlooked by visitors whizzing through en route to the Norfolk coast or Norwich. It’s perhaps not helped by an absence of pretty towns and fancy restaurants (although well-heeled Bury St Edmunds on its southern edge boasts the Michelin-starred Pea Porridge). I live 30 miles away and I’ve never brought my family for a holiday here, until now.

My children immediately take to Bodney Hall Farm, where we are staying in a beautifully renovated cottage, the smaller of two high-end self-catering options. Guests are given the run of the 40-acre grounds and gardens which roll down to the River Wissey and feature a magical mix of interesting trees, formal planting, wildflowers and wildlife.

We stroll the banks of this private stretch of the Wissey. Since relocating from London in 2016, owners Henry and Anna Sands have been restoring the river, encouraging natural wiggles and bringing back the natural clarity of the water as it races over shingle, providing homes for dashing inhabitants including wild trout and kingfishers.

It’s possible to swim in the river but there’s also a jetty for easy access into a large Wissey-fed pond enveloped by rushes and willows. We savour a long evening swim to the soundtrack of cuckoos and reed warblers and – to my amazement – even a booming bittern. The water is sweet and fresh, and I feel as if we could be in Scandinavia, especially when we warm ourselves in our private woodfired hot tub as the first stars emerge. I’m hoping for a strange drone or red flare from the military training area, but all is quiet.

I rise early for a 5.45am swim and just miss an otter – Henry Sands, who is up even earlier, spots it – and there’s just enough time for a morning hot tub before we head to nearby Grime’s Graves, the largest known and best excavated flint mine in the country. Here, 4,500 years ago, late Neolithic people dug up to 1,000 mines up to 13 metres below ground and used antler picks to extract flints embedded in the chalk. The flint was particularly high quality and exported across the country, making specialist tools and weapons. The site is a large grassy clearing filled with the strange lumps and pits that are old, long-filled-in mineshafts. The air is filled with the song of dozens of skylarks.

The English Heritage visitor centre is pleasingly low-key – and quiet, naturally – with “please touch” signs so we can feel the weight of flints and the sharp edges of knapped stone. My kids enjoy brandishing replica axes before we move to the real highlight: descending into a nine-metre mineshaft excavated by archeologists in 1914. They found the remains of antler picks, pottery, animal bones and neolithic bats – and Daubenton’s bats still roost in the excavated shafts where it is a constant 8C.

“It smells nice down here,” says my son Ted as we descend the steel staircase. The scent is cool, damp stone. At the bottom, we can crawl on the chalk a short way into some of the horizontal excavations. It’s a vivid experience, a portal into another time.

Dark holes is a theme of our day because we next head to Oxburgh Hall, a stately home that has a priest’s hole which I remember from childhood was a thrilling portal into Tudor terror. On our way, we drop in on Foulden Common, one of a plethora of tranquil but rare wildlife-packed nature reserves including Weeting Heath and Lakenheath Fen. Thetford forest boasts several good country parks and there’s a multitude of cycle rides, swims (the Little Ouse is another gorgeous small river) and walks, including the long-distance Peddars Way on the old Roman road leading from Thetford to the north-west Norfolk coast.

Oxburgh is a red-brick Tudor palace surrounded by a fine moat which must be one of the most picturesque National Trust properties. The hall was built by Sir Edmund Bedingfeld around 1476 and the 10th baronet still lives in a wing of the house. The rest of his ancestral home is open to the public, and the rooms are filled with vast oil portraits, ornate furniture, ancient books and even leather wallpaper, which was amusingly purchased secondhand from Spain by thrifty Victorian aristocrats.

The priest’s hole was built up a tiny staircase, below a brick-topped iron hatch, so the Bedingfield family’s Catholic priest could be safely concealed during the persecution of the Catholics that saw the family fall from favour when they refused to renounce their faith. It is not known how much action the hole saw, but this tiny claustrophobic stone cell may have saved the life of a priest or three.

Unfortunately, after a visitor became stuck in the hole (it’s oddly much harder to get out than in) we’re no longer allowed inside, and have to make do with peering down the hatch and watching a video of a stressed (actor) priest fretting inside.

After a late lunch at the Bedingfeld Arms, with swifts screaming as they circle the 1783 pub, I take an evening excursion to another unique nature reserve: Thompson Common. The map reveals this to be another place of strange indentations in the land: a profusion of nearly 500 pingos, small ponds formed when subterranean mounds of ice thawed and the soil slumped down at the end of the last ice age. It’s a bewitchingly unusual place, home to rare dragonflies and the very rare pool frog, which became extinct in the 1990s but has been successfully reintroduced from Sweden. The males can be heard “singing” in late spring, via a pair of white inflatable sacs like airbags either side of their head.

There’s an eight-mile circular pingo walking trail for a full day out but I took a shorter potter through the reserve. The frogs are doing well thanks to restoration work by Norfolk Wildlife Trust which has seen the excavation and revival of a dozen “ghost” pingos, with many ponds filled in during a century of agricultural “improvement” and intensification.

I’d like to say we enjoyed a fine evening of the frog chorus but there’s nothing melodic about the groaning croak which sounds like a duck with laryngitis. They don’t call on my visit; instead I hear the bugling song of a crane from somewhere in the undergrowth. It’s another notable experience in this fascinating land, which is much the finer for its all-enveloping strangeness.

Accommodation was provided by Bodney Hall Farm,which has a cottage (sleeps 4) from £300 a night and lodge (sleeps 12). Grimes Graves (English Heritage) is open daily 10am-5pm (family up to five from £20.70). Oxburgh Hall (National Trust) open 10.30am–3pm; gardens 9.30am–5pm (family up to five from £32.50). Foulden Common and Thompson Common (Norfolk Wildlife Trust) are free to enter

Experts looked at various factors such as the number of beaches and average hours of sunshine to determine which place in the UK is the best for a leisurely stroll

New data has revealed the most walkable seaside town in the UK. The Co-operative Bank experts used Rightmove information to analyse factors such as the number of beaches and average sunshine hours, determining the ultimate UK location for a pleasant stroll. The experts assigned 20 towns and cities a walkability score out of 100, with the top spot achieving a perfect 100, earning it the title of the nation’s most walkable seaside town.

Brighton, home to over 277,000 residents, has been crowned as the country’s most walkable city. The Sussex resort, famous for its iconic Brighton Palace Pier and bustling North Laine shopping district, offers an ideal layout for locals and tourists to explore on foot.

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It boasts pedestrian-friendly streets, lined with independent cafes, and a vibrant arts scene, making it perfect for those who enjoy wandering and soaking up all that the city has to offer.

“What is not to like about walking along the Pier, the hustle, bustle and the sound of visitors just enjoying themselves, kids will love it and it also takes their parents back in time to when they were youngsters at the seaside,” one person wrote on TripAdvisor, reports the Express.

Speaking about North Laine, another person said: “This is my favourite place to walk around when I’m in Brighton, as there are so many quirky wee shops and cafés to see.”

Bournemouth nearly clinched the top spot with a score of 97 out of 100, praised for its coastal paths, town centre shopping and stunning cliffside views, all within an easy stroll.

Eastbourne, Ramsgate and Swansea were hot on Bournemouth’s heels, each scoring just one point less. These towns are ideal for leisurely explorations.

Eastbourne is renowned for its expansive promenades and Victorian architecture, offering idyllic seafront walks and treks up to Beachy Head.

Ramsgate combines seaside allure with historical intrigue, featuring its Royal Harbour Marina and a “compact” town centre perfect for pedestrian discovery.

Meanwhile, Swansea boasts a waterfront that stretches from the marina to the beach, adjacent to must-visit museums, markets, and restaurants.

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If you’re looking for a staycation idea, we’ve found a charming two-bedroom apartment near Whitby in North Yorkshire with loads of five star reviews and availability in summer

British breaks are always a popular type of holiday, and if you’re considering visiting the Yorkshire coast on your UK staycation this summer, we’ve found a beautiful two-person holiday apartment available to rent that comes highly recommended by previous guests.

Brambles Apartment, available to book via Sykes Cottages, is a cosy and comfy first-floor holiday rental in Sneatonthorpe near Ruswarp in the North York Moors National Park, around 10 minutes from the popular seaside town of Whitby. With light and airy ‘country chic’ decor, it features an open-plan kitchen and living space, a smart TV and a small shared garden, with one previous guest calling it “a great base for exploring Whitby and the surrounding area”.

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In fact, Brambles Apartment only has five star reviews on the Sykes website, with visitors praising the hosts, the high standard of the property, and the “excellent views”:

“First class apartment, clean, comfortable lovely views from the windows and in a peaceful location,” one of the reviews is titled. “A very enjoyable week, would definitely recommend Brambles apartment,” the writer adds.

“Lovely stay in a great and comfortable apartment with beautiful views,” another guest agrees.

“So cosy, peaceful, clean and comfy, and a great base for exploring Whitby and the surrounding area,” a third review reads. “One of the nicest we’ve stayed in, and we would not hesitate to book again next time we visit! A definite recommend!”

The description on the Sykes website explains that Whitby Abbey, Whitby Harbour and the Captain Cook Memorial Museum are all within easy reach, as are Whitby Beach and Robin’s Hood Bay Beach, as well as the picturesque North York Moors National Park.

If you’re tempted, you’ll be happy to hear that Brambles Apartment still has lots of availability over the coming months, including during the school holidays. According to the Sykes website, a seven-night stay from 18-25 July costs from £677 (down from £981), while a long weekend in August, from 15-18, also costs from £677, down from £1,114).

It’s worth noting that Brambles Apartment doesn’t accept pets, so if you’re looking for somewhere to stay with a dog, you might want to check out other nearby Sykes Cottages properties such as Lythe Cottage or Jet Cottage.

Holiday Cottages is another site to browse for inspiration, which features charming Whitby properties including Sandy Shores, Lavender House and Dean Cottage.

And if you fancy something a little different, how about staying in Whitby Lighthouse? Guests can book one of two rental properties in the lighthouse – Galatea and Vanguard – through Rural Retreats.

Alternatively if, like Coleen Rooney and her family, you enjoy a caravan holiday, Parkdean has resorts across the UK, including Carmarthen, Lincolnshire and Northumberland.

Don’t want to drive to your holiday hotspot this summer? Find the cheapest train tickets through Trainline, where customers can save 61% on average when they book them in advance.