Mountains

The bus, travelling from the Eastern Cape to Zimbabwe and Malawi, tumbled down a steep embankment.

A bus has crashed in a mountainous region in the north of South Africa, killing at least 42 people.

The vehicle veered off a steep mountain road on the N1 highway near the town of Makhado in Limpopo province on Sunday evening, before tumbling down an embankment and landing upside down.

The vehicle was travelling from Gqeberha in South Africa’s Eastern Cape province to Zimbabwe and Malawi.

Emergency crews worked through the night to pull victims from the wreckage and transport survivors to nearby hospitals.

More than 30 injured passengers received medical treatment. Authorities said some people may still be trapped inside the overturned bus.

According to public broadcaster SABC, the dead included 18 women, 17 men and seven children.

A 10-month-old baby was among the victims, Violet Mathy, a transport official for the Limpopo province, told Newzroom Afrika.

The road, a major highway connecting South Africa to Zimbabwe, remained closed in both directions on Monday as rescue operations continued.

Limpopo Premier Phophi Ramathuba visited the crash site before meeting survivors in hospital.

“Losing so many lives in one incident is painful beyond words,” she said, offering condolences to families in South Africa, Zimbabwe and Malawi.

Authorities are investigating what caused the driver to lose control, with initial assessments pointing to possible fatigue or mechanical failure as potential factors.

The provincial government is providing counselling support to survivors while working with diplomatic missions from Zimbabwe and Malawi to assist bereaved families.

South Africa’s roads are among the most dangerous in the world, with thousands of people dying in crashes each year.

Long-distance buses carrying migrant workers between countries in Southern Africa are frequently involved in serious accidents on the region’s highways.

Betws-y-Coed in north Wales is a beautiful town surrounded by craggy mountains, peaceful lakes, and lush woodlands – making it an ideal spot for an autumn break

As autumn slowly makes its arrival, those planning to have a seasonal getaway may want to look towards Wales. With autumn’s fresh air, the crackling leaves beneath your feet, Wales’s stunning landscapes transform into a brilliant tapestry of reds, oranges, and golds.

The country is home to countless autumnal destinations where you can marvel at spectacular foliage, enjoy steaming hot chocolates in welcoming cafés, and explore independent shops for seasonal delights. One picturesque town is Betws-y-Coed, with its distinctive alpine atmosphere and delightful stone structures and bridges.

Regarded as the entrance to Eryri National Park (Snowdonia), its name translates to “prayerhouse-in-the-woods” and is believed to derive from the 14th-century St. Michael’s Church, where ancient yew trees have flourished for over 500 years.

For generations, St. Michael’s Church served as Betws-y-Coed’s vital centre until the settlement expanded, and, in 1873, St. Mary’s Church arrived with its impressive scale to assume control. Both places of worship and the railway terminus, constructed in 1869, were crafted by Owen Gethin Jones – quite the regional icon.

The introduction of transport links and rail connections proved transformative for Betws, drawing artists, poets, and authors to the region, captivated by the invigorating atmosphere and woodland panoramas. It wasn’t long before Betws-y-Coed established itself as Britain’s inaugural artists’ settlement, where artistic expression flourished.

By the Victorian era, this quaint village had transformed into a posh tourist hotspot for affluent visitors seeking wellness and relaxation.

Hotels began to pop up, offering horse-drawn tours to showcase Betws’ stunning beauty. Fast forward to the 1930s, steam trains started transporting factory workers from Lancashire to Betws-y-Coed for a much-needed break from urban life.

The Trefriw Spa became a massive attraction, drawing in crowds of visitors. Paddle steamers even moored at Trefriw Quay, adding to the village’s allure, until the outbreak of World War II sadly brought everything to a standstill in 1939.

Today, Betws is at the centre of all the action in Eryri, with a plethora of nearby activities including waterfall walks, canyoning, hiking, and ziplining.

Gwydir Forest Park practically envelops Betws-y-Coed, offering a magical blend of tranquil mountain lakes, woodland paths and frothing waterfalls cascading through the wild Welsh landscape.

Several trails are located in this area, so download the handy AllTrails app to find your preferred route and enjoy the dazzling foliage as you trek along.

Embark on the two-mile-long Swallow Falls walk to see the cascading falls. This often muddy trail meanders through woodland to a viewpoint over the waterfall – you get a fantastic view from this side of the river, so don’t forget your camera.

For adrenaline junkies, Zip World is a family-friendly adventure hub nestled inside a beautiful woodland that looks absolutely stunning in autumn.

Fancy a thrilling woodland adventure? You can jump on the UK’s only alpine coaster and whizz through the trees at 25mph right here. The rugged glacial valleys and craggy canyons around Betws-y-Coed are perfect for bracing water adventures.

For those seeking an adrenaline kick, canyoning and gorge walking are a must. With Seren Ventures, you can scramble through river-filled canyons, abseil down cliffs, and even zipline across rivers.

Betws-y-Coed isn’t just about outdoor pursuits; it’s also home to charming Victorian architecture and Swallow Falls at Ty’n Llwyn – often dubbed North Wales’ most picturesque spot, with a backdrop that could easily double as a film set.

But it’s not just the scenery that’s captivating; the falls are steeped in local folklore, adding an extra layer of charm to this already enchanting place.

Here, the River Conwy meets three tributaries – the Llugwy, Lledr, and Machno – flowing in from the west, creating a dramatic mix of waterfalls, rapids, and deep, mysterious pools. The natural beauty is absolutely spellbinding.

Rhaeadr Ewynnol (Swallow Falls) are just a 15-minute drive from Betws, and you can park at the Ty’n Llwyn car park in Gwydir Forest Park, which is a starting point for a walking trail to the falls.

Alternatively, parking is available in the nearby lay-by on the A5. You can also take the regular Snowdon Sherpa S1 (Betws-y-Coed to Caernarfon) and T10 (Betws-y-Coed to Bangor) bus services.

Once you get there, you’ll encounter a coin or card-operated turnstile to gain access to the viewing area for the falls. For just £2 per person, you can enter the viewing areas, which are only a short stroll from the turnstiles.

The sound of the falls will likely reach your ears before the sight does, as the thunderous noise of the white water cascading over the rocks pierces the tranquil woodland.

You can admire the falls from timber boardwalks and a footbridge, with platform access in a gently steep gorge. There’s no need for an extensive hike; simply amble to the platforms and start capturing some stunning fall photos.

The falls are made up of multiple cascades, adding up to approximately 42 m (138 ft) in height, tumbling over a stepped rocky platform and hold the title of the highest continuous waterfall in Wales.

It’s one of the most accessible and picturesque falls in Wales and is definitely worth a visit this autumn.

Worked up a hunger after all that waterfall gazing? Make your way to the newly revamped Swallow Falls Hotel just across the road. This delightful old inn has been a welcoming spot for travellers and locals for over 150 years, and now, following a swanky multi-million-pound refurbishment, it’s looking better than ever.

Expect cosy pub vibes, comfortable rooms, and relaxed food and drink served all day, every day. It’s the ideal place to recharge with a pint and a pub lunch.

Back in the village, there are plenty of dining and drinking choices. For authentic excellent pizza, Hangin’ Pizzeria is a brilliant choice for traditional Italian pizzas topped with inventive ingredients.

Dog-friendly Y Stablau is a delightful venue for local ales, hearty portions crafted with Welsh ingredients, and a selection of bespoke cocktails. It’s ideal for relaxing after a big day of hiking or canyoning.

Upmarket B&B Olif boasts an onsite tapas bar that combines Spanish tapas and traditional Welsh fare to deliver a cracking menu of small plates packed with locally sourced Welsh produce.

The beloved Alpine Coffee Shop is a favourite destination for coffee and homemade cakes in a charming atmosphere. Bonus points: they’ve even got a “sausages for dogs,” loyalty card so your pooch can enjoy a cheeky treat.

If you fancy a brief drive (roughly 20 minutes from Betws-y-Coed), The Old Stag in Llangernyw is essential. This traditional country pub is a properly welcoming venue and nestles beneath a 4,500 year old yew tree.

Constructed in 1640 as a farm, it’s now packed with quirky treasures from centuries past. There’s nothing quite like settling into one of its comfortable seats beside a crackling fire with a delicious Welsh ale.

There’s simply too much to experience in beautiful Betws-y-Coed to squeeze into just one day, so why not stay around for a while?

After all, you’ll need time to discover everything this stunning village provides, and trust me, it’s worth it. For a charming, rustic stay, consider the Tŷ Gwyn Hotel, a centuries-old coaching inn complete with beamed ceilings and stunning bedrooms.

If you’re after a more tranquil setting, Pengwern Country House is just a mile out of town. Constructed from beautiful Welsh stone and slate, it offers breathtaking views over the lush Lledr Valley.

For those who prefer their accommodation with a bit more excitement, Pont-y-Pair Inn is the place to be. This family-run, traditional inn boasts 10 luxury en-suite bedrooms and is surrounded by endless hiking and biking trails.

The inn also hosts a variety of entertaining events, from karaoke to live music, perfect for a lively evening after a day filled with autumn adventures.

There are stone bunkers shrouded in the mist on the hillside to my right, just shy of the ridgeline marking the Albanian-Kosovo border. To my left, the view is not just clear but startlingly beautiful.

I’m able to see back down to the tiny mountain hamlet of Gacaferi, where I’d slept the previous night, to look across the deep greenery of Deçan Gorge beyond, over dense pine forests and grasslands that pop with pink and yellow wildflowers, and gaze all the way to the 2,461m summit of Çfërla and the rugged peaks of western Kosovo’s Accursed mountains.

We are on stage nine of the Via Dinarica Kosovo, a 75-mile, 13-stage hiking trail through this storied country. The route links up to the Via Dinarica, a Balkan trail that runs from Slovenia through to Albania. The Kosovo section opened in 2015, but was recently remapped and relaunched as part of a three-year, £1.2m project funded by the Italian agency AICS.

There was a Yugoslav barracks in Gacaferi during the Kosovo war – the brutal conflict between the Kosovo Liberation Army (known locally as the UÇK) and Slobodan Milošević’s Yugoslavia, which ended with an aerial Nato bombing campaign against Yugoslavia in 1999. UÇK fighters used to launch surprise attacks over the border ridge here, and arms were smuggled into Kosovo for use by liberation fighters.

The barracks is long gone. Today, the handful of locals in Gacaferi fly red Albanian flags outside their houses alongside Kosovo blue. They tend to their sheep and warmly welcome hikers, who trade travel stories while feasting on burek and Rugova cheese in the scenic guesthouse.

“I wish the stones here could talk,” says Uta Ibrahimi, my mountain guide. Uta is the founder of Butterfly Outdoor Adventure, and was an integral part of the Via Dinarica Kosovo project. She also happens to be the first person from Kosovo to have climbed Mount Everest, having done so in 2017. And on 10 May 2025, when she stood on the 8,586-metre summit of Kanchenjunga in the Himalayas, Ibrahimi became the first woman from the Balkans to have climbed all 14 of the world’s 8,000-metre mountains. Uta returned to a hero’s welcome at Pristina airport. “I did it for myself, but also for my country,” Uta says. “Not just for the Himalayan views.”

I had arrived in the capital of Pristina some days earlier. I walked past statues of Bill Clinton and Bob Dole; past new cathedrals and centuries-old mosques. Brilliant, bizarre brutalist architecture draws the gaze here – most notably the National Library of Kosovo, formed of a cluster of exposed concrete blocks, caged in metal and topped by domes.

The Via Dinarica connects the municipalities of Peja, Deçan and Junik in western Kosovo. To start our adventure – hiking a 40-mile stint of the Via Dinarica – we drove to the city of Peja, behind which the Accursed mountains rise like fortress walls.

We began on stage three, with sunny alpine views and green slopes rising to prominent peaks. Red and white waymarkers guided us up narrow trails to the 2,403-metre Hajla peak, on the border of Kosovo and Montenegro. On one side, the ridgeline slopes sharply down to the Balkan pines of Kosovo and across green valleys to the mountains of Albania. On the other side, there is a near vertical drop down to Montenegro, via rugged, exposed limestone cliff.

I ate spinach burek for lunch on the summit of Hajla, sitting next to fuzzy, star-shaped edelweiss flowers, while alpine choughs circled above. We slept at ERA Lodge, a homely wooden mountain cabin run by Fatos Lajçi, a passionate conservationist. “Everything that’s in Europe, we have here,” he said; brown bears, wild boars, wolves and even the endangered Balkan lynx. This lynx is at serious risk of extinction, but has on occasion wandered by Lajçi’s camera traps.

As we left the next morning, a shepherd sang songs of love and lost heroes to his flock, and we rejoined the Via Dinarica on a freshly built section of trail. Descending into a meadow, we were engulfed in blueberry bushes; our boots brushing against wild strawberries and carrots.

It was not until a few days later, when we reached Kulla Guesthouse in Milishevc, a building styled like an old stone tower, that we met another hiker. Here, we gorged on köfte, washed down with rakı, “for digestion”.

The border with Montenegro soon became the border with Albania. We walked by memorials to fallen UÇK soldiers. Hard rain and mist clouded the view, but limestone monoliths poked through and wildflowers defied the clouds with sprinkles of colour. By the time we arrived in Gacaferi, the sun was shining on the tractors and goats of this remote hamlet.

In the evenings there was time for me to bug Uta for stories. She is full of tales; of crampons received as Valentine’s gifts; of poles perilously dropped at 8,000 metres; of loved ones lost on mountain faces, or to war; of emotional summit days and ecstatic nights dancing at festivals.

Ibrahimi was 15 years old when war hit, but she speaks with a contagious positivity. “We had to stay inside for three months of bombing, and you never knew if it was the last day of your life,” she says. “We had to jump walls to run away from the police. That whole idea, of waiting for that moment they will come – and who knows what they will do to you – it just made us stronger and more willing to live. Then when you are free, you do not see any limits.”

From Gacaferi, we set our sights on the 2,656-metre Gjeravica. It is a hulking peak surrounded by heart-shaped mountain lakes and patches of snow. This side of the Accursed mountains is more dramatic than the border with Montenegro, the gentle green replaced by fierce grey. Above the 2,400-metre mark, we hike on limestone slabs bright with lichen. On the summit, a Kosovo flag flies above a trig point bearing the double-headed eagle of Albania. There is a metal marker with a UÇK head, and a view over Kosovo’s flatland. Our descent is remarkably pretty, running along the secluded Gjeravica Lake, through fields of blueberry bushes, on to grassland peppered with yellow flowers.

There is a soft beauty to this country; in the mint you smell in the meadows, in the sound of the whinchats on the hills, in the fluff of the edelweiss flowers on high ridges, and in the warmth of the guesthouses, where the burek is plentiful and the coffee strong.

“People want somewhere quiet, super-wild, without any roads,” says Uta. “It’s here to explore.”

The trip was provided by NaturKosovo. A five-day trip on the Via Dinarica Kosovo with Butterfly Outdoor Adventure costs €590, or a nine-day adventure from €990, including transfers, accommodation and meals. The Via Dinarica Kosovo project is being implemented by Volontari nel Mondo RTM and CELIM in collaboration with Utalaya Foundation, Club Alpino Italiano, AITR, CNSAS and AICS

‘This is probably the wildest place in the whole of the Vallée des Belleville,” says Roland, our guide, sweeping one arm across a bank of saw-toothed peaks as though conducting a great, brawny orchestra. My husband, two sons and I are midway through a four-day stretch of the Grand Tour de Tarentaise hiking trail in the French Alps, and we’ve stopped near the top of Varlossière, a roadless side valley among a great arc of mountains that runs to the west of the ski resorts of Val Thorens, Les Menuires and Saint-Martin-de-Belleville. Hiking up here from Gittamelon, a rustic, summer-only mountain refuge in the neighbouring Vallée des Encombres, we’ve paused to exhale breath, and to inhale the primeval views.

High peaks loom either side of us, their shocking green flanks underscored by an elegantly designed bothy and its shepherd-dwelling twin, and we can hear the rush of water far below. It’s midmorning but the moon is low and large in a cloudless sky, adding to the otherworldly scene. Climbing higher, an eagle flies past almost at eye level, no more than six metres away. Though we meet three other hikers on the other side of the Col du Bonnet du Prêtre, the 2,461-metre (8,074ft) pass that leads from Varlossière to the Nant Brun valley – and detect from sheep bells that at least two shepherds must be somewhere among the great folds of these hills – it feels as though the landscape is ours alone.

That may not be the case for long. Soaring temperatures across Europe this summer have fuelled a rush to the mountains, social media funnelling many visitors to the same honeypots and creating infrastructure pressure points; in Italy some farmers in the Dolomites have resorted to installing turnstiles and charging tourists €5 to pass, incensed at having their meadows trampled.

Navigating these challenges is no easy task for Europe’s mountain resorts, which are increasingly encouraging summer tourism as the climate crisis signals a limited lifespan for ski tourism. One of the biggest issues is that many of these new summer visitors are first-timers, unfamiliar with the mores of mountain adventuring: treading gently on the environment, respecting local countryside codes, wearing suitable kit, knowing how to read a map rather than an app (we had no wifi or phone signal for two days of our hike), and packing enough food and water. In France, call-outs to mountain rescue services by inexperienced hikers have risen so sharply that workers now trawl social media looking for potential disaster hotspots in advance.

In an attempt to tackle these issues, the Vallée des Belleville tourist office has introduced a range of summer initiatives to support new hikers, from kids’ mountain skills activity days to free wildlife talks and events. Lower-level footpaths and bike trails for children, pushchair-users and visitors with reduced mobility makes it safer for those groups to access the mountains, and easier for local communities to manage the larger numbers that tend to make use of them. And while challenging marked trails through more remote corners of the mountains are fairly easy to follow, visitors are encouraged to hire a guide (something we are glad of at Col du Bonnet du Prêtre, when Roland tracks down the shepherd owner of an aggressive dog and persuades him to move away from the trail).

It is at our accommodation each night, in mountain refuges, that we really see support for new hikers in action, though. Several have been designed specifically with families and first-timers in mind, including Refuge Plan Lombardie, where we end our 12-mile (19km) hike from Gittamelon.

We are not first-timers, but staying here is a good opportunity to remind ourselves of the rules of refuge culture, and for the boys to hang out with other children. Though we hike in, it’s possible to park about 20 minutes’ away and walk from there, something several guests with preschoolers have done, grateful for the treasure hunt-style sculpture trail the refuge has installed along the route to entice younger visitors uphill.

Though we have seen less than a handful of hikers during the day, we find Refuge Plan Lombardie as packed as a marmot’s burrow. Approaching it in the soft glow of the afternoon, earlier arrivals have already nabbed the terrace’s deckchairs with a view. Instead, we collect beers and lemonades and find a free bench to enjoy them before swapping our boots for the refuge’s borrowed Crocs, and finding our allocated bunk beds.

Refuges like this are more than just places to sleep. Full of city folk temporarily escaping to higher ground, they’re the human equivalent of a centuries-old rhythm of transhumance, where families bring sheep and cows up to the high pastures for the summer months. At dinner, we share a table with a mother from Chambéry who has brought her four-year-old son for his first visit to a refuge. “My friend gave me a list of the most family-friendly ones and I’ve decided to start a new tradition of visiting one every year with my son. I want him to love them as much as I do,” she told us between bites of a Savoyard blueberry version of Eton mess.

The previous evening, in cosy Gittamelon refuge, we’d shared similar tales, and a dorm, with three generations of a Belgian family who were following the same trail as us but in the opposite direction. And the evening before that, we’d followed suit with other families, playing cards at Refuge du Lac du Lou, a modern, child-friendly refuge just 90 minutes’ hike above the resort of Les Menuires.

Between Lac du Lou and Gittamelon we’d hiked with Estelle Roy-Berthaud from Les Menuires tourist office, following the trail through harebells, cotton grass, neon-coloured lichens and, much to the boys’ delight, thickets of wild blueberries. Stopping for lunch with Mont Blanc spearing the horizon in the distance, I ask her how the valley is managing increasing summer numbers.

“Summer tourism is a relatively new concept here, so we are not seeing the overtourism issues experienced by more well-known summer destinations in the Alps,” she says. “We’re also protected by not having too many places to stay. In winter, we have around 27,000 beds, but in summer this reduces to just 8,000, so this naturally restricts the number of people in the valley.”

Further along the trail, at Plan Lombardie, I wake in the night and slip out of one of those beds. Outside, the sky is luminous with stars, while the peaks and folds of the land are now entirely black beyond the winking of a distant light – a shepherd’s stove, perhaps, or the torch of a camper. The Belleville valley still feels wonderfully wild tonight.

Transport from London to Chambéry was provided by Flixbus; return fares from £89pp. Half-board accommodation at Refuge du Lac du Lou from €39 children/€69 adults, Refuge Gittamelon €46pp, and at Refuge Plan Lombardie from €32 children and €52 adults. Hiking guides from €25 for a half-day (guides-belleville.com). More information at lesmenuires.com

New Delhi, India – “My right eye swells up in the heat, so I stopped going to the landfill last year,” says 38-year-old Sofia Begum, wiping her watering eyes. Begum married at the age of 13, and for more than 25 years, she and her husband have picked through mountains of rubbish at Delhi’s Ghazipur landfill, scavenging for recyclable waste they can sell to scrap dealers.

Dressed in a ragged, green and yellow kurta, and sitting on a chair in a narrow lane in the middle of the slum settlement where she lives beside the dump site, Begum explains that she came into contact with medical waste in 2022, which infected her eye.

Her eye swells up painfully when it is exposed to the sun for too long, so she has had to stop working in the summer months. Even in winter, she struggles to work as much as she used to.

“Now I can’t work as much. I used to carry 40 to 50 kilograms [88-110lbs] of waste a day. Now my capacity has reduced to half,” she says.

As temperatures in Delhi soared as high as 49 degrees Celsius (120 degrees Fahrenheit) in June, causing the India Meteorological Department (IMD) to issue an “orange alert” for two days, three rubbish sites at Ghazipur, Bhalswa and Okhla in India’s capital city became environmental ticking time bombs. Choking with rubbish and filled far beyond their capacity, these towering waste mountains have become hubs for toxic fires, methane leaks and an unbearable stench.

It’s a slow-burning public health threat that, every year, blights the lives of the tens of thousands of people who live in the shadow of these rubbish heaps.

Making a living from toxic work

Waste pickers are usually informal workers who earn a living by collecting, sorting and selling recyclable materials like plastic, paper and metal to scrap dealers. They are typically paid by those who buy the materials they forage, depending on the quality and quantity they can find and sort.

As a result, they have no stable income and their work is hazardous, particularly in the summer months.

According to a study published in the scientific journal Nature, the temperature at these landfill sites varies based on the size of the dump. The temperature from dumps exceeding 50 metres (164 feet) in height generally lies between 60 and 70C (158F) in the summer. This “heat-island effect” is caused by the decomposition of organic waste, which not only generates heat but also releases hazardous gases.

“These landfills are gas chambers in the making,” says Anant Bhan, a public health researcher who has specialised in global health, health policy and bioethics for 20 years. “Waste pickers work in extreme heat, surrounded by toxic gases. This leads to long-term health complications,” he explains.

“Additionally, they are exposed to several gases, like the highly flammable methane, which causes irritation to their respiratory system. The rotting waste also leads to skin-related complications among the waste pickers.”

Ghazipur, which now towers at least 65 metres (213 ft) high – equivalent to a 20-storey building – has become a potent symbol of Delhi’s climate crisis.

Begum’s eye started swelling up in the intense heat last year. “I went to the doctor and he suggested surgery to treat my eye, which would cost me around 30,000 rupees ($350) but I don’t have that kind of money,” she says.

Like other waste pickers, Begum says she is reluctant to visit the government hospital, where she could receive free treatment, as it can take six months to receive a diagnosis there. “It is a waste of time to stand in queue for long hours at the cost of work days, and the diagnosis takes months to come through,” she explains. “I prefer going to the Mohalla Clinic; they check the Aadhaar Card [a form of identification] and instantly give medicines.”

The Mohalla Clinics, an initiative started by former Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal, offer free primary healthcare, medicines and diagnostic tests to residents in low-income areas.

A ticking time bomb

On a blazing summer day in July as temperatures reach 40C (104F), Tanzila, 32, who also lives in the slum next to the landfill site, is preparing for her night shift of waste picking. “It’s just too hot now,” she says. Tanzila, a mother of three children aged eight to 16, who has done this job for 12 years, says she passed out from dehydration while working under the sun last year. “Now I only go at night. During the day, it feels like being baked alive.”

Slender and dressed in a full-sleeve red, floral kurta with a headscarf, Tanzila appears exhausted and weary. She explains that when she did work during the day. “I would go early in the morning, come back around 9am, then again go around 4pm and come back around 7pm. But for the past two years, I have been going with other women only at night during summers because it has become harder to work during the day in this weather.”

Sheikh Akbar Ali, cofounder of Basti Suraksha Manch and a former door-to-door waste picker, has been campaigning for the rights of waste pickers across 52 sites in Delhi for the past 20 years. He explains that the conditions can be more dangerous at night than during the day.

“There are many vehicles like the tractors and JCBs operating on the landfills at night, and the waste pickers who work at night wear torchlights on their head, which indicates their visibility on the landfill. However, waste and gas leaks are more visible during the day.” This is because fires and smoke can more easily be seen in the daylight.

Despite the government’s repeated assurances that these rubbish mountains will be cleared, little has changed on the ground. In the latest assurance made in May 2025, Manjinder Singh Sirsa, Delhi’s environment minister, claimed that the “garbage mountains” would be completely cleared by 2028, contradicting his own statement from April 2025, in which he had said that they would “disappear like dinosaurs” in five years.

As the summer heat accelerates the decomposition of organic waste, the release of hazardous gases has worsened the air quality in Delhi, something environmentalists and public health experts have sounded the alarm over.

According to a report from AQI, an open-source air quality monitoring platform based in New Delhi, since 2020, satellites have detected 124 significant methane leaks across the city, including a particularly large one in Ghazipur in 2021, which leaked 156 tonnes of methane per hour.

Even though the same work which puts food on the table also makes them ill, waste pickers like Begum and Tanzila say they have little choice other than to continue with their work. “Garbage is gold to us. We don’t get bothered by the smell of waste. It feeds our families, and why would we leave?” asks Tanzila.

Their labour, unrecognised as a profession by the government, comes with few protections, no health insurance and no stable income. Rubbish pickers must fashion their own safety gear from whatever they can afford – such as used disposable masks which can be bought in the market for 5 to 10 rupees (6 to 11 cents) – but nothing is particularly effective at keeping workers free from hazards.

“They don’t wear gloves because the heat makes their hands sweat easily and they aren’t able to hold waste properly. Even the masks are a total waste because all the sweat gets collected in the mask, which makes it difficult for them to breathe,” adds Akbar.

When climate change and waste mismanagement meet

New Delhi’s civic bodies, which are under pressure from environmental and health activists to demonstrate some visible progress in tackling the city’s waste and pollution problems, have largely responded with quick fixes, most notably plans to build four incinerator plants in Okhla, Narela, Tenkhand and Ghazipur. But experts warn that such infrastructure-centric solutions only mask deeper problems and could also cause further environmental damage.

Incinerators often release various harmful pollutants such as dioxins, furans, mercury contamination and particulate matter into the air, which pose serious health risks, they say.

According to a 2010 report by the World Health Organization, dioxins are “highly toxic and can cause reproductive and developmental problems, damage the immune system, interfere with hormones and also cause cancer”.

Furthermore, if incineration plants replace landfill-based recycling, many fear the erasure of their livelihoods altogether.

“Delhi’s shift to incinerators has completely excluded informal waste pickers, particularly women,” says Bharati Chaturvedi, founder of Chintan Environmental Research and Action Group. “It threatens their livelihoods and pushes them into deeper poverty. It is an environmental disaster in the making. Incinerators emit toxic fumes and undermine recycling efforts.”

“Beyond just closing landfills or building incinerators, we need to ensure that waste pickers have alternative livelihoods and are part of the formal waste management system,” says Chaturvedi.

“This is not just about clearing garbage,” she argues. “It’s about including waste pickers in the formal economy. It’s about creating decentralised, community-level waste management systems. And it’s about acknowledging that climate change and poverty are deeply interconnected.”

Activists and public health professionals advocate for the creation of a decentralised waste system, one that includes segregating waste into separate places according to type, ward-level composting (processing organic waste locally to avoid transportation), and robust recycling systems.

Formalising the role of waste pickers by offering legal recognition, fair wages, protective gear and access to welfare schemes would not only empower one of the city’s most vulnerable communities, but it would also help build a climate-resilient waste management model, say environment activists.

Back at the Ghazipur landfill, the reality remains grim. Fires break out with increasing frequency, and the acrid air clings to nearby homes. For residents and waste pickers, the daily battle against the heat, stench and illness is a matter of survival.

“Nothing has changed. The garbage grows, and we keep working,” says Shah Alam, Tanzila’s husband, who used to work solely as a waste picker but now also drives an electric rickshaw to earn a living. “During summers, more people fall sick, and we lose workdays. But what other option do we have?”

‘It’s important work’

Back at the waste yard, business has died down for the day.

Bamfo and her youngest children, Nkunim, 10, and Josephine, 6, are emptying the last few bottles. She will be in bed by 8pm, rising at midnight for her Bible studies before starting work again at dawn.

Bamfo never thought she would become a waste picker.

She was 19 when she finally gained her school certificate, and by selling oranges, she scraped together enough money for a secretarial course. But she couldn’t afford a typewriter.

While the other girls tapped away at their machines, she drew the keyboard on her exercise book and practiced on that, pressing her fingers into the paper.

Soon, the money ran out. Instead of the office job she dreamed of, she found work breaking stones on a building site.

“At that moment, I see myself – I’m a big loser, and there’s nothing,” says Bamfo, leaning forward on her office chair to keep a watch for any final delivery tricycles. “I see the world is against me.”

Then one morning she woke to find the building site had disappeared overnight, replaced by a dump: Truckloads of water sachets, drinks bottles and nylon wigs.

Her five children lay sleeping. Her husband, as usual, had not come home. To buy cassava to make banku – dumpling stew – she needed money urgently.

A friend had told her that factories in the city would buy plastic waste for a few cedis a kilogramme. It was one of the lowliest jobs there were, involving not only backbreaking labour but stigma and shame.

“If you are a woman doing this waste picking, people think you have no family to care for you,” she says. “They think you are bad. They think you are a witch.”

She came home one day to find her husband had abandoned her. But not before he had called her father to tell him his daughter had become a “vulture”.

Estrangement from her father only compounded the shame. To escape her neighbours’ taunts, Bamfo moved with her children to the other side of the city.

There, she took over her small yard, buying waste from pickers and selling it on to factories and recycling plants. Bit by bit, she built a wooden house. Eventually, she plucked up the courage to phone her father.

“I said, ‘Come and see the work I do. See that it is not something to feel bad about.’”

When he saw the yard and the tricycle teams that had become Bamfo’s business, Nkosoo Waste Management (“nkosoo” is Twi for “progress”), he couldn’t help but be impressed.

“You are not a woman, you are a man,” she recalls him telling her once, half admiring and half accusing. “The heart that you have – even your brother doesn’t have that heart.”

Now she hopes to pass on some of her resilience. King, her supervisor at the yard, slept on a nearby dumpsite as a small child and says Bamfo and her waste business saved him. “I cannot say a bad thing about her. She is my mother.”

As night settles on Accra, the polluting plastic tide has crept a little higher. But Bamfo has, she says, found dignity in the fight to keep it at bay.

“It is important work we do,” she says. “Sometimes I feel very sad and bad about not getting the education I wanted. But we clean the city. I think of that.”

This story was produced in partnership with SourceMaterial

The UK has some of the most beautiful scenery in the world, and one of the most ‘underrated’ areas has been voted the top must-do experience for staycationers

The UK boasts stunning landscapes that are the envy of the world, offering a plethora of beautiful spots to discover if you’re planning a staycation this summer.

One of the most ‘underrated’ regions offers the top must-do activity for holidaymakers this summer, located on a picturesque island just off Scotland’s coast.

A list of the best staycation experiences in the UK was compiled by British travel expert and author, Richard Madden, along with Sykes Holiday Cottages, unveiling an essential bucket list for holiday-goers.

READ MORE: Hidden gem UK beach no one knows about with golden sands and dolphins

A breathtaking drive along the Isle of Arran’s coast in Scotland has emerged as the top choice, according to a survey of 2,000 adults about their staycation dreams.

Often dubbed ‘Scotland in miniature’, the Isle of Arran boasts a range of spectacular landscapes, with the 109km Arran Coastal Way providing views of the coastline, charming villages, and mountain peaks.

Journeying around the stunning Isle of Arran presents ample opportunities to discover remnants of Scotland’s Gaelic and Norse heritage. It features numerous coastal towns, such as Lochranza and Kildonan, where you can enjoy a walk on beautiful beaches and explore ancient castle ruins.

Scotland is renowned for its rich culture and history, which you’ll experience at every turn when exploring Arran.

Things to do in Arran

Hiking

The breathtaking natural landscape of Arran offers a wealth of opportunities for outdoor enthusiasts, particularly those who enjoy hiking.

Brodick, the island’s capital and primary point of entry for most visitors, is home to the Brodick and Goatfell range. This impressive collection of jagged granite peaks is dominated by Goatfell, the highest mountain on the island, which is often considered the easiest to ascend.

Lochranza, located in the north, serves as the starting point for several picturesque coastal walks. During low tide, you might even spot some seals.

The area also features a ruined castle and is situated near the quaint village of Pirnmill and its surrounding hills, offering stunning views.

Explore the beaches

Arran’s coastline boasts a plethora of beautiful beaches waiting to be explored. If you find yourself in Brodick, head further north to Strabane for expansive sandy stretches and crystal-clear waters.

Lamlash also offers several small sandy coves and shallow waters, particularly towards the south of the village.

Kildonan’s ‘silver sands’ beach is often hailed as one of Arran’s most beautiful spots. It offers incredible views across Pladda to the mainland, and you might even spot some seals, so keep your eyes peeled.

One of Arran’s best-kept secrets is Kilmory beach, with its pristine white sands nestled within a sheltered cove. From here, you can also catch a glimpse of the island of Ailsa Craig.

Enjoy local food and drinks

In addition to its stunning natural beauty, Arran is a haven for foodies with an array of restaurants, cafes, pubs, breweries and distilleries each offering their own unique delights.

Take for instance, the Douglas Bistro, renowned for its ‘modern yet classic’ approach to dining. The chefs here use fresh, seasonal ingredients from Arran and Ayrshire such as shellfish, venison and beef, all served in a sophisticated yet relaxed atmosphere.

For those who love a cuppa, Cafe Rosaburn at the Arran Heritage centre is a must-visit. This delightful spot offers homemade sweet treats and freshly brewed beverages.

Summer is the ideal time to visit, with the opportunity to enjoy a picnic in the riverside gardens and indulge in some Arran ice cream from the gift shop.

Visit the brewery

No journey to Arran would be complete without a stop at the Isle of Arran brewery. Since 2000, this establishment has been crafting award-winning real ales on the island.

With a range from blondes to bitters to stouts, there’s a brew for every palate, and visitors can even embark on a tour to learn about the brewing process.

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From green-capped mountains to creamy golden beaches and dense forests, this two-hour train journey has been crowned one of the country’s best – and it’s pretty easy to see why

Watch rolling countryside and golden sandy beaches from the comfort of your own seat on this picturesque train journey. Let’s face it, the UK’s railways don’t exactly have the best reputation. Plagued with constant delays, cancellations, and crowded carriages – hopping on a train for leisure seems like an oxymoron.

However, if you look hard enough, you’ll find a slew of beautiful trains that seem worlds away from your bleak morning commute. Take the Machynlleth to Pwllheli route in Wales, for example, which was recently named one of the best train journeys in the country by Conde Nast Traveller.

READ MORE: UK’s most unique 417-mile train ride passes stunning scenery but has major catch

The 31-mile track, which lasts for around two hours and 12 minutes, idles through breathtaking mountains, stunning beaches, and dense forests, and can cost less than £20 for a return.

“Just inside the southernmost rim of Snowdonia National Park, this route is blessed by nature from the moment the train departs,” the publication hailed. “Passengers gaze onto scenes of tall grass smattered with waist-high wildflowers and puffy clouds over peaks fringed with forest… Not long after Dovey Junction station, the ride follows the bends of the River Dyfi until it opens wide onto the Cardigan Bay coast, shaped by fingers of creamy sand and dunes melting into the water.”

The train has 25 stops, including the ‘most isolated station in Wales’, Dovey Junction, and the acclaimed seaside town of Barmouth – just make sure you get a window seat to make the most of the journey. Most of the track hugs the country’s stunning coastline, allowing for plenty of beach vistas and sea views. However, there are no first class carriages, so it might be worth bringing your own train picnic.

Machynlleth to Pwllheli – the full route

• Machynlleth
• Dovey Junction
• Penhelig
• Aberdovey
• Tywyn
• Tonfanau
• Llwyngwril
• Fairbourne
• Morfa Mawddach
• Barmouth
• Llanaber
• Talybont
• Dyffryn Ardudwy
• Llanbedr
• Pensarn (Gwynedd)
• Llandanwg
• Harlech
• Tygwyn
• Talsarnau
• Llandecwyn
• Penrhyndeudraeth
• Minffordd
• Porthmadog
• Criccieth
• Penychain
• Abererch
• Pwllheli

Machynlleth is located 217 miles from Central London, meaning you’ll have to drive around four hours and 47 minutes to get there. You can catch an indirect train from London Euston, which includes a stop over at Birmingham but only takes three hours and 52 minutes. Single adult fares start from £37.20.

After arriving in Machynlleth, you can hop straight onto the train to Pwllheli or spend the night in the market town. Here, you’ll find an array of museums, the Michelin-starred restaurant Ynyshir, and – if you time it right – Machynlleth Comedy Festival.

You can grab return fares to Pwllheli and back for as little as £21.09. If you have a railcard, this can cut down the price to an even more impressive £13.99 – which works out at less than £7 each way!

*Prices based on Trainline listings at the time of writing.

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Aged seven or eight, planting onions on his father’s land above Kabak Bay, Fatih Canözü saw his first foreigner. Before the road came in 1980, his village on the jagged coast of south-west Turkey’s Lycia region was extremely remote, isolated by steep valleys and mountains plunging into the sea. It took his family two days to get to the city of Fethiye on winding donkey tracks, to sell their apricots, vegetables and honey at the market. Despite his shock at seeing the outside world intrude for the first time, Canözü remembers thinking even then that tourism was the future.

AN ULTRA-MARATHON runner has won an epic 100km race – whilst stopping to BREASTFEED along the way.

Stephanie Case, 43, took on the gruelling Ultra-Trail Snowdonia race in Wales on May 17.

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Case had not raced in three years before lining up on the start line for the outrageous physical test.

It was the first time the human rights lawyer from Canada had run competitively since the birth of her daughter Pepper in November.

And she wasn’t about to let the race get in the way of the six-month-old’s meal times.

Case’s partner John met her at checkpoints throughout the race, handing the 43-year-old food to refuel.

While Stephanie would also feed Pepper before getting back into her running.

She said: “It was truly like riding a bike – every kilometre that passed reminded me that I hadn’t lost a thing over the last three years.

“In fact, I have gained way more joy and strength from this sport as a mum than I ever did before. 

“While it broke my heart to leave little Pepper at the aid stations, I wanted to show her – both of us – how amazing mum runners can be.”

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After starting 30 minutes behind the elite runners, Case had no idea she had crossed the finish line in the fastest time.

She laughed: “The race officials came to me and they were like, ‘You actually won.’

“They asked me ‘Can you run through the tape again for the cameras?'”

Case added: “I’m not extraordinary.

“I had a baby, I ran a race. It should be a totally normal thing.

“Everyone has an opinion about what new mums should or shouldn’t be doing, and that doesn’t open up a lot of. space for out there ideas like running an ultra.

“I’m lucky to be physically okay after childbirth. Others aren’t so lucky.

“There is no ‘comeback’ after childbirth. There is just the next phase.

“And whatever it looks like, whether on or off the trail, it’ll be right for you.”

May 16 (UPI) — A 27-year-old Georgia woman missing nearly three weeks in the California mountains has been found alive, according to authorities.

Tiffany Slaton of Jeffersonville was reported missing by her family on April 29 after they had not heard from her for nine days. She had gone on a solo camping trip in the Shaver Lake/Huntington Lake area on April 20.

The Fresno County Sheriff’s Office said in a statement that the woman was found Wednesday near Lake Edison in a cabin belonging to Vermilion Valley Resort.

According to authorities, the owner of the wilderness resort found her while inspecting the property in preparation for opening it to the public for the summer season.

Snowplows had only cleared nearby roads that day, which permitted the owner to access the property, the sheriff’s office said.

“The owner said he had left a cabin unlocked as a precaution for this exact situation, where someone who is lost could seek shelter and increase their chances of surviving the outdoor elements and harsh weather,” the sheriff’s office said.

After finding Slaton, the unnamed owner contact the sheriff’s office, and deputies drove to meet them.

Slaton was reportedly in good condition, though she was dehydrated. She was transported to a hospital for further treatment, and her family in Georgia has been notified.

“Detectives are now arranging to meet with Tiffany to learn more about her timeline of events and overall experience,” the Fresno County Sheriff’s Office said.

Vermilion Valley Resort celebrated Slaton’s discovery on social media.

“We are so happy Tiffany is safe! It is amazing what she went through. It is incredible what she has accomplished,” the resort said in a statement. “We went in to open the resort, found her using our cabin and brought her down the mountain to safety.”

The sheriff’s office had launched a search for the woman, during which it was discovered that she had last been seen April 24 at a general store.

From May 6 to Saturday, the sheriff’s search-and-rescue team conducted a full-scale search of the mountains for Slaton that spanned nearly 600 square miles, it said, adding that efforts were hampered by snow.