Spectator Life

What do you look for in a luxury hotel? For me it's the quality of the pillows every time. You can keep your fancy hair products, exotic fruit bowls and hooded towelling robes; give me two perfectly puffy goose down pillows and I can forgive almost anything – well, maybe not a lumpy mattress. Luxury enticements don't come much more lavish than Dubai's Burj Al Arab, the self proclaimed 'seven star' hotel that featured on the BBC's Inside Dubai and wears its decadence on its sail-like sleeve. The Burj is the only hotel I'm aware of that offers a menu containing seventeen different kinds of pillow including an Anti-Ageing Premium Down option lavished with ‘traces of vitamins’.

When Samuel Johnson and James Boswell passed through Skye on their celebrated tour of the Hebrides in 1773, they were disconcerted by the lack of Highlands customs. Where were the fierce clans, the costumes and the Jacobite sympathies they had expected? Instead, in the person of the clan chief, Alexander Macdonald, they found a cultivated old Etonian more interested in reciting Latin verses to his distinguished guests. The visit did not go well. Johnson asked why he didn’t have a magazine of arms hidden in his cellar and Macdonald replied that it was so damp they would only rust.

Those looking for ancient culture will find it in abundance on Fuerteventura – a canary island known more for its beaches than its heritage. I’d ended up in a hostel run by an Italian couple deep in the island's outback. Looming over the hostel was the holy mountain of Tindaya, on whose summit indigenous islanders once left their dead. It also has the most important set of podomorph engravings in the world — 300 pairs of foot-shaped engravings, the left and right soles with attendant digits flush together, carved into the rock. These simple and rather touching imprints struck a particular chord with me after my extended Camino across the Iberian Peninsula following the steps of previous pilgrims.

Scotland’s deputy first minister has been trying to discourage would-be New Year’s Eve revellers from travelling to England this week. Those planning to escape Scotland’s strict Covid rules with a Hogmanay trip south of the border are going against the ‘spirit’ of the restrictions, according to John Swinney. As Chloe Smith, the UK work and pensions minister, has pointed out though, Scots are ‘more than free to move around’ the UK over the New Year – Nicola Sturgeon’s SNP are not yet able to impose a hard border along the 96-mile stretch between Bella Caledonia and contaminated England.

As winter drags on and on, and warm sunny days become distant memories, discussions in our family always turn to summer holidays. We only go away together once a year so our trip has to tick all the boxes. My daughter won’t fly long haul, my son craves excitement, I like exploring places that are off the beaten track and my wife just wants to drop and flop. It’s a tricky combination but, as we’ve found out down the years, there are plenty of European seaside towns in unexpected places – places where you can do all the usual seaside stuff and still have a few adventures while you’re there. Here are our family favourites, plus a couple of offbeat resorts I’ve ended up in on my travels for The Spectator.

Readers of a certain age might recall the days when people 'went for a drive' as a form of pleasure. Yes, as unbelievable as it sounds now that combustion-engined cars are demonised, fuel prices are at an all-time high and unwittingly straying into a 'low emission zone' can cost you the price of a plane ticket to New York, there really was a time when people got behind the wheel and went somewhere simply for the joy of it. And do you know what? I still do. Yes. I am shameless. I still love that feeling of slipping into the driving seat, shutting the door and heading off on a vehicular adventure.I don't mean, I hasten to add, some soul-destroying commute into London in which every tedious mile is overshadowed by thoughts of Sadiq Khan's looming visage.

Burgh Island certainly knows how to make an entrance. As you descend the hill at dusk into Bigbury-on-Sea the white hotel drinks up all the light. Like a flashy piece of costume jewellery, it’s the only thing you notice on the skyline. But, then again, it's used to making good first impressions. Despite its diminutive size, the island appears in Agatha Christie's Evil Under the Sun before any of the novel’s characters, upstaging even Hercule Poirot. The reader is never in any doubt that the book's murder will hinge entirely on ‘the little windswept gull-haunted promontory – cut off from land at each high tide’ and the ‘comfortable and most exclusive hotel’ on its most northerly shore.

I never realised Lanzarote was such a weird place. During an extended Camino de Santiago pilgrimage to escape UK lockdowns, various pilgrims I met urged me to visit the splendours of the Canary Islands as a natural sequel to the splendours of the Iberian Peninsula we traversed. But Lanzarote was rarely mentioned. As soon as you land at the north easternmost of the eight main Canary Islands you quickly appreciate there's much more to it than cheap bars, piña coladas and the often-derided Brits Abroad vibe. Looming over the airport—whose runway must be a contender for one of the world’s greatest, though more of that later—is a landscape of volcanic mountains that looks like a cross between the surface of the Moon and Mars.

There is something uniquely soul-destroying about British theme parks. The effusive, American cheer of Disney Land somehow fails to translate in Blighty where no amount of sugary pastel scenery, singing flowers and glockenspiel music can distract from the bad weather. Indeed, if Peppa Pig World really does embody 'the power of UK creativity', as Boris suggested in his CBI speech, we really are in more trouble than I thought. Maybe the PM got lucky with the weather during his visit to Peppa Pig World last weekend. But, for the rest of us, it's hard not see an hour-long queue in the drizzle for Peppa's Big Balloon Ride as anything other than a particularly cruel form of parental purgatory.

Contrary to the title of this article, do not spend 48 hours in Rome on your first attempt. Unless you have legs of steel, high levels of determination and a desire for non-stop sightseeing. The two pivots about which the city’s history turns – the Vatican and the Roman Forum – are best taken a day each and visited early, fuelled by €1 coffees and sweet, crumbly pasticcini off sticky local bar counters: 48 hours, done. But to focus on these titanic monuments of European history alone is to miss the real chatter of the city: couples meeting for Monday drinks by the Ponte Sisto, watching the sun go down on the Tiber from the Isola Tiberina, lingering under the vaults of (some) of Rome’s more than 900 churches.

For all its critical success, Vince Gilligan's Breaking Bad – and its superlative follow-up Better Call Saul, which returns to Netflix soon for its final hurrah – boasts a more niche achievement to its name. Like only a handful of series before it – Twin Peaks being one of them – the neo-Western epic succeeded in making stars not just of its actors, but also its cinematic location: the humble city of Albuquerque. For years, the south western state of New Mexico – wedged between Texas and Arizona – had been luring film-makers with offers of generous tax subsidies.

Two weeks before Covid began to hit Europe, I stood in the Basilica Cistern beneath Istanbul, steadily getting dripped on. Built during the reign of the Emperor Justinian I in 532, just before another deadly pandemic – the plague of Justinian – the cistern lies beneath Istanbul’s tourist hotspot, and despite it being damp, dark and having stands of 007 merchandise at its entrance and exit, it is one of the most enchanting places in a city that has captivated its visitors for over a thousand years. 'If the Earth were a single state,' Napoleon once pronounced, 'Istanbul would be its capital,’ and upon visiting you begin to understand why.

Birds eye shots of Aston Martins cruising along hairpin roads, steamy scenes on chalk-white beaches: the choice of James Bond filming locations has the power to put new holiday destinations on the map. Here we round up the best places to visit from No Time To Die - and rediscover old favourites from the archive. Puglia, Italy Some of the most nail biting scenes in the latest film involve Bond jumping from an aqueduct into a ravine to escape his pursuers then hurtling round the sidestreets of an ancient Italian town on a motorbike. Most of the scenes are shot around the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Matera in southern Italy. Known as The City of Caves, it sits on a rocky outcrop with troglodyte settlements carved into its base.

Armed with a US passport, I fly to New York for just two days to interview John McWhorter, an African American professor of linguistics at Columbia University. He is America’s fast-rising star of the anti-woke movement and I am there to talk to him about his brave and funny new book, Woke Racism. I zip over to meet him on one of dozens of daily flights between Heathrow and JFK in advance of America’s reopening on 8 November. The good news is that, after 8 November, the rest of Europe's jet setters can join me. It is strange flying transatlantic in the final days before the US reopens after nearly two years: there are almost as many planes as passengers.

Travel abroad is now possible, but is less fun than it was. There’s the litany of Covid paperwork. Tests must be ordered from companies with odd-sounding names that seem always to end with an ‘X’. Once abroad, there is the constant worry that you may test positive for the dreaded virus and find yourself banged up far from home for a week or so. The good news is that it is now quite easy to pretend to be abroad even when you are not. ‘Staycation’ is a hackneyed term. What’s more amusing is to cosplay the sense of being in a foreign city without actually leaving London. It’s surprisingly easy to do.

The mist starts circling in, just dusting the hills with a soft, downy quilt. You can see for miles from my balcony, the tracks of the vineyards, the clusters of trees, the rooftops in the distance. This is Piedmont, laid out below me, all its undulating splendour, rich with wine, truffles and winding roads leading to endless villages and towns spilling over with hospitality and, yes, undoubtedly more truffles. Autumn is the perfect time to visit this criminally overlooked region in Northern Italy. This is largely because of the area’s local celebrity, the aforementioned truffle.

Sprawled out across the kerb, exhausted and inebriated as we split boxes of 20 McDonalds chicken nuggets with old friends and new drinking partners, our faces dancing with the coloured florescent lights of the strip and hair streaked with sickly-sweet flecks of alcohol. That’s how I remember my first time in Magaluf, celebrating my A-level results at 18. Almost a decade on, I found myself back there ­– except this time, I was chatting to Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh at a rooftop bar during a literary festival. So far, so highbrow. We were both in Mallorca for the inaugural Festival Literatura Expandida a Magaluf, which took over INNSiDE Calvià Beach by Meliá, an imposing but reasonably-priced hotel on the seafront, over the first weekend in October.

James Herriot's story about a country vet, with scene-stealing backdrops and a coterie of country characters first instilled the Yorkshire Dales into the popular imagination back in 1972. The beauty of Yorkshire wasn't lost on Herriot, whose real name was Alf Wright: 'At times it seemed unfair that I should be paid for my work,' he writes in All Creatures Great and Small, 'for driving out in the early morning with the fields glittering under the first pale sunshine and the wisps of mist still hanging on the high tops.' And it seems millions of others are now discovering the joys of this landscape too.

‘Pub with rooms’ used to mean ‘backpackers’ hostel’, the sort of place with three bunk beds to a dorm and a pound deposit on your towel. But recently the capital’s pubs have realised that by raising their game, they could steal a decent chunk of the London hotel market. In a city where £400 a night often buys you nothing more than a fake mahogany desk, pubs are now offering boutique rooms at Travelodge prices. And apart from the value they offer, what could be more exciting than staying above a pub? It’s a return to the days of the coaching inn, somewhere you could eat and drink with an interesting collection of strangers, then spend the night before continuing your journey.

Italy's relaxation of its travel restrictions for double-vaccinated Brits has many of us eyeing up the options for an autumn getaway. And why not? Come September, cities like Venice are no longer tourist traps (Dolce & Gabbana fashion shows aside) and yet the balmy weather remains. Many visitors head to Italy for Venice alone but they miss a trick by foregoing the beautiful nearby port town of Trieste – beloved by Italian holiday makers and yet untouched by Brits. With the Venetian authorities rumoured to be considering turnstiles on the periphery of Venice, Italy's most iconic city increasingly feels like a museum. And so, for those left hankering for a slice of living, breathing Italian culture, Trieste is the perfect tonic.

Now travel restrictions are finally easing off, there’s never been a better time to visit Europe’s greatest galleries. Sightseers won’t be back en masse for a good while yet, I reckon. in the meantime, you’ll be able to wander round these places in comparative peace and quiet. I was back in Berlin last month, and it felt wonderful to stroll through tranquil museums that are usually so crowded. It made me impatient to return to other Continental capitals, and revisit some of the precious masterpieces I’ve grown to love. You’re bound to have your own favourites, but here’s my magnificent seven. AmsterdamImage: iStock The Rijksmuseum is a must, but, as in all big galleries, it pays to be selective.

You’re never going to see Venice quite like this again. Usually swarming with tourists – not to mention the enormous cruise ships that dock in its waters ­– the city has been given a serious breather by the coronavirus pandemic. Those lengthy queues to get into its most famous hotspots have disappeared; the picturesque back streets lie empty and a dramatic fall in water traffic has seen the sediment in its 150 canals settle, allowing their vibrant colour to return. La Serenissima – much to many of the locals’ relief – has become serene once more.

Among the glorious shores of these islands, there is one of the best-kept secrets of sailing. It’s a ragged and rocky coastline that is blessed with the sort of idyllic, empty sandy beaches stretching on for miles that would make Tom Hanks's castaway shake from method acting-induced PTSD. Here the blue waters are scattered with islands rising from the depths with the kind of muscular topography that would have your average geography teacher reaching for their colouring-in pencils. This, my friends, is the west coast of Scotland. Forget the Caribbean, wonderful though the punch, the people and the terribly reliable temperature all are. The untouched beaches of the Western Isles are every bit as beautiful, just permanently 15 degrees Celsius colder.

August 28 hails the great British getaway as people look to make the most of the looser restrictions and three day weekend. But you’ll have to travel far to escape the crowds this Bank Holiday. Follow our guide to the best, most far flung places. North NorfolkHolkham beach The white-gold beaches of North Norfolk feature regularly on lists of the UK’s most beautiful. Given the county’s relatively low road infrastructure, with no motorway to speak of, they are also blissfully crowd-free. Holkham Beach - which provided the backdrop for the closing scene of Shakespeare in Love - is a particularly lovely spot. On the shore there is a semi-circular basin which fills up at high tide to form a bluey emerald lagoon.

After a fraught summer of changing restrictions, it seems likely that staycaytioning is here to, er, stay. The good news for food-lovers is that Britain is now home to a growing number of boutique breaks that are centred around eating. Our weather may be unpredictable but the top-notch dishes at these destinations will more than compensate for even the wettest of weekends. So here is a guide to the best all in-house foodie staycations – from Michelin-starred manors to wholesome working farms – all with fabulous food and drink on offer within a postprandial stagger to the bedroom.

Europe is opening up again, and it feels great to be back in Switzerland, my favourite holiday destination. Most Britons think of it purely as a place for winter sports, but midsummer here is glorious. I’ve come here virtually every year for the last 20 years, and although it’s gorgeous in winter I like it even more in summertime. The wooded hills and lush green valleys are full of hikers and mountain bikers, but it’s easy to escape the crowds. Even in the busiest places, solitude is only a short walk away. Switzerland has some of the most spectacular landscapes in the world, and the summers here are hot and sunny. The lakes are warm enough to swim in, yet the air remains fresh and cool. So why don’t more Brits come here in summer?