Danielle Wall

‘Sit up straight, heels down, lean forward, lean back, tighten the reins, loosen the reins.’ Joe's instructions replay in my head as I scan the canyon floor for rattlesnakes. I gently push my heels into the sides of my horse, Rio, and he sets off across the rocky terrain. Joe is my guide and a real-life cowboy. Guiding tourists like me through Arizona’s Sonoran Desert is his side hustle. I've signed up for a two-hour sunset trail ride, but Joe tells me he often takes groups into the desert for days. They sleep under the stars, catch fish for supper and eat fruit from barrel cacti. Joe can tell I'm anxious. I'm pretty sure Rio can too. I've been unusually stressed for a while, and no amount of London wellness treatments seem to help. I needed something more radical.

Two hours into a muddy hike through Rwanda’s Nyungwe rainforest and though I’ve been barked at by a baboon, crossed rivers of fire ants and stepped over a foot-long centipede, I have yet to see any chimpanzees, which is the reason I’m here.  My guide and our team of trackers are on the path ahead, armed with machetes, rifles and a walkie talkie. We’re looking for an alpha male called Kuyu. His morning calls echo in the distance and my guide tells me we’re not far from him. I hope he’s right. I am covered in Mosquito repellent clothing, I’m hot, tired and my enthusiasm is waning.  ‘Look up,’ says my guide, and he gestures at a dark shadow that glides across the tree canopy above. We’ve found them!

‘We’re all mad here,’ I mumble as I head towards the Cheshire Cat. To my left is the home of the world’s most famous mouse – and a sign warning guests to expect a wait of up to an hour and a half if they want to meet him. This is my tenth trip down a Disney theme park rabbit hole – my third as an adult and my second to Disneyland Paris – so the queues in the ‘most magical place on Earth’ comes as no surprise. But this time there’s a difference: I have my very own fairy godfather. Alex, our VIP tour guide, dressed in a three-piece suit with a checkerboard waistcoat, whisks us past the queue to a side door of Mickey Mouse’s home and rings a bell.

Ziplining and beekeeping may not be your typical city break activities – but then again, Ottawa is not your typical city. Sandwiched between the more sought-after Toronto and Montreal, it’s also not typically at the top of travellers’ wish-lists. When I started planning my visit, the question I kept being asked was ‘why go there?’. But by the time I came back, I was asking ‘why don’t more people go there?’. With its history, architecture, museums, river walks and cycle paths, Ottawa offers the best bits of both a city break and countryside retreat. The Canadian capital is best described as a rural metropolis – imagine picking up the City of Westminster and putting it in the middle of the South Downs.

Blake Shelton’s ‘God’s Country’ plays on the radio as bolts of lightning tear through dark clouds, illuminating the corn fields of the Midwest. ‘Slow down,’ demands Mum, clutching her seat. It’s clear she’s grateful the rental company did not give me the muscle car that I was hoping for. We’re on America’s ‘Mother Road’, otherwise known as Route 66. Or what’s left of it that is. The original highway ran 2,448 miles cross-country from the city of Chicago, Illinois, to the beaches of Santa Monica in California, but was replaced in the 1950s by the Interstate.

‘There, that’s what we want to see,’ shouts our captain, pointing. My head flings back as the Zodiac flies through the open water towards a plume of ocean spray. Metres from our boat, there’s a breach, then a tail slap and more spray. Two giant humpback whales. ‘Meet Flip and Flop,’ the captain announces smugly. Flip and Flop glide only inches away, dwarfing our boat. They perform to wails and applause from a grateful audience. I am in awe and keep my camera tucked firmly in my bag — I want to enjoy every moment. The spectacle lasts for 40 minutes or so before we bid farewell and head back to shore. Peggy's Point I’m on a road trip through Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, two of the three provinces that make up The Maritimes.

‘You’re going where? Why? No. No you’re not! On your own?’ This was not the response I’d hoped for when I mentioned to my friend and colleague Mary Wakefield where I planned to go on holiday. ‘What’s wrong with downtown LA?’ I asked. She said: ‘Last time I was there I saw a man stabbed in the public loo.’ I’m no snowflake, but as I touched down in LAX I had visions of corpses piled up on the sidewalk. I needn’t have worried. Mary was last here more than a decade ago and, as I discovered from the moment I left the airport, modern technology has transformed the tourist experience of LA. Before I left, everyone told me I’d be crazy not to hire a car to navigate the sprawling city.