On February 7, 1964, mass hysteria gripped New York. The Beatles had landed and their American fans couldn’t get enough of them. When the band arrived at their hotel, The Plaza, A Fairmont Hotel, on the south-eastern corner of Central Park, some 50 policemen had to be posted outside to keep the crowds in check. The following days brought more chaos and rumour has it that the exasperated hotel management banned The Beatles from ever staying there again.

If so, it was a greater loss for the band than The Plaza, which, as the grande dame of New York hotels, has never been short on distinguished guests. The very first was Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, scion of the business dynasty, who came to stay when the turreted French château lookalike, gleaming in its marble livery, (re-)opened in 1907, the 1890 original having quickly been deemed too small.

As the tempo of the Jazz Age began beating, The Plaza became a favourite haunt of Francis Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Some reports suggest that, one evening, dead drunk or, worse, dead sober, they jumped into the Pulitzer Fountain outside. Unsurprisingly, it was in a ‘large and stifling’ Plaza suite that Tom Buchanan shattered Jay Gatsby’s dreams — and, fittingly, the hotel now has a suite named after the book.

When the Fitzgeralds were up to their fountain antics, the hotel’s Grand Ballroom, a triumph of columns, cherubs and chandeliers, didn’t yet exist. Added in 1929, it became the venue for New York society. It’s there that Truman Capote held, in 1966, his Black and White masquerade ball, where everyone who was anyone, from Frank Sinatra to Andy Warhol, congregated. The men wore tuxedos, the women black or white dresses and both genders sported a mask — except Warhol, who, ever the publicity maven, turned up bare-faced.

I looked (in vain) for the ghosts of literary giants and Old Hollywood royalty in the plush suite where I stayed earlier this year. The size of a large London flat, it dazzled with Louis XV-style gilding and, in the master bathroom, 24-carat-gold-plated fixtures. That glittering abundance prompted the fanciful notion this could have been the room that portraitist Princess Elisabeth Lwoff-Parlaghy, who kept her title far longer than the husband to whom she owed it, rented in the early 20th century for her pet lion, Goldfleck (the hotel is still pet-friendly, although I wouldn’t recommend bringing along a lion).

I wonder what The Plaza fed Goldfleck for breakfast: slabs of raw prime beef, presumably? For guests of the human variety, I can testify that, no, having fresh fruit and creamy Greek yogurt after a gluttony of flaky pastries doesn’t make the whole thing ‘healthy’.

Hard as it is to tear oneself away from the breakfast table for the exertions of the day, the effort is well rewarded in the evening with a glass of Sancerre or a Boulevardier cocktail and truffle fries, at once crispy and succulent, under the stained-glass ceiling of the Palm Court. In 1907, this glorious ‘year-round garden’ was the backdrop for Hungarian count László Széchenyi’s marriage proposal to heiress Gladys Vanderbilt — a society engagement only second to that of her cousin Consuelo with the Duke of Marlborough.

Granted, not all the Plaza’s illustrious guests always paid their bills. Lwoff-Parlaghy stiffed the hotel to the tune of $12,000, albeit leaving behind some paintings. Cabaret performer and author Kay Thompson topped that, staying rent-free for seven years, but paying it all back in (even more) literary fame.

Thompson wrote the hugely successful children’s series Eloise, centred on an irrepressible six year old who lives at The Plaza with her English nanny, a dog and a turtle, and spends her days ‘helping’ everyone and causing jams in the lift. The hotel now has an Eloise ‘portrait’ in the lobby, an Eloise afternoon tea and an Eloise suite, a pink affair with sparkly headboard, zebra carpet and a flashy neon sign that says — what else — Eloise. Next time, that’s where I hope to stay.

Visit The Plaza's website for more information and to book.

Arguably the most hilarious anecdote in Amy Odell’s biography of Gwyneth Paltrow, published last summer, hails from the actress’s high-school yearbook. Gwyneth’s ‘worst fear’, according to classmates, was obesity: an answer that turned out to be prescient. ‘The day I tried on the fat suit,’ she said 11 years later of her role as the corpulent Rosemary, in 2001’s Shallow Hal, ‘I walked through the lobby of the Tribeca Grand… It was so sad… so disturbing. No one would even look at me.’

During the pandemic, Gwyneth started drinking ‘seven nights a week’, admitted to ‘making pasta’ and — worst of all — to ‘eating bread’. I hate to think what she would have made of the health retreat I attended earlier this summer, in which wine and focaccia were served with every meal and no one seemed to care much about calories.

Health-oriented hotels tend to be self-selecting when it comes to the clientele, yet at LEFAY Resort & Spa Dolomiti, things are quite different. It offers something of an antidote to the asceticism of today’s more ‘cutting-edge’ programmes: the atmosphere is warm and sociable; the feeling not of privation, but of growth. Our culture tends to view health pursuits as inherently monastic — a red herring contiguous with the switch from wellbeing to wellness. The change in suffix is important: it indicates an effort to theorise, to tame, to domesticate. A managerial approach to the body, rather than an explorative one.

The wellness industrial complex, currently valued at $6.8 trillion (about £5.06 trillion), has made a fortune of selling expensive and often dubious versions of health that subtract more than they add. Actual foods are swapped for supplements. Chemical peels remove layers of our skin with the aim of keeping us young — yet without, for such, stopping the sands of time. This wasn’t always the case. Wellbeing in the 1970s extolled the virtue of acid trips. The Ancient Romans believed nudity and occasional banqueting were conducive to vigor.

LEFAY attempts to find a middle-ground between the two: somewhere that pushes you out of your comfort zone while presenting you with health in every form — including the sort of meals that bring a smile to your face rather than a grimace (‘but it’s good for you… just tell it yourself it’s good for you’). The sheer size of the site — a whopping 27,280 square metres, plus 2,377 square metres of outside space — is the reason it can offer things in such abundance: aromatic saunas, sensory waterfalls, phytotherapy, ice pools, a tepidarium, a calidarium, salt pools, and yet more besides.

LEFAY sits in an unenviably competitive region of Italy. Yet it stands out, notably, for its commitment to the landscape. ‘The properties are designed to allow less dispersion of heat and energy outside,’ the receptionist explains. ‘Both the original property on Lake Garda and this one in the Dolomites face south, and the large glass windows that feature in both resorts allow natural light to flood the rooms and common areas while providing a high level of thermal insulation. The heating and cooling of rooms is achieved through low-temperature radiant systems installed within the floors and ceilings’ — a system which prevents both draughts and noise.

There are three swimming pools, one one of which is divided between indoor and outdoor areas, and all of which are heated. A small, cavernous sauna for stretching post-workout sits beside a large, Finnish sauna with views of the mountains. Some find it overwhelming. ‘I don’t think my parents would enjoy this,’ my travel companion notes. ‘It’s all a bit woo-woo for them. They prefer when things feel simple.’

To fully enjoy LEFAY, one ideally does need to commit. It demands a certain surrender to the spirit of the place: to float in saline water and appreciate how different smells impact how we think or meditate. Still, the creature comforts are far greater here — and the novelty factor more accessible — than in rival outlets like the Mayr Clinic. A garden bustling with insect life encircles the Finnish sauna and frames the Dolomites beyond. A gym occupies the lower ground floor and a spa offering myriad treatments the second.

One is permitted to dip in and out of the extracurriculars. Many guests are not here for the indicatively-named Active Balance programme, but simply to enjoy a week in the Alps — an increasingly popular destination in summer among travellers fleeing the canicular conditions of the seaside. For those unsure of committing to the max, the health programme can be tailored. The canonical version is five-days long, but occasionally is shortened to three.

At every stage, participants are joined by guides, be it a masseuse or the trekker in the mountains. Before the spa-based activities begin in the afternoon, mornings are usually spent outdoors: participants are shuttled to the Dolomites for hikes, cold plunges and various grounding exercises, and shown the rare and precious beauty of the region through its flora and fauna (even I, a notorious cynic, was convinced to hug a few trees). The guides hail from Mountain Friends, a local school of hiking and mountaineering. Ours was a 23-year-old firecracker named Andrea: a competitive skier who did not mince her words, pushed us out of our comfort zone and made sure we got as much out of the experience as we possibly could.

Still, overall, the Active Balance programme promotes a kinder and more accommodating approach to living well than health retreats usually allow. It is underpinned by the belief that asceticism is inimical to la dolce vita, and that relaxation is as vital to wellbeing as exercise. Our quest for health and happiness cannot have too much of one without the other. In other words: every Yin needs its Yang.

These Ancient Chinese concepts are not mentioned in a vacuum. The programme is structured around four pillars, each one rooted in Ancient Chinese medicine and one for each day you are here (an extra day is left aside for leisure and travel; the three-day programme prioritises tenets one and two). The Red Phoenix — one — is for pushing oneself; The Black Tortoise — two — for finding one’s zen; The White Tiger — three — for focus and meditation; and The Green Dragon — four — for the art of self-reflection. At the heart of this square is The Centre. ‘Each season,’ the programme notes, ‘folds for a while in the centre before on to the next’. It does, admittedly, all sound rather Goop-y.

But then you get to dinner. The main hotel restaurant is located on the third floor: an A La Carte menu rich in staples from the wider Trentino-Alto Adige region comes with wine, cocktails, and baskets of focaccia that are topped up ad infinitum. The pasta is unctuous, the sauces unrationed, and while the Active Balance programme suggests its own regimen (a four-course menu on a separate printout), the waiters give you permission to deviate from these strictures and mix and match both specialist and A La Carte meals however you see fit. A Michelin-starred restaurant occupies a smaller tranche of the third floor, which is well worth a visit on your last night here.

The service, in true Italian style, is uninvasive and unhurried: you never can forget that you are here to relax. LEFAY, in every sense, is somewhere that treats its guests like adults. You are free to be healthy just as you are free to indulge. Ashtrays adorn coffee tables on the balconies while an assortment of wine bottles make up the restaurant’s centrepiece. This understanding of wellness and hospitality as being natural bedfellows, rather than enemies, is perhaps best encapsulated in the hotel’s signature scent. Smell is the first thing you notice upon arriving at the resort: the warm, aristocratic whiff of Juniper courses through the corridors. Aromas have always been essential to wellness — the Romans, for one, exploited the healing properties of rosewater and myrrh. Alongside aromatic saunas enveloping punters in scents of frankincense and orange, the smells of the kitchen — of grilled meats and pasta sauces — are equally vital, wafting through the dining room akin to an embrace.

It is a tribute to its founders, Domenico Alcide and Liliana Leali, that LEFAY can operate at both such a scale and such a level of excellence. The hotel in the Dolomites counts 88 suites and 21 residences — all of which were built, remarkably, in under two years. Its maximum occupancy stands at 258, a number it has reached each winter since opening in 2019. The neighbouring village of Madonna di Campiglio has long been a favourite of the Italian ski set — yet in high summer, when out-of-season construction projects tend to blight the resort, punters flock instead to Pinzolo. With the Active Balance programme, the Lealis hope their hotel will become even more popular.

Deluxe suites start from €835 euros per night in high season, on a bed and breakfast basis. Visit the LEFAY website for more information and to book.

Cricket is being played leisurely on a nearby field while wild deer and sheep strut around with carefree abandon. All Dumbleton Hall needs is a scantily-clad MP embroiled in a TV-franchise war to make it a location right out of Dame Jilly Cooper’s Rivals.

Set within a 16-acre estate of ancient cedar trees in the North Cotswolds, this refurbished country house hotel is a star in the making. Dumbleton closed in December 2023 and re-opened this year after a two-year refurbishment. The interiors of the Grade II-listed building have been reimagined with all the glamour of the roaring 1920s: think leopard-print rugs, tasselled lamps and plush velvet armchairs in-front of crackling fireplaces.

Originally built in 1830, Dumbleton was the home of the Women’s Land Army during the Second World War. It has previously been visited by the likes of Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell, the Mitford sisters and Charles Darwin, and has an innate elegance that extends far beyond its recent rejuvenation.

The rooms

One of 34 individually designed suites, our room was originally two bedrooms, which the owner and his partner — who is an interior designer — had decided would be better as one. Because of this, it was enormous, with sweeping views out to the grounds and woodland beyond from our bay window.

The epitome of old-school elegance, our room was decorated with William Morris prints, stylish antique furniture and autumnal shades.

A chocolate brown four-poster bed was the most eye-catching feature, although the nearby freestanding bathtub did give it a run for its money.

Decorated in shades of deep green, soft brown and classy teal, it was the perfect place to unwind — with a complimentary glass of Chablis in hand.

Eating and drinking

Executive chef Dean Westcar certainly knows what he’s doing. The gluten-free lemon drizzle cake in our room was a thoughtful touch and just the start of a stay packed with delicious food. The royal blue dining room of the hotel’s restaurant, Cedar 1905, was a sophisticated setting for dinner. The service at the restaurant, which celebrates modern British cooking with locally sourced ingredients, was exceptional — and that’s before you even get to the food itself.

There were plenty of tasty-sounding options to choose from, but I opted for Isle of Wight tomatoes with basil, balsamic and ricotta as my starter. My dinner partner tucked into Cornish crab on top of a crumpet, garnished with cucumber and watercress. For our mains, I enjoyed more Cornish seafood, still reeling from my crab envy. Cod with charred leeks, sea vegetables and smoked pike roe was delicious, and the way my dining partner greedily tucked into his main – South West lamb with courgette, red pepper and basil — indicated that his was too.

The showstopper, however, was pudding: a summery take on an Eton mess with elderflower jelly, fresh slices of nectarine and a scoop of strawberry sorbet. I’d go back to Dumbleton for that alone, and to sample the fine-dining tasting menu in the hotel's Orangerie, which will be opening soon.

How they’ll keep you busy

Long walks through the countryside along the Winchcombe Way followed by cocktails next to the fire.

What else to do while you’re there

Visit the nearby lavender field and — if you’re a Jeremy Clarkson fan — tour Hawkstone Brewery. If you are staying longer, why not take a day trip to nearby Stratford-upon-Avon and brush up on your Shakespeare?

Who it’s for

City workers looking for a relaxing weekend close to home. And, because this is the Cotswolds, Americans inevitably.

What gives it the ‘wow’ factor?

The grounds, complete with scenic lake views, wild sheep and deer and woodland right on the doorstep.

The one thing we’d change

There were a few teething issues during our stay, but I put this down to Dumbleton’s recent reopening and relatively new staff.

The one thing I could not abide, however, was the lack of a phone in our room. Ordering room service over WhatsApp is not particularly dignified. I suggest a phone in each room. Maybe even two. And preferably rotary models.

Rooms at Dumbleton Hall start from £311. Visit their website for more information and to book.

Gazing across the River Thames from the balcony of The Savoy Hotel's Terrace Suite recently, I was reminded that Claude Monet checked in here for extended stays three times between 1898 and 1901 to paint those iconic fog-shrouded scenes of Waterloo Bridge from the very same vantage point.

Elsewhere, the hotel’s new collection of freshly refurbished Art Deco rooms leans on its history as a venue once synonymous with the most progressive designers of the time. ‘It’s not about recreating the past,’ says general manager Frank Arnold, ‘but about interpreting its spirit for the future.’

As recently as the early 2000s tales of hardscrabble artists, writers and designers seeking refuge in hotels, clubs and restaurants would abound. Indeed, much of The Groucho Club’s famed art collection is made up of works offered up by skint YBAs unable to pay their tab. But with nights in Savoy suites nudging £10,000 it’s fair to say you won't find any jobbing artists seeking board and inspiration there today.

It’s hardly a novel point to make that London hotel prices have become increasingly steep as operational costs have risen (what hasn’t?), but if the ever-expanding luxury market here remains fixated on chasing that most ungainly of acronyms, the UHNWI (ultra-high-net-worth individual), what happens to the creatives, the bohemians, the free-spirited flâneurs that, in lieu of spending power, have always given such places their place-to-be-seen allure?

It’s a hot topic during the soft-launch buzz of Savoy’s new north bank neighbour, St Clement, the brainchild of Soho House founder Nick Jones. Given its prime panoramic position and immediate star power (The Rolling Stones launched their new album here) they could really have charged what they like. ‘But we don't want to just take anyone,’ explained Jones on a recent showaround. ‘We want people who are kind, not flashy, who really respect what we're trying to do and so we really respect them.’

And so regular guests, locals and ‘friends’ will receive a preferential £600-a-night rate and a welcome into its semi-private bar, Bobbi’s. Plus the local cabbies got free coffee, breakfast and late-night burgers on certain dates this summer. Could it be taken as something of a vibe shift? A timely reminder that the best hotels have never belonged exclusively to their guests, but to their neighbourhoods too?

Oliver Milne-Watson hopes so: ‘The great London hotels earned their reputations because they weren't just buildings, they were meeting places.’ Milne-Watson is the general manager of The Newman which opened in Fitzrovia at the start of the year. Its storied but often overlooked central London neighbourhood has been at the heart of the hotel and portraits of local characters line its walls. ‘It has a remarkable creative history — we wanted The Newman to reflect that spirit rather than simply borrow its aesthetic. A neighbourhood hotel has to contribute to the life of its area, not just benefit from its postcode,’ says Milne-Watson.

Its Neighbourhood Club is one such initiative that gives local members discounts at the hotel restaurant, bar, and spa and at a growing network of independent businesses with all profits from membership donated to Fitzrovian charities. ‘The challenge for the industry is finding ways to maintain that openness while still running a sustainable business. But luxury and accessibility don't have to be opposites.’

On the horizon, strange trees danced, a mirage of slender trunks marking the distant Norfolk coast. All around was blue water, stippled with white horses whipped up by the brisk north-easterly, yet directly before us was clean, smooth sand, an East Anglian desert island.

Walking up a slight rise to where wind-blown ripples sheltered puddles of warm seawater, we glimpsed the oddest element of this otherworldly scene: fishing trawlers, bright red and green with tiny figures in oilskins scratching around their hulls. Unable to resist, we set off towards them, six girls in shorts and jumpers, giving the fishermen, no doubt, something of a turn.

They were cocklemen, out on the sandbank revealed by low tide in the middle of the Wash, that great sweep of bay between Lincolnshire and Norfolk where King John once lost his baggage train full of treasure. All summer long, they will beach their cockleboats here, raking around in a large circle and then shovelling up cockles into bags, just as their kin have done for thousands of years, bar the hydraulic lift to hoist the ton bags on board. They might get two or three tons in one trip, making enough to render working in wintertime unnecessary.

Tough and sturdy, they received our interest with some bemusement, refusing any payment when we asked if we could scoop up some cockles for lunch. Duly armed with a towel-full of shells, curved and fluted and mottled in sandy hues, we set off back to where we could see the mast of our vessel, eager to offer up our haul for lunch.

We had sailed to this desert island aboard Victorious, a 42-foot-long, gaff-rigged wooden cockleboat built in Kings Lynn in 1932, wide of beam and shallow of draught. Her captain, Henry Chamberlain, a former Royal Marine, had restored her to perfection and now, with a white-painted hull, red sails, long bowsprit and steeply raked stern, she is a beautiful boat. The hold once intended for the catch has two bunks and a tiny galley, where our foraged cockles sizzled.

After boarding at Fosdyke in Lincolnshire, where a huge boatshed sheltered vessels in various states of repair, we had motored up the River Welland to the Wash against the wind as bacon sizzled and enamel cups of tea and coffee were circulated.

As a group, we had bonded in the hunting field and were thus well used to wild weather and winds. Sarah Kate Byrne, stylist to the stars of ITV Racing and side-saddle doyenne; Rosie van Cutsem, whose clothing brand Troy London (now closed, sadly) was worn by The Princess of Wales; Anna Pope, artist and co-founder of Watatunga Wildlife Reserve; Rachael Hampton, world-class dentist; and Anna Sands of Bodney Hall Farm holiday rentals, made up our crew, guided by Henry and his mate, David (Tomo) Thompson.

We swiftly settled in for a day when phones were used only for taking (hundreds of) photographs, when the wind tangled hair and stirred the blood and when stories were shared of hair-raising adventures at sea, none of which, thankfully, concerned Victorious. She stoically crested each wave, before settling comfortably into her sandy berth on the sandbank and we set off on our cockle mission.

Lunch was thus served on a beach as private as any billionaire’s Caribbean island — and what a lunch it was. Henry had gathered an array of goodies, including tomato soup, Baron Bigod cheese, the lightest focaccia I have ever tasted from Bert Blaize at North Norfolk Cellars in Wells-next-the-Sea and Matt Gregory’s Coral 2024 natural wine, all complemented, of course, by our fresh-as-can-be cockles, dusted with North Norfolk Sea Salt from Brancaster.

On our return, we coasted before the north-easterly, sails hoisted, cheerfully plunging into the waves. I accepted the tiller with some trepidation, having not sailed for some years and then with a wheel, but Henry kept a close eye and it wasn’t long before I had the feel of her. She was heavy, but eager and responded well to the helm.

Succeeding buoys came up swiftly; it’s astonishing how fast one can sail with wind and tide together and it wasn’t long before we were approaching the mouth of the river, into which we shot like an arrow finding its mark. Mudbanks slipped by as seals popped up to say farewell and cormorants, so swift beneath the water and so ungainly out of it, flapped out of our way.

Fortunately, Henry took the helm for the last bit, under engine power, with a heart-stopping bit of manoeuvring that saw Victorious spun on her heel and urged alongside the jetty as the tide threatened to smash her into the boat moored behind.

Safely tied up, we breathed a sigh of relief and repaired to The Ship Inn nearby for a pint of Guinness. The proprietor, Fiona Carter, is a great champion of Fosdyke history, with black-and-white photographs of past ships (including one whose skipper had fallen foul of that tide and crashed into the bridge) arrayed in the restaurant. She and her husband, David, have long supported the shipyard and it is reassuring to find in this unassuming corner of Lincolnshire a place where traditional shipbuilding skills are flourishing.

Victorious is not Henry’s only boat. He has several others, all redolent of Norfolk’s maritime past, with two more for the open sea: My Girls, a 20-foot-long lug-rigged crab boat, and Salford, a 30-foot-long open lug-rigged whelker. They can both traverse the saltmarshes and creeks of Wells-next-the-Sea, too, together with two mussel flat boats and Mabel, a 16-foot-long beach boat based in Blakeney. Aboard these, guests can explore the tidal saltwater creeks of the coast as they wish, stopping to swim or feast or simply snooze in the sun. I will certainly be returning for more coastal explorations, but for now, I will sleep soundly with the taste of those cockles still salty on my tongue.

Coastal sails for six people start from £595; saltmash sails for four people from £395. A sail aboard Victorious for eight people is £895. Visit the Coastal Exploration Company website for more information.

There are few addresses in London more exposed to the city’s relentless pace than Hotel Café Royal in Piccadilly. Outside, tourists mill underneath flashing billboards. Inside, however, the caramel-hued marble walls of the original entranceway off Regent Street give the space a calm, decadent quality, totally removed from the urgency of the world beyond.

This tone continues seamlessly into the main lobby, designed by Piero Lissoni, with its double-height ceilings, dramatic chandelier and restrained palette punctuated by bold floral arrangements.

The building itself has lived many lives. Most famously, it was home to the Café Royal, which opened in 1865 when Daniel Nicols transformed a former oilcloth warehouse into something altogether more glamorous. London society’s answer to a Parisian salon, Café Royal became one of the capital’s great meeting places. Oscar Wilde dined here, Sir Winston Churchill entertained here, David Bowie celebrated here and figures as varied as Virginia Woolf and Muhammad Ali passed through its doors.

When the property reopened as a hotel in 2012 — after a renovation overseen by Sir David Chipperfield — the neighbouring buildings were absorbed into the development, expanding its footprint into the sweeping site it occupies today. Part contemporary luxury hotel, part custodian of a remarkable history, it balances old-world grandeur with modern expectations.

The rooms

My room followed the familiar neutral palette: tranquil and understated. Although, one element that was by no means understated was the freestanding marble bath.

I have a deep appreciation for a bath, and this marble masterpiece did not disappoint. Few things rival a piping-hot soak, a glass of Laurent-Perrier Champagne in hand, and the pleasure of feeding oneself grapes like a Roman empress. It is the kind of bath in which one could happily lose all sense of time. I very nearly did, forgetting for a moment that I was not, in fact, Roman nobility, but a Country Life employee rapidly running late for a drinks reservation.

The rooms broadly follow two design styles: Portland and Mansard. The former mimics the Portland stone of Regent Street, the latter favours fumed oak panelling. The signature suites, however, are the jewels in the hotel's crown, each with a distinct character — my favourite being the Dome Suite.

As its name might suggest, this suite sits beneath a vast domed ceiling, which, I am told, can transform into a star-filled night sky at the flick of a switch. Beneath it lies every conceivable comfort: an enormous bed, a double-sized bath, a colossal television and sound system, not to mention expansive terraces offering spectacular views across London. It is a room overflowing with sex appeal, equally suited to a romantic hideaway or a raucous party.

Eating and drinking

Guests at Hotel Café Royal are spoiled for choice when it comes to eating and drinking.

There's Alex Dilling which serves refined French cuisine in an intimate setting, and Café Royal Grill which offers classic British dishes and afternoon tea. While dining here beneath gilded ceilings, a pianist tinkling in the background as we sipped wine and polished off the last of our sticky toffee pudding, we felt as though we had stepped back into an era as golden as the room itself.

Other options include Cakes & Bubbles by Albert Adrià and The Gallery, for an informal breakfast.

The Green Bar was our watering hole of choice — moody and atmospheric, its name and colour scheme nod to former patron Oscar Wilde and his fondness for absinthe. It’s not the only bar to reference a former patron: Ziggy’s Bar was inspired by David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust farewell party.

How they’ll keep you busy

The Akasha spa is a destination in itself, spanning three floors and more than 1,200 square metres. Expect a full menu of treatments, alongside a pool, jacuzzi, sauna and steam room.

And then there’s the location. Right in the heart of the West End, the city is at your disposal: the energy of Soho, the elegance of Mayfair, and London’s best-known landmarks, theatres, restaurants and bars are all within easy reach. Deluxe Suite guests can even explore in style with a chauffeur service available for up to five hours a day, as well as a house car for local drop-offs.

Who it’s for

Hotel Café Royal positions itself as a modern grand hotel — one that genuinely tries to be all things to all people. The result is a broad, international mix of guests with an atmosphere and clientele that shifts with the seasons. Put simply, a businessman could feel as comfortable here as a family enjoying a holiday or a couple on a romantic city break.

What gives it the wow factor?

It’s the personal touches and precision that set it apart. From Champagne, fruit, chocolates and a welcome message on the mirror on arrival, to monogrammed pillowcases — every detail felt carefully considered.

Triple-glazed windows shut out the city entirely, while the turndown service included a soft mat beside the bed so your feet never met the floor — my own cold, harsh bedroom floorboards have felt jarring ever since.

Add to that the fact that the hotel welcomes dogs, and it's hard to find fault.

The one thing we’d change

If there's one question mark, it's whether the hotel tries to be too many things to too many people, both in its aesthetic and offering. With so many styles and identities woven together, its sense of cohesion occasionally feels diluted.

Rooms at Hotel Café Royal start from £600 a night; the Grand Regent Suite starts from £3,165. Visit the hotel's website for more information and to book.

The Spa at Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park

All too often, Londoners overlook the Mandarin Oriental which looms grandly over Hyde Park’s southern flank. However, the food I had at Dinner by Heston London, on the hotel’s ground floor, is one of the best meals I’ve had in my 15 years living here, and I adore the subtle leaf motifs scattered throughout the interiors whose shapes were directly inspired by the park’s trees.

The serene cream and dark wood spa marries old-school five-star service with Eastern influences to great effect. They currently partner with British brand OSKIA and the signature facial combines facial massage, acupressure work, LED therapy and hot compresses to erase any unnecessary contours. It’s a fantastic non-invasive, all-rounder treatment and while some visitors might not appreciate the warren of subterranean rooms, corridors and facilities, I think it’s an easy way to find some respite from the hectic city one floor above.

Pfeffer Sal

A hidden gem — quite literally, it's hidden at the bottom of a mews street — Pfeffer Sal, takes an individual approach to every client.

It's a particularly good option for facial newbies and brides who want great results without all of the postulating that's sadly part and parcel of the wellness world.

Start with the The Three Sixty complete with skin consultation and skin imaging technology — before advancing to a course of treatment.

The team take customer's health seriously, going as far to install a NASA-specification air purification and filtration system. London grime doesn't stand a chance.

Surrenne Belgravia

Surrenne connects The Emory and Berkley hotels, but operates more along the lines of a private members’ wellness club. Facilities include a 22-metre-long lap pool, sauna, steam room, snow shower, gym, hammams and treatment rooms.

Membership includes perks such as hyperbaric sessions and Tracy Anderson classes in the UK’s only dedicated Tracy Anderson studio. (Anderson innovated a dance-inspired fitness programme beloved by Gwyneth Paltrow and Victoria Beckham. When I attempted it, I thought I was going into cardiac arrest.)

The massages are my favourite part of their offering. If you don’t quite know what you want opt for the I NEED IT ALL and your therapist will curate an hour-long treatment made up of lots of different approaches, from deep tissue to Ayurveda. The RECOVERY RITUAL is fantastic if you’ve made it through a Tracy Anderson class intact because it incorporates magnesium which can ease delayed-onset muscle soreness and regulate sleep.

Dr Barbara Sturm

World-renowned skincare expert Barbara Sturm made her long-awaited UK debut five years ago with a boutique and spa on Mayfair’s Mount Street.

The ground floor is a sweet shop for grown-ups: row upon row of pristine white bottles lining the walls, a mirrored sink and a green marble ‘discovery’ table, stacked high with the brand’s popular Molecular Cosmetics range.

There are two express treatment rooms — perfect for a quick lunchtime pick-me-up — and four fully-fitted ones, spread across the aforementioned ground and lower ground floor.

As well as the signature Barbara Sturm glow facial, customers can book in for high-tech anti-ageing and body treatments. There’s little reason to deviate from the former, however: an hour of intense facial massage, cleansers, masks and serums that will leave your face feeling brighter and tighter for days afterwards.

There’s also the option to add microneedling or microdermabrasion.

Guerlain Spa at Raffles at The OWO

The Guerlain Spa at The OWO — which comprises a 20-metre indoor pool, vitality pool, nine treatment rooms, sauna, steam room, state-of-the-art gym and experience showers — is ecclesiastical in scale. There aren’t many hotels in this central of a location (Whitehall) that can boast enough space to give away 2,500 square metres to wellness. The pool has double-height ceilings. The plush treatment beds are so thick they verge on mattresses.

The impressive array of treatments includes reflexology with Andrea Hurst who has been practicing for more than 30 years. Extremely passionate about her craft, she maintains long-standing relationships with the majority of her clients, getting to know their lives, families and innermost thoughts. Sessions are part reflexology and part therapy — and part steep learning experience. During mine, I learned that in holistic therapies, the right side of the body and foot is traditionally associated with the masculine, and the left with the feminine.

Melanie Grant

There are facialists and then there is Melanie Grant, whose much-lauded expertise has arrived at her debut UK clinic on Mount Street in Mayfair.

Her reputation is built on treatments combining high-grade technology, innovative formulations and ‘old-school’ techniques, addressing issues from congested complexions and sun-damage to remodelling the skin’s layers from deep within.

I could talk you through the Ultimate Collagen Treatment + Exosome Infusion (stellar for rejuvenation), but no treatment is a set script. ‘Each is built around the skin in front of us on the day, taking into account lifestyle, hormones, seasons, travel and stress,' Grant tells me. 'We are never wedded to a single method or device, but we’re focused on a signature outcome — a healthy, resilient complexion.’

Biome by Corinthia London

Biome is perhaps London’s most surprising spa because its holistic focus and deeply nurturing atmosphere is so at odds with the very elegant and formal hotel that houses it.

They recently partnered with Wildsmith — a Hampshire-based brand from the brains behind biodynamic farm and hotel Heckfield Place (who, incidentally, have their own fantastic Bothy spa). Today, Heckfield is home to the UK’s only biodynamic tree nursery where pioneering horticulturist Wiliam Walker Wildsmith’s ancient trees are propagated for future generations.

There’s an entire facial menu to choose from, but go for the Radical Botany: magic medicine for skin dulled by urban pollution. My favourite bit is when the therapist applies light and sustained pressure to certain points on the head and spine (craniosacral holds to give the action its proper name).

The space itself is a masterclass in urban spa design: the textured walls, rounded treatment pods and brilliantly-thought-out lighting completely distract from the fact that there aren’t any windows. You could easily while away a day here (there’s a heat and water circuit, gym, hair salon and sauna).

Omorovicza

Omorovicza's Andrassy facial is a marvel for sad-looking skin. Therapists use vigorous massage techniques — borrowed from Hungarian wellness practices — alongside Omorovicza’s gorgeous products (my longstanding favourite is Queen Essence) to lift, sculpt and treat.

The setting surely helps, too. You’ll find its standalone Londonstore on Mayfair’s South Audley Street — think blush-pink brick flooring with matching daubed walls and gently vaulted treatment rooms that all act to cocoon you instantly.

The company has a BodySerum that uses sustainably sourced Icelandic microalgaeto target loss of elasticity and is brilliant for toning limbs — ready for those last-minute trips abroad.

It’s the time we look forward to all year: those precious summer weeks when we get to escape our routines and head off on holiday with loved ones. Our busy lives mean it’s rare to get quality time with those we care about, whether you’re enjoying an adventure-filled family holiday or a romantic retreat away from the crowds, the last thing you want is worries about home spoiling the fun.

Imagine it’s your first day away and you’re just getting settled on the beach when your phone pings with a delivery confirmation from a courier company. The photograph doesn’t look anything like your doorstep, and the courier is long gone. Or your neighbour messages to say they’ve seen suspicious characters going door-to-door in the area – when you’re far from home worries like these are enough to ruin a trip.

Indeed, recent research by smart home security experts Reolink found that peace of mind decreases in proportion to time spent away. They discovered that while 70% of individuals felt comfortable leaving their home for a weekend, that figure falls to 58% for a week-long trip, and to 44% for a two-week absence.

Millions of customers worldwide rely on Reolink, and Country Manager Ali Park is all too familiar with the concerns of those heading off on holiday: ‘We always tell people there is plenty they can do before they leave to keep their property secure, and the most important thing is creating the impression that your house is occupied,’ he explains.

‘You can make the house appear lived in with automatic switches to turn your lights on at night, and cancel any milk or newspaper deliveries, redirect parcels to a neighbour and ask a friend to collect your post for you. Always store valuable items in a safe, and make sure all other valuables are hidden from view. You must also be careful not to post anything online which suggests you’re away. And, finally, many people invest in a burglar alarm and/or video surveillance for their property,’ he concludes.

‘Of course alarms are a great layer of security, and a potential deterrent, but technology today allows for so much more,’ continues Ali. ‘Popular options this year include our Argus MagiCam, which provides a live video feed through its app. It is cable free, and can be mounted anywhere inside or outside the house instantly, making it an invaluable piece of kit for temporary security set-ups; meanwhile the Battery Video Doorbell 2nd Gen sends instant real-time video alerts and package notifications straight to your phone as soon as the bell is pressed.’

‘People find it easier to relax when they know they have live eyes and ears on the ground, wherever they are in the world, and we pride ourselves on providing exactly that.’

Going on holiday should be about enjoying every moment you’re there making memories, so taking the right precautions before you leave is worth the effort. And whether you’re the type of person who logs on three times a day to check what the cats have been up to, or just want to know who’s at the door when the bell rings, your future self is guaranteed to be thankful it’s taken care of as they paddleboard off into the sunset.

Visit the Reolink website to find out more about smart home security.

Turkey’s turquoise coast has long lured sailors with its spectacular waters, leafy landscapes and pristine coves. Ahãma’s setting on Günlüklü Bay delivers all of the above in the secluded embrace of a dense forest of native sığla trees, where red squirrels run and birds gather.

The hotel is rooted firmly in its environment and consists of a village-like sprinkling of rooms, restaurants and recreational extras that run the gamut from a DJ-soundtracked beach club to a specialised sound-healing temple, making for the most well-rounded of stays.

And with a sun-kissed season that begins in early May and extends well into October, it makes for the perfect pre- and post-school-holidays escape when fewer yachts crowd its enviable waters.

The rooms

There are blocks of adjoining guest houses set against rocky backdrops that look out over the pool, a series of standalone cabanas in various sizes are scattered where the treeline meets the beach, and one private villa that sleeps up to six is tucked discretely into the edge of the bay (which comes with its own infinity pool, private beach and butler service).

All are decorated to reflect the natural surroundings — lots of earthy tones, tactile fabrics, worn woods and stone fixtures — and have a seating area out front, ideal for reclining and listening to the lapping waves and the calls of the resident peacocks.

It might take you a minute to get your bearings on site, but staff provide a handy map and can be summoned by WhatsApp at any time (and will helpfully keep you posted on any upcoming activities should you wish to partake).

Eating and drinking

Ahãma’s menu of dining options is impressive and varied. Mezcla is the shoreside beach club where laidback Mexican lunches can be served straight to your sunbed. Ege, on the eastern side of the bay, is the signature restaurant where fresh fish and local ingredients take centre stage. Just behind it, the aptly named Glasshouse is where Turkish breakfasts and mezze lunches are served. Ay, a more modern take on a traditional ocakbaşı grill, occupies the western edge of the bay and is perhaps the most theatrical and convivial where the smell of charcoal is carried on the sea breeze and conversation flows well into the night.

If there’s a chance to join a communal lunch on the remote ‘Silent Beach’ while you’re there, take it — it’s best accessed by boat and allows you to look back over Ahãma while feasting among the forest.

How they’ll keep you busy

While nominally a ‘resort’, the word doesn’t quite do justice to Ahãma which feels more like it has organically evolved around the bay rather than being built upon it.

You can, of course, opt to do very little — lounge by the pool, sunbathe on the beach, indulge in soothing spa treatments. But there’s enough here to keep you occupied for a few days: pickleball courts, an indoor/outdoor gym, bikes to borrow, hiking trails, secluded beach lunches, morning yoga sessions in a clifftop shala, a sound-bath temple, a marble-hewn hammam (the best I’ve ever experienced, for what it’s worth), evening fire rituals, stargazing by night and, quite incongruously, a pair of rescued and rehabilitated emus to befriend as they roam around the grounds.

What else to do while you’re there

You absolutely must take to the water. Whether you’re a veteran sailor or a casual sea-splasher, the crystalline waters in every shade of blue imaginable have to be seen up close to be believed.

The hotel can arrange four-hour boat excursions past verdant islands with the opportunity to swim, paddleboard, snorkel and toast the pastel-pink sunset.

The harbour town of Göcek, 20 minutes drive to the west, is a buzzy yachtie hub and a gateway to a string of picturesque islands. Fethiye, 30 minutes east, is built upon the Lycian city of Telmessos and is suitably rich in history with a charming old town, ancient tombs and ruins, and a protected lagoon.

Who is it for?

The appeal to the yacht lot is evident — it couldn’t be easier to anchor in the bay and hop ashore for some on-land relaxation. But it holds equal appeal to those seeking a wellness retreat with a natural connection, or anyone craving some coastal seclusion without scrimping on potential activities.

What gives it the ‘wow’ factor?

Not only do you have an entire sweeping bay to yourself at Ahãma, but the way the secluded forest gives way to that sparkling shoreline is quite the natural spectacle. The ducks, swans, peacocks, emus and other abundant birdlife seem to agree too.

The one thing we’d change

Breakfast can occasionally happen at quite a languorous pace — fine if you’ve got a plan-free day but worth being mindful of if you’re on a tight schedule.

For more information and to book, visit the Ahãma website.

I am told, before I board my tiny, silver plane, that Nantucket looks like a pork chop from the air. In shape, at least.

The island, which lies 30 miles south of the Cape Cod peninsula, is where generations of East Coast Americans have come to summer. Before them, it was home, for more than 12,000 years, to the Wampanoag people, who used cobbles deposited by glacial ice to make tools, and then colonisers from England, who christened their first settlement Sherburne and turned this meat-shaped speck on the map into the whaling capital of the world.

Nantucket is often mentioned in the same breath as other affluent coastal enclaves: nearby Martha’s Vineyard and The Hamptons and ‘The Cape’ (shorthand for Cape Cod). Their British counterparts aren’t necessarily the places that parts of them were named after, but rather Rock in Cornwall, Burnham Market in Norfolk and Salcombe in Devon, all similar places of immense natural beauty, architectural arms races and strained relationships between locals and second-home owners.

Salcombe is my summer poison of choice and I’ve spent hours sitting stationary opposite Stonehenge, being diverted away from the A303 altogether, or on the well-intentioned, but always delayed train service from Paddington to Totnes with disastrously upright seats.

Thankfully, there are more sophisticated ways to get to Nantucket: Tradewind, of tiny silver-plane fame, which flies between, among others, New York and Boston and coastal holiday hotspots; Cape Air; and myriad ferries — some of which take cars, most of which allow dogs.

Occasionally, Nantucket is shrouded in that particular kind of salty sea mist that looks like fine gauze and reveals it to arrivals ever so slowly, like a phantom island. It feels as if, had you travelled on a perfectly clear day, you’d never come across land at all, the map scrubbed clean.

However you choose to arrive, it’s impossible not to notice the uniform houses clad in weathered grey cedar shingle. There have been planning restrictions in place since the 19th century and, when it comes to façades, house owners must choose from a palette of approved colours. There are no white and glass, harsh-angled monstrosities here.

The second thing you’ll probably notice is the fleet of Jeep Wranglers lining the uneven cobblestone streets that were laid in the first half of the 19th century. The descendant of the rugged Second World War Jeep is still a rare sight back in south Devon, where the Suzuki Jimny and ageing Land Rover Defender reign supreme.

White Elephant is Nantucket’s grande dame hotel. It is a 10-minute walk from the harbour and Main Street, with its cluster of shops (including an impressive array of vintage and antique furniture stores) and restaurants, and is where everyone in the know suggests visitors stay.

In 2023, the harbour-side hotel was refurbished to celebrate its centenary year, but it didn’t stray far from its New England roots. Think linen sofas, scalloped lampshades and grass cloth wall coverings in nautical hues, plus rattan cabinets and bobbin chairs. What sets it apart is the breadth of accommodation, from the rooms and suites in the main building to garden cottages, multi-bedroom residences arranged around a pool and more sprawling, contemporary downtown lofts. There is a configuration for almost every stage of life, which means guests return year after year knowing it will suit a growing brood or a different circle of friends.

Residents have access to very solid bicycles that I decided could hold their own in a stand-off with a Jeep and, on our first evening, we pedalled to Steps Beach, a long, unspoilt stretch of sand with little parking that’s famed for its sunset views. It’s accessed by, unsurprisingly, a lot of steps, which cut a line through the dunes, and grey mansions that stand sentry on the bluffside.

In August and September, the gentle waves glow with bioluminescence, but in spring, when we visited, there were only the empty shells of unfortunate horseshoe crabs to marvel at. The 250-million-year-old living fossils — the bright-blue blood of which is highly prized by the medical industry — are commonplace here in April through to June when they gather in shallow, protected waters to mate.

Beach-goers who come across horseshoes that have come a cropper due to strong tides or their own clumsy swimming are encouraged to flip them right-side up. It’s a very different spectacle to the one of children crabbing on Salcombe’s Victoria Quay, but, then again, horseshoe crabs aren’t crabs at all, but relations of spiders, scorpions, ticks and mites (and impossible to fit inside a plastic bucket).

When it comes to food, Nantucket decisively steals a march on Salcombe — and everywhere else on the British coastline. There’s The Proprietors, for elegant small plates and fantastic cocktails, The Nautilus (try the blue crab fried rice if you can get a table) and Topper’s, White Elephant’s sister property The Wauwinet’s restaurant, where, after a long lunch, you can drift into the sitting room for a game of backgammon. At cosy Brotherhood of Thieves, to which we retreated on an overcast day at the urging of Sam, a member of White Elephant’s concierge team, our server confidently claimed its lobster roll is the best on the island. Naturally, we ordered two: one was piping hot and swimming in a rockpool of molten butter; the second was cold, the lobster meat folded through a salad of celery, chives, lemon and mayonnaise. Had we been pushed to eat a third, I don’t think we would have complained.

This year marks the 175th anniversary of Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, which D. H. Lawrence branded ‘the greatest book of the sea ever written’. Nantucket is inextricably linked to the great American novel because it serves as the home port of the doomed Pequod. Melville was further inspired by his own experiences as a common sailor and the 1820 sinking of a whaling boat that met its match in the form of an extremely angry, 85ft-long sperm whale.

The skeleton of a smaller specimen hangs from the ceiling of the Nantucket Whaling Museum, a well-curated space that documents four centuries of the island’s maritime and whaling history. The dangerous pursuit of these marine mammals — chiefly for their spermaceti, a semi-liquid substance located in the animal’s head cavities and used to create smokeless candles — peaked in mid 1700s; in 1790, the Nantucket Quakers famously reported that ‘there were no poor people on the island’.

We didn’t see any now-protected whales on our trip, although a particularly chunky seal kept close watch over us on Surfside Beach and plenty of people have reported sightings from the ferry from Hyannis.

I had always assumed great beaches required great drama to be, well, great. In Salcombe, many are bordered by dramatic, Paleozoic cliffs and, behind that, an undulating patchwork of fields. Further abroad, where it’s warmer, pristine sand is often juxtaposed against turquoise seas.

Although there is nothing theatrical about Nantucket’s topography, it quietly dismantled my prejudices. The land sits low against the horizon and is carpeted in sprawling expanses of globally rare sandplain grasslands and cranberry bogs that creep forward to blend seamlessly into the coastal dunes.

It’s a softer and subtler beauty that’s not shaped by spectacle — and it invites you to rest and unwind. I didn’t need to be asked twice.

Carrier can organise seven-night New England itineraries from £6,175 per person. The price includes four nights in a premier double room at Raffles Boston and three nights in a Harborview Room at White Elephant Hotel, Nantucket, plus return economy flights with Virgin Atlantic from London Heathrow (LHR), return domestic flights from Boston to Nantucket Airport with Tradewind, private transfers and airside departure service at LHR.

This feature originally appeared in the July 15, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

On a recent trip to Schloss Dyck in Germany’s Rhineland, south-west of Düsseldorf, I had been expecting Thomas Blaikie to be the main protagonist in a story that had piqued my interest. He didn’t disappoint — not in the least — but I was happy to discover that, like all good stories about fairy-tale castles, it helps if there is a princess involved.

The princess in question was one Constance de Salm who, through her second marriage in 1803, became first a countess and then a princess when her husband Count Joseph zu Salm-Reifferscheidt-Dyck was bumped up a notch by the Prussian king. De Salm, however, as a highly educated Frenchwoman, had many more strings to her bow than a mere title and, by the time of her marriage, was well established in Parisian literary circles as a published poet, essayist, composer, playwright and ardent advocate of women’s rights.

At a time of immense political upheaval in France, she was waging her own intellectual revolution. De Salm must have been quite a catch for Salm-Reifferscheidt-Dyck, six years her junior, but, as he was an academic in his own right, their union was a good one.

His specialism was botany and, during his long life, he wrote prolifically about plants and horticulture — cacti, in particular, were his thing — all the while developing a spectacular garden at Schloss Dyck. This is where Blaikie, Scottish landscape gardener, comes in, who was commissioned by the Count in 1819 to create a rolling, English parkland garden of winding paths, tantalising vistas, trees and harmonious planting to blend with the surroundings.

An unlikely scenario, if ever there was one, for a German schloss. For this, however, we have de Salm, in part, to thank. The princess, so the story goes, decided that if she was to divide her time between Paris and Germany and if she was to encourage the great and the good of her Paris salons to join her at Schloss Dyck, then she wanted the castle to have interesting garden views.

Salm-Reifferscheidt-Dyck liked the minutiae of planting and cultivating, she liked gardens with a broader vision, and Blaikie, established in pre-Revolution days as something of a Capability Brown to the French nobility, was almost certainly on her radar. His naturalistic English-garden style, which contrasted sharply with the formal geometric layouts traditionally favoured in France, was all the rage and, being a distinguished botanist, too, Blaikie’s skill set would have been right up Salm-Reifferscheidt-Dyck’s street.

Blaikie’s garden today, 200 years on, is as good as ever. Of the 2,000 trees in the park, only 30 or so date back to his planting scheme, but subsequent generations of Schloss Dyck’s owners have continued to plant and replace. Sweeping vistas of the moated, mustard-yellow castle with its four turrets remain largely unobscured; banks of rhododendrons burst into colour in spring; and, on lazy summer days, visitors to the garden can picnic on the grass or snooze in hammocks slung beneath the trees.

In 1999, Schloss Dyck passed from 900 years of private family ownership to a public, charitable foundation as a ‘centre for garden art and landscape culture’. The family, although non-resident, is still involved.

As part of the castle’s new, publicly accessible incarnation, a nine-bedroom hotel was opened in the former coach house, from which a few fortunate guests may roam the grounds after the gates have closed. Thus, I find myself on a hot midsummer’s evening alone in a deckchair beneath the giant tulip tree — perhaps Blaikie’s most magnificent survivor — imagining Schloss Dyck in the days of Constance and Joseph when this became one of Europe’s most cosmopolitan and cultured addresses. Reassuringly, the spirit of all three lives on.

Visit the Schloss Dyck for more information on how to visit.

The article originally appeared in the August 5, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Hero hotel

Rodel House, overlooking a natural harbour near the southernmost tip of the Isle of Harris, was built in 1781 for Capt Alexander MacLeod, who had recently returned from a profitable spell in India and the Far East.

Gazing out from certain windows on the first and second floors, you can, weather permitting, make out the distant silhouette of the Isle of Skye. There lies Dunvegan, seat of Clan MacLeod, to which the captain belonged, and the oldest continuously inhabited castle in Scotland.

For the best part of 700 years, the MacLeods’ territories included not only Skye, but also the islands of Raasay, Lewis, Harris and the archipelago of St Kilda. Dunvegan, on Skye, was always their political base and centre of gravity. Yet Rodel, on Harris, was also a place of particular significance to them — their spiritual home, you might say.

Rodel House had its ups and downs over the following centuries. It was in a sadly run-down state when it was purchased in 2016 by Anderson Bakewell, an American musicologist with a deep personal interest in Harris, having been a regular visitor to the island for more than 50 years.

Bakewell and his wife, Francine Stone, working closely with mostly local architects, designers and craftsmen, over-saw the meticulous restoration of the house. In its materials, textures, colours and countless small, but telling details, it had to remain respectful of its original identity, without becoming a pastiche or a simulacrum.

It also had to work in the present. If it’s modish Scandi-Scots chic you seek, you must seek it elsewhere. Rodel House is a hymn to the specifically and authentically Hebridean. Hence the abundance of larch and pine, for instance, the Georgian panelling and handmade shutters, the wool, the tweed, the sheepskin.

I remember chatting to Bakewell about the tone of the place, the note that he and his wife wished it to strike. He said he was toying with the idea of taking a motto from a song by the great 17th-century bardess Mary MacLeod, An Crònin or The Croon. The phrase he had in mind, ‘cosgail ri cuiart’, is difficult to translate. Scottish Gaelic is a living language — it’s still the first language of Harris and of the other Outer Hebridean islands — and the sense of the words has shifted over the centuries since the song was composed.

Essentially, it concerns a mode of hospitality in which heart-felt generosity, as much sentimental as material, is of the essence. ‘Lavish to visitors’ is perhaps as close an approximation to the sense of the phrase as we can get in present-day English. Not merely comfortable, that is, but good for the soul.

Today, Rodel House has four bedrooms, sleeping up to eight adults and two children, with additional rooms available on request in the adjacent East Range and nearby Pend Cottage.

Rodel House is available on an exclusive-use basis from £810 per night. A minimum three-night stay is recommended.

Need to know

The poet Louis MacNeice called the Isle of Harris ‘the end of everything’. He was exaggerating, slightly. There’s still the speck of St Kilda, some 45 nautical miles off to the west, although beyond that, if you keep heading in the same direction, it’s nothing but sea swell and fresh air all the way to Newfoundland.

The Isles of Harris and Lewis are separated by the narrowest of watery margins, but Harris has its own distinct magic, a particular look and feel. It’s a place of exceptional natural beauty, from the stark, mountainous north to the gently undulating south, where white-sand beaches stretch for miles and miles along the grassy machair coast, blooming with wildflowers in the summer.

Harris Tweed deserves special mention, not least because of the central position Rodel House occupies in its story.

Potato blight in the 1840s brought famine to many of the people of the Western Highlands and islands. At that time, the ‘estate’ of Harris belonged to the 6th Earl of Dunmore. His wife, Lady Catherine, alert to the suffering of the islanders and eager to find ways to alleviate it, saw commercial potential in the tweed that had been produced by the women of Harris for centuries.

She set up a grading room at Rodel House where local weavers could sell their homespun ‘webs’. These were, in turn, distributed in mainland Scotland and England, where they were highly prized, and eventually all over the world. A cottage industry became a global phenomenon.

Where to eat

Options are limited, particularly outside the summer months. The Harris Hotel and Hotel Hebrides, both in Tarbert, and the Talla na Mara Community Café, on the west coast, are open year round.

By far your best bet if you’re staying at Rodel House is to book on a fully catered basis. There’s a splendidly equipped kitchen in which a private chef performs minor miracles with impeccably fresh and hyper-local seafood, lamb and seasonal produce; hyper-local wines and spirits flow; picnic hampers are packed for days out.

What to do while you’re there

• Pray Pay a visit to the medieval St Clement’s Church, a few minutes’ walk from Rodel House, where the previously mentioned Mary MacLeod is buried beneath the flagstones — supposedly face down, at her own request
• Drink Raise a glass to socially enlightened business practices at the Isle of Harris Distillery, another venture of the proprietors of Rodel House, which opened in 2015 with a twofold mission of providing sustainable employment for local people and capturing something of the essence of the island in whisky form
• Walk Lose yourself in the loveliness of the coastal walk from Northton to Rubh’ an Teampaill, a ruined 15th-century chapel built on the site of a 9,000-year-old Iron Age broch

This feature originally appeared in the July 22, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Paul Ricard (1909-97) was a man who wore myriad hats. He loved to sail and to paint, and would’ve become an artist if his family had not intervened. He reportedly wanted to experience the challenges of building a race circuit — so he did. Circuit Paul Ricard — which in its heyday was hailed as one of the safest tracks in the world — hosted France’s Formula 1 race for two decades.

He also founded an Oceanographic Institute. Yet Ricard is probably best known as the inventor of the eponymous pastis brand which merged, in 1975, with its competitor Pernod, to create Pernod Ricard.

Now, his legacy includes Île de Bendor, one of two petite islands that he acquired off the coast of Bandol. Salvador Dalí, a friend, visited during Ricard’s lifetime, as did Joesphine Baker and Jean-Paul Belmondo. Following a five-year-long build, masterminded by Zannier Hotels, you can follow in their footsteps.

There are two, 1960s-era buildings, built by Ricard and situated at either end of the 700-metre-long island off the Côte d’Azur in the Var region. They are run as two very different hotels: Delos, which nods, more overtly, to the period it was built in with mid-century-inspired furniture, bespoke powder blue walls and cocktail making kits in the bedrooms, and Soukana, an Asian-inspired retreat with cocooning, earthy toned rooms and complimentary yoga mats and a sleek, 25-metre-long pool with panoramic views.

What they have in common is a timeless quality to their architecture that’s sadly lacking from most of our contemporary buildings — I assumed they’d been built more recently (in fact, only the insides were updated during the renovation). Furthermore, they look wonderfully austere against the cornflower blue sweep of summer sky.

In the middle are an adorable cluster of five, two-storey former fisherman’s cottages, or Madrague Houses, designed to accommodate couples, plus multiple restaurants, from a beachside brasserie, to a crêperie. In homage to Ricard’s artistic tendencies, there is a row of artist’s studios, immersive design workshops and galleries, that are home to a rotating roster of painters, sculptors and craftspeople. Their works, displayed across the island, are available for purchase.

A colossal statue of Neptune (above) watches over everything — including the 1,200-square-metre, monastic-looking spa — from his sentry spot in a high-up, tranquil garden studded with ancient olive trees. With everything you could ever want in easy reach, there’s no real reason to leave the island, but, unlike more traditional holiday resorts, there’s no sense of confinement. The experience is one of complete freedom and days unfurl at your own pace.

If a single stop off isn't really your bag, you can embark on a wider artistic pilgrimage with Original Travel’s Art and the Côte d’Azur road trip itinerary which traces the dazzling Mediterranean coastline and landscapes that inspired Matisse, Picasso, Renoir and Chagall. It's a stylish way to experience the Riviera through the eyes of its greatest painters and I imagine Ricard would've approved.

Île de Bendor is lapped by a glassy ocean, its floor sandy in places and carpeted in strands of dark, ribbon-like grasses, populated with pearly white fish, in others. There’s a shallow beach on the side of the island facing mainland France, a few swim strokes away, and ladders that plunge straight into deeper water from flattened rocky areas on the opposite side.

If there is a European hotel with more magical swim spots then I have yet to find it.

Original Travel’s seven-night Art and the Cote D’Azur costs from £4,360 per person. The price includes return flights, car hire, and accommodation, and can be customised to include a stay at Zannier Île de Bandor. Visit their website for more information and to book.

French Polynesia can now officially boast the world’s largest Marine Protected Area. The recent classification of Tainui Atea, which covers about two million square miles of ocean, means that there’s now a ban on seabed exploitation and drifting Fish Aggregating Devices (FADs), plus strengthened conservation objectives and the sustainable management of marine resources.

The archipelago is world renowned for its diving, surfing and marine wildlife, including rare endemic birds and migrating humpback whales. And despite increasing interest, there are still pockets where you can swim with them in relative privacy. (Elegant Resorts can put together bespoke itineraries and organise private yacht charter.)

French Polynesia is far from the only sanctuary where the sea still feels gloriously unexplored and thriving: from the deep blue to coral atolls , there are extraordinary conservation success stories across the globe that reward travellers willing to venture further afield.

The following round-up celebrates the world’s most thrilling marine encounters, but it is also a reminder to choose operators with strong conservation credentials, avoid overcrowded experiences and tread as lightly as possible in these fragile blue frontiers.

What? Participate in urgent shark conservation work

Where? Raja Ampat, Indonesia

The Lost Sharks of Raja Ampat is a first-of-its-kind, 10-day expedition from the brains at luxury yacht specialists Silolona Sojourns and adrenaline junkies Cookson Adventures.

Hosted by ReShark conservationists Dr Mark Erdmann and Nesha Ichida, guests — staying on board a traditional phinisi yacht — will help track and tag critically endangered leopard sharks using pioneering satellite technology, visit shark nurseries at Kri and Misool, and participate in pup releases.

ReShark's work was highlighted in Ocean Dreams, a giant-screen and IMAX documentary narrated by Shailene Woodley and released globally on World Oceans Day (June 8, 2026).

What? Swim with 18-metre giants

Where? Dominica, the Caribbean

On Dominica, one of the few places where sperm whales can be seen year-round, only three swimmers and a guide may enter the water with an animal at any time.

Conservationists say the whales help capture carbon by stimulating plankton blooms through their nutrient-rich waste.

From November to March, travel specialist 1953 offers Swimming with Giants itineraries, combining stays at Secret Bay, catamaran expeditions and guided whale swims with expert freedivers and local naturalists.

What? Dive into the deep

Where? Laamu Atoll, the Maldives

Six Senses Laamu is the only luxury resort in the remote Maldivian atoll of the same name and home to the Maldives Underwater Initiative (MUI) which brings together the Manta Trust, Olive Ridley Project and Blue Marine Foundation.

Spinner and bottlenose dolphins are commonly seen on the resort’s sunset cruises and guests can join turtle-monitoring and manta-research activities.

The PADI 5* Deep Blue Divers centre offers everything from introductory dives to Divemaster training. Just offshore lies Hithadhoo Corner, a renowned megafauna site and natural cleaning station for resident manta rays.

Between May and July and again from October to November, divers can watch the extraordinary manta chain dance, when a female leads a procession of males through looping, twisting movements until only the strongest remains.

Book with trusted Indian Ocean-experts, Turquoise Holidays.

What? Follow in the footsteps of early Norse explorers

Where? The Canadian Arctic

In the nutrient-rich waters of Hudson Bay, remarkably social beluga whales gather in large numbers.

Say hello while you sail the legendary Northwest Passage with Silversea— traversed successfully and very unsuccessfully by European explorers searching for a shortcut to Asia.

You'll also pass captivating islands, home to Inuit hamlets and rare species, and get the opportunity to marvel at spectacular sounds, massive cliffs and dramatic ice fields.

What? Meet Free Willy face to face

Where? Norway

Natural World Safaris’ Swim with Killer Whales expedition in northern Norway offers a rare opportunity to enter the water with orcas as they hunt herring in the Arctic fjords.

Based aboard a small expedition vessel, guests search for pods of killer whales before slipping quietly into the sea alongside expert guides and marine naturalists.

Encounters are carefully managed to minimise disturbance, allowing swimmers to observe the whales’ extraordinary intelligence, social behaviour and effortless movement at close range.

Humpback whales are often seen feeding nearby.

What? Swim with the world's-largest fish

Where? Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia

At Sal Salis on Western Australia’s Ningaloo Reef, off-grid-style accommodation meets one of the world’s great marine encounters. Guests stay in eco-luxury safari tents tucked among the dunes, just metres from the reef, with private decks, hammocks and uninterrupted ocean views.

From mid-March to August, optional guided whale-shark swims take visitors into Ningaloo’s clear waters to snorkel alongside the world’s largest fish in their natural habitat.

Book with Lightfoot Travel.

What? Get up close and personal with the Big Five

Where? Bazaruto Archipelago, Mozambique

The northern Mozambique Channel is widely cited by scientists as the second-most diverse coral reef in the world so, unsurprisingly, boasts the Western Indian Ocean's Big Five. Cetaceans (whales, dolphins and porpoises); elasmobranchs (sharks, rays, skates, and sawfish); bony fish; reptiles (sea turtles and sea snakes); sirenians (fully aquatic, herbivorous mammals such as dugongs).

The wildlife-spotting opportunities are so great that ultra-luxury Kisawa Sanctuary, on the southern tip of Benguerra Island, within the Bazaruto Archipelago, have developed a 'Dive Menu' comprised of 13 individual dive sites, for beginning and advance divers and everyone in between.

Book with Red Savannah.

According to Heesen, the lucky few who own or are in the market for a superyacht are increasingly prioritising outdoor living — which means requesting more deck space, larger beach clubs and expanded wellness areas or retrofitting an existing craft to include them. (A beach club, for the uninitiated, is the moniker given to the water-level space located at the stern.)

‘First World problems’, I hear you cry, and: ‘How much more outdoor living do you need on something that blurs the line between indoors and nature, and is therefore a literal embodiment of the ideal?’ However, when you’re done redecorating your fifth house, these are the kind of problems you face, and every problem — big, small or inbetween — is deserving of a solution.

Moreover, how all of us holiday has changed. ‘Years ago, life on board was much more formal,’ says Philippa Thorp of Thorp, an architecture and interior design practice. ‘We have one family who used to host black-tie dinners every evening when on board [their yacht]’ — much as dressing up for supper, in black or even white tie, used to be the norm.

These days, her clients want an area for barbecuing, yoga decks, large sunbeds for stargazing and adaptable seating that can cater to all manner of family meals and entertaining situations. ‘We help clients discover ways of living they may not have considered,’ adds Laetitia Evans, Thorp’s daughter and the design studio’s creative director.

Perhaps the prize for most imaginative reimagining of the beach club goes to Benetti Yachts whose 'Cabana' concept is less a formal deck than an adult’s playground at sea. The fold-down wings effectively dissolve the boundary between boat and water, creating a flexible and open-air living space that invites lucky guests to swim, sunbathe, socialise and drift seamlessly between the two.

Designer Katharine Pooley, who is about to start work on Ulyssia, a 323-metre residential superyacht, doesn't believe that practicality and usability has to trump style. 'The beach club is often one of the most-loved and frequently-used areas,' she says. 'Designing these spaces means understanding how people truly live on board, ensuring they are every bit as beautiful as they are functional.'

The British designer always integrates the most up-to-date technology into her nautical projects, but discreetly so as not to distract from the considered design and her client's valuable time with friends, family and with nature.

One of Thorp's favourite clients counts an 89-year-old grandmother among their ranks. She refuses to be confined to a temperature-controlled gym containing all of the best equipment, so wakes up before everyone else, plugs herself into a meditation podcast and hikes up and down and all around the three-storey yacht in order to get her steps in. ‘Whether on land or water, nature is grounding,’ says Thorp.

Sound the alphorn: the alpine summer is officially back. 2025 marked the third consecutive year that Switzerland broke tourism records between May and October, with the number of overnight stays topping 25 million for the first time according to figures released in December by the Swiss Federal Statistical Office. Now, with the winter’s snow a distant memory, all signs point to the sunshine months of 2026 being yet another record-breaker.

The boom has been attributed to a number of factors: the mountains offering clear-aired respite from the scorching heatwaves and wildfires that are ever more present at sea level; the appeal to both those seeking real rest and relaxation, and adventurous active types; and the simple fact that more and more hotels now open for a full summer season.

One such hotel is Grand Hotel Belvedere, a towering turn-of-the-century grande dame in two parts — revitalised in 2024 by French hotel group Beaumier — that straddles a prime panoramic slope in the town of Wengen, high in the Bernese Alps. And it might just offer the platonic ideal of the alpine summer.

First off, that thing they say about the journey being just as important as the destination? In Wengen it’s never been truer. The car-free town is only accessible via a cog-wheel train that cranks skywards from Lauterbrunnen, itself best reached by a spectacularly scenic lake-skirting train ride from Zurich. When you exit, you’re welcome to take the leisurely stroll ever higher through the postcard-pretty town centre on foot, but the awaiting Beaumier-branded Jumbolino (a sort of chic, electric milk float) makes the ascent with suitcases that much easier.

Inside, the lobby is rich in restored wooden detailing, its soft seating areas inviting you to sit and marvel at the valley views beyond. The bedrooms are spacious, stylish and, in my case, particularly panoramic. Lorenz Maurer, the tall, stylish and affable general manager shows me what keeps things ticking behind-the-scenes, including a series of high-tech wood-chip heaters to provide hotel-wide warmth. Outside, though, the sun is providing plenty of that, the Sonnenbad terrace’s yellow umbrellas standing tall like buttercups among the sweeping green expanse. ‘We’re lovers of the mountain all year round,’ Maurer says. ‘But summer is definitely becoming our biggest season.’

This is the first full one since the installation of Belvedere’s concrete spa and pool which juts out from the base of the higher building and blends into the surroundings ‘like a brutalist relic that nature has gradually reclaimed,’ to quote architect Valéry Clavien. After a sublime full-body massage with alpine-fresh Suzanne Kaufmann products, I take to the indoor-outdoor pool as the sun beats down and the roar of an unsighted jet plane echoes around the valley. I conclude there can be few better spots to gaze up at the iconic Jungfrau peak.

It’s said J. R. R. Tolkien based idyllic scenes of Middle Earth on hikes he took in these valleys, and about 100 years before that, German composer Felix Mendelssohn was moved enough to write symphonies inspired by them (‘Of all the countries I know, this is the most beautiful,’ he said). Today the most picturesque trail bears his name, but if you choose to head in any direction you’re unlikely to be disappointed, with routes that take you through forests, past grazing livestock and picturesque farms, around the town’s outskirts and into the valley’s basin. Hop back on the train and you can make your way back down to the invitingly turquoise lakes you passed on arrival. Part of what makes Wengen such a good base is that it can satisfy both the casual stroller and the hardened hiker (and, indeed, those who prefer such things were done on two wheels) — plus you don’t have to watch out for cars. The buzzy terrace at the rustic Da Sina steakhouse and the lowkey local pub vibes of the garishly signed Crystal Bar make for nice pit stops on your return leg, but an aperitivo at one of Belvedere’s bars or out on the terrace takes some beating, particularly at golden hour as the surrounding peaks are painted bright orange and pastel pink before the starry night sky takes over.

Dining here also takes its cues from what you can see around you. English chef Will Gordon relies on seasonal produce sourced within a 100-kilometre radius with plenty picked on the doorstep. Where in winter that might lean towards heavy, hearty, warming dishes to soothe weary skiers, the spring/summer menus are light, fresh and flavourful — alpine salmon, cured beetroot, charcuterie and house-made chutneys. The locally made Riesling is worth special mention too.

A steam, a sauna, a bask in the sun, another stroll, another Riesling — summer up here is just as uncomplicated as summer at sea level yet it feels so much more…cleansing. Imagining Wengen deep in snow, thronged by the crowds for its annual Lauberhorn downhill ski races, seems almost impossible. Besides, you’d miss too much going at those speeds… this is a place to slow down.

Rooms at Grand Hotel Belvedere start from £475 per night.

The writer’s transport was provided by Travel Switzerland who guarantee seamless connections by train, bus, boat or mountain railway. Click here to buy your Swiss Travel Pass, point-to-point tickets or plan the Grand Train Tour of Switzerland.

‘In a decade, our wildlife has gone from being present to being abundant,’ says Martin White, the head of rewilding at 42 Acres, a sweep of wooded countryside in east Somerset. Behind him, meadow brown butterflies tumble through oat-grass and blackcaps sing from tangled hawthorns. White is well placed to comment, having worked here for every one of the 10 years since this former family estate was taken over by the current owners.

The 42 Acres name is a misnomer. This rural getaway — which offers wellness retreats and self-catering accommodation — was originally 42 acres in size, but now covers 173, most of which are intentionally left to their own natural devices. The retreats themselves tie into this approach, ranging from one-day ‘Slow Sundays’ to longer stays, themed around the likes of nature guardianship and listening to the land. And there’s plenty of land to listen to. The wind whistles through ancient woodland studded with mossy, fallen trunks and pale fungi; birdsong fills the ears during a stroll down country lanes; in the lake, carp splash and water sloshes against hefty beaver dams.

Yes, beaver dams. The busy rodents have been reintroduced here and now live wild, with evidence of their lodges and waterlogging widespread. ‘They’re a keystone species,’ emphasises White, pointing out a muddy, beaver-made channel. ‘The benefits they bring to other creatures in the ecosystem are huge.’

The rewilding efforts take multiple forms. In one large area of native woodland, spruces planted for wartime timber are being thinned out to allow original species to flourish. Elsewhere, netted enclosures are home, separately, to white storks and wildcats, both of which — if breeding continues to be successful — will eventually be released. To look into the eyes of a wildcat, one of Britain’s most endangered mammals, is a rare thrill.

42 Acres describes itself as a ‘regenerative estate, nature reserve and wellbeing retreat centre’, and it’s the real deal on all three fronts. This do-it-right-or-not-at-all approach is also true of both its accommodation and its food.

There are two main clusters of buildings on site, one based around a refurbished 18th-century farmhouse, the other around a one-time hunting lodge. In and around them are a total of seven self-catering options, from cottages and renovated barns, to converted stables and a boat (it’s called Tiny Boat (above) and lets you gaze across the water from bed). If you’re staying in one of these properties, the wider grounds are yours to explore — and indeed swim in — at will, while meals such as breakfast baskets and vegetarian lasagne can be pre-ordered.

Eating is no afterthought. All food, which includes full catering for guests on scheduled retreats, is freshly prepared by the so-called ‘medicine kitchen’. Don’t be put off by the pharmaceutical-sounding description: the chefs are hugely experienced (there’s at least one Royal Academy of Culinary Arts graduate), passionate about organic ‘soil-to-gut’ dining, and have a bounty of hyper-local produce to work with.

Most of this comes courtesy of either the edible walled garden — a vibrant reimagining of a traditional English estate with everything from artichokes and sweet-tasting yacón to peaches and greengages, or the permaculture garden, which produces duck eggs, honey and some 50 (50!) varieties of vegetables.

There are guided tours of the gardens, as well as yoga, foraging, firecraft and wild sauna sessions. But all, in a sense, are sideshows to the main rewilding project, the green effervescence which is likely to be your abiding memory. ‘Rewilding,’ sums up White, as a woodpecker drops down into a canopy of maples, ‘really does work.’

Visit the 42 Acres website for more information and to book.

At this year’s Hay Festival, I was lucky enough to see two out of three of my favourite contemporary female authors — Elizabeth Strout and Maggie O’Farrell. As for the third, alas I was three years behind the curve. Margaret Atwood’s last appearance on stage at Hay was in 2023 and there is no knowing when the 86-year-old Canadian might be back.

Her name cropped up again a couple of weeks later, however, over coffee with a Norwegian travel colleague whose company, Up Norway, designs highly personalised, expertly delivered trips to Norway and the Nordic countries (take note should a holiday to that part of the world be on your agenda). She told me of an extraordinary literary art project in Oslo, now in its 12th year, and I was instantly hooked.

Future Library is the brainchild of Scottish conceptual artist Katie Paterson, who has been doing weird and wonderful things in the art world for several years — often in collaboration with scientists and scientific researchers.

Among her notable works are the broadcast sound of melting glaciers, a map of some 27,000 dead stars and a lightbulb designed to simulate the experience of moonlight. A library, by comparison, might seem somewhat mundane.

Paterson’s library, however, is not exactly as it might sound. This is a 100-year ‘living artwork’, commissioned as part of Oslo’s cultural Slow Space public art programme, with a distinct beginning, middle and end.

The project started in 2014 with the felling of an area of trees within the Nordmarka Forest on the edge of the city to make way for the planting of 1,000 spruce saplings. The felled trees were to be used in the construction of a special ‘Silent Room’ within the Deichman Bjørvika Public Library where Future Library would be housed; the new spruce trees would be used in 2114, 100 years on, as paper for the printing of the library’s contents.

The middle part is where the project takes a more intriguing turn. Each year, from 2014 onwards, a writer of global standing would be asked by the trustees of Future Library (an evolving group as time goes by) to contribute an original written work of any length and in any literary genre, with only one catch. Apart from its title, each work would remain unread and unpublished, sealed within a thin, illuminated glass drawer of the Silent Room’s walls, until 2114, when a limited-edition anthology of all the manuscripts would be printed.

First up to contribute to Future Library was Atwood, with a work titled Scribbler Moon. We know no more than that. Since then, nine further writers, including the brilliant Turkish-British author Elif Shafak, have submitted manuscripts and two more, American writers Tommy Orange and Amitav Ghosh, joined the fold on June 28. Their handing-over ceremony, as did those before them, took place amid the spruce-tree plantation in Nordmarka Forest, their works representing 2024 and 2025 respectively.

The big reveal of 2026’s writer is expected imminently. The Silent Room, therefore, its curvaceous interior fashioned from 100 concentric layers of wood like the growth rings of a tree, now has 12 full drawers with another 88 to go.

How many of these, one wonders, will be filled with manuscripts by people who are yet to be born and how many people alive today will ever get to read them? The City of Oslo and the Future Library Trust have signed a 100-year contract guaranteeing the protection of Nordmarka Forest, the Silent Room and the manuscripts, but who is to say how the world might have changed by 2114. Perhaps humans won’t be reading books anymore, perhaps libraries will be a thing of the past and perhaps, God forbid, no one will care a fig about Atwood.

This feature originally appeared in the July 1, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

In The Odyssey, we follow hero Odysseus’s gruelling 10-year journey home, through the unmappable lands of magic and monsters to Ithaca, following the Trojan War.

For centuries, scholars and amateur sleuths have argued over where Homer’s roiling seas, realm of the sirens and lands of the Lotus-Eaters might truly have been — if, indeed, they existed at all.

Now, courtesy of Christopher Nolan’s (The Dark Knight, Interstellar, Oppenheimer) highly anticipated, lauded film adaptation (out July 17), travellers have a concrete trail of real-world locations to visit, including the Peloponnese and Athens in Greece, Favignana in Sicily, Scotland’s Moray Coast (famous for its resident bottlenose dolphins) and Iceland.

In the Peloponnese, a large peninsula separated from the Greek mainland by the Corinth Canal and easily accessible from Athens, you’ll find a 1,000-mile-long network of scenic hiking routes, much of which uses mule paths that fell out of use in the 1970s.

The Messinia Trail’s eastern branch encompasses the Temple of Apollo Epicurius, ancient olive groves and Methoni Castle and Voidokilia Beach — both used by Nolan — and crosses an area home to legendary King Nestor, who appears in Homer’s seminal poem.

Villa Collective boasts six properties in the Peloponnese region, including Sir Patrick and Joan Leigh Fermor’s wonderfully tasteful former home.

In the last decade, Athens's grungy, graffiti-lined back streets have changed beyond recognition. Today, it’s a city of muses, somewhere that writers, artists and culinary talents congregate to help nurse the Athenian renaissance. Its ascendency — or re-ascendency — to southern Europe’s new capital of cool did not come as a surprise to Andria Mitsakos, a local PR entrepreneur and the owner of a popular concept store called Anthologist.

Athens’s ‘moment’ was born, she says, out of ‘crisis’. Grexit (Greece’s potential withdrawal from the EU) has been sowing its seeds of uncertainty since the mid 2010s, but it is precisely this turmoil, Andria explains, that has caused waves of creativity. ‘Athens is constantly evolving and when one realises that the city was the cradle of civilisation and the incubator of so much when it comes to design, architecture, poetry, politics, theatre, philosophy and sexuality, that feeling becomes infectious.’

And infectious it is. Everyone, from domestic Greek travellers to Continental weekenders and young creatives, is keen to get in on the action. There are whispers that this is the new Berlin — equally anarchic, but much more affordable, regardless of whether you’re staying for two nights or two years.

Earlier this year, Hilton Athens reopened following a monumental, four-year-long renovation. Now called Conrad Athens The Ilisian, whoever was in charge thankfully spared the iconic marble facade, a wonderful example of Greek post-war Modernism.

Although Nolan shot some scenes in the Greek capital, it doesn't feature in the source material. However, the hotel is situated on the southern slopes of Mount Lycabettus which, according to Ancient Greek myth, was created by Athena — a pivotal character — by accident.

Approximately 670 miles east as the crow flies you'll find Favignana, the largest of the Aegadian (or Egadi) Islands off Sicily's west coast. And while Homer never explicitly referred to 'Sicily' or 'Favignana' in his epic, scholars and historians tend to agree that both are the setting for some of the most famous stages of Odysseus's journey.

Nolan utilised the ruined castle of Castello di Santa Caterina on the latter — a location that required the cast and crew to clamber 900 feet uphill, every day, to reach it and helicopter equipment drops.

You won't have to suffer such indignities to reach Zu Nillu, an exceptional villa that's been built into a disused Roman tufo quarry — as you do. The four-bedroom property is available to rent through The Thinking Traveller which originated in Sicily in 2002.

Casa Bonavita is very much a family affair — a hotel that feels like a home, but that you wouldn’t dare to call ‘a home from home’ — unless you happen to live in an immaculately decorated, 18th century Maltese palazzo.

The owners are Suzanne and Christopher Sharp, founders of The Rug Company, and before Bonavita opened as a hotel, it operated as their occasional home. Their daughter Sophie's pottery and son Jamie's antiques fill the space.

There were a myriad things to consider when they set about turning a home into a hotel, including planning for everyone taking a shower simultaneously. However, the couple’s flair for interior design and decor has always been innate. ‘Suzanne has the ability to create interiors which are both inspiring and comfortable, and there were constant discussions about… how to get the balance between functionality and design,’ says Christopher. Even when Bonavita is fully booked, there are quiet corners to escape to — with an expertly mixed negroni.

A huge number of craftspeople and artists were involved in the six-year project, but a consistent vision and the couple’s collection of fabrics, furniture, paintings and lighting, collected over the years, helped pull everything together. ‘In many ways, Casa Bonavita is an accumulation of a lifetime of visual memories, brought together to create a place that feels familiar, lived-in and deeply personal,’ says Christopher.

Textiles and artisanal works sourced from throughout the Mediterranean are complemented by antique treasures including a Genoese cabinet, packed with ceramics. One of the dining room’s walls is hung with joyfully-hued art, while a botanical mural by Italian artists Alfonso Orombelli and Luna Aulehla Greppi covers the other.

The Valletta Bar’s walls have not been left behind and are enveloped in a bespoke, hand-painted vista of 17th-century Valletta, by de Gournay. The kitchen is tiled in Sicilian slabs and the grand entrance hall boasts a frescoed ceiling.

The seven bedrooms and suites in the original house (Suzanne and Christopher bought it 15 years ago before purchasing the neighbouring house and land) share high ceilings, but are all unique in design. Suite 5 is located in the former chapel and comes with a private terrace and a statement bathroom featuring a domed ceiling and marble bath. Suite 4’s bathroom is equally impressive with its floral fresco framing the bathtub.

There are five further bedrooms and suites in the Dower House, which can be booked on an exclusive-use basis. This newly built structure fits seamlessly with the existing buildings, accessed via the verdant garden. The building's courtyard centrepiece is a swimming pool atop a subterranean spa. There are more rooms in the former stables and a soon-to-open, stand-alone suite (The Folly) whose lucky guests will be able to brag about their private garden, plunge pool and one-of-kind oval-shaped bedroom.

The ceramics — from monogrammed red dinnerware to statement lamps and urns bursting with fresh flowers — are all painstakingly made, 500 metres away at Villa Bologna, a historic estate that has been home to a pottery studio since 1920.

Back in 2020, Sophie took over the running of the studio and reinstated archival designs. Each piece has a charming story behind it, but few can beat her own tale of growing up with Villa Bologna ceramics filling her home and one day not only owning the business, but supplying her parent’s hotel in the same village.

Art bleeds into the outdoor spaces of Casa Bonavita, too. Between the honey-hued buildings and the palm-and-bougainvillea-framed pool, a vast garden unfurls, studded with ancient columns, statues and fountains.

Christopher nurtured the garden himself: ‘The vision was to create a series of secluded spaces through generous, layered planting, allowing the garden to remain on the edge of wildness while still having structure.’

Plants were chosen with the climate and seasons in mind so that there is something beautiful to look at year round. Once again, this acute sense of care lends itself to a family home; Christopher was dead-heading geraniums when I spoke to him — not your typical proprietor.

Red Savannah can organise four night stays at Casa Bonavita from £2,195 per person, on a bed and breakfast basis. The price includes private airport transfers from and to Malta airport, and return economy flights from London Heathrow to Malta (including a checked bag).

According to Waitrose, the ‘rosé tipping point’ — the outdoor temperature at which Britain’s middle classes start glugging the salmon-pink lady petrol with the same enthusiasm of a water-starved castaway — is 20˚C. Given that the Isle of Wight averages 37 hours of sunshine a week, you’d be forgiven for thinking islanders are popping the cork all year round and in truth, you’re probably right.

The pretty Victorian seaside resort of Ventnor, on the south-east coast of the island, enjoys both above-average sunshine hours and its own microclimate with air, according to The Times in 1841 ‘assimilated to the mild climate of the island of Madeira’ and, to paraphrase Sir John Betjeman, areas of garden so full of exotics, you almost expect a bird of paradise to flit from bloom to bloom. Others have drawn comparison with the Amalfi coast, with Ventnor’s breakneck precipices, zig-zag roads and steep steps echoing those of Positano.

Along the esplanade, directly behind where Ventnor’s 478 foot New Victoria Pier once jutted proudly out to sea, stands The Terrace Rooms & Wine, an immaculately restored Italianate-style villa — with turrets that are said to have inspired Prince Albert’s designs for Osborne House — that offers a more indulgent restorative for those that need a tad more than sea air and sub-tropical climes: wine.

Owned and run by Tom and Ashley Fahey, the six-bedroom boutique bolthole oozes relaxed epicurean indulgence. The rooms are light and airy, conceived in muted tones of putty, peach and artichoke; a pleasing blend of period features complemented by mid-century furniture, sumptuous super-king Hypnos beds and soothing sea views. The dusky scent of rose geranium and cloves gently wafts from the sensorial La-Eva products found in the bathrooms. We stayed in Room Five, an expansive split-level option that also offered views of the beautiful Cascade Gardens (designed at the turn of the 20th century by then town surveyor Edgar James Harvey) that tumble down towards the lapping sea. For those that insist on travelling with their two-or-four-legged shadow(s), sizeable Room Six (The Annexe) is both child (aged 12 or older) and dog friendly. 

Downstairs, the residents’ drawing room yawns out onto a sunlit glass pergola overlooking the coppery shingle and golden sand beach. If the view alone isn’t enough to feast on, prepare yourself for the exquisite four-course breakfast served in this room. I’ve eaten many hotel breakfasts and I can say, hand on heart, this was one of the best. Highlights include — but were not limited to — homemade Irish soda bread and bite-sized sausage rolls, a deconstructed full English (including Isle of Wight tomatoes — yes, please), Oxfordshire’s finest Ue coffee and local Briddlesford Farm milk, fresh from their Guernsey herd.

Now, back to the main event — the bottled poetry. Tom is ranked a Top 12 UK Sommelier (2025) and the hotel holds both the UK’s best rosé wine list and best New Zealand wine list (Star Wine List Awards 2025). In essence, you’re in excellent hands. Each evening, residents are invited to a wine tasting in the magnificent wine library, home to about 1,200 bottles which line the walls and almost every available surface. The tastings are gloriously unpretentious and, as Tom assures a fellow guest, ‘there are no rules here.’

As he pulls out three bottles — two rosés (one pale, one dark) and a red — all produced by Château du Cros in Bordeaux, we discuss the UK’s preference for the palest of the pale. He explains that in 1985, Château Barbeyrolles created the style we all now know as pale Provence rosé using a winemaking method called ‘direct press’. Meanwhile, Californian White Zinfandel was swiftly becoming the gateway wine of an entire generation, embedding the idea that dark rosé is sweet and estates such as Miraval, Domaines Ott and Chateau D’Esclans were turning pale rosé into a yachties lifestyle brand.

‘This is now a crisis for many wine regions,’ Tom sighs. ‘It is now almost impossible to put quality dark rosé on a shelf and expect anyone to look twice at it. The standard order for “your palest” or “the one most like Provence” rosé has negatively impacted traditional — and ironically bone dry — styles from Navarra, Tavel, Bordeaux and Montepulciano. Producers in these areas must palewash or die.’

Feeling a little ashamed of my own misconceptions, we taste the three Bordeaux on the table. The 2022 endangered dark rosé is lusciously dry with notes of dried peel, pink grapefruit and baking spice — the perfect Christmassy winter wine or in fact, is it a year-round rosé? It’s a revelation.

As we mull over what we might like to sup in front of the roaring residents room fire that evening, I dare to raise the question of ice — is it an oenophile’s faux pas? Tom reveals that at the low soaking temperatures during the winemaking process, the skins lend colour and flavour, but none of the astringent tannin that often leads consumers to shun ‘too dry’ red wines. ‘They are not simply winter rosés, but a superb red alternative all year round,’ he confirms. ‘And — whisper it! — they often take an ice cube far, far better than their under-flavoured pale cousins, creating an almost Campari or negroni like feel to a slightly longer and — unlike vermouth — bone dry drink.’

Rooms at The Terrace Rooms & Wine start from £250 a night including four-course breakfast and nightly wine tastings. Visit the hotel website for more information and to book.

Pity the man who never got to fly on Concorde. Your correspondent was but four when the aircraft was discontinued and, akin to many, has been awaiting the return of supersonic flight with glee. Let us rejoice, for a successor has finally landed: the European Space Agency is currently developing a jet called Invictus that aims to travel at five times the speed of sound. This, we are told, will deliver passengers from London to Sydney in only three hours.

Against these soaring ambitions stand our airports: once-proud institutions that have, in recent years, become pandemonium. Practically no one enjoys them anymore. Two-thirds of the British public believe they are overcrowded and, according to Sail Croatia, three of our main hubs — Stansted, Gatwick and Heathrow — rank among the five most stressful airports on Earth.

The EU’s new Entry-Exit-System, reliant on biometric data, has been blamed for a recent hike in delays and missed flights. During the US government shutdown at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta earlier this year, paid entertainers were hired to alleviate tensions among those facing superqueues — a strategy akin to putting out a fire with a comedy skit.

If aerospace engineers are capable of building a jet that reaches Mach 5, you’d think that those in charge of our airports would manage to improve things here and there. As David Mitchell says: It's not rocket science. Yet the decline appears terminal. There is perhaps no better metonym for it than the screens that appear after security with four smiley faces, ranging from happy (green) to irate (red): a lazy substitute for adequate staff training. Indeed, a 2025 report from the device’s parent company showed that, even on the best of days, more than one in ten travellers said they’d had a bad time.

With a fall in service comes a fall in glamour — not for lack of trying from some. Designer Anya Hindmarch now has a shop, Air Anya, selling luggage tags and passport holders reminiscent of the 1970s. If only the people at the airport check-in counter were even half as fun. Instead, I have been forced to watch as British Airways asks Gold members to check in hand-luggage small enough to serve as Playmobil.

Isolated attempts at progress are often futile. Where London has done away with the 100ml limit on carry-on liquids, others have not: a fact worth remembering as people plan to bring home large bottles of Factor-50 for the next heatwave. These will be confiscated, unless one remembers to put this in the suitcase that BA has made them surrender as cargo. A more capacious overhaul is needed. I’d put the engineers in charge.

This feature originally appeared in the July 1, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

The clue’s in the name: Palm Beach. There are palm trees and a long strip of beach. There’s also bright-pink bougainvillea on every house, jasmine in the air, singing mockingbirds competing with the gentle purr of the odd Rolls-Royce and roads with names such as Hibiscus Avenue and Coral Lane (Gulfstream Road, too, which is appropriately Palm Beach because almost everyone here owns one). Right at the centre of it all is the new, gleaming, bright-white hotel on the block, The Vineta.

It’s boom time in Palm Beach, but not necessarily for the reason you think. Sure, Donald Trump is often in town and holds court at Mar-a-Lago, his Florida home and country club (the joining fee, cannily hiked shortly before his second presidential term began, is now $1 million).

However, the frenetic activity and influx into this surprisingly small, moneyed patch of America — which boasts the highest density of billionaires in the country, I’m told on my second night there — isn’t all due to him.

Think of it like the gold-rush to the Cotswolds. It’s a slightly glib comparison, but not entirely dissimilar. Californians and New Yorkers have flocked south to Palm Beach for more space, sunnier climes (at least, the ones from New York) and, crucially, more favourable taxes. This means that what has long been a wealthy area is now even more so.

It’s not possible, alas, to do a bus tour of the stars’ homes as you can in Hollywood, but take a walk up the lake trail and you’ll pass $50-million-plus house after $50-million-plus house. Drive around Palm Beach with a local and they’ll point out the Lauder house or Tom Ford’s house or the Peltz house, setting for the, ahem, controversial Brooklyn-Peltz wedding in 2022. Every other car is a Cullinan; a jar of jam in the new Bilboquet deli, a casual offshoot of the famous restaurant, will set you back $19.

This sunny spot has long been well served by swanky restaurants and members’ clubs that cost a cool half million or so to join. The likes of The Everglades Club, and Palm Beach Bath and Tennis have been here since Palm Beach started attracting the rich towards the beginning of the 20th century (on which more in a moment).

The famous pink Colony Hotel flung open its doors in 1947. However, other splashy openings are racing to keep up with demand. Polo kingpin Nacho Figueras opened The Polo Room restaurant last year. Über-exclusive members’ club the Carriage House, which opened in 2022 and is supposedly heavily influenced by 5 Hertford Street in London, has more recently jacked its joining fee to $400,000. Robin Birley has reportedly signed paperwork for a new club near Worth Avenue, which will be to Palm Beach what Maxime’s has become to Manhattan.

Then there’s the new jewel, The Vineta, a hotel bought by the Reuben brothers, David and Simon, in 2022 and managed by the Oetker Collection, the group’s first foray into the USA. Not bad for an island that is pretty small: just under four square miles or, if you prefer, the size of Richmond Park.

However, it’s technically incorrect to call The Vineta new. The building has almost always been a hotel (save for a brief transformation into a condominium block), ever since it opened to tourists in 1926. It was briefly called The Vineta back in the day, then it moved through various hands until it became The Chesterfield in 1989 and attracted Margaret Thatcher, Catherine Deneuve and Sir Rod Stewart.

After a three-year building project, the aesthetic now is classic Palm Beach: creams and blues, the odd splash of pink, with rattan detailing, shell sconces on the walls, orchids and ferns beside thick Assouline coffee-table books and wall-to-wall marble bathrooms (I should note here that the presidential suite is the only room with a bathtub; Florida is shower territory).

The interiors were handed over to the Paris-based designer Tino Zervudachi, who has looked after other hotels in the group, including the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc in Antibes, France, and Eden Rock St Barths in the Caribbean. I have never before stayed in such a serene hotel room — more creams, more blues, rattan lampshades, fluted bedside tables — or a hotel room that has a menu that includes a page of injectables, should I need some. How about Nefertiti Neck, to smooth out those pesky lines? Or Trapezius Tox to relax my shoulders after the long flight?

The swimming pool is sensational — destined to launch a million Instagram posts. Tino spent some time in Palm Beach doing his homework and it shows. The spiral pool handrails, for instance, are designed to match the swirl on the town’s famous Clock Tower, overlooking the beach. Coco’s, the hotel’s restaurant, features old-timers steak Diane and crêpes Suzette, which regulars from the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc may recognise. It all adds up to create a serene sense of continuity; the hotel may only just have opened, but it feels like a grande dame.

There’s also an in-room pet menu — including a ‘buddy burger’ beef patty with broccoli and rice for $18 or an ‘amuse pooch’ oatmeal cookie for $9. Every room (there are 41) is dog friendly. Palm Beach itself is extremely dog friendly. One morning, strolling the lake trail, I passed a chap in his eighties walking a Yorkshire terrier in a red MAGA cap. Moments later, I passed another with his poodle, in a navy MANA cap, worn by the other side; it apparently means ‘make America normal again’.

Walking is a good way to take in this place, because it’s small enough to explore on foot. Take a stroll down Worth Avenue and you’ll pass Chanel, Ferragamo and Palm Beach favourites Stubbs & Wootton (for slippers) and Lily Pulitzer (for tropical clothing). You’ll see plenty of Tesla Cybertrucks and perhaps even Mona Lisa. Not, I hasten to add, the painting, but a pig. One of the financiers has a pet pig, called Mona Lisa, whose walker takes her up and down the main drag every morning.

After that, I’d continue strolling to the Flagler Museum to brush up on Palm Beach history. Henry Flagler was the oil magnate and generous being who built the grand house that’s now a museum between 1900–02 for his third wife. He has been dubbed the ‘inventor’ of modern Florida for also constructing the railway that stretched the length of the state and allowed 19th-century travellers to discover this balmy patch of the USA. This was the Gilded Age, when it became fashionable for those who summered in Newport to winter down here.

Flagler constructed Palm Beach’s earliest glitzy hotels — the Royal Poinciana, The Breakers — and guests soon flocked. The architect Addison Mizner then rolled up his sleeves and started designing buildings in the style he’d become famous for, still evident across Palm Beach today: ‘Bastard-Spanish-Moorish-Romanesque-Bull-Market-Damn-The-Expense’, someone subsequently dubbed it. Houses and clubs that wouldn’t look out of place in Madrid, in other words, albeit with more tropical gardens. Palm trees, naturally, but also hibiscus, gardenias and plumbago. Colour is everywhere. Nothing is terribly subtle here.

‘The Palm Beach season, then as now, was a time of parties, concerts and entertainment as visitors arrived for a respite from the cold winter weather in Northern states,’ notes a plaque in the museum, beneath a grainy photograph of the Flaglers hosting a tea party on their lawn, alongside their friends visiting from Britain, the Duke and Duchess of Manchester.

That was as correct then as it is now, as the season still exists in these parts and runs roughly from Thanksgiving, when everyone descends from the north, until Easter, when they return to the east coast. ‘It basically empties, it’s a ghost town,’ says a friend, of the summer months, when it’s too hot and humid to do much outside.

However, during the season, oof, remember your vitamins — because it is busy. Supper after supper, charity event after charity event. Are we talking endless charity parties for blind and impoverished dolphins, I ask my friend, assuming there are a good number of rich people here looking for a cause — any cause — to distract them from pilates ($68 a class) and all that golf? ‘Not all,’ she says, contemplatively, ‘although we did go to a charity event for dolphins the other day.’

I stop by one drinks party at a private home (with the usual army of uniformed staff) with martinis the size of fish bowls and a woman tells me she’s drinking as many as she can before speaking to her lawyer about her divorce that evening. That party was to raise money for local beaches. The next night, at another charity do, in aid of the mangroves, former model and heiress Amanda Hearst makes a speech about the importance of the ocean and I talk to a Norwegian who only mentions half an hour into our conversation that he’s a director. Quite a major director. He’s Amanda's husband, Joachim Rønning, and he’s directed a ‘Tron’ film as well as the last in the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ series.

Then it’s off to dinner at the Everglades; the next night, a supper at another private home by the pool. At least American dinner parties finish early, all wrapped up by 11pm. I developed a chest infection after several days here, despite the tropical warmth. London socialising is nowhere near as frenetic as Palm Beach in season.

In 1995, when property tycoon Frank Lahainer died in Palm Beach, the story goes, his widow Gianna had his body embalmed and kept at a funeral home for more than a month, so she didn’t have to skip any parties. ‘Why would I wait?’ Gianna reportedly said, ‘I would miss the season.’ Quite right.

This is a party town — and the fun must go on.

Rooms at The Vineta start from £735 per night on a B&B basis, excluding taxes. Click here for more information and to book.

Loch Fyne is Scotland’s longest sea loch, reaching 40 miles inland from the Sound of Bute. Kabn, a pair of private, off-grid cabins, is close to its head. From Glasgow, it only takes an hour to reach them, driving along Loch Lomond and down a bumpy track that cuts through the Ardkinglas Estate.

Our cabin — sleek and black, all charred timber topped with solar panels, and floor-to-ceiling windows — stands sentry between a woodland stream and the shoreline. Inside, there’s a cloud-like bed, a hot rain shower, a well-equipped kitchen (with 15 herbs and spices) and a wood-burning stove. Everything is considered and sustainably sourced, including the recycled plastic duvet.

For now, though, our focus is on the outside: swimming in the icy water; barbecuing on the Big Green Egg; sitting by the fire pit; watching the light on the loch. We’re absorbed by the flicker of flames, thinking about everything and nothing. And then a seal pops its whiskery head out of the water and looks at us, and we could hardly be happier.

Cabins are having a moment. Not all of them are strictly off-grid (meaning that they function independently of public utility networks), however, they are often remote enough to feel like it. The majority featured below are only connected to the mains for water.

Of the luxury 'glamping' accommodation represented by Canopy & Stars, cabins account for 352 of 855 places and 50% of bookings. They mostly appeal to urban couples, aged 25-44, according to the specialist, especially 25-34 year olds who live in London, Manchester and Bristol and want to mark a special occasion. Solo travellers also like them. ‘They’re one of the fastest growing parts of our collection,’ agrees Sarah de Vere-Drummond of Kip Hideaways, ‘especially those that have something special, like an outdoor bath, or a wild swimming spot or re-wilding landscape on their doorstep.’

The rising popularity of cabins reflects a wider shift in hospitality, say the founders of Koto, who make place-specific cabins for private homes and, increasingly, members’ clubs, luxury wellness and international hotel groups. ‘Guests are moving away from traditional hotel formats towards something more personal and immersive, closer to a private retreat than a standard room.’ Architects Holiday are more direct: ‘We offer an alternative hotel solution for a new world demanding change, with health, wellbeing and environmentalism at the forefront.’

This need for change is often informed by disillusionment or burnout — including among the cabin owners themselves. Kabn founders Amber and Charlie Teale both had ‘risk-averse corporate careers’ before they realised their passions lay elsewhere. Jimmy Roupell ran a toy company (it went down a storm on Dragon’s Den), but dreamt up Rest + Wild because the ‘pace felt unsustainable and the purpose no longer felt right’. Hector Hughes worked for a tech startup, ‘flying around the world, spending all day on my phone’ and launched Unplugged following a 10-day stint in a Buddhist temple on top of a mountain. He wants to plug a gap in the market between high-end and spiritual retreats. ‘The big reflection for me is that we have ended up, for better or worse, with an environment, lifestyle and society that’s unsuited to how we’re biologically designed,’ he says.

Unplugged suggests that you lock away your phone, but even if you cannot quite do it, a cabin is a great way to disconnect, says cabin-goer and Country Life’s Digital Commissioning Editor, James Fisher. ‘It’s a bit of a cliché to say it, but the real break these days is from your emails. When you go to a cabin where you’re left alone and you open the curtains in the morning and the whole natural world is revealed to you, your brain switches off in a way it doesn’t necessarily when you’re staying in the nicest suite at Claridge’s. It’s a different kind of luxury that only the natural world and a true sense of escape can provide.’

When nature is at the heart of something, design that prioritises low-impact construction, locally-sourced materials and energy-efficient operation is part and parcel. Japanese and Scandi influences run rife; clever storage is key. They rarely feel too pared back though, because cabin owners are experts at ‘finessing the wild luxury experience,’ according to Sarah. At the time of writing, 155 of Canopy & Stars’ cabins come with hot tubs, while 58 have a sauna. However, cabin goers do not expect, or even want, too much luxury, and to be waited on hand and foot. ‘It’s that feeling of being fully independent and away from it all,’ says James. ‘I think we are starting to realise, especially with the advent of AI, that we’re slowly losing the ability to even think for ourselves, and that is really what we need a holiday from — that sense of being swaddled.’

For some guests, taking time out has proved a profound experience, even a life-changing one. ‘People write letters to us saying, “This has helped our marriage”, “This has helped us have a baby”, “This has helped me grieve”,’ says Jimmy of Rest + Wild. The visitor’s book at Kabn is further proof. The comments — ‘We watched the weather change, spotted otters and spent time reading and sketching; I leave feeling restored and hopeful.’ — are heartfelt, ecstatic even, waxing lyrical about the scenery and the wildlife.

During our two-day stay, my twin sister and I spend a lot of time tracing the water’s edge, watching the oyster catchers and the seals, reuniting a tiny lamb that found itself on the wrong side of a fence with its mother and enjoying the sense of joy that comes with being a part of something bigger.

Cabins make it easier for city dwellers to dip their toes into the ‘simple life’ — with minimal fuss and footprint. We get to stay on farms and the grounds of stately homes; in return, landowners get to better balance their books. They reinforce the beauty and value of nature and the need to protect it. Sometimes, they even encourage us to make changes to our lives. And they offer the same restorative effects as a good spa break in a shorter space of time and at a lower cost. They really are a win-win.

Kabn, Loch Fyne, Scotland

Amber and Charlie Teale were inspired to set up Kabn following holidays in Africa and Japan. They loved ‘staying in a really lovely property in the middle of nowhere,’ and the ‘feeling that the minimalist aesthetic of Japan creates.’

Food is a priority. Guests can eat or buy fresh seafood from the brilliant Loch Fyne Restaurant & Oyster Bar and Inveraray Seafood Shack.

Cabins in the Cairngorms and Sutherland are on the horizon (in September 2026 and 2027 respectively).

Two nights in a Kabn cabin start from £510.

Elsa, Unplugged, Bodmin Moor, Cornwall

The focus at Unplugged is on digital detoxing, with guests invited to lock away their phones for three nights. An instant camera is provided for photographs, and a Nokia for emergencies.

The startup now has more than 50 cabins spread across the UK and Spain; Elsa is one of 10 with a hot tub and sits in a dark-sky preserve on farmland grazed by wild ponies and Highland cows. There are more Unplugged cabins to come, says co-founder Hector Hughes. ‘We want to get as many people as possible doing this. The challenge for us is, can we make it socially acceptable and cool and aspirational to spend three days offline in a cabin?’

Three nights in Elsa start from £575.

The Red Cabin, Oare, Kent

The Red Cabin was always going to be in good hands with Tally Rix, who used to edit Architect’s Journal Specification and still publishes Open Air Business Magazine (a trade publication for diversifying landowners) alongside husband Steve.

There are now five locally-hosted Red Cabins in Kent, Norfolk, the Somerset Levels and the Cotswolds — the latter on the regenerative farm of Andy Cato (of Groove Armada and Wildfarmed fame). All sleep up to three or four, and have integrated wood-fired saunas, hot tubs or plunge pools and Passivhaus insulation; at Red Cabin Oare, outside Faversham, guests can swim or paddle board on twin lakes and walk through the Oare Marshes bird reserve to the Three Mariners pub. A firm favourite.

Two nights in a Red Cabin for four people start from £450.

Architects Holiday, Great Park Farm, near Battle, East Sussex

This growing cluster of cabins is a passion project of Built Works’ architects Will Gowland and Harry Kay — and sits on Will’s family farm outside Battle. Rituals are the big thing here: new Yogis Cabin comes with a yoga studio, spring-fed natural swimming pool, engawa wraparound deck and woodland views. There is also Bather’s Cabin, Cabin X and Hill Cabin, plus a farm shop and a wood-fired sauna that guests can book for private three-hour sessions.

Yogis Cabin starts from £320 a night; sauna sessions from £45.

Rest + Wild, Shropshire

Rest + Wild is all about taking time out, sinking into an outdoor copper bath and immersing yourself in ‘pockets of the country where you don’t hear anything but birdsong.’ Jimmy and wife Sarah now have four collections of three cabins in Exmoor, Yorkshire and Shropshire. The latter are buried in 5,000 acres of ancient woodland and rolling hills on the Downton Hall Estate, outside Ludlow, and are being refreshed for the summer holidays.

Two nights in a Rest + Wild cabin start from £400.

Denton Reserve, near Ilkley, North Yorkshire

Denton Reserve turned to Koto when it came to installing cabins on their 2,500-acre estate, plumping for their Haku off-grid suites on wheels model, which can be moved to make the most of viewing points and wildlife.

The three cabins join a Grade I-listed Georgian hall, The Penny Bun gastropub, wild swimming site and walled kitchen garden. You’ll fall asleep to the soundtrack of hooting tawny, little and barn owns.

Denton Reserve’s cabins start from £220 a night.

Some hotels spend an awful lot of time, energy and money trying to convince guests that they're cool. Ace Hotel in Brooklyn is not one of them.

This outpost of the growing group — they have a habit of opening in locations on the verge of being gentrified (in this case Boerum Hill on the fringes of Downton Brooklyn) — feels embedded in the neighbourhood around it.

It's a hotel but also: a community hub, workspace, music venue and, occasionally, what feels like Brooklyn's most attractive living room.

The rooms

The rooms are exactly what you'd hope for from a Brooklyn hotel — but executed better than most. There are concrete ceilings and ginormous factory casement windows, inspired by the building's industrial architecture. The latter allow light to flood in throughout the day; some look onto neighbouring residential buildings, others, on the upper floors, provide sweeping views across the city that are tricky to tear your eyes away from.

The decor — bespoke, mid-century-style furniture, locally-made artwork, accents of forest green and navy blue — helps to soften the industrial bones of the building.

My room came equipped with a vintage turntable, which immediately made me feel cooler than I actually am.

Eating and drinking

The Lobby (above) — open all day for coffee and food, and late into the evening when it transforms into a lively bar — is the hotel's beating heart.

A huge number of the local work-from-home crowd use it as a substitute office and, far from negatively affecting the atmosphere, they give the place purpose. Too many hotels try to cultivate a sense of exclusivity by restricting access to their communal spaces — and end up feeling soulless.

There's nothing soulless about Lele's Roman, a restaurant inspired by the lively Roman neighbourhood of Trastevere. You'd never know it, but it isn't operated by the Ace group itself, despite occupying the same building. Order a big bowl of rustic pasta — the world's greatest food group and I won't entertain alternative opinions — and a baby negroni (or three, which just about equals a normal serving).

There's also Koju, a 14-course omakase experience, for something a little bit more formal.

How they'll keep you busy

There is a gym outfitted by the heavyweights at Yeah, I Work Out, which looked excellent.

I had every intention of using it.

I did not.

Thankfully, there are plenty of other ways to occupy your time.

Ace's artist-in-residence programme means there's always something interesting to marvel at as you wander through the lobby. The hotel also maintains an impressively curated calendar of live music, parties, talks and community gatherings.

Failing that, simply retreat to your room and indulge in my favourite sport: people-watching.

What else to do while you're here

Ace describes its location as being 'at the ever-evolving intersection of everything'.

I approached such a claim with some scepticism. This is New York, after all. Every neighbourhood could make a convincing argument for being at the centre of culture, food, music, The Arts and whatever else happens to be fashionable that week. But the hotel sits just two blocks from Atlantic Avenue, the 10.5-mile thoroughfare stretching from Brooklyn's waterfront all the way to Jamaica, Queens. It's dotted with independent boutiques, homeware shops, vintage stores, upscale coffee shops and enviably well-stocked global grocers.

The area is also one of Brooklyn's major transport hubs, making it remarkably easy to hop into Manhattan whenever the mood strikes.

Who's it for?

Everyone.

That may sound like a cop-out, but Ace is fundamentally about community — and making guests feel like they're part of one. Whether you're travelling alone, as a couple or with a group of friends, there's a sense of belonging here that's surprisingly rare.

What gives it the 'wow' factor?

The attention to detail. The subtle kind.

The Smeg fridges tucked into the rooms. The wonderfully easy-to-use Tivoli radios. The quirky typography on the in-room dining menus and information packs. Every element feels considered without ever feeling precious.

The staff also deserve special mention — and not just because someone complimented my jacket minutes after arriving. Even at my pre-dawn departure they were warm and helpful.

The one thing we'd change

Activity from The Lobby and the rumble of nearby subway lines might disturb light sleepers. For most guests, however, it's simply part of the soundtrack of staying in one of New York's most characterful neighbourhoods.

Rooms at Ace Hotel in Brooklyn start from $349. For more information and to book, visit their website.

There are hotels that shout about their luxury and then there are those that simply assume you'll notice it. Hotel Metropole Monte-Carlo belongs firmly in the latter camp. Hidden behind its Belle Époque façade, just moments from the glittering heart of Monaco, it manages to feel both grand and unexpectedly intimate.

The rooms

The recently renovated suites and bedrooms, redesigned by Jacques Garcia, are a lesson in restrained indulgence — including my favourite, the Deluxe Premium Junior Suite. Decorated in the prettiest shade of yellow with delicate floral detailing, they mimic the Mediterranean light pouring in through the windows.

Clever televisions rotate 180℃, meaning they can face either the bed or the sitting room sofa, and gleaming silver, roll-top baths will have you thinking about cancelling your supper reservations in favour of another soak.

Then there's the Carré d'Or Suite which, as well as it’s own library, stocked with more than 100 books, has a sprawling terrace with envy-inducing views across the Principality. At present, it's furnished with rich plum upholstery and polished mahogany wood furniture, but rumour has it that Jacques Garcia is about to work his magic. If that's true, it will almost certainly become one of the most desirable suites in Monaco.

Eating and drinking

Les Ambassadeurs, the hotel's two-Michelin-starred restaurant, is a reminder that fine dining needn't take itself too seriously. I was looked after by the indomitable Marco, who I later discovered had received the Michelin Service Award 2026, ‘for his meticulous and elegant service’.

The meal is bookended by two trolleys — a chariot of bread, piled precariously high with sourdoughs and other inventive doughy creations, and a pudding trolley. In between, a page of the menu is dedicated to half-size dishes, should you want to try a little bit of everything.

Elsewhere, there’s Yoshi, the only Japanese restaurant in the region to hold a Michelin star, and a further two informal, al fresco options.

How they'll keep you busy

The Guerlain Spa is a calming sanctuary dressed in shiny marble, vanilla-coloured wood and discreet gold accents. With ten treatment rooms, a generous gym, hammam, sauna and sensory shower among its facilities, it's the sort of place where an hour somehow stretches into an entire afternoon.

Outside, you’ll find the hotel’s secret (at least to me) masterpiece: the Odyssey swimming pool. It is one of only two pools that CHANEL's Karl Lagerfeld designed and its monochromatic colour scheme is reminiscent of his own black and white ‘uniform’ consisting of a tailored black jacket, a high-collared, white starched shirt, a black tie, black jeans or trousers, and fingerless leather gloves. You’re protected from prying eyes by the elegant topiary surrounding it.

What else to do while you're here

Monaco's greatest hits are all within easy reach. Try your luck beneath the chandeliers of the iconic Casino de Monte-Carlo, watch the Changing of the Guard at the Prince's Palace or admire the parade of superyachts in Port Hercule.

The hotel is connected to the Metropole Shopping Monte-Carlo centre, and guests enjoy selected discounts across a wide range of boutiques. Before leaving, make a beeline for HeathStore, a French pharmacy-style emporium devoted entirely to health and wellbeing. It's the sort of place that inspires entirely unnecessary purchases — and puts Boots to shame.

The Monaco Royal Family's car collection is extensive (if you've thought of it, chances are the Grimaldis own it) and available to marvel at. You can read Country Life correspondent Zachary Weiss's feature on it, here.

Who's it for?

Couples and small groups of friends. Families are well accommodated, but the refined interiors and sophisticated swimming pool lend themselves to an older clientele looking for a glamorous escape rather than organised entertainment.

What gives it the ‘wow’ factor?

The swimming pool. I had no idea about its Karl Lagerfeld pedigree until a member of staff mentioned it, but even before then its striking design had completely drawn me in.

The one thing we'd change

The lobby. Despite the beautiful seasonal floral arrangement at its heart, the space feels very dark and a bit too cosy for a place that is blessed with year-round sunshine.

The new Jacques Garcia rooms start from €1,250 per night on a bed and breakfast basis. For more information and to book, visit the Metropole website.

What we think of when we picture luxury travel has changed over the years. Now it’s less private jets and piña coladas and more yoga retreats and home-made kombucha. We are, it seems, looking for meaningful experiences that enrich our lives instead of flashy status-symbols. As usual, throughout this process, people have been reminded that nature is priceless — particularly when it comes to the British countryside.

Although scrambling through the hedgerow in search of rosehips may not instantly scream ‘five star getaway’, foraging courses are now on the docket for many a luxury hotel guest in the UK.

At Bovey Castle, set amongst Dartmoor National Park in Devon, navelwort and nettle beer are on the menu just as much as caviar and Champagne are. It is just one of the Pride of Britain (PoB) Hotels — a curated collection of British hotels is annually reviewed — that are putting on foraging days.

‘A lot of people come to the hotel and they'll look at the view, but they won't actually explore the grounds. When you go out into these grounds today, you'll think: “Why are people not exploring this?” It's heaven down there, it's fantastic,’ says Thomas Radford, who is leading our foraging walk.

On the allure of foraging he adds: ‘I think people like to be guided and feel safe and, as opposed to just another boring drudge around the woods, it is something that brings it to life.’ In this country foraging is legal, as long as it’s not done on private land (for this you must have specific permission).

If we look back 300 years, knowledge about the plants you could and couldn’t eat was absolutely essential to survival. Some women possessed such a startling botanical arsenal that they were accused of witchcraft — something which many of them paid for with their lives. Sadly, with the rise of farming, when we started domesticating crops, and more recently supermarkets, this communal knowledge has since been mostly lost, with the exception of a few individuals.

As he leads us on a two hour walk around the grounds of Bovey Castle, a Grade II-listed early 20th-century mansion, Thomas points out the various plants we can gather and tells us about some of their uses. Elderflower is in season at the moment, and can be used to make cordial, flavoured gin or even elderflower wine. ‘But best use plastic bottles, as it does have a propensity to explode,’ Thomas says, detailing a particularly gory incident when a friend of his used glass bottles which, when one exploded, took his eye out.

Wild garlic is another useful ingredient in the foragers pantry, as is pink purslane, mint, navelwort, Jack-by-the-hedge and cleavers (otherwise known, amusingly, as ‘sticky willy’ — they make a brilliant diuretic that tastes of cucumber when left to soak in water overnight, apparently). Nettles, as long as they are pulled out with a glove to avoid stinging, make excellent nettle soup or beer.

The main thing that puts people off foraging, says Thomas, are ‘lookalikes’. Mushrooms are a prime example. We all, I’m sure, love the idea of cheffing up some self-foraged chanterelles on toast for supper as much as the next person, but many of us remember all too well reading a news story detailing someone’s death after accidentally eating a poisonous mushroom.

When it comes to lookalikes, Thomas never tastes the risk. As he puts it: ‘If you're going to die for something, don’t let it be salad.’ In Dartmoor, hemlock is the most common dangerous plant and can easily be confused with the totally benign cow parsley. Well known as the poison that killed Socrates, the innocuously-delicate white flowers of the plant bloom in clusters by bodies of water. If ingested, the alkaloids in the plant slowly poison the nerve-muscle junctions and cause the failure of the breathing muscles. Thomas aptly, but awfully, describes this as ‘a meat coffin that lasts hours’. We see plenty of it on our walk and I make sure to keep a healthy distance.

Despite the less than appetising description above, the trip did stoke my appetite for foraging. As long as you steer clear of those deadly lookalikes, it’s a healthy and interesting way to reconnect with nature and snaffle up some free grub while you’re at it. Plus the two-hour walk made sure I was ravenous for anything (but hemlock) once we were back in the hotel restaurant.

Booking for The Wild Larder: A Foraging Walk & Lunch with Thomas Radford is open now. Upcoming sessions at PoB Hotels include Thurlestone Hotel, Devon, on June 26 and Calcot & Spa, the Cotswolds, on June 30.

A copious quantity of apple strudel became the unintended consequence of a winter walking holiday in the Austrian Tyrol. We breakfasted and dined at our hotel each day, but lunch would see us at one mountain restaurant or another with a cold beer and a plate of apple pie. Sometimes the strudel would come with custard, sometimes with ice cream; sometimes it would be flaky and light, sometimes rich and dense. We were connoisseurs by the end of the week and quite happy to relinquish furthering our authority on the subject for many months to come.

Most afternoons, in walking off the strudel, our route back to base in Mösern would take us past an enormous bell erected on a high, circular platform with far-reaching views over the Inn Valley below. The bell, it transpired, is a peace bell, installed in 1997 to mark friendship, good neighbourliness and harmony in a region of historically contested borders. For a few minutes each day at 5pm, the 10-ton bell booms out across the valley — a sonorous reminder of a contract for peace.

Having never encountered a peace bell before, down the rabbit hole I went in pursuit of others, only to discover there are numerous peace bells the whole world over. Who knew, for example, of the Maria Dolens bell in the northern Italian town of Rovereto, perhaps the most solemn and ritualised of all bells, which tolls 100 times every evening to honour the fallen in all wars and to promote peace? Originally cast in 1924 from melted bronze of cannons used in the First World War, this bell has been recast twice in the past century, but still weighs in at more than 22 tons as one of the largest ringing bells in the world.

There’s a jostling for first place, however, when it comes to famous peace bells. Some would say Japan’s 1964 bell in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park takes top spot, partly for its direct link to a pivotal moment in history and thus widely recognised as the most potent symbol of peace in the nuclear age and partly because visitors get to ring it themselves — an active expression of the individual within a collective commitment to global unity. Many voices, one sound is how the theory goes. The Japanese, with bells deep-rooted in their culture, are particularly good bellmakers.

Indeed, perhaps the most famous peace bell, located in the garden of the UN Headquarters in New York, US, was crafted by the Japanese and presented by them to the UN in 1954. A pipsqueak in terms of weight, coming in at only a fraction of a ton, this bell is heavy on post-Second World War symbolism, cast from coins collected from more than 60 countries and inscribed with the Japanese rendering of ‘Long live absolute world peace’. Alas, it is rung very rarely — on the spring equinox in March and on September 21, the International Day of Peace.

In our current turbulent and troubled times, the bell to which I find myself most readily drawn is Germany’s Freedom Bell, located in the tower of the Rathaus Schöneberg in Berlin. This 10-ton bell, which rings daily at 12 noon in the spirit of freedom and harmony, was funded by 16 million American donors and given to the city in 1950 as a symbol of solidarity between the US and West Germany during the Cold War. Quite an act of fellowship, I should say.

How prescient it seems, therefore, that our King recently gave the US President a big brass bell from a British Second World War submarine as a token of our allied friendship. Perhaps Donald Trump would like to sit down with a slice of apple strudel and start ringing his bell. Who knows what might happen?

This feature originally appeared in the June 3, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Behind a fortress of wild white roses, I spy, from the comfort of my own bed, perhaps, the most magnificent view in all of Italy laid out beneath me: the city of Florence. Where is this bed, I hear you ask? In Villa San Michele, a Belmond hotel.

I have been coming to this part of the world since I was a child. My English aunt, Maureen, married an Italian, Gino, and, with their three daughters, lived a 25-minute or so drive away from this lavish villa in the dinky town of Montelupo Fiorentino — a place I remember fondly for its brilliantly creamy gelato and sleepy pizzerias.

I’m spending two days in the stately villa, which serves as a reminder of why the cradle of the Renaissance continues to fascinate and intrigue. Since the 15^th century, San Michele has led countless lives, firstly as a humble Franciscan monastery and later as a wartime base for the French republic’s rebel, Napoleon.

It became a hotel in the 1950s and has been visited by a dizzying array of stars and nobility from The King (then the Prince of Wales), to Julia Roberts, Robert De Niro, George Clooney, and Gwyneth Paltrow.

A few weeks ago it emerged from an 18-month-long renovation, overseen by Florence-based interior design studio Luigi Fragola Architects, with 39 rooms and suites, three restaurants and Italy’s first Guerlain spa. The question is, was the refurb worth the wait? The devil really is in all of its fantastical details.

The 27 suites and 12 bedrooms pay homage to local Tuscan craft and to the country’s botanical heritage. Think ornate, floral tapestries and frescoes (the latter were restored by Florentine artists), scagliola furniture and restored Baroque fireplaces. Impruneta terracotta has been used with wild abandon in the floors and all of the bathrooms have been clad in green-veined cipollino marble. The bathroom in the Signature Garden Suite is a particular showstopper.

The best room in the house is the Limonaia Suite — a two-storey, Fiesolan-style villa that’s full of curios, antiques and collectibles. To my delight, the minibar was stuffed full of Ginori teacups. The gloriously plump bed sits beneath a beautifully ornate mural of woodland and fluttering birds. And there’s a private garden and plunge pool with 180-degree-views and a sightline to the Duomo.

The main gardens are extensive — and one of San Michele’s most impressive assets — tended to, during the renovation, by Luca Ghezzi Garden Design. The terraced sprawl — paved avenues, immaculate flowerbeds and borders , a 200-year-old wisteria — currently covers an immense 10,000sq m. Blooms include lavender, rosemary, agapanthus, hydrangea, pomegranate, iris and boxwoods, plus bountiful citrus trees (lots of lemons) and a stately 42m-long avenue of roses.

The driving design force is geometry, not just for aesthetics, but to evoke the Roman ideal of otium (Latin for ‘leisure’). The garden is a space for contemplative leisure, relaxation and the pursuit of tranquility, conversation and appreciation. Essentially, garden gossip.

Food? Hit and miss. Executive chef’s Alessandro Cozzolino’s menu reinterprets (a word I often shudder at on Italian menus) Tuscan classics, and while bold in presentation and setting (on the terrace) the dishes at the San Michele Restaurant often miss the mark by falling victim to the chef’s ‘twists’ and attempts at experimentation. That said, the Neapolitan’s talent shines when it comes to pizza — the margarita, for example, is a total triumph. No easy feat.

Despite the new money crowd who like to show off at golden hour on the veranda it’s all very relaxing. The new Villa San Michele has been designed with Belmond’s ‘slow living’ philosophy in mind, and, as such, there are ‘Energy Raising’ programmes and yoga decks available on demand. Yes, the Guerlain spa is pretty, and yes, the treatments are indulgent, but reading your book on your own, rose-scented balcony will put you in a similarly transcendent state. Is there a greater pleasure in life? I think not.

While the Florence of my youth has changed beyond recognition — thank you overtourism – Villa San Michele serves as a reminder of the city that once was. A peaceful sanctuary of beauty and inspiration.

Rooms at Villa San Michele, a Belmond Hotel, start from £1,400 on a bed and breakfast basis.

In Monaco, someone’s always got a bigger boat. This is especially true on Grand Prix weekend. Some 200 vessels turned up for Formula One’s (F1) most famous street race this year, blaring their horns at the end of the 78 laps in honour of Mercedes driver Kimi Antonelli’s flawless drive to victory. The biggest yacht in Port Hercule was the 122-metre-long Kismet, available for charter for £2.6 million a week. That’s not including a trackside mooring (£130,000), or a tip for the crew (normally 10% of the charter fee).

However, I discovered a way of doing the Monaco Grand Prix in similar style, with a much bigger boat, and an even louder horn. It boasts staff, service and facilities that I doubt any billionaire’s berth could surpass. Welcome aboard the Silver Ray.

The Silver Ray is the newest cruise ship by Silversea, a pioneer of the all-inclusive cruise and one of the undisputed industry leaders in what’s becoming a luxury arms race. At 244 metres, it dwarfs Kismet. You can peer down your nose at the Lürssen-built bateau from your 11^th floor rooftop pool, which is far more accommodating. It doesn’t have a big H on the bow deck like its navy-hulled neighbour, but Monaco’s heliport is five minutes by tender. And while I hear you complain that you can’t compare a private yacht to a bloody great ship, it’s a rather sleek-looking thing as cruisers go. Painted in elegant white and silver, there’s no Disneyfied gaudiness about this vessel. It hides its 55,000-tonne girth well, and its interior spaces are all handsomely designed.

Silversea keeps passenger numbers down. There are a maximum of 728 guests and a very VIP 1.3:1 ratio of guests to crew. With many guests off on shore activities each day, and others preferring to relax in their cabins, I often found I had an entire deck to myself. Never did I struggle to find a free sunbed.

My trip to the Grand Prix started ten days earlier, in Civitavecchia near Rome. Having checked into my very smart suite, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a vast terrace from which to watch the world drift by, I witnessed the arrival of a USA Secret Service motorcade and the decanting of Donald Trump Jr and his new bride. They were also heading to the Monaco Grand Prix. Not on the Silver Ray, you’ll be relieved to hear. They stepped onto the piddling 76-metre yacht Boardwalk V which belongs to the American ambassador to Italy. I imagine the UK’s man in Rome makes do with a canoe. The Boardwalk V has two helicopter pads but, again, I feel it was outclassed by my monumental transport. At this point I want to say the race was on, but while I tracked the Boardwalk V on MarineTraffic, the Silver Ray and I would take a more circuitous and leisurely route; F1 may be measured in thousandths of a second, but why not take your time getting there?

We headed south to Salerno, where I visited the ancient ruins of Pompeii; cruised back along the Amalfi coast and up to Livorno, in Tuscany, where I went truffling with three adorable lagotto romagnolo dogs, and toured medieval Lucca. From there we sailed north to Portofino, and then back through the Ligurian and Tyrrhenian seas to Porto Santo Stefano, where I tried hitting some golf balls at Italy’s only PGA course, Argentario. Then we set course west to Ajaccio, the capital of Corsica and birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. I explored all these places, and at sea I would stand on my port-facing terrace with the powerful binoculars that came with the room and imagine I was on the bridge; like Oscar-nominee Barkhad Abdi, I was the captain now. When I wasn’t writing on my terrace, or pretending to be a pirate, I would read by the pool under a cloudless sky. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was eating and drinking like a king. There are eight restaurants on board covering everything from fine dining to casual, Italian, French and Japanese. Three of the restaurants involve a small additional cost, and I never felt the need because the all-inclusive ones and house wines were so good.

There was also entertainment and talks, including from Top Gear’s first Stig, racing driver Perry McCarthy, who’s proven far more successful on the after-dinner circuit than he did on the F1 circuit, he won’t mind me saying.

Due north to Monaco we sailed for our two-day penultimate destination, and here’s where a cruise ship really comes into its own. It affords a spectacular view of the Principality. We anchored just outside Port Hercule, and there’s an advantage to this; unlike those staying in the cramped, overpriced berths within the harbour walls we weren’t kept awake by dreadful Dutch electronic dance music (EDM), nor were we awoken by the wail of racing engines first thing in the morning.

What you can’t quite do, even with my big binoculars and the ship’s 11^th floor elevation, is see the cars going around. Silversea has thought of that, so they’ll sell you access to one of the best views money can buy. Silversea took a large top floor apartment in Le Beau Rivage, just beyond Turn 1 and with overhead views of the cars as they screamed towards Casino Square. You could also see down to Tabac corner and across to the Swimming Pool section and the pits. This life-affirming vista inspired a young American lady with whom I was sharing a bit of balcony to seize the moment by sprinkling ashes over the track. I’m afraid that some of her father went in my drink. Still, waste not want not.

The price of this once-in-a-lifetime experience, minus the cremation, is from £8,000 for the whole 11-day itinerary, including all food and drink, and even the staff tip. That’s exceptional value, given the service exceeded the levels I’ve experienced in any five-star hotel, and that a tiny cabin on a nice, but modest yacht for Grand Prix weekend will run you about £28,000, with none of the Silver Ray’s facilities. The Beau Rivage terrace, with food and drink for Saturday and Sunday is priced at £3,967 per person.

From Monaco, we sailed day and night to Barcelona, where we disembarked. It felt liberating to have visited so many places without having to pack and unpack each time, or battle traffic and crowded airports, or really make any plans beyond which activities to tick. It’s like a hotel where the view changes every day, and which arrives directly into one of the hardest-to-access events in the world. For F1 fans, it’s a floating Paddock pass.

Mark Rothko was too busy gazing into the abyss to engage in small talk and throwaway lines. Yet every now and then he came up with a zinger. ‘A painting is not an image of an experience,’ he once declared. ‘It is an experience.’ Well said, sir. Though I suppose, if you were to split hairs, you might reasonably counter that there’s no reason why a painting can’t be both an experience and an image of an experience.

The perception is particularly pertinent to the magnificent new retrospective of the artist’s work, Rothko in Florence, on display at three venues in the city until August 23. The show raises all manner of interesting questions, one or two of which follow directly from that rare zinger of his. Does it matter where the art experience is experienced? And if so, why?

Most of the 70 or so paintings included in Rothko in Florence are on display at Palazzo Strozzi. They span the artist’s entire career and are presented chronologically: the figurative works of the 1930s; the ‘mythomorphic’ and ‘multiform’ works of the 1940s; the signature-style colour-field works of the 1950s and 60s.

The vast, grand and gloomy palazzo makes for a splendid showcase for Rothko’s vast, grand and gloomy paintings — though one of the most striking features of the exhibition is the manner in which it reveals the variation in Rothko’s emotional and chromatic palette.

The strange radiance of the late black-and-grey paintings, for example, is as irresistible as it is unlikely — trumped only, perhaps, by the final works, created shortly before the artist took his own life in 1970, in pale blue, tan and terracotta. These are beautifully hung in a smaller room that has been configured to recall the Rothko Chapel in Houston. Hats off to the curators — the artist’s son Christopher Rothko and Elena Geuna — for orchestrating this ravishing, uplifting finale to the exhibition.

Even if that were — so to speak — all, Rothko in Florence would be a remarkable exhibition, one that allows you to see the work of a familiar master in the round and from a fresh perspective. An experience, certainly — and one that is further enriched by the smaller displays at the two other satellite locations.

Rothko himself had little interest in travel. ‘His paintings travel much better than he ever did,’ as his son put it to me. Nevertheless, it would be difficult to overstate the importance to the artist of his three visits to Italy, in 1950, 1959 and 1966, or, having seen the new exhibition, to deny the bearing they had on his work.

The vestibule of the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, or Laurentian Library, was conceived by Michelangelo in the decade or so before he quit Florence for Rome in 1534. It was, and remains, a uniquely disconcerting space: claustrophobic, despite its high ceilings; locked-in and seemingly without issue, despite its fine staircase; disorienting, despite its simplicity. There’s something almost occult about its oddity. Rothko loved it. ‘He achieved just the kind of feeling I’m after. He makes viewers feel they’re trapped in a room where all the doors and windows are bricked up, so that all they can do is butt their heads forever against the walls.’

For Rothko in Florence, two preliminary studies for the Seagram Murals project have been hung at the foot of the library stairs. Though relatively small by Rothko’s standards, they reverberate in this setting with the force of a double thunderclap.

I happened to be standing alongside Christopher when I stepped into the vestibule and, after casting my eyes about for a minute or two, caught sight and took stock of the paintings. Like finding a loose pair of eyeballs on the back seat of a taxi. I turned to him and remarked on their disproportionate impact in this setting. Did he, I asked, have a Plan B, in case for any reason these particular paintings didn’t quite work in situ? ‘This is Plan B,’ he laughed. ‘Plan A was to use different paintings in different positions. But when I got here to hang them yesterday, I realised that wasn’t going to work, because of the angle of the light from the windows in the west wall. Luckily I’d packed some spares, and it turns out they work pretty well here.’

A gentler, but no less arresting, effect is achieved in what is now the Museo Nazionale di San Marco, formerly the monastery where, roughly 100 years before Michelangelo, the Renaissance master and Dominican friar Fra Angelico worked (though didn’t, as is often supposed, live full-time; he bunked down at San Domenico, in the nearby hill town of Fiesole).

Rothko came to San Marco twice in two days in 1950 and once again in 1966. Five of his works have been installed alongside Angelico’s frescoes in five of the now vacated monks’ cells — tiny, with irregularly shaped whitewashed stone walls, some with small windows, others illuminated only by Angelico’s exquisitely rendered scenes from the gospels.

‘Think of it as if you were overhearing a respectful conversation between two masters,’ Elena Guena suggested. Simply to set the Rothkos alongside them in this fashion invites the viewer to look for similarities between the two artists, not only in terms of colour and tone, though these can be readily observed, but also in terms of attitude and intention.

The differences between the two artists surely outnumber their similarities by a gigantic margin. Yet the comparative exercise is not without value. Later I spoke to Carl Streckhle, an art historian, curator and authority on Fra Angelico, who agreed with Elena's notion of dialogue, only adding — with a poetic flourish — that this is a dialogue which occurs ‘not so much across time but in a world without time’.

I was in Florence as a guest of the Hotel Savoy — a marvellous hotel in hotel terms and an active participant in the city’s cultural conversation. I’ve stayed at the Savoy often over the years and can attest to the seriousness of its commitment to the Arts — a commitment expressed not only in its partnerships with high-profile institutions such as the Fondazione Palazzo Strozzi, but also through its own programme of talks, workshops and events.

Thanks to the relationships the hotel has fostered in the artistic community, the access it can provide to guests is fantastic (you have only to ask and arrangements will be made and doors will creak open on their ancient hinges).

Moreover, its Artists’ Suites are among the finest hotel rooms in Florence (my own favourite is number 403, from one of the several balconies of which you can see Palazzo Strozzi across the Piazza della Repubblica) — and its impeccable, whimsical little Bar Artemisia (named and decorated in honour of the immortal Artemisia Gentileschi) is likewise one of the city’s best.

After a full day’s worth of Rothko in Florence, it was to Bar Artemisia that I repaired for a glass of something chilled and interesting. ‘What have you got for a weary art-pilgrim with sore feet and a head full of Abstract Expressionism?’ I asked the genial head barman, Federico Galli. ‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘perhaps I could interest you in one of the cocktails on our new Maestro of Colours menu…’ Of course — I should’ve known they’d come up with a special menu of half a dozen cocktails ingeniously mixed to mimic paintings in the Rothko show.

I went for the Nocturne Vermillion, a blackberry-enhanced variation on the classic Negroni, which, in its meticulously suspended blocks of moody colour, did indeed bear an uncanny resemblance to Rothko’s Untitled: Red and Black 1953.

At dinner in the Savoy that evening I sat next to Arturo Galansino, director general of the Fondazione Palazzo Strozzi. This was a couple of days ahead of the opening of Rothko in Florence, but already the talk of the town was of little else and it was perfectly clear that the show would be a smash hit. I congratulated Arturo on his string of successes at Palazzo Strozzi over the past few years — Tracey Emin, Angelico, now Rothko. The sequence, he insisted, was important: something challenging, something safe, something challenging. He said his intention was to ‘wake Florence up gently, one jolt at a time’.

After dinner, despite the lateness of the hour and the soreness of my feet, I took a long stroll. For me, there are few cities more agreeable by night than Florence. Emptied of tour groups, its stony streets throng instead with friendly ghosts. In Florence, you don’t have to be a Rothko-sized genius to commune with the shades of Michelangelo and Angelico — whether you like it or not, there’s simply no avoiding them. Was there ever a city so densely populated by brilliant minds, so tightly packed with bright ideas as quattrocento Florence? Or one where the gap between present and past is so narrow and so apt to vanish altogether?

I can think of one, though only one: Cambridge, another small, beautiful, compressed city on a river that flourished spectacularly in the 14th century as both a transmitter, incubator and a repository of art and ideas.

Vladimir Nabokov devotes a few droll chapters of his memoir Speak, Memory to his time at Trinity College, Cambridge, in the early 1920s. Though distracted by girls and football and his own sense of émigré dislocation, he was far from oblivious to his surroundings. ‘I thought of Milton, and Marvell, and Marlowe, with more than a tourist’s thrill as I passed beside the revered walls,’ he writes. ‘Nothing one looked at was shut off in terms of time, everything was a natural opening into it, so that one’s mind grew accustomed to work in a particularly pure and ample environment, and because, in terms of space, the narrow lane, the cloistered lawn, the dark archway hampered one physically, that yielding diaphanous texture of time was, by contrast, especially welcome to the mind, just as a sea view from a window exhilarates one hugely, even though one does not care for sailing.’

Sail on to Florence, then, and take in the stupendous sea view of Rothko’s work that is presently on offer there, in the company of Michelangelo, Angelico and that astonishing city’s whole heavenly host.

'Rothko in Florence' is at the Fondazione Palazzo Strozzi, Museo di San Marco and Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana until August 23, 2026.

Rooms at at the Hotel Savoy Florence start from about £600.

It was at Tigh na Coille, a secluded cottage on a Highland hillside overlooking Loch Ness, that I idly flipped open a well-placed copy of A Place In Scotland, a 2024 interiors volume by designer Banjo Beale and photographer Alexander Baxter, and spied its opening statement. ‘Something is happening,’ claimed Beale. ‘A new confidence — and inspiring new voices — are redefining what Scottish style really is.’ ‘Well, quite,’ I thought, surveying the elevated Scandi-chic stylings around me courtesy of WildLand, the pioneering conservation-meets-hospitality group whose sprawling Aldourie estate we were at the edge of. If not quite new, WildLand can most definitely lay claim to being one of Scotland’s most inspiring voices.

I’ve been a regular visitor to the Highlands since 2012. Glance up at my byline above and you’ll spot an unmistakably Scottish surname; its roots are up here and I suppose the clan lands spoke to me. In fact, they quickly became my favourite place on Earth. Yet the idea that ‘something is happening’ was one that had been percolating only on recent visits and here Beale had laid it bare in print.

Natural beauty apart, the allure of the Highlands is its unhurried pace. It’s a place where things unfold rather than arrive. Photographer Robbie Lawrence spent five years photographing Highland gatherings for a book called Long Walk Home, recruiting decorated Scottish poet John Burnside to write its introduction. ‘Scottishness itself is as much myth as it is history,’ said Burnside. ‘Myths let us roam, they make space for the imagination, for reinvention…’ It might not be the imagined backdrop to the modern notion of relentless ‘creativity’, but innovation trickles like spring water here if you look closely enough.

Benjamin Morgan agrees. Morgan is a creative producer at Wild Gorse, a Belladrum-based fine art floristry studio that has styled everything from fashion events to Vogue-splashed weddings. ‘The Highlands is steeped in craftsmanship,’ he says. ‘We’re surrounded by an abundance of inspiration. There is space to be creative.’

Whisky, of course, has long been the most well-known canvas for creativity in the Highlands — its fans making pilgrimages to sample it at source; its bottles exported to every corner of the globe. Recent years, however, have seen a palpable acceleration among the big luxury-backed players. The theatrical Russell Sage makeover of Ardbeg House on Islay, the tasteful grassy Teletubbies domes installed at The Macallan’s unconventional Craigellachie headquarters, the Harrison Ford-fronted reboot of Glenmorangie are all cases in point.

Then there is WildLand. The brainchild of Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen and his wife, Anne, it began as a conservation project in 2006, acquiring swathes of land with a bold 200-year vision to restore them ‘to their former magnificent natural state and repair the harm that man has inflicted on them’. The hospitality arm exists to help both fund that vision and educate guests on the reasons behind it. For instance, Povlsen had spent much of his childhood exploring the Glenfeshie estate in the Cairngorms and it had made a lasting impression. It was the first piece of land they purchased (the Povlsens, with 1%, are now Scotland’s biggest private landowners) and, aptly, where I began my WildLand tour.

Head naturalist Steve Liddle led the charge, first through the fords of the Feshie river in a Land Rover and then on foot, past the backdrop of rolling Munros that inspired Edwin Landseer to paint The Monarch of the Glen here in 1851. The quickly rattled-off stats caused jaws to drop: more than 6.5 million trees have been hand planted since 2014, the treeline rejuvenated to a level not seen in more than a century. A zero-tolerance policy on sapling-hungry deer has seen an average of 25 per square kilometre reduced to only two. Young deerstalker Finlay Davidson jokes about the notorious summer midges putting him off his aim, but insists on ‘taking every precaution to get a clean shot’. (In a newly agreed scheme, the resulting venison gets delivered to local schools.)

As old fencing has been torn down around the estate, Liddle’s conservation team has grown; 40 of them — Davidson included — now work on deer management, peatland preservation, mapping an extensive biodiversity index and conducting wildlife-impact assessments. (‘First, there’s habitat restoration, then there’s species return,’ explains Liddle, referring to the likes of raptors, beavers and wildcats — lynx are mooted to follow.) At one point, we stopped at a stream and were encouraged to drink the straight-from-the-mountain water. If these lands have inspired creativity in others, here the simple creativity of the land itself is given centre stage.

The next WildLand estate lay three hours north in Sutherland, proudly known as Scotland’s least-explored region, where the Highlands relax into an even more widescreen aspect ratio. Here, the seven-bedroom Kinloch Lodge and Kyle-of-Tongue-view Lundies House take up prime positions at the very tip of our isles, bathed, as I arrived, in late-evening, near-Arctic-Circle sun. That redefined Scottish style heralded by Beale is particularly present here owing to the work of Ruth Kramer, WildLand’s director of concept and design, who cites the stories and exhibits of the Highland Folk Museum and the ‘unhurried nature’ of the local area as inspiration for her relaxed, textural take on Scandi-Scottish fusion. A dreamscape wallpaper in its dining room and artist Claire Basler’s floral mural in my room, Isla, add a sense of flair to Lundies in particular. Nearby, WildLand has had a hand in resurrecting a local bakehouse and store, Burr’s of Tongue, a gathering spot for locals between trips down to the beach.

Further east, at the tip of Loch Hope, sits WildLand’s most ambitious project yet, Hope, a decade in the making and now, finally, open. Part hotel, part activity centre, part Scottish safari lodge — it’s so impressive in scope it almost defies description.

Even seeing it in its unfinished, undressed state, it was clear that this will be an opening to truly test Sutherland’s ‘least-explored’ claim. As the gateway to 114,000 acres of beach, hills, loch and woodland, not to mention its pole position on the fabled NC500 route, its crowd-pulling potential warranted some extraordinary attention to detail. Each of its external and internal wooden planks, for example, was chosen personally by Povlsen and nailed into place. Every stone-carved shower tray took 150 hours to fashion by hand. Some 225 miles of drystone wall have been erected in the area.

Before flitting back to the shores of Loch Ness for a final night in the comfort of Aldourie Castle, WildLand’s most overtly opulent stay, I stared out at Ben Hope as work on the lodge continued around me. ‘Something really is happening,’ I thought.

WildLand’s self-catering cottages start from £275 per night; hotels from £525 per night, on a full-board basis; and exclusive-use properties from £3,000 per night, on a full-board basis with an in-house chef and conservation-led experiences.

Rooms at Hope start from £1,100 per night, on a full-board basis, and include guided daily experiences and access to outdoor equipment.

Visit the website for more information and to book.

This feature originally appeared in the May 13, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

It’s been said that the United States of America is not a country, it’s an idea. In that case, so is the tiny principality of Monaco; a visionary sovereign nation conjured from the imagination of a Victorian prince that’s been polished and perfumed for the better part of two centuries.

Its story as a playground for the rich and infamous begins in 1865 with the opening of its Beaux-Arts Casino de Monte-Carlo. His Serene Highness Charles III commissioned it to stave off bankruptcy and, by Jove, it worked.

It was an ingenious move and not his last. Income tax for residents was abolished four years later. Charles III’s successors kept up the momentum, leading Monaco to build some exceptionally luxurious hotels, become a banking Mecca and home to one of the world’s finest oceanographic museums, have its own football team and, since 1929, host the annual Formula 1 Monaco Grand Prix.

Aristocrats, industrialists, film stars and, eventually, oligarchs with a fondness for improbable wristwatches followed. The Port Hercule attracted increasingly large and splendid motor yachts and, throughout, the state provided Fort Knox levels of safety and security, fostered a glamourous social, cultural and sporting scene, and promised discretion.

Three-quarters of a square mile of concrete spilling onto the Mediterranean in the shadow of the Alpes-Maritimes, Monaco is, as much as anything, a triumph of branding, a high-rise ghetto fantasy of unapologetic ostentation, where the Dom Pérignon is chilled, the supercars are loud, the blondes are pneumatic and the taxman is nowhere to be found. That’s the old stereotype of Monaco, however. Changes are afoot — and it’s time for a rebrand.

When I started visiting more than 25 years ago, it was nearly impossible to find anyone living in Monaco between the ages of 18 and 60. The young would leave for university and jobs in Paris, London, Frankfurt and New York. They wouldn’t return until they’d retired.

Now, families with small children are rolling in. Many come from the fintech world. Young professionals and entrepreneurs are drawn to the increasingly dynamic energy of the place, as well its stability, safety and the quality of life: there are amazing sporting facilities and La Turbie, which rises behind the principality, is a popular cycling challenge.

Milan, Geneva and the Alps are an easy drive and Nice airport is only seven minutes away (by helicopter). Such is the demand for international schooling that the British School of Monaco opened in 2022.

Monaco has long attracted wealth, but what it’s beginning to draw now is activity. Instead of simply storing money (and some very fine wine, if the cellars of the Hotel de Paris are anything to go by), people are coming to Monaco to build companies, to network, to innovate and to use it as their European hub.

As well as the 24-hour ballet of Bugattis and Rolls-Royces in the Place du Casino, you’re likely to see prams, school-run traffic and coffee meetings at the Café de Paris where people are huddled over PowerPoints, not merely watching the world go by.

The most visible manifestation of Monaco’s changes is physical. It is no longer constrained by geography. Where once it built upwards, now, it’s building outwards having reclaimed land from the sea and built projects such as Mareterra, a new district of about 15 acres extending from Portier into the Mediterranean.

Residences have been built by ‘starchitects’ such as Renzo Piano, Lord Foster and Tadao Ando. It’s a contemporary antidote to the rather ugly apricot-coloured tower blocks that sprung up in the Larvotto, Monte-Carlo and La Condamine districts in the 1970s and 80s. One residence that has gone very much up, rather than out, is the 49-storey Odeon Tower that was inaugurated in 2015; the first high-rise to be sanctioned since the 1980s and which stands out thanks to its reflective blue glass.

The new architectural direction for Monaco isn’t only about space, it’s about tone. Design is softer around the edges, less Baroque. Glass and greenery has replaced marble severity. It’s an attempt to make it feel calming, rather than ostentatious.

The same impulse is visible in its bars and restaurants. The food and nightlife scene is being reshaped to appeal to a younger, more international crowd; less baccarat and tuxedos, more DJs, rooftop terraces, beach bars and casual dining. The maximalist Amazónico has been imported from Mayfair, together with its Peruvian and Japanese food, and, hidden beneath the restaurant, you’ll find the jungle-themed Selva Monte-Carlo, with deep house and electronic music of the kind more normally found in Berlin and Ibiza (the Monaco clubbing scene has, until now, been as cheesy as it is pretentious).

Maona Monte-Carlo has transplanted Mykonos energy, where dancing on tables is encouraged. The Instagram-friendly Maison FonFon combines Riviera kitsch with yacht-club chic and a Saint-Tropez buzz. Stamping its hipster credentials for the first time, Monaco also has its own craft brewery — the Brasserie de Monaco — which pours €10 pints (half price during happy hour).

There’s strategy in all this. Monaco’s old money has largely ascended to the gates of St Peter to explain their assets. To remain relevant, Monaco must court the next wave: founders, financiers, creative types and digital nomads who can live anywhere and, therefore, choose carefully.

Here’s the pivot: Monaco is no longer selling haute luxury, it’s selling lifestyle infrastructure: safety, connectivity, climate and efficiency. It’s a place where you can swim before breakfast, run a hedge fund in the morning, play some padel with your friends after a fresh seafood lunch, board a plane in Nice at 6pm and be in London in time for dinner with a client. The tax benefits remain neon lit, but they are now part of a broader package rather than the sole attraction.

Of course, Monaco is only accessible to those with the funds. Residency requires a minimum €500,000 deposit in a Monegasque bank. Property costs €50,000 per square metre and there are restaurants that’ll charge you €150 for a starter — although the Tip Top pizzeria, established in 1938, will do you a decent margherita for €19 and McDonald’s charges the same as it does in Paris, with the bonus of a Mediterranean view.

The old stereotype — this static, glittering enclave filled with diamond-laden Chanel-suited grannies with huge sunglasses — is coming to an end. It left no room for growth, only repetition. The world has moved on and Monaco is catching up. It’s experimenting and recalibrating. You see it in small moments; the technology entrepreneur discussing funding rounds in rooms that were reserved for gossip. Children on scooters in their school uniforms, navigating streets that are normally the preserve of Lamborghinis. Restaurants without white tablecloths, serving craft beer and loud hip-hop.

Monaco remains a spectator sport. Nowhere else is wealth so conspicuous and so concentrated. The casino still encourages black tie (although it’s no longer mandatory), and the yachts get bigger and bigger. The mythology remains for those who want it. Yet the cast is changing, as is the stage set. The roulette wheel still spins, but it’s no longer the only game in town.

This feature originally appeared in the June 3, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

The true story of the foundation of Rapperswil, an exceptionally pretty medieval town on the northern shore of Lake Zurich, is long, complicated and, unless you’re a serious Swiss history buff, a bit of a fun-sponge. The made-up story is short, simple and charming.

Legend has it that at some point, in about the year 1229, a certain Rudolf, Count of Altendorf, was out hunting with his wife, Mechtild. His dogs chased a deer into a cave on a hillside, where two fawns were discovered, together with their terrified mother. Kindly Mechtild took pity on the creatures and persuaded Rudolf to spare them. Shortly afterwards, the doe reappeared and came to lay her head on Mechtild’s lap in gratitude. Rudolf took this as a sign from Heaven and resolved there and then to up sticks from nearby Altendorf and build a new castle on this blessed hill and a town — Rapperswil — on its slopes.

The castle and the town are still there. The deer are, too, or, in any case, a herd of a dozen or so that are conceivably very similar to the deer of legend, grazing happily within the castle grounds.

Rapperswil’s castle and deer park are a big draw, as are Circus Knie and Knies Kinderzoo, a petting zoo run by the same family. The local ice-hockey team, the Rapperswil-Jona Lakers, is routinely mocked by supporters of other teams because its home arena is next door to the Kinderzoo.

Rapperswil is also much admired for its picturesque lakeside promenade, like something from an earlier, gentler, hoopskirted, boater-hatted time, and its traditional, no-frills badi or public swimming enclosure — likewise a place of nostalgia, albeit with pizza and hot dogs.

Most of all, however, Rapperswil is famous for its roses. Between May and October, the stony surfaces of the Old Town are softened and enlivened by tens of thousands of blooms, concentrated in four main gardens. Each has its own particular history and character, but their collective effect is overwhelming.

Setting off from my conveniently located base at the Hotel Speer, part of the Sorell group and recently crisply renovated, I spent the best part of a day exploring the town and its gardens in the company of a local guide, Astrid Steiner-Brändli.

Two of the gardens are planted on land belonging to a Capuchin monastery. One of them used to be an orchard. The monks, Astrid reassured me, are compensated for the loss of their fruit-related income. Presumably, this is a modest sum, as the plot could scarcely have provided enough fruit to keep the brothers in jam through the winter.

Another of the gardens, the smallest and quirkiest, was planted by Lennart Bernadotte, himself a colourful figure, a grandson of Gustaf V of Sweden who was stripped of his princely and ducal titles for daring to marry a commoner against his family’s wishes.

The fourth is a garden for the blind, planted with fragrant varieties and with signs in braille — a place of transcendent wonder. Science tells us that our sensory system can identify five core tastes: sweet, salt, sour, bitter and umami, but taste only accounts for a small proportion of our overall experience of flavour, possibly as little as 5%. The rest comes from smell. We have about 9,000 taste buds, but between five million and 10 million receptors capable of detecting smell. Smell is the only one of our senses that bypasses the brain’s switchboard, the thalamus, connecting directly to the limbic regions, which deal with emotions, memory and arousal or stimulation.

It was in the garden for the blind that I recalled a visit to Inveraray Castle, in the west of Scotland, with my parents, several years ago. My mother was, at that time, in the grip of quite advanced Parkinson’s. There were days when she found speech so difficult she simply stopped talking. It was one of those days. She was silent as we wandered through the castle, among the endless suits of armour, tapestries, Meissen china and other Campbell keepsakes, but when we stepped out into the garden and began to walk among the avenues of shrubbery, she perked up immediately. ‘Hibiscus syriacus; Digitalis purpurea; Centaurea cyanus,’ she said. ‘Rosa banksiae ‘Lutea’ — ah, you are beautiful!’ She greeted every plant by name. Now and then, she would pause and breathe in the fragrance of a flower. This went on and on: the naming, the sniffing, until it became clear to me that she could have done it blindfolded, all day. I was the one left speechless.

Fluency of that kind can be acquired and added to — and sadly lost — at almost any point in a person’s life, although I suppose that, as with foreign languages, it is most readily picked up sooner rather than later, absorbed naturally and unconsciously in early childhood.

In her book First Bite, the food historian Bee Wilson describes a 2009 experiment in which electrodes were attached to the heads of a group of French men and women, half of whom were of Algerian descent, half of whom were not. They were then obliged to smell fresh mint leaves, with the electrodes measuring the intensity of their responses.

Those of Algerian descent showed a significantly higher level of neural activity than the rest of the group. Might this indicate the extent to which, for them, the taking of mint tea is not merely a casual or occasional pleasure, but a matter of profound, soul-deep significance? At any rate, the result seems not only to support the view that memory is the most important factor when accounting for our lifelong passions for certain smells and their associated flavours, but also, intriguingly, to raise the possibility that this is a process that begins before we are born.

Thus it was that I found myself in pieces in the garden for the blind in Rapperswil — one piece of me in the luminous, fragrant present, other pieces in the rose gardens of my childhood, another piece by my late mother’s side on a neatly raked gravel footpath in the grounds of Inveraray.

Whoever recommended stopping to smell the roses was onto something — and there can be few lovelier places to do so than Rapperswil.

The writer was a guest of Switzerland Tourism. He flew from Scotland to Switzerland with Edelweiss, which operates flights between Edinburgh and Zurich twice a week. He stayed at the Sorell Hotel Speer Rapperswill; rooms cost from £153 a night bed-and-breakfast. Click here for more information on Rapperswil.

This feature originally appeared in the May 20, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Some may question why the Six Senses global chain of five-star hotels and spas chose to open its inaugural British venture in this part of London, but it seems fitting that this restorative retreat is set within one of the capital’s most elegant landmarks.

With its majestic colonnaded Portland stone façade, distinctive rooftop cupolas and elaborate Edwardian shop-front glazing, not to mention its proximity to Hyde Park and Notting Hill, the Whiteley building was once a bustling emporium. At its height, Yorkshireman William Whiteley’s retail empire — which started life as a tiny drapery on Westbourne Grove in 1863: think Woman of Substance vibes — employed 6,000 staff, featured an in-store theatre, had a golf course on the roof and promised its genteel clientele the chance to purchase anything ‘from a pin to an elephant’.

The irony then, that this statuesque property that closed as a shopping centre in 2018 has been reinvented, as part of a £1.5 billion pound refurbishment by the architects Foster + Partners, as an achingly cool, health-conscious and quietly luxurious hotel was not lost on me. I also could not help but wonder what Whiteley (who was shot dead in 1907 by a man claiming to be his illegitimate son) would make of the way his pride and joy, known as ‘the Harrods of Bayswater’, looks now.

The 109-room Six Senses London opened on March 1, 2026. Once you’ve entered the serene, hushed and plant-filled lobby — dominated by a dramatic, black-iron and marble-stepped spiral staircase that ascends to the third floor — it’s clear that the space affords a peaceful refuge from the hurry and noise outside.

As soon as I walked in, I felt awash with a sense of calm and tranquillity. I was expecting a high level of attentive service, which was quickly confirmed by Egesa on reception, who warmly welcomed me with a spritz of a ginger spray, after I’d selected it from a deck of botanical tarot-style cards. However, I was not prepared for the way that the glazed rotunda (directly above the circular bar in the Six Senses Space, the brand’s discreet — and first ever — private members’ club) infuses the first floor with light and a steadying atmosphere of stillness.

Our junior suite was a triumph of clean lines, furnished with modern, Art Deco-inspired curved furniture, velvet sofas and a round table to eat at. The generous, twin-sinked bathroom, with a bath plus a shower within a wet room, was perfect for two girlfriends getting ready for an event. A separate loo was a bonus, too, although I never quite got to grips with its heated seat and integrated bidet.

The food, served at the Whiteley’s Kitchen — either in the colonial-style restaurant (white walls, ivy-green leather banquettes and rattan chairs) or outside on the olive-tree studded terrace in the sun-drenched central courtyard — offers a vegetable-first menu of enticing small plates, such as courgettes romana with fermented peppers, green chard rolls with mushroom XO and ricotta nettle agnolotti.

This philosophy of nourishing, sustainably-sourced nutrition was also in evidence at breakfast, where you can have what you want, fuelled by exquisite coffee from Brazil and Rwanda, and help yourself from a ‘wellness’ trolley, laden with gut-friendly kombucha, kimchi and sauerkraut, plus turmeric shots, made in the hotel’s ‘fermentation lab’.

Having been at a party the night before, we did not fancy wine with our lunch, but were pleasantly surprised when the Wine Director, Eugenio, recommended a delicious non-alcoholic alternative in the shape of a glass of Feral N°1 White beet Hop Szechuan Pepper, which was fresh, citrussy and spicy.

The standout factor of this establishment, however, has to be the spa and gym spanning nearly 24,000 square feet (reportedly the largest at a London hotel and the first to offer a magnesium bath, alongside a soon-to-be-opened 65 foot indoor lap pool) on the lower ground floor. Descending the steps to this subterranean idyll, it’s impossible not to gasp at the myriad suspended creamy-white handmade porcelain petals in Ula Saniawa of Unit 89’s sculpture above the shallow pool in the spa reception area.

I was able to exhale further when Nuryiye, one of the sage green linen-clad therapists, treated me to one of the very best massages I have ever had. Involving body rocking, vigorous dry brushing and a sound bath, the treatment — which was so blissful, I did not want it to end — concentrated on my calves, tummy and shoulders to promote lymphatic drainage. There is also a Biohack Recovery Lounge, supported by a HUM2N Longevity Clinic offering medical-grade diagnostics and screenings.

Finally, in what might be a nod to the property’s heritage and a desire to nurture health and welfare by combining the latest gym-equipment technology — such as compression boots and electro-muscle stimulation — with age-old remedies, the hotel’s wellness ethos includes an intriguing Alchemy Bar.

Designed to look like an old, wood-panelled apothecary, with countless drawers and jars containing all manner of herbs, spices and concoctions — as well as dried flowers hanging from the ceiling—this is where the hotel’s herbalists assess guests’ individual needs and come up with a tincture designed to address their personal circumstances through the healing power of plants. My bespoke recipe — delivered by Jade the next morning, after an hour-long interview the previous day — included oat straw, rose, skullcap, lemon balm, motherwort and hawthorn, to ease anxiety, mental fatigue and general overwhelm by diluting it with water and drinking twice a day. All of which ensured that I left with a lasting, and mood-enhancing, souvenir of my time at a genuinely fascinating and thoughtfully-run hotel.

Rooms at Six Senses London start from £800.

Summer has arrived on the French Mediterranean, where the magical light, emerald waters and idyllic landscapes have always attracted countless artists, and an increasing number of private art foundations. One recent addition to the scene is Villa Carmignac, on l'île de Porquerolles, which recently welcomed the season with an exhibition titled ‘Sea, Pop & Sun’, celebrating Pop Art from the 1960s to today.

A short ferry ride from the mainland, Porquerolles is a world away from the glitz of the Riviera. Seven kilometres wide by three kilometres long, it's a bubble of sun and serenity, though forts scattered around the island attest to historic invasions by everyone from pirates, to the British navy. In 1912, the Belgian entrepreneur François-Joseph Fournier, who made a fortune mining gold and silver in Mexico, bought the island as a wedding gift for his wife. He turned it into an agricultural community, building a church and school, planting fruit trees and vineyards.

The French State purchased most of the island from Fournier's descendants in 1971, and since 1985 it has had protected status as part of the Port-Cros National Park. A few hundred residents live full-time in the port village, and only 6,000 visitors a day are permitted on island in the high season. Most of the terrain is wild, home to an amazing diversity of flora and fauna. Car-free aside from service vehicles, it is a paradise for hikers and cyclists, with 54 kilometers of marked dirt-and-gravel trails. The air is scented with pine and eucalyptus, and punctuated by the sounds of birds, from the coo of mourning doves to the squawk of wild pheasants. (When the temperatures rise, these will be joined by the constant buzz of cicadas.) Rugged cliffs offer jaw-dropping views in all directions. Many people come just for the beaches, including one, Plage Notre Dame, named the most beautiful in Europe, its limpid waters sparkling like a jewel.

In the 1980s, the architect Henri Vidal transformed a Porquerolles farmhouse into a family villa with vineyards. The following decade, Edouard Carmignac, a French investment banker, attended Vidal's daughter's wedding and was smitten by the site. In 2013, he bought it as a place to share his impressive art collection.

‘People thought he was crazy,’ says Edouard's son Charles, who now runs the Carmignac Foundation. Since the Villa was in a national park, its exterior could not be touched. Transporting artworks across the water was sure to be a headache. The locals were afraid a museum would change the nature of their beloved island. Undeterred, Carmignac built an exhibition space underground, with large white rooms and natural light through a transparent, water-filled ceiling. He involved the locals from the start, granting them free entrance and invitations to exhibition openings.

The Villa Carmignac is not just a museum, it's an experience. Only 50 visitors are permitted every half-hour, to ensure intimacy with the artworks, and they walk the cool stone floors barefoot. Outside, contemporary sculptures are scattered throughout a 15-hectare garden with Italian stone pines, olive trees, shrubland, prairie and forest.

‘The interactions with art here are different than in a city,’ says Charles. ‘You don't come between two business meetings — you have to spend a day, take a boat, it's a whole thing. The fact that it's a voyage allows you to mentally prepare. Taking the boat cleanses your spirit in a way.’

Curated by Anna Karina Hofbauer and Dieter Buchhart, ‘Sea, Pop & Sun’ features more than 80 artworks from a number of different collections, including that of Edouard. The financier was highly influenced by his time in New York in the 1980s; he was a frequent visitor to Warhol's Factory and had his portrait painted by Jean-Michel Basquiat. Along with important pieces by Basquiat, Warhol and Haring, he owns the largest private collection of Roy Lichtenstein in France.

The exhibition's name references a song, Sea, Sex & Sun, by the ultimate French libertine, Serge Gainsbourg. Dieter Buchhart says the show's underlying theme is freedom in all its forms. ‘In Pop Art, this means individual freedom, but also self-experimentation. Whether in the US, the counterculture Summer of Love, or the European movement of 1968, it points to a fundamental shift in the concept of freedom.’ Though Pop Art was dominated by men, the curators took care to highlight female artists, such as Evelyne Axell and Marjorie Strider, whose racy works proclaimed their sexual independence.

Summer motifs run throughout the show: beaches and swimming pools, surfboards and sailboats, palm trees and kissing couples. The colours are vibrant, the vibe joyous — though if you scratch beneath the shiny surface, Pop Art can also be dark.

Songs from the era are piped in to match each room's contents. The Kinks' Waterloo Sunset accompanies four Warhol prints of the setting sun in different pastel shades. The Beatles' Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds accompanies a cluster of Niki de Saint Phalle's dancing Nana balloons, hanging from the ceiling. They exemplify the democratisation of consumer culture, and are also conveniently for sale in the museum shop.

The California Dreamin’ room evokes the allure of the American West. One painting, Lost in Hollywood, is a depiction of two lonely palm trees by the contemporary Danish artist Kasper Sonne, who created it as a comment on displacement after learning that palms are not native to California — just one more myth in the land of make-believe.

Dwayne Hanson's hyperrealistic surfer boy is freedom incarnate, shown in a room with Lichtenstein's reclining Mermaid and a 2020 painting by Derrick Adams of three black people relaxing in a swimming pool — a pointed reference to the history of segregation in America, where not everyone is afforded the same access to leisure.

French contemporary artist Théo Mercier created a sand sculpture in situ, a mutant assemblage of shells, sea creatures and industrial waste. It occupies the Villa's centre space, under the water ceiling, sunlight pouring through and shimmering against the artwork. This sculpture will last only as long as the exhibition, then the sand will be carted off to one of Porquerolles’ beaches.

The visit winds up in the garden, in the sun. A strong and very personal painting by the young British artist Marcus Cope contrasts the innocence of childhood with the shadowy menace of the adult world. Nearby, Tracey Emin's plaintive yellow neon sign reads ‘I Followed You To The Sun’.

A reflective bronze ball by Sherrie Levine, Beach Ball after Lichtenstein, sits on a pedestal surrounded by windows, literally drawing us in, says curator Anna Karina Hofbauer. ‘You, the visitor, become part of the work and part of the surroundings of the exhibition, then suddenly you see the reflection of nature outside’ — the myriad greens, the dazzling blue sky, the turquoise sea. If the experience of seeing art changes with the context, this one is difficult to beat.

‘Sea, Pop & Sun’ runs until November 1, 2026. Visit the Fondation Carmignac and official Provence Mediterranée tourist office websites for more information.

The last great challenge in aviation was to circumnavigate the globe non-stop in a hot air balloon. Rival teams comprised of the world’s top aeronauts and billionaire adventurers were in a race to enter the history books. In 1999, the Swiss explorer Bertrand Piccard and a British flying instructor, Brian Jones, teamed up to beat Richard Branson and company to the prize. Their Bristol-built craft, the Breitling Orbiter 3, was a capsule that looked like a mini-submarine, with portholes and dozens of propane tanks strapped to it. The silver balloon, towering 55 metres above, was the shape of a giant cocktail shaker. It is a story that’s been revisited, 27 years later, in a new documentary called The Balloonists. Bertrand and Brian would have to overcome extreme weather, a near-fatal technical failure and mental and physical exhaustion as they cruised at the same altitude as airliners for 20 days straight.

It’s a tale of derring-do that was imagined for centuries. In 1783, a soldier-aristo, Marquis François d’Arlandes and a physics teacher, Jean-Francois Pilatre de Rozier became the first human beings to fly. Their craft was an untethered hot air balloon, invented by brothers Joseph-Michel and Jacques-Etienne Montgolfier, and it floated over Paris for 25 minutes. The hot air balloon became a symbol of Romanticism, and was prominent in art and literature, such as the works of Jules Verne. In the 20th century, things moved fast. In 1903, Orville and Wilbur Wright took to the North Carolina sky in the first airplane, built from wood and cotton. Sixty-six years later, Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins rocketed to the moon and back. With the first successful airplane circumnavigation without refuelling having been achieved in 1984, piloted by Dick Rutan and Jeana Yeager, there was just the one major aviation record left to achieve: to fly non-stop around the world in a balloon, passing through each meridian and achieving a minimum distance of 22,859 miles carried only by the wind. No one knew if it was even possible.

Eleven-year-old Bertrand witnessed the launch of Apollo 11 on July 16, 1969, with his own eyes. That’s when he decided he would become an explorer. There was a family reputation to uphold. His father, Jacques, was a famous oceanographer and engineer, and a guest of honour in Cape Canaveral. In 1960, he rode a submarine 10,911 metres down to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the planet’s deepest abyss. Bertrand’s grandfather, the wild-haired, moustachioed and bespectacled Auguste, was the inspiration for the Tintin character Professor Calculus (or Professeur Tournesol, in the French editions). He was a physicist, inventor and balloonist who became the first to reach the stratosphere in 1931 in a capsule built by a beer-barrel cooper. The Star Trek character Jean-Luc Picard is another nod to the Piccard legacy. In total, six members of the Piccard family have been pioneering balloonists. ‘This is such a massive cliché in the filmmaking world, but this is like a Wes Anderson film that’s also a true story,’ says John Dower, The Balloonists’ director.

The hyper-focused Bertrand had already suffered a couple of failed attempts with Orbiters 1 and 2. ‘I learned that after a failure, you should not try again the same way,’ says Piccard. ‘This is probably where Breitling Orbiter 3 succeeded where many of my competitors failed, because they tried the same thing over and over with exactly the same results. I always failed for a different reason, until there were no more reasons to fail.’ Orbiter 3 was all-new; new technology, new strategy, new overflight permissions and new trajectories. But the weather is hard to predict.

‘Bertrand falls out with a lot of people,’ notes director John (Lockerbie, Sophie – A Murder in West Cork, Louis Theroux’s My Scientology Movie), ‘and I think we can all identify with that in the workplace.’ Somewhat irascible, he’d split with two co-pilots when, a week before his third and final attempt, he asked his trusted technician Brian Jones if he’d like to fly. Brian, a gentle, disciplined, unflappable former RAF pilot from Somerset, checked with his wife Joanna (Jo) and, with her blessing, jumped headfirst into the mission despite, according to Jo, not normally being a particularly adventurous sort.

She’d been an air stewardess. Their first date was a hot air balloon ride, followed by the pub. Brian got into ballooning in the mid-1980s, thrilled by the challenge and charmed by its joviality. ‘I was just mesmerised by it. There’s a mystery to it, because you never know where you’re going to end up,’ he says. ‘It’s one of the few things where people will still pull over their cars to wave at you, and trains toot when you pass over railway lines. There’s an old-fashioned romance. And, of course, most ballooners are eccentric oddballs.’

On March 1, 1999, Bertrand and Brian took off from the Swiss village of Château-d’Oex and began their eastbound voyage. For good luck, Bertrand had packed a copy of Guy de Maupassant’s A Life, inscribed by the author to Jules Verne, who had imagined such a flight in his 1863 novel Five Weeks in a Balloon. Verne loved A Life and kept it on his bedside table. Bertrand wrapped it in plastic to protect it in the event of an ocean ditch.

Brian was a little teary as he left Jo on the ground, and still is today when he reflects on that moment. Bertrand says it was more difficult for his family to say goodbye than it was for him. ‘When I look at my eyes in the film, I’m gone already. I’m already in the balloon. I’m not on the ground anymore.’ Jo took a crucial role in the control room during the flight, helping the crew to navigate their way around the world. She described it as going for three weeks without drawing breath. Another key supporting character is Belgian meteorologist Luc Trullemans, who did an extraordinary job of plotting the balloon’s route via the subtropical jet stream.

Following Luc’s altitude instructions, Bertrand and Brian managed to avoid restricted airspace over Yemen, which could have ended in a missile strike, and then thread a needle with a margin of just 30 miles 1,100 miles across China. On board was a 'unique, pressure-operated loo’ and a single bunk. The crew survived on freeze-dried rations, sleeping in shifts. There’s no autopilot in a balloon. ‘We had all sorts of issues with the systems, which was expected because it was completely untried and tested,’ says Brian, who tended to do the nighttime shifts. Night, particularly over the Pacific, was a scary time. There were thunderstorms around, and you couldn’t see the clouds. They were thousands of miles from land or any hope of rescue if they ditched. ‘The Parachute Regiment has a motto,’ says Brian. ‘Knowledge dispels fear. If you’re knowledgeable and well-prepared, you’ve got a pretty good chance of survival. But bad luck can strike. If you came down in the Himalayas or the Pacific, the chances of survival would be extremely remote.’

Their heating system failed. At high altitude, their drinking water froze solid, as did the windows. Stalactites were forming on the instrumentation and delicate electronic circuitry. The carbon-dioxide filters also froze, and this was very nearly deadly. The crew began to feel the effects of hypoxia: fatigue, dizziness and confusion. Brian awoke to find Bertrand slumped at his desk. He put oxygen masks on each of them, changed the filters, and they began to feel better. Doctors estimated they were two hours from death.

Traversing the Pacific was meant to take three days. It took seven, because the wind dragged them nearly 2,000 miles to the south. This ate into the fuel supply. ‘But then we saw this pink cirrus cloud, which often indicates the jet stream. It was exactly where Luc predicted it would be,’ says Brian. ‘The speed picked up and suddenly we were doing 100 miles-per-hour towards Mexico.’

With three-quarters of the fuel used up by the balloon’s six burners, the calculations said they wouldn’t make it across the Atlantic. A strong jet stream would be critical. It was a daunting risk, but Brian and Bertrand decided to go for it: Africa or bust. They jettisoned anything they didn’t need that was weighing them down. Using the last gasps of propane they soared to an altitude of 11,737 metres (38,507 feet) and caught a 142 mile-per-hour wind. The manoeuvre had worked: they crossed the Atlantic in a single day.

Twenty days and 25,361 miles after lifting off from the Swiss Alps, they’d circled Earth in their hot air balloon; a dream that had captured the imagination of adventurers, inventors and authors for centuries had finally come to pass. Having crossed an invisible finish line high above the Sahara, the pair came down in Egypt. Bertrand later told a press conference: ‘We took off as friends and we landed as brothers.’

In the film, Brian says the flight didn’t change his life. He was perfectly happy before, and today he and Jo raise alpacas in the Blackdown Hills. Bertrand says his life completely changed. In 2016, he completed the first round-the-world solar flight aboard the aircraft Solar Impulse. ‘I’m now working on Climate Impulse, which is a liquid green hydrogen airplane that I will attempt to fly around the world, hopefully in early 2030.’ This zero emission technology could become commercially viable. ‘None of this would have happened if I had failed with Breitling Orbiter 3.’

‘I really enjoyed the celebrity that came afterwards,’ says Brian. ‘It doesn’t last very long. My advice is to enjoy it while you can. For a while we did TV interviews and speeches, we had First Class air travel, limos, great hotels, it was just fun.’ He also picked up an OBE. ‘I met most of the Royals. The Queen was absolutely charming. Bill Clinton asked me for my autograph. We were at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Washington DC and he was there having dinner. He brought us over and said “Hillary’s going to be tickled pink when she knows I met you guys”. He was quite a character.’

The Orbiter 3 capsule now resides at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum. ‘It’s there with the Apollo 11 capsule and the Wright Brothers’ plane,’ says Bertrand, with great pride. ‘These things inspired me so much when I was a kid. I met Chuck Yeager, Charles Lindbergh, Armstrong, Aldrin, John Glenn, Alan Shepard, all these fantastic heroes of air and space. When I saw the capsule of my balloon next to their planes, rockets and spacecraft, my dream became real.’

The Balloonists is an unexpected buddy movie about two very different men who balance each other perfectly, a love story between Brian and his wife Jo, and the incredible tale of how a third-generation pioneering Piccard set out to do what Jules Verne could only imagine.

The Balloonists is in cinemas now.

Zurich is a still-waters-run-deep kind of place, full of paradoxes and surprises. Outwardly, the central police station is unremarkable. Inside, its walls and ceilings are covered in frescos by Augusto Giacometti, as rich and vibrant and velvety as a rose garden in full bloom. How much more mixed can civic messages get? The building itself plays both good cop and bad cop: you’re under arrest, but you have the right to remain exquisite.

A few hundred yards away, the Baur au Lac, loveliest of the city’s hotels (and a much nicer place to spend the night than the police station, despite the frescos), embodies one or two paradoxes and surprises of its own.

The ‘Baur’ in its name came from its proprietor, Johannes Baur, who built the hotel in 1844. The ‘au Lac’ described its location close to the shore of Lake Zurich and distinguished it from its sister property, the Baur en Ville, which had opened six years earlier, on Paradeplatz. So far, so unparadoxical and unsurprising.

Baur’s contemporaries thought he’d lost his mind. A hotel not merely on the lake, but also facing the lake, with snowcapped mountains in the distance? Verrückt! Sublime vistas of that kind simply weren’t a thing in those days. The Alpinism craze hadn’t taken off yet and conventional wisdom held that a Swiss city hotel either faced the city centre or imminent closure. Yet Baur was on to something. His guests quickly acquired a taste for the hotel’s unusual situation and orientation, as well as for its aura of leafy, marbled, Italianate lusciousness — a definition of the grand hotel as we’ve come to understand it.

More than 180 years later, the Baur au Lac is run by the same family — now the Krachts, after a Baur married a Kracht. Its ongoing appeal has to do entirely with the Krachts’ hands-on approach. They’ve tirelessly tweaked and compulsively adjusted to make sure the place remains fresh and relevant. Gigi Kracht (sixth generation) has done a huge amount to align the hotel with the city’s contemporary art scene — without dispensing with the Gobelin tapestries, Chinese vases or the perfect little oak-framed kiosk in the lobby.

Martin Brudnizki’s glow-up of Baur’s Bar & Brasserie was a smash hit — so much so that he was subsequently entrusted to repeat the miracle on the Michelin-starred Pavillon restaurant. Rechristened Marguita in honour of two members of the Kracht family (fifth and seventh generations), it’s surely the most joyful dining room in the city, with a carefree, tousle-haired, lemon-scented whiff of Positano about it.

The fact that the lake and the Alps are in one direction and the spires of the Fraumünster and Grossmünster in the other only adds to the thrilling sense of incongruity.

Rooms at Baur au Lac start from from CHF1050 (about £980) per night on a room-only basis. Visit the hotel website for more information and to book.

Before passport control, visitors at Auckland airport must pass another threshold: a carved wooden gateway, known in Māori as a tomokanga — a scene of warriors, serpents and spirits entwined. It’s a wonderfully dramatic contrast to the drab terminal, but this is how New Zealand introduces itself from the start.

It had long arrested my imagination. It is a country that, after a day’s travel, red-eyed and weary, already felt otherworldly, as if I’d stepped into the realm of the tomokanga.

I’d come to escape London and find solitude through New Zealand’s natural contrasts on a three-part, fortnight-long itinerary by road and air, courtesy of Turquoise: from the coastal cliffs of Kaikōura in the South Island, to the Cape Kidnappers wildlife sanctuary and finally across the mountain pass to Taupō and Rotorua, a Māori heartland and Mecca for anglers.

Above all, I wanted an adventure.

On the drive to Kaikōura, my first stop, New Zealand promised to live up to those romantic expectations. The landscape and weather transformed each hour, as I passed between ranch towns and idyllic vineyards; neither of which hinted at the snow-topped mountain range that stretched across the horizon and tumbled into Kaikōura’s coastline.

I finally arrived at the Hapuku Lodge in a spell of heavy rain, relieved by the main building’s warmth. Founded by Tony Wilson as a deer farm, the Wilson family then added a luxurious lodge for visitors. Today, Hapuku is famous for its five treehouse suites, which look out to both the mountains and ocean.

General manager Emile van der Linde was there to greet me. ‘Each treehouse is named after a bird,’ he explained — mine being the Kererū wood pigeon. Originally from South Africa, by way of London, Emile first visited Kaikōura for its famous surf and has since built a family. ‘It’s a paradise for outdoor-lovers: the mountains, the ocean, the stargazing... and, of course, the marine life,’ he said.

Once a thriving port for commercial whaling, Kaikōura’s biggest attraction today is whale watching; it is one of few coastlines where you can observe a humpback from tip to tail — and in proximity with dolphins and fur seals. ‘We’re fortunate. The whales come close to shore to feed in the waters of the continental shelf,’ he explained.

Fyffe House is all that remains of Kaikōura’s whaling industry, yet I was told on entering, that it was foremost on Māori land, maintained with the blessing of the indigenous community — an instance of the seemingly effortless negotiation in New Zealand between both cultures to own their histories.

Fyffe’s was a settler one, the home of an eponymous wealthy whaler Robert Fyffe (plus three other families), now a museum. A tour through its creaking rooms gives insight into the lives of 19th-century settlers, many of whom arrived from Britain. For them to have travelled to the other side of the world, their nefarious trade must have felt deeply rewarding.

My guide volunteered to drive me to Point Kean’s car park, a common starting point for excellent walks around the bay. Plodding along the coast, the clouds unfurled over the bay and the blue skies brightened the afternoon.

The air tasted sharper — salt, kelp, something metallic carried from deep water and the Hikurangi Trough. The mountains, now vivid, dropped into the Pacific where 100 or more seals were lounging mere feet away. Here, alone with the seals, the seabirds, the mountains and an unfamiliar ocean, the world took on the mythical grandeur of the island’s proximity to the Antarctic.

Finally, I felt far from home.

Days later, I boarded a quick flight to the North Island — a new, different realm — for a stay at Cape Kidnappers. It was my mission, on visiting the cape, to spy a kiwi: the rare, thorny-nosed mascot of New Zealand. There’s no better place than the Cape Sanctuary: New Zealand’s largest privately owned and funded island conservation project since 2006 — closed to the public and guarded around the clock by 200 volunteers.

Cape Kidnappers’ seclusion is what really appealed to me. The drive between the inconspicuous front gate and my hotel, the Rosewood Cape Kidnappers lodge, is 15 minutes and, by the time you pass the world-famous golf course and see the magnificent main building, the world has vanished. Kailash Rana, the affable operations manager, became my compadré over the duration of my stay, even driving me to see a rare colony of gannets up close. ‘I wasn’t interested in birds before working here, but now I’m obsessed with them,’ he said, as a kerurū swooped overhead and perched beside my bungalow.

At Rosewood Cape Kidnappers, there was little need to do anything except sit by the fire-place in the beautifully decorated bungalows with a glass of wine and a book.

Whenever I looked out from a window, the view was always heavenly: a panorama of the cape with rolling green hills, fluttering birds and chalk cliffs falling into the ocean.

There is a sofa that was once owned by Bruce Willis and Demi Moore in the main living room area. It is where I spent time writing my notes each evening. Some books in the sitting room told the stories of the first families to settle on the cape. Here, farmers became immensely wealthy and their descendants remain so, forming dynasties such as the Gordons who, in this part of New Zealand, carry an influence comparable to the British landed gentry. Yet a more recent American clan, the Robertsons, established both the lodge and the Cape Sanctuary.

Kailash had booked for me a half-day excursion there with Andy, my amicable, but serious guide, who greeted me in a Steve Irwin-like bush jacket and shorts. ‘Won’t be seeing a kiwi at this time, mate,’ he shrugged. ‘They only come out at night.’ I knew nothing about my prey, but Andy did. A seasoned trapper, he volunteered with the Robertsons after his retirement. ‘This is like a safari,’ I suggested, his Land Rover creeping up the cape’s lush hills, causing the curious sheep, of which there were thousands, to flee into the crags. ‘A day pass to Eden, more like,’ Andy quipped.

As we drove deeper, he pointed out mischievous kākāpō parrots, dinosaur-like tautara reptiles, brown teal pāteke ducks (one of the rarest), and penguin mothers nesting with their fuzzy newborns. He also introduced me to the pride of Cape Sanctuary: the blue takahē, brought back from near extinction.

After the tour, Andy offered tips for tracking the nocturnal kiwi (left): ‘The kiwi never comes out at a full moon. Drive slowly. Their eyesight is bad, but their hearing is exceptional.’

We passed a number of hairpin bends just outside of the sanctuary where he recommended I look. I circled the roads near the lodge, perhaps seeming a little mad to the staff, but Kailash's words resounded: ‘If you want to find a kiwi, there’s no better place than Cape Kidnappers.’ I continued until — four long loops around the lodge later — I gave up. Then, as I neared the gate, a bumbling ball of fuzz — a kiwi — zipped across my headlights and vanished into the bush.

The following morning, it was time to depart the cape. This meant returning to the highway to cross the tropical Kaimanawa mountain ranges for the Huka Lodge and the final leg of my trip. There were scarce stops for provisions so I asked Kailash to fill my water can for the road. It was a beaten-up thing, but served me well and I anticipated he’d run it under the tap. However, I found his reply wonderfully funny — and telling of the lodge’s hospitality. ‘Just one question, sir,’ he said, unfaltering in his efforts to accommodate my every need. ‘The water for your bottle. Still or sparkling?’

‘New Zealand. The Country For The Angler’ — so reads a large Art Deco poster framed in each bungalow at the Huka Lodge, the grande dame of New Zealand’s lodges. If Kaikōura was for marine life and Cape Kidnappers for birds, Huka is where you go for freshwater fishing.

It is also where presidents and Elizabeth II stayed in complete privacy, so when I got the go-ahead for a few nights, I couldn’t believe my luck. It proved to be the most accommodating bridge between here and my return home, which by now was approaching.

It was a place to rest and reflect on what I had already seen — perhaps because of the sacred Waikato River that runs along the property and out to Lake Taupō. Built by fly-fishermen in 1924, the lodge was recently refurbished. Now, there is a state-of-the-art gym and spa, too.

The lodge organised an afternoon fly-fishing session. My teacher was a roguish, charming Kenyan-Briton named Oliver Jones who was raised on safaris and whom I liked immediately.

As I tried my luck at rainbow-trout fishing, and between his patient, but pleasingly chappy tutelage (‘the water was pure gin last week!’), he shared stories from his adventures as an instructor in the Congo or in Russia before the Ukraine-Russia war. Depending on the season, Oliver travels the world for his fishing, bringing private clients up to mountains for weeks at a time. He described his profession as an artform and used a hunter’s intuition to track along the river. Oliver has even designed and patented fishing flies.

With him scouting overhead, I cast the reel where he instructed, repeated and slowly got the gist of it. Before long, I had a series of wrestles with the trout. After an hour, I caught my very own — a brutish looking male with a protruding gurn. ‘Congratulations,’ exclaimed my companion. He handed it to me to hold and pose for a photo. That night, courtesy of the Huka’s kitchen, my trout was served pan-seared in butter. On ensuing mornings, I would bring a cup of tea to the bank, cast and watch the river’s colours change.

Time moves quickly along the Waikato — my trip had ended as quickly as it had begun, but, in my pursuit for an adventure in less than two weeks, New Zealand was generous. I had experienced great lodges, hospitable warrens of nature and rest. I had traversed mountains and coastal roads, through sleet and sunshine, meeting friendly people along the way.

However, it was time to cross the threshold again, to leave the realm of the tomokanga. This feeling was heightened when, boarding my flight home from Auckland, a clever person at United Airlines decided to put on a hit song by New Zealand’s greatest-ever band Crowded House. ‘Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over,’ the chorus floated over the hum of the engines. Yet, I knew I would return.

Turquoise Holidays offer similar experiences from £7,995 per person, based on two sharing (every journey is flexible and tailormade).

The price includes two nights in an Upper Branch Tree House at Hapuku Lodge, two nights in a Hilltop Junior Suite at Rosewood Cape Kidnappers and three nights in a Lodge Suite at Huka Lodge on a half-board basis, car hire, international economy flights from the UK to Auckland return (with United Airlines via San Francisco) and domestic economy flights with Air New Zealand.

This feature originally appeared in the April 15 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

A few years ago, I found myself in a meeting with a private-jet company days before the Monaco Grand Prix. ‘You must be operating at capacity,’ I said. ‘In fact, I bet you’re already taking bookings for next year.’

Wrong.

Ultra-high-net-worths tend to book trips on a whim, sometimes hours ahead of when they want to set off, depending on what side of the bed they got out of that morning.

However, perhaps the rest of us are onto something. According to new research by Original Travel and Paul Dolan, professor of Behavioural Science at the London School of Economics and Political Science, and one of the world’s leading experts on wellbeing, science supports their long-held concept that simply looking forward to a holiday can be a significant contributor to wellbeing.

The best time to book for maximum emotional benefits? Roughly four months before.

The study conducted demonstrates that people who have a holiday planned report higher levels of happiness than those who do not. 'The happiness hit of a holiday is not just from the time spent away, but also comes from looking forward to going away,' says Paul. 'These anticipatory benefits require a degree of psychological proximity, so that the trip feels near enough to savour.'

To fend off the eager beavers who book a hotel room a year or more in advance, you will need to build a relationship with the hoteliers you like (the ones par excellence, such as Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc, offer repeat guests booking priority) or travel with a trusted tour operator who will do the schmoozing for you.

This feature originally appeared in the May 13, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe

‘Corsica came into view with the dawn. Almost colourless, its outlines uncertain, it swam in the early morning mist… the mountains surged into the sky… their lower slopes, smothered in vegetation, looked uninhabited and impenetrable.’

So Dorothy Carrington described her arrival to Corsica by boat in 1948 in Granite Island (1971). Soaring in from above, my views of the mountains, so many years later, were just the same, but, once I had landed, I claimed for myself the sight of the golden sun setting behind the famous lion of Roccapina, silhouetting its pink granite shape as we wound our way to Domaine de Murtoli.

Arriving at dusk, I stepped into an air heavy with the scent of maquis — myrtle, rosemary, lavender and thyme — welcoming wood-smoke and sea salt.

People often say that Corsica is a French Island that basks in the Italian sun, but in this corner in the island's south-west, on an estate of more than 6,000 acres, Corsica is defiantly itself.

The hotel’s story starts in 1993, when Paul Canarelli inherited a parcel of land, neatly sandwiched between sea and mountain. He decided, as a sort of homage to his grandfather and to the land, to restore one of the 17th-century shepherd houses — a number of which dot the fields, some overlooking the sea, some in the olive-tree groves.

The dry-stone walls were duly crowned with ancient terracotta tiles, heavy shutters, carved from chestnut wood, were installed and an oak floor laid. Stone sinks were brought in and the walls were washed in lime.

Today, there are 20 such houses, all immaculately restored to their original footprints. Their windows frame views of a shimmering sea, Aubrac cows, sheep and, even, opportunistic wild boar, rootling for acorns, figs and chestnuts. Often, the only sound to interrupt the delicious silence is birdsong.

Twenty-first-century luxuries, including private pools, often set between rocks, have also been installed. There is a central farmhouse with a clutch of suites for those who might find the cottages too isolating, plus a bar and a restaurant. In the winter, a soaring fireplace keeps diners warm; in the summer, it’s possible to eat outside on the lavender-filled terrace.

The farm-to-table concept triumphs here; think Murtoli’s own sheep's cheese and honey, chestnuts and beef, wine and olive oil. Fruits and vegetables come from the large, organic garden.

New this year is A Mandria di Murtoli, a Tuscan hamlet-style offering, next door. There are rooms in the main house, surrounded by lemon trees, and suites inside the sheepfolds. The communal swimming pool is the perfect spot from which to watch the sun slip behind the surrounding hills, surrounded by fairy light-strewn olive trees and the smell of tagliolini al limone. It's one of the moments that might just make you believe in magic.

Rooms at Domaine de Murtoli start from €290 at the Hôtel de la Ferme and from €330 in a Shepherd House.

Rooms at A Mandria di Murtoli start from €280 in a double room in the main building and from €270 in a Shepherd House.

Visit the website for more information and to book.

Bloomsbury is lovely this time of year, isn’t it? The sun seeps through the trees that line the avenues around the British Museum, bright young things flock to Lamb’s Conduit Street for wine and tailoring and locals and tourists mingle, for the most part in peace, as the days draw longer and longer. It will be summer soon.

The neighbourhood also has the rare distinction of catering to both the traveller and the resident. The local hotels, historically geared to the former, are beginning to play a similar double act. There has long been an unspoken divide between the southern end of Bloomsbury — bordering Holborn — and its northern end, bordering King’s Cross: younger, trendier and somewhere people actually live. The Zetter Townhouse, a new property that sits in Bloomsbury's southern hemisphere, may finally be changing that.

As is the mark of any fine boutique hotel, you could easily walk past the Zetter without realising it is there. I know this because I did so, twice, while searching for signage after an event with the Red Squirrel Survival Trust. I was due to have dinner there with James Thurstan Waterworth, the superstar designer whose past clients include Soho House and the Duchy of Somerset, and who led the Zetter’s four-year renovation project. He is also the man behind Thurstan, a design studio in Clerkenwell (the title is a nod to his middle name).

I find James in the dining room dotted around by lamps, busts and vases (from Africa, Oceania, et al) as well as more quixotic pieces like a miniature ukulele. There is a painting that sits somewhere between a green and a blue, on whose chromatic identity no one can quite agree. The designer holds court over dinner surrounded by an enamoured press (besides being talented, James is compellingly good-looking). And so to the new Zetter, of which much the same can be said, and where a thousand antiques are strewn across all bedrooms and common areas. The building, I am told, was designed to evoke the home of a well-travelled friend. Everywhere are reminders of trips to far-flung corners of the Earth: trinkets and artefacts are carefully arranged so as to feel in dialogue with each other, rather than obliquely juxtaposed.

Every piece has been acquired in much the same way as one might buy a holiday souvenir, James explains, serving as a memento more than an actual symbol of anything. It is a decor that merely hints at erudition without ever falling for the didactic; where stylistic choices are guided not by meaning, but — in a manner reminiscent of Bloomsbury’s status as a fin-de-siècle icon — by beauty. With this new property, the Zetter Group continues to cement its hold over central London: the Bloomsbury townhouse is their third opening in the last 20-odd years, joining properties in Clerkenwell and Marylebone.

The building is made up not of one but six Georgian properties, vestiges of a golden age that have been knocked together to create a quiet grande dame. There are 68 rooms in total, although the hotel feels nowhere near as big — a good thing. The lighting, sly and seductive, contributes to an overall feeling of cosiness. The location, at the back of the British Museum, elucidates some of the more out-there design choices. What has been derided, in recent years, as a largely looted national collection — many of the museum’s notable items, such as the Elgin Marbles, are cobbled from Ancient sites — works rather well here, the moodiness of the setting conferring upon the artwork a more intimate, perhaps devotional feel.

The Zetter’s strength, as a hospitality brand, is evidenced in the time it takes to build its portfolio. It waits for the right set of properties to come up for restoration and ensures that all artistic choices are considered and unhurried. Bringing in Soho House’s former European design director for this particular project has paid off. Speaking to Country Life in 2025, James cited Axel Vervoordt and Robert Kime as his aesthetic heroes: men whose seamless blending of the old and new have left an indelible imprint on the young designer and whose relationship to antique collecting showed no temporal or geographical boundaries. (Still the case for Axel.)

In the same interview, James expressed a love for the artist Roger Hilton. ‘It’s very basic,’ the designer said — an accusation sometimes leveled against Soho House by its detractors — yet his decisions suggest, at every turn, that he is marching to the beat of his own drum. The artefacts at Zetter, while varied, are singular — the pick-and-mix of a trained eye who refuses to subscribe to common denominators. Everything about the Zetter, moreover, feels uninvasive, as though this really is one's pied-à-terre while there. Guests move about the place freely, with glass doors leading seamlessly from the orangery into the garden. The wait staff is discrete, and the bar staff efficient.

Dinner runs like clockwork. Our pudding, a chocolate and salted caramel torte served with hazelnut, amoretti and vanilla ice cream, is an ideal palette cleanser after our exceptional medley of chicken, artichoke and morel. It is time to retreat upstairs. The strength of a hotel, naturally, must be judged first and foremost on its rooms. Are these enough of a blank canvas that one can leave their mark simply by hanging their clothes in the wardrobe or leaving their toiletries in the bathroom? Yet not so impersonal as to feel alienating when one’s usual creature comforts are nowhere to be found?

It’s a fine balance — one the Zetter strikes with ease. Each room is entirely unique: some boast mustard-coloured walls, others four-poster beds, and in the odd case, a freestanding bath. Sash windows are painted cream and gaze out onto the street or onto the courtyard, depending on which side of the corridor one enters the room from. If booking, ask for one with a courtyard view. They gaze out onto the British Museum and on the west-facing light at sunset.

A mounted fabric of blue indigo, produced by the Mossi Tribe of Burkina Faso, hangs above my desk (the Zetter knows its clientele can be the busy kind), lending a touch of drama to an otherwise warm bedroom. Mattresses, meanwhile, are from Royal Warrant-holder Hypnos, so comfortable one falls asleep in under ten minutes. The bathroom is modern and practical: a shower head disappears into the ceiling just as overhead lighting would ordinarily, although you’ll find none of the latter here. The handle of the smaller shower spray is appended somewhat annoyingly close to the body; a slender man myself, I kept bashing into it.

There is an obvious reputational risk for any hotel set within walking distance of King’s Cross: how to avoid being seen as somewhere visitors merely pass through, even if they do pay their dues? The Zetter has risen to the challenge in much the same way as The Goring, one of London’s grande dame hotels a stone’s throw from Victoria Station. That is, as Voltaire decreed, by cultivating one’s jardin. The Zetter's garden holds both a terrace and an enviably mowed lawn (crucial, as the summer months creep in), which themselves serve as extensions of the orangery: a paean to the early 20th-century explorer-collector and, no doubt, the room in which James’s vision comes alive the most.

Hand-stitched cushions, red whicker armchairs and a rich assembly of plants envelop the dining tables, as the sun beats down from an ample roof light. The blinds recall those you might find on safari and the whole thing smells faintly of cedar. ‘I collect 20th century British abstract art — 1950s-70s — very much the British-St Ives ilk,’ James once told Country Life. The Zetter fizzes with the same kind of mid-century energy that London's new hotels tend to lack. I'll certainly be coming back.

Rooms at The Zetter Bloomsbury start from £400 a night, without breakfast. Visit the hotel's website for more information and to book.

Gleneagles, Scotland’s most famous bastion of hospitality, never rests on its laurels. In the last 10 years, in particular, much has been done to keep loyal guests returning and new guests suitably wowed by all that is on offer in what the hotel calls its ‘playground’.

This is a place for doing stuff, for getting stuck into the great outdoors (and indoors, for that matter) and for embracing a raft of activities so vast that the idea of a dull moment is simply out of the question.

And, each year, to keep momentum up, to keep the hotel evolving, another little tempting activity is added to the roster.

This year’s little tempter is Frandy Water, to which I was given a ‘first-in’ introduction just days before it’s official opening (May 1). Technically designated a reservoir, Frandy Water in appearance is mercifully more Scottish loch than man-made water storage facility, cradled as it is within the picturesque embrace of the heathery, sheep-strewn Ochil hills, a mere 10-minute drive from the hotel’s front door.

Back in 1824, when Gleneagles was founded, even indeed as recently as the turn of the 21^st century, the idea of cold-water swimming, waterside saunas and a slap-down with a handful of birch twigs was really only a pastime indulged in by gung-ho Scandinavians.

How times have changed.

These days, as standalone saunas pop up beside beaches, in private gardens and hotel spas, it seems we can’t get enough of extreme hot and cold therapy — good for the body, good for the mind, or so we are told. Bring it on, I say, I’m a true believer.

Frandy Water, however, is about more than saunas and wild swimming; there is also fly fishing (the loch is well-stocked with rainbow trout, plus a few wild brownies), kayaking and canoeing, with experts on hand for all. Conor O’Leary, managing director of Gleneagles, is first to point out that among all the activities the hotel offers, there was a shortage of al fresco ‘water’ experiences. This box has now been ticked and, I should add, in some style.

A Gleneagles Land Rover delivers me to The Bothy, the centre of Frandy Water operations, designed along the lines of a traditional wooden fishing hut but exquisitely pimped with creature comforts: sofas, blankets, books to read, an abundance of dry wellies and a wood-burning stove. No chill fingers, wet feet or damp sandwiches here.

Outside, a large wooden deck extends towards the loch — part viewing platform, part entertaining space, part sundeck for a picnic lunch on a fine day. And fine it is, the cool, April air warmed by a whisper of summer and only the slightest breeze to ruffle the water and distort the mirror image of golden hills and shifting clouds. When Scotland does days like this a little bit of magic takes hold.

Down by the water’s edge, a spiral of wood smoke curling from the chimney, is the sauna — more hobbit house than square box, blondly luminescent, curvaceous, shingle-tiled, strangely and surprisingly beautiful, and moulded into the landscape as if nothing out of the ordinary.

A regular sweat‘n’dip sauna routine feels far too mundane for a building such as this and Gleneagles, as we know, never does mundane. So a sauna therapist accompanies me in, to beat the air and circulate the heat, to dowse me with sprinklings of cold, pine-scented water, and to slap me down, top to toe, with a fragrant, leafy birch whisk. I am grateful for the leaves — and for the fact that the Finns have being doing this for centuries. The smell is good, the sensation is good and that’s good enough for me.

All the while, Frandy Water glistens beyond the sauna’s small, arched window. I dither a bit outside, too long perhaps as the body begins to cool, but I take the plunge — inelegant, breathless, intoxicated. Gleneagled, to coin a phrase.

Frandy Water experiences start from £220 for a 90-minute session for two people, plus £80 for each additional person.

Stays at Gleneagles start from £595 per night on a bed and breakfast basis. Retreats priced separately.

Visit the Gleneagles website for more information and to book.

Is there anywhere more beautiful than a library? The smell of musty books, rows upon rows of stories, lovesick heroes or heroines, great works of fiction, non-fiction, art, culture, philosophy and science — all beg you to choose them; to let theirs be the pages you reveal, pore over and learn from.

We can’t think of anywhere better. That is why, this year, Country Life has commissioned the architect George Saumarez Smith to design our Chelsea Flower Show stand as a shrine to books. It will be named ‘Garden Lover’s Library’. A safe haven in which readers seeking a quiet place can escape the hustle and bustle for a moment among vintage books.

Although all libraries are beautiful in themselves, filled with books as they are, that only tells half the story. As important as those books may be, libraries can also be great works of architecture; vast monuments to our collective creativity, art enshrined in art, accessible to all. So, without further ado, here is our list of the world’s most beautiful public libraries to tide you over until you can come and visit Country Life’s very own at this year’s Chelsea Flower Show.

Gladstone’s Library, Wales

Politicians don't leave many great things behind after their tenure these days, but perhaps William Gladstone was an exception. The UK's only Prime Ministerial library was built following a bequest from Gladstone and the Grade-I listed building houses thousands of books, including many items from the four-time Prime Minister’s own personal collection. The current building was designed by John Douglas in 1902, and it is a Jacobethan delight with sundrenched wooden interiors full of old dusty volumes. It’s a bookworm’s paradise, and one where the fun doesn’t stop at 5pm. At this library, you can stay the night. Gladstone’s is the UK’s only residential library and has 26 reasonably priced bedrooms. It has me daydreaming about a bookish getaway. LB

Duchess Anna Amalia Library, Germany

The Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, as it is called in German, is located in Weimar. Built at the behest of Duchess Anna Amalia of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach to preserve and present the collections of Duke Wilhelm Ernst, one of its famed patrons is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who worked there from 1797 to 1832. The building was converted into a library in 1761 and became a designated UNESCO World Heritage site in 1998. The oval hall is divided by open-backed bookcases and walls of clean, white woodwork. Garnished with gold, there is an elegance and femininity to the Rococo decor. Small portraits and white busts line the two-storey room, directing the eyes to the end of the hall where a shock of teal blue and a portrait of the Grand Duke Carl August, the son of the Duchess, hangs with prominence. The library has among its collection an important Shakespearean collection of approximately 10,000 volumes, many of which belonged to Christoph Martin Wieland who was hired by the Duchess to tutor her son. The Duchess’s 13,000-volume music collection is available to view, as well as a 16th-century Bible connected to Martin Luther. AEW

Espace Gabrielle Chanel, China

You may not immediately hear Chanel and think: ‘library’, but the world-recognised fashion brand has recently opened one in the Power Station of Art in Shanghai. It’s the first of Mainland China’s libraries run by the government that celebrates contemporary art. Designed by the Japanese architect Kazunari Sakamoto, the library also contains the Archive of Chinese Contemporary Art. The space itself is light, modern and large — at 1,700sq m. It used to be the Nanshi Power Plant; built in 1897, the plant provided energy, including for some of China’s first electrical lights. A wonderful repurposing of a historic building by a historic brand. LB

The British Library, England

It was impossible not to include a library close to home on this list. This beloved treasure of our capital contains everything from Magna Carta to handwritten lyrics by The Beatles. Not to brag, but it’s also one of the largest libraries in the world and, as a legal deposit library, receives a copy of all books produced in the United Kingdom and Ireland. Created in 1973, the library moved to its current Grade-I listed building in St Pancras in 1997. This was designed by the architect Colin St John Wilson and his wife MJ Long and was the largest public building constructed in the United Kingdom in the 20th century. There is always a fight for a table in its various cafes — such remains its popularity among tourists and locals alike. LB

Abbey Library of St Gall, Switzerland

Founded by St Othmar, the first real abbot of the convent of St Gall, the present library in Switzerland was designed by the architect Peter Thumb. The original abbey library was built in the 7th century, but the present library room was constructed between 1758 and 1767. A glory of honey brown shelves and leather bound spines is hooded by a ceiling of elaborate stucco, which twists to divide and embellish biblical frescoes. Playful putti sit atop the shelves and glass cases, offering a visual clue as to the contents below: the case of astronomy-related materials bears a cherub observing the books through a telescope. The Greek inscription above the entrance door, ΨΥΧΗΣ ΙΑΤΡΕΙΟΝ, translates as ‘healing place for the soul’.

The library collection is the oldest in Switzerland, holding around 160,000 volumes, with most available for public use. Notable works include the St. Gall Cantatorium, believed to be the earliest known complete music manuscript in the world; a 4th-century Vergilius Sangallensis; an 8th-century bill of sale for the abbey property; a Gospel of John from about 800AD; biographies of saints from as early as the 8th century; and works providing insight into the daily lives of the abbey monks from the 9th century through the Middle Ages. AEW

New York Public Library, USA

This Manhattan building by Stephen A. Schwarzman is a haven for many New Yorkers. The second largest public library in the USA, and one of the largest in the world, was developed in the 19th century. It’s worth visiting for the The Rose Reading Room alone, which displays a myriad of crystal chandeliers. The lion statues that stand guard at its entrance are made from Tennessee marble and named Patience and Fortitude — something that seems to be in short supply as of late. Long may they protect this magnificent collection of books. LB

Library of St Mark, Italy

Named after St Mark, the patron saint of Venice, this regal library holds one of the world’s most significant collections of classical texts. Founded in 1468, it is the work of the Italian Renaissance sculptor and architect Jacopo Sansovino. ‘It is perhaps the richest and most ornate building that there has been since ancient times up until now,’ said Andrea Palladio — an argument that still stands today.

Library of the Academy of Fine Arts, Austria

Vienna has many great things: Schnitzel, strudel, that song by Billy Joel — and the library at the Academy of Fine Arts. The dark wood decor and classic gold reading lamps with green lampshades transport visitors to a time before iPhones, where books were king. Its library houses around 110,000 volumes and an ‘etching cabinet’, containing around 150,000 drawings and prints. LB

The Mitchell Library, Scotland

I couldn’t finish my list without a Scottish entry. The Mitchell Library in Glasgow is well worthy of inclusion. Tobacco producer Stephen Mitchell is to thank for the grand building and philanthropist and Glaswegian William Euing is to thank for much of the original collection of early books. You can’t miss the distinctive copper dome upon which stands Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom. Always a good omen when there is studying to be done. LB

The Country Life ‘Garden Lover’s Library’, designed by George Saumarez Smith of Adam Architecture, is at stand PW215 at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show, May 18–23.

To celebrate, you can buy a year-long subscription for £150 and save more than 40% on the cover price. International offers also available. Until May 31.

The first 200 subscribers at Chelsea will receive a bottle of The Grange Classic Sparkling NV, worth £39. Rated 94 points by Decanter magazine, this premium sparkling wine from Hampshire was described in Country Life as ‘the connoisseur’s choice’. Offer available with subscriptions for UK delivery only.

It was here, in Positano, that Hercules lost his heart to a nymph called Amalfi and where the very concept of la dolce vita was born.

Set amid the vast cloud-capped mountains and terraces studded with colourful houses, rests another legend, too: Le Sirenuse.

The former home of the Sersale family, over the past seven decades it has evolved to become one of the hotel world’s greatest addresses. Its latest venture is one of its most ambitious: Le Sirenuse Mare, a beach club set in the nearby, sleepy fishing village of Nerano.

Quiet and far from the maddening crowds, the beach club’s home remains something of an insider secret. The building of it spanned five years. ‘Le Mare is an extension of the Le Sirenuse world,’ says co-owner Aldo Sersale. ‘Like our hotel, [it] has its own rhythm and character and represents a warm, genuine and authentic side to the Italian coast.’

The family called on Architetti Artigiani Anonimi to bring their vision to life and the reality is a bold and colourful space accented by the vernacular traditions of the Amalfi Coast: handmade terracotta and ceramic floor tiles, chestnut-wood pergolas and undulating cannucciato sunshades.

The garden, landscaped by Paolo Pejrone, is filled with eucalyptus, umbrella pine and lemon trees. As in the hotel, art is a prominent feature, with installations scattered across the space by artists such as Giuseppe Ducrot, Alba Clemente and Lucio Liguori — and the bar is named after British artist Rose Wylie.

The restaurant is open for lunch, every day, with executive chef Gennaro Russo and Calabrian chef Francesco De Simone at the helm. ‘Sheer natural goodness’ and ‘vibrant flavours’ are the heart of everything they make. Think spaghetti alla Nerano and all the fruits of the sea, plus a pudding bar dedicated to the gods of gelati, granita and classic Italian treats.

However, Le Sirenuse Mare’s sweetest element is its outlook. This, as Aldo says, is not a party destination. ‘[It is] a relaxed, elegant and supremely laidback’ — and on a coast that, over the years, has become overwhelmingly frenetic, is desperately needed.

This feature originally appeared in the April 29, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Hero hotel

Bull Burford

Although this Grade II*-listed building dates back to 1475 and has been an inn since the 16th century, this is a hotel that now dresses in a far more contemporary style.

You might notice it first with the name: no superfluous ‘the’ or ‘in’; this is the clean, concise Bull Burford, or perhaps the branding. If you opt to take the train (into nearby Charlbury or Kingham), you can arrange to be picked up in an all-black Defender with ‘BULL’ emblazoned on its side in a chunky sans serif typeface, which you’ll see again. You definitely notice it upon arrival, when your eyes dart between the curvaceous black check-in desk and the Jean-Michel Basquiat painting, Charles the First, that are juxtaposed with gnarled wooden beams and weathered chunks of original wall.

This old-meets-new Bull, which opened in 2023, is the brainchild of longtime Burford resident Matthew Freud, the famed PR executive well versed in putting a winning spin on things. It’s his personal art collection that enlivens the public spaces and 18 bedrooms — a collection he describes in the in-room guides as ‘eclectic and incoherent’, taking in everything from Alberto Korda’s iconic Che Guevara portrait (hung above the fire in the lounge bar) to Matisse’s Blue Nude (hung in Zen, the treatment room I can highly recommend). My room, the lofty wabi-sabi-chic Venetian, has its pastel-pink lime-plaster walls lined with an array of 15th-century portraits of Roman emperors who would have surely approved of the super king-size bed, feather-soft robes and all-natural Wildsmith bath products.

There’s little chance of you going hungry or thirsty. Graze is the street-side coffee, juice and infusions bar where breakfast is served. Horn is the inviting modern Mediterranean restaurant, Slice the outdoor pizza terrace and Vincent’s bar the building’s central hub. If you can find it, there’s also a wine-cellar snug that currently houses Idris Elba’s own personal poker table, but is soon to get a more speakeasy-style makeover.

One of Bull’s greatest lures, however, and what helped it land a Michelin Key in the autumn, is Wild. Not really a restaurant in its own right, but a 10-person, 11-course dine-by-fire experience with amiable chef Ben Chamberlain in its own seasonally adaptable tent. It’s communal, convivial and clever in its menu (charred beets, seared trout, scurvy grass, Turkish bazlama flatbreads and monkfish all feature alongside locally sourced meats) and stands as something of an analogue for the hotel itself: not necessarily reinventing the wheel, but adding a confident dash of personality for those who’ve had their fill of Cotswold classicism.

Rooms at Bull Burford start from £275 per night. Visit their website for more information and to book.

Need to know

Burford itself is undeniably pretty. A well-to-do honeyed-stone high street tapers down a steep hill to a narrow bridge over the River Windrush, crocuses peek out from grassy verges and quaint lanes spill off this way and that.

Bull sits almost perfectly in the middle of it all. There’s enough to this vibrant market town to easily while away a weekend, including great antiques and homewares stores, a string of small art galleries and plenty of pubs to provide refreshment.

The 15th-century church of St John the Baptist still stands impressively in the village’s north-east and is supposedly what prompted William Morris to found the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings after popping in after lunch in 1876 and taking umbrage with the tiled floor being added as part of its restoration.

The town’s picturesque old priory — home to Matthew and his partner, Sheherazade Goldsmith — sporadically opens up its sweeping grounds to show off its spring and summer blooms to raise money for local charities. The Freud fiefdom also extends to the nearby rectory, now a nine-bedroom, exclusive-use country crashpad available on Airbnb, ideal for group getaways.

Beyond the town borders, nearby Charlbury boasts its own bull, The Bull Charlbury, from London’s heralded Public House Group, which, confusingly, sits opposite Daylesford’s The Bell. All of the Cotswolds’ greatest hits — Bourton-on-the-Water, Stow-on-the-Wold, Chipping Norton etc—are within easy driving distance, with Cheltenham 40 minutes to the west and Oxford 40 minutes to the east.

Where to eat

• Only about 165 feet down the street, you’ll find Bull’s sister hotel, Highway, a similarly styled pared-back old inn with its own tapas restaurant, Toro, serving sunny Spanish small plates at lunch and dinner.
• The bijou Bakery on the Hill is great for a coffee, a pastry, or some classic farm-fresh breakfasts. For something with a little more ceremony, Hugo Lovage Patisserie offers a full afternoon tea, as well as plenty of sweet treats to take away
• Pub-wise, you’re well catered for. The locals are quick to recommend the ‘proper’ shortcrust pies served at the Royal Oak. Its neighbour the Angel offers elevated British fare in a cosy setting. If you fancy stretching your legs first, the Fox at Barrington is just over an hour’s scenic walk away

What to do while you’re there

• Walks The ‘Walkabull’ map left in every room charts some well-planned walking routes of varying length and difficulty, from a pub-lined tour to Taynton to a peaceful valley-view stroll via Westwell and Holwell
• Shop It’s not often the local garden centre gains must-visit status, but Burford’s 15-acre horticultural hub is one the UK’s best, stocking everything from rare trees to Sunspel tees. Its palm-lined café is a great lunch spot

This feature originally appeared in the April 22, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

For too long, Milan has not been the destination of choice for travellers to Italy, overlooked in favour of the more obviously beautiful cities of Venice, Florence and Rome.

Until now.

Thanks to a flurry of cool new openings, plus the Milano-Cortina Winter Olympics, which enjoyed record-breaking digital engagement, and viral fashion and design weeks, Milan is firmly on the map. In fact, those in the know will confirm that Milan is the most exciting city in Europe right now.

It is a city that gradually reveals its beauty. You might catch a glimpse of a secret garden behind the heavy wooden doors of a residential building as they swing open, or stumble upon a restaurant’s spectacular tree-lined terrace that you’d never know was there until you set foot inside. But once you start to look for it, you’ll soon find that Milan is the epitome of understated elegance — much like its residents.

Situated in the northern region of Lombardy, Milan is within easy reach of alpine regions for skiing and hiking, and the Lakes for al fresco lunches. The beaches of Liguria and the rolling hills of Piedmontese wine country are also a short drive away. Combine its strategic position with the city’s surplus of excellent restaurants, shops and museums, and you’ll quickly understand why flocks of expats are relocating to it.

With the annual Salone del Mobile Design Week starting today (April 21), I’m sharing a handful of my favourite places across the city I call home, together with some help from friends who love it as much as I do.

Where to stay

Mandarin Oriental

A quiet oasis in the very heart of the city (complete with its own secret garden), the Mandarin Oriental’s Milan outpost is set within a series of 18th century buildings that have been elegantly renovated.

It’s impossible not to feel calm when you sink into bed in one of the serene suites, and the gargantuan bathtubs are a treat for weary feet after a hard day of shopping in the nearby Montenapoleone shopping district.

For those in town for Design Week, check into the sumptuous Fornasetti suite for maximum bragging rights.

Vico Milano

Vico Milano is run by the charming Baccheschi Berti family, who also own the inimitable Castello di Vicarello in Tuscany. Combining rustic Tuscan touches with Milanese contemporary design, this is a seriously Instagrammable hotel.

There are just a handful of suites, so staying at Vico feels like you’re spending the night at a friend’s eclectic private house. If I ever get round to renovating my bathrooms, the inspiration will come from here.

Portrait Hotel

The Ferragamo dynasty opened their first hotel in Milan in 2022 to much fanfare — and the chatter is yet to die down.

The 16th-century, former Archiepiscopal Seminary occupies a vast, historic piazza surrounded by ancient cloisters. There are 73 suites, multiple restaurants and the award-winning The Longevity Spa. Don’t miss the spectacular swimming pool with its vaulted ceilings and majestic granite columns.

Where to eat

Milan takes its food very seriously, from traditional trattorias to an ever-increasing number of contemporary eateries.

The only trouble you’ll have is choosing where to go first…

La Latteria

Have you even been to Milan if you haven’t joined the well-dressed queue outside La Latteria?

When owners Maria and Artuso Maggi decided to close the restaurant after 40 years, the uproar from the fashion crowd was epic (we observed a full year of gastronomic mourning). Thankfully, the Loro Piana family stepped in to preserve the beloved eatery’s iconic status and La Latteria is now officially back in business — with the Maggi family still at the helm.

There are seven tables and a strict no bookings policy, so you’ll need to drop everything and get in line in order to try the famous lemon and chilli spaghetti.

Pasticceria Cucchi

The chicest place for breakfast and people watching in the city. It’s also my go-to place for an aperitivo after work. If you’re travelling towards the tail end of the year, don’t miss out on their artisanal panettone.

A Santa Lucia

A proper old-school trattoria with endless character serving no nonsense, traditional dishes. Duncan Campbell, the London-based artist, designer and co-founder of design atelier Campbell-Rey, confesses that he loves to eat at A Santa Lucia when he’s in Milan ‘because they serve all day, which is very rare in Italy.’

Contraste

If you’re in the market for a once-in-a-lifetime special dinner, look no further than Contraste: the finest fine-dining option Milan has to offer.

A meal here is an entirely unique experience, from the restaurant’s exuberantly-hued interiors and ultra-charming staff to, of course, the world-class food. Uruguayan chef and co-owner Matias Perdomo’s playful creativity is spellbinding; trompe d’oeuils are his forte. Look out for the lasagne cleverly disguised as a doughnut. Frankly, I’m surprised it only has one Michelin star.

Younique Café

The fashion cafe is having a moment (Prada in Harrods, Anya Hindmarch in Belgravia, Lacoste in Monte-Carlo, Ralph Lauren in New York), and the recently-opened Younique Café by Golden Goose is Milan’s cool crowd’s favourite for everything from brunch to sundowners. Stop by for punchy cocktails and live DJ sets every Thursday evening.

Ratanà

Where to eat the best risotto alla Milanese in the city where it was created, you ask? Ratanà. No competition.

De Santis

This tiny sandwich shop on Milan’s beautiful Corso Magenta has been churning out showstoppers since 1964. Order the Ronny, a parma ham, brie, mozzarella and white truffle baguette, and thank me later.

Da Giacomo

Via Sottocorno in the trendy east of the city is Da Giacomo’s empire with multiple eateries by the group jostling for space on one street. They all serve stellar food, but splash out at the original upmarket Ristorante. Alternatively, try my favourite, Rosticceria, which serves the type of home-cooked food I could eat every day of my life. You’ll often find me in there scoffing delectable homemade meatballs.

Rovello 18

‘One of my favourite restaurants in Milan is Rovello 18,’ says Michelin-starred chef Matias Perdomo. ‘I always feel at home there, and chef Michele De Liguoro’s cooking is simple and perfectly executed, with a warm, welcoming atmosphere.’

Seta

This understated yet hugely popular restaurant is hidden inside the Mandarin Oriental and has two Michelin stars.

When chef Antonio Guida removed his iconic raspberry risotto from the menu, to make room for new inventions, outraged diners demanded its return and so it’s been the restaurant’s signature for a decade. Sounds bizarre; tastes fantastic — trust me on this one.

Where to drink

Camparino in Galleria

Brave the crowds in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II (Milan’s bustling and grandiose glass-domed shopping arcade) for the original Campari cocktail. It doesn’t get more classic than this.

Bar Paradiso

A trendy wine bar in the south east of Milan, with seriously scrumptious food to match.

Bar Basso

No visit to Milan would be complete without an aperitivo at the iconic Bar Basso bar, where the Negroni sbagliato (my go-to drink) was invented by accident in the 1970s.

What to do (according to the locals)

‘Villa Necchi Campiglio, of course,’ says Duncan Campbell, ‘followed by a peek inside the Pinacoteca di Brera art museum then lunch at Trattoria Torre di Pisa or Antica Trattoria della Pesa.’

‘I’m very drawn to the antique markets in Milan,’ says the chef and owner of Contraste, Matias Perdomo. ‘I often visit the Brera market and the antiques market along the Navigli canals.’

Bea Bongiasca, the jewellery designer whose pieces adorn the chicest people in Milan and beyond, recommends exploring the city on foot: ‘If it’s nice out, I stay outdoors as much as possible, usually heading to Parco Sempione near my home, often stopping by the Triennale Milano, one of my favorite museums, especially now that its library is open to the public. Later, I’ll head to Via Paolo Sarpi for lunch. If the weather isn’t great, I’ll maybe go to the cinema or spend the day at a cute spa, like the Armani Hotel or Palazzo Parigi.’

‘A stroll to the market in Via Fauchè is one of the Milanese local’s secrets for excellent fresh fish to cook at home,’ says Enrico Casati, co-founder of Milanese brand Velasca. ‘In the afternoon, I take my children to Parco Sempione or the park in City Life before a quick hello at our original Velasca store at the Arco della Pace. Then I might head for an aperitivo at Lom Dopolavoro, which has a nice garden for warmer evenings.’

Where to shop

Milan has an excellent selection of independent boutiques and markets, and I often spend my weekends perusing the following:

• Minina For ultra-chic contemporary womenswear
• Velasca For a pair of perfect handmade Italian leather loafers
• Cavalli e Nastri For designer vintage pieces
• Peck For a large jar of their homemade mayonnaise
• Mazzolari For heavenly scents and hair products
• Choses: for womenswear and excellent straw beach bags
• Mercato di Wagner For top quality groceries (my olive addiction is fuelled by the charming husband and wife couple who sell me green Nocellara olives by the kilo)
• Bonvini 1909 For beautiful stationary in a historic Milanese boutique

There’s no business like show business, except perhaps for the hospitality business, which in the Dorchester’s Oliver Messel Terrace Suite, comes with all the bells and whistles of a West End sell-out. It is rare to stay somewhere where the designer’s original vision has been so tangibly realised and well preserved, but on my hunt for the best hotel rooms in the country, I managed it in here.

Throughout the room, rosette-style hangings frame watercolour costume designs by Messel as the prize pieces of art they are. By the door there is an illuminated ‘EXIT’ sign, just like those in London’s theatres, that I can’t imagine ever wanting to follow. The Dorchester’s star suite is a marvel. And that’s all before I’ve mentioned the set-pièce de résistance: the loo seat shaped like a golden shell that is decadent enough to make any performance feel Olivier Award-worthy.

Messel, the English artist who died in 1978, is remembered for much more than just this golden throne. One of the best-known stage designers of the 20th century, his theatrical debut came when he designed the masks for a London production of Serge Diaghilev’s ballet Zephyr et Flore (1925). Famously, he also designed the sets and costumes for the Royal Ballet’s 1946 production of Sleeping Beauty, many illustrations of which hang in the suite, as well as a string of other impressive shows and films. Those in his close circle included the production’s prima ballerina Margot Fonteyn, Princess Margaret and Cecil Beaton.

The suite, a short spit away from where Messel grew up in a house overlooking Hyde Park, was originally designed by the artist and opened in 1953. It has been restored and was re-opened this January as part of larger restoration works at The Dorchester. The work was led by the specialist painters and decorators at Hare & Humphreys, who spent more than 2,000 hours and used more than 2,750 sheets of 23.5-carat gold leaf to meticulously refresh every detail of the 133sq m suite. Messel said that it is a place he would have liked to have lived in himself, a wish that I am sure would still be true today (more modern features include a large television in the living area, but this has been hidden behind a panel printed with a Messel painting that slides up on demand in order to keep the era-specific magic of the suite alive and well).

A particular gem, courtesy of the restoration, is a hand-painted mural on the domed ceiling between the corridor and drawing room. This was discovered under layers of paint by the renovation team and features an arch of roses painted by Messel himself, complete with his original pencil sketch marks.

The suite as a whole is a marvel, with a sense of playfulness throughout — exemplified by its ‘bookshelves’ that are actually hidden doors. A parlour for waiting visitors leads through to a well-stocked pantry, sitting and dining room, outdoor terrace and a master bedroom with en-suite bathroom. Messel’s career-long dedication to ballet, opera, theatre and art shines through in all. So does the sun, which beams through the curved French doors to the three-sided terrace when we arrive for our stay (I took my mum along for the experience. We were both giddy with excitement when we saw the suite). Despite overlooking the many building works going on around the hotel, this still serves as the perfect tranquil suntrap on which to relax with a book in one hand and a chilled glass of Dom Perignon (courtesy of the hotel) in the other.

It’s easy to see why the suites’ catalogue of former guests includes the rich and fabulous. It was Elizabeth Taylor’s favourite place to stay in London, apparently, although when my mum presses our butler Sean for further names his discretion is impressively ironclad. ‘I can assure you, your secrets will be very safe. I will tell nobody what you did here tonight,’ he promises enigmatically, which is a shame given we had a lovely, yet notably not outrageous, stay. And, it’s not just the array of mysterious guests that makes the Oliver Messel suite famous. The design of the residence itself is so notable that a scale model of the original 1953 suite is part of the permanent collection at the V&A Museum.

The showstopping room is the bedroom. Ottoman yellow silk-lined walls and gilded mouldings make for grand yet whimsical sleeping quarters. ‘It’s like marmite. People either love it or they hate it,’ Sean tells me. We loved it. A skirted dressing table decorated with a vase of yellow roses and a perfume atomiser is such a picture of 1950s glamour that it's almost as though Taylor could strut in at any moment to powder her nose before a glamorous night out. Hand-painted mirrors featuring Messel’s characters and enchanted trees frame a large indulgent bed canopied in yet more yellow silk. It’s the perfect stage to inspire a night of dreams in which you are the lead performer in a show entirely of your own making.

Room rates are subject to enquiry and may vary. For enquiries, please visit The Dorchester’s website.