An explorer, a journalist, a restaurateur, a gallerist, and a tailor walk into a hotel lobby. And the bellhop says: “What is this, some kind of joke?” But hey, that’s no way to talk about this very specific form of outsourced journalism, young man — with “journalism” doing a lot of heavy lifting there. And besides, there’s nothing funny about the modern state of summer travel: an algorithmic, overripe circuit which hums with frat boys who think they are the first to discover Da Adolfo and saxophone players stepping barefoot into your burrata as they serenade your fiancée in St Tropez, while everyone else twirls their napkins around their heads like we’re at a wedding in Kent. Or something. With all that in mind, I asked several of my best-travelled associates for some unexpected, off-the-beaten-track recommendations for the summer ahead. See you there — though hopefully not.
Having just returned from my second trek across Peru in two years, I can say that June and July is the real sweet spot. It’s winter but dry, with clear skies — the Andes at their most magnificent. The Sacred Valley doesn’t so much impress as overwhelm — the history, the people, the food. Go in summer. Go on foot. There is simply nowhere else like it.
There are places that impress you, and places that restore you entirely. The Dolomites — particularly around Luson — belong firmly to the latter category. Now that I’m back in the Big Smoke, I can’t help but question why it is that I returned at all. Our days in the Dolomites slipped between long alpine cycles, sharp limestone climbs and cold swims in mountain lakes. But what lingers most is the total escapism I felt there: the curious, deeply satisfying blend of Austria and Italy — two cultures at odds with one another everywhere else apart from in South Tyrol. Every trip revolves around food, naturally, so one lunch might be made up of rich broth, dumplings and smoked speck in a timbered chalet; the next, a plate of filled pasta and a glass of Alto Adige while facing the peaks. It feels both rugged and refined, restorative without trying too hard — the sort of holiday that makes you question what time-well-spent is all about.
Recently, I've fallen for French towns. It took me ages to understand Paris anyway — I don't know why. And then when I was in my 30s and I took my daughter and she looked at the Eiffel Tower and pointed at it and said 'fairies, mama, fairies' — so that was probably it, the full coup de foudre. But now I'm really consistently surprised and amazed by other French cities, too. We all seem to get bamboozled by coasts, and of course Nice is right there, next to a long blast of the Mediterranean blue at its shiniest. But it's the back streets where it gets really interesting, tiny little bistros toppling down hilly streets, all sorts of crumbling walls hiding small bars. And Aix-en-Provence is just wonderful — the cathedral; the buildings the colour of sunflowers. And the markets, of course, all the beautiful markets, with spoons tied up with red ribbons and a mass of baskets and old lace nighties and panaches when you can't take it any more and you need to cool down in the shade of the plane trees next to the fruit and vegetable stands.
The Amankora lodges sit quietly across Bhutan’s valleys with no excess, no noise, just the mountains and a level of stillness that’s increasingly hard to find. Each lodge feels less like an accommodation and more like a pause; a deliberate slowing down that Bhutan itself seems to demand of you. The kingdom operates on its own terms with no mass tourism and no concessions to pace — and Amankora understands that completely. It doesn’t compete with the landscape — it simply places you inside it.
If you want genuinely off-piste, head to the far north of Australia, to the Kimberley. Red sandstone gorges, saltwater crocs, rock art older than the pyramids — and a coastline where you can go days without seeing another soul. It is the most beautiful place on earth. We go up there in winter (tour summer), taking bush flights in tiny planes, swimming under waterfalls, fishing for barra, and spending nights under a sky so dark the Milky Way throws a shadow. It’s fun to go up and stay on a station, camp out and ride around on motor bikes and horses. El Questro or Faraway Bay are great bases if you want a bit of comfort. A long way from the Med — but that’s the point.
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Issue 14
With King Charles taking a curious turn on the transatlantic comedy circuit, we revisit the Royal Family’s long and uneven relationship with humour, from Prince Philip’s barbs to the Queen’s deadpan, and the many questionable punchlines in between.
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