A Moveable Feast

For over a century Switzerland has been synonymous with train travel; an assortment of scenic lines first appearing across the country, in part, to make the wanderings of those early, enterprising tourists that much easier. Travellers, the majority of whom hailed from England, were drawn to the wilds and wonders of Switzerland, craving pristine air, dustings of snow and landscapes that weren’t entirely real. In their wake came wealth and esteem, and an appreciation for seeing the world by rail. So, with Switzerland in particular, and Europe in general, indebted to trains - with lakes and improbable heights made more dramatic by movement - it felt right to pay homage to history and traverse the continent aboard a truly decadent vestige of the past, Belmond’s Venice Simplon-Orient-Express (VSOE).

And so I found myself in Venice on a sunny April morning, drunk on canals and piazzas and preparing to board this gilt and indigo icon, failing in every conceivable way to conceal my excitement. Tom, my camera-wielding travel companion, was lost somewhere along the platform, darting between delightfully-attired fellow passengers, the train his muse. As it should be, for this is a journey designed to galvanise; something from the glory days of travel - an era made spectacular by the mystique of nostalgia. The Venice to London VSOE experience may only last 36 hours but it’s accompanied by decades of care and romance.

An extract from our Switzerland magazine, which you can order here.

Words by Liz Schaffer & rather delightful photographs by Tom Bunning.

Back To The California Coast

Below is an extract from our Pathways book - you can learn more about the project and order a copy by clicking here.

Enamoured with foreign landscapes and the promise of escape, it is difficult to resist the romance of distant shores. Some of these yearnings may remain idle, little more than wanderlust-infused daydreams, while others are enough to see us journey into the unknown. Yet, as glorious as the new and undiscovered may be, once we have explored a destination (living like a local and venturing beyond the tourist trail), it’s not uncommon to find that there are certain spots we can’t help but return to. While first encounters are marvellous, following a pathway back to the familiar can be just as inspiring.

Photographer Virginia Woods-Jack has visited the Californian coast on many occasions, enthralled by its natural wonders and soulful inhabitants. Seeing her depictions of Venice Beach, with its laid-back surfing vibes, and the mellow scenes of the Encinitas area, it’s not difficult to imagine why.

From her first visit to these glowing shores, Virginia felt like she was coming home; somewhere she hadn’t been for a while that was familiar nonetheless. With the beauty of the scenes and the calm of the people observed remaining constant, each visit was a reminder of that first encounter – a chance to once again capture smiles, soft light and rolling waves. However, Virginia’s lens was also drawn to the subtle changes in the landscape, the shifts in mood and colour that arose with the turning seasons. Over time these changes helped bring the setting to life, elevating it from mere ‘holiday destination’ into something alive and ever-evolving. And so, with each return Virginia asked herself the same question – what would life be like if this was truly home?

It is by revisiting certain destinations that we are able to reflect on the pathways we have chosen: where we find ourselves, where we have been and who we wish to be. From here, far from the constraints of the everyday, we can do more than recall fond memories or sate our inner vagabond. We can instead focus on the minute, appreciate the altering patterns and perfection of nature and plot future journeys surrounded by a setting that remains strangely familiar. We know the scenes before us will transform before we return, and we might too – the sense of possibility forever promising.

Words by Yvette Edwards and photographs by Virginia Woods-Jack.

Corsican Craft

Words by Kieren Toscan & Photographs by Renae Smith

It was October when we arrived in Bastia, Corsica’s northernmost city. The summer had already left on its annual journey south, taking with it the best of the heat and the bulk of the tourists; a draw I would argue was a win, allowing us to have the still-sun- kissed island all to ourselves. Alas, as a result there are fewer flights to and from Corsica at this time of year and this, combined with vagaries of airline delays, meant it had taken the best part of the day to fly from London. Nevertheless, rest and Napoleonic history were on my mind - even if they required further travel - so my wife and I left the airport to chase the softening glow of the sun west towards La Balagne.

Bastia to La Balagne is not far as the crow flies and, even accounting for the narrow roads that wind and unwind along the way, it should have taken little more than an hour to drive the distance, yet we found ourselves arriving well on the wrong side of two. Traversing the tip of the high granite backbone that runs almost the length of the island proved to be more than we bargained for. But this wasn’t a challenge of conditions, rather one of attention.

No sooner had we started our journey than the landscape began to show us glimpses of its harsh beauty, beckoning us to stop at every turn and marvel at its offerings. Partially covered in dark green, fragrant scrub - which makes up a biome known as maquis - the ranges and peaks seemed to fold over and into themselves, again and again off into the horizon, and grew more indiscernible as the sun receded, almost to the point of confusion. Was that another range? An angry bank of dark clouds making its way towards us? Or something else entirely?

It was harder still to keep moving once the ranges had parted and dropped away to reveal the deep blue of the Ligurian Sea, still sparkling in the early evening light. Bordered in parts by golden sand, topped with the occasional white cap, and finished with gusts of clean, salty air, the scene was one we had known would be bountiful, but was unexpected nonetheless - worlds away from the wintery London we had so recently departed. By the time we reached La Balagne we were wholly enlivened and rendered utterly refreshed, retiring with the travails of travels past a faint memory.

Given our glorious introduction to Corsica, we awoke the next morning greedily wondering what more it would gift us. The answer revealed itself as we arrived in Pigna, a small medieval village of sand-coloured buildings, blue shutters and cobbled alleys, perched on a hillside with expansive views towards the coast. It was here that we had the good fortune to meet some of the artisans of Strada di l’Artigiani - the Artisans’ Road - a serpentine, scenic drive between the villages of La Balagne, conceived in 1993 to help regenerate the region and promote Corsican heritage. Along this route one can find craftsmen and women creating everything from sculptures, ceramics, honey and wine, to leather goods, music boxes, wooden flutes and guitars. Part of the joy of journeying along Strada di l’Artigiani is found not just in the creations encountered but in the time spent with the artisans themselves after you’re welcomed into their workshops, where they reveal just how keen they are for visitors to understand a little more about them, their art and their island home.

Renae and Kieren's full article appears in the Lodestars Anthology France magazine. You can order a copy here.

Farm Fresh

Words & Photographs by Angela Terrell

I’d never washed my feet in vodka before but, accepting that there’s a first time for everything, delighted in the refreshing encounter before lowering my toes into a vat of vermillion-hued fermenting grapes. Delightful, warm and effervescing, in time this would become a full-bodied Syrah - a product of the Alentejo’s unique soil and sunlight. Yet at this stage it remained ‘foot-stomped wine-in-the-making’ overseen by vintner Susana Esteban, whose creativity and care have seen many valuable additions enrich São Lourenço do Barrocal’s cellars.

Sitting amongst the Alentejo’s whitewashed villages, prehistoric menhirs and thousand year old olive trees, São Lourenço do Barrocal is a magnificent retreat whose evolution from destitution to five star luxury is fascinating. Once an expansive estate supporting more than 50 farming families, political upheaval in the 70s saw it fall into ruin, until José António Uva (a descendant of the original owner) undertook his 14 year, passion-fuelled restoration. The result is not only a singular, boutique hotel, but a resurrected piece of the Alentejo’s soul.

You wish these walls could talk. Previously weighed down by collapsed roofs (two years were spent sourcing reusable, second-hand roof tiles), they’re now bright, sun-warmed and ingeniously repurposed. What was once family accommodation is now the indulgent Susanne Kaufmann Spa, the chicken coop is a playroom, and shelter for animals has been transformed into the hotel’s restaurant.

I was staying in a Farm Room, a welcoming haven where relaxed elegance and rural simplicity meet. The interiors are spacious, the terracotta-tiled bathroom large enough for two to luxuriate (and clean grape-stained feet) and the bedroom area - a stylish mix of heritage patterns and colours - is cool-toned beauty. Velvet armchairs invite conversation or contemplation and the adjoining patio, overlooking a cloud-reflecting pool, is wonderful for appreciating the view of cascading pink bougainvillea and a sun-washed landscape.

Days at São Lourenço do Barrocal are magical and being busy as a Portuguese bee or unwinding in the adults’ pool (the children’s is a fantastic reimagining of antique irrigation tanks) are equally acceptable. The choices are plentiful. Browse the shop brimming with artisanal goodies, do Tai Chi, go horse-riding, sip wine on a winery tour (or lend a hand/foot at harvest time), admire historical treasures with archaeologist Manuel Calado or amble/cycle the Olive Trees and Birds Trails - avid cyclers can pedal the 180 kilometre long track around neighbouring Lake Alqueva.

If you do leave the hotel, it’s worth visiting Olaria Patalim in São Pedro do Corval for marvellous ceramics, and Mizette Nielsen’s shop full of colourfully woven rugs and blankets in the hilltop town of Monsaraz. Mourão, Beja and Serpa are equally stunning, as is getting lost in celestial splendour at Cumeada’s Dark Sky® Observatory.

Surrounded by land where herbs grow freely and grain is plentiful, São Lourenço do Barrocal commits to serving authentic farmhouse fare. From breakfast buffets enjoyed while listening to braying donkeys, to afternoon tea in the bar and picnics by the Roman lake where turtles are your only companions, everything is a mouth-watering feast of purity, flavour and colour. Al fresco dinner by the abundant vegetable garden that supplies Hortelão restaurant is especially outstanding, twinkling stars and fairy lights illuminating a delectable meal served with light and fruity 2017 Herdade do Barrocal rosé. Antiquity, tranquillity, well-being, indulgence and exemplary service - surely an Alentejo recipe worth protecting.

barrocal.pt

This story first appeared in our Portugal magazine, which you order by clicking here.

Wine Country

Photo essay by Chiara Dalla Rosa.

I’ve always been interested in food and wine - and am particularly fascinated by the processes involved in making exceptional products. This curiosity was sparked while working in a restaurant in Italy, my home country, and a café in the UK, where I lived for few years; both experiences revealing just how important it is to choose the right ingredients, and to take time and care.

When I first visited Australia - having sampled their incredible wines and fresh foods - exploring the world famous vineries of South Australia was a top priority. I was keen to learn more about the region’s wine making processes and focus on sustainability … and to sample as many tipples as I could.

With more than 200 cellar doors on its doorstep, Adelaide is Australia’s wine capital and one of the nine Great Wine Capitals of the World. There are so many award-winning areas to explore should you fancy a wine-filled day trip, all outstanding in their own right (and desperate for tourism following the recent devastating bushfires). The focus of my own visit was McLaren Vale, which is a 40 minute drive from the city, the journey itself utterly divine.

My first stop brought me to Samuel’s Gorge. Housed in a 1853-built farm shed formerly used for oil making, their charming cellar door boasts stunning views of the Onkaparinga Gorge. Best surveyed from their terrace with a glass in hand.

Being in McLaren Vale, I couldn’t miss the opportunity to visit the d’Arenberg Cube, an eclectic fever-dream of a building in the middle of the d’Arenberg winery. Coming from the mind of winemaker Chester Osborn, this five-storey multi-function building blends its owner’s two loves: wine and art. Currently showcasing sculptures by Salvador Dalì and Osborn’s private collection of paintings & sculptures, the building’s rubik-cube styled shape makes it an artistic wonder in its own right - the view of the valley below from the top two balconies is a particular highlight. Walking through the building felt like a journey through the designer’s mind, and the 2018 chardonnay was a perfect accompaniment.  

My last stop was at Alpha Box & Dice winery. This farmhouse-styled shed boasts wines that transcend style, region and varietal boundaries, and are created using small parcel grapes, minimal intervention and vegan friendly methods. I felt a completely at ease here; everyone sipping wine under the sun, surrounded by picnic tables stacked with cheese boards. The perfect ending to my first day of McLaren Vale wine tasting.

Chiara Dalla Rosa is an Italian lifestyle photographer specialising in portraits and travel photography. She's passionate about telling stories of real people and unforgettable places. Chiara is a curious traveler, keen to experience every aspect of the country she visits. To see more of her work, click here.

Mountain Journeys

Words & Recipes by Kieran Creevy, Photography by Lisa Paarvio

The Lada Niva’s engine whines in protest as the rev counter approaches the redline. Tyres squirm for grip in the loose snow. Vasil, our driver, calmly smooths out the drift and slingshots his car into the next hairpin bend. Behind our heads, our axes, shovels, snowshoes and crampons create a cacophony of steel and aluminium, contrasting the rubber and leather squeaks and tinny rattles from the Niva.

High in the Kazbegi Caucasus, Lisa and I have packs loaded with food, equipment and camera gear for a multi-day snowshoe and wild camping adventure. A few days earlier, we met Vasil by chance. One of those unexpected meetings that expands your knowledge and alters your world view. We get a detailed primer to decades of hard won local information - which market to find the best pickles, fresh vegetables, strained yoghurt and local specialties such as dried sour plums and walnuts, integral elements for many Georgian dishes.

One such market gave us pause. From the outside, the ramshackle, faded facade speaks of a store long past its heyday. However, its dimly lit interior reveals a trove of wonders; fruit leather with a mouth puckering sourness, tangy cheeses, wild herb medleys, delicate beetroots and pungent onions with a green/white hue.

The market visit also pulls into sharp focus the division of labour in this area. On our hike into town there were no women on the road, only men. All the taxis and tourist agencies are operated by men. Yet inside the market, in cafes and in restaurants, the staff are almost universally women. It’s as though we’re in the 1950s.

After a dinner of local specialties in one of the small restaurants, Vasil drives us back to our base for the week, pointing out, on the way, some of the area’s numerous trekking, ski touring and mountaineering trails. After only 30 minutes, we have a least a months worth of options. We need to head out for a recce.

The next morning we shoulder our packs early and head down a snow covered road, scoping potential trails. Within ten minutes we have had four offers of lifts from local drivers, curious as to what we’re doing out this early with laden packs. On the fifth offer, our resistance crumbles and we gratefully accept a ride down the road to the appropriately named Sno village.

Thanking our driver, I offer him a ten lari note. His response is a swift ‘I’m not a taxi’. Fearing I’ve made a faux pas, I look to see if he’s annoyed, but his beaming smile is its own answer. This generosity of spirit is present in nearly every Georgian we meet throughout our trip.

We find a village almost in hibernation mode. The high peaks and narrow valley floor creates a sun shadow that covers most of the houses. Doors and windows are closed and shuttered, though snatches of laughter hint at life within. Rounding one corner, we have a face off with a cow - Lisa swiftly checking to make sure we’re not playing chicken with the village bull.

Eventually we find the correct track to the trailhead. Once on the mountain, we can begin to make sense of the landscape. An multi-day itinerary starts to take shape in our minds. Check lists can be made and crossed off. We will have to find a water source at some point, otherwise we will be melting snow for hours. Heading home for the night, we’re already excited for the adventure ahead.

That evening, the ritual of sorting gear begins. Just enough clothing to keep us warm and dry, with spares for those ‘in case’ moments. Lisa agonises over which lenses to pack and if we will see the Milky Way (necessitating a tripod). We won’t be eating freeze dried meals on this trip, only Georgian inspired dinners and breakfasts. Food canisters, silicone pouches and drybags get packed with food for three days. 

As though he has read our minds, Vasil calls to ask if we have plans for the next day?

‘Sure!’ ‘Can you pick us up at 6 a.m.?’ 

‘How about 7 a.m.?’ he counters.

Grateful for the extra hour of sleep, we agree.

Morning comes all to early. We briefly question our respective career paths, but the magnetic pull of new mountains is all the incentive we need to get out the door.

One wild ride up a twisting mountain road in that rattling Lada Niva to our drop off point, and we’re alone! Just us and an amphitheatre of peaks, radiant under starlight.

We head deeper into the hills on worn goat trails, our snowshoes and ice axes still packed. Thought we’re almost at 3,000 metres and it’s -20°C, the snow is sparse and patchy, with drifting on spurs and piling in mounds on some northern slopes. We encounter the first signs of long-ago habitation in this wild corner of Georgia - a ruin of a shrine, its stones worn smooth.

Late in the day, we chance upon a perfect spot for our first camp. The spur widens enough for a comfortable pitch. Cocooned in layers of silk and down we fall asleep to the deep silence of remote winter peaks.

Plumes of breath swirl and dance above me in the light of my head torch. To my left, I can hear Lisa curl deeper into her sleeping bag. It’s my turn to make breakfast. First order of business; thick, hot coffee.

Easing my way slowly through the narrow door, the fly sheet slithers and crackles in the cold. The sting of freezing air causes an involuntary cough. Burying my face into the hood of my jacket I jog on the spot to create heat.

With coffee made and grateful mumbles of thanks from inside the tent, I can get to work prepping our breakfast.

Our winter adventure in this mountain vastness speeds by all too fast. Days pass in a kaleidoscope of sensory wonders; the smell of snow on the wind, moonlight glinting off shards of ice as though the ground is carpeted in diamonds, a dense forest hiding a stone fortress, hot spiced soup, and the joy of travelling in the wilderness with a close and trusted friend.

Finally, we near our home, the hillside showing small signs of traffic - a slight widening in the trail. However, we don’t want to break the spell of the wilds and return straight to civilisation.

Our last mountain lunch is suddenly interrupted by a wild street dog. Whether it caught scent of our meal or it’s in search of company we don’t know. It approaches camp, relaxed and at ease. Lying down, it seems content, but with the expectant air of one hoping for some food in the future. He is like all of the other street dogs we have encountered on our journey so far; not one has approached us with menace. Though they obviously live semi-wild, their manner seems to suggest that locals treat them with respect and human kindness.

After lunch, as though loath to let us escape its enchantment, the Kazbegi Caucasus throws us a last curve ball. The track we were on disappears without warning, yet we can see it begin once more, far ahead. Between us is a wide river. 

Backtracking will take us a few hours, so we decide to scout the bank, hoping for stepping stones or a narrow stretch over which we can jump. No joy.

Just as we’ve made the decision to turn back, Lisa spots a possible ford. Assessing the speed and depth of the flow, we’re in luck. It’s safe. Splashing our way across we emerge and almost immediately the hems of our trousers freeze into board-like stiffness. The last kilometre flows swiftly under our sodden boots.

Bone tired and wet we may be, but the enchantment has struck us hard. We’re in the thrall of this magnificent landscape and it’s people. Thank you Georgia.

Stoves, pots and snowshoes from Mountain Safety Research and Knife from Morakniv

Georgian Caucasus menu 

lobio with mchadi (red bean, pepper, onion and herb stew with cornbread)

Ingredients: Serves 2

lobio

2 cups dried red kidney beans, soaked in water overnight.

1 white onion, finely sliced

1 green pepper, roughly diced

1 cup flat leaf parsley, roughly chopped

1 vegetable stock cube, crumbled

1 tsp white pepper

1/2 tsp dried fennel powder

1/2 tsp black cumin powder 

1/2 tsp coriander powder

Water

Salt - to taste

1 tbsp butter or ghee.

Mchadi:

Cornflour, finely ground

2 eggs

2 tsp sea salt 

1 tsp chili flakes

1 cup hard white cheese, cut into fine cubes.

2 tbsp rapeseed or olive oil.

Water

Extra cornflour for dusting 

Equipment:

Camping stove, pump and fuel bottle

ceramic pot and skillet

Wooden spoon and spatula

Silicone dry bag - to knead and store the dough.

Storage:

Mix the beans, parsley and stock cube together and store in a lightweight leakproof container.

Store the onion, pepper and spices in a separate container.

Method:

First make the cornbread.

Mix together the cornflour, spices, salt, eggs and oil.

Then add in the cheese and a little water at a time.

Knead until you have a smooth dough.

Store in a silicone drybag or reusable container.

Light the stove and when burning correctly reduce the heat to a simmer.

Add the butter/ghee and when gently sizzling add the onion, pepper and spices.

Cook for 2-3 minutes.

Add the bean mix, stir well and enough water to cover completely.

Increase the heat to full, cover with the pot lid and bring to a boil.

Reduce heat slightly, cook for 20 minutes or until the beans are soft, adding more water if necessary.

Taste and season with salt if needed.

Remove from the heat and keep warm.

Place the skillet on the stove, reduce the heat to medium/high.

Break off a golf ball size lump of dough, roll in between your hands until smooth and flatten.

Dust with a little cornflour and place in the skillet.

There is space in the skillet for 2-4 breads, depending on size.

Dry fry for a few minutes on both sides until cooked through and the cheese starts to ooze out.

Serve the bean stew in an insulated container with some bread.

chicken satsivi soup - winter camp version

Ingredients: Serves 2

Cooked meat from thighs and one breast of chicken 

(Slow cook in the oven and when cold pull the meat apart with forks or your hands)

1 cup walnuts, smashed to fine chunks/powder

1 cup coriander leaf

1 cup parsley leaf

4 cloves garlic 

1/2 onion

1 glass white wine

1 cup sour cream

2-3 cups water (depending on how thick you like your soup).

1 chicken stock cube, crumbled.

1 tsp ground black pepper

1 tsp hot paprika

1 tsp dried tarragon.

50 g butter (wrapped)

Sea salt

Equipment:

Camping stove and pot

Bamboo chopping board 

Knife 

Airtight container

Insulated bottle.

Insulated coffee mug with airtight lid

Wooden spoons 

Insulated bowl/mug - to serve

Method: Cooking in camp

Put the pulled chicken into an airtight container, and chill in the fridge overnight.

Use this to transport to camp.

Mix the wine and sour cream together and transport in a leakproof coffee mug

Fill your bottle with water.

Place the spices, stock cube and walnuts in a small reusable container.

Place the herbs, onion and garlic and butter in another reusable container.

Hike to your chosen lunch spot, or overnight camp.

In camp, finely chop the herbs, garlic and onion.

Heat the pot, add butter and foam gently.

Add the onion, garlic, herbs and spice/walnut mix; cook for 2 minutes.

Add the wine, sour cream and water, bring to a simmer.

Add the shredded chicken and cook for 15 minutes minimum.

(If you have the time and fuel, cook for longer as the flavours will intensify)

Taste and season if needed.

Serve in the insulated bowls/mugs.

Dig in!

Pure Escape

Home to patches of pristine wilderness, New Zealand is ruggedly beautiful, boasting rainforest, a wind-worn coastline and mighty fiords. There are car-less roads draped through mountain valleys, snow-capped peaks and beach-side pie carts that conjure images of an era you would have thought long-since confined to the annals of history. All this is illuminated by a light so soft that it seems borrowed from another world. You want to experience as much as possible here - see all there is. But as the hills around us faded from pink to violet, and the golden oldies blaring from the radio disappeared into a sea of static, we had to admit that our own New Zealand road trip had perhaps gone a little awry.

***

This saga had begun 48 hours earlier when my travel buddy and I entered Abel Tasman National Park, a natural oasis found on the northern tip of the South Island. We were here in search of space, warmth and wine - elements the Nelson-Tasman district has long been famed for. 

We had already been in the area for a few days, getting acquainted with the city of Nelson and its surrounds by staying at Awatea Tasman Bay - a charming, curio-filled cottage that overlooks a melange of paddocks, orchards and waterways. It is a short drive from Tasman’s Great Taste Trail, a cycling route that winds its way from Nelson - through farms and wineries, across Rabbit Island, past Mapua and its picture-perfect wharf - to Kaiteriteri, the gateway to Abel Tasman National Park. Should you wish to tackle this route, bikes can be hired from The Gentle Cycling Company, who also provide maps marked with some of the cafes, farm shops, vineyards and galleries that line the trail. On learning of our penchant for local art, the owner, Rose Griffin, recommended a few additional stops - like the studio of screen printing artist Graeme Stradling. He is part of the well-established creative community who moved to this quieter corner of the world for the velvety light and beauty, and saw no reason to ever leave. 

Tasman’s Great Taste Trail was indeed a glorious introduction, and departing Awatea Tasman Bay for Abel Tasman National Park, packs full of culinary supplies gathered on our ride, we were ready for adventure. And for this we looked to the charmingly laid-back Abel Tasman Kayaks, who offer equipment hire and tours through the national park - New Zealand's smallest. Abandoning the car at their beach-shack-esque base, we followed our chatty, dreadlocked guide past wave-carved boulders and rocky beaches adorned with sun-seeking sea lions, paddling in and out of empty coves and wondering why we didn't do this more often. Pausing to cool my hands in the crystalline water, I realised that all I’d been thinking about was the repetitive action of my body, the power needed to pull myself through the waves. Here, there is nothing to distract but the view - and it’s glorious. 

We farewelled our guide and kayaks at Bark Bay - a campsite that can only accessed by boat or on foot (there is a water taxi service should you need it). Aware that the following day would be formidable, we devoured our gourmand-worthy picnic while watching the tide ebb and flow beneath a flaxen sky, before retreating to the communal bunks of Bark Bay’s timber hut. Far from glamorous, there is a certain magic to such rustic settings, and tuning my head to the window, my friend and fellow adventurous snoring softly beside me, I fell asleep counting the stars. 

Waking to birdsong, we set off before the sun cleared the surrounding hills. The morning was to be spent walking a 15 kilometre stretch of the Abel Tasman Coast Track, an iconic trail that takes around four days to complete and twists across rainforest, golden beaches and native bushland - popular attractions being the forest-framed, moss-festooned Cleopatra's Pool and the swing bridge that spans Falls River. It was spectacular; the path entirely our own and the azure water never far from view. But a 15 kilometre hike, especially one with so many vistas worth pausing for, tends to take longer than expected, and by the time we reached the water taxi at Torrent Bay it was well past midday. 

That’s when the madcap road trip really began. We’d been desperate to end our South Island odyssey with a few nights of stargazing and unwinding in an architecturally astounding glass box in the middle of nowhere. This was found just outside the coastal town of Kaikoura, which is normally only a four and a bit hour drive from Abel Tasman National Park (as an Australian, such a distance is far from intimidating). However, a few months before our visit an earthquake had ravaged the region, and although New Zealand is a country familiar with geological instability, the scale and damage of this particular event was staggering. Kaikoura, renowned for its whale watching and heavily reliant on seasonal tourism, was almost entirely cut off from the rest of the country. But because of this, travelling there felt essential - a small gesture, our way of supporting an area desperately in need of visitors, especially after the loss of a vital bumper season. And so, with the road from Marlborough (the one we’d planned to travel along) closed as a result of the damage, we embarked on an eight hour journey along the secondary roads that crossed the island’s centre. Rest assured, the highway is now fully restored, so our foolishness does not need to be repeated. 

***

With the light long-gone and the conversation brilliantly bizarre - memories of the Manuka forests and townships we’d driven through hours before, now a distant memory - we reached a single lane road, turned onto a dirt track, forded a stream and stopped, finally, a little delirious, at the sign for Kahutara PurePod; our eco-luxe, off-grid destination. 

Stepping into the elegant, open-plan glass cabin, the joy of having arrived overwhelmed us - had we really only awoken that morning in an Abel Tasman hut? Phone reception, neighbours and light pollution were non-existent - and the only thing visible through the glass walls and ceiling was the dazzling celestial display. Come morning, this would be replaced by cascading hills, a glacial river and sun-warmed fields. But for now, we stayed in the moment, books at the ready and minds at ease. Content, sun-drunk and a touch exhausted, I fell into bed, astounded by how calming even the most ridiculously planned New Zealand adventure can be.

TextileSeekers

In February, I ventured to Vietnam, travelling from Hanoi to Sa Pa with TextileSeekers, a boutique travel company founded by Thao Phuong that is dedicated to promoting sustainability, community, craft traditions and artisanal expertise. Thao curates these tours for women (in partnership with local tribeswomen and charity organisations), introducing her travellers to the region’s cultural wonders. It is a unique chance to slow down and seek beauty - and a reminder that travel is about connection as much as adventure.

Understandably at the moment, travel is on hold as we come to terms with our new circumstances and focus on keeping safe, staying home and helping those in need. It is not an easy time for anyone. So I wanted to share these images - captured by Angela Terrell, my mother, who often joins me on these jaunts - as a reminder of how vibrant, diverse and wonderful our world is. They are postcards from another place … and another time.

TextileSeekers shall continue to offer intimate, guided tours through Vietnam in the not too distant future (you can keep and eye on Thao’s plans, progress and collaborations by clicking here), but until then, we hope you enjoy these snapshots - reminders of what is out there, waiting to be discovered, when the world is ready. Liz Schaffer & Angela Terrell

Ochre & Rose

Words & Photographs by Angela Terrell

I struggled working out the exact point land and water met, and as I focussed my camera on the hulking columns of ochre and rose hued sandstone that simultaneously rose into the cloudless sky and plunged into the watery abyss, I held my breath, hoping the fragile image wouldn’t shatter before its amazing symmetry was captured. Through the viewfinder I spied the roots of Kimberley roses and buttercup-yellow Kapok bushes anchored to the sentinel-like monoliths, and a kite soaring above their resilient foliage - but as time and movement were fast becoming my photographic foes, I continued scouring the glassy surface for a horizon line, increasingly breathless, until I finally took the shot.

Not surprisingly, there were a multitude of wonderful photo opportunities while we explored Australia’s largely uninhabited Kimberley coast with Aurora Expeditions, a cruise company that dolls out comfort and adventure in equal measure and specialises in travelling to pristine wilderness areas; and the Kimberley is as breathtakingly untouched as it gets. Described by Attenborough as one of the world’s wonders, this vast and isolated landscape was slowly revealed as the nautical miles passed, filling all of us on board with an overwhelming sense of its importance and our own fleeting insignificance.

It’s difficult reproducing the contradictions and nuances of the landscape though. The profound beauty hides an unforgiving wildness, and despite containing some of the world’s most ancient geology, the area can be extreme in its transience. Sandstone, some of it over 1.8 billion years old, has been contorted by pressures over the millennia that are hard to imagine, or smoothed by the Wet’s torrential waters which are again impossible to fathom in the Dry. Tidal fluctuations are massive and sometimes ferocious, resulting in waterfalls that run horizontally, rivers that run backwards and even an island that emerges from the ocean to become the ideal alfresco drinks bar. Low tide unveils a forest of mangrove roots growing from mudflats where mudskippers and red-headed honeyeaters flit, until rising water turns their tubular roots into lairs for crocodiles and barramundi. At Montgomery Reef, the tide retreats so rapidly it appears that an underwater world of sponges, clams and corals rises Atlantis-like from the sea, with the resulting marine-rich cascades perfect fodder for loitering birds, turtles and sharks.

Fauna is abundant, and we revelled in spotting manta rays, dolphins, crocodiles and turtles whose nests we later spotted alongside Aboriginal Wandjina rock art, thousands of years old and depicting creator beings who I’m certain protect hatchlings as they stoically make their way to the water. Remarkable sunrises and sunsets, where the sky was streaked with every shade or red, orange, crimson and pink imaginable were backdrops for flocks of terns, frigate birds and brown boobies, and we were mesmerised by the fantastically-shaped eroded pillars on Edeline Island where ospreys had built nests using copious amounts of Kimberley flotsam and jetsam.

Wilderness is remarkably restorative, and Aurora took us to an exhilarating world that despite today’s technology, was mysterious, remarkably unexplored and incredibly uplifting. We can never have enough of nature, and it’s increasingly important we protect it, especially areas where rock-forms, waterfalls, islands, reefs and billabongs hold such otherworldly beauty and deep indigenous spirituality. And as for the photos, well, they only reveal a fraction of the Kimberley’s true magnificence.

Jewel of the South

Words by Nardia Plumridge & Photographs by Renae Smith

One of the joys of travelling through Italy is its diversity. From snow-capped northern Alps to turquoise southern beaches, it couldn’t be more poles apart. But what makes this country so fascinating is that it’s not just the landscape that changes, it’s the culture too.

Puglia is the region occupying the heel of the Italian boot. Reaching the Ionian Sea to the south and running along the Adriatic Sea to the east, it borders Molise, Campania and Basilicata. A long, thin land with six provinces, what it lacks in powerhouse cities like Rome or Milan it makes up for with medieval villages, remote beaches, quaint fishing towns, farmland and run-down fortresses. Welcome to the jewel of the south.

To understand Puglia, you have to delve into its history, shaped by Mycenaean Greeks, Ancient Romans, Byzantines, Normans and the powerful Kingdom of Naples. And to truly feel Puglia, you must travel around its coast, exploring its rugged beaches, barren central landscape and whitewashed towns.

Leaving the port town of Brindisi - its industrial feel isn’t a reflection of the rest of the region - you encounter Puglia’s flat landscape, lined with pine trees and kilometres of white sandy beaches that stretch south along the Adriatic Sea towards Lecce.

With its elegant laneways and Baroque architecture, Lecce is one of Puglia’s most popular destinations. A walled town dating back, so legend has it, to the time of the Trojan Wars, it was ruled by Emperor Hadrian and today is a 17th century spectacle rebuilt in Baroque fashion. Largely constructed from local limestone, for which this area is famed, it is a glittering gem of a town where, at every turn, there is another building to behold. Such architectural beauty has led some people to refer to Lecce as the ‘Florence of the South’, yet to compare isn’t accurate or fair, for Lecce has a magnificence all its own.

Driving through Galatina towards Gallipoli you pass countryside filled with olive groves that make up much of the farmland. Olive oil is one of the region’s biggest exports and in the 18th century this part of Puglia became the largest olive oil market in the Mediterranean. The fortress town of Gallipoli along the west coast of the Salentina Peninsula is built on a limestone island and linked to the mainland by a 16th century bridge. Having held great economic power due to its geographical position, today Gallipoli is a magical seaside haven with quiet laneways that nip and dive around residential buildings.

Heading off the main roads, the sound of the locals’ Italian chatter lingers as you walk by their open windows and in the distance the gentle roar of a Vespa fills the air - then you turn a corner to see the breathtaking Ionian Sea. Surrounded by 14th century walls (renewed by the Spaniards in the 16th century), the Baroque architecture of Gallipoli is its main attraction - the façade of its grand 17th century Cattedrale di Sant’Agata was created by Giuseppe Zimbalo, who was also responsible for Lecce’s Basilica di Santa Croce. Fishing is also big business with a seafood market open daily from six until nine in the morning at the walls by the old castle where you can buy the local specialty gamberi rossi (sweet red shrimp) that is so fresh it is eaten raw.

The coastline in this area of Italy remains untouched in many parts with roads running alongside the white powdery sand and azure sea. Driving along the south west coast on the smaller SP roads it’s easy to reach the very tip of Puglia - and therefore Italy - at the village of Santa Maria di Leuca. Founded in the early 1st century and taking its name from the Greek Leucasia, meaning white beautiful mermaid, it is where the Ionian and Adriatic Seas meet, the De Finibus Terrae (End of the Land). Up a 284 step staircase from the town is Santurario di Leuca, a Christian church built on the site of a former Roman temple dedicated to Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, offering stunning views away from Italy towards Africa.

If Lazio has the history of Rome, Tuscany the art of Florence and Veneto the canals of Venice, Puglia has the trulli of Alberobello; stone huts with conical roofs. This central part of the region, the Itria Valley, is full of quaint hilltop towns glowing white from using the local limestone, the most mesmerising being Martina Franca and Ostuni. Here the landscape changes, becoming more rugged, and then the trulli appear. These temporary shelters acted as storehouses or permanent homes for labourers and their families; simple drystone structures popular in the 19th century, the circular buildings look as if they are drawn from a Tolkien novel. The design was created to avoid taxes - the roof can be easily dismantled to avoid hefty fees charged if they were used as homes; when inspectors came to the area, down came the roof. The largest collection of trulli is in the town of Alberobello (meaning beautiful tree) which has over one thousand unique huts. Today it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with many trulli available to stay in overnight, hired out to adventurous travellers.

When meeting locals, there is a real sense of Puglian pride. Ask what makes Puglia a paradise and everyone has a different answer. Some say the energetic sounds of La Tarantella folk music, others swear by the sights of whitewashed towns like Martina Franca, or the touch of Lucchese limestone in Lecce, the smell of sea salt along the Salentina Peninsula or the taste of fresh gamberi rossi and Negroamaro (literally ‘black bitter’), the robust local red wine. Though part of the joy of Puglia is discovering its five senses all for yourself - it may be the ‘end of the earth’ but it’s a unique side to Italy that many don’t see, and its rustic charm and diversity make it even more special.

This article first appeared in our Italy magazine all those years ago. While that mag is now sold out, you can nab other back issues here.

Meanwhile Nardia Plumridge has created a glorious new book all about the wonders of Florence. Order your copy - and you really, really should - by clicking here. You can learn more about her other ventures here too.

Wanaka Wandering

Words & Photography by Angela Terrell

It’s immensely satisfying whiling away a week in Wanaka. Only an hour from Queenstown on New Zealand’s South Island and sitting on the shores of tranquil Lake Wanaka, this town merges arresting topography with holiday charm; its dramatic backdrop, the mountains of Mt Aspiring National Park, the perfect playground for an array of activities that would keep even the most demanding outdoor enthusiast content. During winter, nearby Cardrona and Treble Cone are ideal skiing destinations, but in summer, whether tramping, cycling, paragliding, kayaking, jet-boating or clinging precariously to a via ferrata, it’s a paradise for adventurers, photographers or those who find simply sitting and enjoying the serenity gratification enough.

Any opportunity to leave the city behind and explore nature is welcome in my books, but it’s the mountains that elicit the most visceral response. I’m never sure if it’s their immensity or their harsh and unforgiving beauty that appeals to me most, but going heli-hiking with Eco Tours was a marvellous opportunity to lose myself in a mountain wonderland.  

Soaring along the braided river and over serrated ridge-lines we swung down sentinel-like outcrops to three lakes hidden within the folds of the alpine terrain and impossible to see until we were literally above them. This is real hiking with no marked trail, the tussock grass providing stability and necessary hand-holds as we traversed the steep mountainside. The views were magnificent though; razor sharp mountains as far as the eye could see, glaciers glistening under the scorching sun and lakes illuminated in rainbow hues; the emerald, aquamarine and turquoise rivalling any tropical oasis. 

If helicopters aren’t your thing, the walk to Rob Roy Glacier is equally breath-taking. Starting from the carpark in the flats of the river valley you ascend (sharply at times) through cool verdant forest to the Upper Lookout sitting in a glacier-carved basin, the enveloping schist mountains softened by carpets of dandelions, terraces of cascading waterfalls and glaciers clinging to the mountain like buttery icing. Sitting by the torrenting stream it was hard not to feel a mild sense of unease; the wind rushing down its course ferociously loud and obviously reflecting the amount of water coming off its melting core, and I wondered what would happen if a wall of ice clinging precipitously to the mountain above carved off. In landscape this erratic and magnificent a sense of powerlessness is inevitable, although once reassured that the glacier was still a kilometre away (perspective is definitely a challenge in this environment) and any falling ice would remain in the arms of craggy gorges above, it was possible to enjoy the all-encompassing vista with a little more ease!

Closer to home the Glendhu Track around Lake Wanaka is perfect for walking or cycling. Starting in town (after first organising a wonderful picnic from Big Fig - slow food served fast is their motto) what started as a relaxed ride became rock-hopping over knobby hillsides, the hairpin turns a reminder that any loss of concentration could result in falling into the water glistening like Christmas tinsel below. But around every corner was a panorama well worth assiduous pedalling.

As weather is ever-changing in New Zealand, options for days where hiking wouldn’t be enjoyable is always advisable, driving to Blue Pools on the Haast road a great choice. Setting off on an inclement morning the scenery played a constant game of cat and mouse with the weather, moody clouds sheathing the mountains so they appeared as ghostly suggestions then breaking to allow bursts of sunlight that saturated hues and added to the dramatic landscape. Passing bucolic sheep-filled paddocks encased by craggy hills then Lake Hawea, the road hugging the shoreline like a velvet ribbon, we reached the Pools where walking through ferny undergrowth laced with skeletal tree-trunks we stood under moss-laden limbs of rainforest trees (the perfect umbrella) and admired water so clear it was possible to see trout languishing in its aquamarine depths.

Of course there’s one activity that tops the lot and costs nothing, and that’s sitting by Wanaka’s lakeside as the sun slips below the mountain tops and the water changes chameleon-like from orange to pink then purple to eventually black as the day’s heat softens. Ducks share the shoreline with people frolicking in the shallows and picnickers chat as they enjoy delights such as fish and chips from Eric’s or pizza from Francesca’s food trucks. Not a mobile phone in sight, laughter floats across the ripples and the spectacle is better than any screensaver, its simple beauty ensuring an overwhelming sense of contentment. Whether whiling away a week or moseying a month, Wanaka is a delight for all.   

Lord Howe Island

My childhood friend holidayed with her family on Lord Howe Island and returned with fantastic stories of misty mountains, beachside bungalows and trundling turtles, but the most audacious and daring story of all involved water take-offs and landings, seaplanes obviously incredibly adventurous to my 10-year-old self.

Since the runway was built, flights from the mainland now land on terra firma, but not much else had changed when I visited 40-odd years later to finally tick Lord Howe off my long-awaited bucket list - and it quickly became obvious that despite years of anticipation and childhood fantasy, my expectations would be surpassed. Even glimpsing the island, grey and shrouded in rain, was enough to make me gasp … well, that or the sudden drop as the pilot tackled the tricky winds that tend to howl around Howe.

With its mix of pioneering spirit, 60s Aussie seaside town and resort-style living, Lord Howe is the perfect place to experience quotidian serenity; a simpler way of life where even the lack of mobile reception is a welcome respite from the madding world. Everyone greets each other with a smile and wave (whether you know them or not), and friendships are quickly made. Even crime is non-existent, in fact you’re usually not given a room key, the biggest danger seemingly falling into mutton-bird holes, tripping over wood-hens or exceeding the 25km speed limit on pushbikes, the island’s main mode of transport.

But it’s the scenery and wildlife of Lord Howe that’s spectacular; an Arcadian nirvana only 10 kilometres long yet containing landscapes both Jurassic and genteel. Mts Lidgebird and Gower loom over bucolic pastures and well-fed cows, their summits usually covered with clouds that flow like vaporous waterfalls over their rainforest-cloaked sides where you can just imagine dragons lurk. It’s when you enter this realm though that the magic really begins and size takes on a whole new meaning. Here African violets grow as tall as trees, banyans splay tendrils like colossal spider’s legs and soaring tee-pee style pandanus roots encircle the moist earth and drop fronds that swallow the walking track. There is magic everywhere. Iridescent blue fish dart between legs as you feed them at Ned’s Beach, and plaintive calls come from nearby sooty tern chicks waiting for parents to return with a seafood bounty.

Fantastically shaped bleached corals sit on Old Gulch’s rocky shoreline while the azure waters of beaches and lagoons are filled with organisms full of colour that allow Lord Howe to claim having the southernmost coral in the world. And even off the coast the wonders continue, Balls Pyramid, the worlds tallest ‘ocean stack’, rises from the depths like a Hogwarts’ turret.

It’s no wonder Lord Howe is UNESCO-listed and ripe for discovery. Whether walking on tracks that demand a little vigour (or those that are more of an amble), snorkelling and scuba diving in tropical waters, playing bowls and golf, or merely taking in the magnificent scenery from an idyllic picnic spot, you’ll feel that this is island life as it should be. Nothing here disappoints.

Words & Photographs by Angela Terrell.

Rastoke, Croatia

Only half an hour from where the tourists gather at Plitvice Lakes National Park, is the little village of Rastoke. Peaceful, picturesque and nestled amongst the trees, you won’t find yourself tiptoeing around the crowds here.

Over thousands of years, cascades and waterfalls have been carved into the limestone landscape by the Sluničica River. As people settled in the area they built their grain-milling town using the water available around them. History is written on the walls here. Indeed, if you’re arriving from the coast or capital, you’ll likely drive through a number of abandoned villages and homes – all scarred by war, heartbreak and stillness.

Known for its authentic wood-shingled homes and cultural traditions, Rastoke is a place you come to relax after the bustle of Zagreb, the thrills of a Croatian coastal adventures, or the crowds that rightly flock to Split and Dubrovnik. You only need half a day here to soak it in and unwind – preferably in the afternoon so you can watch the town go about its day and settle in for a wonderful local dinner. Try the bread they still make with the local grains and river water – it’s been popular for over a hundred years.

These words and photographs are from Lis Dingjan, the founder of and photographer behind Nowhere & Everywhere, which merges travel and environmentalism. She has visited over 60 countries, actually likes green juices, jumps in every waterfall and thinks we could all spend a little more time on the open road.

Canoe North Adventures

It feels like a lifetime ago that we created our Canada magazine, but certain memories remain gloriously vivid. Travelling along the Keele River in the Northwest Territories with Canoe North Adventures was an utterly life-changing experience. Not only was it one of those rare chances to venture somewhere truly wild - the sort of place you might assume was impossible to find in our modern world - but it allowed me to meet the most astounding people, hear their stories and physically push myself in the most liberating way. It's been two years since I ventured north ... I think I'm due a return journey.

When travelling through some of the globe’s more remote locations you’re likely to have a moment of clarity. Miles from normality, you feel like you’ve found another world, a place where only your immediate reality matters. For me this happened on the Keele River in the Sahtu Region of the Northwest Territories. I’d been paddling in the bow of a canoe for ten days when, late on a sunny summer evening, the water around me became a reflected mass of rose gold clouds, the perfect mirror of the sky above. With no discernible horizon, it was as if I was travelling through a dreamscape where down was up and up was down; the surreal setting a reminder that in this world there is true, untameable beauty. And to uncover it, I’d recommend travelling north.

Along the Keele River you’ll encounter the kind of landscape they envisioned when they first thought of the sublime. It’s a setting that makes you feel small, dwarfed by the surroundings. There are mountains chiselled away by wind and rain, the last patches of summer snow clinging to their peaks, and marbled cliff faces seemingly painted into the scene. But rather than feeling overwhelmed, you’re honoured. It is difficult to find something so majestic, so much bigger than yourself. And here it is, not all that far from the Arctic Circle, a region where many landmarks remain nameless and a canoe is the most desirable form of transportation.

Copies of our Canada magazine are still available to buy here.

Island Life

Words and Photographs by Emma Lavelle

Earlier this year, my feet began to itch and I found myself desperate to explore somewhere a little off the beaten track. My previous summer’s adventures in Iceland were still fresh in my memory and I craved empty roads, isolated hot springs and dramatic landscapes. With the budget tight I spent days searching for European destinations that offered everything I needed - and then I saw a friend's Instagram photo and knew instantly where I was heading: the Azores.

If you haven’t come across this island chain before, I'm not surprised. Situated smack bang in the middle of the Atlantic, over two hours by plane from Portugal, they’re pretty isolated. As hopping between individual islands isn’t exactly cheap (or easy) I concentrated on the largest isle, São Miguel. The perfect juxtaposition of the geothermal landscapes of Iceland and a tropical, Lost World paradise, São Miguel appears like a mirage in the grey Atlantic. Filled with cloud-covered peaks, hot springs, dense greenery and waterfalls, it's like nowhere else in Europe.

Hiring a car, my boyfriend and I based ourselves in the capital, Ponta Delgada, and split the island into easily digestible chunks to be explored over four days. Our adventures began in the island's west, driving up steep roads in search of the elusive views of the Sete Cidades Lakes. Elusive because of the relentless mist, not for the lack of places to pull over and admire the scene. The twin lakes lie in a gigantic volcanic crater and local legend says that they were formed from the tears of a blue-eyed princess and her green-eyed lover, shed when her father would not allow them to marry. On a clear day, the lakes do indeed appear to be different colours, despite actually being one body of water divided by a road. Also worth admiring is Vista do Rei, where the ruins of a brutalist concrete hotel greets you through the mist. Then there's the utterly sublime Boca do Inferno viewpoint, where the view of the crater, lakes and coastline in the distance is nothing short of spectacular.

A short journey from the lakes takes you to one of the island's most alluring hot springs, Ponta da Ferraria, which is the only São Miguel hot spring found in the sea. A pink path leads first to a modernist changing hut, then down to a black volcanic beach where a ladder descends into a rock pool. As waves crash into the pool, visitors can hold a rope to steady themselves, enjoying the change in temperature as cold water rushes in to meet the warm.

Looking for the perfect end to a day exploring the west of the island? Visit the small coastal town of Mosteiro to feast on the seafood that São Miguel is famed for. My top tip: always order the octopus.

We also make a stop at Furnas, a geothermal town situated inside a volcanic crater. There are two areas boasting hot springs here - Poça da Dona Beija offers a series of small, relaxing natural jacuzzis, but it’s Parque Terra Nostra that shouldn’t be missed. Situated inside these majestic tropical gardens is a huge yellow-hued geothermal lake perfect for swimming. Furnas also offers a collection of smouldering caldeiras and anyone interested in local cuisine should head to the lake to see how traditional stew is made by burying pots underground for several hours. The earth steams here and the smell of sulphur seems to rise up into the thick mist enveloping the mountains above.

The final hot springs of São Miguel are found at the protected Caldeira Velha, where you must venture along a harrowing road and wander through thick tropical forest to reach the pools. Climb the hill to find a couple of small wooden changing huts before plunging, admiring a small waterfall trickling down from the cliff above. 

Across the island lie a network of hiking trails; those that snake along the numerous crater lakes are perhaps the most dramatic but don’t underestimate how strenuous these routes can be. If you prefer to admire the scenery from the comfort of a car, the drive along the coastal road that winds along the east coast is unmissable. Perhaps the most perilous and slowest road to navigate on São Miguel, the views of the ocean and towering cliffs are as dramatic as they get.

How to end a trip to São Miguel? Whale watching was at the top of our agenda but, alas, high winds thwarted our plans. If you visit during calmer weather conditions don’t miss a chance to take to the sea as these Atlantic islands are one of the best places in the world to spot a wide array of cetacean species including sperm whales, blue whales and dolphins. Other highlights for landlubbers include visiting the tea and pineapple and plantations, the latter featuring on almost all of the island's restaurant menus.

São Miguel is like nowhere else in Europe. Hot springs, luscious  forests, towering cliffs, crater lakes, tea plantations and cascading waterfalls all collide to create an otherworldly landscape. My advice? Take a punt on an island not yet on the tourist trail - for there’s something rather magical about having a hot spring in the forest all to yourself. 

Be sure to check out more of Emma's work here

Rambling in the Lake District

Words and photographs by Athena Mellor

“I wandered lonely as a cloud”, proclaimed Wordsworth on rambling in the Lake District. Yet how often do you see just one single cloud? While a lone cloud may grace the skies on a clear day, more often than not clouds wander lonely yet together, drifting steadily east or west, north or south. Normally I am that sole, brave cloud drifting along - alone yet never lonely. But this time I was joined by another on my ramble. Two stoic clouds running up hillsides in one of my favourite English locations, the Lake District, on a bitterly cold January morning.

The Lake District is a hill-walkers dream. I am quite certain that it would take more than a lifetime to ramble every trail it has to offer, to explore those that are yet to be discovered, and to admire every view. But I will try anyway. Indeed, there are certain places that, no matter how often I visit, never become boring. The very nature of nature is that no two days spent outside are the same - the changing winds and seasons, the different cloud formations and sunbeams. And then there is seeing somewhere you have seen multiple times through new eyes - the eyes of someone who is experiencing it all for the very first time. This happened when I took my younger sister to the Lake District and we spent two winter days in jumpers and walking boots, hiking to hilltops and running down mountains.

Winding roads of Cumbrian gold; fluffy white clouds dazzling the sky and fluffy white sheep gracing the fields. We were en-route to Blea Tarn; I was in the driver’s seat squealing every time a slightly more confident driver squeezed between us and the drystone wall on the other side - with less that an inch between both. We laced up our boots on arrival, added a couple of layers, swung cameras over our shoulders, and wandered down to the waterfront. Blea Tarn is a small body of water nestled beneath high peaks. If you’re lucky, you may see a clear reflection of the Langdale Pikes in the tarn. But on this particular day, the wind was sending ripples through the water and the reflection was non-existent - but the scene remained beautiful nonetheless. This place always seems peaceful - there is no phone service, few other walkers and nature is allowed to flourish. Protected by the National Trust, Blea Tarn will always be the place I tell people to go when they first visit the Lakes and the place I will constantly return to, until I’m 90 I hope - with tea and biscuits, a picnic blanket and a good book.

The next day, I had something more adventurous planned. From the village of Ambleside, we headed up and up and up through thick yellow grass and alongside crumbling drystone walls, past Low Pike then High Pike where the wind viciously whipped the bare skin on our cheeks and tugged exasperatedly at our hair tucked beneath woollen hats. We were walking and talking incessantly like only sisters can do, until I realised that we might possibly be quite lost... By this point the wind was relentless, and trying to manoeuvre a map to a readable position was impossibly difficult as the sky seemed determined to steal it away. Our hands were like icicles and with difficulty speaking I had to admit to my little sister, who had trusted me wholeheartedly with route-planning, “I have absolutely no idea where we are.” So together we traced the line we were supposed to walk and realised we had taken a completely different but parallel path. We made a plan to descend away from the wind as quickly as possible, and then hurtled down the hillside as the icicles in our hands defrosted and our spirits rose once again; greedily consuming the beauty of the surrounding landscapes before it was time to head south once more.

There is something I find so alluring about the Lake District. Perhaps it is in the combination of homely, welcoming landscapes that become unforgiving in a single gust of wind. Or it may be the way the air whispers soft tales of times gone by, or thoughts of the writers and poets who have sat on these banks and taken inspiration from these hills. When I am here, I want to close my eyes and absorb all that beauty and hope and the fragility of nature - but these landscapes cannot be taken away. And so all I can do is come back again and again until I am 90 - to sit on these grassy hilltops with tea and biscuits, a picnic blanket and a good book.

You can see more of Athena's work here @athenamellor and here wildandwords.com.

Mount Takao

Photo essay by Lucy Saunders.

The climb up Mount Takao offered a beautiful escape from the 36 degree heat of Tokyo (when people say summer in Japan can be humid, they're not lying) and the surrounding trees (illuminated as they were by dappled sunlight) provided welcome patches of shade. That said, even at this height the heat was blistering - which no doubt played a part in making the mountainside appear entirely isolated. It felt peaceful, almost timeless. There was a quietness that felt worlds away from the bustling city I had left only hours before.

I saw in the distance, swooping in the trees, a swish of white, like some mountain spirit celebrating the sun. Bug catchers were dancing around the tree trunks with their nets, sliding down the steep mountain slopes or clinging to branches as if it were second nature. I watched them for hours, enthralled by their agility, and they paused to show me their collections - beetles, butterflies, cicadas and moths presented in carefully selected boxes, handled with the upmost care.

There was something particularly beautiful about being in such a treasured, spiritual place and watching locals move through the setting as if it were entirely their own. Everyone I spoke to seemed to know one tree species from another, the name of each insect, where they sleep and exactly how to hold and care for them. They were also careful to ensure that they gave something back to the land each time it was kind enough to bestow a treasure upon them. Shrines and temples were found along my walk up Mount Takao and at each you could stop to pray - following the advice of smiling locals - taking part in an ancient Shinto practice that felt as old as these mountains. 

Shintoism is Japan's indigenous religion - one that, rather than following a set ruler or doctrine, focuses on the concepts of purity and respect. There is a deep admiration for nature and its power, with the natural world being the domain of kami, deities that can take almost any form and add a sense of order to our somewhat chaotic world. They may be in a tree, stream or the mist itself.

These spirits watch over the humans of the city below, as they always have. And although it may seem to be a strange concept at first, when you sit and embrace these surroundings you can't help but sense that nature is somehow watching out for you. Being in a natural location this powerful had a very interesting effect. You come to appreciate your place in the world anew. Indeed, even when I descended Mount Takao and returned to the man-made brilliance of Tokyo I couldn't help but notice little pockets of natural beauty and, pausing to acknowledge their power, found that Japan felt more and more like home. 

You can see more of Lucy's work on her website: www.lucy-janephotography.com or over on Instagram @lucyjanesaunders.

In Iceland - the Water and the Sky

Photographs by Tom Bunning In winter our thoughts turn to candlelit rooms and warming fires.  But Tom Bunning's photography reminds us that the cold comes in many guises and draws our gaze to Icelandic landscapes - the waterfalls, the birds wheeling under eggshell blue skies and the endless snowbound vistas.  Be warned though, if you venture out into the cold, you may not come back again...

New World Flavour

For our Canada magazine, writer Shaun Pett and photographer Leila Ashtari explored the wines of Ontario. Due to the nature of print we couldn't publish all of their wonderful finds and images. So, for those seeking some new world flavour, below are some of the gems that deserve plenty of attention ...

Though Canadian wine is still a young tradition in the land of beer - with the first European vinifera grapes planted in the 1950s and serious wineries started only in the 70s - pioneering winemakers are experimenting with unique but challenging environments and building a new tradition of wine. Two of Canada’s major wine regions lie along the shores of Lake Ontario and are within a short drive of Toronto, making them the perfect destinations for a weekend escape. The Niagara Peninsula and Prince Edward County, a patchwork of vineyards and farm land and colonial towns, are now home to 150 wineries and counting, along with the attendant restaurants, artisans and boutique hotels.

New World Flavour

SUCKING ON STONES

Geology marked the Niagara Peninsula for grapes. The glacial Lake Iroquois, a precursor to Lake Ontario, deposited the fertile soil and red clay, while an ancient sea laid down the limestone sediment for the Niagara Escarpment, which traps the warm air currents from the lake. At the cliff-side lookout of Beamer Memorial Conservation Area you can see the skyline squiggle of Toronto across the lake and to the east runs the Escarpment’s spine.

Growing up in Niagara I never drank wine. Only after living two years in France did I come to appreciate it. This is a common pattern for Canadians: we look past what is near to what is far. Francois Morissette was born in Quebec and worked ten years in Burgundy before arriving in Niagara with the single purpose of letting the land dictate the grapes and the grapes dictate the wine. The first time I visited Pearl Morissette there was no sign at the entrance (and probably never will be). This is on purpose. Morissette is unlike most winemakers in Niagara. He takes an uncompromising approach toward non-interventionist, natural winemaking. Airborne indigenous yeasts start fermentations, and out of the nearly 200 ingredients you are legally allowed to add to wine, he only uses sulphur, and only if he has to. For him winemaking is more art than recipe and no two wines are ever the same. The old wood foudres from Alsace, the concrete eggs and steel tanks, the earthenware qvevri from Georgia, these are simply the pots he uses to cook in.

Svetlana Atcheva, the winery’s passionate ambassador, with her Eastern-European accent and Nabokovian way with description, described a wine’s structure as “ladders” climbing in the back of the mouth and called a 2014 Chardonnay that we tried from the tank “a snowflake under the microscope,” creamy and soft, but structured. Morissette’s wines and methods can seduce some and annoy others, but every wine region needs its provocateur, someone to push boundaries and undermine complacency. His wines—the Riesling, gamay and Cabernet Franc I still remember—set a benchmark for Niagara’s potential.

New World Flavour

New World Flavour

TRACING ANCIENT FOOTSTEPS

Follow Regional Road 81, which winds it way through the peninsula, and you’ll be tracing the former Lake Iroquois shoreline and a past Native trail. Heading east along 81, you near the Niagara River and the American border. Here the Escarpment eases into flat fields and you can find tiny Five Rows Winery tucked away in St. David’s. Winemaker Wes Lowrey, the fifth-generation of his family to farm this land, focusses on making the wine in the vineyard, spending two months thinning the 150 rows of vines by hand, three per day. His very small batches are excellent wine. Neighbouring Ravine Winery is worth stopping at for a bite of field-to-table fare.

New World Flavour

ON ISLAND TIME

Because of the Murray Canal, Prince Edward County is technically an island. Located almost halfway between Toronto and Montréal, it feels far apart from the urban grind, with the slow rhythms of country living and small town intimacies. The County is the newest wine appellation in Ontario with vines only planted at the turn of the millennium. The varying topography creates a mesoclimate at each vineyard, allowing you to visit 20 different wineries and taste 20 different Chardonnays. But making wine here requires one to be a little stubborn and a little mad. Since the winters get so cold, and temperatures of -25°C can kill vines, they must ‘hill up’ the vines in autumn, burying them under earth and hoping they’ve survived when dug up by hand in spring.

At the new micro brewery, British chef Neil Dawson turns out fresh and simple dishes of the moment - he’s also known to roast a pig from time to time. We sat on the patio overlooking the vines with a pint of the saison. A salad of crisp snap peas, watermelon radishes, crumbled feta and poppy seeds was a snapshot of that early summer day.

It’s easy to hop from one winery to the next, as most are clumped in the west of the island due to the moderating lake breeze. Down Closson Road don’t miss The Grange, Closson Chase, and The Old Third. At Norman Hardie’s, who is the gregarious face of the County and the gateway for many to the region, we ate what is still the best Neopolitan pizza around, enjoying it on the patio with a glass of stony Calcaire while others slurped oysters and the slow Sunday afternoon melted away.

New World Flavour

New World Flavour

WRITING NEW LORE

At Trail Estate the tasting room was still being built so Mackenzie Brisbois hosted us in the cluttered production shed. Her first year as head winemaker, she was excited to show off her skin contact experiments. Using this thousand-year-old technique of letting the juice sit with the skins for up to three weeks (like with red wine, but unconventional with white), she crafted four three single lot Rieslings and a Sauvignon Blanc that were complex and textured. The last one, of which she only made less than 100 bottles, had a surprisingly nutty nose - none of the grass one is used to - and a good funk that bloomed into melon flavours. Working in this hands-off manner, letting the wine become the wine it wants to be, requires patience. One day it’s good, another bad. “Doing nothing is the hardest thing.”

New World Flavour

PATHS LESSER TRAVELLED

Leaving the tourist trail in the west, you’ll find a hidden spots, like the gravel beach at Little Bluff Conservation Area or Sandbanks Provincial Park, where the 8 kilometres of mesmerizing sand dunes is the largest system of its kind in the world. Fifth Town artisan cheese, housed in a LEED-certified, green building, hosts wine and cheese tastings.

There’s something of the monk in Glenn Symons. He works mostly alone at Lighthall Vineyards, secluded on a nowhere road, perfecting his wine and cheese. A home vintner for 25 years, he bought the vineyard in 2008, attracted by the soil’s potential and its unwritten story. He has rigorous standards and won’t sell a wine that disappoints him. Cases of an unsatisfactory rosé have been in storage, waiting to be distilled to fortify a late harvest Vidal he produces. We chatted in his small production kitchen while he scooped fresh sheep milk curds into moulds. I asked him if there was a wine or cheese that he wanted to make that he hadn’t yet attempted. No, he said. He knows what he wants. Like others in the County, he has a self-confidence that comes from having found his place in the world. The job then, vintage after vintage, is listening to this place and singing it to others. That’s what wine can do.

New World Flavour

New World Flavour

New World Flavour

The Canada Magazine

This week the Canada issue of Lodestars Anthology - officially released in the UK on October 18 - will be avalible through our online store. So we thought we'd celebrate by sharing some of the wild and wonderful images and illustrations that fill the pages of issue 6. Thank you as always to our truly spectacular contributors - the world is indeed filled with some rather talented beings. You can order the magazine here.

About the magazine: Canada is a land where lakes glow, mountains soar and island life prevails. Wild, rugged and unfazed by time, luxury resides in unexpected corners, cities delight and outdoor adventure beckons, for nature is indeed all around. You yearn to explore, to get lost, to reconnect with a pristine beauty so hard to encounter in the modern world. The seasons astound - from frozen winters to summer’s never-setting sun - while waterfalls carve canyons, rivers become frozen highways and people smile, aware of their heritage and all that this land has gifted them. You’ll find snow and maple syrup, art and architecture and a landscape both inspiring and eternal. Greetings from the Great White North.

Some featured destinations:

Clayoquot Wilderness Resort Fogo Island Inn Vancouver Toronto Montreal The flavours of Canada Cosman & Webb maple syrup Left Field Brewery Canoe North Adventures The Yukon in winter Northwest Territories Nova Scotia Halifax Lobster Boil Ontario wines The Canadian Rockies Prince Edward Island Calgary The Canadian