Swanning around Suffolk

Words by Sarah Jappy & Photographs by Liz Schaffer

When we arrived in Southwold, it was raining cats and dogs. A while later, it was just raining dogs: a veritable hailstorm of bottom-wiggling, tail-shimmying, four-legged Fidos appeared before our eyes over the following two days. If Southwold were renamed Dogwold, nobody could protest.

Mind you, we were here for birds, not pooches – and one bird, to be precise: The Swan. This handsome historic hotel is perched just a scone’s throw from the sea on arterial Market Place, within grabbing reach of the self-professed ‘Oldest Shop in Town’ (Mills & Sons: the family butchers) and boujee boutique Collen & Clare, stocked with Mulberry bags, WAG-worthy bikinis and other wallet-wrecking sartorial plunder.

But back to The Swan (and its swish new plumage). After racking up more than 100 birthdays, the Adnams-owned grande dame was, understandably, looking somewhat faded. Step in London-based design studio Project Orange, who sprinkled Shoreditch-style fairy dust all over this Southwold stalwart in 2017.

We were bowled over by our bird upon arrival. (It didn’t hurt that bunting was being strung up outside as we hopped out of our taxi; indicating, we assumed, that the locals had been alerted to our arrival.)

A handsome grandfather clock stands guard in The Swan’s welcoming lobby, where two acid-pink throne chairs reign supreme in an orchid-adorned corner. A carpeted staircase drops hints about what awaits above; a sociable salon was abrim with gossiping silver-haired locals, snuggly ensconced on lime-green velvet sofas.

The Swan has irreproachably friendly staff and a team of brilliant butlers. Ours, a genial Brummie called Andrew, swiftly whisked our luggage away while we used our best investigative journalism skills on the front desk team, determinedly deducing the most-adored local cake shop and the quickest way to the beach.

Five minutes later, we were sitting outside Two Magpies Bakery in the company of giant sourdough sandwiches (one stuffed with smoked cheese and sun-dried tomato; one packed with an ocean’s worth of mayo-drenched crayfish), plus ice-cold cans of elderflower fizzy pop and a wodge of stout cake with the appropriate ratio of sponge to buttercream (50:50). 

Sufficiently fortified, we waddled across the road to another local treasure: Southwold Books, which is backed by Waterstones but operates as an indie. Time slowed down in the bookshop’s characterful Grade II-listed building, the Olde Bank House; despite our best intentions, we left a while later, weighed down with our very own mini library.

Being smog-ridden city types, our eyeballs were hungry for the wide blue sea. Only one thing could delay us: Wow Vintage. Here, we had no choice but to invest in gem-encrusted cocktail rings and a conker-coloured fur jacket (ideal accessories for a damp British weekend). Dripping in fur and jewels, we perambulated onwards to the beach, admiring Southwold’s pleasingly wonky architecture, cobbled laneways, little lawns, abundant poppies and pastel-coloured cottages en route.

When it comes to coast, Southwold can hold its head high: it’s home to a beautiful stretch of pristine, ice-cream-cone-coloured sand, where elephant-grey waves frothed, churned and crashed with vigour. Bookmarking the pier and the postcard-pretty beach huts for tomorrow, we returned to our boutique basecamp – fur coat somewhat bedraggled – for a well-deserved tea-and-biscuit break.

British-seaside hotels can veer on the stuffy side, but not a single nook or cranny of The Swan could be accused of this crime. Flinging open the door to our room revealed a cosy, colour-pop cocoon with two supremely comfy beds, a patterned rug, a marshmallow-soft throw, filament-bulb lights, a bandbox-neat, white-tiled bathroom and views of Southwold’s terracotta-tiled roofs, the lighthouse and the shimmering sea beyond. A giant TV and a minibar stuffed with chocolates, crisps and Adnams beers hinted at snug nights in.

Additional cues to stay put at The Swan include a double-act of dining propositions. In the handsome Still Room, gilt-framed oil portraits of ye olde lords and ladies (and their dogs, of course) hang on the walls, watching without comment as guests indulge in one too many breakfast pastries or gin-sloshed post-prandials.

On our first night, we rounded off a day’s worth of baked goods and wine with a feast here. Appropriately, for a brewery-owned hotel, the restaurant’s design scheme riffs ravishingly on the small-batch Adnams distillery a few metres away. The jewel in the crown is the gleaming copper-topped bar and its rainbow-bright fleet of spirits and bitters, all emitting a halo-like glow. Striking bottle lighting continues the boozy sartorial seduction. 

Honouring our setting, we kicked things off with a lemon-sherbert French 75 and a ruby-red negroni, followed by fish ceviche with mango sorbet, succulent rib-eye with melted onions and bone marrow, charred carrots, triple-cooked chips, peach macaron with passion fruit, and a mini army of East Anglian cheeses.

Thankfully, we didn’t have to roll ourselves far to bed after all this (just up a few stairs). Proximity is one of the feathers in The Swan’s cap: everything you could conceivably wish to do in Southwold is within staggering distance, meaning you can comfortably indulge in multiple pints at The Lord Nelson (former den of smugglers, hurrah) or multiple chocolate-and-raspberry slices at Two Magpies. The Adnams brewery is a few steps from reception – and well worth touring for the chance of encountering rebellious yeast, as we delightedly did. 

During our stay, we also ticked off windswept Southwold Pier and its brilliantly bonkers arcade games (courtesy of mad-cap artist-engineer Tim Hunkin), fried golden deliciousness at the Little Fish and Chip Shop and a butler-and-beach picnic courtesy of The Swan, starring a chocolate cake so decadent, my companion suffered a near-fatal cacao coma before being revived by the sea air.

Alas, we failed to make it to the topaz museum, but it’s always good to have reasons to return. The Swan’s ink-dark bar and restaurant, the Tap Room, counts among the latter. We spent our last night here enjoying a bizarre but delicious array of shared plates, from melted Camembert to cockles and other crustaceans. Over-indulgence aside, The Swan is as serene and flawless as its avian namesake. Forget seagulls – every seaside needs a Swan. 

To learn more about the hotel - or simply book a room - click here.

A Sea of Green

Words and Photographs by Carlota Caldeira.

The road ahead was terrifying, so narrow that, certainly, no sane person would dare drive along it. And yet it was in this direction that Tiem turned our motorbike. 

"Hang on now!"

I grabbed hold of my seat and turned to see my sister on the back of Thao’s bike, following right behind us. I could sense she was smiling, even under her black helmet. The road kept withering down until all that remained was a thin thread of cracked concrete, dancing along the cliff. To our right a rocky wall disappeared into swirling clouds. To our left the road dropped away completely. 

I’ve always had the tendency to imagine the worst case scenario. So as I glanced down, heart in my mouth, I immediately started conjuring images of our motorbike tumbling into the green abyss. But the thought was fleeting, for the beauty of that alien landscape was all I could contemplate. It left me speechless, filled with awe. I opened my helmet’s visor, allowing the wind to wash across my face as I took it all in - the pure mountainous air, the stream of clouds moving above us and the endless intoxicating green of it all. 

Tiem - born and raised amongst those dramatic roads - drove confidently, intimately aware of the intertwining paths. “Almost there," I heard him say, his soft young voice blending with the wind.

We finally came up to a high cluster of black boulders. A couple were slowly making their way down with a guide, awkwardly grabbing hold of the rocks as they attempted to descend.

“There is the Lion King rock,” said Tiem with a shy smile, as we parked the bikes. 

Amongst the cluster was a slightly triangular rock, reaching out, a suspended arm above the void. I looked at my sister, wide-eyed. “Are we supposed to climb this thing?”

 Tiem noticed my nervousness. “You don’t have to go, of course. Many guys do but, actually, only one girl I know has been up there so far.”

Just like that, my competitive mind switched on. "Well, that does it then, this girl can’t be the only one!”

We were looking up, observing the couple still making their way to safe-ground, when I heard steps on the gravel. With flowery striped neon clothes, the Hmong girl was like a dot of red and yellow painted on to that melange of greens. She was carrying a collection of leaves that could have almost swallowed her whole. She was perhaps 10 years old, though her face was strained, a harshness stealing her childlike features. As she sat down by the cliff, next to a young boy with the same rigid look, her brother perhaps, I noticed a bandage on her finger, touched with blood red. She didn’t seem to pay attention to it though, nor did she appear to acknowledge the scene before her as she chatted away - this etherial setting a simple backdrop, part of her everyday.  

Watching her, it dawned on me. I was here as a passenger, an outsider, someone who would never truly understand what it is like to live in their world. What would it have been like if I had been born amongst these green mountains? I would grow up by the abyss of those massive cliffs, undaunted by heights, trusting the natural structures of my universe. Maybe I would pass hours waiting out by the roads, reaching out my hand to passing riders in hope of a  high-five, wearing the most genuine of smiles. Work would no doubt dominate my days, walking along those winding roads built by the sweat of my ancestors. Maybe I too would not always notice those vast mountains or the bruises around my hands.

I looked at my sister. There we were, at the last frontier of Vietnam, with China creeping up before us. The clouds kept rolling on, the wind softly howling, dancing its way around the rocks. The mountains were alive, vivid and entrancing. I took a breath of cold air, now somehow heavier, and gazed up ahead.

“Alright, let’s do this then”.

An Ode to the Coast

Words by Jess Kate Glass & Photographs by Matt Ben Stone.

With around 35,876 kilometres of coast, Australia is the land of Speedos and Vegemite, mates and mozzies, sandy toes and sticky fingers. A country whose winters put English summers to shame, where balmy evenings play host to a choir of cicadas, spontaneous late night barbecues and that romantic ‘just because’ fling. There’s the smell of sea-salt mixed with sunscreen, falling asleep in a sun-drunk daze and discovering grains of sand days, or even weeks after you’ve left the sunny shores, which linger in the furthermost corners of your home. Traces of sun-kissed days that were.

This is what growing up on the Australian coast is all about. Yet with only so many sunny days in a week, and with so much sand to cover, choosing a swimming spot can be like trying to divide your time between your loved ones and eclectic social circles. Thus I feel duty bound to harness my years of coastal living and guide you through our blissful selection of sandy shores. So pack a beach bag, ‘slip, slop, slap’ and prepare to swim between the flags.

Sydney Waves

Let us begin with a personal favourite, the glorious stretch of beaches where I have spent countless sunny days and nursed numerous sunburns as a result.

From the postcard-perfect Bondi Beach and her magnificent neighbours Bronte, Tamarama and Clovelly, to the bustling shores of Coogee, Manly and Balmoral, Sydney is spoilt for choice when it comes to coastal dwellings. Whether you’re a born and bred local intimately acquainted with the beach, its baristas and fellow sun-dwellers, or a wide-eyed tourist stumbling upon one of these striking beauties, their magic is never lost. At once energetic and slow, chaotic and serene, these Sydney beaches are recognisable the world over. And rightly so.

A word to the wise, sport luxe is ‘so hot right now’ so be sure to dress a la I’ve just been to pilates/yoga/cross fit, even if you have absolutely no intention of doing so, and say on-trend things like almond milk, pressed juices, organic and hipster. If this sounds a touch daunting, know that beyond Sydney’s CBD lie a mix of semi-hidden gems and waterfront towns, sun-catching hideaways like Hyams Beach, Jervis Bay and Crescent Head where milkshakes rather than cold-pressed juice are the treat of choice. Extended beach holiday meets road trip anyone? Yes please!

Peninsula Bound

While NSW may be a tough act to follow, the serene Mornington Peninsula in Victoria is turning up the heat. Home to a delightful range of posh and fabulous seaside towns like Flinders, Sorrento, Portsea and Mount Martha, ‘The Peninsula’, as it is endearingly referred to by locals, is top notch and well worth visiting.

Located southeast of Melbourne, it is surrounded by Port Phillip (west), Western Port (east) and Bass Strait (south) and certainly fits our theme of townships girt by sea. Whether you consider yourself an adventurer and sports lover, wine connoisseur and foodie, culture vulture or history enthusiast, The Peninsula is sure to delight. There are more than 30 coastal and hinterland villages to explore and it only takes half an hour to drive from top to bottom. Yet traveller take heed, this area takes wind swept and ocean breeze to the extreme, so be sure to hold onto your hats while taking in the stunning scenery.

A Beautiful Adventure

Moving further south, nestled into the rugged Tasmanian coastline is the secluded Wineglass Bay. With water that is 50 shades of blue and miles of white sand it’s not difficult to see why it is said to be one of the world’s top beaches. Found in Freycinet, a national park 125 kilometres northeast of Hobart, you can sample world class oysters while sipping on cider, sea kayak or quad bike amongst the eucalyptus trees, get lost in wineries or camp out and watch the sunset.

Sunshine and Gold

It would be remiss to overlook the Sunshine Coast, where some of Australia’s best-known beaches reside. From Noosa and Coolum to Maroochydore and Mooloolaba, the never-ending shorelines and luscious green parks of the Sunshine Coast read like a beach-goers’ fairytale - a lush summery paradise. I still remember being piggybacked along a beach here as a child while hundreds of crabs scurried and scrambled, dodging the pounding footsteps of ‘oohing and aahing’ families like mine. To this day I don’t know who was more fascinated - those tiny little crabs or six year old me!

I have always found living by the coast sublime; a geological lottery I was fortunate to win. A site of such contrast, beaches can be vibrant and bustling hubs filled with snippets of conversation and squeals of delight or a place of silent refuge, an oasis used for peaceful contemplation. The sprawling blue of the ocean, pulsing rhythm of the waves and infinite grains of sand lining the shores are nothing short of remarkable. These are humbling reminders that we are a small part of an ever-changing landscape beyond our control yet eternally beguiling.

The beach is my childhood, my social habitat, my mental escape, my alone time. This is my ode to the coast.

Text taken from our sold out Australia magazine - more of Matt’s wanderlust-inducing work can be found by clicking here.

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.   

Interview - Jonathan Stokes

We sat down for a chat with the rather amazing photographer behind our Portugal cover images … the utterly brilliant, travel-besotted Jonathan Stokes. You’ll find his interview below, along with a few images he’s snapped over the years - from all over the globe. Anyone else fancy packing their bags?

What first drew you to photography? 

I don’t have a ‘I picked up a camera at three and it was love at first sight’ background but I always enjoyed playing with film cameras and taking pictures. I started thinking [about it] seriously when I studied photography at A level; I was really inspired by the three teachers on the course at college and they introduced me to the creative industries, and creative thinking, like I’d never been exposed to before. From then there was no question that I wanted to work in the field. Around the same time I went backpacking for the first time (inter-railing around Europe and down to Morocco for three months over the summer) and the two worked perfectly for me - travel and photography.

How would you describe your style? 

I really love working with natural light; the classic dawn and dusk golden hours, following the light and seeing what it does to textures and landscapes and faces. I love looking to make ‘big’ pictures loaded with detail and at the same time finding simple, graphical shapes to compliment. I’m lucky in that a lot of the work I do incorporates lots of genres of photography - from landscape and portraiture, interiors and food - so I have opportunities to play a bit. I have always been really in to cinema which definitely has influenced me. I am always taking screen shots of compositions that maybe wouldn’t naturally occur to me. I watched The Third Man for the first time when I was university and the cinematography kind of blew my mind.

Has your style changed over time? 

Definitely. It’s normal to evolve over time and I think the more you shoot the better you get, learning [from] experience and instinctively getting a feeling for what you love and how you produce it. But like everything, it can easily change when you want to try new things and new challenges and shake up what you’ve been doing. And of course being inspired by new discoveries and artists and seeing what other photographers are doing keeps you learning. 

I used to be very drawn to public spaces which were empty and still - think city streets on early summer mornings - and it was all I was shooting for a while; someone dubbed it as ‘a curiosity in the presence of absence’. These days I’m photographing people more than ever and enjoying getting up close and personal to the action. It’s still in ‘my style’ but it’s fun to have different experiences with photography. 

Has there been a particularly memorable shoot? 

Nearly all shoots have a series of really memorable moments. A big one for me was last year, shooting for a self-drive safari company in Tanzania for 10 days. Even when the weather didn’t cooperate, it was just such a buzz being out there. A key point of the job was the wildebeest Great Migration, but I was lucky enough to witness an elephant’s funeral, which are fairly rarely seen. A herd of 12 elephants came marching to the body of one who had died and ‘mourned’ for about 30 minutes before moving on. It was spectacular to see - how aware and deliberate their movements were - and very moving to sit quietly and document such an amazing moment.

You travel extensively for your work - does one particular destination stand out photographically? 

That’s a very difficult question, a bit like ‘what’s your favourite film’. It is often cited as a photographer’s playground, but India really does deliver - the people and cultures and architecture and landscape and the COLOURS … it really is unique. It’s certainly a fantastic place when getting into photography to visit and practise in, which I did on a trip in Rajasthan. I’ve shot there four more times since and each trip has been totally different. 

Can you tell us a bit about capturing the Portugal cover photo? 

The Portugal cover is a shot of the old Ribeira neighbourhood of Porto, and quite iconic for the colourful houses climbing up the hillside next to the river. This particular photo was taken after I had come out of a Port tasting in one of the lodges and had enjoyed a couple of glasses. It had been quite cloudy all day so it was great to come out of the wine cellar to a great sunset, which shows those old buildings in their best light.   

What do you enjoy most about the freelance lifestyle? 

I love the diversity of the projects and the flexibility that freelancing can afford. Often commissions can come up at short notice and things move quickly. I can start the week with an empty diary and a few days later find myself shooting in a new city or country, meeting new people all the time. It’s exciting and can be stressful! When photography is your work and you are running it as a business, it is amazing how busy you are doing 101 things that are not taking pictures, so it’s not all glamorous destinations and fancy hotels. Theres a lot of pitches and PDF’s and updating websites and making meetings and scanning receipts to keep you busy.

What is your dream project/collaboration? 

I have been very lucky and had great editorial commissions with some fantastic writers and journalists. Travelling for work with likeminded people, not always knowing what you’re going to see and do, is a lot of fun. I look forward to carrying on in this way and there’s so many regions I haven’t been to; the islands in the pacific really appeal. I’ve stayed in a few AMAN hotels over the years and they are always stunning and in beautiful places, so to have them as a client would be a bit of a dream. Similarly, shooting smaller independent hotels and guesthouses run by locals you can find some real gems, which helps give the destination a unique perspective.

To see more of Jonathan’s work click here.

You can order a copy of the Portugal magazine here.

Discovering Jordan

There are countless reasons to travel. It is a glorious mode of discovery, offering the chance to see unchartered terrain and encounter icons. It will make the unknown familiar and remind you of the scale and beauty of all that is out there. It also has a way of being remarkably good for the soul, which London-based writer and photographer Ellen Hancock discovered on her solo jaunt through Jordan. She craved something different, a break from the norm - a destination rich in history and culture, enhanced by a landscape that is not quite of this world. “I found all of this and more, Jordan is truly one of the most mesmeric places I have traveled to but I also found a community of people so welcoming, loving, kind and peaceful. In discovering their past, I walked off my own, replacing stale nostalgia for new encounters.”

Embrace the wanderlust.

A Road Trip Through Iceland

Photo Essay by Holly Farrier & Video by Ollie White-Smith

Towards the end of winter, my friends and I spent six days driving around Iceland, beginning in Reykjavik, touring the traveller-adored ‘Golden Circle’ and continuing on into the country’s south, ending our journey at Heima Holiday Cabins, which is found amidst mountains in the middle of nowhere. It was here that we witnessed the celestial wonder of the Northern Lights - twice in a row. 

Some days we drove aimlessly, taking in the otherworldly landscapes, spotting cabins buried in snow beside traditional Icelandic churches. Other days, we set out on missions with a planned itinerary, seeing black beaches, frozen craters and plenty of waterfalls. We gazed, ate and swam in geothermal pools in negative temperatures. Driving back to the airport at our journey’s end our hearts were full yet we were sad to leave our trusty car behind, a stoic little vehicle that had allowed us to see so much. Boarding the plane, we were already planning our next road trip adventure. 

You can find more of Olli’s work here - and Holly’s images here.

Foxhill Manor

Words by Sarah Kelleher

Foxhill Manor sits in the Farncombe Estate, cradled by the undulating Cotswold hills just above the village of Broadway. On the sunniest of spring days, Hannah (a member of the friendly, close-knit team) picked my green-and-pleasant-land seeking travel companion and I up from Moreton-in-Marsh station and drove us along winding roads to our destination, where the wings of this honey-hued Arts and Crafts manor house embrace a shaded courtyard, and the guests arriving at this picturesque hotel.

The concept of Foxhill Manor is simple. Visitors are encouraged to think of the hotel as home for the night, or indeed several nights - and once experienced, you may never want to leave. The atmosphere is relaxed yet luxurious, with Champagne available throughout the day at the drinks station in the hotel’s living room, which features warm, umber-coloured furniture, mullioned windows and a roaring fire.

The feeling of stepping back in time whilst retaining all the comforts of the present continues throughout the manor, especially with regards to the hotel’s kitchen. Here, we were introduced to the chefs who craft the hotel’s culinary offerings, and to the hotel’s unique dining style, where guests can request foot at any time of day, and create their own dinner menu from the range of seasonal ingredients on offer. If you fancy a wine-tasting, potter down to the hotel’s wine cellar, which boasts enough wines to make any sommelier weep with envy.

The day was so beautiful that a walk through the surrounding countryside was most definitely in order. Assisted by handy printed guides, we hopped over stiles and meandered across fields to the village of Willersey, pausing to admire St Peter’s Church, a postcard-worthy mish-mash of architectural features dating back to the Norman period. Upon our return we honed in on another delightful feature of Foxhill – a pantry for the guests located on the first floor of the hotel, which can be raided at any time of the night or day, and is kept regularly stocked with all manner of snacks, including creamy salmon pate, delicious terrine and sweet treats.

A post-walk snooze gave us the opportunity to enjoy our room, named Juniper – a lovely open space decorated in soothing creams, blues and greys with the kind of comfortable double bed that is almost impossible to leave, a dressing room area, and an enormous bathroom, featuring a freestanding bathtub perfect for lounging around in true ‘lady of the manor’ style.

Restored by our rest, we enjoyed a pre-dinner cocktail in front of the living room fire – I particularly enjoyed the effervescent Plum Thyme Spritz, a sprightly mix of plum, thyme, crème de prune and Champagne. In keeping with the ‘at-home’ atmosphere, guests can choose where they eat their meals, whether in the living room, in an upstairs alcove or in the hotel’s bar-cum-dining room. We plumped for the latter – plump being the operative word, as the choices we’d made earlier that day in the hotel’s kitchen materialised one after the other. I happily devoured my harissa prawn starter, and succulent Moroccan-inspired lamb shank and pearl barley main, whilst my dining companion assured me that her oysters, followed by perfectly pink sea trout, was equally delicious. Limited only by the capacity of our stomachs we opted to share a pillowy pistachio and chocolate soufflé and a cheese board accompanied by an Eradus Sticky Micky dessert wine.

The next day dawned bright and clear, illuminating the stunning Cotswold countryside views beyond the windows of the living room, where we returned to enjoy breakfast, complete with croissants, homemade granola, fruit and yoghurt and a peanut and banana smoothie laid out on a sharing board. A cappuccino and eggs royale drenched in buttery hollandaise, all served on Danish ceramics in a nod to the owners’ Scandinavian heritage, was just the ticket to set us up for the day.

Foxhill (and Foxhill’s kitchen) is hard to bid farewell to, but with one last amble around the nature trails criss-crossing the estate, one final pilfer of the pantry and one more memorable drink, we were back on the train to London, the memory of deep baths, sparkling Champagne and Cotswold hills etched in our brain. That is until next time …

To learn more or book a Foxhill room, click here.

Paramount House Hotel

Retuning to Sydney on my annual pilgrimage south there are certain things I need to do. Have a scoop of mint chock chip at Messina, indulge in a burger or two at Harpoon Harry, swim in the sea at Camp Cove, wander the Wendy Whitely Gardens, bask in all things Australia at the Unicorn and, because being a bit of a cliché is fun sometimes, be on Bondi for at least one sunrise. On my most recent journey back to The Great Southern Land however I found a glorious new activity to indulge in - swapping the spare-bedroom-meets-storage-room I normally claim in my childhood home for a Loft room at the newly opened and utterly gorgeous Paramount House Hotel. This brick and copper-adored structure, in ever-trendy Surry Hills and just a short amble from the transport hub that is Central Station, is a destination in it's own right. Across the road sit Longrain and Chin Chin, restaurants any gourmand would swear by, and within the building you'll find Golden Age Cinema and Bar (the ideal date location for lovers of all things a little bit retro), long-adored breakfast haunt Paramount Coffee and co-working hub The Office Space. 

Having once been the offices and warehouses of Paramount Picture Studios, the 29 room hotel, which took four years to fully restore, feels like it comes with creative history. The interiors are warm, almost earthy - there are plants throughout and natural tones and textures abound. You'll find polished concrete, exposed brick, floor to ceiling windows (in the Loft room at least), rich furnishings, a lift with the best wallpaper in town, French linens you long to secret away and a Japanese style bath made for soaking. The artwork has been curated by the nearby China Heights Gallery, while check in within the lofty lobby comes with a welcome drink - I've got nothing but good things to say about the the sour beery from Marrickville brewery Wildflower - and plenty of indie reading material. 

Paramount House Hotel is the work of Melbourne-based Breathe Architecture and you can really sense the love and attention that has gone into making it something distinctive - an industrial-chic hideaway you don't want to leave. And you don't have to. Check in, admire the set up, catch a film downstairs, listen to the sounds of Surrey Hills, raid the cheese and wine in the mini bar and bask in the brilliance of one of Sydney's newest additions.  

Rooms from $240  paramounthousehotel.com

Photos by Sharyn Cairns & Tom Ross

Cogne

Words & Photographs by Daphne Potts.

There are some destinations so remarkable that you believe you’ve found wonderland; which is probably why I felt a little like Dorothy reaching the Emerald City when I entered the village of Cogne high in the alpine wilderness of Italy’s Gran Paradiso National Park. Petunia-bedecked chalets, ibex grazing on wildflowers in an expansive meadow, the enthralling, snow-capped peaks of the Gran Paradiso Massif - this was a magical realm ripe for discovery.

Feeling intrepid, I set off the next morning before the sun’s rays could bite - camera in hand - on a yellow brick road adventure of my own, using one of the myriad of mountain paths originally created for King Victor Emmanuel II’s hunting expeditions. These days, they form a network of summer hiking paths that criss-cross the mountainside, my chosen route taking me to Rifugio Vittorio Sella, high in the Gran Paradiso Massif.

Despite the physical demands which saw me searching for lion-like courage on the relentlessly ascending track, the hike was exceptional. Cows grazed contentedly in mountain pastures, cowbells chiming as they ambled. Golden eagles soared above stands of European larch and French spruce while chamois frolicked in the shadows. Crumbling shepherds cottages were festooned in a coterie of wildflowers. Cascading waterfalls, perfect for ice-climbing in winter, cooled sapped legs. And at the end, reaching the refuge and its mass of welcoming picnic tables, I absorbed the phenomenal vista while sipping hot chocolate, remarkably tasty in the crisp mountain air.

Turning back towards the valley, my new goal, I watched as shadows lengthened, colours softened and the mountains wore their evening veil - I’d imagine even a wizard couldn’t conjure such a scene. 

We visited Cogne as part of ourPathways book, exploring the Piemonte and Aosta Valley regions in our Italian chapter. You can learn more about the project, and order a copy of the book, by clicking here.

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.

Crabtree & Crabtree

Standing upon Bamburgh Dunes in windswept Northumberland, I watch three dogs bound over salt- softened grass to chase waves and gulls. In the distance stands Farne Island Lighthouse, a resolute silhouette before the late autumn sun. To my left are Holy Island’s ruins, and to the right, there’s nothing but boulders and sand. While there is a tea shop nearby, and a van selling cockles and whelks even closer, this isn’t the ‘pleasant pastures’ or ‘clouded hills’ version of England I dreamt of when, all those years ago, back in Australia, I first considered the romance of distant shores. But it’s one of the innumerable English scenes I now adore.

Although they’ve never been easy to pen, these editor’s letters typically come to me - unexpected and rough - in a particular location. For France it was while ensconced in a Champagne châteaux, Japan happened when seeking solace along the Kumano Kodō, and for Scotland, it was when battling sleet upon the Isle of Skye. These settings all seemed, in those moments, to capture the soul of our chosen country. Yet England was different. This may be a tiny island but it’s staggeringly diverse. It is sylvan, unpredictable, sublime, originative and contradictory - a land of eccentricity and ingenuity, a mix of worlds, practices and lifestyles all enriched and enlivened by an enthrallingly complex past. Travel here and discover more than you thought possible - and that defining Englishness is a daunting task indeed.

I mused on this opening while delving into Dorset’s literary history, tramping across the Peak District and plotting journeys to distant islands. It could have been Cornwall’s harbours, tales of Roman conquests, artistic movements born in seaside towns or star-filled skies that provided inspiration. But alone, in isolation, they never felt right, for England has many guises and no one scene, however iconic, quaint or quintessential it may be, entirely encapsulates this peculiar country. The land of hope and glory truly is the sum of its parts.

This extract from my England Editor's Letter was written while spending a glorious long weekend in Crabtree & Crabtree's Stewards House in Berwick-Upon-Tweed. It was my first trip to Northumberland - a destination that stars in the new England magazine, a place of gin, dark skies and wild spaces - and, faced with glorious September weather and a property I had no desire to leave, I could not think of a better introduction to this historic, fascinating part of the world.

The house itself is a feast of rose-coloured stone, homely furniture, sprawling gardens, vintage details and classically English soft furnishing. Downstairs, the spacious kitchen is ideal for those looking to show off their culinary prowess and mark use of the the region's exceptional produce (Chain Bridge Honey, for example, is just down the road). The kitchen leads on to the living room, complete with a tempting fireplace - and nearby is a wood-panelled billiard room, both perfect for cooler nights in. The upstairs bedrooms - all adorned with Farrow and Ball paints in muted hues and curtains that would make Laura Ashley proud - becomes yours the moment you pass through their doors. Should you be a fishing fan, this hideaway couldn't be more ideal, found upon a salmon river that separates England and Scotland. But the wonders of Northumberland, and Scotland to the north, all beg to be explored. Castles overlooking the waves, ancient fortresses designed to stir fear in the hearts of would-be Danish invaders, markets towns that have changed little over the centuries, wind-worn fishing villages, stone harbours and fields that appear to cascade on forever. If you're seeking an English escape somewhere sure to inspire, then perhaps a week at Steward's House would be just the trick

Crabtree & Crabtree have a range of self-catering accommodation offerings across Northumberland and Scotland - all properties coming with history, quirk and personality. The Cowshed, another Northumberland C&C gem, also appears in our England magazine - which you can order here. To make bookings or check out the C&C escapes available, click here.

Photographs taken by Angela Terrell while staying at Steward's House.

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.

Que Sera Sera

Shedding a little light on what our contributors get up to outside the magazine. 

Que  Sera  Sera  documents  a  year  long  FA  Cup  campaign  across  England  with  full  access  to  the  stadiums  throughout  the  competition,  providing  a  looking  glass  in  which  to  view  the  modern  game  beyond  the  glitz  and  glamour.  The  series  is  now  being  turned  into  a  photo-book  with  a  kickstarter  campaign  in  collaboration  with  renowned  documentary  publishers  Bluecoat  Press.  It’s  currently  live  with  only  a  days  to  go  to  make  it  a  reality  -  kickstarter.com/projects/queserasera/que-sera-sera/

The  FA  Cup  is  one  of  Britain's  greatest  sporting  institutions. With  a  history  stretching  back  to  1871,  it  is  the  oldest  football  competition  in  the  world  and  still  possesses  huge  cachet  for  players  and  supporters  alike. Photographers  Joseph  Fox  and  Orlando  Gili  saw  the  FA  Cup  as  an  opportunity  to  reverse  the  camera  and  capture  fan  culture  from  the  top  teams  down  to  the  grassroots,  taking  you  on  a  footballing  right  of  passage from  the  perspective  of  the  fans.

Que  Sera  Sera  tracks  the  campaign  beginning  in  mid  August  during  the  extra  preliminary  rounds,  a  few  miles  down  the  road  from  Wembley  stadium.  Following  each  winner  into  the  next  round,  the  two  photographers  travelled  a  combined  total  of  more  than  3,000  miles  over  10  months,  taking  in  13  rounds  and  15  games  (including  two  replays), returning  full  circle  back  to  Wembley  for  the  final. Uniting  every  fan  across the  country  during  each  round  you  can  hear  a  hopeful  yet  resigned  chant  reverberating  around  the  terraces  ‘Que  sera,  sera,  whatever  will  be,  will  be,  the  future's  not  ours  to  see.’

The  series  of  images  build  up  to  provide  an  anthropological  look  into  Britain’s  obsession  with  football, at  every  level  of  the  game. It  questions  whether  the  country’s  preeminent  domestic  cup  competition  still  retains  it’s  magic,  in  the  light  of  competition  from  top  flight  football  leagues  and  the  European  cup competitions.

The Old Clare Hotel

Sydney has changed since I left for London seven years ago. It's still an utterly glorious harbour-side oasis adored for its coffee and cafes, and it still has beaches I yearn for on cold English mornings. But it has become noticeably cooler in my absence. The galleries that were little more than tiny, unknown establishments in my early 20s have flourished and spread, architects are taking greater risks, food is increasingly daring and festivals of light and creativity seem to be on everybody's minds. This may be the distance speaking, but I love what Sydney has become.

This change is most noticeable when booking into the city's hotels - and Chippendale's The Old Clare Hotel in particular. Constructed from two heritage-listed buildings (the original Clare Hotel pub and the Carlton & United Breweries Administration Building), this 62 room property, part of the Design Hotels collection, is the warm, light-filled definition of industrial chic. A place that honours its history, embraces Australiana and makes leaving its welcoming, elegant interior very difficult indeed

Within the hotel's walls natural tones abound, with each room (all subtly different in design) boasting high ceilings and massive windows. There's polished wood, exposed brick, marble tiling and gleaming concrete, with glass used in communal areas to invite the outside world in and draw attention to the bones of the original buildings - metal external stairwells transformed into pieces of art and brick walls mirroring the streets beyond. There are pendant lights and vintage furnishings (the dentist chair by reception sets to tone immediately), all of which nod the Chippendale's industrial past. Colour is added with the use of soft furnishings, which include cushions inspired by Australia's wildlife and wildflowers and throws you long to secret away. 

Once a lesser-known haunt coveted by locals and uni students (music posters from its earlier incarnation have survived, which look rather glorious beside the brilliantly retro central bar), the revamped Clare Bar is open to all, with many of the cocktails made from spirits produced by the local distilleries popping up across the city. A rooftop pool beckons on warmer days - the chaos of the city seeming particularly far away - while the attached Kensington Street Social restaurant is the ideal breakfast haunt. Those unwilling to leave the lushness of their rooms are able to sample the fare as part of the in-room dining service. The hotel is also right beside Spice Alley, perfect if you have a hankering for something Japanese, Malaysian, Chinese ... I could go on. This is Sydney street food and accommodation done right. Here's hoping my hometown continues to thrive.

theoldclarehotel.com.au

The British Journal of Photography: Creative Brief

Extract from The British Journal of Photography, December 2017 Journalist, photographer and lover of independent magazines, Liz Schaffer moved from Sydney to London in 2011, a city that “felt like the epicentre of all things creative”, she says. Combining her passions with an innate curiosity for travelling, she launched Lodestars Anthology in September 2014 with the England issue, subsequently dedicating each journal to the exploration of a single country, including Scotland, Italy, Sweden and Canada. Together with her team and ever-growing list of contributors worldwide, she has also recently released her first compendium book, titled Lodestars Anthology: Pathways.

What are the first steps you take when working on a new issue? It’s a fluid process – our country of choice [for the issue] and the contributors we work with play a crucial role in shaping the publication. Sometimes we select a country when a photographer sends through work that we simply have to publish – a ‘love at first sight’ reaction. At other times it’s a friendly suggestion or an awareness that we are yet to cover a particular corner of the globe.

Do you select photographers based on their location? I always strive to create content based on experience. So getting in touch with photographers and writers on the ground, those who know a destination like only a local can, is crucial. That said, over the years we’ve built up an amazing and invaluable network of contributors, so we also come up with pieces by attempting to match a photographer’s style with the perceived feel of a place, and then send them out to capture it. When doing this we want to give them as much time on the ground as possible; when shooting for travel you’re quite often at the mercy of the elements, making time and flexibility essential. A minimum of five days is ideal, but I’ll do all I can to make this longer.

Do you have any guiding principles about collaborating with people? As obvious as it may sound, a good working relationship is crucial. I am in awe of the work we are sent – images that do seemingly impossible things with light, reveal the magic of the wild or capture a community’s verve and vibrancy. I do my best, whenever possible, to let my photographers know their creative worth. It’s also important to be friendly and open. Magazines, especially independent ones, tend to be incredibly personal endeavours. Budgets are tight, the hours are ridiculous and a work/life balance isn’t always there, so being able to get on and laugh with those you work with, getting genuinely excited when their name pops up in your inbox, more than justifies the difficult days.

How has the focus changed for independent magazines? One of the trends I adore is the increased space and respect given to illustration and photography – it feels like a return to the sweep and scope afforded press photographers in the 1960s and 70s. There is less reliance on stock imagery and a growing appreciation for originality and tailored commissions, which goes hand in hand with the reimagining of the magazine as a moreish physical object. People have begun to collect again. It’s understood that the magazines that sell are those that invest in their contributors and offer amazing content – a sense of escape and wonder that only exceptional images and writing can allow.

Are there any photographers you have particularly enjoyed working with? I adore different photographers for different reasons but two people we have worked with on multiple issues, and asked to contribute to our new book, Lodestars Anthology: Pathways, are Tom Bunning and Renae Smith. Both have such unique styles – they clearly see the world quite differently. Tom can make any landscape magical and his ability to manipulate light and shadow is almost otherworldly. He also puts his subjects at ease like no one else and, as a result, what he captures is wonderfully authentic.

Renae has a much lighter look and there is a calmness to her work. Interestingly, I see their styles as direct opposites. But you need that with travel; an ability to capture the diversity of our world, and to do so in an original, honest way.

Extract from The British Journal of Photography, December 2017

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.