Ten days in a lorry travelling back from Riyadh in 1977 was my most intense travelling experience. Through Jordan, Syria, Turkey, Bulgaria, the old Yugoslavia, and into Europe, everything went wrong: the lorry broke down, the driver lost his papers, and I had to fight him off nightly, that problem solved by stomach bugs as a result of sharing tea and water melon with a wolfish group of fellow lorry drivers. We made a detour to the ruins of Jerash, and circled the endless slums of the Damascus ring road. We crossed the Taurus mountains by night, stayed two unforgettable days in Istanbul, passed horse carts in Bulgaria and slowly re-acclimatised to Europe in the sterile service stations of the autobahns. I have been a tourist many times since but never travelled in quite the same uncomfortable, raw, but immediate way.

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Sheepskins hang up to dry on a long line outside the Estancia, and flamingoes stand sulkily among black faced swans on the shoreline. They feast you on giant mussels and lamb that has smoked over an open fire all day; the rooms are a riot of fascinating clutter from pioneering days. The gauchos have long hair and knives in their belts; the riding is to suit your pace and the horses here gave me the confidence to make that a gallop. I'm utterly thrilled that my photograph is on the estancia's website.

www.estanciatravel.com/
Puerto Bories 13-B, Puerto natales, Chile
+56 61 41 22 21
Google map: bit.ly/v2i0Sf

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Estancia Cerro Guido is a working ranch spectacularly situated on the border of the Torres del Paine national park in Chile. From there you can ride out to an Indian grave, a heaped stone cairn at what feels like the top of the world, snow topped mountains all around and always with the “torres” and “cuernos” in view - the granite towers and horns of the 12 million year old Torres del Paine massif. When I was there condors circled above, close enough to hear the wind in their feathers, and 30 more tore at a dead sheep as we rode past on our descent, listening to the eerie shriek of a guanaco. In the evening picture windows let us prolong our enjoyment of the view, while our lamb bbq dinner in the luxurious estancia only heightened the contrast to the wild and remote location.

www.cerroguido.cl/english/home.html
+5661 360635
Google map: bit.ly/sY7FPo

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I visited Los Potreros, a 6,000 acre working cattle ranch in Argentina, during August - cold enough for the wood burning stove in my bedroom to be lit every evening, warm enough by day to lie in a hammock with the companionship of a polite dog. Our hosts, the Begg brothers, matched us intuitively to our perfect horse and demonstrated the laid-back Western style. Accompanied by attentive gauchos, our tack ex-army saddles covered with sheepskins, saddle bags full of picnic, we visited a school, a church, and a waterfall where I swam. We rode through scents of violet, peppermint and honeysuckle, glimpsing hares and burrowing owls. Our long-maned horses floated with the Peruano Paso gait, a mixture of riding Dougal and a rocking horse. At night the carpet was pushed back after each of the cook’s unparalleled meals, and the gauchos played guitars, danced and sang. Hot water bottles awaited us in our shuttered rooms, comfortable with rows of books and ancient family photos. By the end of the week I had tried polo, seen horses being branded, and was eating my meat like a gaucho, bloody as it comes.

www.estancialospotreros.com/
Los Potreros CC64, 5111 Rio Ceballos, Córdoba, Argentina
+54 (0)11 6091 2692
Google map: bit.ly/tZMCg5

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Chronic ill health led Robert Louis Stevenson, famous author of Kidnapped and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, to embark on a series of voyages around the South Seas. He finally settled along with his family in Western Samoa, where he became a well-loved figure, striding around like a “demented stork” according to one observer. He died in 1894 at the age of 44. It is still possible to visit his house, Vailima, and if you are fit and willing, to labour up the rough hewn path built by devoted Samoans to carry him to rest at the top of an extremely steep hill. When I was there I was alone in that uniquely peaceful spot, with a wonderful view down over the coastal town of Apia.

www.rlsmuseum.com/
PO Box 850, Apia, Samoa
(+685) 20798
Google map: bit.ly/qhqTnA

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Robert Louis Stevenson, famous author of Kidnapped and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, was living in America in 1888 when his chronic ill health led he and his entire family to voyage around the south seas. This book describes how he came to settle in Western Samoa, build a home there, Vailima, and finally die there in 1894 at the age of 44. Years after reading it I struggled alone up the rough hewn path which devoted Samoans had built to the top of a steep hill to lay him to rest. I was alone with a wonderful view down over the coastal town of Apia, reading the inscription on his grave:

Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Vailima Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson ed. Methuen

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I was overjoyed to discover this book in the eighties, to find a kindred spirit, someone who not only found himself fired up by the sound of exotic destinations like “Hispaniola” and “Cathay;” but one who does not accept “it’s impossible, you can’t take a series of ships around the world” as a final answer. Well, he did it, by tanker, freight, dhow, junk, anything that moved, twenty-three vessels in all over seven months, encountering pirates, coolies, captains and admirals, always the best, most entertaining and enterprising of companions. “Slow Boats Home” is the equally exciting sequel.

Slow Boats to China by Gavin Young

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Sara Wheeler travelled alone around the long skinny country that is Chile for six months in the early 90’s, and this is her account. She tells it like it is, and the truth is travel can be horrible: missed connections, sea sickness, squalid rooms and the frustrations of bureaucracy. We learn about the history, literature, geography and politics of the country, she mixes with everyone from the poorest to poshest, and there are plenty of detailed maps of her route. Best of all, the book is hilarious, with phrases like: “our room was made entirely of hardboard, the bathroom locked on the outside and we had to unscrew the lightbulb to turn the light off."

Travels in a Thin Country by Sara Wheeler

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This is an extraordinary book written at a time and about a place, that means it will almost certainly never be replicated. Peter Levi and his friend the author Bruce Chatwin travelled through Afghanistan in 1970 to study classical influences on Buddhist architecture and sculpture. It was a wild and dangerous expedition undertaken by bus, foot and on horseback, and Levi comments perceptively "I remember thinking we were as remote from the world then as we should ever be in our lives". This book defines the difference between travel and tourism.

The Light Garden of the Angel King by Peter Levi

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Laurie Lee, best known as the author of Cider with Rosie, set out to walk from the north to the south of Spain in July 1935. Why Spain? Because he knew enough of the language to ask for a glass of water. By the time he arrived in Andalucia a year later civil war had broken out and he was evacuated by a British destroyer. This is real adventure among the wild beauty and blazing heat of the countryside he trudged through, and the poverty of the people he lived among. He reflected afterwards: “I was perhaps never so alone and never so alive again."

As I walked Out One Midsummer Morning by Laurie Lee

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In the north of Iceland near Varmahlid, Hestasport have six individual wooden chalets grouped around a natural spring hot tub. They can organise white water rafting, whale watching and glacier visits in beautiful fjordland scenery. I was on an optional riding package and found Icelandic horses the most huggable in the world. But the highlight for me was an exhilarating climb to the flat, grassy top of Drangey Island, summer home to a large puffin colony. I suffer from vertigo but the guide was angelic in her determination that I would make it. If you only have a week in Iceland, as I did, you needn’t miss out on the better-known sights of the “Golden Circle” because the highland bus back down to Reykjavik includes time at the geothermal area at Hveravellir, Gullfoss waterfall and Geysir.

www.riding.is/
Vegamót, 560 Varmahlíð, Iceland
(+354) 453 8383
Google map: bit.ly/r6xeQZ

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The Golden Key at remote Bordubet on Turkey’s Lycean coast is situated on a shady creek. Watch kingfishers and black swans from your balcony, feed the rabbits or take a tranquil boat trip round to the private beach club where you can swim out to laze on a raft, jump on a floating trampoline, or explore the empty coastline by kayak. We took a day trip to the hot springs and mud baths at the Sultaniye Spa, had lunch directly opposite the Carian cliff tombs at Kaunos and were back in time for a sunset dinner at The Golden Key’s beach restaurant, situated on a little hill overlooking the tranquil cove. Heaven.

www.bordubet.com.tr/en/
Bördübet Mevkii, Marmaris - Muğla
+90 252 436 92 30
Google map: bit.ly/n1kG9L

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Take a budget flight to Valladolid, pick up a hire car and head off on a 90 mile drive through Castilla y Leon, Spain’s largest (and my favourite) province, to the venerable old university town of Salamanca. You’ll have long empty roads through orchards and vineyards, flower-strewn verges in spring, and storks clacking their bills from bell towers as you pass.
After a night exploring city squares, restaurants and bars that come alive at 11pm, continue another 70 miles to the hilltop towns, forests and orchards of the Sierras de Francia. At the medieval village of La Alberca there are half-timbered houses, washing draped over balconies, donkeys, pastel shutters and window boxes. From here return direct to Valladolid and enjoy a last night with a stroll among the peacocks and statures of Campo Grande Park before flying home.

Look out for the plentiful “Miradors” where you can pull over to picnic or admire the views at your leisure. Fuel is cheaper than the UK and attendants do the filling. But watch your speed: on-the-spot fines of €150 are a nice little earner for Spanish traffic cops when for a few hundred yards signs change inexplicably from 90 to 50 kph.

Google map: bit.ly/mtsWaO

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I had this little mineral pool all to myself one March day, on a side trip from visiting the Lake of Fire in the centre of Sao Miguel island. It’s nicely warm on a cold day, with a pretty waterfall, and all surrounded by exotically lush vegetation, mainly ferns. A high iron content has coloured the water and surrounding rocks orange. There are a few little wooden changing huts, picnic tables, and steaming fumaroles (geysers) nearby.

Caldeira Velha Park Sao Miguel, Azores
Google map: bit.ly/hrTEhr

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The outdoor Sultaniye baths are right on the shore of Lake Köycegiz on the Turkish Lycian coast. Last October chilly rain encouraged me to wallow straight down into the shallow bath of warm mud - in summer apparently, the form is to allow the air to dry you afterwards. Instead, I lowered myself gingerly into a very hot (40C) thermal mineral pool and read the long list of what exactly was benefiting my skin. It’s apparently “radioactive, hyperthermal, hypertonic” - which means good for arthritis, rheumatism, and skin complaints. Finally a swim in the silky waters of the lake and a visit to the restaurant. There are tourists here certainly, as
from here it is a short boat ride along the Dalyan delta to the Carian cliff tombs and ruins of Kaunos. (Look out for kingfishers darting across the river). But there are also many locals, obviously taking their “cure” very seriously.

Sultaniye Thermal Baths and Hot Springs at Lake Koycegiz
Google map: bit.ly/hzYjzv

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Henry Williamson, best known as the author of Tarka the Otter, (published in 1927) lived in North Devon and is buried in the churchyard at Georgham. Williamson loved Exmoor, and during his time at Skirr Cottage in the 1920’s he roamed the moors and cliffs between the Taw and Torridge rivers while researching the local wildlife and gaining a reputation as a gifted, although eccentric, writer. It is possible to follow Tarka’s fictional wanderings around North Devon and over Exmoor on The Tarka Trail, a 180 mile long walking and cycling route based around Barnstaple. Look out for glow worms, art installations, interpretation boards - and otters.

www.tarka-country.co.uk/tarkatrust
Google map: bit.ly/g4aEDO

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As generations of unenthusiastic schoolchildren would affirm, nothing is more literary than a Shakespeare play. The best place to convert a reluctant student is Shakespeare’s Globe on London’s Embankment, built in the original open-air Elizabethan model. Try a lively production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and defy even the sulkiest teenager not to laugh; or Macbeth, where this summer naked, bloodied bodies writhed out of tarpaulins from amongst the standing audience. Tip, if you are sitting, hire cushions, and try and avoid seats in the full sun.

www.shakespeares-globe.org
21 New Globe Walk, Bankside, London SE1 9DT
+44(0)20 7401 9919
Google map: bit.ly/gWIT8L

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The site of Robert Louis Stevenson’s grave on Mount Vaea, Samoa, is a uniquely still and tranquil place, well worth a detour or even a pilgrimage. Stevenson, author of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Kidnapped and Treasure Island, lived for five years at nearby Vailima - now a museum - until he died at the premature age of 44. Sorrowing Samoans carried his body up the steep, rocky path to his final resting place, where his tomb is engraved with the epitaph: “Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie.” Where better to meet your muse than this remote and lonely spot with its sweeping views down to the coast and extraordinary atmosphere of peace.

www.rlsmuseum.com/
(+685) 20798
PO Box 850, Apia, SAMOA
Google map: bit.ly/fWw4Cf

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The truth is, every time I’ve done the Dunwich beach walk, scrunching along marvelling at the fact that the place was once a mile inland, I’ve been frozen by icy spray, or blinded by driving sleet. But that’s the secret pleasure of this bracing Suffolk coastal walk, anticipating a real fire, home cooked food and real ale at the cosy Ship Inn. Next summer I’ll stay at the inn (children and dogs welcome), venture into the conservatory and garden, and explore Dunwich Heath for nightjars and butterflies. Meanwhile, as you walk on the beach, listen carefully - you might hear the ghostly bells of All Saints Church, long ago drowned by the encroaching sea.

www.shipatdunwich.co.uk/
Dunwich, Saxmundham, IP17 3DT
+44(0)1728 648219
Google map: bit.ly/fTwNlS

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Riding in the Torres del Paine national park, Patagonia, is exhilarating. Chilean saddles are deep and comfortable, with stirrups like buckets - giving the illusion it is impossible to fall off. The gauchos are black eyed and long haired, with knives stuck in their belts. We rode to the Milodon cave made famous by Bruce Chatwin, then to an Indian graveyard high on a mountain where condors wheeled above our heads close enough to hear the wind in their feathers. We saw an armadillo and rode past herds of guanaco, always within sight of the granite towers and horns of the Torres. We passed turquoise lakes and glaciers and raced for miles through pampas. I wanted to take all the horses I rode home with me - and a gaucho too.

Book through inthesaddle.com
Google map: tinyurl.com/3x9ejpo

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