Rock formations in the desert near Petra: in the past 15 years Jordan has become a paradise for travellers
Ruins and wildlife: Jordan by Matthew Teller
“You see them?” Ahmed Shaalan, ranger at the Shaumari Wildlife Reserve, swung the safari jeep around and roared dust into pudding-bowl skies. His eyes were better than mine, but then I saw them too, beyond the jittery gazelles—Persian onager, a critically endangered subspecies of wild ass. For perhaps ten minutes we drove alongside the herd, all velvet flanks and don’t-care donkey eyes, before they bolted.
I must have been to Jordan 30 times. If that sounds like too much of a good thing, my defence rests on combining pleasure with work. When I wrote the first edition of the Rough Guide, Jordan was tangential, a difficult place you might dip into for a whiff of ancient history—Petra, and so forth—but not somewhere you could imagine filling a two-week holiday.
Fifteen years on, Jordan still has Petra (and a thousand other sites), but it also has, well, ass-spotting safaris, for heaven’s sake. Earlier this year I ate exquisite Baghdad-style grilled carp amid a restaurant full of Ammani power-diners; hiked the verdant Ajloun Forest on silent trails between hill-villages; and heard Abu Abdullah, a Bedouin elder working with the boutique Feynan Ecolodge, tell me, “I don’t think my kids will want to stay in this tent—but you could give me a villa and I wouldn’t move.” Before, you could see Petra, spend a couple of days touring Roman ruins and then cross Jordan off the list. Nowadays the place merits a repeat visit. Or 30.
Matthew Teller writes about the Middle East. @matthewteller
Beach: Tenerife by Julie Burchill
Foreign countries bring out the dirty rotten bigot in so many people; not the old-style working-class “I-wouldn’t-touch-that-foreign-muck” shtick, but the middle-class “I’m-a-traveller-not-a-tourist” pony-and-trap. I think I love Tenerife more than anywhere I’ve ever been—and I’ve been to the Maldives, and Mauritius, and Crete.
Only a person so utterly infused with perversity as myself would go to a country synonymous with cheap-as-cheesy-chips and short-haul sun and then choose to spend thousands of pounds (and that’s just the bar bill—no all-inclusive for Baby here!) on a week for two. But I blame Abama (a resort in Tenerife) madness—the desire to bask in a place which resembles the Garden of Eden re-imagined by the late Gianni Versace. With seven swimming pools and a FUNICULAR! I’ve been there eight times now and each time it just gets better.
But at the risk of being a spoony old sap, I would have to say I would be happy any place with my husband. Stuck in a five-star hotel on the beautiful beaches of Eilat for three weeks without Dan when the Icelandic volcano went up, and we had no way of knowing how long it would take to fly safely, I found myself seriously considering suicide. Get that—finally making it to the Promised Land, and toying with the idea of topping myself because of some BOY. You really couldn’t make it up.
Julie Burchill is a writer and columnist
Markets and gods: Vietnamby Nick Redmayne
Amongst Chinese temples and across its Japanese bridge, Hoi An’s fragrant streets of shabby chic buildings are the haunt of travellers and backpackers. However, it’s more than a stopover en route to the “real Vietnam.” A microcosm of the country, Hoi An is a superlative venue for “hanging out.” Just order the sweet and strong caffeine sensation that is ca phe sua da (Vietnamese iced coffee), sit back and see what comes along—usually something inconceivably large strapped to a bicycle or balanced on a scooter.
The fragrant streets of shabby chic buildings chink to the sound of tourist dollars. But beyond the chorus of market women selling their goods, others are happy to reflect on the country’s history—I’ve met Vietnamese who watched the last French convoys leave and later witnessed the first American bombs fall. The clamour of commerce may sometimes be deafening, you can get away from the hard sell by walking down Hoi An’s lantern-lit alleys on the evening of a full moon, where instead traders burn spirit money and paper clothes for gods and ancestors.
Vietnam has successfully added the creed of tourism to that of communism and the other “isms” of Buddha, Confucius, Tao and Cao Dai, and with new non-stop flights from London, I’m a believer.
Nick Redmayne is a travel writer, radio reporter and photographer
Cruise and train: Alaskaby Roger Cartwright
As a writer on the cruise industry and as a regular guest speaker on cruise ships, it may surprise people to learn that my wife and I take one or two cruise holidays a year purely as guests. As I am a model-railway buff and my wife loves nature, our favourite holiday is Alaska by both ship and rail. Princess Cruises and Holland America have superb rail/cruise packages, which offer great views of the Alaskan scenery and wildlife.
The train journey from Anchorage to Whittier takes a number of days and on our most recent trip, each night we stayed in well-equipped Princess Lodges. I even had a ride on the White Pass and Yukon Railroad.
At sea we had an excellent suite at the stern of the ship and the balcony proved a wonderful spot for observing the majesty (and seals) of Glacier Bay, and for a fantastic evening of whale watching as we steamed down the Inside Passage to Vancouver and passed pod after pod of Orcas going north. To the usual good food and entertainment on a cruise liner, the Alaskan cruise and rail package adds nature and spectacular scenery. We are now planning the reverse journey, taking the train from Calgary to Vancouver and then sailing north. Hopefully there will be more bears in the Rockies.
Roger Cartwright is the author of “Cruise Britannia: the History of the British Cruise Ship” (History Press)
Desert beauty: Skeleton Coast by Tahir Shah
It was the lure of treasure that first took me to Namibia’s Skeleton Coast. As a child I had heard that during the second world war a German frigate had sunk along this, Africa’s bleakest and most forgotten stretch of coast. The cargo of gold ingots has never been found.
I have been to Africa’s most obscure corners. But nothing had prepared me for what I discovered in Namibia. As a former German colony, the roads are A-grade and the telephones actually work. But it wasn’t the infrastructure that impressed me. It was the sense of solitude. A vast, uncompromising chunk of Africa, the Skeleton Coast is a realm where nature is king and where man seems like a puny blight on the landscape. In my travels there I roamed with the desert elephants, climbed the highest sand dunes in the world, and searched for the golden treasure. What I found was a beauty the likes of which I had never imagined existed.
Tahir Shah's novel, “Timbuctoo,” has just been published. Visit www.timbuctoo-book.com
The Antarctic by Klaus Dodds
My first experience of the Antarctic was as a 28 year old. I boarded ship and left South America bound for the Antarctic Peninsula. The onset of a Force 10 storm turned the crossing into an experience I shall never forget, as our small Russian vessel with 30 passengers battled against the Southern Ocean. Once in calmer waters, I had the luxury of finally appreciating what I had longed to see since I was a child. A world so isolated from other human populations and yet full of marine and aerial life.
One thing you cannot under-estimate is how noisy and smelly the Antarctic can be; Happy Feet it is not. The stench from a penguin rookery is not for the faint hearted. The landscapes and seascapes of the Antarctic Peninsula are quite unlike the polar plateau. It is not flat. It is not a desert of whiteness. It is in fact incredibly varied, with volcanic beaches, jagged mountain ranges, rocky outcrops, and multiple islands. Nor is it as cold as you would imagine. You can feel humidity in the air.
For those who like their polar heritage, Port Lockroy is a must. A British base built in the midst of the second world war during the secret naval operation Tabarin. Now beautifully restored, it serves as a prime tourist attraction and you can still see the preserved cans of food dating from the 1940s. It is an A-Z of imperial foodstuffs—Scottish Oats, Ceylonese Tea and Canadian syrup.
My favourite location is Deception Island; a horseshoe-like island with a narrow entrance. As you enter, you appreciate why so many explorers, whalers and scientists established their bases and stations here. Argentina, Britain and Chile still believe they own the place. It is hard to take those rival claims seriously and yet if you look hard enough you can still see the remains of sign posts that once read “Crown Lands.”
Klaus Dodds is the author of “The Antarctic: A Very Short Introduction” (OUP)
Norwayby Anne-Sophie Redisch
Among the fjords of western Norway is Fjærland, a little pearl of a village. It's small, only 300 inhabitants, and situated on the absurdly beautiful Fjærland fjord. There are a few shops, cafés and restaurants. But the real attraction is the outdoors: hiking, biking, fishing, kayaking, canoeing, or—my favourite—glacier walking.
My children and I adore staying at Fjærland's 19th-century Mundal Hotel, preferably in the turret room. But for those who want the full Norwegian experience, there are cabins for hire, by the fjord, in the mountains and near glaciers.
Next door is Jostedalsbreen, the largest glacier in mainland Europe, with even more gorgeous nature and rich fauna. We've spotted deer grazing under the glacier, and even the occasional moose. Further up the mountain, reindeer abound. The wilder animals are more elusive, but locals talk of encounters with bears, wolves, wolverines and lynxes.
And when the animals are reluctant to come out, Fjærland is home to the excellent hands-on Norwegian Glacier Museum (soon to add a woolly mammoth park), as well being Norway's most literary town. Books are everywhere: indoors and outdoors, along the street, in cow pens, boat sheds and fishing huts—all on a trust system. If you want to buy a book (or many), you just take it and put money in a tin.
Anne-Sophie Redisch is a freelance travel writer and a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society
Ruins and wildlife: Jordan by Matthew Teller
“You see them?” Ahmed Shaalan, ranger at the Shaumari Wildlife Reserve, swung the safari jeep around and roared dust into pudding-bowl skies. His eyes were better than mine, but then I saw them too, beyond the jittery gazelles—Persian onager, a critically endangered subspecies of wild ass. For perhaps ten minutes we drove alongside the herd, all velvet flanks and don’t-care donkey eyes, before they bolted.
I must have been to Jordan 30 times. If that sounds like too much of a good thing, my defence rests on combining pleasure with work. When I wrote the first edition of the Rough Guide, Jordan was tangential, a difficult place you might dip into for a whiff of ancient history—Petra, and so forth—but not somewhere you could imagine filling a two-week holiday.
Fifteen years on, Jordan still has Petra (and a thousand other sites), but it also has, well, ass-spotting safaris, for heaven’s sake. Earlier this year I ate exquisite Baghdad-style grilled carp amid a restaurant full of Ammani power-diners; hiked the verdant Ajloun Forest on silent trails between hill-villages; and heard Abu Abdullah, a Bedouin elder working with the boutique Feynan Ecolodge, tell me, “I don’t think my kids will want to stay in this tent—but you could give me a villa and I wouldn’t move.” Before, you could see Petra, spend a couple of days touring Roman ruins and then cross Jordan off the list. Nowadays the place merits a repeat visit. Or 30.
Matthew Teller writes about the Middle East. @matthewteller
Beach: Tenerife by Julie Burchill
Foreign countries bring out the dirty rotten bigot in so many people; not the old-style working-class “I-wouldn’t-touch-that-foreign-muck” shtick, but the middle-class “I’m-a-traveller-not-a-tourist” pony-and-trap. I think I love Tenerife more than anywhere I’ve ever been—and I’ve been to the Maldives, and Mauritius, and Crete.
Only a person so utterly infused with perversity as myself would go to a country synonymous with cheap-as-cheesy-chips and short-haul sun and then choose to spend thousands of pounds (and that’s just the bar bill—no all-inclusive for Baby here!) on a week for two. But I blame Abama (a resort in Tenerife) madness—the desire to bask in a place which resembles the Garden of Eden re-imagined by the late Gianni Versace. With seven swimming pools and a FUNICULAR! I’ve been there eight times now and each time it just gets better.
But at the risk of being a spoony old sap, I would have to say I would be happy any place with my husband. Stuck in a five-star hotel on the beautiful beaches of Eilat for three weeks without Dan when the Icelandic volcano went up, and we had no way of knowing how long it would take to fly safely, I found myself seriously considering suicide. Get that—finally making it to the Promised Land, and toying with the idea of topping myself because of some BOY. You really couldn’t make it up.
Julie Burchill is a writer and columnist
Markets and gods: Vietnamby Nick Redmayne
Amongst Chinese temples and across its Japanese bridge, Hoi An’s fragrant streets of shabby chic buildings are the haunt of travellers and backpackers. However, it’s more than a stopover en route to the “real Vietnam.” A microcosm of the country, Hoi An is a superlative venue for “hanging out.” Just order the sweet and strong caffeine sensation that is ca phe sua da (Vietnamese iced coffee), sit back and see what comes along—usually something inconceivably large strapped to a bicycle or balanced on a scooter.
The fragrant streets of shabby chic buildings chink to the sound of tourist dollars. But beyond the chorus of market women selling their goods, others are happy to reflect on the country’s history—I’ve met Vietnamese who watched the last French convoys leave and later witnessed the first American bombs fall. The clamour of commerce may sometimes be deafening, you can get away from the hard sell by walking down Hoi An’s lantern-lit alleys on the evening of a full moon, where instead traders burn spirit money and paper clothes for gods and ancestors.
Vietnam has successfully added the creed of tourism to that of communism and the other “isms” of Buddha, Confucius, Tao and Cao Dai, and with new non-stop flights from London, I’m a believer.
Nick Redmayne is a travel writer, radio reporter and photographer
Cruise and train: Alaskaby Roger Cartwright
As a writer on the cruise industry and as a regular guest speaker on cruise ships, it may surprise people to learn that my wife and I take one or two cruise holidays a year purely as guests. As I am a model-railway buff and my wife loves nature, our favourite holiday is Alaska by both ship and rail. Princess Cruises and Holland America have superb rail/cruise packages, which offer great views of the Alaskan scenery and wildlife.
The train journey from Anchorage to Whittier takes a number of days and on our most recent trip, each night we stayed in well-equipped Princess Lodges. I even had a ride on the White Pass and Yukon Railroad.
At sea we had an excellent suite at the stern of the ship and the balcony proved a wonderful spot for observing the majesty (and seals) of Glacier Bay, and for a fantastic evening of whale watching as we steamed down the Inside Passage to Vancouver and passed pod after pod of Orcas going north. To the usual good food and entertainment on a cruise liner, the Alaskan cruise and rail package adds nature and spectacular scenery. We are now planning the reverse journey, taking the train from Calgary to Vancouver and then sailing north. Hopefully there will be more bears in the Rockies.
Roger Cartwright is the author of “Cruise Britannia: the History of the British Cruise Ship” (History Press)
Desert beauty: Skeleton Coast by Tahir Shah
It was the lure of treasure that first took me to Namibia’s Skeleton Coast. As a child I had heard that during the second world war a German frigate had sunk along this, Africa’s bleakest and most forgotten stretch of coast. The cargo of gold ingots has never been found.
I have been to Africa’s most obscure corners. But nothing had prepared me for what I discovered in Namibia. As a former German colony, the roads are A-grade and the telephones actually work. But it wasn’t the infrastructure that impressed me. It was the sense of solitude. A vast, uncompromising chunk of Africa, the Skeleton Coast is a realm where nature is king and where man seems like a puny blight on the landscape. In my travels there I roamed with the desert elephants, climbed the highest sand dunes in the world, and searched for the golden treasure. What I found was a beauty the likes of which I had never imagined existed.
Tahir Shah's novel, “Timbuctoo,” has just been published. Visit www.timbuctoo-book.com
The Antarctic by Klaus Dodds
My first experience of the Antarctic was as a 28 year old. I boarded ship and left South America bound for the Antarctic Peninsula. The onset of a Force 10 storm turned the crossing into an experience I shall never forget, as our small Russian vessel with 30 passengers battled against the Southern Ocean. Once in calmer waters, I had the luxury of finally appreciating what I had longed to see since I was a child. A world so isolated from other human populations and yet full of marine and aerial life.
One thing you cannot under-estimate is how noisy and smelly the Antarctic can be; Happy Feet it is not. The stench from a penguin rookery is not for the faint hearted. The landscapes and seascapes of the Antarctic Peninsula are quite unlike the polar plateau. It is not flat. It is not a desert of whiteness. It is in fact incredibly varied, with volcanic beaches, jagged mountain ranges, rocky outcrops, and multiple islands. Nor is it as cold as you would imagine. You can feel humidity in the air.
For those who like their polar heritage, Port Lockroy is a must. A British base built in the midst of the second world war during the secret naval operation Tabarin. Now beautifully restored, it serves as a prime tourist attraction and you can still see the preserved cans of food dating from the 1940s. It is an A-Z of imperial foodstuffs—Scottish Oats, Ceylonese Tea and Canadian syrup.
My favourite location is Deception Island; a horseshoe-like island with a narrow entrance. As you enter, you appreciate why so many explorers, whalers and scientists established their bases and stations here. Argentina, Britain and Chile still believe they own the place. It is hard to take those rival claims seriously and yet if you look hard enough you can still see the remains of sign posts that once read “Crown Lands.”
Klaus Dodds is the author of “The Antarctic: A Very Short Introduction” (OUP)
Norwayby Anne-Sophie Redisch
Among the fjords of western Norway is Fjærland, a little pearl of a village. It's small, only 300 inhabitants, and situated on the absurdly beautiful Fjærland fjord. There are a few shops, cafés and restaurants. But the real attraction is the outdoors: hiking, biking, fishing, kayaking, canoeing, or—my favourite—glacier walking.
My children and I adore staying at Fjærland's 19th-century Mundal Hotel, preferably in the turret room. But for those who want the full Norwegian experience, there are cabins for hire, by the fjord, in the mountains and near glaciers.
Next door is Jostedalsbreen, the largest glacier in mainland Europe, with even more gorgeous nature and rich fauna. We've spotted deer grazing under the glacier, and even the occasional moose. Further up the mountain, reindeer abound. The wilder animals are more elusive, but locals talk of encounters with bears, wolves, wolverines and lynxes.
And when the animals are reluctant to come out, Fjærland is home to the excellent hands-on Norwegian Glacier Museum (soon to add a woolly mammoth park), as well being Norway's most literary town. Books are everywhere: indoors and outdoors, along the street, in cow pens, boat sheds and fishing huts—all on a trust system. If you want to buy a book (or many), you just take it and put money in a tin.
Anne-Sophie Redisch is a freelance travel writer and a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society
