The life of a travel writer is supposed to be one of out-on-a-limb locations and far-flung dots on the map, notebook in one hand, survival kit in the other.
But, very often, it involves a return to the familiar and the reliable – the places that we find so wholly charming on first impressions that we head to them time and again.
Here, 10 regular contributors to Telegraph Travel reveal the places that they love to revisit over and over – from the islands of Greece and the pretty contours of rural France to the nearer-at-hand joys of Dorset and the Brecon Beacons…
Chris Leadbeater
The Greek islands
What is it about the Greek islands? There’s something about arriving on one – especially by ferry – that makes worldly concerns suddenly evaporate.
No two islands are the same, of course, but they have plenty of things in common. Village squares shaded by plane trees. Tavernas offering unpretentious fare, with as many cats as diners. Pretty little beaches, with tiny chapels on the headland. Welcoming locals that can’t help but dote over your children.
I try to visit one every other summer, and have now ticked off 10 – Skiathos, Paxos, Corfu, Kefalonia, Lefkada, Skopelos, Mykonos, Tinos, Zakynthos and Syros – with dozens more on my wishlist. They shall forever be the constant in my travelling life.
Oliver Smith
Chilean Patagonia
Wild is a label used carelessly in travel writing, but Chilean Patagonia is a place where no other word fits. For starters, the mountain scenery of the Unesco Biosphere Reserve, Torres del Paine National Park, is tantalisingly untouched, brokered only by hiking trails meandering past egg-blue glaciers and wind-scoured lakes.
But for me, it’s behind the wheel of a 4WD on the Carretera Austral where the region’s wildness is most tangible. This remote stretch of part-gravel, part-paved road glides through tangled temperate rainforest and past one-horse towns, each smaller than the last. As you head south, glacier-speckled mountains, vast grassland plains and a capillary-like network of fjords appear in succession, near empty of other visitors. You almost feel guilty having it all to yourself.
Steph Dyson
Dorset, UK
Northamptonshire is a perfectly inoffensive place to grow up. Yet, having moved from Johannesburg, the crumbling castles, magical trees and hidden coves I’d been promised by Enid Blyton were noticeably absent from my new-build estate in Kettering. I’ve since been to nearly every crevice of this pleasant, green land that has been home for 20 years, and it wasn’t until I camped on a windy ledge on the Isle of Purbeck that I found the England I’d read about.
Dorset’s wild nook is both hard enough and easy enough to reach from everywhere else. Parts of the coast are truly extraterrestrial but it remains pastoral, almost soft. Villages here seem in a glacial struggle to see who can put up the most beautiful and dutifully maintained thatched roofing, and there are a few very good pubs and restaurants in them. More than anything, it’s the heath, cliffs and Scots pines I’ll be returning to for the rest of my life. I can see why Blyton loved it too.
Jordan Young
Bangkok, Thailand
From the moment I stepped off the plane at 16 and that heady tropical heat hit me, I was done for. Since then I’ve been back to Bangkok around a dozen times and it still gives me a rush. The city is simultaneously chaotic (wires tangled up on telephone posts, flaming roadside woks) and increasingly glamorous (myriad Michelin-starred restaurants, high-end malls). I’ve experienced it in all kinds of ways, from the backpacker bars of Khao San Road to plush riverside hotels, and have always been thrilled.
This is also the world’s best city for hotels, something close to my heart as the Deputy Hotels Editor. My first love was the Mandarin Oriental, with its giant floral installations and wooden boats that ferry you to the spa. More recently, I fell for Capella, and will hopefully be back to check out the new Langham at the end of this year.
Emma Beaumont
Brecon Beacons, UK
I visit Bannau Brycheiniog, the Brecon Beacons, at least once a year. Many visitors sprint up to the top of Pen y Fan, but exploring the quieter hills and valleys is what consistently draws me back to the national park.
I’ve summited Picws Du, overlooking the myth-laden Llyn Fan y Fach, ridden a stubborn Welsh pony through the foothills, and braved a cold plunge into Sgwd yr Eira on the forested Four Falls Trail. This year’s visit brought me back to the tumbling ruins of Carreg Cennen Castle, with its tower overlooking the surrounding lush greenery, to explore its ancient caves.
And yet there are still trails to be trodden on my next return, fuelled by a visit to the International Welsh Rarebit Centre’s rustic café and a pint in front of the fire at the Felin Fach Griffin.
Libby Ryan
Canada
I’d spent almost seven months in the US – over 10 separate trips – before I first ventured north of the border to Canada in 2017. Now, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather go. It’s a country so vast (and vastly different from province to province) that each visit leaves me yearning for more. Last year, I explored the beautiful Nova Scotia behind the wheel of a Buick, gorging on lobster, exploring harbour towns and navigating the epic scenery of the Cabot Trail; all just a six-hour flight from the UK.
This year? A trip to French-speaking Quebec is on the cards. I’ve still never been to South-East Asia, but I just can’t resist flying west.
Natalie Marsh
Japan
I wish I could offer something more off the beaten path, but much like the rest of the world, I can’t get enough of Japan. It’s the country that a tourist can never truly tick off, as every island, every prefecture, every city and town is different from the next. A true “choose your own adventure”, whatever your niche passion or greatest joy might be, somewhere in Japan is maxing it out.
I’ve enjoyed tea ceremonies with geiko (geisha) in ancient inns, bathed in forest hot springs under the stars, spent sleepless nights wandering sleepless cities, and snoozed on beaches of white sand and turquoise sea. There are still major regions I’ve not yet set foot in – Kyushu, Hokkaido – but with Japan’s efficiency, civility and astonishing beauty I know visiting all of them will be an effortless pleasure.
Patrick Courtney
Extremadura, Spain
I was instantly taken by Extremadura the first time I visited, two decades ago. I went because I had come across the name of the region in relation to the conquistadores. The town where Pizarro came from, Trujillo, is a magical place – small, with monumental buildings and palaces like a grand capital. Guadalupe is a pretty village with a massive, magnificent monastery at its heart.
Over the years, as I’ve gone from penning occasional articles to writing for a travel guide about the region, to leading cultural tours, this oft-overlooked area of western Spain has grown on me. It is now familiar – almost a home from home – and when I’m seated in a bar in Plasencia, or Cáceres, or Zafra, with a local red and a platter of the world’s best cured ham, I am happiest.
Chris Moss
Kruger Park, South Africa
“Dad! Leopard!” My daughter was bouncing with excitement, largely because she was the one who’d spotted it; a big, beautiful creature which trumped even the honey badger we’d found sniffing around our barbecue the night before. We’d been on the road since 6am: already we’d seen hippos, giraffes and a loping hyena. Now, breakfast awaited at a nearby picnic site. But it would have to wait a little longer.
Some purists claim the Kruger is too managed; too “tame”. But where else can you find the big five all by yourself? Yes, guided safaris are fabulous, but it’s the doing your own thing – the thrill of discovery – that keeps me coming back to this enormous, wildlife-packed adventure playground.
Mike Unwin
La France Profonde
From terroir to foie gras and angry gilet jaunes, la France profonde (deep France) is a loaded term on the lips of a Parisian. For tourists, however, the patchwork vineyards and maize fields of the French interior, dotted with handsome stone villages and medieval Bastides, are a France far removed from the maddening crowds on Montmartre or, God help them, the poseurs of the Côte d’Azur.
I love to press into rural France along the old Route Nationale 7, once nicknamed the Route du Soleil (or the main road from Paris to the sunny Med). Today it’s a sleepy transit through the broad agricultural plains of the Loire corridor; the vineyard villages of Burgundy; and the sun-warmed river valleys of Bourbonnais. Market day detours; languid lunching (two hours au minimum) and the early morning baguette run are non-negotiables.
Sally Howard