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‘I would tell you a joke about a mountain, but I'm worried you wouldn't get over it.’
It’s no secret that I love scenery – nature is truly amazing and awe inspiring. And beaches and azure water rate very highly in my mind. But mountain vistas are up there too. It’s a subject on which I can range far and wide – sorry, but there’s a lot of scope for puns in this subject. There actually is a mountain in Pakistan called Pun Mah. That’s hill-arious and it’s all downhill from here...............
Mountains, a vast natural playground offering, ironically, both high-adrenaline adventure and peaceful isolation. There are the rugged terrain technical challenges like rock climbing, mountaineering, scrambling, and mountain biking. Also on the sporting list; hiking, backpacking, horse riding, and trail running.
I can’t think of much that’s more satisfying than a walk at altitude, with great views. Though backpacking I’ve given up. Much too strenuous. Being at one with nature may be a cliché, but the peace and spiritual awareness that I’ve found in the mountains at times, is so wonderfully satisfying it’s hard to describe satisfactorily. Perhaps the vast scale shrinks our personal worries and makes us feel more connected to the world
That’s why the alpine environment also offers a sanctuary for leisure and creativity, drawing people to camp (I keep trying to give that up too) under clear unpolluted skies, photograph and paint dramatic landscapes or diverse wildlife, and generally escape the stress of city life.
Weather, of course, is a crucial factor. Alpine weather is notoriously changeable. Clear, sunny skies provide the perfect window for high-altitude trekking, peak bagging, and technical climbs, but the famously unpredictable alpine climate means sudden afternoon thunderstorms can quickly force adventurers below the tree line to avoid exposed ridges and lightning. When rain moves in, slick rock faces and washed-out dirt trails pivot outdoor plans toward lower-altitude forested walks or cosy indoor village exploration.
As the seasons shift, freezing temperatures and heavy snowfall completely transform the landscape, shutting down summer trails, but opening up the slopes for a whole new season of skiing, snowboarding, ice climbing, and snowshoeing.
Mountains, in their turn, heavily influence weather patterns. They act as massive walls which block weather systems. When wet air hits a mountain, it’s forced upward, cools down, and dumps rain on one side. By the time the air crosses to the other side, it’s completely dry. A lush forest on one side of a mountain range and a desert on the other.
Mountains are also massively important geographically. They act as the world’s water towers, supplying fresh water to more than half of the human population. They’re also home to about half of the world's biodiversity hotspots, providing habitats for thousands of unique plant and animal species that can't survive anywhere else.
When travelling at altitude: first of all, take the right gear – as I’ve discovered it's not a good idea to be blasé about that unpredictable weather. The technical stuff, like ski gear, isn’t cheap. But mountain sports without the right gear are just plain dangerous.
Second, be prepared for altitude. Anything over 6,000 feet can cause problems. Lack of breath and giddiness. the thin air changes brain chemistry and perceptions at extreme heights.
Not to mention the fact that tea tastes odd, as the water doesn’t boil at a high enough temperature. Water boils at 71 degrees Celsius on the top of Everest. That particular location may not be as issue for you, but sickness might.
I had been fine on visits to mountains until I was in Bolivia, much more recently. For some reason then I was quite badly affected with altitude sickness. Coca leaves ( handed out by the handful) may help. But I needed Diamox. Doctors may prescribe it before you go.
Historically, alpine travels relied entirely on wooden sledges, or strings of pack animals like mules and yaks to haul cargo over treacherous, unpaved trails and was often entirely on foot. I can still choose traditional human-powered trekking, or guided pack-animal trips if I want to step off the beaten path and play the role of early explorer. But today, my journeys through the peaks mainly rely on highly engineered, high-speed transit that transforms what used to be a gruelling expedition into ( I hope) a comfortable, scenic adventure. Instead of facing days of intense physical exhaustion on foot, I can now effortlessly glide over deep chasms in climate-controlled aerial gondolas, ride specialized cogwheel trains through solid rock tunnels, or drive over superbly engineered mountain roads.
Navigating those mountain roads isn’t easy. Switchback routes, with endless hairpin bends require skilled driving, using low gears for engine braking on long downhills, to prevent the brakes from overheating. And, a head for heights, as you try to concentrate on the road ahead and not peer over the sheer drops to the side. Winter conditions may require snow chains for tyre grip. But it’s definitely worth it, if there are enough viewpoints to pull off and admire those panoramas.
For a more relaxing journey, up from the valleys, specialized rack (or cogwheel) trains use toothed centre rails to climb steep inclines directly through the peaks (Cogwheel trains can safely climb slopes of 45% to nearly 50%. Ordinary trains can only do 10%) ). To reach high-altitude viewpoints, ski resorts, (often doubling as hiking trailheads in the summer) utilize aerial gondolas, cable cars, and funiculars, which lift me comfortably over deep chasms in minutes. Walking may still be on the agenda, once I’m up there, of course. Not many roads up top.
Alpine environments are fragile and not always well looked after, as profit nowadays wins out over future business and sustainability. Everest is nowadays notorious for litter and traffic jams. Ski resorts are having to rely increasingly on artificial snow making, which uses energy and drains local water supplies.
So, I try not to get frustrated about reservation systems, entry caps, or mandatory local guides to protect the trails and wildlife
Given their propensity for awe and wonder it’s not surprising that cultures across the globe, for thousands of years, have treated mountains as sacred places, homes of gods, or bridges between earth and heaven, like:
Let the train take the strain. And book on one of the world's most scenic mountain railways
The Swiss Alps are favourites:
Most of us are fascinated by the biggest and tallest. The highest mountains in the world are also the newest and sharpest. The Himalayas were formed by two massive landmasses (India and Asia) crashing into each other (only 50 million years ago), and they are still growing taller every year. Between 80 and 55 million years ago, during a massive mountain-building era known as the Laramide Orogeny, the ancient Farallon tectonic plate slid from the Pacific Ocean and beneath the edge of the North American plate, at an unusually shallow, nearly flat angle. It squeezed, crinkled, and pushed up the overlying crust, creating the towering peaks of the Rocky Mountains, far from the ocean. The Andes was again built by a westerly oceanic (Nazca) plate, sliding underneath the continental plate, to create the longest continental mountain range in the world.
And the quest for personal fulfilment leads us to want to climb these highest peaks (Cue Climb Every Mountain). There’s the Seven Summits – scaling the highest mountain on very continent. ( Can you name them by the way?) I met an American cardiologist in Iraq, who had done this. Though even this is contentious as there is debate over which exactly is the highest mountain on at least two continents and that centres on exactly how you define the continents. Elbrus or Mont Blanc in Europe (Elbrus is in Russia). Australia is even more difficult depending on whether you're talking the island, the continent of Australasia or Oceania. Mount Wilhelm, on New Guinea, is geographically in Oceania, but geopolitically in Asia, along with the rest of Indonesia. I suppose the answer is to climb all the contenders.
Q What is the most dangerous mountain in the world?
A Kill-a-man-jaro.
In the UK, we have mountain challenges galore, even though our mountains may be puny in comparison with the world’s highest ranges. They are still demanding (and sometimes technical) climbs. We have the Three Peaks Challenge (highest national peaks, Snowdonia, Scafell Pike and Ben Nevis all done consecutively in one day, if you drive between them. Some run.) And hikers enjoy Munro Bagging. That’s attempting to climb all 282 Scottish peaks over 3,000 feet.
In England, we have Wainwright Bagging. These are 214 Lake District fells identified by Lake District fan, Alfred Wainwright, who wrote seven guide books on the area. The Wainwrights are not chosen by height, but according to general appeal and scenic value.
When younger and fitter, I used to lap up this sort of thing. But I’ve never aspired to climbing. I go giddy two metres away from a cliff edge. I have, however, seen Everest, from a small tourist plane. (These crash all too often at Kathmandu Airport.)
I used to ski regularly too. Though never with great élan. I liked the cruisy blues and mid-range red pistes. The blacks (if properly labelled) usually resulted in far too much side stepping or scuffing. Skiing is sublime when the sun is out and you reach the top, for those fabulous views across the range and down to the valleys. There may even be an atmospheric café or a schnapps ice bar to hand. Though I’m not sure that improves my skiing.
It took me some time to master the lift system. The being scared of heights thing is not conducive. But after a while I didn’t mind being dangled in a chair over a vast ravine so much. And I learned the art of sitting on a T bar without catapulting off the poor person on the other side (it’s insisting on riding them alone) or capturing the button on a Poma lift and not getting bounced off.
Getting off a chairlift is still in need of improvement. It’s the jumping off and keeping your balance that's the issue. During my one and only foray into Scottish skiing, at Glencoe, I had to carry my skis (far too far) up to the ski station and onto the lift. There was no snow at these lower heights. There wasn’t much at the top; it was boilerplate icy and so foggy you couldn’t see the run anyway. (It's called a white-out in the mountains.) But it didn’t matter. I over-balanced getting off the lift and fell over. The next chair through caught the back of my head and knocked me out.
Skiing in mainland Europe is generally very different. France is super organised, with self-catering accommodation, by the lifts, huge ski areas and excellent take-out food (of course). Austria – far more character, night life, good food, chalet style inns, pretty views and longer walks carrying your skis. Switzerland somewhere between the two. At a price. Italy – variable, sometimes cheaper. Bulgaria - well…
I only skied once in the Americas – in Canada. It was surprising, with beautiful wide slopes and upmarket catering. Carpets in the piste side eateries.
But forget all the activity. Mountains are just gorgeous.
What singles out the best? Height has to be a factor, but an individual mountain may not have a great profile. It depends on the difference between the height of its peak and the land around it. Some of the most impressive mountains are the volcanoes of Latin America, or Indonesia, for this reason.
My favourites: the Andes range (it really is awesome), especially Patagonia. Spring walks in Torres del Paine are fabulous. The volcanoes of Chile are also wonderful - but best seen from the air.
A close second, the mountains of the Karakorum Highway, in Pakistan, especially the jagged Hunza range, running down to Lake Attabad. The vistas, where the Karakorum and Himalayas ranges meet, and up to Nanga Parbat, are simply stunning. It’s a shame the road is so bad (and occasionally terrifying).
For amazing colour, I need to mention the Pamir Mountains, on the Kashgar Road to Kyrgyzstan, and throw in the Tien Shan Mountains too.
To summit all up, I’ve had some great times, in the mountains.
For many of us beach time is one of the most enjoyable parts of travel. In fact, for some, beach time is an essential part of travel. Is that when travel becomes a holiday? Collins Dictionary says that 'A holiday is a period of time during which you relax and enjoy yourself away from home'. At this point another group of readers will be shouting, 'I hate sitting around doing nothing'. Or, 'I only like cool climates'. Each to his own. But beaches, I would contend, are not just for the summer, or for sitting (or lying down). The right beach is wonderful for walking and exploring. Waves crashing on the shore in a gale are truly awe inspiring. Just don't go too close.
I've recently read an article in The Times Travel section which purported to offer the best quiet beaches in the Caribbean, so I’m reflecting again about what makes a beach special. Quiet? What exactly does this mean? I suppose beaches fall very broadly into three categories:
For me, tranquil and peaceful is ideal, but not solitude. That’s slightly alarming when I’m travelling solo. And snorkelling alone is definitely not a great idea. The theme music from Jaws comes into my head as soon as I venture into water on my own.
But I abhor crowds. Fighting for a piece of sand to lay down my towel and having to endure other people’s children spraying sand over me while their portable speakers blare out hip hop is not my idea of fun. Perfection lies somewhere between the first and second category, (serviced but hardly anyone there) but the second works well, with some advance planning.
Sometimes I forget to check that a beach is going to be safe and comfortable. Stunning water is very frustrating when I can't get to it. Or get in it.
The sand profile is important for several reasons:
What do I like to do on the beach? I like to read, swim a little, explore a bit. I’m not someone who just sprawls and soaks up the rays. I definitely don’t carry strips of foil to place under my chin so that I get an even tan. In fact, I tend to retreat under an umbrella more often than not nowadays. If there is one. And my dodgy back requires a sunbed. It gets creaky on the ground. (I’ve got a little lightweight chair I carry sometimes.)
So - my ideal beach: safe, quiet, sunbeds and parasols (or shade) on offer, warm (it goes without saying). And scenic. I’ve not yet mentioned scenic, and something lovely to look at is crucial. I'm inevitably drawn to the turquoise waters, brilliant white sand and bendy palm trees on tropical islands. Coloured sands, rock formations or volcanic peaks add bonus points, as does a little motu (islet) out in the bay.
Wildlife is an additional and important draw. Ideally a coral reef drop off for snorkelling, not too far off the beach. Turtles are wonderful to swim with, serene and graceful. I'm still off sharks, even tiny reef ones (Cocos Islands - Reef Sharks Aren't Dangerous - Right?). Iguanas are always fascinating, scuttling in the undergrowth and watching from a distance.
Penguins are my favourite birds (along with puffins - also found by the sea). Though whilst I'm on birds, don't encourage seagulls by feeding them. They turn into intransigent pests and the food is bad for them anyway. And watch out for terns. They will dive bomb you if you go near their nests, as I have discovered.
Or find a bioluminescent beach (and go at night).
There are a plethora of Best Beach in the World lists. Probably more of these than any other travel 'Best Of ' list. But when I read them I get the impression that the writer hasn’t actually been to many of the places that they cite. I don't think a beautiful strip of sand is enough. It needs an exciting backdrop, preferably with some variety. That's' why my list won't won't include places like Grande Anse in Grenada or Trunk Bay in the U.S.V.I. To be honest, I found the latter really disappointing. It's been touted so much. I don't think it helped that I was almost the only person there.
However, I have been lucky enough to test a lot of beaches in my travels. So, my recommendations follow.
I’m going to start with Oceania, as I’m spoilt for choice here - and it’s my favourite part of the world.
So many great beaches in Australia. You almost can’t go wrong wherever you end up by the sea. But some of them are truly magnificent. The beaches round Sydney are famous, but crowded. Cable Beach, near Broome, goes on forever, and features camels. Describing a beach as best in Australia is audacious. It’s tantamount to saying best in the world – or equivalent of. But Cossie’s Beach (see up top), in the Cocos Islands has claimed to be the best in Australia. It’s named after Peter Cosgrave, a recent governor. It’s a classic arc of pale white sand backed by palm trees (not bendy), giving way to clear azure water. There are those little reef sharks, whizzing about in the shallows. I’ll mark it eight, or maybe nine, out of ten. For me, Australia’s Whitehaven Beach, in the Whitsunday Islands, with its swirling white streaks (this is your proper silica) in a cerulean sea, complete with basking rays, has a pretty strong case for best in Australia, at least.
Again, spoilt for choice, in Fiji. The beaches in the Mamanuca and Yasawa Islands are gorgeous. I’m going to select the Blue Lagoon, where they made the eponymous film, with Brooke Shields, around Turtle Island. Soft white sand, calm, turquoise and cyan water with touches of periwinkle and good snorkelling at hand.
Aitutaki Lagoon, in the Cook Islands is rightly advertised as the most beautiful lagoon in the world. A spectacular, pristine coral lagoon with stunning jade water, vast white sandbars, and a scattering of tiny, motu; home to sea bird colonies.
Bora Bora is a close contender for best lagoon in the world too. It’s stunning from the air. Matira Beach here is lovely and you get the views of the central island. But it’s expensive.
Or go much further afield, for real tranquillity to Rangaroa, in the Tuamoto Islands. The Green Lagoon here is another little piece of paradise. Exquisite opalescent swirling cobalt water, lined with those bendy palm trees and shimmering white sand. Decent snorkelling not far away and small shoals of fish nibbling at the edges. It isn’t green, but I’m not going to make a thing of that.
Tuvalu is a little out of the way for most folk. You can only get there via Suva in Fiji and the accommodation is ‘interesting’. But the conservation area in the Funafuti Lagoon is sublime, only accessible by council boat. The sea is like a warm bath and the islands picture perfect little Robinson Crusoe dots.
In Asia, I need to mention Thailand (Railay beach in Krabi is probably the nicest) and Radhanagar Beach in the Andaman Islands is often touted, though I’d give it a seven ( not enough decoration and crocodiles round the corner). But I’m offering the Philippines. Again, lots of islands, lots of choices. (I should also add Indonesia, the other section of this giant archipelago. It has some amazing reefs and excellent snorkelling.)
El Nido, on Palawan, with its karst scenery is incredible. I’m also going to plump for the most famous beach of them all: White Beach, Boracay. The world-famous crown jewel of the Philippines has four kilometres of that soft powdery sand, an offshore reef, volcanic formations, peaceful sections, everything from luxury to budget accommodation and eye catching sail boats.
There are strong contenders in Africa (Sierra Leone, Cape Verde and Cape Town (especially Camps Bay, in South Africa). But The Seychelles are the stand out. Anse Source D'Argent, on La Digue is the picture postcard destination. Pink-tinted sand, crystal clear aquamarine water, and massive etched granite boulders. In a nature reserve, so no hotels, but it’s very famous. Walk further along, to escape the daytrippers,
The problem with lovely beaches in Europe is that they’re more likely to be packed. Or, in the case of the UK, too windy or wet to be comfortable. But here’s my top selection:
There are incredible rock formations along much of Portugal's' Algarve coast. I stayed near here, so I grew to love these, on Praia dos Tres Castelos beach at Portimao.
Greece has hundreds of great beaches. One of the most photographed, but less accessible stretches of sand is Myrtos Beach, on Cephalonia, in the Ionian Islands. West coast Crete has several good choices, all with pink sand and backdrops. Elafonísi in the south is memorable, but not hugely accessible. Long winding road or ferry from Palaiochora, the lovely little holiday town visited by the Greeks.
Further north, Balos Lagoon often appears on 'best of' lists. This is a remote nature reserve (Mediterranean monk seal and loggerhead sea turtles), a giant swimming pool of clear water trapped between the mainland and a rugged rocky peninsula. The sweeping shoreline is a mix of brilliant white and pale-pink sand (crushed seashells and coral fragments, so it's cool), while the open sea just beyond the sandbar drops off into deep, cold indigo water. Visiting here involves a daily ferry boat or navigating a rugged, unpaved dirt track followed by a steep 20-minute cliffside hike down to the shore.
Sardinia’s Maddalena Archipelago is a good pick. Isolated, picturesque, with sapphire seas, and the nearest Costa Smeralda beaches, though busier, are also gorgeous.
Porthcurno Beach, in Cornwall, is hard to beat for surroundings, though it can get crowded. Nearby, but similar, Porthchapel Beach is harder to get to (long track down) and therefore more peaceful. Durdle Door in Dorset has the scenery (the limestone arch) but also pebbles (and people aplenty). Wales has some spectacular stretches of sand, like Rhossili Bay (on the Gower Peninsula) or Tenby (four beaches divided by scenic rock formations and a castle). Scotland also (though so weather dependent.) Try Shetland for the ultimate in white powder.
North America and South America have some great beaches. But I can’t think of any that aren’t too crowded, or really stand out for me. Rio's famous beaches, Ipanema and Copacabana are only good for people watching. You spend the rest of the time hanging onto your belongings, to stop someone pinching them. Central America has better candidates, like Costa Rica and Manuel Santana ( a chance of seeing sloths and tree frogs too).
But why consider the mainland when you can go to the Caribbean? It doesn’t have the lagoons of the South Pacific and the snorkelling is too often disappointing, but, as The Times points out, the islands have atmosphere and some of the scenery is fabulous. Though I’m going to disregard most of their list. I don’t agree that what they have selected is necessarily quiet and certainly not the prettiest.
The British Virgin Islands (BVI) are at one of my top selections. The Times says Anegada, which is fine if you just want to dive. I say White Bay on Jost Van Dyke for the loveliest sand and beach bar atmosphere, or the The Baths, on Virgin Gorda, for possibly the most striking rock formations anywhere.
The Bahamas aren’t strictly in the Caribbean, but let’s not be pedantic. The Times says outer islands and I heartily agree, Nassau is Cruise Ship Central. They say Abaco, I say Exuma and/or Eleuthera. Tropic of Cancer Beach ( you don't have to be a detective to work out why it's called that) has the most gorgeous, bright and luminous water I’ve ever seen. It is entrancing. And hardly anyone there.
Just across the way, in Turks and Caicos, Grace Bay on Providenciales, has the softest of sand and the water is also incredible. But it is backed by low rise American apartment blocks and it can get busy.
Bermuda is definitely not in the Caribbean. But its pink sand beaches, like Horseshoe Bay, framed by jagged limestone, also deserve a special mention.
The island of Anguilla. Drive around and test them all (but don't trust Google). Virtually deserted
With Barbuda in hot pursuit. The beaches here are even quieter and the water is stunning.
I hope that's helped, as I've come to the end for now. Which is just as well, as I'm out of synonyms for blue.
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