My best ever British holiday: ‘I’ve travelled further, at greater expense, and had nothing like as much fun’

Three Men in a Boat on the Thames: A Literary Pilgrimage

One of the most cherished UK holidays, a week spent in June 2013, involved a unique rowing expedition from Oxford to London with two close friends, James and Tom. This wasn’t merely a river trip; it was a conscious homage to Jerome K. Jerome’s classic 1889 humorous novel, Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog). The enduring popularity of Jerome’s tale of three Victorian gentlemen and their canine companion embarking on a leisurely, often comical, boating holiday up the Thames, made this journey a literary pilgrimage for many.

The vessel for this modern-day recreation was hired from Thames Skiff Hire, a specialist company that, by its very existence, caters to those wishing to emulate Jerome’s characters. Our chosen craft, affectionately named Ewen, was a magnificent 26-foot, 130-year-old mahogany skiff. These traditional, slender wooden boats, designed for speed and grace, are a testament to Victorian craftsmanship, requiring careful handling and respect. Ewen came fully equipped for an extended river journey, boasting two pairs of oars for shared exertion, a rudder for steering, a compact cooking stove for riverside meals, a sturdy boat hook for navigating locks, and even iron hoops supporting a verdant green canvas roof over the hull – a vital shelter against the unpredictable British weather and for rudimentary overnight stays.

Following an hour-long briefing at a slipway near Donnington Bridge, a crucial entry point onto the historic waterway just south of Oxford, the trio embarked on their ambitious 80-mile downstream voyage to the heart of London. The early summer of 2013 proved to be typically British: blustery and wet. The inaugural day, deceptively mild and promising, soon gave way to a more challenging reality. On the second day, navigating the stretch of water between the ancient market town of Abingdon and the picturesque Day’s Lock, the crew encountered a torrential downpour, leaving them thoroughly soaked and momentarily dispirited. The relentless rain and the sheer physical effort brought them perilously close to abandoning their quest, mirroring, perhaps, the fictional plight of Jerome’s protagonists. It is a lesser-remembered detail that Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat concludes not in triumphant arrival, but in a somewhat damp squib, with the companions abandoning their sodden skiff at The Swan in Pangbourne, overwhelmed by the weather and mutual recrimination. This historical precedent added a layer of relatable irony to the modern adventurers’ initial struggles.

Despite the tempting lure of giving up, the three friends persevered. The presence of the river’s current offered some assistance, but the miles ahead still loomed large. Yet, with each passing day, a subtle but significant transformation occurred. The capricious British weather gradually improved, revealing stretches of glorious sunshine. Concurrently, the crew’s rowing technique and coordination sharpened, turning what began as a test of endurance into an extraordinary and profoundly memorable adventure.

Retrospectively, the journey unfolded as a series of captivating incidents and discoveries. The Thames, a ribbon of history and culture, offered a constant stream of intrigue. They sampled the hospitality of charming riverside pubs, brewed tea on uninhabited midstream islands – tiny oases of tranquility – and even ventured into a meditation centre run by an ascetic Hindu sect, a surprising spiritual interlude amidst the English countryside. The riverbanks revealed a succession of historically significant landmarks: Medmenham Abbey, infamous as the 18th-century headquarters of Sir Francis Dashwood’s notorious Hellfire Club, a society of libertines and politicians whose scandalous revelries and occult-inspired rituals have fueled centuries of legend. Further downstream lay Monkey Island, a unique architectural folly believed to have been designed by Charles Bridgeman, where the doomed romance in Rebecca West’s poignant novel The Return of the Soldier unfolds. One particularly memorable lunch stop was at the luxurious faux-gothic Oakley Court, a grand Victorian mansion immortalized as Frank-N-Furter’s eccentric castle in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, adding a touch of cinematic surrealism to the journey.

Logistically, the expedition presented its own set of minor challenges. While traditional Thames skiffs were designed to allow for sleeping onboard, Ewen, though spacious, was not quite large enough to comfortably accommodate three men for a week. Furthermore, the evolving regulations around wild camping in the UK added a layer of complexity to their overnight plans, often necessitating careful consideration of mooring spots. A persistent anxiety lingered whenever the antique skiff was left unattended to visit a pub or explore a village. The instruction to hammer iron spikes into the riverbank and securely fasten the precious vessel always felt oddly precarious, a leap of faith that this valuable piece of history would remain undisturbed upon their return.

Navigating the numerous locks that regulate the Thames’ water level was another learned skill requiring teamwork and precision. One person always had to remain in the skiff, diligently employing the boat hook to fend off the sides and prevent any damage as the water dramatically poured out or filled the sluices. And, of course, the sheer physical commitment of rowing approximately 80 miles, even with the current’s aid, demanded considerable stick-to-it-ness and shared effort.

Paradoxically, these minor hardships contributed significantly to the trip’s overall sense of relaxation. Unlike holidays meticulously planned for explicit leisure, the inherent challenges of the skiff journey forced a different kind of engagement. The pace was slow, reflective, and deeply immersive. Despite being within relatively easy commuting distance of their daily lives, the river offered a profound sense of detachment, a feeling of being far removed from the daily grind. There were long stretches of extraordinary tranquility, deep silences broken only by the dip of oars or the calls of nature, and an abundance of wonderful birdlife. The vivid flash of a kingfisher darting among the willows outside Abingdon remains a particularly potent memory, emblematic of the serene beauty encountered.

The river-faring community proved remarkably welcoming. Other users of the Thames, from narrowboat dwellers to fellow pleasure cruisers, often took kindly to the sight of the venerable skiff and its crew. One evening, an impromptu invitation led to drinks onboard a beautifully maintained narrowboat, whose owner they had befriended while queuing at a lock, highlighting the camaraderie of the waterway.

The initial planned destination was Walton-on-Thames. However, by the time they reached it, the sheer enjoyment of the adventure had become so compelling that the crew decided to push on, extending their journey to the majestic Hampton Court Palace, before finally turning the boat around and heading back upriver to return Ewen. This spontaneous extension underscored the profound satisfaction and connection they had forged with the river and their unique mode of travel. Marcel Theroux concludes with a sentiment many travelers can relate to: it’s a trip he has always meant to repeat, having traveled much further, at much greater expense, and yet experienced nothing quite as fun or fulfilling.

A Birthday Break in the Trossachs: Gravel Biking in Scotland’s Wild Heart

When asked about his ideal birthday destination, Gary, a cycle-mad partner, responded instantly with "Gravelfoyle." This evocative nickname refers to the village of Aberfoyle, nestled as the gateway to the stunning Trossachs region, approximately 50 miles northwest of Edinburgh and even closer to Glasgow. Aberfoyle proudly claims to offer "the UK’s finest gravel riding," a boast supported by a network of meticulously waymarked trails that crisscross the rugged landscape. The rise of gravel biking, blending road cycling’s speed with mountain biking’s adventurous spirit, has found a perfect home in this Scottish wilderness.

Growing up in Edinburgh, the author, Kirsten Henton, had spent many happy summers camping in the majestic Cairngorms and exploring the rolling hills of Perthshire. This ingrained habit of heading north rather than west meant that Scotland’s first national park, Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, established in 2002 to protect its unique landscape of lochs, glens, and mountains, was less familiar territory. This birthday trip offered a wonderful opportunity to rectify that.

With bikes securely strapped to the car, the journey from Edinburgh unfolded as a scenic prelude to the Trossachs’ natural grandeur. Along the M9, the colossal steel heads of the Kelpies, Andy Scott’s magnificent equine sculptures, reared up, a stunning modern art installation celebrating Scotland’s industrial heritage and mythical past. Further on, the imposing silhouette of Stirling Castle, a fortress steeped in centuries of Scottish history and pivotal battles, dominated the horizon, alongside the more foreboding, Mordor-esque National Wallace Monument, a towering tribute to Scotland’s national hero, William Wallace. Despite the drive being a mere 75 minutes, a strategic stop was made en route at The Smiddy farm shop in Blair Drummond. Located conveniently close to the safari park the author frequented as a child, The Smiddy offered a delightful selection of local produce. Here, they picked up cheese and chorizo scotch eggs, enthusiastically declared by the butcher as "the best thing we sell" – a promising start to a culinary adventure.

Accommodation was a "snug-looking glamping pod" booked on the expansive Cardross Estate, near the serene Port of Menteith, just a short distance from Aberfoyle. Tucked away down a quiet, single-track road flanked by active farmland, where red kites soared gracefully overhead, the estate operated with slick efficiency. From the seamless self-check-in process to the convenient trolleys provided for wheeling luggage from the car park, every detail was designed for ease. Inside the charming, curved wooden pod, a cleverly designed space offered comfort and practicality: a cozy sofa, a pull-down double bed, a modern shower, and a small fridge. Picture windows framed breathtaking views of fields speckled with contented cattle and ripening crops, all rolling towards the majestic peak of Ben Lomond in the distance. While the estate also offered self-catering cottages and B&B stays in the grand Cardross House, the glamping pod provided a uniquely decadent way to immerse oneself in the outdoors, especially as the fire pit roared to life and glasses of fizz clinked under the Scottish sky.

Later that day, the cycling adventure began with the 18.2-mile (29.2km) Lomond View route, one of Gravelfoyle’s three primary gravel biking trails. Recent rains had transformed parts of the trail into a wet and muddy affair, adding an authentic, gritty challenge to the ride. Afterwards, at the Aberfoyle Bike Co, a local hub for cycling enthusiasts where bikes can be hired, the owner, Liam, was ready with a hose to clean off the muddy bikes and warm drinks to revitalize the riders – a testament to the friendly and supportive cycling community in the area.

The following day offered a change of pace with a hike from the nearby town of Callander. The 3.5-mile (5.3km) circular Bracklinn Falls hiking route led them across a dramatic bridge spanning the thundering waterfall, its waters cascading through ancient rock formations. The trail then wound through thick, atmospheric forest, a haven of biodiversity, before leading them back to Callander for a well-deserved lunch. Mhor Bread, a local institution, provided baguettes oozing with generous, delicious fillings. The afternoon brought another characteristic Scottish downpour, offering the perfect excuse to retreat to the cozy glamping pod, indulge in reading, and, for the author, a luxurious nap – a truly indulgent pleasure.

That evening, the sun dramatically broke through the clouds, casting a golden light over the landscape. Glasses clinked in the flower-strewn garden of Scottish celebrity chef Nick Nairn’s namesake restaurant, Nick’s at Port of Menteith. As swallows and housemartins swooped gracefully through the evening air, the couple savored classic fish and chips and a delectable seafood linguine, enjoying the fresh, local flavors.

Over the course of three days, the pair immersed themselves fully in the Trossachs experience. They biked and hiked a variety of routes, tracing the shores of tranquil lochs and venturing through yawning, forest-clad valleys. Each meal was a celebration of fabulous, locally produced food, reflecting Scotland’s burgeoning culinary scene. More than just the activities and food, it was the profound sense of "nurturing goodness" derived from being completely immersed in the raw, untamed wilderness of the national park that left the most lasting impression. Kirsten Henton’s birthday break was a powerful reminder of Scotland’s accessible wilderness and its capacity for both adventure and serene escape.

At the Edge of North Wales: Discovering Anglesey’s Coastal Charms

For many years, the journey through Ynys Môn, or Anglesey, was merely a transit point, a blur of darkness on the way to catch the night ferry from Holyhead to Dublin. The island’s true character remained unseen, a landscape ghosted past. It wasn’t until a daughter, studying in Bangor across the Menai Strait, suggested an outing that the beauty of Anglesey truly began to unfold.

That first transformative visit took them to Newborough Forest, a remarkable nature reserve on the island’s southwest coast. This unique landscape features a distinctive plantation of Corsican pines, which transition into sweeping sand dunes and eventually a glorious stretch of beach. From this vantage point, panoramic views of the majestic peaks of Eryri (Snowdonia) stretched across the bay, a breathtaking backdrop. The afternoon was spent walking over to the small tidal island of Ynys Llanddwyn, a place steeped in legend. Home to a picturesque lighthouse and the ruined remains of Saint Dwynwen’s church, it is a site of particular significance, as Saint Dwynwen is the Welsh patron saint of lovers, often considered the equivalent of Saint Valentine. For the author, Andy Pietrasik, and his family, it was "love at first sight" with Anglesey, immediately sparking plans for a more extended visit.

Their subsequent, longer stay involved renting a charming cottage near Llanfair, or to give it its full and famous name, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. The cottage’s floor-to-ceiling windows perfectly framed the distant mountains, enhancing the sense of immersion in the Welsh landscape. What they discovered on this stay largely resonated with the observations of HV Morton in his 1932 travelogue, In Search of Wales, where he noted: "The long roads run through flat, green country, linking quiet, stone-built little market towns together." This description captures the pastoral heart of Anglesey, a land historically known as Môn, Mam Cymru (Anglesey, the Mother of Wales), due to its fertile plains once reputedly capable of growing enough corn to feed the entire country.

However, it is truly at its edges that Ynys Môn reveals its most dramatic and captivating self. On one memorable day, they embarked on a section of the Wales Coast Path, a magnificent 870-mile route encircling the entire Welsh coastline, along the rugged cliffs at Rhoscolyn on Ynys Gybi (Holy Island). This unique geographical feature – an island off an island, connected by bridges – boasts spectacular sea arches and offers a profound "feeling of apartness, of almost floating out to sea." The raw power of the Irish Sea, the dramatic rock formations, and the cries of seabirds create an exhilarating sense of wild beauty.

Another day saw them parking at the popular beach at Rhosneigr, a hub for watersports, and again following the well-marked coast path. They walked through a vibrant tapestry of marram grass and gorse on the dunes, eventually discovering a secluded, sheltered cove perfect for a refreshing swim in the bracing sea. Afterwards, a scenic drive took them across the island to Red Wharf Bay, another expansive, sweeping beach accessed via a narrow, single-track lane. While the historic cornfields were no longer on the menu, the Boathouse cafe provided a delightful culinary experience, with delicious crab meat crumpets and fresh mussels – a testament to Anglesey’s rich seafood heritage.

Leafing through HV Morton’s book back at the cottage that night, Pietrasik stumbled upon a line that brought a pang of regret for all those past journeys where Anglesey had been merely a fleeting passage. Morton’s insight: "Holyhead is an excellent place for a holiday … you have bathing, fine cliff scenery, and all round you is excellent flat walking country with a supreme view of the whole Snowdon range," highlighted the missed opportunities. This realization underscored the profound joy of slowing down, exploring the hidden corners, and truly experiencing this glorious little island that had once been seen only as an embarkation point. A return trip to this coastal gem is undoubtedly on the cards, promising further discoveries of its captivating edges and tranquil heart.

North Yorkshire with 42 Pals: A Tradition of Moorland Merriment

Twelve years ago, a casual conversation in a primary school playground sparked what would become a beloved annual tradition. "I’m thinking of taking a few friends up to Yorkshire," Jill Mead mentioned to her friend Vicky. "I’m in," Vicky responded instantly, and from that simple exchange, an extraordinary annual gathering began to snowball. Word quickly spread among parents and friends, and before Jill knew it, a formidable group of 42 individuals was heading to the picturesque Cote Ghyll Mill, nestled on the edge of the charming village of Osmotherley. In those days, Cote Ghyll operated as a welcoming youth hostel, though it has since transformed into a comfortable B&B, still retaining its suitability for large groups. To mark the occasion, Jill and her son, Ned, crafted a giant "Welcome to Yorkshire" banner and meticulously Blu-Tacked handwritten names onto each bedroom door, a small but significant gesture of community.

Little did anyone realize that this week-long adventure would become their cherished "June tradition," a highlight of the year for families and friends, continuing steadfastly until the unwelcome interruption of the Covid pandemic.

One of the most brilliantly organized days saw Jill’s mum and dad take charge, leading the entire group on a captivating six-mile circular walk. Starting from the historic railway village of Grosmont, the route meandered through the fairytale hamlet of Beck Hole, a quaint, almost forgotten settlement renowned as a traditional centre for the ancient game of quoits. From there, the path ventured across the vast, heather-clad expanses of the North York Moors, a landscape of wild beauty and dramatic vistas.

The memory of Mum, ever the family’s feeder, opening the boot of their car to reveal a bounty of homemade fruit cake, alongside a stack of enormous, freshly made sandwiches collected from the highly-regarded Danby Bakery, remains vivid. Dad, with his characteristic thoughtfulness, brought along a few short thumbsticks he had crafted for the children from hazel branches, embodying a connection to the land. Florence, now 19, still treasures hers, while her mum, Julie, has ingeniously repurposed it to reach an awkward light switch – a testament to its enduring utility and sentimental value.

Halfway around the walk lay Dad’s favorite pub, the venerable Birch Hall Inn in Beck Hole. This unique establishment, renowned for its quaint charm, doubles as a sweet shop, a delightful anachronism. Dad’s drink of choice was always the same: a refreshing bitter shandy. The children, meanwhile, delighted in coming away clutching paper bags filled with classic British sweets – lemon sherbets, cola cubes, and pear drops, all bought by the ounce from traditional jars. Ned, with careful consideration, always chose Barratt’s liquorice sticks for his grandad, a sweet ritual that cemented their bond.

A segment of their walk fortuitously crossed the North Yorkshire Moors Railway line to Whitby. The sight and sound of a majestic steam train chugging past, billowing smoke across the moorland, was an utterly magical experience that instantly ignited a collective desire for a ride. The North Yorkshire Moors Railway (NYMR), a heritage railway largely run by volunteers, offers a truly enchanting way to experience the dramatic landscapes of the national park. Every carriage of the train seemed to tell its own story: couples enjoying romantic interludes, children chattering animatedly around tables, and happy heads leaning out of windows to inhale the evocative smells of coal smoke and steam. This immersive experience, however, came with a minor mishap when 11-year-old Eleanor caught a significant amount of coal dust in her eye, necessitating a visit to A&E in Northallerton. Thankfully, she was perfectly fine, adding a memorable, if slightly dramatic, anecdote to the trip.

Upon reaching Whitby, a historic fishing port with strong connections to Captain Cook and Dracula, the children gravitated to Tate Hill beach. There, Ned’s pals enthusiastically buried him in the sand, a classic seaside prank. Although he was thoroughly brushed down and his shoes emptied, Ned inadvertently left a small, sandy trail of Whitby all the way back to the station and onto the return train, carrying a piece of the coast with him.

No trip for Jill