Short-haul heat in February (it’s possible) – and a week with my in-laws
I need a dose of heat and a month is the longest I’m willing to wait. So what’s the only place on Earth that’s reliably sunny in February, warmer than 20°C and less than four hours from a UK airport? Morocco. Much research has led me to this conclusion.
Will I haggle in the dusty souks of Marrakesh or sip a mint tea in the desert under a starry sky? No. I have a toddler now, which means I can finally give up the hunt for “real” travel experiences and spend a week lounging by the pool at an all-inclusive resort drinking margaritas (and take care of the aforementioned toddler, obviously). The resort in question came highly recommended by a colleague, promises surfing (no thanks), yoga (no thanks) and a spa (that’s better), and bears the name Paradise Beach, suggesting instead that it will be teeming with French sun-seekers. I look forward to being regularly reminded of Harry Kane’s missed penalty.
I will find myself surrounded by French people in June, when I have to spend a week in Corsica with my in-laws in a Simpson Travel villa (a rental bike will provide a daily escape route). The only problem is the affordability of flights – this booming island is shockingly underserved by UK airlines.
I’m also planning a train trip to Sweden in July to stay at my aunt’s new summer house – several new sleeper trains have been launched in recent months (including a Hamburg-Stockholm service) and I can’t wait to test them.
Oliver Smith
New York in April (for 40 year old movie references)
There comes a time when you have to stop running away from your fears. In my case, it’s been almost nine years since I started running away from the prospect of taking my son across the ocean. Not because I live in dread of what might happen to us on the other side of the Atlantic, but because I have never felt the enthusiasm or urgency to introduce a young child into the enigma. tired of jet lag. At least not when there are closer Greek islands and Croatian beaches, where the concept of jet lag and insomnia need not be explained at three in the morning.
But you can only run so long. And now that my son is old enough to understand the idea of it being noon to New York when it’s 5pm in London, it’s time to see how he and jetlag get along. More importantly, it’s time to take her to the Big Apple. After nearly a decade of exposure to relevant movies and TV shows – the original ghost hunters, Night at the museumthis Madagascar series about a load of animals at the Central Park Zoo, a million reruns of Friends episodes via my lazy Saturday morning channel hopping – he’s fascinated by a city that few would deny is fascinating. If you need me in April, I’ll be on the corner of North Moore Street and Varick Street in Tribeca, posing for photos in front of Firehouse, Hook & Ladder Company 8 (ah, you can google it).
Chris Leadbeater
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