Deep in the Veneto valleys of Northern Italy sits The Queen of the Dolomites, Cortina d’Ampezzo. There’s no angle of approach to the region that won’t leave you overwhelmed by the colossal mountains fortifying this beautiful region.
Edinburgh has many fine and illustrious luxury hotels, but none with the heritage and timeless elegance of Fingal. So, when the conversation about a Scotland fly drive was raised by the assistant motoring editor, Aaron Edgeworth, my deck shoes were already packed.
I’ve managed to undertake a whole lot of travelling through the various lockdowns. The problem? Aside from a couple of brief working jaunts to the Baltic states, it’s happened almost entirely within my imagination.
Was it all a dream? Some sort of abstraction from consciousness? Had delirium set in? It seemed so real. The colours so incredibly vivid, the sealife so lustrous. I felt incredibly lucid sojourning under the luminous morning sun, deep in the heart of the Indian Ocean. The heat instantly envelopes you when you’re a mere 380 miles from the equator. It was a stark contrast from the ashen winter morning that now sat before me. I needed to find the red pill and somehow get back – back to the pure shores of Kudadoo.
When I started 2020, I was almost mountain fit. Not rock-climbing fit, you understand, but skiing down. I spent the last six months of 2019 working on a fitness routine to kick start myself into a 2020 season of incredible heli skiing in New Zealand, British Columbia and Japan.
I should start by talking about the provenance of the local area, of the coastal beauty of South Devon, and the steeped history that the Cary Arms and its outlands hold. I should regale you with grand tales of the gaff yawl “escape” and the vision as she rounds Long Quarry Point.
I get by with a little help from my friends. For me, it’s the Joe Cocker version that lands hardest. The immediacy in those opening bars, the strength of Jimmy Page’s guitar solos. It’s indicative of a sound from a different era. That’s what I needed: to escape to a different era. The nights had gotten long and daylight was fast becoming a distant memory to my work-embattled mind.
I was headed for check-in at the Boston Harbour Hotel, a recipient of both the Forbes Five-Star and AAA Five-Diamond awards. The hotel sits on Rowes Wharf, formerly a neighbourhood called South Battery. Created by early settlers during the seventeenth century, one of the city’s most prolific businessmen, John Rowe, purchased the land in 1764 and put up the original Rowes Wharf which was extended into Boston Harbour.
