There’s something to be said about pulling into the port of some far-flung Greek island, and feeling the eyes of locals and tourists alike locking onto the vessel you’re about to disembark; not in disdain, exasperation or resignation at yet another overstuffed cruise ship lumbering into harbour, but with a genuine sense of wonder and, dare I say it, a flash of envy.
The Palacio, as I said, is situated at the south of the city, by the Belem Tower and surrounding the hotel are various sights to take in whilst in Lisbon, or none of them. There is a huge Brutalist edifice that houses the museum of the locality, but at every turn there is something to see, visit, climb, ride, eat or drink.
Paul Lister, the rather eccentric and very present custodian of Alladale Wilderness Reserve – a vast stretch of flawless heathery glen in the Scottish Highlands – defines much of Alladale and his place in it through what it and he is not.
The transatlantic flight is one of the staples of international air travel. We’ve all heard reference to taking the red eye out of New York, and for many, it’s a consistent and oft’ times fraught journey to make. In fairness, it seems that most air travel is the same. The London-New York route is one that is serviced by a wealth of traditional carriers, yet has long been the target of many a disruptor. As a route taken by so many for so long, to crack it, or crack into the incumbents, would represent a good bit of business. In walks JetBlue. A relative newcomer in a world of BA,…
Bain & Company’s Luxury Goods Worldwide Market Study outlines the pandemic’s drastic impact on the industry and points to a path to recovery.
So, what does the future hold for the high-end market?
Above me, a giant teardrop-shaped chandelier hangs from the 100-foot high ceiling. Fairy-tale beanstalk leaves sprout from behind the reception desk, a link to the Laconian princess Carya, who was turned into a walnut tree by her father, Dionysus.
It’s raining. What’s Plan B, Barry? “There is no Plan B.” Other than ‘the bride’s done a runner’, these are the last words you want to hear on your wedding day. But here we are: Taveuni Palms, north east Fiji, hoary clouds sagging low in the sky, and a tangible unease as we quaff champagne and smoke cigarettes, praying for the sound of patter to dissipate. We’d arrived the day before, landing at Matei Airport, which more closely resembles a wooden shack, where one man sits, glances at your passport and waves you through with a resounding ‘bula’. Colleen, one half of the husband-and-wife team who manage Taveuni Palms, is…