Travel

Chalet F’Net

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The first chairlift in Europe was built in 1940 in Czechoslovakia, in the Moravian Silesian Beskides mountain range. Before the invention of the modern chairlift, we had the J-bar or cable car. Arguably the main mode of transport up the pistes of Europe was still rope, with mountaineering still favoured by many. With each giant leap forward in mountain technology, small alpine towns were constantly having to cater to larger and larger international footfall. This rapid clash of tradition and modernity often left centuries-old mountain villages looking more like McMountain retreats than classic Montblanc. So, it is deeply refreshing when you arrive in a ‘ski resort’ to find it hasn’t…

Route One – Shelby Mustang GT350R

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I got out of my chequered yellow cab and pushed my way past the airport bus queue, headed for the hotel’s reception. After three days sampling New York’s finest destinations, I was ready to leave the Big Apple, get behind the wheel and onto the road. The journey had seemed endless out to JFK airport, as I knew waiting for me was a car not officially available in the UK. I had already christened it out of homage to its predecessor, the feature car in the film ‘Gone in Sixty Seconds’, Eleanor. Having collected the keys from the front desk, I returned to the parking lot, but was unable to…

School’s out! | Great John Street

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I was last in Manchester for the opening of what was literally a high-level drinking venue – and that was some time ago now. The sounds of the Hacienda that inspired a generation at the hand of Tony Wilson are long since gone too. Groove remains in the heart, but the club that once ‘was’ is now apartments. There has been much construction and sights that remain familiar still exist, but the ‘Madchester’ scene is still alive, vibrant and going from strength to strength. Watch this space, as where The Review goes, others will follow. Having passed Mr Wilson’s old temple of sound. I turn down more modest back streets,…

Le Touessrok Resort and Spa

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There is a voice that doesn’t speak words. Listen. And the more your go within the less you go without. Le Touessrok is a name that you simply whisper; a name that needs no major introduction or fanfare. For those in the know, Le Touessrok has been standing aloof, in a class of its own. Over a quarter of a century ago (yes I am that old), I was fortunate enough to stay for a few cherished days at this refined resort and placed it very firmly on a pedestal. With an invitation to revisit, I was left with mixed emotions. Like reacquainting with a first love, I had a…

La Ferme du Lac Vert

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We arrived late at La Ferme du Lac Vert, in early January. Given that our previous chalet had been without power, the romanticism and affection in which we had spent the last 24, candlelit hours were fading fast. We longed for the warmth of a glowing bulb filament, the feeling in your palms as the tap water begins to run hot and the ability to check in on social media to see what the world had for supper. My main concern was being two hours late for dinner as no one likes to keep strangers waiting. Not to mention it doesn’t solidify a great first impression. As always, I was…

Donnington

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I grew up with a generation that drank beer from dimpled glass mugs. Now a well-documented supping receptacle of the hipster elite, the Great British dimpled beer mug is, for me, a relic of a simpler time. Before pop-up bars and men without enough testosterone tried to grow moustaches, we finished work at Manual Labour Ltd and headed for the local. I suppose it helped that my grandfather came from West Hartlepool, served in three branches of the armed services and did, indeed, drink from a P404. That was the factory name given to the humble mug in 1938 at the Ravenhead Glassworks in St Helens, Lancashire. My grandparents’ family…

Five Bells – Brabourne

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The rain in ‘the Garden of England’ was coming down, as only it can in August: heavily. As I nosed the car into the car park of the Five Bells Inn, I was pleased to see the warm light emanating from the bar area. I was en route to Paris and wanted a civilised overnight stop not too far from the Eurotunnel terminal at Folkestone (20 minutes away to be precise) the night before. Civilised is certainly the word for the Five Bells. Standing in the doorway, giving off the appearance of a wet dog, I was greeted with a smile and shown through the warm bar, busy with the…

Fiji

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Bula. A word said so many times that it would lose all meaning by the end of the trip. You see, in Fiji, it’s more than just a word. It’s a sound, an exchange, a feeling that embodies positivity and means almost everything: hello, welcome, ‘sup, health, happiness, love, life, existence, sex, yes, thank you, and pretty much everything in between. Fijians like to philosophise about the subtle abstraction of the word, but there’s nothing subtle or abstract about Fiji or its people. They’re best amongst us: the pure of heart, the good Samaritans, the hopeless inertia of honesty and hard work, the transnational smile, the lazy breeze that cools…

ANDERMATT

SWISS ALPS