A revealing road trip through the unexplored Southern PeloponneseDespite being the desire of many invaders throughout its long history, in more recent years, the Southern Peloponnese has rarely received the attention it deserves. Even its location seems an afterthought, stretched over three peninsulas, from historic Pylos and Methoni in the west, to the central mountains and clans of the Mani, and over to the Byzantine wonders of Laconia in the east. It is a landscape as dramatic as its history,

In all things of nature, there is something of the marvelous. – Aristotle During a recent trip to Greece, I decided to re-visit the Cycladic island of Sifnos. I treasured memories associated with my last visit to Sifnos over a decade ago, such as: delicious food (Sifnos is the birthplace of the alleged founder of modern Greek gastronomy, Nikolaos Tselementes), car rides on winding mountain roads to visit remote churches (especially the Monastery of Chryssopygi and the Church of the Seven Mart

Planning a trip to Greece but want to err on the side of green? Look no further, we’ve compiled a list of un-missable island destinations that just happen to be good for the planet. Check it out whether you have a finger on the “book now” button or are just looking for vacation inspiration. 1. Astypalea Astypalea, named after the wife of sea god Poseidon, is located on the island of Dodecanese in the south Aegean. Typically known for its Roman baths, architectural museums, and 365 churches, As

Greece is a scenic wonderland! There are scenic roads, trip locations, and some of the most spectacular stops tourists witness along their journey. On one of the lovely islands, there are sparkling blue oceans and white structures, and on the other, stark crumbling ruins, museums, and pretty coastal villages. Every year the scenic hotspot Greece witnesses several tourists- backpackers, luxury travelers, and even road trippers, who venture out through its length and breadth on a car amongst the m

On a Friday morning in early November, spring in the Southern Hemisphere, I ride south from Bariloche, Argentina, with my dog, Darcie, and Sundance and Bandido, my two horses. Together, our small team crosses over the earthy browns and dry greens of northern Patagonia’s estepa. For a short while, I breathe in the familiar mountain peaks and rolling hills; my sentimental goodbye. I’m leaving behind a world I know intimately to cross into entirely new territory. ‘Please just let us get to the

The waves weren’t really putting on much of a show that first evening as we set up camp. But out of the corner of my eye I could see the marine biologist of our trio, pulling his wetsuit out of his overly stuffed pack anyway. He’d seen the subtle signs; a low swell, a slight wind, a boulder-strewn shoreline, the perfect habitat for the southern rock lobster, or locally known as the Tassie crayfish. Within minutes, he was out there; mere moments later, a neoprene-gloved hand thrusted out of t

The seven of us sit around the hostel table, a long pine tabletop in a room of more pine. Floorboards, walls, rafters. Bowls of goulash and pierogi wait in front of each us. My stomach feels small and tight – the kind of hunger I only get after days of riding. I want everything, but the effort to eat feels harder than the hundreds of kilometres ridden. My appetite builds while I draw my bike. Each of us attempts to do the same. I’m not sure who suggested it, but here I am, biro and notepad

‘ROCK!’ One word is all I can say, the only hope I have and only warning I can give. It seems unlikely that the paperback-sized stone will fall exactly where Caro hangs 20m below – after all, we’d taken special care to offset our belays from the climbing fall line as much as possible, and I’d traversed more than just a few metres during the last pitch. But had I drifted slowly back? That last overhang is surely big enough to see anything fly right over her head, even if it is laterally quite

It came over the tannoy that we would be landing soon. Excitedly I looked out of the window, hoping for a glimpse of our destination, but saw only a sea of clouds. As I felt the plane begin to descend, the crown jewel of Tenerife, El Teide, an active volcano towering at 3,718m at the heart of the island, broke through the veil below. Before the Spanish conquered the Canary Islands in the 1400s, native tribes on the neighbouring island of La Palma gave Tenerife its name, from teni, meaning mo

A chorus of roosters heralds dawn in the tiny village of Jiabi as Abá rises to attend to his song ra, lighting bundles of juniper in the ceremonial clay oven as an offering to the mountain gods. ‘This keeps the rains coming and the fields fertile,’ he announces confidently before heading off to complete his morning kora. A cornerstone of Buddhist life, the kora is an act of devotion carried out day and night across the Himalayas, as Tibetans perform circular pilgrimages around their most sac

It began with a phone call from Scott. ‘Dude,’ he said, ‘you gotta get down to Zion. Like now. There’s way more ice than anyone thinks.’ He always spoke like that when it came to ice, with urgency and need. What started out as a photo shoot on the only ice route in Zion at the time, the Zicicle, became a search for whatever else might be hanging around the canyon. As it turned out, Scott was right: there was more ice out there. It was just a little further on along the canyon’s rim and took

I didn’t travel for two days to eat beans on toast. I’m not complaining, I love baked beans, but I didn’t expect to be served them here, in the ramshackle sprawl and blast-furnace heat of a dusty Lesotho village. On the table in front of me are a mug of tea, said plate of beans on toast, and a pot of Marmite. I could be back home in a British café were it not for the neighing horses tethered only a few metres away. The culinary surprises on Semonkong Lodge’s breakfast menu have more to do wi

A flock of fluorescent green parrots cavorted above the canyon rim, 1,000ft above the river we paddled. There must have been 30 of them, juking in the sky, but as quickly as they had arrived and begun their aerial display, they were gone. The canyon itself was a rainbow of jungle hues: crimsons and ochres, citrus yellows and pea greens, sunset damask and ocean blue, all cocooned by a sylvan canopy, the shape of which redefined itself with every bend in the river. What never changed was how s

I breathed deeply, from my stomach, calming myself, focusing my thoughts on my faith, my appreciation of the natural world, and my gratitude for life. Andrew floated beside me, in the hole he had cut in the ice. I drew comfort from his words: ‘OK, Lil, whenever you’re ready.’ I took one final breath, removed my snorkel, and dove down into the dark otherworldly depths of Lake Huron’s Georgian Bay. My heart raced as I floated downwards. Beneath me, the eerie shadow of a shipwreck, shimmering

Khurdopin Glacier, July 5th It was well into night when I reached the remote valley of Shimshal, 3,100m above sea level, after a two-day drive over precarious, dusty mountain roads. In the dark, I took in a long breath and almost heard my thoughts out loud. Late at night, late in so many ways, but after eight years, I was finally here. Delayed by bad weather around K2, I hadn’t been able to join the research team on the Khurdopin Glacier for their anticipated fieldwork. I could only imagine

‘I don’t think you boys are going to make it in time,’ George, our boat’s captain, said as he looked down at his tide charts. ‘If the tide catches you at Cape Sutil, you’ll be stuck for the night.’ Julian glanced at me, tension woven into his expression. I stared at my own tide chart and route details, still secure in their flimsy Ziploc bag. Were my calculations accurate? Could we hit our pace? And was that tempo sustainable through rugged terrain and unforeseen circumstances? Had I built i

It seemed strange, back then, to use the word ‘adventure’ when talking about your home crags. In the days before lockdown, we had been climbing sandstone towers in the Ethiopian desert, living the life of adventure that we carved out together over many years as professional climbers – the life that had become ordinary to us, and that we assumed we would continue to pursue. We’ve both built long-term careers out of travelling to unknown corners of the world, seeking new rock to scale, always

We woke up one evening to a shuffling outside the tent. My mind raced back to all the articles I had read about wild animals in the areas we were expecting to camp. Could it be a lynx? Or something worse? Cautiously, yet undeniably bravely, Matty unzipped the tent and poked his head out. At the time, I couldn’t see – I could barely bring myself to look, if truth be told – but Matty’s laugh relaxed me. He’d come face to face with a cow slavering over our tent pegs. That welcome relief was sad

Seeing the majesty of the Scottish Highlands for the first time all year was a real tonic for the soul. This journey’s initial purpose was to paddle a remote region and document our adventure, but after watching most of the year go by from my window as a pandemic had the whole nation under lockdown, it needed to be more than just that. Now it was about fulfilling a deep and aching desire to live and breathe the great outdoors. My friend Ian Finch and I were here with the intent of following

‘It’s true. The little people exist. They dress in sealskins and caribou hides, just like us. But when the machinery came, the aeroplanes and the snowmobiles, they fled north. My cousin in Hebron went for a walk, and he came across a dwelling of these little people. He saw a pile of bones and a little person with a bow and arrow.’ ‘How big are they?’ I asked Sophie Keelan, a youthful 71-year-old Inuit elder with a long career in healthcare and a cheeky smile. ‘All different sizes. Just like