Best Hotels

We loaded up the Harley-Davidson Road Glide Limited, and I swung my leg over the sumptuous leather seat and thumbed the starter. The fabulous Milwaukee-Eight 114 engine fired into life, settling down to a melodic, rhythmic throb. Kate jumped on behind me, and off we went, leaving the historic grandeur of Boringdon Hall behind. The second leg of our journey took us southwest, out of Devon and into Cornwall, toward the quiet waters of the Helford River near Falmouth.

Set just outside the ski resort of Obertauern in the tiny village of Untertauern, less than an hour’s drive from Salzburg airport, Lürzerhof makes an immediate impression. The lobby alone is vast, all polished wood, stone and light, with the sort of scale that tells you this is not a small, sleepy alpine guesthouse but a serious operation. It’s family-run, but with the confidence and infrastructure of somewhere that has grown steadily over time and knows exactly how to look after its guests.

There is a distinct, quiet magic in returning to the roads of your youth. Growing up in Plymouth, the landscapes of South Devon, where the rugged granite tors of Dartmoor give way to sweeping coastal horizons, were the backdrop to my early life. Returning decades later aboard a motorcycle adds an entirely new dimension to that nostalgia. The long, open miles through the West Country flow past with effortless rhythm, culminating in a stay at one of Devon’s most captivating historic estates: Boringdon Hall Hotel and Spa.

Getting to The Hotel Tresanton

The drive from Falmouth to St Mawes is a joy in itself. You cross the Fal on the King Harry, a chain ferry that hauls itself across the water with the unhurried confidence of something that has been doing this since long before anyone thought to invent the bypass, and you arrive on the Roseland peninsula feeling as though you have been quietly upgraded to a better version of the afternoon.

There is a particular kind of silence that only exists 250 miles south of Malé, past the last cluster of resorts your travel agent has heard of, in an atoll so remote that even the fish look faintly surprised to see you.

Early one bright and sunny morning in May, we packed up the bike and headed east. Our bike for this journey was the 2026 Harley-Davidson Pan America 1250 ST. Born from the sun-baked asphalt of the American West Coast, the Pan America ST represents a fascinating paradox: the seamless intersection of unyielding Milwaukee iron and genuine apex-hunting intent.

Arrival in Poreč: Bentleys, Marble and a Very Good First Impression

There is a particular moment on any holiday when you know, with total certainty, that you are going to be fine. Mine came approximately eleven seconds after arriving at the Pical Resort, Valamar Collection in Poreč, when I clocked a Bentley Continental GT, a Ferrari and a Lamborghini Urus parked outside the entrance like a pair of expensive bookends. This, I thought, is no ordinary family resort. Quelle surprise.

The best hotels do more than provide a beautiful room and a comfortable bed. They influence the way you experience a destination. My recent journey through the Tirol was a perfect example.

Over three nights, I stayed at three very different properties: Wellness Residence Alpenrose, Hotel Post Lermoos and Alpen Resort Schwarz. Each hotel offered its own interpretation of Alpine hospitality, yet what connected them was a shared understanding that wellness is not simply an amenity. It is a way of life.

The early afternoon sunshine is streaming through my wide-open window. There’s a gentle breeze carrying with it the chitter-chatter from the terrace down below. I’m curled up on my sun-kissed armchair, a book in one hand, and a glass of chilled rosé in the other. No children demanding snacks, my to-do list firmly cast to the back of my mind. This moment is my definition of perfection.

There is a precise moment, mid-manoeuvre in a strong crosswind on the surface of the Indian Ocean, when you understand exactly how a seaplane docks. It does not glide in serenely like a swan. It fights. Our pilot had the throttles open, one engine forward, the other thrown into reverse, the whole aircraft pivoting against the wind while we ran the length of a neighbouring island that was not even our destination.