There’s only one AC unit servicing the entire apartment, and since we’re in the height of summer here, we’ve had to keep the bedroom door open to stay cool. This means we’re awake as soon as the sun pokes its head over Table Mountain, around 6:30 AM. We’ve been enjoying exploring different parts of the city, which has been fascinating. It’s always interesting to watch the locals go about their daily routines in each place we visit. The food here is amazing, and the service is great. We’ve found ourselves gravitating to “The Loading Bay,” a trendy coffee shop that not only serves excellent coffee but also delicious food.

The pull of Table Mountain was irresistible, so we decided to beat the sunrise and be at the base of the mountain by 6:30 AM to meet our guide, who would lead us up the Platteklip Gorge. In hindsight, we probably could have hiked up unassisted, but Rachel insisted on having a guide for safety reasons and to make sure we didn’t get lost. Our group of four set off with the guide on a steep, winding climb up the ravine, navigating misshapen rocks and large boulders. Fortunately, we started early, so we were out of the sun, which had been pretty harsh over the past week.

About a third of the way up, Roman, who was from Canada, started to struggle and needed to rest regularly, which became a bit frustrating for me. Rachel, on the other hand, was far more patient (I guess she has to be, living with me). By the halfway point, I agreed with Rachel and the guide that I had a personal challenge ahead of me, with a big birthday looming. I decided to charge ahead and meet them at the top of the gorge.

As I pushed through the steep final 400 meters, the climb got more intense, but I eventually made it up the last stretch. After about 1 hour 45 minutes, I emerged on the plateau, greeted by yet more breathtaking views. After a quick hydration break and some nuts, I figured the others would take at least another 30 minutes to catch up, so I headed along Smuts Trek, which was covered in beautiful flora and fauna with even more stunning views. The trek led to Maclear’s beacon the highest point of the mountain at just under 1100m and one for another time, as I had to head back to meet the others at the rendezvous point.

When they finally arrived, we all agreed the hike had been fantastic, but we were all quite happy to spot the revolving cable car in the distance, which would take us down. It had been an exhilarating trip!

We had this trip planned for some time, but with so many things going on, we weren’t entirely sure we were going to go. I did try to change the flight last minute, but when British Airways quoted me five figures just to rebook the outbound flights, I decided it was better to just make it work. A few days before leaving, we booked what we thought was one apartment, but it turned out to be another. It looked like the same place on Booking.com, but was much cheaper on Airbnb, our preferred option. Although it was in the same block, the apartment was smaller, lacked the 360-degree views, and had some questionable reviews. I could almost hear my father’s voice saying, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is!”

On flight day, I was up early for the 6:30 AM train to St Pancras. It had been a long time since I’d been on a packed commuter train into the city, and I had forgotten how uncomfortable they could be. Thankfully, I didn’t have to endure many rush-hour trains during my working career, so I’d never really gotten used to it. From St Pancras, it was the same “sardine can” experience on the tube to Marylebone. Thankfully, the return journey to Huntingdon was a breeze. After a quick turnaround, we grabbed our luggage and headed to Heathrow T5, courtesy of Gerry. After some great service from BA, we boarded our 12-hour night flight to Cape Town. I managed to get about six hours of sleep, but Rachel always struggles to sleep, whichever cabin she’s in.

We landed on a beautiful morning in Cape Town. From the moment we touched down and left the plane at 8:00 AM, everything went smoothly. We breezed through immigration, picked up our luggage, cleared customs, got local SIM cards (which normally takes 45-60 minutes), and even grabbed cash from the ATM—all in under an hour. It was by far the quickest and smoothest airport experience we’ve ever had, and every person we encountered was genuinely happy to help. It was a great start to our adventure. Our hosts were kind enough to let us check in earlier than planned, which was an added bonus.

We decided not to rent a car for our first week in the city, as everyone uses Uber. After a short five-minute wait, we were on our way in an Uber heading toward “Die Waterkant,” a central area with great views of the city. After a few days of rest in the apartment (which was fine), we began exploring. We started with the bustling Victoria & Alfred Waterfront, full of fantastic restaurants and entertainment. It was fun to stroll around the area, soaking in the sights and enjoying the tourist crowds. Cape Town is a sprawling city, with busy streets and street theatre at nearly every corner.

The following day, we took an Uber out to Camps Bay, a small but beautiful white sandy beach nestled between the 12 Apostles mountain range on one side and Signal Hill on the other. We’ve visited quite a few city beaches on our travels, and this one definitely ranks among the nicest we’ve seen.

Christien convinced me that the 3 of us needed to go skiing, and together, we managed to talk Seb into it—though neither of us needed much persuading. On the morning of January 10th, I set off from Hartford, Christien left from Wokingham for an early flight from Gatwick, and Seb departed even earlier from Manchester, all of us heading to Geneva. As luck would have it, we all landed within an hour of each other. Seb had strategically positioned himself at the front of the busy hire car queue, so we were on the road within an hour of landing. The three of us happily caught up, sharing stories since we last saw each other over Christmas, with plenty of the usual lads’ humour that the women in our lives don’t always seem to appreciate.

A couple of hours later, after winding our way through fog and falling snow, we arrived at Les Violettes, the base station at 1500m. We quickly picked up our skis and passes, having learned that it’s always better to get organised the day before so we could hit the slopes as soon as we arrived. After an enjoyable evening with family I hadn’t seen in a while, we crashed early, preparing for the next day.

The weather didn’t look promising at first, with heavy fog, but once we reached 2000m, we were greeted with glorious sunshine that stayed with us for the rest of the day. We skied like kids, stopping only for lunch at the Cabane de Violettes, a favourite spot of ours since the boys were very young. Later that evening, Seb had booked us a table at the swanky Six Senses to celebrate my upcoming birthday. It was so nice to be together, and the food was incredible.

We stayed in my cousin Sandrine’s wonderful apartment in Venthône, who’s also the best host. It’s about a 20-minute drive from the slopes. Thankfully, we’d upgraded the car to a 4×4, as the roads were icy. We arrived around 10 AM to find similar conditions as the day before—low cloud with brilliant sunshine above. There are several ski areas, with the main ones being Les Violettes, Cry d’Er, Bella Lui, and Plaine Morte, which is around 9600ft. Crans Montana is one of the largest resorts in the Valais, and since it was early in the season, we had the slopes mostly to ourselves.

I’ve become more of a careful skier these days, while Christien’s battle cry was always “send it!” This meant that he and Seb would careen down the mountain at breakneck speed, with Christien’s ski app showing he nearly hit 80kph. Every now and then, he’d stop to wait for me, the “snail.” I argued that I preferred to take my time and appreciate the stunning surroundings, either way it was all great fun.

Unfortunately, Seb’s day was cut short due to a flight back that evening. The next day, Christien and I were up early for breakfast with Sansan, as we did each morning, filling her in on the previous day’s adventures. On our last day, the weather was perfect, with not a cloud in the sky. After the avalanche threat had finally been lifted, we headed to the Plaine Morte, which was opening for the first time this season due to the heavy snowfalls. It’s probably my favourite run, although the National run at Cry d’Er comes close. You glide along wide runs and then cut effortlessly through the mountain, with the amazing panoramic view to feast your eyes upon, it’s absolutely stunning.

I had somewhat fallen out of love with skiing, but after this trip, we all agreed to make it an annual event, which I couldn’t be happier about. It was a short trip, but an absolutely fantastic one.

We accompanied Mum to church on Christmas morning, and it’s always a joy to see the excited faces and the close-knit community coming together. Christien arrived around lunchtime to spend Christmas with the three of us, which made Mum very happy. We had ordered our Christmas feast from a local farm, and Rachel cooked it to perfection. As is customary on Christmas, we indulged to the point of bursting. We’re not big TV watchers, so later that evening we pulled out the board games, specifically “Rummikub,” which we’ve been playing throughout the year.

Boxing Day was a relaxed affair. We went for a long walk to Houghton, part of a National Trust trail. I’m a big fan of the day after Christmas because people tend to be more relaxed and happy to be out of the house, making for enjoyable encounters on our walks. Afterward, we took a quiet trip around St. Ives. The following morning, we headed north to spend time with Ally and Seb, but also to visit Ally’s family, who are always fun to be around.

We arrived early evening after a drive in the pouring rain, but Seb’s warm greeting and a very excited Arlo made the journey seem a distant memory. Rachel had prepared lamb before we left Hartford (from our farm haul) for Ally, who wasn’t feeling well, and we popped it in the oven before settling in. Mum enjoyed the comfy guest suite, while Rachel, Christien, and I stayed in the lodge.

The next morning, we met up with Seb and Ally at their chiropractor’s, and while Ally waited to be seen, we took Arlo for a walk around the beautiful North Yorkshire countryside. We then found a lovely spa for a coffee break. Christien had also booked a paddle tennis court for a Mum and Dad vs. Sons match. Despite the freezing weather, we had a fantastic time and ended the match with honours even. Later that evening, we were invited to Chris and Lesley’s, where they were hosting the Lomas and Watson families for dinner. It was thoroughly entertaining.

The following morning, Christien left early for his New Year celebrations in London. After tying up some joint business affairs, we followed suit.

A few days into the New Year, Jon dropped Rachel and Jo off at the airport for their trip to Oslo, where they’d explore the fjords up to Bergen, while I took Oz for a long walk and after rendezvousing back at the house we decided to spend a day in the city. We parked in Stratford, hopped on the tube to Holborn, and walked to the British Museum. Neither of us had been there before, and for me, the highlight was an exhibition of Picasso sketches and a reflective display on some of the unsavoury aspects of the British Empire. Afterward, we made our way down Tottenham Court Road to Covent Garden, then into Soho, where we both started our careers in the casino industry many moons ago. Although the casino itself was gone, the sign remained on the building. We finished the day with dinner in Golden Square before heading back to Essex.

As our six-week stay in Mallorca draws to a close, we’ve kept active despite Rachel’s busy work schedule, which has often left me to explore solo. We’ve frequented the old town of Pollensa, enjoying the simple pleasure of sitting in the square and observing daily life. The weather has turned cooler lately, with mornings warming up by late morning and then cooling down around 4 PM, prompting the need for warmer clothing, something I found myself lacking.

On a rainy morning, we closed up the shutters in the apartment and headed to the airport. Despite our timely arrival and checking in, our flight, originally scheduled for 12:35 PM, was delayed repeatedly—first to 2 PM, then 4 PM, 6 PM, and eventually 7 PM, before being cancelled altogether. We relocated to a hotel in Palma with a good view of the harbour. While not the most luxurious place we’ve stayed in, our spirits were cheered somewhat when we received notice that a rescheduled flight would depart the following morning at 8:00 AM, prompting an early rise after hardly any sleep.

Fortunately, the rescheduled flight departed on time, and we arrived at a chilly Gatwick Airport, where we quickly retrieved warm clothes from the lockup, we had lunch, and then met up with Chris for much-needed haircuts. Afterward, we enjoyed a sleepover in Cobham, complete with good food and an entertaining evening with Rachel and Keith.

We continue to base ourselves in Hartford to be close to Mum, keeping busy with decorating her house and other Christmas preparations. One evening, we ventured into Cambridge for a great dinner and then on to a magical light show at the botanical gardens. The gardens provided a captivating backdrop for the lights, with a theme inspired by Charles Darwin, a former Cambridge scholar with extracts from some interesting letters leading up to his departure on the famed Beagle. Despite the cold under a clear sky, we all thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

Another memorable evening was spent at Peterborough Cathedral (resting place of Catherine of Aragon) with the rather good Cambridge and Peterborough choir, appreciating the cathedral’s impressive acoustics and architectural beauty, which was all very festive indeed. We also had the pleasure of meeting up with our good friends Richard and Remale, who were visiting from the States to see family. Our reunions with them are always special; Richard has been both a friend and mentor to me, guiding me through some of my younger, somewhat reckless days.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from northern Cyprus, but our time there exceeded anything I might have imagined. We’ve appreciated the remoteness of our location, which offered a peaceful and unhurried way of life. While the amenities were modest, they were more than enough for us. There was one good supermarket, which had the bonus of an excellent coffee shop inside, serving freshly ground Arabica coffee—a welcome morning ritual for me (though I’ll admit I’m not brave enough to tackle Turkish coffee!).

Nearby, there was a small port with a handful of restaurants and our little beach, which became part of our morning routine. Swimming in the calm, clear seas at the start of each day was both refreshing and meditative, especially on the many still, sunny mornings.

For me, though, the highlight of our stay was a small and incredibly friendly dog who greeted us warmly every single morning. No matter the time of day, his enthusiasm was infectious and heartwarming. We also noticed quite a few stray cats and dogs around the area. “Stray” seems like the wrong term, though—“free” feels more accurate. These animals were all friendly, healthy-looking, and clearly respected by the community. Locals seemed to take a shared responsibility for feeding and watering them, and it was common to see cats and dogs lounging in front of the supermarket, stretched out under the AC on particularly hot days. There was a certain charm to this collective kindness that added to the character of the place.

Our time in northern Cyprus had come to an end, and the day of our departure began with a taxi ride to Larnaca airport. The journey was a bit unpredictable, as the time it took could vary anywhere from one to two hours, depending on the border crossing between the Turkish and Greek sides. My own trip on the way in had taken just over an hour, but Rachel and Mum’s had taken closer to two.

Our driver—a spirited woman who didn’t shy away from the accelerator—got us to the border in about 50 minutes. However, the crossing itself took a little longer than anticipated. We discovered we’d unknowingly overstayed our 30-day visa. After a brief and good-natured conversation with the border official, we were told that we’d be fined if we re-entered northern Cyprus within the next year. With that resolved, we were back on the road and reached Larnaca airport about 15 minutes later.

At the airport, we checked in our luggage for the journey to Palma and boarded our first flight to Cologne. It was a packed flight—what I jokingly dubbed the “Noah’s Ark of the skies,” as there were two dogs and two cats onboard. My usual trick of booking the window and aisle seats to leave the middle seat empty failed spectacularly this time, as the flight was completely full. For the next four hours, Rachel and I sat as bookends to a rather large German gentleman who, while pleasant enough, wasn’t quite the legroom solution we’d hoped for.

After a quick transit through Cologne airport, we boarded the short second flight to Palma de Mallorca. This leg was much quicker, taking just an hour and a half. Upon landing, we retrieved our luggage, picked up our friends car, and set off on a nighttime drive to Puerto Pollensa, a charming coastal town in the north of the island.

The drive took about 45 minutes through the dark, winding roads of Mallorca, but the anticipation of the next chapter in Puerto Pollensa kept us energized. We’d be calling this beautiful part of the world home for the next six weeks, and we were looking forward to settling into a new rhythm in Mallorca.