Mountain streams tumble this way and that to create a lush wetland of moss and wiry grass disrupted by a flurry of pink thistle or yellow ragwort.

Suddenly, in the remote stillness, we're aware of being watched. Our gaze diverts from the elongated valley of the Susaca to a damp log nuzzled in the bedraggled grass right by our side. There, we see a set of beady eyes, then a damp nose. Finally emerging from its residence, a marmot greets us. Enamoured by our new friend and his many cousins who follow, it's a long interval before we make the lengthy descent to Susch and the Engadin Valley.

from Swiss Grand Tour, Practical Motorhome, 2019

It is not the best of weather to climb a mountain. But, then again, neither is it the worst. The statue of St Patrick, erected in 1928 near the foot of the “Holy Mountain”, in Ireland, stands with his head in the clouds, and our destination — the 764-metre-high summit of Croagh Patrick — is not entirely visible, either. But thick cloud is not deter­ring us, nor hundreds of our fellow walkers also making the ascent, whether pilgrims devoted to the Catholic faith, or holidaymakers simply out for a hearty stroll.

Journeying the well-trodden (rocky) path up Croagh Patrick, situated on the west coast of Ireland in County Mayo, is taking longer than the two hours estimated to walk to the top, because, every few steps, we stop to appreciate the ever more expansive view of Clew Bay behind us, and its 365 islands — which (unlike the peak) are bathed in sunshine today.

Legend has it that Patrick spent 40 days and nights fasting on the summit of this national shrine, in AD 441, before reputedly banishing serpents from Ireland by chasing them into the sea. Ireland is still remarkably serpent-free, but, fit­tingly, snake-like sandy reefs glisten in the bay below.

Mayo has a reputa­tion as Ire­land’s premier destination for soft adven­ture. Its vast land­­scape — some­times deso­late and wild, some­times tamed and serene — offers plenty for all ages wanting sustain­able, slow-travel holi­days. To see Mayo laid out before us as we ascend, and on our leisurely descent, seems a fitting introduction to our visit here....

from Down from St Patrick's heights, Church Times Travel Supplement, 2020

The warmth of the Chocolate House lures me in. I sit at a rustic wooden table, sipping a soul-warming latté while elegantly eating a melting chocolate cake. The mismatched chairs look like outcasts from an old French château, while crystal chandeliers dangle overhead and throw shards of light over an array of chocolate goodies for sale.

Gazing through the drizzle-streaked window of the café, I see the Grand Ducal Palace and watch the sentry guard outside pause from his gentle march up and down the impressive Flemish facade. The mesmerising, rhythmic tap of his boots echoes on the pavement before it stops as he recedes into the sentry box.

Cold, and fighting an itch above his moustache, I sense the job must be torment - watching me all warm and cosy devouring coffee and cake. Did I not see him surreptitiously lick his lips?

Luxembourg: Tiny Land, Big Fame, Skylife, 2016

"Watch out for the snakes," I cried as the children darted from tree to tree, brandishing makeshift walking sticks picked up from the forest floor. We were trekking through Portumna Forest Park and I needed to keep the threesome in check.

The Emerald Isle is the stuff of myths and legends, and my little myth was to mischievously tell the children that Ireland has a seething population of snakes smothering the ground everywhere except footpaths....

... Tramping through scented pine woods interspersed with open glades, we found beauty on a grand scale - the rustle of deer, and the iridescent flash of chasing dragonflies and sunbathing butterflies. We passed through dense woodlands, where thick tufts of rich-green moss coated ancient stone walls to create monstrous sculptures in a boggy underworld. This was indeed the landscape of legends - one where, perhaps, snakes could inhabit?

Eire & Water