When it comes to winter sun, there’s nowhere quite like the Caribbean. At least, that’s what I’ve always thought – but after a week in the Seychelles it’s time to think again.

Yes, it’s further away and there are no direct flights from the UK, but that all leads to one key advantage: it’s cheaper. Also, you are travelling pretty much north to south, rather than east to west, so there is no jet lag.

Even more important is that the beaches are superior; it’s virtually crime-free; there’s little mass development; the rock formations are spectacular, and the people are kind and welcoming. Even the cocktails give Caribbean rum punches a run for their money.  

The Seychelles sits in the Indian Ocean southwest of the Maldives and north of Mauritius and Madagascar. There are 115 islands, of which 30 are inhabited. It’s warm all-year round but gets plenty of rain – in short bursts, hence the lush green landscapes.

Fewer than 100,000 people live there. Even more surprising is that universal suffrage was only introduced in 1967 and full independence from Britain came as late as 1976. Prince William and Kate spent their honeymoon on North Island, but largely the Seychelles has kept out of the limelight.  

Mahe is the biggest island and where you’ll find buzzy Victoria, one of the smallest capitals in the world, but in which around a quarter of the entire country’s population lives. A 20 minute flight away is sleepy but ravishing Praslin, from which a 15 minute ferry ride takes you to La Digue, where the main mode of transport is still the bicycle. Island hopping is an option and ferries are reasonably priced.

WHERE TO STAY

My wife and I stayed at two Constance hotels – Lemuria on Praislin and Ephelia on Mahe. They are completely different, but we loved them both.

Lemuria is small in comparison to Ephelia but wonderfully spacious amid immaculate gardens and with its own 18-hole golf course. Two pristine beaches await here – one is rugged, with strong tides and not advisable for swimming, while the completely unspoilt Anse Georgette beach is a healthy hike or lazy buggy ride away.

The stunning pool setting at Constance Lemuria

We were astonished by the service. After less than 24 hours, the staff seemed to know exactly how I liked my coffee in the morning and practically had made my negroni in the evening before I had asked for it.

There are four restaurants, including Takamaka on the beach (so named after Takamaka rum, which is distilled in the Seychelles). Diva is Michelin Star level and the Nest, serving traditional creole dishes, is a giant tree house overlooking the beach.

Ephelia, on Mahe’s southwest coast, occupies a huge area and comprises five beaches. But it never feels crowded. There are 313 rooms, suites or villas, all in low-lying buildings, some starting at just over £330 for half board. You won’t find such quality at that price in the Caribbean.

Turquoise sea and white sand beach at Constance Ephelia

An expansive mango forest occupies the centre of the resort and there are hikes galore. I walked down to a beach called Lans Koken and never saw another soul. Children will love the climbing and zip-lining.

If you take one of the villas high above the main swimming beach, you’re given a buggy, otherwise you get around by bicycle or hitch a ride in a mini electric vehicle. The spa is a highlight and there are tennis and padel courts. Stay a week and you won’t need to eat in the same restaurant twice.

GRAND DESIGNS

One of the country’s most dramatic and distinctive features is the giant granite boulders. They are reputed to be 500 million years old and cling in spectacular fashion to mountains and frame many of the beaches. At times, it’s like being on a film set, making it one of the most photogenic geological landscapes in the world.

BLISSFUL BEACHES

The sand is white; the water is warm. Sprawling, high-rise resorts have no place in the Seychelles. Instead, the backdrop to most of the beaches is a swaying and undisturbed array of palm trees and tropical plants.

The poster beach is Anse Source d’Argent, within the Union Estate on La Digue. Turn right off the ferry and follow the road until you come to a bridge, after which no bikes are allowed. After Source d’Argent, there are other similar beaches all sharing the sublime turquoise water.

On Praslin, Anse Lazio, on the northwest coast, is regarded as the number one beach and is popular at sunset. Also on Praslin, the long stretch of sand known as Anse Volbert is a joy.

HISTORIC TIES

Locals tend to speak three languages: Creole, French and English, reflecting much of the country’s history. The French had control from 1756-1810, before the British took over, administered as a dependency of the already colonised Mauritius.

In 1816, the population was 7,500, of which 6,600 were slaves. The abolition of slavery in 1835 meant an influx of freed slaves, mainly of African descent. The opening of the international airport in 1971 put the Seychelles on the tourist map – and it’s now the biggest industry, followed by fishing.

WILD THINGS

Giant tortoises from the island of Aldabra have now been moved to several other islands. I came across two beside the main road on La Digue. My interest in them was in sharp contrast to their lack of interest in me.

Hawksbill turtles are widespread in the Seychelles, and the birdlife is spectacular. Many of the remote islands are globally important seabird breeding colonies, and an assortment of magnificent birds arrive during the migrations because the islands are the only lands in a huge expanse of ocean.

My favourite was the Madagascar fody, also known as the red fody, thanks to its bright red plumage. We hoped to see the Seychelles’s national bird, the black parrot, on Praslin but it escaped us.

THE MOST HUMAN OF PALMS

You can’t visit Praslin without spending time in the Vallee de Mai, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the middle of the island. The star attraction is the Coco de Mer, which are distinctly male or female.

The male towers over the female and can reach a height of more than 30 metres, with fan-shaped leaves six metres long and four metres wide. The female produces erotically shaped double-lobed nuts, the largest fruit in the plant kingdom, weighing on average twenty-five kilos.

The palm takes at least 25 years from germination until it bears fruit – so woe betide anyone who picks one up and tries to take it home in their hand luggage.

 TRAVEL FACTS

Turquoise Holidays offers a combination of three nights half board in a junior suite at Constance Ephelia and three nights B&B in a junior suite at Constance Lemuria (See all Constance hotels and resorts here – constancehotels.com) from £3,590 per person. This includes return international flights, internal flights and all private transfers (turquoiseholidays.co.uk, 01494 678400).

For more information about Seychelles visit Seychelles.com.

The backdrop to golf at Constance Lemuria

A yoga and exercise area in the spa at Constance Ephelia

Day and night, crowds don’t walk — they surge. They pour relentlessly like an unstoppable tidal wave through endless tiled corridors where train announcements are heralded by ear-shattering electronic jingles like the opening bars of a video game you’re about to lose.

To reach one of Japan’s great modern marvels, I had to survive the mayhem of Shinjuku metro station in Downtown and make my way to Shinagawa — a principal departure point for the celebrated Shinkansen, better known as the bullet train.

If Shinjuku was metro hell, Shinagawa station was redemption. Calm. Ordered. Almost reverent.

The Shinkansen made its debut in 1964, linking Tokyo and Osaka in just over three hours to coincide with the Tokyo Olympics — a gleaming statement of Japan’s post-war recovery and technological swagger. 

Back then it travelled at 130mph, which felt indecently quick. Today it slices through the landscape at up to 200mph, departing roughly every fifteen minutes with metronomic precision.

So punctual that a minute late prompts an investigation. In 2017, a crew was disciplined for leaving 20 seconds early. Twenty seconds?! In Britain we would probably hand them a medal for initiative.

My destination was Odawara — gateway to the sacred slopes of Mount Fuji.

Japanese efficiency begins long before departure. Your ticket tells you not only your carriage and seat number, but precisely where to stand on the platform where painted lines and digital boards shepherd you into position behind sliding glass doors. Trains stop only for between one and three minutes. That is not a suggestion — it’s “Shin” law.

Bang on time at 10:06 precisely — not 10:05, not 10:07 — my train materialised through the haze: a white, bull-nosed, 16-carriage serpent gliding into view. Less public transport, more spacecraft politely pretending to be a train.

The platform portals opened in perfect synchronicity with the carriage doors. No shoving. No elbowing. No raised voices. Just an orderly, almost choreographed boarding. Once seated, a ticket inspector — a young woman in immaculate uniform — bowed to us before checking tickets. As she exited into the next carriage, she bowed again. Can you ever imagine any British railway official ever bowing passengers?!

We slid away so smoothly it felt as if the world outside had started moving instead. Tokyo’s high-rises gave way to suburbs, then rice paddies — green and geometric like a minimalist painting.

There are rules on the Shinkansen, and they are followed. No smoking. Phones on silent. No voice calls allowed — though texting is fine. No booming, annoying “I’m on the train!” announcements. Bliss.

Contrary to myth, eating is permitted — and done with near-ceremonial discretion. I watched passengers unwrap exquisitely prepared bento boxes as if performing a tea ritual. Even the crinkling of packaging seemed to observe etiquette.

About thirty minutes into the journey came the moment. A subtle murmur rippled through the carriage as heads turned left. 

And there she was: Mount Fuji. Perfectly symmetrical. Snow-capped. Rising above low cloud like a deity granting a brief but dignified audience. At 12,388 feet, Fuji is not merely a mountain; she is an icon. A presence.

We eased into Odawara precisely on schedule. No fuss. No drama. Just punctual grace. On the platform stood my guide — no more than five feet tall in his stockinged feet but armed with a handshake like a vice.

“Hi Mr John. My name is Hari — like Harry Potter!” he beamed. “Come, the bus is waiting.”

Bundled — there is no other word — into a compact minibus, I found myself wedged between two exuberant South African couples armed with cameras, biltong and enthusiasm somewhere north of Table Mountain.

At the wheel sat Gombe. Gombe did not smile. Gombe did not chat. He stared ahead with the serene intensity of a man who could reverse up a mountain pass without blinking. Compact, impassive, immovable — he bore an uncanny resemblance to Odd Job from a Bond film (mercifully without the lethal hat).

As we rolled towards Fuji’s lower slopes, Hari swung round in his seat. “Right everyone — cameras ready — because we’re not just looking at a mountain… we’re looking at Japan’s most revered icon!”

“Now, how sacred is Mount Fuji?” asked bearded, ginger-haired “Griz,” the elder of the South African husbands.

“Short answer: very,” said Hari earnestly. “Long answer: it’s been holy for well over a thousand years — and not in a dusty museum way. In a living, breathing, people-still-come-here-to-pray way.

“In Japan’s native Shinto belief, mountains are home to spirits called kami. Fuji is linked to the blossom princess: Konohanasakuya-him. So yes — for many Japanese people, this isn’t just scenery. It’s hallowed ground.”

“Any danger of it erupting while we’re there?” chirped Griz’s wife, half joking.

“Don’t worry ma’am,” assured Hari. “The last time Fuji exploded was in 1707.”

“But what happens if it does?” she pressed.

Hari didn’t blink. “You run like f*ck, ma’am!”

The bus exploded with laughter. I noted Gombe did not.

Winter meant we could only ascend to around the 3,000-foot mark, where a metal barrier barred the snow-bound road and uniformed guards gave the scene the faint air of a Cold War checkpoint.

Looking up at the summit and fumbling for our iPhones to take snaps, our little party realised the magnificent snow covered cone was more than a national emblem.

The tour continued into the volcanic heartland. Fuji sits within Japan’s Ring of Fire, and we drove on to Hakone where sulphurous fumes swirled and caught the back of the throat. Later we boarded a modern galleon that skimmed across a mist-shrouded lake — theatrical, faintly surreal, entirely glorious.

By early evening, Hari delivered us to a resort hotel for dinner. A long table groaned under a seafood display worthy of maritime royalty: ruby slabs of tuna and translucent yellowtail fanned over crushed ice; whole sea bream grilled until the skin crackled; miso-glazed black cod flaking at the touch; crab legs split open; clams steaming in sake.

I piled my plate high. Then I noticed a tureen labelled: “Octopus balls.”

“I didn’t know they had balls,” chuckled Griz as we each spooned some onto our plates. Delicious! 

Dinner done, Hari waved me into a taxi for the return to Odawara and the bullet train that waits for no one.

In the fading dusk, as the car curved away, I caught one last glimpse of Fuji’s summit — faint, immense, eternal.

A goddess’s home. A pilgrim’s journey. 

An ancient mountain watching quietly for 10,000 years as the 200mph future rushes past below.

Photos by the author and the Yamanashi Tourism Organisation

Travel Facts

Typical London to Tokyo return air fares: Economy: £550 – £950      Business: £2,400 – £4,200

JAL  https://www.jal.co.jp/uk/en/       BA: https://www.ba.com      ANA: https://www.ana.co.jp/en/gb/

Typical Tokyo hotels per night:

Budget: £30 – £110 (capsules/hostels to basic business hotels)

Mid-Range (3★–4★): £110 – £320

High-End / Luxury (4★–5★): £320 – £600+

Cookson of Arabia in the desert at the ‘Edge of the World’

My journey into this newly opening land began at a place with a suitably cinematic name: the Edge of the World.

Reaching it required an hour’s taxi ride from the capital Riyadh, leaving smooth tarmac for a bone-shaking dirt road that tested both suspension and resolve. Then, quite suddenly, the land simply dropped away.

It was half an hour before sundown on a winter’s day in Saudi Arabia. Before me rose vast pillars of honey-coloured stone, sheer and silent, plunging around 300 metres into the plain below — immense, primeval forms that felt less geological than mythic.

As the light faded and a chill wind whipped across the escarpment, the scale of it became almost impossible to process. For a moment, standing at that great precipice, it felt as though time itself had thinned — and I half expected the black monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey to materialise from the ancient rock, humming softly.

On the ride back to Riyadh, a starker Saudi Arabia emerged — one now open to foreign gaze.

We passed through working-class villages where poor women, wrapped in thin black niqabs, huddled by the roadside tending kettles on glowing charcoal burners, selling sweet tea to passing drivers. Their stalls were little more than a mat, a pot and a plume of smoke curling into the freezing desert air. Whatever riches had transformed the Riyadh skyline had clearly flowed around these roadside lives rather than through them.

The next morning I joined a small tour group and boarded a fast train north towards the UNESCO World Heritage site at Jubbah.

Riyadh’s main station — open less than a decade — felt more like a regional airport departure hall: gleaming floors, lofty ceilings and the gentle echo of rolling suitcases. The trains, French-Italian built, were modern, smooth-riding and comfortably plush.

Fast train from Riyadh

Seats were allocated, but local norms required a courteous ballet of rearrangement. Men politely swapped places to avoid sitting directly beside unfamiliar women; facing each other across a table, however, was perfectly acceptable.

An hour into the journey, the sheer scale of this desert kingdom revealed itself. Charging along at 100 mph, the train kicked up a pale plume of dust — a contrail on land. Through the wide windows there was mostly emptiness. Occasionally, feral camels prowled the scrub, or a sudden flash of green signalled a hidden oasis fringed with trembling bulrushes. But otherwise, life was scarce.

Twice we stopped at immaculate, modern stations where no one seemed to get on or off. Their clocks were frozen stubbornly at midday — as if time itself had decided to take a rest.

From that stillness, the train pressed on, deeper into a country that remains intriguing, vast and only partly revealed.

We reached Jubbah, a settlement cradled by dramatic sandstone outcrops rising from the desert like stranded ships. Their rust-red surfaces form a vast open-air gallery: petroglyphs and inscriptions dating back around 7,000 years. The rocks teem with ancient images — hunters in curious headgear, elegant gazelles mid-leap, mischievous monkeys.

A guide shows 7,000 year old etchings at Jubbah

You don’t merely look at these figures — you feel observed by them. As the desert wind hissed through the canyons, I sensed the presence of the artists themselves: people who once stood here recording their world in stone.

One carving in particular halted us. High on a slab of sandstone was a startling scene: a local king greeting a male subject depicted with an unmistakably erect penis. Our guide — usually encyclopaedic on dates and dynasties — suddenly turned bashful. Pressed for context, he offered only a giggle before ushering us toward safer ground: antelopes, monkeys and hunters with bows. The meaning of that intimate greeting has clearly been lost to time.

Another 400 miles by coach took us across landscapes shifting from pale dunes to dark volcanic fields before the road delivered us to AlUla — once a thriving Nabataean outpost, now Saudi Arabia’s crown jewel of heritage tourism. Here the desert rears into cliffs of burnished sandstone, riddled with canyons, tombs and rock-hewn sanctuaries that rival Petra in scale and mystery.

Nabataean burial chamber at AlUla

AlUla is still very much a work in progress. Not long ago, archaeologists uncovered a human skeleton in one of the rock-cut graves. Using AI, they reconstructed her face, resurrecting a woman from antiquity with startling immediacy. And there she was in the exhibition centre: poised, enigmatic, her expression recalling the Mona Lisa. Those eyes — steady, knowing — seemed to gaze straight through time. Simply stunning.

On the fifth day we reached Medina, the city of the Prophet Mohammed and the site of his tomb. I had imagined a dusty old town softened by history — but Medina pulsed with modern life and devotion.

At every sacred site, thousands upon thousands of pilgrims pressed into vast mosque complexes, moving like a human tide. They’d come from Indonesia and Malaysia, from across Africa and the Middle East. The crowds could be overwhelming — at times even frightening — as believers surged forward, each eager to draw nearer to Allah and to the memory of His Messenger on Earth.

The prophet Mohammed’s tomb at Medina

Another 400 miles carried us to where the desert meets the sea. Jeddah — Saudi Arabia’s historic port — dazzled like a modern jewel. Towering malls shimmered beneath an uncompromising sun; showrooms displayed Porsches and Rolls-Royces as casually as fruit in a market. The thrum of commerce signalled a metropolis looking firmly ahead.

Yet that was not the whole story.

For in Jeddah — unusually for the region — the old town of Al-Balad has been restored and protected. Here, narrow lanes weave between Ottoman-era houses whose wooden mashrabiya windows glow like lanterns at dusk. The souks brimmed with the perfume of frankincense and cardamom; stalls offered Saudi souvenirs and prayer beads, the latest laptops — and of course a fake Rolex or two.

Outside the pilgrimages to Mecca and Medina, Saudi Arabia remained closed to casual visitors until 2019, its doors held shut by custom, law and reputation.

And even now as this desert land opens up, stark social rules, rigid dress codes for women, the shadow of public executions, and the alleged state-sponsored murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi ensure the kingdom remains, for many, a pariah state.

So what kind of tourist is Saudi Arabia hoping to attract?

Government guides I met declined to specify an age or demographic, but one put it succinctly:

“We welcome anyone interested in our historic past — but there are red lines. Women must dress modestly. And if you are coming here hoping to use alcohol or drugs, please stay at home.”

What stays with me from Saudi Arabia is not merely its scale — vast deserts, megacities, infinite horizons — but its contrasts. A woman’s face resurrected from a rock-cut tomb. A sea of pilgrims swept along by devotion. A port city flaunting its wealth yet cradling its past.

Saudi Arabia is rewriting itself, brick by brick — and story by story.

For the traveller, the journey is not only across geography, but across time itself.

Photos by John Cookson

SAUDI ARABIA — Travel Facts

Visa: E-visa for 60+ countries. VIST HERE  

Flights: London to Jeddah/Riyadh return air fares

Budget: £230 – £300. (https://www.wizzair.com/en-gb)

Mid-Range: £300 – £450 with one stop. (Qatar https://www.qatarairways.com Emirates  https://www.emirates.com)

Full Service: £500 – £650+ (British Airways www.ba.com Saudia https://www.saudia.com) 

Typical hotels per night: 

Budget / Economy  £20 – £50

Mid-Range (3★–4★) £50 – £130

Luxury (4★–5★) £130 – £300

KEY TRAVEL COMPANIES

Abercrombie and Kent  – https://www.abercrombiekent.com

Crystal Travel  – https://www.crystaltravel.co.uk

Best at Travel – https://www.bestattravel.co.uk

When it comes to global cities and travel bucket lists, New York is the perennial poll winner. To borrow some immortal words from ol’ Blues Eyes himself, Frank Sinatra, it’s top of the list, king of the hill, top of the heap, a number one. And our family wanted a part of it.

To be more specific, our 16-year-old son Joseph did – and I squarely blame Hollywood. Manhattan’s mesmerising skyline has been ever-present in our living room for years, all the way from Home Alone 2 to Friends, by way of Spider-Man and a never-ending multitude of other movies, TV shows, stage plays and games. It’s impossible not to be seduced.  

As for us older folk who have been many times, the enthusiasm is more of a stretch, which is hardly assuaged by the Trump factor – and that everyone who has been recently says that New York is now terrifyingly expensive. But these vagabond shoes are longing to stray. 

Rob McGibbon invokes the “spirit” of mad and mean Donald Trump

The beauty of New York is that it works at any time of the year. Winter is brutally cold, but the city is warmed by festive charm, so simply wrap up and embrace the shopping, egg nog and magical lights. Summer is oppressively hot and humid, but the extended days allow you to pound the blocks for longer.

The key to NYC is to get ahead of the game. I snapped up three economy return tickets in British Airways’ winter sale in January for a bargain £400 each, so we were locked in for a June trip to celebrate our son’s end of GCSEs. I had no idea then just how bad things would be in America, thanks to Trump’s divisive rule, but there was never an option to cancel the trip.

By getting flights sorted relatively early, you have time to look around and nail down bearable hotel rates. With thousands of hotels all fighting for business, there are deals to be had at some terrific places. Obviously, the bigger chains have more rooms to fill, so why not start there. Accommodation in NYC is a minefield to navigate, so we played it safe by hopping between trusted brands. Virgin Hotels’ outpost in mid-town is cool, with a laid back style and the sort of warm welcome you would expect from Virgin folk. Friendly and fun, and nothing is a problem. The hotel has stunning views of the Empire State Building from many of the rooms, as well as from its rooftop mini swimming pool. But be prepared for queues of bathers trying to get that selfie with the iconic backdrop. I didn’t even attempt it!

Times Square, Manhattan

A few blocks away, bang in the brightness and bedlam of Times Square, is the Tempo by Hilton, which is a smart new 36-floor tower with immaculate rooms and the most sumptuous beds imaginable. If you want to be in the absolute centre of the neon beam for a few nights, then this is the crash-pad for you.

Rather than just nibble at the Big Apple, we went for a week and did our best to gnaw it to the core. I am familiar with Manhattan, but it was truly amazing to feel it come alive again through the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a teenager. Some of my more jaded views fell away easily, like the crumbly stale bread on one of those disgusting street hot dawgs.

Naturally, all the great landmarks were on our extended To-Do list, so I pre-booked a CityPASS (from £118 each) which guarantees discounted entry to five top tourist attractions. As well as dollars, this saves a lot of on-site booking hassle – and worries about phone battery life and reception.

Virgin socks it with the stunning room view of the Empire State building

Day after day, and night after night, we yomped the blocks like tireless troopers in what became a century-record-breaking heat wave with temperates soaring over 100 degrees. We took in the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, Brooklyn Bridge, The High Line, Little Italy, Chinatown, the West Village (to hunt down the apartment exterior used for Friends) and various corners of Central Park and everywhere in-between on the Upper East and West Sides. 

The long days were draining and hard going, but we found time to slow down, and what better way to do that one day than with a champagne afternoon tea in Palm Court at The Plaza Hotel. A flute of pink bubbles and a three-tier cake stand – complete with a birthday plate of sweet goodies for me – is a fine way to escape those mean streets.

Time for Tea: The Citizen’s Rob McGibbon outside The Plaza Hotel ©TCC

You’ve gotta go high in New York, which means the Empire State Building. To make it more interesting, we up-graded to zoom from the 86th floor to the refurbished observatory on the 102nd. Stunning. Then there’s Top of the Rock at the Rockefeller Centre. The fun new attraction here is called The Beam, where you are buckled onto a fake iron girder to re-create that iconic photo of workmen having a vertiginous lunch during construction of the skyscraper in the early 1930s. The girder suddenly rises a few metres which gives the uneasy sense that you are staring over the edge. Feet tingling, but great fun.

It’s important to balance the touristy must-sees with cultural originals, so we took in some fine art at The Frick Collection – newly re-opened and fabulous. I loved it there and strongly recommend putting it on your itinerary. The Guggenheim is also always worth a look. We also hit Broadway for Alicia Keys’ Hell’s Kitchen musical at the Schubert theatre, which was pre-booked via The Broadway Collection website. A really gutsy, stirrer of a show. Just beware of the air con – it was f-freezing!

The must-see of any trip is the Ground Zero 9/11 Memorial. Entitled ‘Reflecting Absence’, the sunken twin waterfall pools, which sit within the footprints of the original Twin Towers, are uniquely beautiful and poignant. You can stand for an age, lost in thoughts and melancholy, as you read the names of the dead and listen to the hypnotic, rhythmic running of the water.

The museum itself is solemn, moving, and magnificently curated. The collection and atmosphere was so enthralling that we experienced a family first when it comes to a museum – we had to wait outside for Joseph to finish! He was so captivated and deeply touched by the experience that he stayed far longer than his parents.

One aspect of New York that is particularly hard to get your head around and organise in advance is eating out. Where do you start? The penalty for us was ending up traipsing around for hours on end, not knowing where to go, or what to trust. With varying appetites at different times, this was a, er, recipe for disaster.

The other difficult matter to navigate is the tipping nightmare. Tipping has always been a precarious tightrope in America, especially for the more, um, money cautious of Brits. These days, it is impossible to avoid because every bill is presented to you on a tablet screen, which is pre-loaded with tipping percentage suggestions: 15, 20, 25 and – can you believe it – 30%. I was often expected to hit the 20% option for someone who had simply passed me a pre-prepared sandwich from a cooler cabinet. Good luck to anyone brave enough to select the ‘Custom Tip’ option and put in the good ol’ rule of thumb 10%. Cue snarly look of disgust.

New York is known as the “city that never sleeps”, but it is also the place that never shuts up! Its incessant soundtrack – car horns, police sirens, spluttering generators from street food carts and music screeching from swarms of rickshaws – claws at the senses. After a while it all drives you a bit crazy.

With the sensory over-load taking its toll, we ended the trip with a treat by checking into The Peninsula on Fifth Avenue for the last night. A five star dose of old-world, under-stated luxury and timeless charm was much-needed. If you can push the boat out, then go for one of their suites. 

The Peninsula, the perfect sanctuary of calm and old-style luxury to escape the mania of Manhattan

Entrance staircase inside The Peninsula

The genteel quiet of The Pen was a blissful sanctuary from the madness outside. There’s a lot to be said for admiring the mania of Manhattan at a distance – not least when you’re in a fluffy white robe, by a top-floor swimming pool, after a trip to the spa. That’s my kind of city break!

New York is tough going, but it’s also a flag-pole family adventure that will bring unforgettable moments. It’s a mighty TICK for any citizen traveller. So, melt away your small town blues, make a brand new start of it, and go to old New York. You can make it there. It’s up-to-you-ou-ou-ou!

FACTS and LINKS

Virgin Hotels New York, Double Room from £261 per night. Visit HERE 

Tempo by Hilton New York, Double Room from £173 per night. Visit HERE

The Peninsula New York, Superior Room from £725 per night. Visit HERE 

Afternoon tea at The Plaza Hotel. Visit HERE

Theatre tickets from The Broadway Collection. Visit HERE

Tours and attractions with NYC Tourism. Visit HERE  

 British Airways. Visit HERE

Statue of Liberty, Statue of Liberty Island, NYC