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A Summer Abroad:
26/12/25 11:421. You have the summer and plenty of money to travel abroad. Where all would you go?
This wouldn’t be a whirlwind, tick-the-boxes kind of summer. It would be slow, indulgent, and unapologetically Europe-focused — a mix of returning to places I already love and lingering long enough to actually feel them again.
France would be essential: Paris for museums, bookshops, and aimless walking, then south to Provence for markets, lavender, and the sort of lunches that stretch into the afternoon.
Italy would follow — Rome for history that still makes my chest tighten a little, Florence for art, and then a few quiet coastal days somewhere beautiful and blue, armed with a book and no real plans.
Spain, too: Barcelona, yes, but also somewhere slightly smaller — Valencia or Seville — for warmth, colour, and food that feels joyful.
Monte Carlo and the Riviera would absolutely be on the list. Some places aren’t just destinations; they’re memory-keepers.
England would still matter, even though it’s home. London for bookshops, theatre, and long walks, and Wimbledon season because honestly, how could it not? It’s less a destination and more a ritual — one I’m lucky enough to return to every year.
And if I let myself add one elegant wildcard? Vienna or Prague. A little old‑world, a little bookish, a little melancholy — exactly my speed.
I’d also have to acknowledge that a lot of my travel already revolves around tennis. Following the tour pulls me across borders as a matter of course — different cities, different surfaces, different rhythms — so this summer wouldn’t be about chasing tournaments. It would be about staying long enough in places to experience them beyond the stadium gates.
2. What foods would you be sure you got to eat?
Food wouldn’t be incidental on this trip. It would be central.
In France: fresh bread, good butter, cheese eaten daily without apology, and pastries every single morning — pain au chocolat, almond croissants, and something custardy I didn’t plan on ordering.
In Italy: proper cacio e pepe, tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes, and gelato every evening (purely for balance).
In Spain: tapas, especially anything involving ham or anchovies, and paella eaten by the sea even if it’s slightly touristy.
And everywhere: excellent coffee, taken slowly, preferably while people-watching. No rushing. No guilt.
3. What landmarks would you be sure you got to see?
There would be a few obvious ones — the Louvre, the Musée d’Orsay, the Colosseum — but only the parts I truly love. No endurance sightseeing.
Wimbledon, of course: the grounds, the museum, Centre Court if I were lucky.
But my real landmarks are quieter:
• independent bookshops • old cemeteries • libraries • writers’ houses • cafés where you’re allowed to sit for an hour without being moved along
Places with atmosphere matter more to me than famous facades.
4. What airline would you use?
This is not a budget-airline summer.
I’d choose something calm, reliable, slightly old-school — British Airways, Air France, maybe KLM. A checked bag. A glass of wine. The feeling that the journey itself is part of the experience, not something to endure.
5. Would your knowledge of other languages influence where you went?
Yes — but softly.
I’d feel more relaxed in France, Italy, and Spain, knowing I can read menus, follow snippets of conversation, and feel a little less like I’m hovering on the outside of things.
That said, I wouldn’t avoid anywhere just because I didn’t speak the language. Curiosity would win. It would simply change how I experienced a place — more listening, more observing, more absorbing.
This is very much a fantasy summer, but it’s also revealing. I’m not chasing novelty for its own sake. I want beauty, familiarity, good food, books, tennis, and time — the luxury of lingering.
And honestly? That feels like a pretty perfect way to travel.
This wouldn’t be a whirlwind, tick-the-boxes kind of summer. It would be slow, indulgent, and unapologetically Europe-focused — a mix of returning to places I already love and lingering long enough to actually feel them again.
France would be essential: Paris for museums, bookshops, and aimless walking, then south to Provence for markets, lavender, and the sort of lunches that stretch into the afternoon.
Italy would follow — Rome for history that still makes my chest tighten a little, Florence for art, and then a few quiet coastal days somewhere beautiful and blue, armed with a book and no real plans.
Spain, too: Barcelona, yes, but also somewhere slightly smaller — Valencia or Seville — for warmth, colour, and food that feels joyful.
Monte Carlo and the Riviera would absolutely be on the list. Some places aren’t just destinations; they’re memory-keepers.
England would still matter, even though it’s home. London for bookshops, theatre, and long walks, and Wimbledon season because honestly, how could it not? It’s less a destination and more a ritual — one I’m lucky enough to return to every year.
And if I let myself add one elegant wildcard? Vienna or Prague. A little old‑world, a little bookish, a little melancholy — exactly my speed.
I’d also have to acknowledge that a lot of my travel already revolves around tennis. Following the tour pulls me across borders as a matter of course — different cities, different surfaces, different rhythms — so this summer wouldn’t be about chasing tournaments. It would be about staying long enough in places to experience them beyond the stadium gates.
2. What foods would you be sure you got to eat?
Food wouldn’t be incidental on this trip. It would be central.
In France: fresh bread, good butter, cheese eaten daily without apology, and pastries every single morning — pain au chocolat, almond croissants, and something custardy I didn’t plan on ordering.
In Italy: proper cacio e pepe, tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes, and gelato every evening (purely for balance).
In Spain: tapas, especially anything involving ham or anchovies, and paella eaten by the sea even if it’s slightly touristy.
And everywhere: excellent coffee, taken slowly, preferably while people-watching. No rushing. No guilt.
3. What landmarks would you be sure you got to see?
There would be a few obvious ones — the Louvre, the Musée d’Orsay, the Colosseum — but only the parts I truly love. No endurance sightseeing.
Wimbledon, of course: the grounds, the museum, Centre Court if I were lucky.
But my real landmarks are quieter:
• independent bookshops • old cemeteries • libraries • writers’ houses • cafés where you’re allowed to sit for an hour without being moved along
Places with atmosphere matter more to me than famous facades.
4. What airline would you use?
This is not a budget-airline summer.
I’d choose something calm, reliable, slightly old-school — British Airways, Air France, maybe KLM. A checked bag. A glass of wine. The feeling that the journey itself is part of the experience, not something to endure.
5. Would your knowledge of other languages influence where you went?
Yes — but softly.
I’d feel more relaxed in France, Italy, and Spain, knowing I can read menus, follow snippets of conversation, and feel a little less like I’m hovering on the outside of things.
That said, I wouldn’t avoid anywhere just because I didn’t speak the language. Curiosity would win. It would simply change how I experienced a place — more listening, more observing, more absorbing.
This is very much a fantasy summer, but it’s also revealing. I’m not chasing novelty for its own sake. I want beauty, familiarity, good food, books, tennis, and time — the luxury of lingering.
And honestly? That feels like a pretty perfect way to travel.
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