It’s early December and I’m realising that, although the sun is shining, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to wear a short-sleeved summer dress on this particular expedition. One of the group lends me a thin scarf which keeps the chill off my chest and neck, but the slightly biting wind still whips about my goosebumped bare arms.

The guide and locals are in winter mode ready for our trek – puffa jackets, snoods and woolly hats – so I’m sticking out like a sore thumb. But I just tell myself the 12-degree breeze is positively bracing, and that a bit of air to the bottom never did anyone any harm before proceeding to hike up the steep slope to the Acropolis.

Yes you read that right – the Acropolis in Sicily…

Founded as a Greek colony in 580 BC, ancient Akragas (now Agrigento) rose to become one of the Mediterranean’s wealthiest city-states. Its Doric temples – seven in total, built between 510 BC and 430 BC – symbolise its golden age under tyrants like Theron, who commemorated victories like the 480 BC Battle of Himera against the Carthaginians.

Designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997, the 1,300-hectare park remains Europe’s largest archaeological site, where tales of Carthaginian sieges in 406 BC left scorch marks on temple walls, still visible today.

We visit four ancient monuments, each more inspiring than the last

First comes the Temple of Heracles, the oldest on the site, built in the late 6th century BC and now reduced to eight columns after an earthquake. Then there is the vast Temple of Olympian Zeus, begun in 480 BC, once more than 110 metres long and famed for its colossal telamons standing up to 7.5 metres tall.

The tour then takes in the instantly recognisable Temple of Castor and Pollux, marked by four columns reconstructed in the 19th century, before ending at the Temple of Concordia. Built in the 5th century BC and later converted into a church in the 6th century AD, it is the best preserved of them all, its survival owed to that later life.

We also got to admire the metal sculpture of a fallen Icarus, a new addition to the site by artist Igor Mitoraj. The Polish sculptor’s monumental 2011 bronze installation hugs a 1000-year-old olive tree, its gnarled trunk a living relic from the site’s medieval olive groves, symbolising Sicily’s enduring agricultural heritage since Phoenician times.

Our guide Luigi tells us there’ll be an exam at the end of the tour but, fortunately, he’s just messing with us. What actually waits at the culmination of the trek is something far more pleasant.

Time to roll up our sleeves…

Deep within an oasis of cacti and palm trees was a beautiful cooking school and restaurant. In the kitchen area, we’re introduced to the chef and watch reverentially as she tosses dough in flour, pats the resulting pizza bases into shape, and deftly arranges a few toppings. Olives, tomato passata, spinach and cheese, before she tosses the pizzas into the fiery oven. Then it’s our turn.

One of the group gets a bit over-enthusiastic and piles his toppings way too high, causing a near-disaster in the oven. The pizza catches fire and, as the chef tries to rescue it, it collapses and has to be tossed into the embers! Despite me not being the greatest of cooks, I’m relieved my creation emerges in one piece. Within a minute or so, the sizzling results are shovelled out onto wooden boards, ready for consumption.

My pizza, even though I say so myself, is not only easy on the eye (I got a bit arty) but is also absolutely delicious with all the same toppings but arranged differently. After wolfing down our creations in the restaurant, we’re presented with a vegetarian smorgasbord of delight: pasta with lentils, roasted potato wedges and cubed pumpkin, followed by a dessert of almond tart and Sicilian orange mousse. And lashings of local vino of course.

Too stuffed to walk back, we thankfully get a lift from the lovely Adler hotel/spa driver Adriano, who tells us that in a past life he was a session musician touring with the likes of Emeli Sandé. That’s a whole another story.

In a single five-day winter’s trip to Sicily, I saw so much

I was privileged to stay in the capital Palermo at a beautiful private residence/palazzo – the Palazzo Pantelleria, run by the charming and accommodating Francesco Cazzaniga, nephew of the owner. And I also got to attend a talk by author Francesca Campioli on her book – A Parigi Con Stile – about fashion designer Coco Chanel.

I visited the local marina and ate the most delicious ice-cream I’ve ever tasted; I had salted caramel and dark chocolate and Francesco had mango and prickly pear. Our choices were chalk and cheese. That was after the breakfast of local croissants, fresh fruit and coffee that Francesco had kindly prepared for me. Needless to say, eyes bigger than belly, I couldn’t finish the ice-cream.

Back at the palazzo, l had a wander around the property

Housed in the 14th-century fortified outpost, built in the late 1300s and later owned by the Spanish Requesens family under Charles V, the palazzo was rescued from ruin in 2002 by Francesco’s collector uncle Massimo Cazzaniga. Cazzaniga transformed it over two decades into an 11,000-square-foot home museum of Baroque frescoes, Venetian tiles and eclectic antiques from global ports.

In the backstreets behind the Palazzo Pantelleria, on our walk to the marina, Francesco told me about the days of the Spanish Inquisition, when prisoners were executed outside the nearby Palazzo Chiaramonte Steri – the 14th-century Gothic stronghold turned Inquisition tribunal from 1604 to 1782. Legend says the local executioner had to scurry, hooded and incognito, through the narrow alleyways, hoping he wasn’t spotted or recognised by locals who disapproved of his actions and choice of career.

Under Spanish Habsburg rule from 1479, the Holy Office targeted Jews, Muslims and “heretics” in Sicily’s diverse melting pot, leading to mass expulsions in 1492 and brutal interrogations in Steri’s graffiti-scarred cells, where desperate prisoners etched poems in Sicilian, Latin and Arabic-Judaic, invoking Dante’s Inferno amid tortures like the rack and waterboarding.

I didn’t think a night at the Palazzo Pantelleria could be surpassed

But then the taxi arrived ferried me to the heavenly Adler Spa Resort Sicilia two hours away from the capital. I say ‘heavenly’ because this stunningly-designed eco-spa is perfect in every way. When I wasn’t pinching myself awake from the blissful dream I thought I was having, I did actually feel like I’d died and gone to heaven.

On a hillside overlooking the Agrigento coast in Siculiana, sitting alongside the Torre Salsa Nature Reserve, this eco-luxe retreat, built with humidity-regulating Sicilian clay walls and volcanic rock cladding, offers thalasso pools, Pilates sessions and farm-to-table Sicilian fare in a serene Mediterranean paradise.

The highlights of my five-day trip most definitely included the pizza-making in the Valley of Temples, but then there was the wine-tasting at the Donnafugata winery – where the Rallo family’s 170-year legacy, revived in 1983 by Giacomo and Gabriella, yields acclaimed vintages like the passito Ben Ryé from UNESCO – protected Pantelleria vines; the swimming in the heated infinity pool at the Adler Spa resort; the one-night stay at the Bella Palermo and that overall feeling of living in the most beautiful dream. I can’t imagine I’ll ever again feel such pleasure in such a short period of time.

December travel info:

Jacqui travelled with Ryanair from Stansted to Palermo airport, return flight £130. She stayed at Travelodge Stansted prior to the flight.

She enjoyed her one-night stopover in Palermo at the Palazzo Pantelleria residence. Contact Francesco Cazzaniga at info@labellapalermo.com  for more details and check out the website

The wine-tasting and Valley of Temples excursions were arranged via the Adler Spa Resort Sicilia.

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post A Sicily holiday in winter: ancient wonders and everyday joy appeared first on Silver Magazine.

The Dolomites rise like jagged cathedrals from the South Tyrolean landscape, their blindingly white faces scarred by a forever of wind, frost and snow. So, remind me again why I’ve decided to go winter trekking here?!

Designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2009, these mountains, part of the Southern Limestone Alps, are not just a picture-perfect backdrop for a pretty holiday snap. They’re a living part of the once-Austrian landscape, exhaling mist at dawn, inhaling the shadows at dusk.

In winter, they don a mantle of snow that transforms them into a vast expanse of whiteness, where every ridge has a story to tell. One of the peaks – the Sassolungo – which I saw as a giant upright foot, rocky toes pointing skywards, was shockingly steep. Yet I’d heard that many locals had climbed it.

The beauty of the mountains and the icy air was a literally breathtaking combination. It was against this awe-inspiring canvas that I embarked on a 14km guided hike. My trepidation was somewhat tempered by the promise of discovery…  and the reassuring presence of our leader, Lara Holzknecht.

The Sassolungo or Langkofel on the left is the highest mountain of the Langkofel Group in the Dolomites. Sasso piatto or Plattkofel is the flat mountain on the right. Photo Michiel Ronde

Lara, the sales and marketing manager at the Adler Spa Resort Dolomiti (where I was staying for three nights) was six months pregnant, yet strode ahead with effortless grace. “Hiking is everyday stuff for me,” she told me with a smile, her cheeks flushed.

Her words calmed my anxiety. Two years earlier, I had shattered both ankles on the rocky slopes of Comino, Malta’s diminutive sister island. The awful memories of surgery, leg casts and six months in a wheelchair still lingered. A troublesome sacro-iliac joint didn’t help. But, I reasoned, if a pregnant Lara, fearless and brave (though, it has to be said, a couple of decades younger), could do it, then so could I!

My bragging rights fell short…

When I sent friends and family back home live videos and photos of the day’s snowy excursion, a few said “Oh, you’re skiing!” and “Amazing! I didn’t know you could ski!” The truth of the matter is I cannot ski. I attempted it for the first time aged 56 and it was a disaster: poles flailing, legs rigid, ego bruised on the nursery slopes. A Kurt Cobain lookalike called Hubert was my instructor and he despaired daily at my uselessness: I could barely walk in the skis let alone actually ski. “At least I’m trying,” I whined daily. Hubert was not impressed.

After my previous disastrous experiences on the slopes, I wondered now, as we exited the car at the foot of the mountains, how I was going to fare. I didn’t even have a reconstructed ankle back then. I suppose this time I had an excuse, I thought pathetically.

Our group was mixed, but all women, each bringing their own quirks to the trail. There was a woman a bit younger than me, who confided that she too bore the scars of ankle reconstruction – metal plates, pins and wires anchoring her bones – though she mentioned it far less obsessively than I did mine.

A teenager, raised amid the sun-baked hills of Cyprus gazed wide-eyed at the vast expanse of snow. “I haven’t seen snow since I was a little child!” she exclaimed. “I’m so going to make a snow angel!”

A California girl, new to winter’s whims, discovered that snow could be treacherously slippery. Another spirited young woman instigated an impromptu snowball fight. Then there was the professional photographer, laden with cameras, lenses and tripods. How she hauled that hefty load up the slopes without collapsing under the weight of it all, I’ll never know.

We set off from the Adler Spa Resort Dolomiti…

This is a luxurious haven embedded in the heart of the Val Gardena, and had been my glorious home in the mountains. This five-star retreat, with its expansive 170 rooms, is a calming blend of Alpine elegance, relaxation and wellness. The deliciously-scented spa – just a small part of the whole resort – spans 3,500 square metres, boasting indoor and outdoor pools heated to a blissful 34°C and separated by sliding doors (yes, sliding doors actually IN the pool), saunas infused with pine essence, and treatment rooms where therapists wield ancient Tyrolean techniques.

My own indulgence the previous day – a deep-tissue massage targeting back, neck and shoulders – had been transformative. Hannah, the massage therapist, hands like forged steel wrapped in silk, had kneaded away years of tension from my lower back, leaving me supple yet fragile, as if my muscles had been reset but not yet road-tested. Little did I know the hike would provide the ultimate trial.

The dark path wound gently at first, skirting the base of the Dolomites with the mountains commanding every vista. The Sassolungo group loomed to our left, its 3,181-metre peak a serrated blade against the cobalt sky, while the Sella massif formed a colossal amphitheatre, its cliffs plunging into shadowed abysses.

Sunlight danced on the surface, turning the landscape into a glittering expanse that begged to be captured. I used my iPhone to take photos, wishing I had a ‘proper’ camera, whilst thinking what I’d really like to have brought with me was an easel, a palette, a few brushes and some paints. I decided I’d take pictures on my phone camera with a view to doing a painted version once home: whether that’ll ever happen is yet to be seen.

For much of the route, we followed a well-trodden track

The snow compacted into a forgiving ridged ribbon that crunched satisfyingly underfoot. Lara led with unerring confidence, pointing out landmarks: the tiny hamlet of Ortisei below, its onion-domed church a speck in the valley; the distant gleam of the Alpe di Siusi, Europe’s largest high-altitude meadow, now blanketed in white. The air was pine-scented and bitingly pure. I tried to imagine the vista in the summer with animals grazing and cowbells tinkling. I promised to look up some images online when we returned to the hotel. Conversation flowed as we walked: it was only towards the end that I realised trekking was twice as tiring when chattering. But as the kilometres accumulated, a companionable silence descended, broken only by the rhythmic pad-squeak pad-squeak of our steps.

Towards our journey’s end, the worn trail ended and we started to traipse through virgin snow, untouched drifts that rose to mid-calf. The Dolomites still loomed majestically, still gleaming but darker now, more sombre.

Our destination, the Adler Lodge Alpe, where we’d been promised lunch, appeared as a distant smudge on the horizon. It refused to draw nearer. In fact, the more we walked, the further away it seemed to get! My mind wandered to sinister tales: I remembered reading the book Alive!, the harrowing account of the Uruguayan rugby team’s Andean plane crash ordeal, where mountains stretched endlessly, sustenance scarce, survival descending into the unthinkable. Why was I thinking about that now? “I hope we don’t get stranded and have to eat each other,” I blurted out, my voice carrying on the wind. Fortunately, I don’t think anyone heard.

And then lunch at the lodge

My back aching from the therapist’s thorough pummelling and my legs unaccustomed to such exertion since scaling Machu Picchu 18 months prior, I lagged somewhat on the final stretch. A short, cobbled incline led to the lodge. “Hooray! We made it!” I gasped, lungs burning. “Bit breathless now though.”

“That’ll be the altitude,” offered my metal-ankled companion, her stride unbroken.

“Oh, it’s not because I’m really unfit then?” I laughed, relief flooding in.

“Not at all,” she replied kindly. “We’ve just trekked seven kilometres across quite tricky terrain. You did really well.”

Seconds later we were walking through the front entrance to the exquisitely-designed lodge.

In the foyer we were instantly too hot. Tearing off our outer layers, we adjusted to the warmth of the lodge’s interior. Lara showed no hint of weariness, she and her unborn child seemingly unfazed by the expedition. Her poise was inspiring; I sensed she had conquered far sterner paths in these mountains she called home. In fact, she’d told me earlier that she’d climbed the foot-shaped peak as a young girl, with her uncle.

At the Adler Lodge Alpe, a cosier sibling to the main resort with just 32 rooms, we were welcomed warmly by the manager. The lodge, built entirely from local materials – larch, oak and pine – pays homage to Namibia, inspired by the original owners’ travels.

Abstract artwork and sculptures evoke African savannahs, contrasting exquisitely with the Alpine setting. Colourful zigzagging patterns on some of the wooden walls contrast with the simplicity of the others. We were given a brief tour: spacious suites and chalets with private saunas overlooking the cirque of peaks; a cosy lounge where fireplaces crackle with applewood; and the restaurant, its panoramic windows framing the Dolomites in all their glory.

So what did we eat?

At a long table on the terrace extending from the restaurant, as a local accordionist filled the air with lilting Tyrolean melodies, we savoured a feast of regional delights. Platters overflowing with speck and salami from local farms. Artisanal cheeses aged in mountain cellars, venison tagliatelle in a rich juniper sauce, and mushroom pappardelle redolent of forest floors. Dessert was Kaiserschmarrn – fluffy shredded pancakes dusted with icing sugar and accompanied by tart redcurrant compote – accompanied by a deliciously golden and syrupy dessert wine (Roen, from local winery Cantina Tramin).

As the sun dipped behind the peaks, painting the snow lavender and rose, I reflected on the day’s conquest. The Dolomites had tested me, yes. Ankles, back and resolve all pushed to their limits. But they had also healed something deeper. Fear of fragility, born from past mishaps, dissolved in the crunch of snow and the camaraderie of new friends.

In the shadow of the Dolomites, these timeless and permanent giants, I emerged stronger, ready for whatever peaks (and troughs) lay ahead. The Adler Spa Resort Dolomiti and its lodge had not just hosted me, they had reignited my wanderlust. I will return, metal ankle and all, to paint those vistas for real.

Details of the trip

Jacqui was hosted by the Adler Spa Resort Dolomiti, where the trek was arranged. She lunched at the Adler Hotel Alpe. www.adler-resorts.com
Flights from London Gatwick to Verona with easyJet starting from around £100 return, Easyjet.com
Roen wine from Cantina Tramin

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post Peaky blinders: winter trekking in the Dolomites appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Imagine this: it’s mid-afternoon and you’re in a café. You’re trying to connect your laptop to the café’s broadband when suddenly the world tilts. Not the actual world – just your own inner world.

A text pings on to your phone – simple words, a short message… but you can’t comprehend it. You see the words and letters, they look familiar, but you can’t read them. Your laptop refuses to do what it’s supposed to. You look at the keys; they might as well be hieroglyphics.

As you pack up your stuff and try to say goodbye to the waitress who’d brought you your coffee just ten minutes earlier, no words come out. Panic rises, hands go clammy, your whole body breaks out in a sweat: it’s just the coffee, you tell yourself. It’s just deadline anxiety. But you know in your rapidly beating heart it’s neither…

So what was wrong with me?

Apart from the panic, I felt OK. But I knew something was very wrong. It’s nothing dramatic, it’s just odd. A quiet, insidious shutdown, my brain protesting… overload.

This was my reality one ordinary Thursday. The sudden onset of what initially appeared to be a transient ischemic attack (TIA) – a “mini-stroke”.

Fortunately, I got to A&E in time to avert disaster and swerve a full-on stroke. I was given emergency intravenous medications to lower my blood pressure. I was in hospital for three days but when I got home I started to wonder how many people actually suffer from TIAs, strokes or near-misses like me, and how many change as a result of that experience.

After posting about my experience on social media, I discovered that a lot of people had been through similar and many through much worse. Some don’t survive and some struggle to recover, but the vast majority bounce back.

Although it can be extremely tough at the time, most stroke-sufferers I’ve now spoken to say a TIA or stroke doesn’t have to signal the end. Far from it. It can be the fierce, unyielding catalyst for reinvention, a neurological nudge toward a life more aligned, more valued, more YOURS.

How a catastrophic event can reshape your future

In the UK, where around 100,000 strokes occur annually, the narrative often fixates on loss, the physical hurdles, the emotional toll. Yet emerging research paints a more hopeful portrait, one where survivors not only endure, but evolve psychologically in ways that enrich their lives.

A groundbreaking meta ethnography by UK researchers at the University of Salford synthesised patient experiences from multiple studies, revealing how stroke rehabilitation fosters a profound “evolution of identity.” Drawing from 13 international trials, it highlights how positive psycho-social shifts, bolstered by hope, robust social support and enhanced self-efficacy, can reshape survivors’ sense of self over time.

Staff encouragement and community networks play pivotal roles, turning vulnerability into strength. Participants described reclaiming autonomy, reconciling their pre- and post-stroke identities, and emerging with renewed purpose. Not despite the event, but because of it.

Read more: How dance therapy can improve stroke recovery

This isn’t isolated optimism

A 2023 systematic review in the International Journal of Nursing Studies, involving 60 global studies (many UK-led), identified 39 post-event treatments that demonstrably improved psychosocial well-being post-stroke. These included dialogue-based therapies and narrative approaches, which help survivors reframe their stories, reducing anxiety and isolation while focusing on resilience.

UK guidelines from the National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (NICE) echo this, recommending tailored psychological therapies that yield moderate-to-large reductions in depression and anxiety symptoms. The results are encouraging with up to 50% reliable recovery rates in some cohorts.

…dialogue-based therapies and narrative approaches, which help survivors reframe their stories, reduce anxiety and isolation

One feasibility study from Akershus University Hospital tested a guided self-determination intervention, where stroke survivors reported feeling “enriched” by sharing their experiences, gaining emotional tools to navigate distress and foster long-term coping.

Even in chronic phases, the Oxford Chronic Stroke Project (OX-CHRONIC), a UK longitudinal study, underscores that while challenges like fatigue persist, targeted support stabilises mood and boosts quality of life. With many survivors prioritising – and achieving – psychological recovery years later.

A joined-up approach to recovery

The Stroke Association’s approach to rehab includes a push for integrated care that addresses the “hidden” effects of stroke survival. These include mood swings, eroded confidence, feelings of despair – and encourages patients not to see them as permanent scars, but as potential points for growth.

Psychological interventions, from cognitive behavioural therapy to self-help relaxation, outperform the results from simply taking medications alone when managing symptoms, encouraging survivors to cultivate adaptive mindsets: acceptance, self-esteem and even positive affect that reignites social participation.

In essence, a stroke can rewire not just the brain’s circuits, but reset its compass – pointing toward more positive changes.

My own story – despite it not involving a full-on TIA or stroke – bears this out. A personal testament to how crisis can clarify. For me, after the initial panic and confusion, it felt as if a tangled overgrown pathway had been cleared. I can’t speak for victims of serious stroke, but I can speak as someone who teetered on the edge of that for a few days and whose experience is therefore somewhat piqued interest in the subject.

That Thursday, disoriented and silent, I stumbled home, my pulse thundering in my ears

I called my daughter and she suggested I check my blood pressure. It was perilously high. By the time I got to A&E, it was 240/180.

I was kept in the resuscitation bay and given emergency IV drugs. I had a CT scan, blood tests and eye exams mapping the unseen threats. And I was kept in ‘Resus’ overnight, monitors beeping, then wheeled to a ward as the meds wrestled my blood pressure down until it then hit a way-too-low 90/70. Another night of watchful waiting and, by the following evening, my BP stabilised. The days that followed are blurred by exhaustion; was it the sleepless nights at the hospital that wore me out? Or the side effects of the drugs?

Yet, piercing that haze, I sensed a shift. The hospital staff – charming, kind, unflaggingly professional – left me grateful, cheered up by their humanity and empathy. I felt elated and relieved, but this was no near-death epiphany. (I’ve danced with that spectre before and emerged unchanged.) No, this was more subtle, a brain-level recalibration, as if neurons had huddled in conference and taken a vote.

It was time to take action!

For many gruelling years, I’d poured my energy into others’ lives. Caring not just for family and friends but also (through my work as a journalist and filmmaker) extending lifelines to strangers. I penned articles, produced films, guested on podcasts, hosted a chat show. Often without payment, a compulsion born of a desire to help, without considering the toll this might take.

I knew working that way was unwise, but I naively believed that everything would work out fine in the end. Perhaps foolishly I believed in karma (not so much anymore) and was certain that kindness was always repaid. If I was generous with my time and energy, all would be well. What an idiot I was! Taking that route cost me dearly: my home sold under duress, confidence shattered, the will to go on flickering dangerously low on dark nights.

The near-miss TIA didn’t just threaten my life; it illuminated all the dark corners and shone a light on my own personal ledger book. Something in my brain – stressed to malfunction – whispered “You are worth more.”

I suddenly had an overwhelming sense of purpose and self-worth, a fierce determination to reclaim the reins. No more diffusion of my gifts into the void. I’m done with the gratis grind. No More Mrs Nice Guy! I know now that I must charge for my words, my vision, my value. Articles, films, shows, books – all now fenced with fair boundaries and proper pricing. It’s not bitterness, it’s not bigheadedness – it’s liberation. That brain blip powered up a woman who now knows her efforts demand equity, her light deserves reward.

In terms of avoiding this happening again…

I don’t like taking pharmaceutical meds, but the docs stressed that I was in an emergency situation. And after giving me IV ACE inhibitor Ramipril, they recommended I continue on it in pill form. I’ve been taking it now for six weeks and my BP is still high. Today’s reading is 194/117.

I’m having a device fitted to my arm for 24 hours in two weeks’ time which will take hourly readings, so they can get to the bottom of what’s causing the problem. In the meantime, I’ve cut out alcohol and wheat, and I’m also trying to cut out sugar.

I think perhaps the cause is not enough exercise – working on that – and maybe a lack of physical affection. After being in end-to-end relationships for over 40 years, I suddenly decided to go it alone five years ago. It’s benefited me in many ways, but has it affected my blood pressure? Who knows?

I’ve had every medical test under the sun now and one doctor commented that I might be one of those people who just naturally has high blood pressure. Others have said it could be hereditary and untreatable. (My parents both had high BP.)

For now, it’s a bit of a mystery but hopefully what happened five weeks ago won’t happen again. Just not sure how to make sure it doesn’t though.

A stroke – or a brush with one – may arrive unbidden…

But it needn’t steal your future. As those UK studies affirm, with support and intention, it can illuminate paths to psychological flourishing.

Stronger identities, resilient coping, lives laced with deeper meaning. My café blackout was no elegy; it was a stepping stone to this new bold chapter.

The world didn’t end that afternoon – and, oddly, the fact that it could have done wasn’t the point: it began anew. And, although no one is happy to endure such misfortune, like all my adversities, I feel privileged to have glimpsed into that world, lived to tell my tale and to feel stronger as a person because of it.

Have you experienced something similar? Let us know in the comments below.

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post How nearly having a stroke changed my life appeared first on Silver Magazine.

But, for some reason, I seem to have gone the other way. Despite the fading eyesight and creaky bones, I’m bolder since hitting 60 than I’ve ever been. It’s the feeling of life getting shorter, mixed with a need to hurry up and get those ambitions ticked off that bucket list before it’s too late that spurs me on. So each trip away becomes a little more daring than the last. That’s why, a month ago, instead of going for a peaceful weekend in the Cotswolds, I chose to take a 48-hour solo holiday in exotic Morocco.

I wasn’t going to rough it, oh no. I mean, I don’t mind a bit of glamping but, this time, I wanted luxury. I was given the opportunity to stay Casa Memoria, a breathtaking villa near Marrakech, and grabbed it with both hands.

Because I only had 48 hours to spare, I made sure my itinerary was action-packed. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to have a good few hours indulging in less frenetic activities – namely lounging by the pool and people-watching from cafés and bars in town. I wanted to experience the magic of Morocco but didn’t want to totally wear myself out. Balance is the key to a successful whirlwind two-day escape.

Here’s how it went…

After taking an EasyJet flight from the UK – the return ticket was just £130 – within a few hours, I was at Marrakech airport. A 30-minute taxi ride (which cost around £50) led me to Casa Memoria, a stunning villa set in nine hectares of lush gardens. As I walked through the grand tiled hallway and out into the grounds, palm trees in contrast with the bright green grass and colourful flowers dotted everywhere, the stress of my life in England started to melt away.

The villa itself had a real 1930s vibe to it, even though it was built in 2008. Its six gorgeous suites, which can sleep up to a total of 12, were decked out with traditional zellige tiles and comfy queen-size beds. A strong scent of roses hung filled each room. The air-conditioning gave instant relief from the 40-degree heat outside and promised a great night’s sleep.

On both mornings, I woke to the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting up the stairway. Breakfast could be as minimal or lavish as I liked with a choice of fresh bread with local honey, eggs, strong coffee or mint tea, all prepared by the villa’s talented chef.

The first morning, after breakfast, I walked across the lush lawn to the 25-metre turquoise-tiled pool, heated to a perfect 30 degrees. A waiter appeared to take my drinks order and returned minutes later with water and coffee. I flicked through a novel I’d borrowed from the villa’s quirky book collection and wiggled my toes. This was the life!

After a swim, I decided to have a wander around the grounds

The peacocks, emerging from the olive groves, screeched at me in greeting (I think it was in greeting anyway) as I walked barefoot across the dense and spongey lawn.

Back inside the house, I started to explore. I’d read up a bit on Casa Memoria and had discovered that, despite the building being relatively new, it already had history. It had once been home to the legendary artist Bill Willis, and his bold paintings and sculptures, mixed with ancient Moroccan treasures, featured in every room.

After lunch – cinnamon-dusted chicken and a fresh beetroot salad – on the terrace, I took a 20-minute taxi ride into Marrakech. I soon became lost in the souks, haggling for leather bags and unusual handmade jewellery.

The heat was almost unbearable, and the air was dusty. I dodged the man in the market square offering me a monkey to hold, and swerved the snake charmer and his swaying cobra! I bought a pendant and some healthy tea then made my way ‘home’.

Back at the villa, dinner was pure magic: tender lamb tagine, spiced oranges and creamy crème brûlée, accompanied by chilled local white wine. As the stars came out, I stepped back into the garden. The night was still and warm, the peacocks silent, the scent of flowers divine. Heavenly! That night, I slept like a particularly contented and well-fed baby.

Into the desert…

On the second day, after another delicious breakfast, I headed to the Agafay Desert, about 40 minutes away, for a half-day adventure with Starry Morocco Tours. I started with a camel trek.

When I first saw the camels, with their gyrating jaws and matted fur, the younger, more fearful me kicked it. I had a bad back and climbing up one of these huge humpy beasts looked difficult. I couldn’t imagine that a trek across the sun-baked plains, the Atlas Mountains towering in the distance, aboard one of these stinky creatures would do my sciatica any good, so at first I declined.

Watching other people clamber up though caused me to come to my senses. “I’ll do it!” I shouted. The camel lowered itself by bending its front legs into a kind of kneeling position (although technically I suppose the bending parts are elbows, not knees!) and a kindly man in a turban and long robe helped me up. The initial lurch as the camel returned to standing position was a bit scary but, other than that, the experience was fine. And, oddly, my back felt better after the trek than before.

Then came the real thrill – quad-biking over dunes and rocky trails. The adrenaline rush was unreal as we raced across the desert, following our instructor, dust flying in huge clouds behind us as we rode!

Later, guests at Casa Memoria, could enjoy a traditional Moroccan massage at the neighbouring hotel’s spa. Dinner was another masterpiece: flaky pastries stuffed with aubergine and perfectly spiced chicken that I’m still intending to try cooking at home. As night fell, I sipped cocktails and watched an amazing fire performance – a mesmerising end to a perfect day.

Information

Casa Memoria, an all-inclusive paradise with gourmet meals and drinks included, is perfect for anyone who craves luxury and adventure. It’s romantic enough for a weekend away with a paramour (not that I have one, but I can dream!), ideal for a chic getaway with friends, and is a fabulous venue for a family milestone celebration. The staff made the experience seamless and luxurious. And while it’s not cheap (check prices at Casa Memoria), every moment was worth it.

My stay at Casa Memoria combined sophistication, adventure and Moroccan soul. From the heated pool to the art-filled rooms, from desert thrills to souk treasures, this 48-hour escape was pure joy. I left with memories – and a feeling of pride at being such a daredevil. I’ll cherish that forever.

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post My unforgettable 48-hour solo holiday in Morocco appeared first on Silver Magazine.

In my youth, consciously feeling gratitude was as foreign to me as a far-off galaxy. I was too busy living to pause and really appreciate what I had. If you’d told teenage me that gratitude could transform my health, I wouldn’t have paid much attention.

Despite my mum – who worked all her adult life in mental health – telling me that the mind, body and soul were all linked. And despite me being pretty ‘up’ on all things spiritual, I never once stopped to consider the power of “vitamin G”.

Now, older and humbled by life’s unexpected twists and turns, I’ve come to see gratitude as my daily dose of something we all need. Through personal experience and a deep dive into the science, I’ve learned that gratitude isn’t just a feel-good buzzword. It’s a scientifically backed elixir for overall health and well-being.

I was saying thanks – but did I mean it?

As a child, I was a bit of a whinger. There were many things I didn’t like. Getting up in the morning, milk, most food, going to bed, school… Smells, tastes, textures, certain music all upset me. My mood could go from happy to tearful in a matter of seconds, and small problems could easily sour a happy mood or pleasant day. I had been taught how to say thank you, but I never actually felt gratitude when I said it.

What I didn’t realise as a young person was that this sort of passive negativity was actually poisoning me

To me, being grateful involves a degree of positive outpouring, something I wasn’t very good at. I’ve always found saying thank you difficult. I can give compliments, no problem. Somehow that feels different. But being truly, from-the-heart grateful has never been easy. Did I see it as a weakness? It certainly didn’t sit comfortably with me and, even now, as an adult, I wrestle with it.

What I didn’t realise as a young person was that this sort of passive negativity was actually poisoning me. My stress levels have always been sky-high, I was hyper, my behaviour unpredictable, my sleep erratic.

I carried tension like a second skin. I used to joke that I didn’t need to work out as my muscles were permanently tense. It wasn’t until recently, during a rough patch, when a friend gave me a gratitude journal as a gift and challenged me to write three things I was thankful for each day, that I recognised how life-changing being grateful could be. What started as a half-hearted exercise soon became a lifeline and science explains why.

How does gratitude work? The science…

At first, my journal entries were uninspired. “Thanks for having food to eat, for my nice hair, my comfy bed…” But, over the weeks, I began noticing the really small stuff: the warmth of a sunny morning, a stranger’s smile, the blast of a song I liked from a passing car. I felt lighter, less anxious. My sleep improved, and I even caught myself smiling more.

A 2003 study by Emmons and McCullough found that people who kept gratitude journals reported higher life satisfaction and lower stress, with cortisol levels dropping by up to 23%.

When I made an effort to be more grateful, and to express my gratitude out loud, and more often, everything changed. Being stuck in traffic didn’t bother me like it used to; instead of fuming, I’d remind myself how lucky I was to have a car. Losing work wasn’t a problem; I was thankful for the work I already had and would be able to get in the future. Relationships ending didn’t devastate me the way it once did; I was grateful for the lessons I learned from them and pleased I was free to move on.

A 2010 study in Psychological Science found that gratitude enhances emotional resilience, helping people recover faster from stress and, once I understood this, I worked harder on my daily feelings of gratitude. I soon noticed that feeling grateful on a regular basis rewired my response to life’s little annoyances.

Aaron Burden / Unsplash

The science goes deeper

Gratitude boosts the brain’s feel-good chemicals, dopamine and serotonin. This explains why my mood could be lifted even when life wasn’t going swimmingly. In one experiment, participants who wrote gratitude letters showed increased activity in the brain’s reward centres, effects that lasted months.

For me, jotting down thanks for a friend laughing at one of my corny jokes or for an especially tasty meal became a daily dopamine hit, making the world feel less heavy. A 2019 study from University College London explored this further, revealing that gratitude practices, such as daily reflection on positive events, increased serotonin levels in the brain by up to 18%.

Practising gratitude has also transformed my relationships. In my youth, I took people for granted; my parents’ support, friends’ loyalty… I was too self-absorbed to say thank you with intention. Now, I make a point of expressing appreciation, whether it’s a quick text to a work colleague or a heartfelt message in a (real!) card to a loved one.

Physically, ‘Vitamin G’ has been a game-changer

I used to battle insomnia, my mind racing with worries. But gratitude quietens the noise. Now, I end my day listing three things I’m thankful for. A cosy blanket, a good book, a kind word… and it lulls my brain into rest.

Another study linked gratitude to lower blood pressure and better immune function, suggesting my body was reaping rewards beyond my improved sleep. Even my heart health might be getting a boost.

…gratitude reduces stress, boosts mood, strengthens relationships, improves sleep and supports physical health

When I reflect on what I’m thankful for, I can almost feel my body relax and my breathing slow down. Looking back, I wish I’d embraced Vitamin G sooner. It’s not about ignoring life’s challenges or faking positivity. It’s about spotting the good amid the mess.

The science is clear: gratitude reduces stress, boosts mood, strengthens relationships, improves sleep and supports physical health. I intend to make feeling, really feeling grateful a daily ritual in the hope that it’ll make my day easier and my moving through the world smoother.

If I can become a gratitude convert, anyone can. So, take a dose of Vitamin G today. It’s free, it’s powerful and it might just be the healthiest habit you’ll ever pick up!

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post The scientific health benefits of feeling gratitude appeared first on Silver Magazine.

As summer temperatures soar in central and southern Europe, holidaymakers are increasingly turning to traditionally winter resorts for their summer holidays.

Many of the regions better known for their snowy slopes offer a refreshing alternative to the scorching heat of those popular Mediterranean beach holidays.

Instead of flopping around on a sun lounger, stuffing your face with ice cream, and quaffing so many pina coladas you’re starting to look like a pineapple, it’s definitely worth considering a winter destination. Enjoy less intense climates, stunning landscapes, and a huge choice of exciting cultural experiences.

The vision…

Last December, I visited the Edelweiss Hotel in Grossarl, Austria. It was winter, with skiers everywhere and the whole place felt extremely beautiful in that sparkly Christmas card kind of way. Of course, there was no denying it was beautiful. But I couldn’t help but wonder what the place would be like in the summer.

I imagined being surrounded by lush green valleys (instead of white slopes), sipping chilled wine on the terrace, soaking up the sun but breathing in the crisp clean alpine air. Hikes and long strolls would be easier without the snow. And the summer temperatures would be far more bearable.

Summer in the Austrian Alps?

I asked hotel staff about summer at the hotel. They confirmed that it was truly stunning, and increasingly busy mid-year. Warmer too, of course, with temperatures typically in the high 20s to low 30s. More manageable than the oppressive 40 degrees increasingly happening in many parts of southern Europe.

Hotel Edelweiss in summer

Hotel Eidelweiss in summer

Their comments highlighted a growing trend: winter destinations are becoming sought-after summer retreats.

The Austrian Alps, for example, offer a perfect summer escape with crystal-clear lakes, flower-strewn meadows and hiking trails that provide a fun alternative to fighting your way through crowded coastal resorts. Beyond nature, the area is culturally rich too, from Salzburg’s Mozart heritage to Vienna’s historic palaces. Summer in the Alps also brings practical advantages; fewer tourists, better travel deals, and a wider range of activities.

An Austrian haven

At the Edelweiss Hotel, a four-star superior retreat in Grossarl Valley, it’s possible to experience this transformation firsthand. By day, you can hike trails scented with pine and wildflowers in the Hohe Tauern National Park, followed by schnitzel and apple strudel at alpine restaurants.

Featuring wooden beams and a valley-view balcony, my room felt like a cosy sanctuary in winter, but with the balcony doors flung open, it’s still cool and airy, but nicely warm too. The hotel’s wellness area, open all year round, featuring a panoramic sauna and infinity pool, offering total relaxation with views of rolling meadows. Dedicated summer programmes, including e-bike rentals and farmers’ market visits, add to the appeal, making the Edelweiss a perfect introduction to Austria’s summer charm.

Other summer wonderlands

This ‘summer hols in winter resorts’ trend extends far beyond Austria however. With each summer getting hotter and the winters milder, travellers are keener than ever to seek out new options and explore destinations they may not have considered before.

Great Mont Blanc glacier with Lac Blanc in summer. Location, Chamonix

A few places include Åre in Sweden, Chamonix in France, and Banff in Canada offer cool summer climates. They’re typically 20–25°c and as well as this more temperate weather, also offer healthy experiences, such as hiking, biking and cultural experiences. These destinations cater to adventurers and relaxaholics alike, with activities ranging from lake-kayaking to checking out historic towns and local music festivals.

Top summer destinations in winter havens

1. Grossarl, Austria (Hotel Edelweiss). Hike or bike in the Hohe Tauern National Park, relax in the spa, or enjoy cultural experiences like farmers’ markets. The hotel’s pools and cozy alpine charm make it a summer standout.
2. Åre, Sweden. Explore lush trails, paddle Åresjön Lake, or immerse in Sami culture. Mild temperatures and food festivals create a vibrant summer scene.
3. Chamonix, France. Hike the Tour du Mont Blanc or paraglide under Mont Blanc. Cool weather and lively markets make it a refreshing escape. Home | Chamonix
4. Banff, Canada. Kayak on Lake Louise, spot wildlife or ride the Banff Gondola. Summer arts festivals add cultural depth. Banff & Lake Louise Tourism | Official Destination Website
5. Queenstown, New Zealand. Enjoy bungee jumping, lake cruises or winery tours in mild summer weather (December–February). Queenstown New Zealand | Official Tourism Website
6. Hakuba, Japan. Hike the Northern Alps, relax in hot springs, or attend summer festivals, all in a cool 25°C climate.
7. Bariloche, Argentina. Kayak Nahuel Huapi Lake or hike the Andes in summer (December–February) with craft breweries adding local flavour.
8. Ruka, Finland. Hike Oulanka National Park or canoe under the midnight sun. Sami cultural events enhance the cool summer vibe.
9. Zermatt, Switzerland. Trek the Five Lakes Walk with Matterhorn views or bike alpine trails. The car-free village’s summer festivals add charm.
10. Valdres, Norway. Hike the Besseggen Ridge or fish in clear lakes. Folk music festivals and farm-to-table dining highlight summer’s appeal.

These former winter-only destinations are finally becoming appreciated, and offer an enjoyable and fascinating alternative to the usual overheated hotspots. With cooler climates, diverse activities, and authentic cultural experiences, they’re redefining summer travel for those seeking fitness, adventure, tranquillity – but without getting sunstroke and coming home heavier than when you left!

So lose the flip-flops, pull on your hiking boots, and discover why these traditionally snowy havens shine beautifully bright in the summer months

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post Winter resorts: the cool new choice for summer holidays appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Luxury isn’t something my mum was accustomed to. Holidays for her as she grew up in Ireland were non-existent. Her early adult life in England was spent looking after children. Then, from the age of 29 to 65, she spent most of her days working long, long hours for the NHS, for over three decades in a mental hospital in Basingstoke.

She loved the idea of travelling but – apart from two weeks every summer (to visit family across the Irish Sea) – did very little of it.

Travels with Mum – then and now…

When I was 17, we spent a week in Malta. It was just me and her. She was only 39, and being pretty foxy-looking got chatted up constantly by amorous Maltese men.

Jacqui with her mum, top of York Minster, 1972

Then, when I’d been working as a journalist for a couple of years, I saved up some money to take her to Paris. We stayed in a cheap hotel and visited all the sights. It wasn’t especially fancy but she thought just being in the city was terribly glamorous. She really threw herself into it, and could speak pidgin French by the time we got home. I told her that one day we’d go somewhere a bit more ‘five star’.

She would have loved Cyprus with its fantastic weather. She was a bit of a sun worshipper and I’d often find her on a hot summer’s afternoon, when I got in from school, sitting on a chair in the garden, just by the back door, her freckled face tilted sunwards, soaking up the rays. The warm glittering sea and amazing history of Cyprus would have appealed to her, and she’d have definitely loved the luxurious family-run Asimina Suites hotel in Paphos: a short taxi ride from the airport. So no precious sunbathing time lost!

The staff at the tranquil, relaxing (no under-16s: might explain it!) Asimina are friendly, attentive and accommodating. But never overbearing; they go out of their way to make their guests as comfortable as possible. Within minutes of arriving, after a warm welcome and a chilled glass of champagne accompanied by a few dainty canapés (which every guest receives, not just VIPs like me), I felt instantly spoilt. My mum wasn’t a big drinker – it’d go straight to her head and make her cheeks instantly pink. But she’d definitely down a flute or two of champers given the chance.

I could imagine her face, had we holidayed here together and seen one of the luxury suites for the first time. We could have chosen a one bed or two bed, with or without private pool. I could almost hear her saying “I could happily live here!”

Hotel suite at the five star Asimina Suites Hotel

With a spacious living room, well-equipped kitchen area, super comfy king size beds and a bathroom fit for a movie star, she’d have wandered from room to room, wide-eyed and delighted.

The balcony view of the two adjoining turquoise pools with a backdrop of a private sandy beach (the largest in Paphos) would have had her jaw hitting the floor. She’d have donned her swimsuit and headed for the sun loungers in a matter of minutes and swimming in the sparkly waters of the Aegean Sea shortly after that.

Mum, you’d have adored the island, and the food and drink…

The beautiful island of Cyprus was one of many places on her bucket list but sadly she never made it. She had so many plans, but her life was sadly cut short in 2009 with many destinations left unvisited. I vowed back then that I wouldn’t do the same – leave things too late – and decided to grab with both hands every travel opportunity that came my way. I believed that if I carried her memory with me, in my heart and mind, she could perhaps somehow share my adventures.

She’d have been proud of me as I set off on my first lone journey at the age of 50. Unlike me, she’d have had no fear of travelling alone. The few solo trips she made included the former Yugoslavia, Spain, and – her favourite place – the Greek island of Kefalonia.

Read more: Why the over-50s are leading the field in adventure travel

Greek food was her favourite so she’d have definitely enjoyed the delicious meals on the Cypriot menus. The fresh Greek salads, the mouth-watering lemon chicken, the scrumptious tenderloin steaks, and the wide range of tasty desserts; the chocolate lava cake in particular. The menu at the hotel’s beachside restaurant Kymata (the most intimate of the hotel’s four restaurants) was just perfect. All my favourite dishes in one place, and the best pepper steak I’ve ever had!

L-R Mum. As a young woman in Ireland 1956, catching some rays in the back garden 1985, on her beloved Kefalonia 2000. Article on Silver Magazine www.silvermagazine.co.uk

All kinds of fun activities can be organised at the hotel. I opted for the complimentary gin-tasting session, which was more than eye-opening as I found a gin I actually liked. With ginger ale the Opihr brand felt positively medicinal (as did some of the wines I tried at a wine-tasting experience at Ktima Gerolemo winery the following day where I drank red, rosé and ‘firewater’ wines and even found a white wine I enjoyed- a rare occurrence). Yes, I know… I’ll detox next week!

My mum was also a big fan of Turkish delight (it’s one of those ‘Marmite’ things; you either love it or hate it: I’m not keen). She would have been intrigued to see it being made in an assortment of unexpected flavours (ouzo and bergamot were especially unusual) in the little family shop – Arsinoe Yeroskipos – I visited in Geroskipou.

And Mum, there’s so much history here!

She had a curious mind and would have been absolutely enthralled by Cypriot history and all the mythology. She was an artist in her spare time and, because of that, I’m sure she’d have found the ancient mosaics at the ancient site of Curium along with the ruins of the Sanctuary of Apollon Ylatis quite inspirational. Seeing Aphrodite’s Rock at Petra tou Romiou, where the mythical goddess was born from the foam of the sea, would have set her imagination whirring too.

She’d have found the 9th century Byzantine church; the Church of Agia Paraskevi, Geroskipou, interesting too. Bring a bit of a feminist she wouldn’t have approved of the sexist rule though, that mean women and girls are still forbidden to enter the inner sanctum of the church. And are only allowed to sit at the back of the church. That’s still a men-only zone.

Being used to early rises most of her life, my mum, opposite to me in so many ways, wasn’t one for staying up past midnight but she’d have had a fun (not too late) night out in vibrant Paphos Town.

It’s a shame my lovely mum left this world before she’d had a chance to properly explore it

Had I taken her to the island, I’d have insisted on heading to Omodos, the cutest town in Cyprus (in my opinion anyway), with its cobbled streets, quirky restaurants and shops selling all manner of traditional fayre; food, clothing, jewellery, pottery and artwork. I’d have taken her to lunch at Stou Kir-Yianni restaurant which, besides Kmitra (at Asima Suites) HAS to be one of the best restaurants in Cyprus. We’d have had chicken with Comanderie sauce, truffle pasta, grilled halloumi, and lashings of tomato and onion salad. And perhaps a glass or two of Cypriot wine to wash it all down.

It’s a shame my lovely mum left this world before she’d had a chance to properly explore it but I’m happy that I’m lucky enough to be able to continue her journeying on her behalf. She’s on a very different journey now, but I hope she enjoyed our trip to Cyprus from afar and is pleased that we made it there. Even though it may not have been in the most traditional of ways.

Go where I went, do what I did…

The hotel
Beachfront 5 star hotel in Paphos, Cyprus || Asimina Suites Hotel
(Book before 28 February 2025 and save 20%)

The church
Byzantine Church of Agia Paraskevi

The restaurant
Stou Kir-Yianni Restaurant

The winery
Ktima Gerolemo

The Turkish delight shop
Arsinoe Yeroskipos, Geroskipou

The Sanctuary Of Apollo

Archaelogical site and Roman Amphitheater Kourion

Other places to visit:

Lots to do in Paphos including the UNESCO World Heritage Sites

Great shopping and restaurants in Paphos Old Town, which became European Capital of Culture in 2017 and European Capital of Smart Tourism in 2023

Book before 28 February 2025 and save 20% at Constantinou Bros Asimina Suites Hotel in Paphos, Cyprus. A 7 night stay in a Junior Suite on B&B at Asimina Suites with Easyjet flights from Gatwick including luggage and airport transfers is from £999.00 per person. For further information simply contact the UK sales office on 01924 380160 or email sales@uk-cbh.com or visit www.asimina-cbh.com

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post Dear Mum. Cyprus is lovely – wish you were here appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Bonding holidays – or to use the ghastly term being bandied about; holibonds – are one-on-one trips, mostly for family members, who want to improve a relationship. This kind of bonding activity is on the rise, and can involve a parent and child, grandparent and grandchild, grown children and their elderly parents… you get the idea.

Perhaps fueled in part by promises made in lockdown (when this is all over, etc), travel is huge again and destined to be even huger next year. But this kind of holibonding is a new concept that’s catching on in a big way. Forming new memories, perhaps to replace the bad, by holidaying with a loved one can be the best therapy.

Jacqui on bonding holidays

“With trips like this – a 12-day bucket-list adventure to Peru with my eldest daughter Ruby – it’s the memories that are most important.

“The two nights in Lima, the five-day cruise down the Amazon, the climb up Machu Picchu were all thrilling at the time. But two months later, it’s the little things; shared moments, facial expressions, silliness, laughter, re-bonding, that have stayed with me.

“On our first day in Lima, we went for lunch at a fantastic restaurant and had the best margaritas ever. On the walk back to the hotel, we got the giggles. Then on a main avenue, we spotted a purple blossom tree shedding its petals. We ran towards it, singing Prince’s ‘Purple Rain’, then after a bit of a dance, skipped back to our hotel, still in fits of laughter. By the time we reached our room, we were nearly hysterical. It’s a special moment like this that you can’t really explain to anyone else: it’s just between the two of you and it’s yours for evermore.

Jacqui Deevoy at a fantastic restaurant

“Holidaying with your children when they’re actually children is an entirely different experience to travelling with them as adults. It’d be strange if it wasn’t! And I wondered how my trip with my now grown-up first-born would pan out.

“Ruby was conceived when I was a very immature 25 after a whirlwind romance. Our first holiday together abroad was in 1989 when she was 11 months old. We flew with her dad and four friends (two child-free couples) to Barbados. What do I remember from that ten-day trip?

“Well, the flight was memorable: Ruby was an early walker and wasn’t happy about being confined to my lap for ten hours. So, in order to stop the wailing, her dad and I had to accompany her as she tottered up and down the aisle. She pooed seven times, and threw up four times during that flight.

Holidaying with your children when they’re actually children is an entirely different experience to travelling with them as adults

“I have no memories of the accommodation, the scenery or the beach. But I do remember the scent of coriander as we strolled along a dusty road, Ruby in my arms with her singing (in the way only an 11-month-old can) a song that I knew to be Lisa Stansfield’s ‘Been Around The World’…

“I remember me and her dad dragging her pushchair (with Ruby in it) across sandy beaches, unable to keep up with the two child-free and seemingly carefree couples, feeling collectively like the unpopular kid on the school trip… always left behind. I also have a memory of carrying her on my hip into the sea. Her tiny toes barely touched the water but she was petrified. I felt her pain and quickly retreated.

“Funny what sticks in your mind – even without photos.

“Our relationship during her formative years was unusual. She was a strident little girl and often scolded me. I thought it was funny at the time, but looking back, maybe I needed scolding.

“During her teens, I wasn’t there for her as much as I should have been. I had three younger children by then and saw Ruby as more adult than she was. I didn’t think she needed me as much as she probably did, and I was often distracted and didn’t watch over her the way other mothers might have watched over their teenage daughters. We never fell out, but we definitely grew apart.

“It was the same for me and my mum. She was often emotionally distant – detached even – and, whilst I’m not blaming her, as my role model, I realise now that I definitely picked up some of those traits. Nothing to be proud of, I know, but part of my history nonetheless.

I’m not fond of making excuses for my not-so-great characteristics but I like to give reasons for them.

“Earlier this year, I suggested to all four of my adult children that we go on holiday together. Three declined; Ruby said yes. As a destination, we decided on a once-in-lifetime holiday in Peru.

“The out-of-this-world trip included a visit to the lively capital city Lima, a five-day cruise down the awe-inspiring Amazon, and an exhausting but exhilarating climb up Machu Picchu. Plus two nights in high-altitude Cusco, staying in stunning hotels, eating food we’d never had before (cherimoya – Peruvian custard apples, which American writer Mark Twain called “the most delicious fruit known to men”) and crossing paths with some of the purest-souled people we’d ever met. It was truly extraordinary.

“I took a LOT of photos. What I remember most, however, is one of the moments I didn’t catch on camera. It’s not the rare and very memorable sighting of pink dolphins; it’s not meeting the curious inhabitants of residing in a village on the banks of the Amazon; neither is it the spectacular view from Machu Picchu… It’s the absolutely unforgettable memory of dancing around that blossom tree in Lima, violet petals falling softly and my beautiful, happy, adult daughter singing and laughing in the purple rain.”

Another article you may like: Year round bliss: sailing from the Uk to Mexico

Ruby on bonding holidays

“A message popped up on my family WhatsApp group. “I want to create new memories, to replace the bad. Can we all go on a trip together?”

“It was from my mum.

“As is the case for so many parent-child relationships, we’d been through our fair share of struggles. Younger than me, my three siblings were clearly still struggling to make peace with the past. This became evident as the replies came in politely, but nonetheless painfully, rejecting our mother’s request.

“For me though, now in my mid 30s having done years of therapy and with a seven year old of my own, my perspective has shifted. Yes, there are many aspects of our relationship and my childhood that have been hard to work through. But I also see things from her side now. How incredibly difficult it must have been to have a teenager and three under-5s, while working and traversing abuse and breakups. I also see how fast life goes by, and how precious our time together is. So while the others said no, I agreed. “I’d love to!” I typed.

“Fast forward two months and we’re on a plane to a very unexpected destination. Far from our initial ideas of lounging on a deckchair in some sunny resort, we decided to grab life by the horns and go for a bucket list trip of a lifetime, to Peru.

I also see how fast life goes by… So while the others said no, I agreed. “I’d love to!” I typed.

“This was no ordinary holiday. We’d booked with Original Travel for a mind-blowing tour, down into the depths of the Amazon jungle for a luxury (but sustainable) 5-day river boat cruise, up to the Sacred Valley to stay in the foothills of the Andean mountains, and of course to see one of the Seven Wonders of the world, Machu Picchu.

“Settling down for our 11-hour flight to Lima, I made a decision, and it felt like my mum did too. We were going to have open, honest and difficult conversations, and it was all going to be ok. Challenging moments between us would arise, but we could let them wash over and past us. This journey was all about re-connection, and, as mum had suggested, making new memories to carry. And that’s exactly what we did.

“In Lima, one of Peru’s historical capitals, we wandered around exotic tree lined streets, ate amazing Peruvian chocolate, visited a local market packed with gorgeous handicrafts, and tucked in to a meal of sea bass overlooking the vast ocean, with the best mescal margarita I’ve ever tasted in hand. We flew down to the rainforest for a 5-day river cruise. We whizzed down the waterways, with trees looming on each side, birds calling and a sky above us that seemed so much bigger than any sky I’d ever seen. My mum and I beamed at each other as the wind whipped our hair and the spray splashed our faces.

Jacqui Deevoy and Ruby Deevoy with their Peruvian chocolate

“Next was Cusco, The Sacred Valley, and Machu Picchu, all featuring a drastic change in landscape and experience as we took in the 360 panorama of the towering, rugged peaks of the Andes. A visit to Ollantaytambo took us up our first Incan sun temple, in preparation for the awe-inspiring Machu Picchu, and also introduced us to the colourful life of those who lived there.

“Aptly, it was Mother’s Day in Peru, and celebrations were happening everywhere, with mothers, children, grandmothers and great grandmothers all gathering together to dance, eat and enjoy being with each other, just as my mum and I did the same.

“Landing home, it didn’t take long for life to resume as normal. Childcare duties, house upkeep and work replaced the once in a lifetime experience we had been so immersed in. But the memories are there to stay, a perfect and powerful start to putting the past to bed, and creating a connected, loving future together.”

We booked our tailor-made trip to Peru with Original Travel 

020 3582 4990.

Instagram: @originaltravel.

Price £8,000 based on two sharing and including return international and domestic flights, private transfers, private tours throughout and 11 nights’ accommodation (six nights B & B, one night half-board and four nights full-board onboard the Aria Amazon).

Thanks to Berghaus, Cotswold Outdoor Clothing, Marriott Hotel Heathrow, and Aqua Expeditions

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post Holibonds: a bonding holiday for people who’ve drifted apart appeared first on Silver Magazine.

How are you finding your Dry January? If you’re already ready to rip, and counting the hours until it’s over, let me tell you about a trip I had to Cyprus with an itinerary including gin and wine tasting.

I’d been trying to hop on the wagon before I went, but that went out of the window almost immediately. On arrival at the luxurious Asimina Hotel in Paphos, abstinence became a distant memory as soon as the champagne appeared. A cocktail or two later and I’d well and truly fallen.

Later in the stay I was treated to a gin-tasting and education session from a very knowledgeable Cypriot chap called George. These sessions can be arranged in advance for guests.

Fortunately, there was food…

Lucky I wasn’t on a diet, as that too would have been all but a distant memory once I stepped over the threshold of one of the four on-site restaurants. The outdoor eatery, nestled in a leafy corner of the resort, was my favourite. 

The terrace restaurant is five star and classy, with low lighting and a medium-sized a la carte menu. A team of international chefs do the cooking, not only of traditional Cypriot dishes but also of Thai and Italian delights. 

Dining under the stars, with a view of the sea, being served exquisite food (the grilled swordfish, and garlic and chilli salmon were especially good), and divine cocktails was a complete joy. The French Martini – vodka, peach juice and Chambord – quickly became my new favourite cocktail.

The second morning, a cookery lesson on the terrace – courtesy of the hotel chef – was fun, despite my slight hangover. We made moussaka Cypriot style (beef and pork instead of lamb) and a veggie version too, made with layers of aubergine and mushroom. That was lunch sorted.

The lush life

Relaxing by one of the two large pools was delightful, and waiter service considerably enhanced the experience. There’s nothing quite as decadent as ordering French Martinis from a supine position and going for dips between sips.

There’s nothing quite as decadent as ordering French Martinis from a supine position and going for dips between sips

The evening view from my suite – no rooms here, just luxury suites, complete with comfortable lounge, kitchen area with a well-stocked mini-bar, sumptuous bedroom with queen size bed and spacious marble-clad bathroom with a gorgeous deep bath and huge shower – was stunning. (Twelve of the 111 suites have their own private sea-view pools.)

From my second floor apartment, I could see terraces, an array of shrubs, flowers, tall palm trees and one of two outdoor pools. A few steps beyond the pools the Mediterranean Sea, edged by the Kato Paphos beach, sparkled as the orange sun dipped into the hazy horizon.

In love with my bathroom

The weather at this time of year (mid-October) was more than clement: a comfortable 25 degrees with a warm and gentle breeze. No jacket required – not even when eating out in the evenings. When it’s cooler, staying in isn’t a bad option as the hotel has an indoor pool and jacuzzi, four bars, a hair salon, a gym, a shop and evening entertainment.

Read: Great walking holidays in Europe

Historical tours and Cleopatra 

A full day tour took me to the harbour in Paphos where we explored Pafos Castle (a 13th century Byzantine fortress, dismantled by the Venetians and rebuilt by the Ottomans in 1592) and to the Paphos Archaeological Park in Nea Pafos where I – and other tourists – viewed the ancient mosaic floors of Roman ruins (comprising five houses built around the second century and unearthed in the 1980s).

The tiled floors are mostly intact and depicted all kinds of myths, one being the tragic love story of Dionysis and Ariadne, the tale on which Shakespeare allegedly based Romeo And Juliet.

The tour guide explained how Cleopatra’s descendants once ruled Cyprus. She also told us how the pods of the indigenous carob tree, each being exactly the same size and weight as the next, were once used to weigh gold, giving rise to the word ‘carat’.

I learned that cats were brought to the island many years ago to kill off the snakes. (It didn’t work; the island is now home to many species of snake and a whole load of ownerless but very well-fed cats).

Another fascinating fact is that English king, Richard The Lionheart, got married in Cyprus in 1191: the only British royal wedding that’s taken place somewhere other than the UK.

Along the coast, I stopped at Aphrodite’s Rock. Aphrodite – the Greek goddess of love – was said to have been born in Paphos, not in the usual way of course but by emerging from the foam of the sea.

Aphrodite’s Rock, Cyprus. Photo: Dimitris Vetsikas

Wines fit for the Gods

Despite the island’s 6000-year history of wine-making, most Brits aren’t familiar with Cypriot wines. And probably wouldn’t think of Cyprus for wine tasting. An hour by car northwards, by the Troos mountains, was Ktemo Gerolemo, a winery where I keenly sampled an array of Cypriot wines.

Many of the wineries are run by families, who have not yet got into the whole business of export. The white, red and rosé were delicious and surprisingly smooth, the dessert wines were syrupy sweet, and the fiery Cypriot brandy called Zivania (which I necked as a shot, and really shouldn’t have!): it felt so medicinal that I now feel 100% safe from lurgies of all kinds this winter.

The village of Omodos, a little further north, is quaint and hilly with cobbled streets and many cute little shops and restaurants.

The narrow street with the small stone houses, colourful wooden doors and old amphoras, Omodos, Cyprus.

We lunched here – at Stou Kir Yianni – on a decadent, 16 course mezze of Greek salad, spinach pies, Cypriot sausages, chicken kebabs, roast pork and roast potatoes. I learnt something new about myself too – that, after years of disliking them, I suddenly love truffles. Maybe Cypriot ones are different to British ones – I don’t know – but the truffle pasta was out-of-this-world delicious. The mezze was so huge, the tour guide ended up with a takeaway big enough to feed her and her family for at least a week.

Other nights out included champagne at the glitzy rooftop bar at a neighbouring hotel, a meal at Fetta’s Corner in Paphos town, followed by cocktails and shisha at a lively bar until the early hours.

So much for sober October!

Visit the Constantinou Bros Asimina Suites Hotel

If you’re looking for a good value spring break, consider Paphos. And definitely consider this amazing hotel. Winner of over 16 awards in the last two years, the Constantinou Bros Asimina Suites Hotel, Paphos – with prices from £999 for 7 night departures in May 2023 in a Junior Suite land view room on B&B with flights from Gatwick including private transfers – are taking bookings now. (Early booking discount: save 20% for all bookings until 28th February 2023.)

For further information please call the Constantinou Bros Hotels UK Sales office on 01924 380160

Website:  www.cbh-cyprus.com

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post Dreaming of a holiday? Try Cyprus for wine tasting appeared first on Silver Magazine.

It’s not just the heat from the Caribbean sun that can be felt wandering the dusty backstreets of Havana – the warmth of the Cuban people is just as tangible. All smiles and waves, it’s as if the obvious poverty doesn’t bother them. Not for that moment, as we pass, anyway – maybe not ever. In passing, all we get is a glimpse. We can only really guess the truth of it all. But in a place where being poor is the norm for most families and the average income is a shocking $25 per month, you’d imagine they might be more miserable.

Cuban hospitality

Buildings that are crumbling in a way that makes for nice photos but not-so-nice homes, provide the backdrop for the lively townsfolk. Not a sad face among them.

On our first night there, one of our group was taken ill in a bar and the staff were amazing. It was clear they knew their first aid and did everything in their power to make things right. The Cuban family on the next table were also concerned and, despite having had their evening interrupted, still asked if everything was OK and offered to help in whatever way they could. In the UK, people would turn a blind eye. In the USA, they’d sue.

On the outskirts of town on the Malecón, at the Iberostar Habana Riviera, a faded hotel with more than the faintest whiff of the 60s about it, the staff couldn’t be more friendly and helpful. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the foyer not only framed the passing vintage cars and across-the-road sea looking out towards Miami, but also served to reflect the warmth and smiles from inside the building.

Scenic driving in a stylish car

I go for a ride around central Havana in a pink Cadillac. Like you do. At 62 years old, she wasn’t doing too badly (the car, not me). OK, so the gears crunched a little and the front passenger door flew open halfway up a dual carriageway, but I still felt like a modern-day Lady Penelope.

OK, so the gears crunched a little and the front passenger door flew open halfway up a dual carriageway, but I still felt like a modern-day Lady Penelope.

I ask my tour guide – a beautiful lady in her fifties, sat next to me on the leather back seat – what makes the Cuban people so happy?

I comment too, as we drive slowly past about 20 pensioners in a park, moving rhythmically and in synch, how slim and fit the majority of elderly Cubans seem to be, despite the supposedly high intake of rum and cigars. “They’re doing tai chi,” says my guide. “We look after our old people here.”

She tells me the average age at death of a Cuban is 79.5, which reminds me of the tiny 88-year-old Cuban lady who sat next to me on the eight-hour flight from Gatwick, (“Call me Mama,” she’d chuckled, as she swept leftover freebies from my fold-down table into the capacious bag at her feet) and that the country has the highest doctor-to-patient ratio in the entire world, with 58 doctors to every 10,000 people, compared to just under 21 per 10,000 in the UK.

We talk about mental health and I mention how joyful most of the natives appear to be. She says it’s probably because they live simple lives. It’s the complexity of modern-day living that causes sad faces and stress-related illness, she reckons.

Living lively

Across the street, on a patch of green, are a group of teenagers, kicking a ball around. Along a bit further are some young people sat on the back of a bench, laughing and chatting. With the internet introduced a mere three years ago and wi-fi available in only a few places, there’s not a mobile phone in sight. These kids are actually talking to each other (“in real life,” as our kids might say) and looking at each other (using their eyes, not via Instagram pics!).

They are interacting the old-fashioned way and look very happy about it. No frowny brows, squinty eyes and hunched shoulders; the youth of Cuba look carefree, un-addled and – dare I say it? – normal.

In the bars, there is dancing, singing, smoking, drinking, the air around buzzing with chatter and music. No-one sits still for long. The constant movement is mesmerising.

I notice there’s not much variation in the clothes worn by Cuban youth – with the girls in colourful skimpy shorts and tiny t-shirts and the boys in looser variations of the same garb. My guide informs me that, in Cuba, not only do people not go shopping (“they only go to a shop if they need something,” she says), but that there are only two types of clothing available to buy – “boutique or economy,” she says, adding that “most people buy economy.”

It’s actually quite nice not to be constantly bombarded with billboards, telling us what to buy and how to look.

She also points out the lack of advertising: in fact you’re more likely to see images of Che Guevara, Fidel Castro and John Lennon than posters showing stuff available to buy. This is thanks to Cuba being a socialist country and a one-party government (led by Miguel Diaz Canel) who don’t allow any private companies to promote anything that might be viewed as ‘propaganda’. I must say that it’s actually quite nice not to be constantly bombarded with billboards, telling us what to buy and how to look.

Make like the Cubans

Later in the holiday, at the beautiful Dhawa Hotel at Cayo Santa Maria, the locals were as friendly, kind and laid-back as they were in Havana. As a woman, I noticed – and I feel almost sexist for saying this, but any woman who’s travelled abroad especially alone will know exactly what I mean – that the men were respectful and polite and not even in the slightest bit flirtatious.

There seemed to be fewer rules about the small things – smoking, crossing the road, drinking – and, whereas at home, we often feel under scrutiny, in Cuba that feeling was absent.

After all we are told about the place, I was surprised to feel that way.

Adding it all together, I come to the conclusion that the happiness, health and kindness of Cuban people has much to do with the way they live – in a simple way, low on technology, money and advertising, high on fresh air, movement and life.

I remember commenting to no-one in particular as I sat in a tiny backstreet bar in downtown Havana how everything just felt so real. Hard to recapture now I’m back to non-reality…

To be happy, perhaps we need to take a step back and follow their lead and, strange dance move though that might be, maybe going backwards for a bit is the only way forward!

So stop fretting so much, have a few cigars, drink some rum, smile big smiles and make like the Cubans. Just remember to dance, sing and laugh at every opportunity. Oh, and to leave your phone at home.

Going to Cuba? Then make sure you….

… take a tour of Havana in a vintage classic car, making sure to drive along the Malecón, one of the city’s typically Cuban thoroughfares

… while you’re in Havana, pop along to the John Lennon Memorial Park and sit next to a bronze statue of the man himself. You can also talk to Aleeda Rodriguez Perasa, a lady employed by the government to specifically guard the statue’s removable glasses!

… go to the lively town of Remedios and see one of the island’s oldest churches (built around 1550)

… sunbathe on its finest beach – Playa Sirena

… drink some Cuban rum! If you like cocktails, go for a mojito

… stroll around the beautiful Plaza del Carmen near the town of República

… check out the Salto del Guayabo waterfall near the Villa Pinares del Mayari, the highest in Cuba

… walk through the Plaza de la Revolución, one of the country’s best outdoor music venues, where orchestras regularly play

… visit Trinidad Cuba, a stunning Spanish colonial town, part of which is a UNESCO world heritage site

… dance! Strut your stuff in one of the many live music bars or with some locals in the street

… visit the tobacco fields of Vinales and smoke a Cuban cigar. It’d be rude not to

* * * *

Jacqui visited Cuba as part of the FITCUBA Fair 2018, and was invited by the Cuba Tourist Board

The tour in Havana was courtesy of Viajes Cubanacan (MINTUR) ground handler of the UK tour operator Holiday Place

Jacqui stayed at the Iberostar Habana Riviera Hotel in Havana and at the Dhawa Hotel in Cayo Santa Maria. The “Gran Manzana Kempinski and Royalton Cayo Santa Maria” package from Cuba Direct includes three nights at the elegant Gran Manzana Kempinski in the heart of Cuba’s capital Havana, followed by four nights of luxury and relaxation at the Royalton in Cayo Santa Maria, a paradisiacal island off the coast of Cuba. Based on two people sharing over seven nights and including transfers and representation services, the package costs £1,239 per person. This package does not include international flights. Book here

Jacqui Deevoy

Jacqui Deevoy has been a freelance journalist for over three decades, starting out on teenage magazines, then later working for women’s magazines worldwide, and national newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Mirror, Express and Telegraph. These days, as well as writing for magazines, papers and websites, she produces documentaries and hosts a Monday night talk show for Unprecedented TV.

The post Planning some winter sun? Time to consider Cuba… appeared first on Silver Magazine.