‘Exploring Finland with our baby was a delight’

Finland has topped the world happiness rankings for years, but when I landed in Helsinki on one of my first flights with our nine-month-old, global accolades were the last thing on my mind. I was rumpled, tired and dreaming of sleep. My husband, Jake, and I had finally emerged from the blur of early parenthood and dared to imagine a trip abroad. My hopes were modest: a cold beer at sunset, a wander among trees, a few uninterrupted pages of a novel.

Finland, with its easy-going, child-friendly ethos, made travelling with a baby feel surprisingly simple. Parents benefit from generous, equal parental leave, affordable childcare and comprehensive healthcare and schooling. No one raises an eyebrow at a pram beside a café table or a baby napping outdoors in brisk air. Even the impeccably run public transport system seemed designed with families in mind.

In Helsinki we based ourselves in Kallio, a lively neighbourhood where locals filled terraces late into the bright evening. Our hotel, though stylish and youthful, provided travel cots and highchairs without fuss. One night, at a bar called Holiday, our daughter Sylvie contentedly chewed a spoon while we sipped cocktails in July’s endless golden light, when dusk barely feels like night.

What draws me most to Finland is jokaisenoikeudet – “Everyman’s Right” – the principle that grants everyone access to forests and lakes. On the southern coast we walked through pine woods and over soft mossy rocks to Lake Kukuljärvi, Sylvie asleep in a sling against my chest. At a traditional laavu, a simple wooden shelter with a shared fire pit, we grilled sausages and brewed coffee over open flames. When Sylvie woke, she nibbled flakes of salmon like a tiny woodland forager. I passed her to Jake and leapt from a weathered jetty into the cool, dark water.

Summer in Finland is about escaping to cabins. In Kotka, at Santalahti, we found straightforward wooden cottages just steps from the sea. Even more magical were the off-grid Majamaja cabins, perched on Baltic rocks. They felt remote and elemental, yet Helsinki was only a short drive away should we need supplies.

On our final day we caught a small ferry to Lonna, a former military island turned summer haven. Now empty of residents and dotted with wildflowers, it boasts a wood-fired sauna facing the sea. Inside, women of every age sat together as steam billowed from the stove. Babies are introduced to saunas from infancy in Finland, and two locals showed me how to lower Sylvie into a bucket of cool water. She beamed, flashing four new teeth at the amused bathers. “She’s Finnish now!” one woman declared.

‘I struck gold with the Vespa tour’: Naples with my teenage son

On a hopeful whim, I took my 13-year-old son, Ned, to Naples — just the two of us. He was old enough to carry his own bag but young enough to share a bed, keeping costs manageable. I’d rented a small apartment in the historic centre with reliable wifi, just in case solo parenting required an emergency retreat into video games.

I needn’t have worried. Booking a Vespa tour with two passionate locals transformed our stay. When we asked to see the Naples tourists miss, they took it as a mission. We zipped through narrow streets beneath washing lines and murals, past pungent fish stalls, pausing to share fruit with elderly women seated outside their doorways. We visited a tiny shrine to Maradona and admired a vast mural in his honour.

One guide pressed a red cornicello charm into Ned’s hand, explaining it protects against bad luck if given as a gift. Taking this as a good omen, we ventured into the Spanish Quarter despite dire warnings. Doors stood open. Inside one home, a family finishing lunch beckoned us in without hesitation. Wine appeared for me, a fizzy drink for Ned. Three generations shuffled around the table to accommodate two strangers who were suddenly welcomed as friends.

Naples demands surrender. We slipped down alleyways, watched football with locals and stayed out late, not because of sightseeing but because of constant interruptions — conversations that began with eye contact and ended in laughter.

Not everything went smoothly. Climbing Vesuvius at noon was ill-advised: heat, blisters and too little water. Pompeii the same day meant crowds, dust and the unexpected shock of its explicit ancient carvings.

Capri offered a glossy contrast — immaculate and expensive. We couldn’t afford the designer boutiques, but indulgent shop assistants humoured us as we tried on extravagant sunglasses and handbags.

Years earlier I had photographed boats arranged like petals outside the Blue Grotto. Returning, I never imagined the same boatmen would agree to recreate the floating flower for us.

Trusting their advice, we left our belongings on rusted steps and swam through the cave’s narrow entrance. Inside, the blue light glowed like something unearthly. After diving and posing for underwater footage, we lingered at the back, watching regular swimmers in their shimmering cathedral.

Clambering back up the cliff, skin tight with salt, Ned turned to me. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Me too,” I said.

‘One for the family album’: glamping with granny in Norfolk

With a glass of rosé on the veranda, my mum and I watched rabbits dart through ferns while birds of prey circled above. The setting around our safari tent felt blissfully wholesome — apart from the dramatic sighs of teenagers inside.

Last summer I gathered my twin daughters, my mother and our dog, Miss Babs, for a week in north Norfolk. At 19, the girls are usually absorbed in their own worlds, so this felt like a rare chance to be together.

We stayed near the Sandringham estate in well-equipped safari tents that balanced comfort with a hint of adventure.

It may not have been a party island getaway, but the twins adore their grandmother and eagerly joined. I grew up holidaying in large multigenerational groups, spending summers at seaside camps packed with competitions and communal fun. Those noisy, affectionate gatherings remain some of my happiest memories.

Our Norfolk version was smaller in scale but just as warm. I began mornings walking the dog through woodland while the girls slept. Mum cooked hearty breakfasts, luring them out with the scent of bacon. Afternoons meant beaches at Old Hunstanton or exploring postcard-pretty villages. Evenings returned us to the veranda, rosé in hand, as the twins attempted to explain social media trends to their amused grandmother. One night they suggested a game of Cards Against Humanity and were stunned when Granny won.

Balancing teenage moods and a seventy-something parent wasn’t effortless. The sisters squabbled, chores sparked debates, and I occasionally delivered stern looks over inappropriate language. By midweek, making every decision felt exhausting.

On our final day we visited Sandringham House. As Nancy and her grandmother wandered arm in arm through its rooms, chatting animatedly, I felt certain this was a holiday destined for the family album.

‘We would have happily carried on going to who knows where’: Interrailing to Turkey with our boys

With a sabbatical due, long school holidays aligning and our sons aged nine and 11, we sensed an opportunity for something beyond the usual seaside break. In the summer of 2023, we boarded a train bound ultimately for Asia.

I’d missed out on youthful Interrailing, so decided to try it in midlife. Children under 11 travel free, though reservations and sleepers add up. Armed with passes allowing 10 travel days over two months, we set off with backpacks, our boys mortified at being spotted by classmates.

Our route wound through Paris and Stuttgart to Budapest, then by sleeper to Romania for hiking in the Carpathians and exploring grand relics of the past. From there we travelled through Bulgaria into Turkey — Istanbul, Ankara, İzmir, Selçuk — mixing ancient ruins with waterparks and long breakfasts before cooling off in the Aegean. We returned via Vienna and Amsterdam.

The trains themselves were central to the adventure. In western Europe they were sleek and fast; farther east they became slower and more atmospheric. We loved carriages with metal steps and rear windows framing the receding tracks.

Night trains were a highlight, despite one abrupt border inspection when uniformed officials shone torches into our sleepy faces demanding passports. Even that became part of the story.

There is magic in settling into a compartment at dusk, sharing bread, cheese and tomatoes as the landscape darkens beyond the glass. Cards before folding down bunks; falling asleep to the rhythmic click of wheels on rails. That sound underscored our month away.

There were arguments, moments longing for laundry or reliable wifi. Yet had responsibilities not called us home, we might have kept riding the rails indefinitely. Living in such close quarters brought us closer than ever.

‘Reclaiming the spirit of adventure for all of us’: a healing family trip to Norway

When my eight-year-old announced there was a real Viking ship to see in Norway, I seized on the idea. Three months after being widowed, I needed something bold. During my husband Jay’s illness, life had shrunk to hospital rooms and home. We had once travelled widely with our sons, now six and eight, and I longed to restore that shared sense of discovery.

Arriving in Oslo before dawn, I questioned my resolve as we navigated closed shops and dark bridges in search of bus tickets and a hidden apartment key. It felt daunting in the moment, though later almost comical.

Norway is costly, so I planned carefully — stocking up on snacks and maximising travel passes. We explored galleries, climbed the opera house roof and caught ferries to nearby islands with medieval ruins. We picked blueberries by Sognsvann lake. The Viking ships themselves were magnificent, their carved wood luminous in soft light. With leftover hours on a bus pass, we stumbled upon a nudist beach — an unexpected cultural lesson.

From Oslo we travelled by train to Myrdal, descended the dramatic Flåm railway, stayed in a hostel, then journeyed by boat through the Nærøyfjord before continuing to Bergen. The fjord cruise, with waterfalls cascading down sheer cliffs, was unforgettable.

In Bergen we slept aboard a modest yacht in the harbour. When the owner needed to move it, he invited us along. Seeing the boys’ excitement, he extended the trip and handed them fishing rods for their first lesson.

His kindness felt like reassurance at a fragile time. The journey reminded me that I was capable, that my children were resilient, and that vast landscapes and open horizons can gently begin to mend a broken heart.