Annabel’s Atlas

New York never sleeps, that’s why it’s my favourite place for a long weekend as I can pack so much in.  

We stumbled into Trasierra at two am after an exhausting day in Seville.  

Hydra has always been visited by people in the know. But if you are a die hard fan of Mykonos, they couldn’t be more different, so read no further.  

My daughter told me two weeks ago with great authority that January was a terrible month for detoxing.  

If I was to describe a city as a colour, then Marrakech would be red, a bold bright red.

I have been going to Ibiza for years and I have learnt by my mistakes, the main one is making too many plans and being in a car for hours on end to go and meet up with people that you are actually going to see in Notting Hill Gate two weeks later.  

I have been wanting to go to Palacio Belmonte, a boutique hotel in Lisbon, for three years, having been sent their tantalizing, very eccentric website, which consisted of haunting piano music with laughter in the background and 17th century tiled walls depicting rather louche looking ladies smoking cigars.  

Portofino is truly perfect, I will tell you why.  

I had been intrigued by the area of Santa Teresa in Costa Rica ever since two fabulous Swedish ex-models, Anna Wachmeister and Carlotta Meadows sent me their stunning beachfront properties to represent.

St Tropez has always been associated with Brigitte Bardot’s pouting lips and polka dot bikini.  

I first came to this extraordinary Provencal hamlet, ‘Le Grand Banc’ when I was eighteen, by mistake, an interloper.  

I must have slept through all my geography lessons. I don’t know why geography has to be taught in such a stultifying, boring fashion.  

“It’s paradise… if you can stand it.” was Gertrude Stein’s response to Robert Graves’ enquiry.  

I have clients who are passionate about Capri, so in March this year I was persuaded to go.  

I don’t know if I am alone in feeling this but I have an invisible thread, in fact a strong rubber band that yanks me back at Christmas to the place where I was born.    

The Portobello Road starts in Notting Hill and runs for a mile parallel to Ladbroke Grove.  

I had barely given this trip a thought, as my American friend had for over a month researched exhaustively every part of the Basque region, leaving no stone unturned.  

I am so lucky, I learnt to ski as a child, hence reducing the majority of those crashing, terrifying falls which happen when adults start later in life, nervy and stiff and already with an inferiority complex and embarrassed, as experienced skiers tend to be patronising to those who aren’t up to scratch.  

As we cruise in over the flats of LA and the flight attendant announces the local time in Los Angeles…  

I know this title may sound a contradiction in terms, well it certainly was for me from a previous visit.  

For me, a good book is like a secret lover. At various points in the day thoughts lurking in the back of mind weave their way to the front of my consciousness, a photographic image, slightly cloudy, out of focus, comes forward, beckoning.   

At AVENUE, we know that nothing brightens the day more than a gorgeous bunch of flowers. Whether it be an artfully arranged sophisticated jewel or a more relaxed wild meadow bouquet, or even a single stem in a jar. These are the florists we choose when we, at AVENUE, want to give thanks to those […]