Some weekends, the person in the seat beside me is having the worst year of their life.

I'm Fernando. I fly a small plane called Saoirse, and when I can, I give free flights to people who need a day away. The rest of the time, I fly to places most people drive past and bring back the stories. Not the view. The thing the view was hiding.

You don't need a plane, or any interest in planes, to listen. The flying is only how I happen to arrive.

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We believe the best adventures are shared from one human to another. That’s why everything in Fernando’s Logbook is created entirely by talented people and artists. We do not use Generative AI at any stage. 

The music for this episode was composed by a talented group of composers and musicians represented by Musicbed. You can also have access to their music. Use this link to get 14 days of free access #ad

In this episode, we fly to Exeter, Devon, to visit Zena, a donkey Fernando adopted a year ago and has never once visited. 

This episode is part travel guide, part quiet question on the things we care about from a distance. 

We explore the Regency seaside town of Sidmouth, walk the Jurassic Coast, and visit the Donkey Sanctuary, one of the largest equine welfare charities in the world and one of the best free family days out in the south of England.

For photos and the full article, visit here

Adopt a donkey

Support the show

Get our newsletter for free here. 

We believe the best adventures are shared from one human to another. That’s why everything in Fernando’s Logbook is created entirely by talented people and artists. We do not use Generative AI at any stage. 

The music for this episode was composed by a talented group of composers and musicians represented by Musicbed. You can also have access to their music. Use this link to get 14 days of free access #ad

There is a photo of a donkey on the wall of my office.

She is brown. A little smaller than you’d expect. She has a pair of large, fluffy ears and the soulful eyes that donkeys have when you look at them properly, which most people don’t. Her name is Zena. She is seventeen years old, she lives in Devon, and for the last year I have been paying a small amount each month towards her care.

I have never met her.

She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what month it is. She doesn’t know about the direct debit, or the photo I have of her, or the slightly mad fact that I have called her my daughter to strangers at parties when nobody knew quite what to say. I tend to talk a lot at social events. This isn’t voluntary.

She has, I have since discovered, thousands of other adopters. Adopting fathers. Adopting mothers. People who, like me, have a photo on a wall or a fridge somewhere and a name they know without having to look it up.

Most of them have never met her either.

•••

About a year ago, my wife got me an unusual gift. She had noticed me watching videos of donkeys on social media, which, in my defence, is a completely reasonable thing to do, isn’t it?

So my wife went online, found the Donkey Sanctuary near Exeter, and adopted a donkey on my behalf. A few days later, a certificate arrived. A framed photo. A name.

I put the photo on the wall in my office and I kept paying the monthly fee.

And then a year went by. And I never visited.

It bothered me, eventually. Not in the way you might expect. I wasn’t lying awake feeling guilty about a donkey. But there was something quietly off about the situation. I had built a friendship in my head with an animal who had no idea I existed. I thought about her sometimes when I walked past the photo. And I had never once made the short flight to Devon to see her.

So one Thursday in spring, on a sunny and free afternoon, I went.

•••

The question I was carrying with me as I flew south was a strange one.

What does it mean to love something that doesn’t know you exist?

And the other party, more often than not, has absolutely no idea.

I was hoping on the flight down that the question would answer itself once I was standing in front of her.

It did, in the end. But not in any of the ways I had planned for.

•••

After a tranquil flight at 6,000 feet, I landed at Exeter just after eleven in the morning. Air traffic control instructed me to park on the grass. This is the option used by pilots who choose not to pay for the handling service. If you are curious, the handling service is a free Diet Coke and a thirty-second minibus transfer from the aeroplane to the terminal.

What I had not expected was to step out of the plane to the sound of dozens of birds who had also chosen to park on the grass. That was the most rewarding welcome I’ve ever had, even after having declined the minibus.

Exeter Airport is small and friendly, the kind of place where you are through arrivals and in a rental car in ten minutes. Seventy pounds for the day, which is not nothing, but as landing fees in international airports go, you take what you can get.

I had thought about spending the morning in Exeter itself. The Cathedral has the longest uninterrupted Gothic vaulted ceiling in the world, and the Roman walls, built in 55 AD, are still standing. But I wanted to get to Sidmouth in good time, so I picked up the car and headed southeast.

About two minutes out of the airport and you are properly in Devon. Narrow lanes. Ancient hedgerows pressing in on both sides of the road. The road surface, in a quiet revelation that I genuinely was not expecting, had no potholes. I had almost forgotten what that felt like. And despite the fact that I was driving with all the windows up, I could still hear birds chirping along the way.

Twenty minutes into my journey, between hills covered in old trees, I turned right into a sign bigger than any I’ve ever seen, saying “Sidmouth.” And a few minutes later, there it was.

The sea.

I grew up by the sea in Portugal. I saw it almost every day for thirty years. And it still gets me, every time. I believe it’s because just like when I’m flying, it reminds me that the horizon is so much further away than I think.

The English Channel was glittering in the early afternoon sun. To the east, the red sandstone cliffs that the Jurassic Coast is famous for. The Triassic stone, 250 million years old, was deep rusty red against the blue. Sidmouth was tucked between the cliffs and the water, as if some Georgian architect had placed it there as part of his master plan.

I parked the car and walked along the Esplanade. It’s a short walk, no more than ten minutes. I saw mostly elderly people and dogs. People sitting with a coffee and a slice of cake, or sitting on a bench looking towards the sea.

Sidmouth has been called ‘God’s waiting room’ over the years, on account of its older population. I disagree. In this town you feel alive. You have to, if you intend to walk some of the most challenging and stunning stretches of our coast.

The frontline buildings are still original, Georgian and Regency, mostly. White and grand and looking out over the sea as they have for two hundred years. It was all so quiet, despite the number of people about. Sidmouth is the kind of town that has somehow resisted the urge to become anything other than itself, and is much better for it.

The sanctuary was up on the hillside, just above the town. The South West Coast Path runs right past it, and I had thought I might walk a stretch before going in. But I had a donkey to find, and I was beginning to feel nervous.

Which, when I stopped to think about it, was the strangest feeling of the day.

•••

The Donkey Sanctuary near Sidmouth is enormous.

I want to be clear about this, because most people picture a field with a few donkeys and a gift shop, and that is not what it is. The site is 132 acres. It can hold up to 250 donkeys, and there are six more farms in Devon, with thousands of donkeys between them.

The sanctuary operates in over 35 countries. It is one of the largest animal welfare organisations in the world.

Entry is free. It is open every single day of the year, including Christmas Day.

I had pre-arranged a chat with Donna, a member of the visitor services team, who has been at the sanctuary for eight years. She used to work in cosmetics.

Donna has the kind of warmth that you cannot fake, the kind that makes you want to keep her talking.

We walked slowly up through the fields towards the area where Zena lives.

I asked her things I thought I already knew the answer to.

I had read that donkeys were intelligent, that they had long memories and that they bonded for life with other donkeys. I had read that they grieved. I knew about elephants, but not about donkeys. Donna confirmed all of it and added something I had not known. When a donkey at the sanctuary has to be put to sleep, through illness or old age, they do not take it away from the herd to do it. They sedate it where its companions can see. The donkey lies down and dies, and the others come over.

They will tap the body with their hooves, sometimes, as if to wake it up. They will stand near it. Some of them will walk away after five minutes. Some of them will stay for hours. The grooms wait. They do not move the body until the donkeys have decided it is time. If you took the body away too soon, Donna said, the surviving donkey wouldn’t understand. They would pine. They could become very ill. Hyperlipaemia, she said. It can be fatal.

I asked if donkeys bonded only with other donkeys or with other species, too. She said they bonded with whoever was there. One donkey had once come into the sanctuary with the cow she had been raised alongside. The cow was called Crumble. They had to come in together because separating them would have killed the donkey.

We talked about the adoption scheme. Donna said thousands of people adopt each donkey, so no, I’m not Zena’s only adopting parent. The £48 a year doesn’t all reach Zena. A chunk goes back into producing the certificate, the photo pack, and the newsletters. But, Donna said, it generates the constant trickle of income that keeps the sanctuary running.

A significant share of the charity’s welfare work goes overseas, to the working donkeys in countries like Ethiopia, Kenya and India, who carry water and crops in some of the poorest communities in the world. And then Donna said something I had never heard before. It was, I have to admit, quite gloomy.

If you don’t have a donkey, you are a donkey.

In those communities, she said, if a family does not own a donkey, the woman becomes the donkey. She carries the water. She carries the crops. She walks the miles. Her children stay home from school to help her.

The £4 a month leaving my account in Cambridge is not really feeding Zena. Zena would be fed regardless. It’s joining the wider stream of money that keeps the whole charity going. Some of it stays in Devon. Some of it reaches the working donkeys in Ethiopia, Kenya and India.

I don’t think I had understood this until Donna said it out loud.

•••

We walked around to the field where Zena lives. I could see her from about thirty metres away. Brown, slightly smaller than the others, standing with her oldest friends, Ashley, who has been her companion since they were both born here seventeen years ago.

She did not come over.

I stood at the fence for twenty minutes. I called her name a few times, quietly.

Donna had told me earlier that the more you tried to get a donkey to come over, the less likely they were to do it, so I tried not to try. Zena, for her part, did not try anything. She grazed. She was busy being a donkey.

I felt, briefly, a little silly. I had flown here. For this. Why was that important?

We moved round to the other side of the field. From the new angle you could see her better, but she still didn’t come. Ashley came over instead, and let me scratch him for a while. He had one eye, the other lost last year to a corneal ulcer that wouldn’t heal. He didn’t know me either. But he was there.

After a while, I thought, Okay. This is the story. She isn’t coming. And that’s fine. The story I have been telling myself about Zena doesn’t actually require her to know me. I had worked that out on the flight down. I could stand by it now.

So I started to walk away. And then Donna shouted my name.

“Fernando! Fernando!”

I want to tell you that Zena recognised me. I want to tell you that as I turned around there was a moment of mutual something, that the year of paying and the photo on the wall had been quietly noted somewhere, and that here, finally, was the moment we had both been waiting for.

But that would be dishonest.

She came over because she’s a donkey, and donkeys sometimes come over for reasons that have nothing to do with you. Curiosity, probably. The way the light was. The fact that I’d stopped calling her name. Donna had even predicted this. The more you tried to make them come, the less they did. The moment you let go, sometimes, they would.

What I felt was not recognition. I’m not even sure I could call it a connection. It was something quieter. The fact of her being there, at the fence, right in front of me. The blue collar. The eyes that all donkeys have, that take your attention without asking for it.

I scratched her on the withers. She let me. She sniffed me, in the way Donna had described, the way donkeys groom one another, mouth-to-fur, which is reserved for bonded friends. I’m not sure she was treating me as a bonded friend. I’m not sure she was treating me as anything at all. But she was there.

I sat with her for a few minutes longer. And then I left.

•••

I have been turning it over since I got home.

For a year, I have carried a small version of Zena around with me. A photo. A name. A monthly direct debit. A donkey I have built into something in my head.

The real Zena is in a field above Sidmouth. She does not know me. She has her own life, her own companions, her own seventeen years of being a donkey that have almost nothing to do with mine.

I thought, before I went, that meeting the real Zena would somehow replace the small one. That the photo would become the donkey, that the imagined relationship would either be confirmed or quietly dissolved.

Neither of those things happened. I came home with two donkeys. The one in Devon, who does not know me. And the one in my office who I keep with me.

Both of them, I think, are real.

The one in the field is obviously real. She has hooves. She has friends she has known since birth. She has her own life. The one in my office is real, too. She is the one I think about. She is the reason I flew to Devon. She is, in some small way, the reason a child somewhere is at school today instead of walking to a well.

The small version isn’t a substitute for the real one. It’s something different. Something that lives in me.

The sanctuary understood this before I did. They give you exactly enough to build something. A name, a face, a few updates a year. What you build with that small material is the thing the money really sustains. The version of Zena that lives in your head, wherever you are in the country. And, through her, the donkeys that aren’t here.

I’m going to keep paying. I’m going to come back to Sidmouth, with my wife and our girls. I’m going to tell anyone who will listen about the work the sanctuary does. Places like that are meant to be shared and supported.

And the small version on my office wall is going to carry a new moment in it now.

The moment Zena came over. The fact that she did not know me, that she still doesn’t, that she will never know I’m writing this.

I think that’s fine.

If you go

The Donkey Sanctuary, Sidmouth, Devon, EX10 0NU. Free entry, open every day of the year. Allow at least two hours. There is a café, a gift shop, and miles of paths through the fields. Bring sturdy shoes. Information and the adoption scheme are at thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk.

If you have a day or a weekend in this part of Devon, here is the trip I would plan. Arrive in Exeter and spend the morning in the city. The Cathedral, the Roman walls, lunch by the river. Then drive or taxi down to Sidmouth in the afternoon.

Walk a stretch of the South West Coast Path while the light is good. Head east from the Esplanade and up onto the clifftop. The views are extraordinary. Then the sanctuary. Stay the night in Sidmouth if you can. The red cliffs glow in the late light, and the town slows down even more than it already does.

The next day, more of the Jurassic Coast. There are 95 miles of it. You won’t run out. Or simply do nothing. Pick up a hot drink and a book and head to the Esplanade.

I flew in for the day. I would not recommend rushing it. There’s a direct train from London Paddington to Exeter, and a weekend gives the trip room to breathe.

If you are tempted to adopt a donkey while you are there, and you might be, do it.
And you won’t have to wait a year to visit, the way I did.

In 2007, I moved from Portugal to the United Kingdom. I was thirty-one. I’d already had a life, of sorts, and I was choosing to start another one.

The reason on paper was a place at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. The real reason was that I felt my dreams couldn’t live in Portugal. I couldn’t find a home for them there. I needed to go somewhere they could.

The school sits inside the Barbican Centre, tucked into one corner of a forty-acre concrete city in the middle of London. Early mornings, I worked in the café serving breakfast to my peers. In the evening, I would show patrons their seats in one of the many performance spaces.

But during the day, I studied stage management and theatre production. I put on my first show in one of the smaller studio spaces there, with two friends from my year. We didn’t know what we were doing. I don’t think anyone putting on their first show ever does. We just wanted to make it work.

A few years later, I graduated. I left, got a job, got another life, eventually had a daughter, eventually learned to fly. The Barbican stayed where it was, and I went where I went.

But I keep going back.

Not for the shows, although I sometimes catch one. Not for the architecture, although I love it. I go back the way you go back to a house you used to live in. To check it’s still standing. To check I am.

A small city on the bones of a destroyed one

The Barbican is not a building. It’s a small city built on the bones of a destroyed one.

On the night of 29 December 1940, German bombers hit the City of London hard. By morning, the area between Aldersgate and Moorgate was forty acres of rubble. St Giles Cripplegate, a medieval church that had stood there for nine hundred years, was a shell. Almost everything else was gone.

It took the city the better part of two decades to decide what to do with the gap. What they eventually built, finished in stages through the seventies and into the early eighties, was a Brutalist fortress designed to bring people back to live in the City. Flats, walkways, lakes, a school, a church, a library, an arts centre. All of it raised above street level. All of it pedestrianised. A whole life stacked vertically into one postcode.

Brutalism is a style that people tend to have strong feelings about. The raw concrete, the sheer scale, the refusal to apologise for any of it. You either love it or you find it intimidating, and the Barbican is the country’s most uncompromising example of either reaction. You can still see the marks of the wooden moulds in the concrete walls, like fingerprints left by the people who poured them.

The architects had a specific resident in mind. They imagined someone, in their words, likely to have a taste for Mediterranean holidays, French food and Scandinavian design. Which is to say, they built it for a particular kind of imagined cosmopolitan, and they let those tastes show. There are influences from all over the place tucked into the design, if you know where to look. For example, there’s a corner where you can convince yourself you’re looking at the Egyptian Sphinx. Then real people moved in, and the place did what places do. It became itself.

What it became is, by any sensible measure, one of the largest performing arts complexes in Europe. The London Symphony Orchestra is resident here. The Royal Shakespeare Company comes through often. Two theatres, three cinema screens, two art galleries, a library, a tropical conservatory. Cafés and bars are sprinkled through the foyers so that you can’t really walk for two minutes without being able to sit down and order a coffee. From the outside, it looks like a fortress. From the inside, it’s a small town.

Getting lost on purpose

The Barbican is famously easy to get lost in.

Generations of visitors have stood on a walkway, looked at a sign, looked back at the walkway and quietly given up. The complex is built on multiple levels, with elevated highways that loop and double back, courtyards tucked behind staircases, and entrances that don’t always look like entrances. Early on, the Centre painted yellow lines on the floor to lead you in from the surrounding tube stations. Follow the yellow lines and they will, eventually, deliver you to the front door.

When I arrived in 2007, I followed them like everyone else. But after a few weeks of lectures and rehearsals, I stopped looking for them. The back stairs nobody used. The corner of the library where the light was good in the afternoon. The quiet spots and the loud ones. The cafés where you could read for two hours without being moved on, and the bars where you’d run into half your year by accident. By the time I left, I could walk the place in my sleep.

Inside the foyers, the building is warmer than its reputation suggests. The concrete is everywhere, but so is wood, and brick, and unexpected splashes of colour in the carpets and the upholstery. Skylights and tall windows pull the daylight in. There are corners that feel hidden even after you’ve found them three times. It’s a building that rewards loitering.

If you only have time for one thing, take the architecture tour. Ninety minutes, properly led, and the only way to see the place as it was meant to be seen. The Barbican was designed to be walked, and walking it with someone who knows what they're looking at is a different experience from wandering on your own.

The open prison

A few years ago, I overheard a Barbican resident talking about life inside the estate. He’d lived there for decades. He said, quite cheerfully, it’s like an open prison. You come in, and you can’t get out again.

It stuck with me. Not because I think he was complaining. He clearly wasn’t. He was describing something that sounded to me like the highest compliment you can pay a place. The Barbican had done its job so well that it had stopped feeling like accommodation and started feeling like the answer.

I think places do this to us more often than we admit. We pass through somewhere when we’re in the middle of becoming who we’ll be, and the place gets folded into us in ways that don’t show up for years. You don’t know which café tables, which corner shops, which walkways are doing the work. You just know, eventually, that they did.

The Barbican made me a theatre maker. It made me someone who could live in a country that wasn’t mine. It introduced me to the friends who became the rest of my life. Two of them, Lily James and Freddie Fox, have gone on to careers you might recognise. The other dozen or so are people I still call when something good or something bad happens. The Barbican gave me my first show and the unreasonable confidence to think I could put on a second one.

If you go

The Barbican is easy to get to. Trains into Blackfriars give you a fifteen-minute walk past St Paul’s, which is the prettier approach. The tube drops you at Barbican or Moorgate, both of which lead straight into the complex. There’s a car park beneath the estate if you’d rather drive.

If you're flying yourself in, Biggin Hill to the south is the most practical of the London general aviation airports for a Barbican trip. It will take you around 50 minutes by a combination of taxi and train.

When you arrive, ignore the Silk Street entrance and walk in from the lakeside. It was the original front door, and it tells you something about the place before you’ve stepped inside.

For lunch, the Barbican Kitchen by the lakeside is the easy choice. Sandwiches, pizzas, salads, decent coffee, around £10 a plate, and children under ten eat free with a paying adult. Sit outside if the weather is doing anything reasonable and keep an eye on the local bird population, who have opinions about your sandwich. The Bar and Grill on the first floor does proper burgers in portions that defeat most adults, in the £10 to £20 bracket. The Brasserie overlooks the lake and runs a two-course menu at £28, which is the right shout for a pre-show dinner if there’s something on.

If you’re staying over, the Premier Inn Smithfield is a short walk away and you can usually get a family room for under £100, which leaves more in the budget for tickets.

Do the architecture tour. Visit the library, which is the underrated gem of the complex: music scores you can borrow and play on the pianos there, a children’s section upstairs, and a quiet that the rest of London does not have on offer. And then, if there’s something on, see something. A play, a film, a concert. The point of the place is not the place. The point of the place is what happens inside it.

The yellow lines in my life keep leading me back to the Barbican.

Her name is Thiri Win. She’s three years old. The man holding her is her father. We’re eleven hours into the journey home from the only hospital in Myanmar that can treat her cancer, and we aren't there yet.

The day before, she was given a blood transfusion and chemotherapy. Now she’s in a wooden boat on a brown river, on her way back to a stilt house in a village called Kyon Pati, where the family share a pig with thirty neighbours and the floor is made of bamboo cane.

Behind us is a taxi from the hospital, an old bus packed with people in forty-degree heat, a two-hour boat ride down the Irrawaddy. Ahead, another hour in a canoe.

In Portugal, where I grew up, a child in her condition wouldn't be allowed to take public transport. The state would send an ambulance. A doctor would tell the family she shouldn't go to the beach because even sand carries germs.

Thiri Win travels by canoe.

The journey she is on costs about sixteen pounds. Her family, like most families here, lives on less than one pound seventy a day. So most children with her diagnosis never come at all. The ones who do come once often don't come back.

Childhood cancer is treatable in over eighty per cent of cases in wealthy countries. Here, it kills nine out of ten children who get it, and the reason isn't necessarily the disease.

I started Please Take Me There in 2015. The first thing standing between these children and survival wasn't medicine or doctors. It was a taxi fare. So we paid for it. The taxi, the bus, the boat. There and back, again and again, for as long as a child needed it. Over ten years, we covered more than eight thousand of those trips, for families who would otherwise have stayed home.

I went back every year. I'd land in Yangon, walk into the hospital, and there'd be Aye Aye Khaing, the doctor who runs the unit, and the team, and the new faces of children who hadn't been there the year before. We were expanding the programme, training people, and working out how to reach families further out. The last time I was there was March 2020.

I didn't know it was the last time. The pandemic closed the borders and then the coup came. The country slid into a civil war that's still going on.

We never stopped sending money. The hospital is still there. The journeys are still being paid for. Thousands more children since I last walked through those wards.

I think about those families every day. Not in a heavy way. Just often and quietly.

When I offer a free flight to someone here in the UK going through a hard time, when they tell me where they need to go and why, I think about Thiri Win's father, holding her against his chest in a boat on a brown river, going home from a hospital because he had a way to get there.

The original reporting and photographs from Myanmar are by award-winning journalists Isabel Nery and João Pina, who travelled with me in 2018 for Notícias Magazine.

I own an aeroplane. I have a licence to fly it. I have time, I have the energy, and I have a genuine desire to take people up into the sky who might need, more than most, to be reminded that the world is bigger and quieter and more beautiful than whatever they’re going through on the ground.

You’d think that would be enough.

It isn’t.

It started, like most honest things do, with a simple idea. People are suffering. People are lonely. There are children in the hospital who have forgotten what ordinary feels like. And I have this extraordinary machine that can offer a few free hours of complete escape, a horizon that doesn’t care about diagnoses or prognoses, and the particular silence that only exists a thousand feet above everything.

I trained for years to fly. And the limiting factor isn’t skill, or weather, or cost. It’s a reply to an email. There’s something almost funny about that.

I wrote emails. Lots of them. To hospitals, charities, community organisations, and support groups. Warm, careful emails that explained exactly what I was offering and why. I built a website. I collected quotes from passengers. I gathered news coverage. I essentially assembled a small dossier of evidence that I am not a madman.

The replies, when they came at all, were polite. And then nothing.

For a long time, I told myself this was about trust. That we live in an age of suspicion, that no good deed goes unscrutinised, that kindness now requires a paper trail.

There’s something to that.

But it’s not the whole story, and honestly, it’s a bit too convenient. It lets the institutions off the hook and it makes me sound bitter, which I’m not. Not really.

The closer I’ve looked, the more I think the problem is simpler and stranger than distrust. It’s that large organisations aren’t built for undefined objects. My offer doesn’t fit a category. It isn’t a donation, it isn’t a service, it isn’t a corporate partnership. It lands in an inbox as something that requires someone to make a decision that nobody told them they were allowed to make. So it sits there. Not rejected. Just unprocessable.

The organisations that have worked, a social worker, a small charity, have one thing in common. One person who had enough freedom and enough humanity to just say yes. They saw the thing for what it was and they acted on it. No committee. No liability form. Just yes.

And then there are the families I’ve found the other way entirely, through news stories, through word of mouth, through the occasional message to someone whose situation I’ve read about and thought: you could use two hours above the clouds. Those families say yes almost immediately. Every time.

Because when you talk directly to the person who is living it, there’s no translation required. There’s no layer between the offer and the need. They understand exactly what you’re offering and they know exactly what it means.

So I’ve been solving the wrong problem. I’ve been trying to learn the language of institutions, trying to make myself readable to systems designed to protect people from exactly the kind of unsolicited goodwill I’m attempting. And that’s not cynicism. That’s what those systems are for. They’re just not built for this.

One person who can say yes. One family who reads a message and thinks, actually, yes, we’d love that. One social worker who decides to trust a pilot with a website and a genuine reason to be there.

I’m still writing the emails. I’ll keep writing them, because occasionally one lands on the right desk at the right moment and something remarkable happens. But I’m also spending more time looking for the families themselves. Finding the person, not the institution.

And when I do, when someone unbuckles their seatbelt and looks at me like they’d forgotten, for an hour, that the world was heavy, I know exactly why I got Saoirse.1

Not to navigate bureaucracy. To fly.

Hey there 👋

I had a plan for this episode. A good plan! I was going to fly us to one of my absolute favourite Christmas events here in the UK.

But, as we know in aviation (and in life), the weather, or in this case, the result of a test, doesn’t always care about your plans.

So, here’s what happened. I recently took my Instrument Rating test. And... well, let’s call it a “partial success.” I flew a solid test, but there was one section that needed a do-over.

Instead of flying to record a festive podcast special, I found myself back in the cockpit with my instructor to revise a couple of issues and then I took the test again. The good news? I passed! As of last week, I am officially rated. The bad news? I completely missed my window to travel and record the new episode.

Does that mean I leave you empty-handed for Christmas? Absolutely not.

I’m taking you back to a place that left a huge impact on me last year: Blenheim Palace.

I recorded a full episode about this in 2024. And while they tweak the light trails and the themes every year, the core of the event—the magic, the atmosphere, the sheer scale of it—is exactly the same.

So, if you’re looking for a place that feels like stepping into a Narnia movie, this is it! And, instead of a rushed episode from a stressed-out pilot, here is my honest recommendation from a Christmas trip that actually went to plan. Spoiler alert: It’s fantastic.

Just a quick heads-up: this episode is from our sister podcast, Travel Plans. So if you hear me refer to Travel Plans instead of The Pilot’s Logbook, don’t worry—you’re still on the right frequency.

I loved it there, and I hope one day, you will, too.

In This Week’s Episode

The festive season presents a wonderful opportunity to explore some of the UK’s most popular Christmas markets and to see cities and towns in a different and warmer light.

Blenheim Palace, a magnificent 18th-century house and UNESCO World Heritage Site, is surrounded by over 2,000 acres of parkland and lakes. It’s one of the most stunning country houses I’ve ever visited!

Every year, they transform the grounds into what could only be described as an extravaganza - one million lights transform the Palace into a beacon for those looking for a seasonal family getaway.

So, grab your Christmas jumper, hat and gloves, and let’s explore this magical destination together!

A detailed guide

You can see photos, watch videos and get all the details in the link below:

Travel Plans with Fernando Pinho

Christmas at Blenheim Palace: A Fairy-Tale Adventure

To bring this article to life, I've created an immersive podcast episode. You can listen to it below or find it on your favourite podcast app by searching for "Travel Plans with Fernando Pinho…

Read more

2 years ago · Fernando Pinho

Next episode

I wish you a joyous Christmas season and a New Year filled with love, laughter, and unforgettable flying adventures.

The next episode will be with you just before the new year. Meanwhile, if you land in Duxford, please let me know. Coffee and pastries on me!

Until then, happy flying! ✈️

Fernando

Hey there 👋

Welcome to a new episode of The Pilot’s Logbook - a podcast companion for private pilots in the UK and Europe!

Each episode is packed with practical tips, inspiring chats with pilots and members of our community, gear reviews, and we’ll reveal exciting destinations you can fly to directly.

In This Week’s Episode

A Masterclass in Aeroplane Cleaning

In this episode, Luke Dale explains why cleaning your aeroplane is a vital maintenance task, shares the best techniques, the products that actually work (and the ones that don’t), and why the CAA is starting to regulate this industry.

Luke is the co-founder and director of Vertigo Detailing and the man to teach us all about cleaning our airplanes.

Flying at night

Flying at night has a certain allure. The calm air, the quiet frequencies, the shimmering city lights below, but behind that beauty lies a series of hazards and mental traps that challenge even the most experienced aviator. In this episode, Philippe Polman guides us through what we should be aware of when flying after sunset.

Link and companies mentioned in this episode

Vertigo Detailing

Echelon Air Night Rating

Extras for Paid Subscribers 🎉

Each month, the podcast presents you with a new destination you can fly to directly. For our paid subscribers, we send you a detailed guide that you can access here on the website.

But if you really want the inside track, you’ll love this: Once a month, we get together for an online chat that’s just for paid subscribers. It’s where we unpack everything! We’ll swap notes on routes, navigating the airports, finding the perfect stay, tasting the best local food, and getting the honest lowdown on what’s worth your time and what’s not so that you can travel like a local, not a tourist.

If you want to join our crew, it’s only £12 for the whole year. Your support helps us keep the podcast going.

Where to Fly this Christmas Q&A

Our next live subscriber deep dive is all about flying our families to the best Christmas events in the UK.

The live Q&A is scheduled for Tuesday, 9th December, at 8 pm. If you want to join in, please reply to this email and I’ll send you the link.

Win a Pilot’s T-Shirt!

I have two of our original sweatshirts to offer to our paid subscribers.

This original and limited-edition T-shirt is inspired by a child's imagination of a pilot’s uniform.

To win, just reply to this email or send me a message using the button below. If you are one of the first two subscribers to send me a message, the sweatshirt is all yours!

Next Episode

Our next episode will be a Christmas special. We are going to visit one of the most incredible Christmas experiences you can visit, which you can fly directly to!

Until then, happy flying! ✈️

Fernando

Hey there 👋

Sometimes, I wonder when things started to go wrong for us humans.

I wake up at 6:30 am every morning. One hour later, I’m dropping the girls off at school and heading to the office or the airport. It’s a whirlwind of emails, planning, and meetings, and on some days, as a volunteer pilot, I even get to squash in a takeoff and landing.

The day rushes by in a blur until it’s time to collect the girls again. Homework, dinner, bedtime routines...it’s a never-ending cycle. Finally, at 8:30 pm, the girls are tucked up in bed. I allow myself a few minutes to remind myself how lucky I am to have Jane and the girls in my life. Then, it’s time for me to get back to work.

Does this sound familiar? I have a feeling we’re all on the same speeding train, one that doesn’t exactly have a convenient “stop” button. Was it always this way? I don’t think so. We’re constantly bombarded with notifications, our phones delivering a steady stream of anxieties disguised as news updates.

We’re more connected than ever – to each other, to our devices, and to the never-ending demands of the digital world. But are we really connecting?

Disconnecting sounds tempting, doesn’t it? But could we even do it if we wanted to? Doubt creeps in. What if I miss that crucial email? What if I’m out of the loop tomorrow?

And then, one day, a notification on my phone (oh, the irony!) delivered a report: “A study found those who spend at least two hours in nature throughout the week report consistently higher levels of health and well-being compared to those who don’t.”

Oops, I said to myself. I realised then that I barely spend any time in nature. Ok, I might walk the dog in the local meadow—a small patch of green amidst the urban sprawl—but not much more than that.

And, as often happens, once I started showing an interest in nature, my feeds were flooded with related content. That’s how I stumbled upon the tiny and remote cabin I’m about to share with you.

Spoiler alert!

So, today, we’re saying a big “goodbye” to stress, overflowing task lists and that constant feeling of being overwhelmed. We’re ditching the city and venturing into the heart of a peaceful forest in Norfolk, in the East of England.

Towering trees, sunlight dappling through the leaves and the sounds of nature all around a tiny wooden cabin. No phone signal, no internet, no connection to the busy world and not a single soul in sight. Just you, the birds and the breeze.

Nature’s Prescription

Over the past few years, a growing number of companies in the UK and around the world have been creating off-the-grid cabins in the most breathtaking and secluded locations. Their mission? To immerse us in nature, not just for a couple of hours, but for days at a time.

One of the companies doing this in the UK is Unyoked.

Their website emphasises the benefits of disconnecting from a busy world and reconnecting with nature. Backed by a growing amount of research, they believe escaping to the wilderness is key to de-stressing, finding clarity, and rediscovering a slower pace of life. (Though, if I’m being honest, my experience went far beyond just “slowing down,” but more on that later!)

Intrigued? Here’s how it works. Unyoked scouts for locations all around the UK, Australia and New Zealand. To be chosen, a location must be both safe and secluded.

Imagine waking up to the dawn chorus in a forest or falling asleep under a canopy of stars, miles away from the nearest city light. While the promise is tranquillity, nature can be unpredictable. At times, my stay was accompanied by a symphony of howling winds and driving rain.

These cabins are now so popular that booking one isn’t always easy. And that’s despite the fact that they have over 30 spots spread all over the UK in Norfolk, Suffolk, Wales, Shropshire, the South Downs and Exmoor.

Please note that Unyoked is dead serious about helping you disconnect. Most of their sites have very limited phone reception, and a few have none at all. As my own experience would show, the complete lack of signal proved vital, allowing my mind to truly wander.

Getting to our retreat: An Adventure for Drivers, Train Enthusiasts, and Aviators Alike

Now, how on earth do you find these cabins?

For safety reasons, you only find out the exact location of your home in nature once you book one.

Booking a stay with only a vague idea of its location in Norfolk felt a bit strange. But the booking confirmation came with a fantastically comprehensive information pack—the best I’ve ever seen! The “Field Guide”, as Unyoked calls it, will provide you with all of the travel details step by step, regardless of the way you prefer to go.

If you prefer to drive, you can take your car right to the edge of the wilderness, where a reserved parking spot awaits. You don’t need a 4x4 vehicle, but don’t expect an asphalted road.

For those who prefer public transport, the journey is a bit more elaborate but no less rewarding. You’ll hop off the train (the Field Guide will tell you which station to get off at), then enjoy a scenic taxi ride to the edge of the forest.

I can already hear your taxi driver saying, “I don’t know where the edge of the forest is!”. If that’s the case, don’t worry. Unyoked’s “Field Guide” will include maps you can share with the driver.

Now, this is a public service announcement!

Please, please, book your taxi for your return journey before you let your driver leave. Most likely, you won’t have phone signal to call a taxi a few days later.

After your taxi takes you to your drop-off point, it’s only you! The final leg of the journey is a refreshing and exciting hike through nature to reach your tranquil hideaway.

Unyoked says the entire journey should take at most three hours. If I’d opted for public transport, my journey would have taken two hours and cost £45 each way (that’s for the train and taxi ride).

Arriving by Air: A Journey Back in Time

While most visitors arrive by car or public transport, my journey to the cabin took a rather unexpected turn.

As soon as I booked my retreat, I realised there was a decommissioned World War II airbase in the region. After a few checks, I realised that the current owner, a local farmer, is a pilot and allows other pilots to land in these historic runways that once welcomed the legendary B-17 Flying Fortress.

Landing there was quite the experience! As the airfield officially doesn’t exist anymore, the aeroplane’s computers went into a frenzy, thinking that my descent was accidental and that I was about to crash!

Alarms blared and lights flashed, but we landed safely in RAF Great Massingham, a site that, in its heyday, had over 600 servicemen living and working there helping the Allies bomb Nazi-occupied Europe.

Pilot’s Logbook

For my fellow aviators, flying to Norfolk offers stunning aerial views of the English countryside. Landing at Great Massingham Airfield is a unique experience and a reminder of the history embedded in this landscape.

You must obtain prior permission before you head there. The airfield’s old runways are still in good shape (considering their age), but be prepared for a lack of navigational aids and the absence of radio services. Please be aware of possible dog walkers and horses on the taxiway that doubles as a bridleway. The landing fee is £10 (October 2024)

Your last chance for supplies

From the airfield, a ten-minute walk through fields where horses are grazing takes us to the charming village of Great Massingham with its impressive green and ponds.

This is your last chance to do three days’ worth of grocery shopping. While the cabins will surprise you with comfort and with all you need, bringing food is your responsibility.

After that, you will be ready to continue your journey. You can either get a taxi to your drop-off point in the forest, which will take you there in 10 minutes, or, if you feel brave enough, you can walk straight to the cabin from here, but you will need up to two hours and plenty of hands to carry your belongings and food.

Into the Woods - how spicy do you like it?

Regardless of how you travel to the edge of the wilderness, by your car parking spot and taxi drop-off point, you will find a trusty wheelbarrow to help you transport your belongings (take note: rolling luggage won’t be much help!).

From there, it’s a short(ish) hike through the trees to your new, yet temporary, home.

Unyoked has a very unconventional way of telling you how challenging the walk to the cabin will be. They call it Spice. The spicier the cabin, the longer the distance and the more challenging your walk will be. In my case, a medium spice cabin took me 15 minutes to complete.

Unlike Nando’s restaurants, here, extra spicy means your hike will most likely be strenuous and will have a steep incline. So, please check the spice level before you book and choose accordingly.

Now, fear not. Personally, I found the walk to the cabin to be one of the highlights of the whole trip. The sound of the birds, the wind running through the trees’ branches… It all felt like an introduction to what was to come, a welcome drink to make you feel at ease in your new habitat.

The deeper I went into the woods, the more my phone’s signal faded away. With each step, I felt more and more disconnected from what I had left behind. It’s almost like nature was saying, “Hey Fernando, look at what you’ve been missing!”.

Then, just at another edge of the forest, a few steps from a massive meadow, I found a little clearing. And right in the middle, surrounded by these giant trees... was my cabin.

The whole place was bursting with these beautiful, warm autumnal browns mixed with deep, vibrant greens. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting what seemed to be a spotlight on the cabin. It was like discovering a perfectly wrapped Christmas present.

The cabin itself has this sleek, modern look. It’s rectangular, clad in dark wood, with a matching black roof. In one corner, there are two massive windows that let in tons of natural light. And right in the centre, a glass door leads out to the deck, with a cute little chimney peeking out from the roof.

Speaking of the deck, there are a couple of wooden chairs, a small table and just enough space to soak up the surroundings.

A few meters in front, there’s a fire pit surrounded by large logs that double as seats. I can imagine a cosy evening there under the stars, lying down on the (provided) hammock. There’s even a wood-burning pizza oven!

Inside the Cabin - Everything You Need and Nothing You Don’t

As you step inside, you’ll notice that every inch was carefully thought through. The result? It has a very functional Scandinavian-style interior that looks bigger than you would expect from the outside. And I bet you will either say, Wow, or This is so Cute!

At the far end of the cabin, those two large windows I mentioned are like two massive live picture frames showcasing the forest around you.

But wait, the best part is that the bed is just next to the windows. You can stargaze all night and wake up to the sunrise without even getting out of bed! Also, I definitely didn’t expect such a comfy bed in the middle of nowhere!

Every inch of the cabin has a function. You’ll find a table beside the bed that doubles as a dining table (for two) and a bedside table with a CD player and USB charging ports. You even have a small collection of classic albums, including Bob Dylan, Supertramp, The Beach Boys and Neil Young. There’s also a good book selection, including guides on how to connect with nature.

Over by the entrance, there’s a wood burner and all the tools you need to keep the cabin toasty during the colder months.

In the middle of the space, you have what is most likely the best-equipped kitchen you can find in a forest!

If someone had told me about a kitchen in the middle of the woods, I would’ve pictured something basic, maybe a camping stove and a cooler. But this is something else! Gas hob, a mini-fridge, pots and pans, cutlery, mugs and bowls, a manual coffee grinder, coffee beans, a teapot, tea bags, salt, oil... the list goes on and on. If you prefer to cook outdoors in the fire pit, you’ll find a couple of cast-iron pans.

There is a beautifully crafted bathroom at the far end of the cabin. The walls are made of dark wood with tiled floors. There’s a stone basin, shampoo, shower gel, toilet paper and towels.

The hot rain shower has plenty of pressure and a window to peek into the woods.

To make everything work, the designers of these cabins have used some of the best sustainable technology available out there. For example, the shower uses collected rainwater and is heated using the electricity from solar panels.

The toilet is a bit different, too. It doesn’t flush! But instead, it uses composting technology to break down, well... you know what I mean. I’m not entirely sure how it works, but I’m happy to leave it at that for now!

So, the cabin itself – inside and out – is absolutely spot on. It’s beautiful, it’s functional. It has everything you need and nothing you don’t.

“Now, what?”

Once you settle in, you might start asking yourself this question.

The aim of these cabins in the middle of nature is that you really disconnect. And to be fair, I can’t imagine being more disconnected than I was. I had no phone signal. No way to contact anyone. I hadn’t seen a soul in hours, and the nearest village was a 90-minute walk away – part of which was in the forest.

Now, for someone who’s always connected, I felt a bit of a shock to the system. It’s like my head was shouting, “Something is wrong. Run!”.

But slowly, I started to feel more relaxed. And then I decided to read a small booklet Unyoked calls the “In-Field Guide”. As soon as I opened it, there it was, that question, “Now, what?”

There was also an explanation. Unyoked says that it takes some time to get used to the change. They add:

While humans became experts at attaching outcomes to everything we do, Unyoked is about unstructured time. It’s about staring, daydreaming, walking, drawing, journaling.

Entire hours flying by sitting in bed, watching how the light dances across the trees. Seeing sunset, sunrise.

No expectation. We call it good boredom. So, take the pressure off. Do nothing.”

Designed to Make You Slow Down

Fortunately, the cabin is designed to help you adapt and slow down quickly.

Want a coffee? Sure, here are the tools! Manual coffee grinder, beans and whistle kettle! The rhythmic grinding, the anticipation as the kettle whistles, the first sip of that hard-earned brew—it all forces you to slow down and savour the moment.

Want to warm up the cabin? Easy! Here’s the wood burner, firelighters, matches and logs. Oh, you need to chop them up because they are a little too big, but don’t worry, here’s a log splitter and a hammer! The act of building a fire becomes a mindful exercise, a connection to a primal rhythm. Each step—from selecting the wood to coaxing the flames—demands your attention and draws you into the present.

Suddenly, you’ll notice everything was carefully left there to help you relax and adapt. Books about being and loving nature. Music about being alone, relationships, creativity and happiness. Board games that will take you a long time to complete.

Surrounded by these thoughtful details, I began to realize that slowing down wasn’t just about having the time. It was about appreciating the process. The cabin’s design nudged me towards a different rhythm, one where the simple act of making coffee became a mindful ritual and the crackling fire a source of contemplation.

It was in this unhurried space that I began to feel a shift within myself.

It felt ok not to be busy. The pressure started to lift, and I felt incredibly happy and connected with my surroundings.

Axe in hand! Embracing Vulnerability

Before I travelled to Norfolk, I wondered how vulnerable or fearful I would feel in the middle of a forest, far from civilisation, amongst the wildlife.

I’ll admit it. It crossed my mind that someone could appear in front of my cabin, axe in hand! Or what if there was an emergency – maybe I’d burn the cabin down or break a leg tripping over a fallen tree? How quickly could I get help?

In reality, these cabins are pretty secure. They are located on private land. You likely won’t have a phone signal, but in an emergency, 999 will use any network available. Each cabin has its own emergency procedures, and if you drive to the location, your car won’t be that far away (although at night, you will need to use the torch available in the cabin to navigate your way around).

Now, I did feel vulnerable. But that was ok. We should feel vulnerable. It means we are aware and focused, and most importantly, we understand that we can’t always control everything in life.

And that realisation can be beautiful, too, and help us accept life as it is.

Having said that, if you get scared in dark and secluded environments, I suggest you come with a friend or partner. This experience is perfect for two.

The Ideal (and Not-So-Ideal) Guests

So, who are these cabins for? After my own experience, I believe three groups of people are the ideal guests. The first group are those needing to hit the pause button and take time to get clarity, relax or find a new perspective on life.

The second group would be the creatives. These cabins not only let you disconnect from a busy and demanding world, but they also have the power to inspire. I can imagine a writer there or a musician drafting the lyrics and notes to a new song.

The last group would be those looking for a new experience - friends, a couple, a family with children. This is an adventure like no other and is reasonably accessible.

Cost

When writing, a three-day, two-night break at one of these cabins would cost you around £350. There’s an extra £40 if you want to bring your pet. Want a discount? If you subscribe to this newsletter, you can get 15% off your booking. That’s up to £50!

Important Considerations Before You Book

I can also tell you who might find this experience more of a challenge. If you depend on a medical device like a CPAP machine, for example, the power provided by the solar panels might not be enough. Also, if you experience reduced mobility, the distance between the car park and your cabin, combined with some challenging tracks to get to the cabin, might make it difficult or even impossible.

I recommend you contact Unyoked directly to discuss your requirements.

Bear in mind that each cabin accommodates two people only. So if you are a family of four, for example, you will need two cabins.

Some locations do offer multiple cabins, but they are never side by side. You’ll need to walk a short distance (10 to 15 minutes) to get from one to the other. In the winter, you’ll need a torch to navigate the forest. There’s one in each cabin. Good luck!

So, Shall you Book it? Will I Return?

I confess that when I arrived at my secluded cabin, I had many questions and some doubts. In less than one day, I had adapted and embraced being disconnected from the world where others often dictate our schedules and rhythm. I also couldn’t access a 24/7 stream of news coming at me in pop-up notifications (Alleluia!).

And I guess that was key to helping me start to unwind and feel calmer. For the first few hours, a little voice in my head told me something was wrong… but it quietened down.

Then, I had two fantastic nights’ sleep. Gosh, those were great! The days were never rushed. Brewing a coffee was so slow, and I had to chop wood to keep the cabin warm. But all of these tasks were so satisfying.

I went on a very wet walk through the forest. I hugged a couple of trees, had an imaginary chat with a couple of squirrels, and just allowed my mind to wander around.

I’m not sure yet if these days will have a lasting impact on my well-being. But it absolutely did for the time I was here.

You might ask, “Do you need a secluded retreat to de-stress?” Probably not. But it would require a determination that isn’t always easy to achieve. Also, the people around you might hinder this endeavour inadvertently, interrupting you.

It’s not easy to get off a train when it’s moving fast, right? But there, in the middle of nowhere, you have no option. Nature can slow you down and cut you off from the outside world.

Since I left, I spent a couple of weeks producing the podcast episode and writing this article. Not a single hour of that process went by without me saying to myself, I want to return!

I loved it there, and I hope one day, you will, too.

Hey there 👋

Welcome to a new episode of The Pilot’s Logbook - a podcast companion for private pilots in the UK and Europe!

Each episode is packed with practical tips, inspiring chats with pilots and members of our community, gear reviews, and we’ll reveal exciting destinations you can fly to directly.

In This Week’s Episode

Starlink in your Airplane

There’s a topic that’s coming up more and more in our emails and messages lately: getting satellite internet on our smaller planes.

Starlink has been available for business and commercial jets for a while now, but with the introduction of the new, smaller Starlink Mini, many pilots have realised the potential for General Aviation.

This opens up some interesting possibilities. Your passengers can finally get access to streaming, gaming, and even video calls. And for us in the cockpit? We get the big advantage of pulling down updated weather information, TAFs, and Metars whenever we need them.

So, in this episode, we want to lay out all the details: what it costs, how to decide if this option is right for your flying, and if so, what you need to get it set up quickly.

There’s a lot of confusing information swirling around, so I wanted to talk with someone who has been using Starlink for a while and really knows the technical ropes. I called up our regular guest and founder of Echelon Air, Philippe Polman.

Also in this episode

Amanda Rhodes, a NATS Air Traffic Controller, answers your questions about ATC, zone transits and squawks. We also discuss important changes to licensing rules in the UK.

Links, videos and Starlink accessories discussed in this episode

CAA Webinar Licensing and Training Simplification

Starlink Mini

Anker Prime Power Bank

Starlink Mini Mount

Starlink Mini Power Cable

Extras for paid subscribers 🎉

Each month, the podcast presents you with a new destination you can fly to directly. For our paid subscribers, we send you a detailed guide that you can access here on the website.

But if you really want the inside track, you’ll love this: Once a month, we get together for an online chat that’s just for paid subscribers. It’s where we unpack everything! We’ll swap notes on routes, navigating the airports, finding the perfect stay, tasting the best local food, and getting the honest lowdown on what’s worth your time and what’s not so that you can travel like a local, not a tourist.

If you want to join our crew, it’s only £12 for the whole year. Your support helps us keep the podcast going.

Le Touquet Live Q&A

Our next live subscriber deep dive is all about Le Touquet! If you’ve been there, you might think you know it, but trust me, you probably don’t. I’ve spent a few months on the ground living there, and I would like to share my personal, unvarnished playbook: all the gems, the local hangouts, and the honest truth of how to spend your time. Whether you’re stopping by for a quick few hours or settling in for an unforgettable weekend, I’ve got the intel you need.

The live Q&A is scheduled for Monday, 13th October, at 8 pm. If you want to join in, please reply to this email and I’ll send you the link.

Win a Pilot’s T-Shirt!

I have two of our original sweatshirts to offer to our paid subscribers.

This original and limited-edition T-shirt is inspired by a child's imagination of a pilot’s uniform.

To win, just reply to this email or send me a message using the button below. If you are one of the first two subscribers to send me a message, the sweatshirt is all yours!

Next Episodes

The next episode will be with you in two weeks time. Meanwhile, if you land in Duxford, please let me know. Coffee and pastries on me!

Until then, happy flying! ✈️

Fernando

Hey there

Most people flying into northern France are heading to Paris. Le Touquet is what they're flying over.

It sits on the coast about an hour from Calais, close enough that British pilots treat it as a Sunday morning run, and yet outside of aviation circles, almost nobody seems to know it exists. Which is strange, because a hundred years ago, it was one of the most fashionable resorts in Europe.

I've been going for three summers now, and I'm still finding new reasons to go back.

The History

Le Touquet’s story starts in the late 19th century with a Parisian lawyer named Alphonse Daloz, who looked at a stretch of dunes on the northern French coast and decided to build a resort to rival Deauville. He named it Paris-Plage — Paris’ beach — which tells you everything about his ambitions.

Then, in 1902, an English businessman called Sir John Whitley arrived and bought the town. The whole thing. His plan was to turn it into a playground for the British elite, and he built accordingly: hotels, a racecourse, a golf course and casinos. That last one mattered more than it might sound. Gambling was illegal in England at the time. Le Touquet was close enough to feel familiar and just foreign enough to get away with things.

It worked. The resort became known as London by the Sea. There was even a scheduled flight from Croydon Airport, about an hour’s flying, which in the 1930s was quite something. Croydon Airport is long gone now, though there’s a good museum on the site if you’re curious.

Then came the war. In 1940, 40,000 German soldiers occupied Le Touquet. Four years later, in a move aimed at misleading German forces about the D-Day landing site, the British bombed it. Over four days, they dropped 2,000 bombs on a town they had largely built themselves. When the Germans retreated, they left behind over 100,000 mines. It took three years to clear them.

Le Touquet was rebuilt. The British connection never quite went away, which is why, recently, the airport was renamed Le Touquet Elisabeth II International Airport.

If you are interested in finding out more about Le Touquet’s history, I highly recommend this 1968 Yorkshire Television documentary. You can watch an extract above.

Getting to Le Touquet

Getting to Le Touquet is easier than most people expect. From the UK, you’re looking at a short Channel crossing and a straightforward one-hour drive down the northern French coast. Parking in town is simple, and every hotel worth staying at has it.

If you’re a pilot, you’ve probably already been. Le Touquet is one of those airports that British pilots accumulate hours to, often on a Sunday morning with no particular plan. It has customs and border force on site, a friendly team on the ground, and a Golden Retriever called Marcus who considers himself the real person in charge.

The beach and town centre are about two miles away — easy by bike, manageable on foot.

For years, I was one of those pilots who landed, had a coffee, and flew home. I thought I knew the place. I didn’t, not really. This guide is the result of actually staying.

Arriving in Town: A Forest Welcome

As soon as you leave the airport (I highly recommend grabbing a bike and this map), you'll find yourself enveloped by a lush pine forest. In fact, two-thirds of Le Touquet is covered in these trees.

The trees have been here since 1837, when Alphonse Daloz planted them across the dunes to stop them moving. It worked, and the forest stuck.

Today, it’s full of villas sitting quietly between the pines, and the whole thing has a slightly improbable calm about it for somewhere so close to the beach.

A short ride from the airport brings you to Le Westminster Hotel, which has been here since 1924 and survived the war intact.

It’s one of the most beautiful buildings in town, and it comes with a story: Sean Connery reportedly signed his first James Bond contract here. I have no idea if that’s true, but the hotel looks exactly like the sort of place where it should be.

I can imagine him signing his iconic 007 contract right there, probably with a glass of martini, shaken, not stirred!

Le Touquet Express: Making the Most of a Few Hours

Just past Le Westminster, you're in the historic centre. It's a slightly eccentric mix of Belle Époque, Art Deco, and seaside town (sometimes a bit too laid-back, if you ask me).

But it's compact, walkable, and full of things worth stopping for. With a leisurely lunch, this loop takes about three hours. Oh, and if you need a map of the highlights, here’s one.

The Tennis Club and Palais de Congrés

The Tennis Club has been here since 1903, and it’s considerably grander than you might expect from a seaside town. Twenty-six courts, five of them indoors, a 900-seat central court, a swimming pool, and three football pitches. Courts and the pool are open to visitors, so if the mood takes you, you can just turn up and play.

Just across the road, the Palais de Congrès started life as a casino in 1913, and not just any casino. It’s believed to have inspired the fictional Royale-les-Eaux in Ian Fleming’s Casino Royale, which tells you something about the kind of place Le Touquet was. These days it hosts concerts, theatre, and events.

The Hermitage Hotel and Avenue du Verger

A short walk brings you to the Hermitage Hotel, built in 1910 and once the most coveted address in town. It’s private residences now, so the outside is all you’ll get, but it’s enough. Take a moment with it.

As we continue our walk, we reach the bustling Avenue du Verger. These Art Deco shops, constructed in 1927, once housed the world's most prestigious luxury brands. Today, they've been transformed into cafes and restaurants, perfect for a quick coffee break or a leisurely lunch.

The Lighthouse and La Village Suisse

There were two lighthouses here before the war. Both were destroyed in the bombings, and a replacement was built in 1951. It’s a listed monument now, and you can climb it: 274 steps, no lift. The view from the top is genuinely worth the effort.

A short walk away, Le Village Suisse is a cluster of houses in an improbable mix of medieval and Swiss chalet styles. It once marked the entrance to Le Touquet, and it still looks slightly surprised to find itself in northern France. I mean that as a compliment.

Ypres Garden, Saint Jeanne d'Arc Church and The Town Hall

The Ypres Garden is named in memory of the Belgian refugees Le Touquet took in during the First World War. It’s a quiet spot with a good story behind it. In summer, it hosts music and circus shows for families.

Across from it, the Saint Jeanne d’Arc church was built in 1911. Please go inside and look at the stained glass windows. I’m not usually someone who says that about churches, but these are something else: the whole story of Joan of Arc told in light and colour. Don’t walk past.

The Town Hall sits just opposite, a listed building that’s hard to miss. It has the confidence of architecture that was built to impress, and it still does.

The Market and The Post Office

Right by the Town Hall, the Indoor Market is hard to miss, a listed building with a distinctive arched facade that gives it away before you’ve read any signs. It’s open on Thursdays and Saturdays, and on Mondays during summer, when vendors spill out into the surrounding streets and you can find almost anything you didn’t know you needed.

Next to it, the Post Office is a proper Art Deco building and a listed monument. If it’s open when you pass, go in. It’s genuinely beautiful, and most people walk straight past it.

Au Chat Bleu and the Beach

Before you leave the centre, stop at Au Chat Bleu. It's been here since 1912, started by two sisters with a shared passion for cats and chocolate, and it's now one of the most well-regarded chocolate shops in France. Worth a visit even if you weren't planning on buying anything. You will be by the time you leave.

From there it’s a short walk to the beach, where the coloured wooden cabins have been sitting since 1960, doing exactly what they were built to do. They’re cheerful and a little eccentric, and they suit Le Touquet perfectly.

That’s the three-hour loop. If that’s all the time you have, it’s enough to understand why people come back. If you have longer, the best is still ahead.

Embracing Nature: Le Touquet's Magnificent Beach and Beyond

If there's one thing that defines Le Touquet, it's its sprawling beach.

The beach is eleven kilometres long and wide enough that it never feels crowded, even in August.

At low tide, it stretches so far you almost lose sight of where the sand ends and the sea begins. There are beach clubs for children and cafes along the front, and plenty of space to do nothing in particular, which is underrated as an activity.

Exploring Canche Bay Nature Park: A Sanctuary for Wildlife

Head north along the beach and the town quietly drops away. The Canche Bay Nature Park covers 45 hectares of protected dunes and forest, with walking and cycling trails that feel a long way from anywhere, even though you’re ten minutes from the centre.

The view from the observation points across the bay is one of the best in the area. At low tide, seals appear on the sandbanks, not always, but often enough that it’s worth looking. Thousands of birds pass through during migration season, so if that’s your thing, bring binoculars.

La Base Nord, one of my favourite restaurants in Le Touquet, sits right by the watersports centre here. I’d recommend timing your visit accordingly.

Watersports Wonderland

Le Touquet takes sport seriously. Seriously enough that the England rugby team based themselves here for the 2023 World Cup, which tells you something about the facilities.

The beach is the main venue. At the southern end, La Base Sud specialises in sand yachting — wind-powered vehicles on wheels that cross the flat sand at over 90 kilometres per hour. They look improbable and apparently feel extraordinary. I booked a two-hour session to find out for myself. The wind that day was under 10 knots. The session didn’t run. I’m going back.

If the wind is more cooperative than it was for me, a two-hour discovery session is the way in. And if sand yachting isn’t your thing, the same centre offers paddleboarding, surfing, and kitesurfing.

The northern centre, Canche Bay Watersports, covers sailing, kayaking, canoeing, and pretty much anything else you might want to do on or near water. You can also take a 45-minute river cruise around the estuary from there. On my list for next time is a jet surfing lesson, though I’m saying that quietly so nobody holds me to it.

Beyond the Beach: Le Touquet's Equestrian and Golfing Highlights

The Prince of Wales used to fly over to Le Touquet for polo and golf in the 1920s, which says a lot about the kind of place this was.

The Equestrian Park he visited has since served as an Olympic training base, and it’s still considered one of the finest in France.

What I like about it is that it doesn’t feel exclusive. The facilities are open to everyone, and you can spend a perfectly good afternoon there without sitting on a horse once.

That said, if you have children with you, the pony rides tend to settle the matter quickly.

For experienced riders, there are daily group rides to the beach and through the surrounding forest and dunes — 45 kilometres of dedicated trails in total. And if you happen to be there in spring, the International Showjumping Competition is worth catching. Five hundred horses from 20 countries.

It’s quite a sight.

Tee Off in Style

Golf is woven just as deeply into Le Touquet’s identity. The town emblem is a caddy, which tells you everything.

The resort has been running for over 115 years and is ranked among the best courses in Europe. Three options: an 18-hole course through the pine forest, a 9-hole course for a shorter round, and a practice course if you’re working on something specific.

The clubhouse restaurant is open to the public, which means you don’t need to pick up a club to enjoy the setting — and the setting, framed by pines and dunes, is reason enough to go. I’ve never played a round in my life, but I’ve had lunch there, and I’ll be back for that alone.

Thrill Seekers Unite: Parc Bagatelle Awaits!

If you’re travelling with children, the beach and the wooden carousel in town will keep the younger ones happy. But five miles outside Le Touquet, Parc Bagatelle is worth knowing about for when the beach isn’t quite enough.

It’s a proper theme park with over 35 attractions, including rollercoasters, water rides, and a small farm. Under 30 euros per person, or around 100 for a family, which for a full day of entertainment is hard to argue with. In my experience, the rollercoasters produce more screaming than laughter, but that’s probably the point.

Getting there without a car is straightforward. There’s a regular bus service, and taxis work too, though in summer they can be scarce. Ask at the airport or hotel for reliable contacts.

Le Touquet by Night

When the sun goes down, the action moves to Rue St Jean. Restaurants, nightclubs, and casinos fill up, and the town feels like a different place from the one you walked around that afternoon — livelier, louder, and a little more French about it.

If you’re into music, Le Touquet rewards the effort of checking the calendar before you go. There are jazz festivals in both summer and winter, plus opera, theatre, and ballet throughout the year. The big one is the Beach Music Festival in August, a full weekend of dance music on the sand that draws crowds from across France. Fatboy Slim headlined in 2025. It’s that kind of event.

Check the local events agenda before you travel. It’s easy to arrive and discover you’ve just missed something worth staying for.

Checking In: My Honest Hotel Reviews

A century ago, Le Touquet had some of the most prestigious hotels in Europe. A handful survive, in one form or another.

All the options below are pet-friendly, though there's usually a fee for that.

The Westminster Hotel

You've already walked past it, so you know what the building looks like. The inside lives up to it. Spacious rooms, attentive service, and a complimentary kids' club that parents tend to appreciate more than they expect.

One honest caveat: the cancellation policy is stricter than I'd like, especially if you're flying in on a small plane and keeping one eye on the weather. Read the small print before you book.

The Ibis, Novotel and Tribe complex

A couple of miles from the centre, near the airport, this complex has three hotels at different price points: Ibis, Novotel, and Tribe, all in the same location among the pines.

Ibis is the budget option, and it's better than you'd expect: decent rooms, a pleasant outdoor bar with pizzas and salads, and a 24-hour cancellation policy.

The distance from the centre puts some people off, but I'll be honest, I prefer it. It's quiet, it's close to the airport, and every morning I'd cycle through the forest into town, which for me is as good a start to the day as any.

Novotel Thalassa

At the southern end of the beach, right on the sand, Novotel Thalassa looks from the outside like it was designed by someone who'd never seen a hotel.

Inside it makes more sense: floor-to-ceiling windows, sea views from the rooms, an indoor saltwater pool, and a spa.

If you're travelling with family and the beach is the main event, the location alone makes it worth considering.

Renting a House

This summer I spent the whole of August in Le Touquet, which meant the family needed more than a hotel room. We ended up in a six-bedroom house in the forest, close to the airport and big enough for the various relatives who flew in from across Europe at different points during the month. It worked out to around £40 per person per day, which for a house that size in August felt like a fair deal.

If you’re thinking about doing something similar, Airbnb and Vrbo both have good options across most budgets.

My advice as a pilot: look at the map before you book. Being close to the airport isn’t just convenient for arrivals and departures — it means you’re in the quieter, forested part of town, which I find is the better half anyway.

Restaurants - where the locals eat and my recommendations

During my time in Le Touquet, I made a point of asking locals where they actually eat, which is a different question from where they send tourists.

The names that came up most often were Le Paris Plage, La Petite Charlotte, La Taverne Royale, and Jeans’ Cafe, all clustered around Rue St Jean. Le Perard is the go-to for fish and seafood, and probably the most famous restaurant in town. For a special occasion, Le Pavillon at Le Westminster holds a Michelin star and earns it.

My personal favourites, though, are a different list. I’ll be honest: I think all four of these are better than most of the places above, though I say that as someone who eats enthusiastically rather than critically.

• La Base Nord: My family has eaten here more times than I can count, and the views across Canche Bay are the best in Le Touquet. The food matches the setting, which is not always the case with restaurants in beautiful locations.

• Le Jardin: Across from the Palais de Congrès. Impeccable service, a menu that justifies the attention, and somehow quiet even when it’s full. The kind of place that makes an ordinary Tuesday feel like an occasion.

• La Nonna: Craving authentic Italian cuisine? Look no further than La Nonna. Tucked away within the Tennis Club, this (literally) hidden restaurant serves up the best Italian fare in town. The relaxed atmosphere, with views of the historic tennis courts, adds a unique charm to the dining experience. It's a delightful surprise and a must-visit for any pasta lover!

• A Table: Tiny, by the market, open for a few hours at lunch and dinner only. It reminds me of my grandmother’s kitchen — the portions are generous, everything is made from scratch, and nobody is trying to impress you. Book in advance. There are about twelve seats and they fill up.

These are just a few of my personal recommendations, but please do venture off the beaten path and explore Le Touquet's diverse culinary scene. There are so many restaurants available and you never know what delicious surprises await.

Further Away - Visiting Normandy

This summer, my father came to visit me in Le Touquet. He fought in the Portuguese Colonial War (1961-74) and always wanted to visit the American Cemetery in Normandy. So, I was determined to make it happen.

From Le Touquet, we flew 45 minutes to Caen. A rental car was waiting for us, and 30 minutes later, we were on Omaha Beach.

By car, the whole return journey would have taken us eight hours. Le Touquet is perfectly located to let you explore Normandy and its rich history.

Au Revoir, Le Touquet!

Le Touquet was once the most fashionable resort in Europe. Then, for a long time, it was mostly forgotten. I’m not sure exactly when it slipped off the radar, but I’m quietly glad it did. It’s a better place for it. Less performance, more substance.

It gets under your skin without making a fuss about it. You arrive thinking you’re there for a weekend, and three summers later, you’re spending the whole of August. I’m not sure I can explain it better than that, and I’m not sure I need to.

If I still believed in Santa, I’d be dropping some serious hints about a summer house here.

Au revoir, Le Touquet. Until next time.

Hey there 👋

You know that feeling when you're stuck on the ground on a perfect flying day, just staring at the sky? That's been me for the past few months. My logbook entries have been less "Cross-country to Le Touquet" and more "Chapter 7: Flight Planning and Monitoring”.

Yep, I've been deep in the books, wrestling with the beast that is the Instrument Rating. It wasn't exactly the adventure I had planned for the summer, but I'm thrilled to say I'm through to the other side. The good news? The theory exams are behind me, the skies are calling again, and it’s time for a new episode of The Pilot's Logbook!

In This Week’s Episode - All About Flying Dogs 🐾

Have you ever dreamed of sharing the skies with your dog? In this episode, we chat with commercial French pilot Antoine Gallet, who has mastered the art of flying with his whippet, Lilou.

Join us as we discuss:

• The incredible bond that comes from adventuring with your pet.

• The practical challenges of flying with a dog in the cockpit and how to solve them.

• Crucial safety considerations, from harnesses to planning, to keep your pet safe.

• How Antoine’s experience can help you prepare for your own flights with your pet.

Also in this episode:

The inspiring Philippe Polman brings us the Pilot's Tip of the Day, presented by Echelon Air.

And the most friendly air traffic controller I know, Amanda Rhodes, brings us another "Ask Amanda!" In this episode, she shares with you what we should do before first contact with an ATC unit.

Are you visiting Le Touquet in August?

I’m going to be based in Le Touquet for most of August. If you happen to fly in, please get in touch. I'd love to offer you a coffee!

And if you haven’t seen it yet, don’t miss the most comprehensive guide to pilots visiting Le Touquet. It’s available below. You can also listen to our previous episode, where we cover it all.

Travel Plans with Fernando Pinho

Your Ultimate Guide to the Most British of the French Resorts: Le Touquet-Paris-Plage

Alongside this article, we're publishing an award-winning (awarded by my daughters) episode of our immersive podcast dedicated to Le Touquet. You can listen to it below or on your favourite Podcast app. Just search for Travel Plans with Fernando Pinho. Seriously, it’s really good…

Read more

2 years ago · 2 likes · Fernando Pinho

Extras 🎉

If you are a paid subscriber, you can win one of our exclusive Pilot T-shirts!

If you want to join, it’s only £6 for the whole year. Your support helps us keep the podcast going.

Win a Pilot’s T-Shirt!

I have two of our original t-shirts to offer to our paid subscribers.

This original and limited-edition T-shirt is inspired by a child's imagination of a pilot’s uniform.

To win, just reply to this email or send me a message using the button below. If you are one of the first two subscribers to send me a message, the t-shirt is all yours!

Some call it a paradise, others a desert. It's loved by many and a place that will leave you wondering, "How on earth did this place come to be?"

Support the show

Get our newsletter for free here. 

We believe the best adventures are shared from one human to another. That’s why everything in Fernando’s Logbook is created entirely by talented people and artists. We do not use Generative AI at any stage. 

The music for this episode was composed by a talented group of composers and musicians represented by Musicbed. You can also have access to their music. Use this link to get 14 days of free access #ad

Support the show

Get our newsletter for free here. 

We believe the best adventures are shared from one human to another. That’s why everything in Fernando’s Logbook is created entirely by talented people and artists. We do not use Generative AI at any stage. 

The music for this episode was composed by a talented group of composers and musicians represented by Musicbed. You can also have access to their music. Use this link to get 14 days of free access #ad

Hey there 👋🏻

The sun’s finally peeking out, and you know what that means: beach time.

If you’re searching for the perfect UK seaside escape, let me save you the trouble. It’s Watergate Bay in Cornwall. I recently took my family there for two days, and the trip was so good I had to write about it.

A sprawling golden beach. A fantastic family hotel with free childcare (yes, really). Surf lessons, beachside yoga, gourmet food, a sea safari, and a rainy-day adventure that turned out to be the surprise highlight of the trip. Oh, and for the pilots among you, there’s an airport five minutes away.

Let’s get into it.

Getting/Flying to Watergate Bay

Family road trips to Cornwall are a rite of passage. There’s the excitement, the snacks, the inevitable “are we there yet?” chorus somewhere on the A30, and the moment you finally glimpse that coastline and think: worth it.

But if you’re a pilot, forget all that. Watergate Bay sits practically on the doorstep of Cornwall Airport Newquay, just a two-mile hop from the threshold. A quick taxi, bus, or rental car and your toes are in the sand before most people have finished arguing over the aux cable.

From ATC to the team at Flynqy handling, you’ll be well looked after from the moment you call inbound.

Our destination

Watergate Bay isn’t your typical British seaside resort. No giant hotel chains, no amusement arcades, no candy floss smell. It’s quieter, more tucked away, and all the better for it. The kind of place where you feel like you’ve stumbled onto something the crowds haven’t quite found yet.

The heart of it all is the Watergate Bay Hotel. And what a heart it is.

The hotel opened in 1900, built on the dream of welcoming tourists arriving by train. Much like HS2, that railway never materialised. The hotel, thankfully, did. Over the decades, it changed hands, wore different hats, and even served as an Officers’ Mess for the RAF during World War II. Almost certainly the best-located Officers’ Mess in British history.

After recent renovations, both the hotel and the bay are looking magnificent. Ocean views, a spa, a kids’ club, a warm welcome for dogs, and sand that stretches for two glorious miles. It’s the kind of place where time genuinely slows down. I know that sounds like a brochure line. I mean it anyway.

For Flying Visitors: Weather-Proof Your Stay

Pilots, a heads-up! The hotel’s cancellation policy is a bit strict, so keep the weather forecast in mind when planning your visit. Here are some options to ensure your plans can adapt:

• Plan B: Have a backup ground transportation plan just in case flying doesn’t work out.

• Local Stays: Explore nearby B&Bs or consider the Premier Inn Seaside in Newquay. They’ve got generous cancellation policies (up to 1 p.m. on arrival day!) for those last-minute changes.

Beachfront Yoga: giggles, tangled limbs, and so much joy

If you, like me, greet the sunrise with a smile, then I have the perfect way to start your day – beach yoga! Imagine the serenity of the shore at dawn: a gentle breeze, the sound of the waves, and the promise of a brand-new day.

We booked a private family session, eager for a shared experience. On the day, it was 8 degrees with gusty wind that whipped the sand into our faces! Ugh. Maybe not the ideal beachside yoga scenario, but our adaptable Yoga teacher Gemma moved us indoors for a heartwarming and surprisingly hilarious family yoga experience.

Were there giggles every time one of us wobbled in a pose? Absolutely. Did a few downward dogs threaten to end with tangled limbs and laughter? You bet. But did we all leave with a sense of peace, joy, and a strengthened family bond? Definitely!

Learning to Surf

When you think of top-notch British surfing, Cornwall instantly comes to mind - and Watergate Bay is no exception as home to the English National Surf Championships! Its epic waves and stunning coastline make it a surfer’s dream.

Speaking of Cornish waves, my own surfing adventure ended years ago, even before it started, with the instructor politely suggesting building sandcastles might be a better fit! Let’s just say the lifeguards know me by name and not for my wave-riding skills.

This time, I was the beaming dad on the sidelines as my daughter Amélia took on those Cornish waves for her very first lesson.

If you’re ready to try surfing Watergate Bay’s famous waves, there’s a lesson waiting for you – whether you’re a beginner or ready to level up. Choose private or group sessions, both with equipment included. Children as young as seven are most welcome to join the adventure.

Gemma (our Yoga teacher) and her partner Adam run a surf and Yoga school in Watergate Bay. You can book lessons at Blue Surf School. Please book with them. They just started their own business and their story is really inspiring.

Remember: getting into a wetsuit is an adventure in itself! Arrive early for your lesson to give yourself time for the epic wetsuit wrestling match, especially if it’s your first time. (P.S. You’re not alone – hear our hilarious struggle in our podcast episode!)

Cornish Village Vibes & Sea Safari Rides

Just a 20-minute taxi ride from Watergate Bay lies the postcard-perfect fishing village of Padstow. If you’ve ever dreamed of a charming Cornish seaside town, this is it. Picture cobblestone streets winding past quaint shops, colourful boats bobbing in the sun-dappled harbour, and seagulls wheeling overhead.

Please note that If you’re looking for a quieter experience, consider visiting during spring or autumn when the crowds are smaller.

But I don’t recommend visiting Padstow just to admire the village – please take a sea safari! From Padstow, you can hop aboard a speed boat and set off on a one, two, or three-hour adventure to explore Cornwall’s incredible marine wildlife. Depending on the season and a touch of luck, you might spot playful dolphins, sunbathing seals, charming puffins, and countless other creatures who call this coastline home.

Now, these boats are fast! And by fast, I mean a rollercoaster-style thrill ride. Our daughters absolutely loved it! For those who prefer a gentler pace, be aware that these safaris might feel a bit too adventurous.

If you ask my family what the highlight of our Cornish weekend was, they’ll shout in unison, “The sea safari!”.

Windy or rainy Cornwall? That’s your lucky day

On our last day at Watergate Bay, we woke up to 40-mile-per-hour winds. “Forget the sea, hikes or any outdoor activity”, I said to myself.

But the great news is that, contrary to what many might say, Cornwall has some fantastic activity options for rainy or windy days.

What happened that day was an unexpected family adventure to the Eden Project. And in Eden, I felt I was.

Located 30 minutes from Watergate Bay, the Eden Project looks out of this world. Its giant domes, like spaceships landed in the countryside, recreate the biodiversity of many forests around the world. One moment, you’re in the lush Amazon with towering trees and waterfalls, the next you’re having lunch amongst the citrus scents of Greece. It’s a place of incredible contrasts and an experience for all your senses!

Children will love pretending to be rainforest explorers, climbing through the canopy and finding hidden treasures. Adults will appreciate the remarkable transformation of this landscape – a former quarry now blooming with life and inspiration.

With play areas, giant sculptures, and gardens to roam, the Eden Project is a family adventure you won’t forget.

A family ticket for four typically costs around £100. Children under 5 go free, and your tickets automatically become annual passes, allowing you to return as many times as you want. Ah, if you are looking for a place to eat, head to the Mediterranean Biodome, where you’ll find a restaurant that seems just out of Mamma Mia the musical.

At the end of the day, I’m so glad we didn’t stick to our original plan. It led us to something unexpected and unforgettable.

Michelin Guide meets Pizza

I could write a whole article just about food in Cornwall. Fresh ingredients, locally produced ice cream, and fantastic breads. The region is a foodie’s paradise!

Take Padstow, a village of just 2,500 residents. This little town has six Michelin Guide reviewed restaurants – a true testament to Cornwall’s culinary excellence. One such gem is Café Rojano, its Mediterranean-inspired menu earning it well-deserved Michelin recognition. Their Neapolitan-style pizzas, crafted with the freshest, most flavourful ingredients, are simply the best I’ve ever tasted.

Other places to eat

As our days at Watergate Bay wound down, my family and I found ourselves drawn to the same spot: the Beach Hut. Nestled at the edge of the sand, this relaxed restaurant welcomes every member of the family (including four-legged ones).

Their menu strikes a perfect balance, offering fresh local produce alongside a playful selection of treats—the length of their hot chocolate options alone could rival my aeroplane checklist!

The warmth and welcome we experience at the Beach Hut is, in my opinion, one of the key reasons why Watergate Bay feels so special.

My compass

I grew up in Portugal, where the beach was simply part of life. Moving to the UK, I felt that connection to the sea drift away. Present but distant, like a radio station you can almost tune in.

Cornwall brings it back. The warmth of the sun, the sound of waves and gulls, the smell of salt and good food. It reminds me that the sea has always been my compass.

I can fly there in 75 minutes. Even if I couldn’t, I’d find my way.

If you visit Watergate Bay with your family, I hope it gives you what it gave us. Rest, joy, a few unexpected adventures, and the particular happiness of a place that exceeds your expectations. This post is my small attempt to help you get there.

Until next time, keep exploring and happy travels. ✈️

This week we are taking a short break, but we've got something special for you: an archive episode of "Travel Plans" dedicated to Le Touquet Paris Plage

Once a playground for the British elite, Le Touquet-Paris-Plage is now brimming with new energy. Join us as we go through this enchanting French destination's captivating history and modern allure.

From the moment we touch down at Le Touquet’s airport, get ready to uncover what to explore, whether you have a couple of hours or a few days to spare:

• Rich local culture & history: Explore the town's evolution from an elite retreat to a vibrant destination for all.

• Scenic beauty: Wander through lush pine forests, natural parks, and breathtaking beaches.

• Legendary landmarks: Visit the iconic hotel linked to Ian Fleming and the birth of James Bond.

• Honest accommodation reviews: From the opulent Le Westminster Hotel to the budget-friendly Ibis and the unique Novotel Thalassa, we'll help you find the perfect stay.

• Thrilling activities: Experience beach sports like sand yachting, play a round of golf, horse riding or explore the vibrant market.

• Delicious dining: Indulge in local cuisine, from charming bistros to Michelin-starred restaurants. 

• Family fun: Wrap up your adventure with a visit to a thrilling theme park just outside town.

Whether you're seeking history, adventure, relaxation, or a taste of the good life, Le Touquet has something for everyone. Tune in to this episode for a three-day journey through this captivating coastal town.

For photos, videos, and a list of places to sleep, eat, and play, visit this episode's website.

Support the show

Get our newsletter for free here. 

We believe the best adventures are shared from one human to another. That’s why everything in Fernando’s Logbook is created entirely by talented people and artists. We do not use Generative AI at any stage. 

The music for this episode was composed by a talented group of composers and musicians represented by Musicbed. You can also have access to their music. Use this link to get 14 days of free access #ad

Hey there 👋

Welcome to a new episode of The Pilot’s Logbook - a podcast companion for private pilots in the UK and Europe!

In This Week’s Episode

Stefan Drury

In this week’s episode, we deal with one of the biggest concerns of any pilot: the possibility of losing our medical certificate. Our guest today is Stefan Drury, a real go-to name for excellent aviation content.

Stefan's popular YouTube channel is packed with fascinating stories and travel adventures, including his epic pilot series flying his Cirrus SR22 across Australia, Europe and the US.

Then, early in 2024, Stefam faced a significant setback with a brain tumour diagnosis and the loss of his medical.

It's been truly inspiring to see how Stefan has approached losing his medical, having to stop flying as a pilot (not knowing what the future held), and how he's moved forward.

In this episode, Stefan shares his insights on navigating that moment, discovering hope and new adventures.

Also in this episode:

Amanda Rhodes, a NATS Air Traffic Controller, answers our listeners’ questions about Luton zone transit. Also, we catch up on the latest aviation news headlines that are relevant to you:

• Moving Maps to be part of the Private Pilot’s licensing training syllabus and skills test.

• AERO Friedrichshafen - The biggest general aviation show in Europe is underway.

• Local aviation business takes over Haverfordwest Airport.

Extras 🎉

If you are a paid subscriber, you can watch a video version of our chat with Stefan Drury. Plus, you have a chance to win one of our exclusive Pilot T-shirts!

If you want to join, it’s only £6 for the whole year. Your support helps us keep the podcast going.

Our Chat with Stefan Drury

Here’s a video version of our conversation with Stefan.

Travel Plans

As a subscriber, you also have full access to our Travel Plans Podcast. Part toolkit, part love letter to travel, this is a deep dive into each destination with curated guides, immersive podcasts and live Q&A.

In the last episode, we flew to Dungeness, where we uncovered little-known war secrets, spoke with long-term residents and visited the home and garden of one of Britain’s most influential film directors.

Win a Pilot’s T-Shirt!

I have two of our original sweatshirts to offer to our paid subscribers.

This original and limited-edition T-shirt is inspired by a child's imagination of a pilot’s uniform.

To win, just reply to this email or send me a message using the button below. If you are one of the first two subscribers to send me a message, the sweatshirt is all yours!

Next Episodes

We are going to take a short holiday over Easter. So instead of a new episode in two weeks' time, we’ll publish a special episode of Travel Plans - the most comprehensive flight podcast to Le Touquet Paris Plage.

Our regular episodes return on the 1st of May.

Until then, happy flying! ✈️

Fernando

Hey there 👋

Welcome to our fourth episode of The Pilot’s Logbook - a podcast companion for private pilots in the UK and Europe!

In This Week’s Episode

Amanda Rhodes

In this week’s episode, we had a fascinating chat with NATS Air Traffic Controller, Amanda Rhodes. Amanda is an approach radar controller based at Swanwick, looking after the airspace around Luton Airport.

With nearly 25 years of experience, she's one of the best-known controllers in the UK and is nicknamed by many pilots as 'the happy controller.'

If you've ever wondered what really happens when someone infringes controlled airspace, today, Amanda's going to pull back the curtain and reveal the immediate, behind-the-scenes actions taken by ATC. We'll hear about the split-second decisions, the ripple effects, and even how it impacts the controllers themselves.

Ask the Air Traffic Controller

Also, we're thrilled to announce that Amanda has generously offered to answer your questions about ATC and controlled airspace in future episodes.

So, if you've got any burning questions, head over to the show notes on your podcast app. You'll find a link that says "Send a text" – just click on that and fire away! We'll be choosing some questions for Amanda to answer in upcoming shows.

Also in this episode:

• We catch up on the latest aviation news headlines that are relevant to you:

  • Nottingham Airport Told to Close on the 6th of June

  • New Helicopter Robinson R88

  • Electronic Travel Authorization for most people travelling to the UK starts on the 2nd of April 2025

• Dungeness - Some call it a paradise, others a desert. It's loved by many and a place that will leave you wondering, "How on earth did this place come to be?". In this episode, we fly back to Lydd to continue exploring one of the most enigmatic landscapes in the U.K. In this episode we talk about a PLUTO home and its secret past.

Extras 🎉

If you are a paid subscriber, you can watch our RNP final approach to Lydd Airport and have a chance to win our exclusive Pilot’s sweatshirt! We also share details of our next Travel Plans Live.

If you want to join, it’s only £6 for the whole year. This month, we are donating 100% to the Save Nottingham Campaign as they need support with legal fees and printing costs.

Our landing at Lydd Airport (RNP Approach)

Travel Plans

As a subscriber, you also have full access to our Travel Plans Podcast. Part toolkit, part love letter to travel, this is a deep dive into each destination with curated guides, immersive podcasts and live Q&A.

In the last episode, we flew to Dungeness, where we uncovered little-known war secrets, spoke with long-term residents and visited the home and garden of one of Britain’s most influential film directors.

Win a Pilot’s Sweatshirt!

I have one of our original sweatshirts to offer to one of our paid subscribers.

This original and limited-edition sweatshirt is inspired by a child's imagination of a pilot’s uniform.

To win, just send me a message using the button below. If you are the third subscriber to send me a message, the sweatshirt is all yours!

Next Travel Plans Live, 31st of March, 8 PM

Fancy a chat about Dungeness? Or maybe you've got some flight planning questions? Or just want to talk about some of our favourite podcast bits? Come join me for a live Q&A, the 31st of March at 8 PM. We'll swap some stories, maybe plan a few flights, and just have a bit of a chat about aviation.

We’ll email you a link closer to the time.

Our next episode will drop on the 2nd of April.

Until then, happy flying! ✈️

Fernando

Hi there 👋

Recently, I shared the inspiring story about a mother fighting property developers and the councils to save her local airfield. You can listen to it below.

Today, we learned that the property developer and current owner of the land have served a three-month notice to vacate the premises to the airport operator.

All activities will cease from the 6th of June and no further access will be allowed.

This is despite the fact that the council has yet to give planning permission for the development, and strong opposition from local residents and the aviation community.

It appears this may be another tactic to pressure the council. They seem to believe that if there’s no airfield, the council will be more likely to approve the development.

This action is clearly a cause for concern.

Subscribe now

Hey there 👋

Welcome to our fourth episode of The Pilot’s Logbook - a podcast companion for private pilots in the UK and Europe!

Thank you so much for listening and for all the fantastic messages we’ve been receiving. We really appreciate it, and we truly hope you’ll continue to find our show a great companion for your passion for aviation.

In This Week’s Episode

Steph Burn

We've had an inspiring conversation with airline pilot Steph Burn. Her story is truly remarkable. When Steph was five, she decided she wanted to become an airline pilot. But with training costing over £100,000, her family couldn't afford to pay for it. So, how has she done it? 12 years of commitment and working two and three jobs up to 90 hours a week.

And now, she's dedicated herself to helping people from all walks of life, regardless of their financial situation, to achieve their dream of becoming commercial pilots.

Also in this episode:

• We catch up on the latest aviation news headlines that are relevant to you:

  • Good News! Wolverhampton Airport is Back and Buzzing.

  • Gloucester Airport: New Rules and Booking Ahead

  • AVGAS Alert: Changes at Antwerp and a European Pilot’s Concern

• Dungeness - Some call it a paradise, others a desert. It's loved by many and a place that will leave you wondering, "How on earth did this place come to be?". In this episode, we fly to Lydd to explore one of the most enigmatic landscapes in the U.K.

Extras 🎉

If you are a paid subscriber, you can watch our RNP final approach to Lydd Airport and have a chance to win our exclusive Pilot’s sweatshirt! We also share details of our next Travel Plans Live.

If you want to join, it’s only £6 for the whole year. Most importantly, your support helps us keep The Pilot's Logbook going.

Our landing at Lydd Airport (RNP Approach)

Travel Plans

As a subscriber, you also have full access to our Travel Plans Podcast. Part toolkit, part love letter to travel, this is a deep dive into each destination with curated guides, immersive podcasts and live Q&A.

In the last episode, we flew to Dungeness, where we uncovered little-known war secrets, spoke with long-term residents and visited the home and garden of one of Britain’s most influential film directors.

Win a Pilot’s Sweatshirt!

I have one of our original sweatshirts to offer to one of our paid subscribers.

This original and limited-edition sweatshirt is inspired by a child's imagination of a pilot’s uniform.

To win, just send me a message using the button below. If you are the third subscriber to send me a message, the sweatshirt is all yours!

Next Travel Plans Live, 10th of March, 8 PM

Fancy a chat about Dungeness? Or maybe you've got some flight planning questions? Or just want to talk about some of our favourite podcast bits? Come join me for a live Q&A, 10th of March at 8 PM. We'll swap some stories, maybe plan a few flights, and just have a bit of a chat about aviation.

To join in, please use this link.

Our next episode will drop on the 13th of March.

Until then, happy flying! ✈️

Fernando