‘The sun still warms the honey-hued stone’
Autumn is a glorious time to travel – and your letters captured the essence of the season from Malta to Wyoming
Pampas plumes waving goodbye to summer, golden against a bruised sky. A squirrel’s stealth raid on fallen hazelnuts. Finches swooping onto scarlet berries, impervious to the thorns. A maple’s crinkling, crunching, crimson leaves already acquiescing to winter.
I climb the hill to view the patchwork of fields shorn of their corn, rich earth the colour of coffee grounds, green grass, buzzards catching currents of air. A glint of grey sea. A copse of ancient apple trees and a sneaky self-seeded quince: down-covered, its soapy scent invites picking. The setting sun hugs me with its hue, I look forward to a roast and log fire, and know there is nowhere better in autumn than Somerset.
Julie O’Donnell, Somerset
IN A SACRED SPACE
Autumn’s snows are late this year. The Bighorn Medicine Wheel in Wyoming is still accessible. It is 20 years since I parked halfway up Medicine Mountain and walked to the 9,640ft summit.
It’s a steep climb, up through stunted pines, until you reach the top and catch your breath at the panorama of peaks and valleys. A circle of stones, like the spokes of a wheel, is fenced off, a sacred space for Native American people.
I spoke to Firewalker, who was paying his annual visit to tend the site. He placed my offering in the medicine wheel – a rare honour. An electrical storm cut short my visit, with lightning bolts striking the trees. The Thunder Beings had spoken. I must return. Janet Higginbotham, Worcs
PEDALLING NORTH
The Way of the Roses is a 170-mile, coast-to-coast cycle ride in the north of England. In the autumn, the last of the blackberries line the paths leading up the Lune Valley and the heathers are changing to a brown hue on the Nidderdale fells beyond Settle.
I cycled it with three friends, starting on the seafront in Morecambe and finishing on the promenade in Bridlington. Both were drenched with rain.
In between we had sunnier spells in Ripon and York, where we paused after an initial stop near Pateley Bridge. Fortunately, I did not a suffer a puncture on the fast descent from Greenhow Hill (at 1,312ft, the high point of the route). But do remember spare inner tubes! Chris Allen, Bucks
HARVEST FESTIVAL
It’s autumn, so it must be the Dordogne. We rent a cottage on the river towpath, where the warmth of the midday sun in October means you can still have lunch on the terrace: warm, fresh bread from the boulangerie and local cheese.
We drive to Périgueux or Sarlat, where the market stalls are piled high with wild mushrooms, fresh herbs, figs and truffles. On the way we pass tiny churches and old stone walls covered in creepers, their colours ranging from green and rust to glorious red. Leaves from the trees fall in our path. In the village there is a pumpkin patch where huge orange orbs sprawl among the withering leaves.
Back in the cottage a bourguignon simmers on the stove, with a red wine “breathing” on the side.
Sally Golanski, Warwickshire
RAISING A GLASS
A short break in Bordeaux, including the picturesque Saint-Émilion and its vineyards, is perfect in autumn. My wife, son and I visited Château Villemaurine and had a tour of the storage cellars: caves carved from the sandstone below the vines growing in the fields. The sandstone was also used to build the magnificent buildings of the region and parts of Bordeaux itself.
We stood among the immaculate rows of vines – heavy with huge, juicy grapes – just days before they were to be harvested. Our visit concluded with a wine tasting of three different grades, of which the 2006 grand cru classé was the most magnificent.
We then had a relaxing drink on the terrace at the Hôtel de Pavie, which overlooks the beautiful vineyards on the hills surrounding the town. Autumn doesn’t get any better than that.
Wiljo Salen, Cardiff
A COOLER SPAIN
I just have time to write this before leaving for Spain, which is at its best at this time of year when the sun-worshipping hordes have gone home and locals take a collective breath of relief.
The coastal towns have a melancholy charm and the great cities beckon. Strolling the boulevards of Madrid or Barcelona, visiting their quiet museums and galleries before watching the world go by from a still-sunny café terrace, are all pleasures not to be missed.
However, it is the towns of the south that draw me. Seville can start to live during daylight hours instead of sleeping through the punishing heat and coming to life at night. I saw so many oranges rolling around the gutters as I made my way through the maze of streets, en route to my favourite tapas bar to sip a glass of fino. Forget the costas and find the Spain of your dreams.