A palazzo in Venice and other travel goals.

As soon as I can, I'm going back to the destinations I love.

Crossing the Venice lagoon on the Hotel Belmond Cipriani’s private boat. Photo: tony@tonyamos.com

Where would I go if I could?

Hmmm…taps fingernails on the desk.

It’s not a hard question. It’s just a matter of how many hours I can afford to spend on writing this. And how many hours you’ve got to read it!

Let me say, first up, that I am keen to go anywhere I haven’t been before (as long as it’s not war-torn or unethical.)

You might be surprised, but that’s a lot of places. I’ve never been to Thailand, for instance. (Dozens of hours in transit at Bangkok airport doesn’t count.) I’ve never been to Brazil or Uruguay. Cuba. Most African countries. Tunisia. Jordan. Laos. Russia. The Stans. Iceland. Athens. A slew of Pacific Islands, such as Vanuatu.

I’ve never been to Broome. Lord Howe Island. Margaret River.

I have been to Aotearoa/New Zealand, but only once, briefly - one night in Auckland followed by three days cosseted at The Landing on the Bay of Islands. There’s most of the country left to explore - when they open the borders on 13 March.

I’ve only spent a day in Berlin, Amsterdam and Mykonos. And I’ve only seen the Bahamas from a ship. It’s not what I call immersive travel.

So the wish list is pretty long.

Yet, I’m finding I’m dreaming most of places I’ve been to before, ones that have stayed in my heart long after I watched them disappear from a plane window.

Istanbul for one. I’m dreaming of steamy hammams, the melting baklava from the market over in Kadikoy, pomegranate juice, stacked towels of all colours in the Grand Bazaar, towers of Turkish Delight in the spice markets, cups of steaming hot tea on the ferries and, above all, the heart-stopping beauty of the Hagia Sofia. (Read about it here.)

Morocco for another. The labyrinthine souk in Fez, the gardens of La Mamounia in Marrakesh, glamping in the Sahara desert, buying Argan oil from a women’s co-operative in the Atlas mountains, the magic of Dar Ahlam, the ‘house of dreams’ in the palm oasis at Skoura, mint tea, pigeon pie, and sensual black soap body scrub in the ancient hammam of the riad, La Sultana. (Read about Marrakech here.)

Anywhere in Italy, let’s face it, but especially Sicily.

Lisbon. Fado clubs. Soap and sardines. Hand painted tiles. Those incredibly delicious Pasteis de Belem, the custard tarts that taste better than custard tarts anywhere else in the world.

Egypt. I went there for the first time in 2019 but I was ill during part of the trip, landing in hospital for a day (another story, another time.) This meant I missed the Valley of Kings, the highlight of any trip to the country, or so my travelling companions said. But you can always go back, right? (At least I thought that until the pandemic hit.)

I was totally enthralled by everything in this vital, beautiful, crazy, sensual country, especially the ancient monuments that almost casually pop up on just about every street corner, and the unfettered bliss of long, warm days sailing down the Nile on a traditional dahabiya. (I played Cleopatra on the Sanctuary Zein Nile Chateau.) It is mind-blowing, especially the concept that Egypt has only unearthed about 10% of its antiquities. Alexandria especially captured my imagination. You can read about it here, if you can get behind the paywall. (Sorry.)

Egypt is MORE than you’ll think it will be.

Venice. Yes, it’s in Italy (see above) but I consider it a land unto itself, rather like Manhattan isn’t really America. Quietly this last year, when I can find time, I’ve been writing a crime novel set in Venice. I won’t say more about it yet, but luckily one of my last trips (after Egypt) was a couple of days in Venice at the Belmond Cipriani hotel before hopping on the VSOE Orient Express to London, so my memories are strong. I’ve stayed at the Cipriani before, adore it, as I love Giudecca, the quiet island it’s on. (Top tip - think about staying in one of Giudecca’s hotels or guesthouses for a real, as opposed to touristy, Venice experience.)

It’s difficult to capture Venice in words at any time. So many beautiful and evocative sentences have been written about it over the centuries. And, of course, there are Donna Leon’s Brunetti crime novels, setting a high standard.

But Venice has made such a strong impression on me, over the years, even sitting at my desk in urban Sydney, I can hear the water lapping against the weed-covered lagoon steps and the coloured poles creaking with the tide.

Still, it would be awfully nice - I’m thinking essential - to spend a few weeks in a crumbling palazzo overlooking the water, close enough to the gondoliers that I can touch them as they glide by, so I could really lock in the final chapters of the book.

Maybe this palazzo.

What do you think?

Do you have some destination dear to your heart?

‘I haven't been everywhere, but it's on my list.’ Susan Sontag.