When we travel again…..

A few years ago, the Belfast Telegraph featured me in a Q and A series, 'Me And My Suitcase'. 
This is what I answered then. And what I would answer now. 
First holiday memory:
The Shanamere Hotel in Portstewart. A big grass lawn in front, and across the road, just below the steps to the Cliff Walk, two sea-water swimming pools emptied and filled with the tide.  I remember my father teaching one of my sisters to swim by attaching his huge white cotton handkerchief to the straps of her swimsuit and holding it like a lead as she dog-paddled along the edge of the pool. (The Shanamere is long gone, but a friend of mine lives in one of the apartments where the hotel once stood. The sea-water swimming pools are gone too, alas.)
Best holiday and why:
So many great holidays to choose from! One of the best was in Argentina, three years ago. We drove across the Pampas and found the Hotel Yacanto cradled in a green valley, at the end of a series of unmade roads winding into the Sierras de Cordoba. A mountain stream feeds the swimming pool and winds through the nine-hole golf course.  The Sierras rise behind it. The Pampas stretch into the hazy distance below. Flocks of fluorescent green parrots swoop and screech across the fairways. Sheer heaven. (I would not change this, except to say I went back to Argentina and to Yacanto a couple of years later in December/January 2013/2014. It was as wonderful as ever. We drove across the Pampas to Mendoza and watched the city's New Year firework display from a rooftop restaurant. I fell in love with Argentina when I spent 3 months there as a BBC reporter during the Falklands war. I want to go back again.)
Favourite place in Northern Ireland:
Hard to choose between the top of Tiveragh above Cushendall in the Glens of Antrim and Beaghmore Standing Stones in the Sperrin mountains near Cookstown. ( I recently spent a night at Sperrin View Glamping, near Beaghmore. Magical.) 
​Ideal travelling companion:
My husband, Richard.
Beach Bum, culture vulture or adrenalin junkie:
A mixture of all three – with the adrenalin rush coming from an exciting save from the rough or a bunker. My ideal day is a round of golf in the morning, followed by sightseeing, followed by a swim and reading in the shade. I burn in the sun.
Ideal holiday reading:
A new book by any one of my favourite authors, an unread classic novel, and a history or biography relating to the country I’m visiting. 
Worst holiday:
I’ve been lucky with holidays. I have to think hard to remember a bad experience. One that comes to mind was an overnight stay in a B&B on Anglesea about four years ago.  The room had clearly just been vacated by a friend of the owner. It was full of personal belongings including a hairbrush and some underwear. The breakfast was vile.  I don’t really like to think about it.
I never leave home without:
Ear plugs, a notebook, a radio. (I would now add my smartphone which takes great photographs.)
Fear of flying:
I once sat all day in a plane that couldn’t take off from Lima airport in Peru because the tyres were too bald for it to land on a wet runway in the rain forest. After a few similarly scary experiences, (in a Russian Antonov cargo plane in Angola, 'NO SMOKING' signs - a cigarette and a big X is universally understood - everywhere, Russians smoking cigarettes as they indicated how to use the seat belts and parachutes; interviewing an industrialist while he was learning to fly a small plane in Argentina) I am now fairly relaxed on planes maintained by big commercial airlines. 
​Best meal abroad:
Hard to choose from any one of a number of meals eaten in Agriturismo farmhouses in Italy, restaurants in the Basque country, in some great restaurants in Ireland. and in our favourite restaurant “Les Terrailleurs” in Biot, near Antibes.Dream Trip:
Dream Trip:
Antartica, or watching tigers in India. (I went to India a few years ago and visited a tiger park. Sadly, no tigers. I'll have to go back.)
Favourite city: 
Belfast. If it has to be abroad, Paris.
Tackiest holiday souvenir you have ever bought/received:
A plastic plate decorated with a portrait of Ayatollah Khomeni, bought in Beirut. (Strictly speaking, I was on a reporting assignment, but I couldn't resist the plate.)
Where next:
A weekend playing golf in Devon. (I answered this questionnaire when I was living in England. My answer now? Who knows? I'd like to think we could still spend some of the winter in Provence, cycle on quiet roads, and see flamingoes in the Camargue.)