The turquoise lake that made me put my phone away

a gentle argumentThe case for doing less on holiday

Grab a mug. This one is short, soft and a little bit lovely. This is my gentle guide, mostly by getting it wrong first.

I always build in a do-nothing afternoon. No plans, no bookings, just a walk with no destination and a long lunch. It's often the part of the trip I talk about most when I get home.

None of this needs a special occasion. In fact, I'd argue the ordinary days are where it matters most. A good routine is a small kindness you do for your future self, and future you is almost always grateful.

If you're new here, the rest of the travel stories are a lovely place to wander next. I'd start with A slow autumn weekend in the Cotswolds: where to stay, what to pack & where to park.

into the bagPacking for a slower trip

Travelling slowly is kinder in other ways too. Fewer journeys, more time spent in local shops and cafés, a little less rushing past the places other people call home.

The best travel moments I remember weren't on any list. A bakery we found because it was raining. A bench with a view we sat on for an hour. A conversation with a shop owner who told us about a walk that wasn't in the guidebook.

Every season asks something slightly different of us. Autumn asks us to gather in, winter to rest, spring to open a window and summer to linger outside after dinner. I try to listen to that rather than fight it, and the year feels kinder for it.

Things I always look for when booking:

• A real fireplace or at least a wood burner
• A walkable high street with a bakery
• One good walk straight from the door
• Thick curtains and a proper duvet

It's also worth saying that cozy can be shared. Some of my favourite slow moments have been loud ones: a crowded kitchen, a dog underfoot, someone reading bits of the paper aloud. Comfort isn't only for quiet people; it's for anyone who wants to feel at home where they are.

hour by hour, ishA cozy little itinerary

the practical bitGetting there without the stress

1. Leave early. Aim to arrive before ten, when the roads and car parks are still quiet.
2. Pack the night before. A calm morning starts the trip in the right mood.
3. Bring snacks and a flask. Service-station coffee is nobody's favourite memory.
4. Plan one stop. A village halfway, a short walk, a stretch of the legs.

a soft place to landWhere to stay and how to choose

Shoulder seasons are the secret. Late September, early November, the weeks just after half term: fewer crowds, better prices, and that slightly wistful light that makes everything look like a postcard.

I used to come home from trips more tired than when I left. Too many sights, too many trains, too many early alarms. Now I plan for slow travel the opposite way: one base, a short list of maybes, and a lot of unscheduled time.

Comfort isn't something you buy. It's a pace you give yourself.

I keep a notebook for this sort of thing, an old one with a soft cover and a ribbon that's started to fray. Every time something small makes a day better, it goes in: a café, a walk, a recipe, a song. On flat days I read back through it, and it never fails to remind me how much good is hiding in ordinary weeks.

Look for somewhere with a kettle, a window that opens and a chair to read in. Small guesthouses beat big hotels for me nearly every time; someone usually knows the best café and is happy to tell you.

before you goA few last thoughts

I'd also say: make it yours. My version of comfort involves wool socks, rain and a slightly overfull bookshelf. Yours might be bright, tidy and full of plants. The details matter far less than the feeling of walking into a moment and thinking, ah, there you are.

If you're travelling with others, agree the pace before you go. One person's relaxing weekend is another's wasted opportunity, and it's easier to agree on a rhythm over a cup of tea at home than at a crowded station.

If you only take one thing from this, let it be permission. Permission to stay in, to do less, to choose the slow option without explaining yourself. Cozy isn't a look you buy; it's a pace you give yourself.

little questionsGood to know

I've noticed that the best cozy things are rarely the expensive ones. They're the small, repeatable pleasures: the same mug, the same chair, the same ten minutes before everyone else wakes up. Once you know what yours are, you can carry them almost anywhere, and a grey Tuesday stops feeling quite so grey.

That's it from me for now. If you try any of this, I'd love to hear how it goes; the comments below are my favourite part of the week. Until then, go gently, and keep the kettle close.

— Soma