From Guernica, Basque Country
In age, the Sacred Oak of Guernica is not an impressive tree today, the young teenager that he is... But like the Basque culture, the tree has a strong character rooted in is history and its values.

Traditionally, the oak of Guernica was were the Medieval lords of Vizcaya would swear to respect the local rights and traditions, something that has extended along the centuries to represent the freedom and traditions of the Basque culture. It's a symbolism strengthend by the oak surviving the infamous bombing of the village on a market morning of 1936.

From Basque Rioja
I remember walking up and over a forested ridge from Navarre into La Rioja. Literally, as you go over the crest of the hills, the landscape switches and you suddenly look down over sun-soaked vineyards rolling over the sides of the valley below.

It’s a memorable view, made sweeter by the tingle of anticipation for the food and wine waiting in the pretty hilltop town of Laguardia.

From Bilbao, Basque Country
The Guggenheim's exterior has stood the test of time remarkably well. Frank Gehry always said that the dramatic shining silver of the titanium cladding would age slowly and gracefully to exude a more golden glow.

I remember thinking at the time that it would most likely become grubby and neglected-looking. Guess who was right? It wasn’t me. I’ve been seeing the Guggenheim for 16 years and it looks more beautiful each time.

From Liébana, Picos de Europa
We were in good hands. Being nearly winter, a fire was roaring, a game of chess, a fireside chat and glass of Rioja was awaiting us. The night was so deeply silent that I forgot where I was: hidden in the crinkled mountain foothills of northern Spain’s Picos de Europa mountains.

A favourite memory of this visit was opening the windows of my room the next morning to reveal the high mountains peaks all lined up below the autumnal trees.

From Liébana, Picos de Europa
It isn’t supposed to be clear, it’s November for heavens’ sake. By rights the mountains should be in a thick layer of cloud. My new wife and I should be curled up, guilt free, in front of a big open fire.

But we have been blessed with a beautiful day and there is no excuse not to be up here in the high mountains. Diego wants to show us a walk from Sotres village, it sounded pretty nice. In reality it’s breathtaking.

From Mestas de Con, Picos de Europa
In Spain, if you have grapes, you make wine. If you have apples, you make cider. Since there are no vines in sleepy Sirviella, they stick to cider.

Pepín told stories about childhood days, picking apples and crushing them. And of how people from the village would get together and tell the same stories, year after year, about the sweetness of the first juice and how bitingly cold those autumn nights in the barn squeezing the juice were.

From Mestas de Con, Picos de Europa
Beautiful places would not be the same without the people who live in them. In the Picos, meeting Covadonga in her small shepherd hamlet is the best way I know to understand the culture that transformed the landscape. I listened to her stories, sampled the delicious Gamoneu cheese and enjoyed her smile and true love for sharing.

This is a different kind of luxury - these sorts of exclusive interactions only made possible by personal connections.

From Lugo, Galicia
Sorry, I don't know his name. But we sat on a wall and talked about goats, the Camino, life. Rural life in Galicia is hard - over the generations the farms have been split between children and then split again until nobody has a plot big enough to sustain their families. Then there's the harsh weather...

But on a day like this, the sun streaming down through the trees, the clanking of the goats' bells, this was a man at peace.