6 Destinations For A Literary-Inspired Getaway

On this storied Saronic isle, the pleasures are simple. Life revolves around the little crescent-shaped harbor, where the cackle of fishermen and the clip-clop of donkey hooves reverberate off the marble flags. From here, long-deserted merchant houses fan out up the steep, pine-flecked hillside towards the monastery of Profitis Ilias, with its zigzagging terraces and teetering bell tower. Hydra is as much an experience as it is a destination – a byword for an ever-shifting social scene that owes as much to Clift’s magnetism as it does Leonard Cohen’s notoriety. While the world spins faster now, the iridescent summer months still draw the bohemian cognoscenti in droves; an assortment of urbane aesthetes seeking a more laid-back pace. Cut into the crags with a handsome facade, high-perched Villa Chora has to be one of the most beguiling places to bed down, while away the hours watching the sun arc over the terracotta-tiled rooftops, then snake down the cobbled paths at dusk to cool off in the Aegean’s inky-blue depths.

Rarely does a place owe so much of its identity to so few voices. A weather-beaten blur of heather and craggy hilltops cut through by dry-stone walls on the brink of collapse, God's Own Country looms large on the pages of Wuthering Heights, and though much has shifted in the centuries since Brontë put pen to paper, its come-as-you-are appeal endures. The moorlands are, naturally, the main event – their flocks of sheep and farmsteads huddled beneath a blanket of iron-grey cloud, and rambling high above the treeline. But, amid the legendary emerald landscapes, there’s a peppering of charming market towns and villages to get beneath the skin of, too.

Wedged between mountains and the Tyrrhenian Sea, Sicily’s capital casts a powerful spell. With relentless traffic and no breeze to speak of, it’s chaotic and utterly enthralling; a melting pot of grit and faded grandeur. The back streets give way to imposing pistachio-colored palazzi, centuries-old relics sidle beside nondescript Brutalist blocks, and crumbling cupolas rise up to meet hot, cloudless skies. Lampedusa’s captivating social chronicle recounts the struggles of the Sicilian aristocracy from a rare front-row perspective of their riches-to-rags descent. Today, Palermo gives up its greatest secrets to those prepared to pace on foot, whether meandering the port and watching ships come in to dock or scoping out citrus-scented cloisters in which to escape the blistering Sicilian sun.

Save for the sticky heat, it’s the irresistible relaxed mood that first hits you upon touching down in Antigua; a sun-splashed gem of an isle dripping with history and heart-thumping natural beauty. Kincaid’s coming-of-age story plunges readers into the sounds, sights and smells of Caribbean life, her unwavering prose painting a picture of familiar domesticity beneath the postcard palms. Here, you have a place that’s every bit the tropical idyll: talcum-white shores lapped by blissfully warm water, guava trees that sway in the breeze, and unblemished skies crisscrossed by glossy, wide-winged frigate birds; a tangible sense of soul that’s often elusive in paradise. This satisfying realness is reflected in the leisurely day-to-day island happenings – both on the page and in plain sight.

It’s often the subtlest surrealism that’s most stirring; where normality begins to blur and the supernatural edges in, little by little. Murakami is a master of merging the two, crafting stories that segue effortlessly from the mundane to the mystifying – and where better to stage a gripping transcendental tale than Hokkaido’s pristine wilds? Snow is synonymous with this wide, open chunk of Japan, yet it’s barely half the story. The milder months see the volcanic landscapes burst into life, with cerulean lakes replacing frozen expanses, waist-high wildflowers enveloping the valleys and brown bears roaming the fir forests. Gazed upon by majestic Mount Yōtei, Zaborin is the ryokan to aim for. With rock-hewn onsens for starlit soaks and windows that frame vignettes of the idyllic scenes outside, it’s a truly restorative stay – even the shortest stint will make all manner of magic seem credible.

With its dune-backed sandy swathes, endless salt marshes and cool forests of pine and beech, Cape Cod’s elemental beauty is impossible to deny. Stretching out into the Atlantic from the southeastern corner of Massachusetts, it’s a softly tuned, all-American idyll, and though the sun-licked summer days here are sublime, it’s equally enticing out of season, when the mist rolls in and the crowds melt away. Having holidayed on the Cape for many moons, Theroux fixed on its ever-shifting seascapes as the backdrop for his unsettling (yet wickedly funny) novel. Freewheel your way along the winding beach trails, gawping at the lighthouses and spotting boats bobbing about on the waves, before calling in at one of the dinky clapboard clam shacks for lunch. While winsome beachside stays are easy to come by in these parts, the Chatham Bars Inn – an old-school spot with the most glorious wraparound veranda – takes first prize.

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