We’re in the final throes of organising an overseas holiday. We will visit friends and family in Britain and then head off to Europe. As usual, we’re keen to see as much as possible. Anthony is keen to visit as many gardens as he can, especially as our own in Australia becomes more established and it’s always interesting to see new ideas and different plants. I’m more than happy about that, especially as many of the great gardens of England also involve beautiful buildings. The two work together. Would Great Dixter be quite so wonderful if it wasn’t anchored by the glorious medieval manor house that Lutyens enhanced?

The same goes for Hidcote, Gravetye, West Dean, and so many others. Architecture and horticulture is the perfect blend (take note, treeless suburbs) and definitely our happy place.

All the same, Anthony felt guilty about squeezing so many gardens into the itinerary and wanted to make sure that I was getting my architecture fix, too. He’s curious to see the housing estates, factories and bridges that I often rave about (as evidenced in Concrete and Croissants). But our lists for gardens and architecture can seem endless and I began to worry that our holiday would turn into a breathless whistlestop tour.

Anthony and I have a different approach to holidays. I think it’s best encapsulated in the notions of ‘doing’ and ‘being’. I’m definitely in the latter camp, content to let things happen along the way, while Anthony likes to plan and cram in as much as possible, always on the go. It means that he has chivvied me into visiting places I might otherwise have left out, which I’m glad of, while I have encouraged him to stop and smell the roses. When I reflect on some of our happiest holiday memories, it’s often about taking time to really ‘be’ where we were. On our last European trip, for instance, it was thrilling to visit the buildings and gardens of Rudolf Steiner’s remarkable complex at Dornach but we also made sure to sit in the beautiful grounds and notice all the insects and the different scented flowers.

We lingered over lunch in its café, browsed its bookshop and then strolled along neighboring streets to enjoy their gardens. In other words, we took things slowly and, as a consequence, it was an utterly delightful experience. No rushing. We’ve done the same in towns and cities everywhere, wandering with only a vague destination in sight, and therefore easily diverted, discovering sights we would otherwise have missed. It leaves me with a feeling that I have experienced the places as its residents might. It also invites happenstance into your day, allowing interactions with others in shops or galleries or when checking a map. Like the man in Chicago who urged us to enter an office building to see its unmissable foyer, and the Japanese couple who insisted on seeing us safely to our restaurant in Okayama.

While it is wonderful to focus on a fabulous garden or visiting an iconic building, it’s often the bits that link them to the area that gives me the greatest pleasure. One of the things I most enjoy about going to buildings that I know only from books is seeing their less famously photographed sides: glimpsing the Convent of la Tourette on a faraway hillside, catching sight of Tange’s swoopy gymnasia roofs above the trees of Yoyogi park in Tokyo, knowing how the outline of Chartres cathedral dominates the landscape far beyond the town limits. Such impressions linger and enhance the experience of the places. So, too, does simply sitting and looking at them.

In Taoism, the trigram Mountain symbolises stillness and has the attribute of Sitting still, doing nothing. It reflects the meditative quality of a solid mountain, silent and unmoveable in the landscape. But as we know from Etna and others, the apparent calm of the mountain can conceal much. So, too, can the appearance of doing nothing. It has a restorative energy, tuning out the world or allowing new thoughts to trickle in that can inspire positive change, but it also allows time to connect with the spirit of place, whether you’re sitting at a pavement café watching people go by or taking time to bask in the buzz and hum of nature or sitting quietly within a great building so that you can hear the noises it makes. I think that’s the secret to successful travel and why Anthony and I have enjoyed so many wonderful trips together. While his instinct is to rush from place to place, mine is to stop and inhale the atmosphere, and together we find the happy medium that brings a sense of accomplishment and pleasure. Doing and being, the perfect balance. Bring it on!

What are your travel tips for the best experience?