LANZAROTE, SPAIN — As my airplane swoops down towards Lanzarote, the scene growing ever larger outside the cabin windows isn’t really what I was expecting.

Franciacorta, Italy — On a moonlit night in Milan, Italy’s most elegant oenophiles are mingling in a 19th-century mansion. In a sweeping tide of satin, silk and slim-cut suits, they swarm the marble staircase, check their reflections in smoked-glass mirrors, and get jiggy on a parquet dance floor, all the while juggling magically-refilling glasses of bubbly.

CRETE, GREECE — On a terrace overlooking the moonlit Sea of Crete, a man strokes a bow across a delicate, pear-shaped lyra, deftly coaxing a song from its strings. Accompanied by his deep baritone, the ballad is borne on a breeze that carries with it the scent of wood smoke and flowers, perfuming the night.

LONDON - Dozens of Caribbean nations celebrate Carnival, hosting party-hearty outdoor festivals packed with costumed crowds grooving to the beat of steel drums.

EZE, FRANCE - I’m grinding the gears of a 1956 Porsche 356 Speedster, transforming what should sound like the purr of a big randy cat into the anguished groans of a wounded grizzly as I haltingly navigate a stretch of French Riviera coastline.

On a warm, sunny July morning, a parade of foodies were plodding dauntlessly — albeit a bit breathlessly — past a glacial stream and flower-strewn meadows towards a remote hut in the Austrian Alps. Straggling along at the back, I huff and puff my way up a formidable slope, kicking mud off my shoes and wiping beads of sweat from my sunburned brow.

Inebriation, ammunition, a blazing bonfire, and a beauty queen. Throw in a healthy dose of pagan mysticism — and barrels-full of cider — and you, my friend, have got the recipe for one rockin’ wassail, as I discovered on a visit to this delightful West Country hamlet one wintry January night.

It’s a brisk autumn morning, and Italy’s Lake Como is glittering like an emerald set not in gold, but among green undulating hills. The frothing wake of my boat creates the only ripples on its otherwise mirror-like surface, which reflects the sorbet-hued villas that cluster around its banks as if admiring their glamorous facades in the water.