Europe's most-loved beaches revealed - with UK destinations beating holiday hotspots in Spain and Greece
A new study has found that of the five most-loved seaside destinations across Europe, four are in Britain – with Welsh locations performing particularly well.
The UK beaches are ranked higher than any of the coasts in popular holiday haunts such as Spain, France and Greece.
Barafundle Bay Beach in Pembrokeshire was ranked in second place in the analysis from Holidu, an online holiday rental portal.
The Welsh bay has a stretch of golden sand and clear water – it is often compared to a beach in the Caribbean.
The beach is only accessible via a half-mile walk from the nearest car park, which gives it a true sense of seclusion.
Continuing to fly the flag for Britain in third place is the charming Traeth Mwnt on the west coast of Wales, known for its white sand and scenic coastal paths.
Woolacombe Beach in Devon is England's first entry in the rankings, coming fourth.
Traeth Mwnt on the west coast of Wales, left, and Woolacombe Beach in south-west England found themselves in third and fourth place in the rankings
The West Country spot is popular with families and surfers.
Fifth place returns to Wales, with the accolade going to Dunraven Bay in Glamorgan.
It offers a mix of sand and rocks beside dramatic cliffs, with low tides exposing rock pools.
In the full list of 25 beaches, 10 are in the UK.
At the very top of the rankings is Spiaggia dei Conigli – or Rabbit Beach – on the Italian island of Lampedusa.
It is famous as a nesting site for loggerhead sea turtles and is protected as a nature reserve, meaning it remains relatively untouched and calm.
The Mediterranean beach can only be reached by boat or on a 15-minute trail from the main road.
Closing out the top 10 most-loved beaches was Cala Mariolu in Sardinia, Italy, Playa de Cofete in Fuerteventura, one of Spain's Canary Islands.
Praia da Adraga is around 35 minutes by car from Sintra in Portugal, or an hour from Lisbon
They were followed by Simos Beach in Greece's Attica region, Praia da Adraga, not far from Sintra in Portugal, and Playa de Matalenas in northern Spain.
The full list can be found on Holidu's website.
The list was compiled using data from Google Maps, analysing thousands of reviews and ratings.
Earlier this month, Europe's sunniest beach was named as Oludeniz Beach in Fethiye, Turkey.
Visitors can expect highs of 32 degrees and nearly 10 and a half hours of sunshine a day.
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The Sun
24 minutes ago
- The Sun
‘Selfish' holiday habit divides travellers who can't decide which is correct plane etiquette – where do you stand?
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The Independent
6 hours ago
- The Independent
The ideal flight time: Early shift, late show or something in between?
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Times
6 hours ago
- Times
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The kids' club, open four hours a day, runs activities such as sailing, tennis, tie-dyeing classes and so on, which means parents can get coffee, go to the gym, even talk to each other. Samuel, my four-year-old, was at the club every minute he was allowed. When we went last October half-term, the weather was absolutely chef's kiss: low twenties, still-warm sea, blue skies. It made me realise my non-negotiable on all future holidays: childcare. Everything that could go wrong on holiday went wrong on our Barbados trip, when my son was 18 months old. We were all sick from unfiltered water; he didn't sleep and had severe nappy rash; it rained. We were tutted out of lovely linen-tablecloth restaurants when he lost interest in loud iPad videos. I had wanted to see the island so had booked us into five hotels in totally different places, and we spent most of our ten-day break travelling between them. Even nightly rum punches didn't cheer us up. It's the closest we've been to divorce. 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We took ours to Florence and, while they were doted on by the Italians, it was all a bit of a challenge. Narrow pavements, no playgrounds (at least that we could find), lots and lots of tourists, very late dinner times. Our eldest had a meltdown because I wouldn't let her hold the handmade marbled paper I'd bought. Even the chocolate gelato had to work hard to bring her round. One of the benefits of having kids is that they don't know anything. So when you say things like 'We're going to Belgium!' they might be excited. This was the case when my lad was 12 and we took the train to Bruges. I was aiming for some kind of culturally uplifting experience, full of art, canal rides and architecture. But what was I thinking? The plan went straight out the window and we basically just larked about, eating fancy chocolate for breakfast, racing up the steps at the bell tower and laughing like drains in a museum dedicated to French fries. Who needs plans? You know that feeling when you go camping and everything works out really well? No, me neither. But as a broke single dad, summers invariably used to involve at least one week sitting in a cheap tent somewhere in Yorkshire waiting for the rain to stop. The summer of 2014 was particularly memorable as my seven-year-old and I were joined in Robin Hood's Bay by, drum roll, Ex-Hurricane Bertha! Yes, I did eventually manage to catch up with the tent as it blew down the hill. No, I didn't notice the huge tear until I'd put the wretched thing up and unloaded the car. Yes, I had left the coolbox full of food at home on the kitchen table. No, I didn't cry that much. The cottage looked adorable online. Exactly the kind of place you would choose if this was your first trip to Sardinia and you really wanted to see the island at its best. Unfortunately, when we pulled up outside — in the middle of a rainstorm — it became apparent that the guy who'd photographed the place had carefully framed out the depressing agricultural complex that dominated the landscape and the inescapable air of dark gloom within. Three rooms didn't have windows, the 'garden' had a broken twin tub in it and, worst of all, there was no television. I'm not ashamed to say I wept. As did my two children. But, magically, this then turned into … … the best holiday, because my husband — not normally one for bold decisions or reckless expenditure — simply took out his credit card, held it aloft in front of his weeping women-folk and said: 'Behold: the solution.' Twenty minutes later we were in a frankly magnificent hotel on a white-sand beach with swimming pools that the kids spent all day in. 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When it stopped raining we collected driftwood from the beach and made a campfire, but got nothing but black smoke. We thought we'd go for a meal then realised we couldn't get anywhere without packing up again. The boys went back to their iPads in the van, while my husband and I sat silently outside in the cold and dark, watching other families happily barbecuing and drinking beers. Mum died. Not on the holiday, but before. Also before was the London Olympics, so the biggest month of my professional career. Bradley Wiggins had won Great Britain's first gold medal and I was waiting to speak with him when I got the call to say come home, quick. She went that night. I took one day off then carried on working. So there was no time to grieve, no time to process and when we finally got to our villa that was beginning to show, physically and mentally. Then I fell down the stairs. Speaking to the owners about an air-con issue, I must have dripped water on my way up, slipped on it coming down. 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Our first holiday as a family should have been great: a pretty little villa not far from the south coast of Mallorca where we could decompress after successfully completing our first 12 months of parenthood — ie alternate between nailing cold cans of Mahou Cinco Estrellas, paddling in the sea and taking nap after nap after nap. Unfortunately our son decided to run an explode-the-thermometer temperature and have a violent febrile seizure. Cue an ambulance ride to the hospital, where we all spent the next four days sharing a stuffy, windowless hospital room. On the plus side the hospital canteen had a wine list — quite good, actually — but I've never wanted to be home while on holiday quite so badly. • 15 of the best family holiday destinations for 2025 In 2008 we decided to take no risks on our first holiday as a family of four — just a cosy Dartmoor cottage in late September. Where better to be sleep-deprived and out of our parenting depth? 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I booked us into the most expensive luxury château I could find in Bordeaux. We arrived and a team of valets unpacked all our waterlogged equipment. They hung our bell tent in the wine cave to dry while we sat on the terrace ordering lunch. The sun came out and I don't think I've ever been happier. Even though I grew up a few hours away, I'd shamefully never taken the family to Montreal. Last October we stepped out of the Gare Centrale just as the autumn leaves were peaking and summer was heaving a final sigh. Obviously we headed straight out for poutine at La Banquise. Then we hit Saint Laurent Boulevard, which is rammed with vintage boutiques, and relaxed on Larrys café patio just as the Halloween revelry was getting into gear — children in zoo animal onesies on the early shift, sexy nurses and Village People on the late one. 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