I’ve always been a sucker for a bit of swashbuckling: the riding and the shooting and the swords, all that stuff you get to do as an actor . . . As a kid in Cardiff, I used to gallop around my back garden pretending to be Clint Eastwood or Steve McQueen, so my first big trip for work was amazing: five months in New Zealand to film the mini-series Greenstone, an adventure story about the Maori wars of the 19th century. We filmed in Rotorua, the Bay of Islands — Lord of the Rings country, before Frodo even got there.

Film sets are pretty relaxed in New Zealand, and every Friday after shooting, me and Richard Coyle would nick a campervan, load it up with bread and beer, then take off into the night. We’d wake up to see dawn break in these stunning places, like Hot Water Beach in Coromandel, where thermal springs bubble right up through the sand and you can scoop out your own spa. It was a magic way to travel: every destination felt like a surprise.

The film was part-funded by a Maori tribe, and their spiritual life made a real emotional impact on me. We were invited to their marae, the sacred ground, and ate the traditional hangi, cooked on hot rocks in a pit oven. Then the local villagers turned up and the competitive haka got going. I love rugby, but those hardcore haka boys turn up their noses at the All Blacks’ routine — that’s the tourist version, believe me. Some of the things they do with their spears make your eyes water.

Actors make good travellers — there’s a certain gypsy strain there, and living out of a suitcase is part of the job. I enjoy the rough side of travelling. I shared a flat with Ioan Gruffudd in Kilburn, northwest London, and he was the same. He kept his sword from Hornblower by his bed at night; once, I came home late unexpectedly and he almost clobbered me with it. Our Boys’ Own caper was working on a ranch in Montana. It was a boyhood fantasy for both of us, and the only dispute we had was who’d be Butch Cassidy and who’d be Sundance. All the clichés were ticked: we were up at 6am, riding the range, rounding up the cattle.

My hols: Michael Caine

The actor has been a bum in Paris, a callow youth in Cannes and a superstar in St Paul de Vence. Not a lot of people know that

My Hols: Anastacia

The American pop star Anastacia recently threw a lavish wedding party in Mexico - but didn’t break the bank

• Frequent flyer: Erin O'Connor

BACKGROUND

• My hols: Phil Daniels

• My hols: Roger Moore

• My hols: David Mitchell

• My hols: Tracey Emin

• My hols: Colin Firth

BACKGROUND

• My hols: Ricky Gervais

• My hols: Sam Robards

• My hols: Jimmy Carr

• My hols: Johnny Vegas

• My hols: Moby

I went to India with two mates, backpacking around the country by train. I love India, because everything happens there; it’s the most vivid holiday ever. Travelling by rail is mental — all the people selling mangoes and tea in the aisles, and riding on the roof when it’s hot. Or jumping off the platform in front of an oncoming train so they can board first, from the wrong side.

I like the surrealism of India — the clash between old and new. On New Year’s Eve, we were in Goa, racing about looking for a western-style rave. By 11pm, it was obvious we weren’t going to find one, so we ended up in this tiny village where the locals had set up a karaoke rig. But they only had Tina Turner songs, so we saw in the new year drinking beer and belting out Simply the Best.

My latest silly escapade was running with the bulls in Pamplona. I shouldn’t tell you this, because the producers on Brothers & Sisters don’t know about it — it would have blown my insurance — but I sneaked off and did it anyway. Obviously, I lied to my mother about it, too. She would have chained me to a radiator.

I’d read Hemingway and I wanted to experience the rush. But I missed my flight connection in Madrid and had to drive four hours through the night to get to Pamplona. I arrived at 4.30am, had two pints of Guinness and two coffees, and at 7am I was in the pen, waiting for the cannon to go off. The run itself was the most adrenalised moment of my life. The main aim when the cannon sounds is to run like hell. You go flat out, trying to jump clear of fallers, and there’s a moment of proper, sheer panic as you instinctively feel the group peeling apart behind you. It means the bulls are right there. I got away unscathed, but I don’t plan to do anything that dangerous again.

Times recommends

• Travel advice: what to do if your flight is disrupted
• Top 10 unmissable events in 2010
• Seven spa breaks for January