At this sophisticated base for exploring Chile’s rustic south, the 22 rooms all have views to the west; arrebol means “the color of the clouds at sunset.” The building, angled into a forested hillside, is made of concrete and steel and paneled in rough blocks, strips, and branches of wood.
Arrebol Patagonia Hotel, Puerto Varas, 56/(0) 65-564-900. From $300. Photo courtesy of Arrebol Patagonia Hotel. This story appeared in the May/June 2011 issue.
Serenity suffuses designer Andre Fu’s hotel, where the rooms start on the 38th floor above Pacific Place. Large living spaces incorporate natural materials and sandstone sculptures by Marvin Mintofang. You can take in the panoramic views of Victoria Harbor or Hong Kong Island from your limestone bathtub.
Upper House Hotel, 852/3968-1111. From $430. Image courtesy of Upper House Hotel. This story appeared in the May/June 2011 issue.
A contemporary microhotel of three suites was created on the site where in 1740 the Dutch East India Company set up shop. It’s minimalist but with Indian exuberance: the odd jolting wall of electric blue, the judiciously chosen ornate antique. Two rooms have outdoor spaces; two have an extra loft bed.
Trinity House Kochi, Kerala 91/(0) 484-221-6666. From $295. Image courtesy of Trinity House. This story appeared in the May/June 2011 issue.
Most safari lodges channel traditional African styles. This one is unashamedly industrial, made of concrete and steel, with clean-lined furnishings. Retractable screen walls blur the boundary between indoors and out: Design steps aside, leaving nothing to interrupt the wild panorama.
The Outpost, Kruger National Park, South Africa. 27/(0) 11-245-5704. From $495 per person, including game drives, airstrip transfers, and all meals. Photo courtesy of The Outpost. This story appeared in the May/June 2011 issue.
I’m entirely too modest to walk around naked, even when I’m alone. But the first thing I wanted to do after closing the door of my cabin at the Juvet Landscape Hotel was shed anything that separated me from nature. Granted, nearly everywhere I stood in rural Norway, I was surrounded by awe-inspiring natural majesty. But somehow the Juvet managed to make all that grandeur more immediate, more mine and mine alone.
Seven cabins sit in a valley between two snow-capped peaks ribboned with waterfalls. Perched above the Valldola River, each small house features a floor-to-ceiling glass pane that runs the length of one full wall. The view—swaying birch trees, the river rushing over mossy rocks, ferns sprouting from the mountain slopes—was like a scene from a Disney cartoon; almost too perfect. And each cabin is situated so that no guest can see into another’s. So if I had given into the...