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One of the most recognizable sites in Hawaii, this volcanic ash cone overlooks Waikiki’s coastline—a tectonic memory from an explosion half a million years ago, measuring almost 3,500 feet across. British sailors named it Diamond Head in the 1800s, mistaking calcite crystals in the crater’s soil for jewels. Despite its volcanic grandeur, the ascent takes most hikers an hour or so, clocking in at 560 feet of elevation gain and 1.6 miles round-trip. At the top, on a clear day, you can see all of Oahu’s south shore, from Koko Crater and Waikiki to the mountains of the Wai’anae Range.

Kitty Fisher’s is the antithesis to the New York exposed brick brand of cool. Named after a Georgian courtesan, this tiny restaurant in Mayfair is rather a wood-clad room flickering with candles and exuding a intimate, “make yourself at home” vibe. The food is some of the best in London: the original chef, Tomos Parry, won the Young British Foodie award during his tenure, and his successor George Barson, formerly of the River Cottage, continues to surprise with innovative dishes cooked on the wood grill. If you can’t get a booking, fear not: a second restaurant, Cora Pearl, named for a 19th-century courtesan this time, recently opened on Covent Garden’s Henrietta Street.

Japadog is one of those odd and wacky combinations of a hot dog with Japanese toppings, but it works! I had the Terimayo, a teriyaki-drenched dog topped with seaweed. Not substantial for the $5 price tag, but a good snack. The location on Robson is dine-in, and there are carts across the city.

Want to eat where a historic event of the American Revolution took place? Try Fraunces Tavern in downtown New York City. After defeating the British, it was here that George Washington gathered his officers for a farewell speech before heading back to his family home, Mount Vernon. Built by a French merchant family in 1719, Samuel Fraunces bought the building in 1762 and opened a tavern. The museum today includes four 19th century buildings, in addition to the original 18th century house. Fraunces Tavern is now a restaurant and museum devoted to pre-Revolution and American Revolution history. It is also an official NYC Landmark. Go to experience a unique piece of history, then enjoy a hearty meal or a single malt in the tavern or one of the newer buildings (above). www.frauncestavern.com 54 Pearl Street

This airy, elegant Richmond eatery celebrates the fusion of French and southern-central Vietnamese cultures in its look and menu. Chef/owner Lan Do and her team painstakingly bake baguettes daily and simmer beef bones for 12 to 15 hours for the pho stock, enriched by onion, ginger, shallots, star anise, cinnamon and cardamom. Another standout: the banh khot, petite savory rice crepes tinged with turmeric that cradle shrimp. Finish with macrons and a TWG tea from Singapore. Note: Bánh Mì Très Bon has slightly elevated prices for a restaurant tucked near the Walmart Super Centre, but that’s only because it sources as locally, sustainably and organically as possible—the same nutritious food Do would serve her own family.

Playful shoe designer John Fluevog’s flagship store is right in Gastown on Water Street in a gorgeous two-storey glass-fronted building that houses the design team upstairs and you’ll find his eccentrically elegant designs on the ground floor. I love his designs, and there’s always a cute message on the soles so make sure you flip them over to look when you visit.

At the neighborhood’s eastern extreme, on Rue Dante, this traditional Italian bakery is renowned as the purveyor of the city’s best cannoli, though it’s a hotly debated issue. They are blindingly scrumptious, that’s for sure, and they come in chocolate, vanilla ricotta, vanilla ricotta with tiny chocolate chips, vanilla custard or mocha. They’re just one of the many sweet treats on offer though, so wander over after a day at the market and let yourself be tempted by the cornetti, the million-layered sfogliatelle, the flaky, cream-filled lobster tails or the dozens of varieties of cookie.

This is the storefront to the internationally known high fashion web empire that few people – even Montrealers – know is based Montreal. SSENSE has been selling brands like Erdem, 3.1 Philip Lim, Givenchy, Chloé, Yves Saint Laurent, Valentino and dozens more élite designers for years now, bringing the world of fashion to Montreal in a way even department stores Ogilvy and Holt Renfrew haven’t been able to. In contrast to the web store, this stylish storefront on fashion avenue – where local designers Denis Gagnon, Rad Hourani and more have their boutiques – is the place to go to try some designer items on in the flesh.

The stretch of Boulevard Saint-Laurent between Rue Marianne and Avenue Mont-Royal is known as furniture alley, for all the furniture and home appointment stores that exist there. Latitude Nord was among the first to move to the area and remains the best spot to spy cutting-edge contemporary design items like lamps, chairs, rugs and couches. The focus is on European imports, particularly Italian brands like Cassina, Bisazza and Cappellini, but there’s also minimalist American ware from the likes of Emeco (makers of the ubiquitous Navy Chair) and cushy rugs made in Spain by Alpujarreña. The slick showroom is worth visiting even if you don’t intend to buy.

Your nose will alert you to the exotic possibilities at hand in this place before you even walk all the way in. This spice emporium has passed through three generations of the Hatzidakis family already, and continues to provide the city’s chefs as well as avid cooks from all walks of life. From cumin to saffron to sumac to oregano, it’s all here among the 600-some spices on hand, along with a knowledgeable staff ready to help with all your questions. They also have bulk goods (including candy) and an impressive array of homemade natural essences, of everything from coconut to orange.

This enclave on upper Boulevard Saint-Laurent in Little Italy emanates style from the front window on, with a quirky and impeccable approach to layout. Its rich wooden tables and modernist shelves are rife with unique, collectible objects and everyday useful things. Some are wearable, like silk scarves, merino wool sweaters and designer galoshes, while others exist to embellish living spaces, like beautiful metal bowls and hand-painted birch branches that serve as sculptures. There are even edible things, like artisanal lemonade syrup and fancy teas. The focus is on locally made goods with a smattering of international purveyors too, who fit within the store’s general earthy-chic aesthetic.

You know that person who’s so nonchalantly well-dressed she makes everyone in the room look like they’re either dressed on potato sacks or tarted up, Vegas-style? She shops at Les Étoffes. “Measured” is the name of the game in this unisex clothes shop, with carefully selected pieces from all over the world and brands like Samuji, Apiece-Apart, Christophe Lemaire and Dieppa Restrepo. No matter the brand, the palette is understated and neutral, featuring grays, navies, browns and blacks, and the detailing is subtle; think texture contrasts, geometric cuts and tone-on-tone superposition. The store itself is a design beacon decorated with warm amber wood and tile.

Inside a Northwest-style longhouse, built by owner and First Nations tribe member Roy Henry Vickers to resemble the traditional dwellings once used by indigenous people, visitors can sift through Vickers’s limited-edition prints, carved cedar panels, and baskets with designs of eagles, ravens, orcas, and totem poles. Eagle Aerie Gallery also features the work of other local artists. 350 Campbell St., (250) 725-3235. Image: TSalon/Flickr.com

Contemporary art can sometimes be pretentious or obscure, but DHC/ART adds an edgy sense of wit, with exhibitions ranging from the visual puns of Ceal Floyer to the exuberant portraits of John Currin. 451 rue St.-Jean, (514) 849-3742.

When I stepped into the grand lobby of Québec’s Le Château Montebello, I felt like I was entering Paul Bunyan’s living room. Giant timbers braced a three-story-high ceiling, and a massive fireplace in the center radiated warmth in all directions. After checking in, I joined the guests gathered around the six-sided hearth and sank into a leather club chair. I spent the rest of the day by the fire, sipping hot toddies and napping, as the comfort of the crackling flames sent me and the other fireside dozers snuggling deeper into our cushions. I had come to ski some of the 65,000 acres of wooded backcountry that neighbor the resort, but the château was so welcoming, I found it hard to leave.


Often described as the world’s largest log cabin, the lodge and two other main buildings were constructed in 1930 from 10,000 red cedar logs and 500,000 handmade wooden shingles. The houses and the vast surrounding forests were long owned by the politically prominent Papineau family, and until 1970, the estate remained a private nature retreat for Canada’s upper class. As I walked through the château’s halls, the intricately carved banisters and exposed beams reminded me of the great western lodges in the U.S. national parks—only without any grumpy tourists demanding to know where the animals are.

In the guest rooms, deluxe amenities such as flat-screen TVs and rain-dome showerheads upstaged anything found in Yellowstone or Yosemite. Despite the modern perks, rawhide lampshades and other rustic details helped my suite retain its frontier appeal. When I got up to pull the plaid drapes closed that night, I watched a horse-drawn sleigh pass by, glowing in the moonlight against the dark ribbon of the frozen Ottawa River.

Without fresh snow to ski the next morning, I was left to explore the lodge’s other activities. I opted out of getting scrubbed with maple sugar at the spa or unsuccessfully flirting with French-Canadian women by the fire, and instead devoted the day to learning the inscrutable rules of curling. The château has an indoor ice rink dedicated to the sport, a national favorite that’s best described as a combination of shuffleboard and falling down a lot. My instructor was Henri, a kindly sexagenarian who, like many in Québec’s western Outaouais region, seemed more comfortable speaking French than English. As it turns out, kindly reassurance sounds the same in either language. But as my backside repeatedly hit the ice, Henri’s patient polyglot insistence that I was doing “une belle job” grew progressively less convincing.

After my rough-and-tumble day, I dined in the white-tablecloth Aux Chantignoles restaurant. Québecois cuisine dominates the menu, and I followed a dinner of tender venison osso buco with a slice of Québec’s famously sweet and jiggly sugar pie—think pecan pie sans pecans. Snow fell just in time for me to ski through the nearby forest on my last day. I spent a long afternoon there, gliding among stands of birch, pine, and spruce in the rolling Laurentian Highlands. Now and again, I paused to admire one of the countless frozen lakes, their smooth surfaces dotted with tracks left by moose and white-tailed deer. I skied in the silent wilderness until just after sunset. As the scent of a wood fire began to tickle my nose, I grew eager to cozy up by the hearth again. I turned back toward the château’s stone chimney, its rising plume of smoke signaling for my return.
This appeared in the November/December 2010 issue.