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If you are a fan of mochi, this is a MUST stop on your visit in the Hilo area. The place is tiny, there is usually a long line, takes cash only, and parking is a bear, but once you take one bite into their massive (and most famous) strawberry mochi you will be hooked for life! They have a wide variety of flavors and all the mochi is fresh, dry where it needs to be dry, and with perfectly seasoned filling.

Often referred to as Belize‘s original eco-lodge, Chaa Creek opened in 1981 as a simple rain forest hotel. In the decades since, it has become one of the country’s most popular options for upscale jungle accommodations, winning awards for its hospitality and its practices emphasizing environmental sustainability. Guests have two main options in terms of room types and price points. Luxurious rooms and suites are in the main lodge, featuring polished wood or tile floors and locally made furniture; the simpler, more budget-friendly casitas sit along the Macal River. The latter are sparsely furnished and offer few distractions. Guests of either room type have access to the property’s amenities and grounds, which include a natural history center and butterfly exhibit, a rain forest medicine trail, binoculars for bird-watching, and canoes for paddling along the river.

Unlike the gussied-up lodges on the north flank of Yosemite Valley, Curry Village offers decidedly more casual fare, catering to the crowds in the campsites and tent cabins that sprawl along this side of the valley. The Pizza Deck has indoor and outdoor seating and, conveniently enough, shares space with the Curry Village Bar—a particularly popular place in nice weather. The Meadow Grill serves burgers and grilled sandwiches, while the Pavilion offers all-you-can-eat buffets for breakfast and dinner, including a salad bar, pasta bar, make-your-own taco station, and dessert table. Note: There are food options available from January through November.

Below the hotel’s cottages, the Kerio Valley’s grasslands spread toward the horizon like an infinity pool. Take the plunge on mountain bike or on foot, or marvel from a distance while enjoying a goat barbecue. The restaurant also serves a hearty beef stew by the fire in the stonewalled lodge. This appeared in the July/August 2012 issue. Read Matt Gross’s feature on running in Kenya.

“It’s not even a town or a village, don’t call it that; it’s more of a pit-stop, really.” Solitaire, Namibia, the pit-stop Moose McGregor calls home, contains nothing more than a general store, a small lodge, his bakery, and the only gas station for many, many miles. This makes Solitaire an inevitable pit-stop for travelers driving to Sossusvlei from Swakopmund or Windhoek. Sadly, Moose passed away in early 2012. His legendary apple strudel lives on. Solitaire worth a visit even if your vehicle has a full tank.

Housed in a historic turn-of-the-20th-century building renovated to include nearly 10,500 square feet of exhibition space, 21c Museum Hotel is equal parts art gallery and modern lodging. Guests and the public will find a range of programs, from solo and group shows to rotating installations, curated by Alice Gray Stites. You’ll also find a touch of whimsy in the form of the brand’s signature penguin sculptures, a playful gesture that extends to the guest rooms. Featuring light hardwood floors, white walls, and colorful modern furnishings, they serve as a coordinating backdrop for original works by local artists; flat-screen televisions, Nespresso coffee makers, and Malin + Goetz bath amenities keep things comfortable. Downstairs, the chef at Gray & Dudley transforms ingredients from neighborhood markets and farms into dishes like pan-roasted duck breast with apple purée and black-eyed pea falafel. Another must-try indulgence? The small spa requires 24-hour advance reservations, but the calm respite after a day of sightseeing makes it worth the wait.

Part sustainable residential building, part eco-friendly lodge, the El Moore has been witness to Detroit’s turbulent history. The restored Victorian building boasts rooftop urban cabins, expansive suites, and bunk-bedded garden view rooms, covering various price points. Rooms feature reclaimed wood and subway tiles as well as ash paneling, geothermal heating, and solar paneling.

The nine-mile dirt road through Pike’s Peak National Forest is a properly isolated, remote, and grand driveway to Lost Valley Ranch, one of the few guest ranches in Colorado that is so close to Denver. (It is only about two hours by car from Denver International Airport, and a short drive from any other front range city.) The drive leads you through the still-recovering burn area of the 2002 Hayman Fire, then dips down into a green oasis, in a cozy corner of the Goose Creek drainage. Lost Valley is a traditional, medium-size ranch with plenty of history and a robust kids and teens program in the summer. It’s all about horseback riding in the morning and afternoon, a lazy schedule punctuated by the dining room bell and yelps of happy children and ranch dogs playing in front of the main lodge. Lost Valley Ranch books week-long, all-inclusive packages throughout the summer season; shorter stays are available in spring and fall. Rates begin at $3,020 per adult, and cheaper for children (how much cheaper depends on age), and include meals, lodging, horseback riding, evening entertainment, and children’s programming (Trap shooting, town purchases and massage therapy are extra).

Why we love it: An intimate property with updated rooms and a historic restaurant

The Highlights:
- Newly renovated rooms and amenities
- An iconic restaurant with live piano music at night
- Convenient shuttles to Bald Mountain and Ketchum

The Review:
Located next door to the extravagant Sun Valley Lodge, the intimate Sun Valley Inn provides a quieter, less flashy retreat. Don’t expect drab accommodations, however. All 97 rooms were refurbished for the 2018–19 winter season with irresistibly comfy beds and sumptuous carpeting. The iconic Ram restaurant and bar were also remodeled, while preserving their extensive woodwork (the building dates from 1937, when Sun Valley became one of the first ski resorts in North America). Amid antler chandeliers, Austrian cowbells, and velvet drapery, diners enjoy steaks and fondue—minus any canned Muzak. Come evening, a pianist tickles the ivories of the Ram’s baby grand. The restaurant also offers a rotating lineup of “heritage dinners,” which highlight the Ram’s historic favorites, such as Hungarian goulash (on Saturdays) and schnitzel (Wednesdays).

The inn’s meeting spaces attract conventioneers, and the heated pool appeals to families with school-aged kids. Teens also enjoy roaming the resort campus, which extends beyond the Sun Valley Lodge to Dollar Mountain (Sun Valley’s original ski hill that now includes beginner slopes and a terrain park). Guests can also hop on the buses connecting the Sun Valley Inn to Ketchum’s downtown and to Bald Mountain, Sun Valley’s main ski area.

No one stays at Old Faithful Inn for the amenities: With no Wi-Fi, air conditioning, or TVs in the rooms—some don’t even have private bathrooms—all you can do is watch bison graze unperturbed by the busloads of tourists pulling up, or the namesake geyser spout. The lack of luxury doesn’t seem to deter the crowds, though, who come to sleep under the roof of the original log-and-stone building, which was completed in 1904, and launched the iconic architectural style known as National Park Service rustic, or Parkitecture. Though an east wing was added in 1914, and a west wing in 1927, the lodge remains much as tourists saw it a century ago, with its soaring, open lobby surrounding an enormous four-sided, 86-foot stone fireplace. The pre-existing Crow’s Nest that leads to the roof terrace is off-limits now, but two mezzanine-level interior balconies are coveted seating areas for unwinding with nightly piano performances. While the two wings have better views of Old Faithful and the geyser basin, you can’t beat the Old House for its historic charm.

Situated a quarter mile from the west entrance to Glacier National Park, this recently renovated landmark was built by the Great Northern Railway Company in 1910—the year the park was dedicated by President Taft—to host wealthy passengers from the East Coast. Rooms in the arts and crafts–style lodge are simple yet comfortable. During their stay, guests explore the region’s network of more than 700 trails by horseback, foot, or bike. To experience this pristine area as visitors have been doing since the 1930s, hop in a jammer, a red touring coach with a canvas top that rolls back to reveal wide-open vistas of the surrounding forests and peaks. From $160. This appeared in the June/July 2015 issue.

The Post Hotel & Spa is set in the heart of the pristine Banff National Park, surrounded by the Canadian Rocky Mountains and overlooking Lake Louise. The original log-walled lodge—opened in 1942 as the Lake Louise Ski Lodge—has stone fireplaces and a cheery red alpine roof, and the numerous add-ons, extensions, and renovations over the years have preserved and accentuated this rustic design. This is further enhanced by the hotel’s interior color palette of burgundy and neutrals, and set off by luxurious touches such as overstuffed couches and Egyptian-cotton sheets. The accommodations include intimate cabins for two and a 3,000-square-foot mountain chalet ideal for groups and families. Just minutes away from one of Canada’s largest ski areas and blessed with an abundance of perfect powder each season, the Post Hotel & Spa is popular with skiers and boarders from across North America; in summer it attracts outdoor enthusiasts keen to explore the myriad treasures of the national park. It has been a Relais & Châteaux property since 1990.

There are over 100 excellent guest ranches in the Western U.S., offering a range of family vacations. Brush Creek Ranch, in southern Wyoming, is one of the more exclusive properties, offering an enormous range of activities on 15,000 acres of stunning high-mountain ranchland. This is the main lodge building, looking out over the horse pastures.

I hadn’t been awake for longer than a minute. I peeled back the tarp door to my room, walked out onto my deck, and leapt. It was an abrupt but purifying way to start the day. The cool, brackish water instantly defogged my mind, and my eyes opened to see the surrounding Tatai River and dense Cambodian rain forest. A lone sampan, anchored along an islet, was the only man-made object to interrupt the natural scenery. My chic bungalow lightly swayed on the calm water behind me, an incongruous encampment against the wild jungle backdrop.

Located on the southern tip of the Cardamom Mountains, near the Gulf of Thailand, the 4 Rivers Floating Lodge lives up to its name. The retreat’s 12 landless suites all float on their own buoyant platforms, moored to the riverbank. Outfitted with a ceiling fan, armoire, and wood-paneled shower, each of the towering, safari-style tented rooms also provides a nearly 360-degree view of the tropical landscape. A boardwalk connects the rooms to a central lounge and dining area decorated in a muted variety of Miami Beach sleek.

At first blush, getting to this secluded outpost might seem daunting. Guests can arrive by boat, drive, come by cab or take a bus from Phnom Penh: I took a five-hour bus trip from Phnom Penh, followed by a half-hour longboat ride from the village of Tatai. But the journey is well worth the peaceful reward. The Cardamom Mountains contain the largest and most intact evergreen rain forest in mainland Southeast Asia. For decades, the region was largely off-limits to developers because of land mines and fighting between government forces and the Khmer Rouge militia. This very isolation protected the area’s natural habitat, which is now home to scores of endangered species, including Asian elephants, hairy-nosed otters, and Siamese crocodiles.

Mine-clearance efforts and the end of hostilities have made travel here safe for more than 10 years, but it remains a sparsely populated frontier. The area’s remoteness is remarkable in and of itself. In the afternoon, I took a boat ride to the Tatai waterfall with several other guests. Even our skipper, a young Cambodian man who leads visitors on these trips every day, was still in awe of the lush surroundings. “So quiet and beautiful,” he said, looking at the palm trees along the river’s edge. After we arrived at our destination, I spent the rest of the day sitting beneath the waterfall’s forceful but soothing cascades, letting nature’s masseuse relax my muscles.

I returned to the lodge for dinner beneath an orange and purple sunset. On the restaurant’s uncovered patio, the only sound accompanying the clang of my utensils was the soft splash of kingfishers swooping to pluck fish from the river. I was less delicate, digging into skewers of mozzarella, watermelon, and fresh shrimp and a plate of steamed river fish topped with a basil cream sauce. In the lingering twilight, I sipped a gin and tonic on my private terrace before easing under my bedsheets. As the gently undulating waters rocked me to sleep, any illusions I had about roughing it in the wilderness drifted away. —Brendan Brady

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.