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The central hub of downtown Amsterdam is Dam Square, and it’s been at the heart of the city’s history since the 13th century. Today, the open-air public space is ringed by shops and restaurants and packed with people, including street performers and tourists en route to nearby attractions like the Royal Palace, the National Monument, and the Nieuwe Kerk (New Church), where you can catch a horse-drawn-carriage tour of the city.

Berggasse 19 is the address of a modest house on a modest street, but it was there that much of the modern world and culture were changed forever. For nearly 50 years, the Freud house—now, officially, the Sigmund Freud Museum—was the home and office of the legendary psychoanalyst, until 1938 when he finally departed for London as Nazi forces were descending on Vienna. The rooms are filled with old books, antiques, personal artifacts, and correspondence, though not the famous couch (which is now at the Freud museum in London). In 2019, the house will undergo a yearlong €4 million renovation to its facade and exhibition spaces. If you walk the Ringstrasse over to the Burgtheater area, you can see the University of Vienna that was once the General Hospital where Herr Professor worked for many years.

Bufalina owner Steven Dilley once lived in New York City, where he taught himself how to cook pizza in his subsequently overheated apartment. He was a good teacher and a good student. The University of Texas alumnus became one of the early movers in the Neapolitan pizza game in Austin and now operates two Bufalina locations. The igloo-shaped stoves that turn out charred and supple pizzas never would have fit in that old apartment, but they have become the centerpieces of his Austin restaurants. The menus celebrate local bounty with a couple of fresh salad options, and the daily pasta is always a must. Dilley has also put together one of the city’s most intriguing wine lists, an unexpected page-turner for restaurants the size of Bufalina.

Today, Québec City is decidedly francophone. While 50 percent of Montreal‘s residents describe their mother tongue as only French, the figure is 95 percent for Québec City. This was not always the case, and for much of its history the city had a significant anglophone minority. The Morrin Centre is one reminder of that period. In 1868, the building, which had been used as the town’s jail (the old cells are included on tours of the building), was renovated to become Morrin College, an affiliate of Montréal’s McGill University. It offered instruction in English, though it would be forced to close in 1902 as the number of students interested in an English-language education dwindled. The institution lives on as an English-language cultural center, and book lovers should be sure to visit the elegant library, established the same year as the Morrin Centre by the Literary and Historical Society of Québec, Canada’s first learned society.

The gallery, boutique, and tearooms of Morocco’s most famous living artist, Hassan Hajjaj, is an essential stop for any art lovers staying in the city. Tucked away down a narrow alley behind the Rahba Lakdima (otherwise known as the Place des Épices), it’s like stumbling into a jewel box filled with pop-art treasures. Hajjaj made a name for himself with a series of photographs titled Kech Angels, which depicted local girls on mopeds dressed in eye-popping robes. The collection has been exhibited all over the world in such illustrious venues as the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and the Institut des Cultures d’Islam in Paris, but nowhere beats enjoying the work on home turf. While you’re there, treat yourself to his iconic recycled home and fashion pieces, such as a sardine-can lantern, a pair of babouches (Moroccan slippers) cut from a flour sack, or a stool from an oil drum. And if you hang around for a pot of mint tea in the courtyard, you might even meet the man himself.

Jaffa, the oldest seaport in the world, is home to a vibrant multiethnic community of Muslims, Christians, and Jews next to Tel Aviv. Archaeology and ancient documents show that Jaffa has been in existence as a port city for more than 4,000 years and is where Jonah (of Jonah and the whale) set off from. Until recently, the port had become derelict, but after major renovations, it now teems with life and culture, from seafood restaurants and organic-coffee cafés to bookstores and theaters. The Old Port (known as Namal Yafo) is also a sort of artist colony, with numerous art galleries and studios. The views are breathtaking, especially at sunset.

The high desert seems to generate its own creative force field, attracting and inspiring artists for decades. Today’s generation showcases its work at BKB Handcrafted Art + Design. The Palm Springs outlet of this shop (the original is in Joshua Tree) features locally crafted, modern pieces, each one chosen for its soul and authenticity. You’ll find pendant lights and vessels by the shop’s founder, ceramicist Brian Bosworth, along with desert-influenced weavings by All Roads Studio, block prints by Aili Schmeltz, and sculpture by Jonathan Cross, displayed in a gallery-like space that’s both minimalist and warm. The shop’s selective, exclusive element extends to locally made olive oil, jewelry, and furniture, too, making it a must-visit for thoughtful gifts and souvenirs. BKB has also become a stylish and unparalleled hub for the desert’s creative community, regularly hosting art openings, artist talks, and events. Pro tip: Swing by on a Saturday—that’s when artists usually drop by to deliver new work or just hang out.

Rumi was born in Afghanistan, spent time in Persia (Iran), then settled in Konya, Turkey when his father was invited there to be a scholar. Rumi became an Islamic scholar himself teaching peace, love, and tolerance. He built quite a following of the educated – who saw him as a wise philosopher – and uneducated – who saw him as a prophet. Rumi’s life changed when he created an intense friendship with an older, wandering mystic -- Shams of Tabriz. Shams was a brilliant outcast and Rumi was deeply drawn to a learning relationship with this man who was ultimately supposedly killed by some of Rumi’s fans due to the influence he was having on the younger Rumi. From this tragedy, Rumi found a deep well inside himself filled with an ability to channel poetry. It was about this time that he also introduced the experience of divine harmony that comes from whirling. Thus, a new form of religious ecstasy was created and the Whirling Dervishes (also known as the Mevlevi order) have been doing this annual ceremony marking Rumi’s death for almost 750 years. This is the start of the Sema (ceremony) with each Semazen (dancer) bowing upon arriving on stage and the Basi (the leader) at the “head of the class.” The mesmerizing ceremony represents man’s journey to the oneness of perfect truth – amidst separation and longing - through the power of divine love. In 2005, UNESCO proclaimed the “Mevlevi Sema Ceremony” as amongst the Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.

Washington Square Park is only a fraction of the size of Central Park, but it is as almost as much of an icon of New York as its much larger counterpart uptown. It’s likely because it sits in the heart of Greenwich Village, and has thus served as a backdrop for many events in the city’s history. In the late 19th century, it was one of New York’s most fashionable addresses (that period was captured by Henry James in his 1880 novella Washington Square, later the basis for The Heiress, a play that was also adapted into a movie). The arch along its northern side dates to 1892 and was designed by Stanford White to replace an earlier one, in wood and plaster, erected in 1889 to mark the centennial of George Washington’s inauguration. When Greenwich Village became the haunt of artists and writers, the park was a green space for the city’s counterculture; folk singers and street performers are still a common sight, and the park is also frequently used for political protests and rallies. On sunny days, especially during the academic year, the park is filled with NYU students, neighborhood residents, and tourists taking in the scene.

Michael and I take the lead up a scree-choked stream draining from the Gangjam glacier. Two hours of climbing through talus brings us to ice-blue seracs rising like frozen waveforms from the mottled glacier. An hour further, in the cirque beneath the black wall of Kailash, we begin to sink up to our knees in sun-softened snow. Michael’s altimeter reads 17,500 feet, and above us, the mountain’s north face rises in a 4,000-foot vertical thrust of glazed rock, capped by a treacherous overhanging white cornice. Jaws gone slack, we lift our eyes in awe toward the Throne of Shiva. “How about it, bro? Break out the crampons?” “Jesus! I am not seeing a good route on that wall,” Michael replies, and we both laugh. Kailash remains one of the few legendary mountains on this planet left unclimbed—out of reverence. “And look at that freakin’ cornice!” Michael adds “Nevé ice for sure. Like frost on a windowpane. Won’t hold your points for shit.” There were rumors, nearly a decade ago, that the legendary Austrian mountaineer, Reinhold Messner had surreptitiously planned to bag Kailash, a task which he certainly had the skill and resources to accomplish. But when Messner saw the Precious Snow Mountain for himself, he realized what a desecration it would be to set crampons on its face or boots on its summit. He’s since become a vocal proponent of keeping Kailash off-limits to climbers in perpetuity.

What began with Azul y Oro—chef Ricardo Muñoz Zurita’s high-end university “refectory”—is now a multi-restaurant group famed for an almost museum-like reverence for traditional Mexican cooking in all its infinite variety. The downtown iteration, called Azul Histórico, is a gorgeous space in the courtyard of a 17th-century colonial palace (once inhabited by descendants of the Emperor Montezuma) and is now one of the Centro’s most sought-after tables, terribly romantic beneath its tree-and-candlelight canopy. Menus are seasonal and themed—often focusing on cuisine from Mexico’s regions and states—and are sure to present some delicacies even most Mexicans never knew before. Ask questions and swing just beyond your comfort zone. Out-of-towners and locals alike love the flair with which dishes emerge from the kitchen, in extravagant, eye-catching Mexican pottery.

Perhaps the most famous artwork in the archipelago is God, our Father, on the Rainbow, by Sweden’s most popular sculptor, Carl Milles (1875–1955). It depicts God standing on top of a 23-meter-tall (75-foot-tall) water spout. The work was designed in the 1940s and intended to stand in New York outside the United Nations. That plan was not realized, but in 1995 this version was installed at Nacka, just outside central Stockholm. Milles’s home and studio can be found on the nearby island of Lidingö and is a fascinating place to visit on a sunny day when you can wander through its sculpture garden.

Most people recognize Eugene, Oregon as the home of the “Oregon Ducks” because of the sports programs at the University of Oregon. But Eugene is so much more. Take for instance the Inn at the 5th, a luxury boutique hotel built and owned by the Obie Company who developed the 5th Street Public Market next door. The hotel reminds me of the “Little Engine That Could” an endearing 1930’s children’s book teaching the value of hard work and optimism. And the Inn at 5th presents those core values to guests in a stylish and polished package.

Baseball had nothing to do with the naming of Fenway Park: The stadium gets its moniker from the nearby Back Bay Fens, a stretch of saltwater marsh in the heart of Boston that was landscaped into a park by Frederick Law Olmsted. The Fens are among the wilder parts of the Emerald Necklace, 1,100 acres of parklands running from the Charles River to Brookline that include familiar spaces like the Boston Common and Boston Public Garden but also less-traveled (by visitors, anyway) sections like Olmsted Park, Jamaica Pond, the Arnold Arboretum, and Franklin Park. The arboretum, part of Harvard University and established in 1872, is one of Olmsted’s most unaltered terrains, with paths running up and around 261 acres of woodland interspersed with a curated collection of trees, plants, shrubs, and vines native to New England.

A compound-like hideaway on a leafy street a block from trendy South Congress Avenue, Hotel Saint Cecilia is a retro-glam love letter to the 1960s and ‘70s rock music scene, named for the patron saint of music and poetry. But that doesn’t mean that rock stars smash guitars and throw ragers here (unless they rent out all 14 rooms, of course); unlike at its nearby sister properties, Hotel San José and Austin Motel, only guests and club members are welcome at the lounge, a laid-back affair with a Parisian-café–style patio, chesterfield sofas and a fireplace indoors, and craft cocktails and gourmet small plates. Between the 1888 Victorian main house—originally inhabited by a descendent of Davy Crockett—and verdant grounds that hide private porches and a serene pool, the hotel feels more like an impossibly stylish artists’ retreat than a celebrity getaway.

Each distinctively decorated room is larger than many an apartment, and seems ripped from the pages of a fashion magazine photoshoot. Every detail has been thought through, from the refreshing Grown Alchemist body care products to the Swedish Hästens mattresses (the hotel is the only one in North America with them in all rooms) to the impressive library of LPs to borrow. Everyone’s a rock star, here.