Search results for

Native American history comes alive at this re-creation of a Cherokee village that’s designed to replicate life in 1760, when European contact begins to negatively affect the tribe. Visitors experience life and witness skills that have been passed down for generations, including traditional canoe hulling, basket weaving, clay pottery making and traditional medicinal practices using plants native to the Smokies. The village consists of earthen trails through replicas of Cherokee huts, and the day is punctuated by live reenactments, including dances and ceremonies as the tribe prepares for war with the European invaders. After a day at Oconaluftee, stay for Unto These Hills, a dramatic retelling of the Cherokee story from contact with the Spanish in 1540 to the Trail of Tears under President Andrew Jackson to the reemergence of the tribe as it exists today.

The Dom zu St. Pölten, also known as Dom Mariä Himmelfahrt, dates back to the 13th century. Though the exterior might appear somewhat plain, the beautiful Baroque interior makes this cathedral in the capital of Lower Austria worth checking out. Photo: Flickr / Douglas Sprott

The Durian is fondly known as the king of fruits in Southeast Asia. It’s a fruit that the locals love, but that many outsiders find to be an acquired taste. In fact, Andrew Zimmern, the presenter of the Travel Channel’s Bizarre Foods, (the guy who eats the world’s craziest and weirdest things) can’t stand durians. The name durian comes from the Malay word “duri,” which means “thorns.” Cutting open a durian is an art. You have to cut along certain lines created by the thorns, which are barely visible. If you get it wrong, it would be tough to open. Once cut, you use your palms to push apart the insides to reveal the yellow flesh. The smell of the durian is strong enough to make you salivate or faint, depending on which side of the fence you are on regarding it’s taste. If you’re ever in Malaysia, you must give it a try. Who knows? You could end up liking something that Andrew Zimmern himself can’t stomach!

A city tour of Lima isn’t complete without visiting the catacombs of the Monastery of San Francisco. The basement of the working monastery reveals the bones of wealthy Limeños who believed they would be the last to rest in their expensive plots. The tour reveals what actually happened to their remains. Since the catacombs couldn’t expand and affluent Catholics, unfortunately, kept dying, bodies were stacked to decompose down to the bones, and now the larger bones (femurs, forearms, and skulls) are arranged artistically in a circular pattern to make them more aesthetically pleasing to visitors. The site is interesting from both a historical and modern sociological, ethical, and religious standpoint.

A blue horse on a balcony? Why not...”Seattle Blue” is the name of this mosaic-covered-statue by artist Paul Pearman, located on a quirky corner in Augusta, GA, a riverside city of underrated architectural history... This brick building was built at the end of the 19th century as a butcher shop, with the family residence upstairs; located on the SE corner of 6th and Ellis St., just a few blocks from the Riverwalk. (For more information about the artist: www.mosaicbuckles.com)

The province of Buenos Aires is dotted with lovely old estancias (ranches) that are open to visitors - but some are irritatingly touristy. For a more down-to-earth dia del campo (day in the country), try Estancia Los Dos Hermanos. A typical day trip to the estancia starts with a leisurely breakfast of coffee and pastries at a picnic table near the stables. When the horses are ready to go, you’re off on your morning ride with the guide, exploring grassy green fields and dusty country roads. A full asado (barbecue) is waiting for you back at the ranch - there’s so much steak and wine served at midday that you might need to recline in one of the hammocks afterward - followed by a longer afternoon ride. Though it’s not impossible to arrive here on your own, the unmarked rural roads can be confusing - let the ranch arranges your transportation to and from Buenos Aires.

Telluride’s literary mecca, this beloved store is stacked with more than 10,000 books at any given time. The expertly curated regional books section is a fount of the Wild West’s writing prowess, with illustrative tomes on the town’s lurid backstory (you’ll want to peruse Tomboy Bride: A Woman’s Personal Account of Life in Mining Camps of the West). When your eyelids get heavy, head to the tiny coffee bar—squirreled away at the back of the shop—for a caffeine jolt to bolster an afternoon of reading.

Brasswood Bar + Kitchen is part of Brasswood Estate, a sprawling complex at the north end of St. Helena, comprises a winery, tasting room, restaurant, café, art gallery, and bottle shop. The property was formerly known as Cairdean Estate but was rebranded in 2016. Like many eateries in Napa, this one features local bounty—produce and protein grown in Napa and surrounding counties. Executive chef David Nuno specializes in Italian cuisine, so everything has a bit of a Mediterranean flair. In the restaurant, the duck Bolognese, with duck from Sonoma, is rich and savory; the herb-crusted lamb chop is made with local lamb, as well. The artisan bakery serves food in a less-formal setting; here, pay for your white corn soup or mushroom salad at the counter, and enjoy it by the fountain on the plaza outside.

A labor of love from local brother-and-sister owners Joe and Catherine Bartolomei, this six-acre, farmhouse-style resort in Sonoma County’s Russian River Valley underwent an $8 million renovation in 2015, adding nine light-filled rooms with four-poster beds and fireplaces. The Spa at Farmhouse, modeled after a vintage stable, has double-height ceilings and pine doors for each of its four treatment rooms. The thoughtful details will win you over: a glass of wine at check-in, an attentive staff at the Michelin-starred restaurant, and fresh-baked cookies at turndown.

Sometimes only a sandwich — thick and hearty, piled with meat and cheese and toppings — will do. The Other Coast Cafe won’t blow your mind with some revolutionary take on the sandwich, but what they do, they do well: hot and cold sandwiches, pickles and potato salad, and friendly service. Their house specialty is the Rajun Cajun (cajun turkey, pepper jack cheese, tomato, onion, spicy salsa mayo), and their reuben is also popular, but don’t overlook the daily specials, like the grilled chicken pesto served on a baguette. If you have very specific sandwich needs, you can also custom-build your dreamwich; seitan is on the menu for non-meat-eaters. Oh, and grab a stack of napkins, because these saucy sandwiches can get messy quick.

From this 900-foot-high viewing platform—equipped with a telescope, map, and signage—you have a panoramic view of the majestic Mesopotamia Valley (“Mespo”), home to St. Vincent’s fruit, vegetable, and spice crops. A sea of green expands in every direction, bordered by the blue Caribbean far to the south and the mist-shrouded Grand Bonhomme Mountain to the north. It’s the perfect spot to soak up St. Vincent’s rich natural beauty—and to catch a cool breeze.

OK, we didn’t exactly go far for dinner. We were staying in the Ace Hotel, just two doors down, but we were jet-lagged and hungry. We had seen many people hunched over enormous sandwiches through the window of this traditional-style deli at lunchtime, and we were surprised to see they were still open at 7:30pm. So we went in. We liked the simple, homely decor. We liked the smells emanating from the kitchen. We liked the fact that when we decided not to have sodas, the matronly server said, “Nah, you don’t need them honey, I’ll just keep the water coming.” We looked at the menu. We ordered two hot dogs, and a side order of pastrami fries. The waitress looked at our innocent little faces and told us we’d only need a half portion, as a whole portion of pastrami fries was “pretty big.” Our hot dogs arrived. They were delicious, and stacked with homemade relish. Our fries arrived. The “half portion” was so large we laughed out loud, then stuffed ourselves with the delicious cheese-pastrami-potato concoction until we should by rights have passed out. We got the check. It came to $14. We blessed Kenny & Zuke’s, and all who sail in her.

Palácio Ramalhete has the soul of a historic property—Manuel II, Portugal’s last king, and Britain’s Duke of Windsor were once guests—without any of the attendant stuffiness. Set in an 18th-century palace on the handsome Rua das Janelas Verdes, each of the 16 accommodations has its own unique character. The Oak Suite, for instance, features wood wall paneling with an ornate carved-stucco ceiling, while the spacious Dove Room, which occupies the palace’s former chapel, is lined with original hand-painted blue-and-white azulejos (ceramic tiles).


There are three tiered internal courtyards; the highest has a small heated outdoor pool with a massive palm tree for shade and River Tagus views in the distance. Art lovers, take note: Opposite the hotel is the National Museum of Ancient Art, filled with important Portuguese works that include 15th-century painter Nuno Gonçalves’s famous Panels of St. Vincent.

The warm, handsome dining room at Terra is situated high enough for sweeping Santa Fe sunsets and glorious mountain silhouettes. Helmed by chef Andrew Cooper, the food is contemporary American and Southwestern, from tortilla soup to pan-seared scallops to a zesty green chili braised short rib. After your meal, visit the mod, circular outdoor fire pit and wind down with a nightcap. The cool inside bar has a great wall of old black-and-white photos, including one with visiting actor and cowboy Robert Redford.

The Caribbean is a destination for all types of travelers—scuba divers, sailors, sunbathers—but when you want a dash of European party to season your vacation, head to St. Barth’s, often called the St. Tropez of the Caribbean. Around St. Barth’s the language is French, the currency is Euro, and the elixir of choice is pink. And nowhere does it flow more freely than at Nikki Beach, a club/restaurant on St Jean Beach where I found myself “stranded” when a friend’s flight was delayed. I blame this day on the rosé. After all, St. Tropez is in Provence, the world’s largest producer of the pink wine. And much like her sister beach club in France, Nikki Beach St. Barth’s uncorks the party at 11am and is packed in by noon with jet-setters. Bikini clad guests sun-tanned on the croissant-shaped beach and six pack abs strutted from the turquoise waters à la a James Bond film. Star sightings, I hear, are de rigueur but my eyes were on this group of about 10 men and women from New York. The magnums of rosé, hoisted on shoulders like summoned heros, arrived at their table every 15 minutes, and by 2pm, so had I. By 3pm we were ON the table. The thumping music from the DJ had us leaping to our feet at every song, and to quench our thirst—more rosé. The joie de vivre was as intoxicating as the wine. By 7pm, closing time at Nikki Beach, I was back in my hotel room, sleeping off the sun and my first day in St. Barth’s. I blame the rosé. No, actually, I thank the rosé.