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My wife, Robin, and I have been camping, fishing, and hiking in the Lakes Basin area, near Sierra City, since we met. These days, our usual home base is a tiny log cabin at the edge of Packer Lake, pictured here. From trailheads around Packer you can hike to many other lakes--Saxonia, Deer, Lower and Upper Tamarack, Young America, Upper and Lower Sardine. Most of the hikes are relatively easy, and on some trails you’ll rarely encounter other hikers. In early October 2007, a brief, unseasonable storm passed through and carpeted the area with an inch or two of snow, which made for an especially invigorating walk along the Pacific Crest Trail to the lookout at the top of the Sierra Buttes.

Declared one of the best clubs in the world by the Grey Goose–sponsored World’s Finest Clubs, Le Palace is everything you’d expect from the brand. Glitzy and glamorous from the moment you drive down Hivernage’s palm-fringed, villa-lined avenue to get there to sipping champagne at the mirrored bar. It’s the latest project of local entrepreneur Nouredine Fakir, who with this opening proves that he’s made it. Clubby, sophisticated, and peopled with international and Moroccan players on the see-and-be-seen circuit—formal evening attire is expected—Le Palace is a riddle of intimate lounges and dining rooms that ooze a nonchalantly laid-back sort of sophistication. Full-time deejays, cigar bars, a packed restaurant serving dishes such as the signature Crying Tiger steak ensure that once firmly ensconced within its gilded chamber, you too will feel like you’ve made it.

A trio of 1830s townhouses, Soniat House exudes an Old World elegance, from its wrought iron balconies to its white-jacketed porters. Rooms and suites have just the right amount of character so that they feel of an era without being precious or overly frilly. The hotel renovated all of its bathrooms and some guest rooms, and there are flat-screen televisions, Wi-Fi, and other modern conveniences—but the point here is really to take a step back, put your gadgets away, and enjoy the leafy courtyard. It’s the kind of place where you feel you ought to be wearing a frock and a fascinator (for ladies) or seersucker (for the gents), where time slows and an afternoon cocktail feels very appropriate. Luckily, there’s an honor bar on the first floor next to reception. Pour yourself a stiff drink and take it up to the veranda, where you might catch a ghost tour in progress or just take in the street scene.

Duffy’s calls itself a “bar that serves great food.” Its brand of fruity tropical cocktails (some served in ceramic skulls) and casual fare seems somehow perfect for a relaxing Caribbean vacation. The restaurant claims to have hosted “pirates, debutantes, nerds, and rock stars.” From the outside, Duffy’s looks unassuming, but inside the colorful tiki bar decor features standard elements, such as bamboo-pole siding, spruced up with maritime mementos from around the Caribbean.

Set in a refurbished Victorian hunting lodge on a 26,000-acre estate, Shieldaig Lodge is the epitome of Highland romance. With everything from breathtaking views of Shieldaig Bay to log fires, cozy lounges, and an extensive whisky and gin collection, the hotel offers Scottish hospitality at its finest, surrounded by stunning scenery. Quietly elegant, the 12 guest rooms come furnished with antiques and luxurious touches like Egyptian cotton sheets, goose-down duvets, and homemade shortbread from the hotel’s kitchen. For utter opulence, book the suite, which features a four-poster bed, separate sitting room, and rolltop tub with views of the bay.

At the restaurant, rare-breed lamb, Highland cattle, and deer from the hotel’s estate provide the raw ingredients for the sumptuous menu. Also available are crabs, lobster, langoustines, oysters, and scallops caught by hand right in front of the property, and vegetables grown in the on-site walled garden. After dinner, grab a nightcap in the Liberator Bar, which stocks an ever-growing collection of more than 110 gins and 250 whiskies from around the world. The next day, visit the lodge’s falconry (home to eagles, falcons, hawks, and owls), or have the concierge arrange a local activity, from deerstalking and fly-fishing to hiking, boating, and pony trekking.

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.

Cruising down the Garonne river onboard the AmaDolce, the first port we called on was Cadillac, located about 19 miles from the city of Bordeaux. Cadillac, founded in 1280, is a small fortified town, and I bet their charming Sunday market is probably just as old. The market occupies a number of streets in the town center–you won’t miss it. It’s a great place to try all sorts of local specialties (seafood, breads, cheese, sausages), and of course to people watch. The locals not only do their weekly grocery shopping here, markets are also a real social event in France. Friends catch up, stories are exchanged, laughter rings through the streets. Stock up on your picnic needs, as you’ll have no challenge finding a picturesque spot to sit down and snack along the Garonne.

No worries about the little goose pictured here, it already had a name by the time the buyer walked away from the stand. Definitely pet, not food.

Traditional lobster shacks edge shorelines all along Maine’s coast, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a more idyllic one than McLoons, tucked away in Spruce Head, south of Rockland. It’s situated on a working harbor, where you can watch lobstermen unload catches; seating is at picnic tables, outside or under a tent; it’s bring-your-own for all the go-withs, from flowers and a tablecloth to salad and wine; and finally, it also serves awesome seasonal desserts. The food is ultra-fresh, the scenery is calendar-cover-worthy, and the understated simplicity is perfect. Sure the lobster dinners and rolls are excellent, but don’t miss the oysters and the crab cakes, and for those who don’t eat seafood (sacrilege!), McLoons grills burgers.

The magnificent avenue of oak trees that greets visitors at Boone Hall Plantation is, on its own, a Charleston must-see. After taking it in, guests can walk through the plantation mansion or take a driving tour of the grounds, which cover 738 acres. If the car feels too restrictive, opt instead for a garden tour, which highlights a collection of antique roses and a striking butterfly pavilion. Depending on the season, you can visit the U-Pick Fields to harvest your own strawberries or stock up on tomatoes and peaches at an adjacent farm stand. At Boone Hall’s Gullah Theater, historic reenactors recount the dark days of slavery and celebrate the African American culture that marked plantation life in centuries past. .

One of South Africa’s most famous sights, Robben Island is located four miles to the west of Cape Town. Its history as a prison is almost as old as the first Dutch settlement on the cape, dating all the way back to the 17th century. Today, the island is a UNESCO World Heritage site and museum, offering guided tours by former prisoners. After visiting the graveyard and maximum-security facility, guests can finish with a stop at the cell of the island’s most famous prisoner, Nelson Mandela. The half-hour ferry ride to Robben Island includes breathtaking views of Cape Town and Table Mountain. Just note that the ferry only runs three times a day in the low season; in the spring and summer, there’s an additional departure in the late afternoon. Book your tickets far in advance.

This late-19th-century city-owned seafood market, which was by and large abandoned after Hurricane Katrina, was reborn as an upscale food hall several years ago. The dilapidated structure was spruced up and the navelike interior painted an austere, modern white. Then a dozen or so food vendors moved in, serving as a sort of incubator for those with an idea but no desire to go the food-truck route. It’s a great place to swing by for lunch or a casual dinner—you can get craft cocktails and spend some time at the oyster bar, then browse the other offerings, which include crab mac and cheese at Fritai and alligator-sausage hash at Elysian Seafood.

It’s always a nice thing to see young Moroccans making their mark in a city that brings foreign investors by the droves—and the Hadni brothers have certainly done that in the shape of Baromètre. More akin to the speakeasies of New York and Barcelona than the posh hotel bars of the Red City, the brothers have come up with an innovative list of attention-grabbing cocktails that come in puffs of smoke and bespoke stemware and complement crowd-pleasing gin and tonics and Grey Goose martinis, while the decor has more in common with a glamorous turn-of-the century pharmacy than your usual drinking den. Recently they’ve added gourmet tapas so you can make a night of it, but like the cities that inspired them, the later you go, the livelier it will be.

The tony suburb of Houghton, whose best-known resident was Nelson Mandela, is home to leafy lanes lined with stately estates. Not too far from the Mandela family manse is the Residence, a stylish boutique property that lives up to its name, evoking a private lair of a chic distant relative that guests are fortunate enough to visit for a spell.

The rooms are plush, with velvet headboards, sumptuous rugs, and glittering chandeliers, but the bathrooms are a sight to behold: the gleaming marble tiles and outdoor showers and tubs merit a special mention. Nods to the nautical can be found in the Boat Lounge, where mini sailboats and life preservers inspire the decor. There’s often a pianist tickling the ivories in the Piano Lounge, where guests can retire with a post-prandial cocktail.

Scandinave Spa, at the edge of the forest beside Lost Lake, is a Nordic–inspired spa that recommends alternating dips in the hot and cold pools, steam rooms, and brisk waterfall rinses. There are myriad ways to stitch together a rejuvenation regimen: Breathe deeply in the eucalyptus steam bath, then follow up with a series of hot baths before a shocking plunge under a chilly cascade, followed by a series of cold, colder, and almost freezing baths, or go the other direction. You can finish the treatments in around 90 minutes, but some choose to make a day out of a visit to Scandinave, tossing in a massage or facial, hanging out in the solarium to read or snooze, or even napping in one of the hammocks strung around the large property. The spa’s café, an open timber-paneled space with floor-to-ceiling windows, serves freshly prepared soups, sandwiches, salads, and smoothies.

Since the 1970s, Melvyn’s has hosted a string of famous guests—most notably Frank Sinatra, who held court from corner booth #53 whenever he was in town. The Rat Pack spirit endures here. Old standards play nightly (except Mondays) at the piano bar, while tuxedo-clad waiters serve up Manhattans and martinis. A 2017 face lift spruced up the chandelier-strewn dining room and returned the bar to its former pale pink–tufted glory. Melvyn’s was and still is one of few places in Palm Springs with a dress code—it once famously turned away Steve McQueen and Ali McGraw for showing up in motorcycle ensembles—although diners are now allowed to dress more casually if they’re eating under the striped awning of the patio. Call ahead to reserve a table (yes, Sinatra’s booth is still available) and then give in to nostalgia. For lunch, try the Monte Cristo sandwich; after dark, follow jumbo prawn cocktails and oysters Rockefeller with tableside-prepared steak Diane and cherries jubilee. Insider’s tip: Ask maître d’ Brian Ellis, hired when Melvyn’s first opened, about the night the FBI stopped by.