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Opened in 2012 in the Palmerie neighborhood, surrounded by views of the Djebilet Hills and Atlas Mountains, this stunning resort feels miles away from the world—though complimentary shuttles whisk guests to the town center in less than 25 minutes. The popularity with the glam crowd and the variety of super-sized accommodations also help make it feel like an upscale residential enclave. Choose between 41 chic rooms, suites, villas, and “palaces,” all connected by pathways that wind under Moorish arches, through gardens, and over flower-filled ponds; even the entry-level Deluxe Rooms offer plenty of space, with oversized bathrooms, fireplaces, outdoor seating, and a large heated plunge pool, while the three kinds of Suites, multi-bedroom Villas, and three private residence Palaces (with three or four bedrooms each) offer other perks like full-sized swimming pools, kitchens, and more outdoor living areas. Enjoy breakfast and dinner at the French-Moroccan Le Namaskar, lunch at La Table in the gardens, tea at Espace T, and drinks at a variety of bars, including the rooftop Nomad Bar, where bubbles are served to DJ-spun tunes and endless views. (The decadent brunch, served on the lawn with fluffy pillows as seats, is popular with locals, so be sure to make a reservation.) Though every room has a private pool for a dip, there’s also a main one ringed by loungers, as well as other soaking spots—and a full menu of treatments—at the lantern-lit spa.

Austin’s very own grand dame, this landmark hotel opened in 1886 as the city’s first iconic hotel, both a testament to and display of the success of cattle baron Jesse Driskill, who wanted to build his beloved frontier town a palace to rival those in New York, Chicago, and San Francisco. The city fared better than Mr. Driskill did; financial troubles forced him to sell the hotel just two years after opening, and he died of a stroke just another two years later. After some initial ups and downs, his hotel ultimately flourished, housing a rotating cast of Texas elite and hosting important political events in Austin—in particular, gubernatorial inaugural balls—in the 20th century. President Lyndon Johnson had an especially close relationship with the hotel, from his first date with his wife to awaiting presidential re-election results in one of the suites.

Multimillion-dollar renovations in 2008 restored the hotel to its original grandeur, maintaining its historic charm alongside all the amenities of a modern luxury hotel. Brave guests might request a room on the reportedly haunted fifth floor. And, no stay at the Driskill is complete without a cocktail in the elegant Driskill Bar, where cattle, oil, or railroad barons would still fit in.

Welcome to the vagina island, no joke (the rough English translation of the word Huahine is vagina). And although no one knows exactly where the name originated, historians think it has to do with the important role women played in the island’s history. Comprised of two islands – the more developed Huahine Nui (Big Huahine) to the north, and Huahine Iti (Little Huahine) to the south – there isn’t a lot to do here, but the unpretentious and relatively sleepy vibe appeals to budget travelers and surfers, as Huahine has some of the cheapest beds and best breaks in all of French Polynesia. It is also home to untouched beaches, isolated coves, enchanted azure lagoons and the most extensive complex of pre-European marae in French Polynesia. It also has a noticeable lack of luxury resorts, making it still feel like a Robinson Crusoe style getaway. Some of the most consistent and best surf in French Polynesia is found off Huahine’s shores, but local surfers can be very possessive, so make sure you check with them before hitting up their turn. This is also not the place for novices, as the left and right reef breaks can chew you up pretty badly. Huahine is also home to some great dive spots, including a canyon where you can see barracuda, jackfish, rays and sharks. For snorkeling head to Fare, which has a pretty sand beach just north of town and a wide, translucent lagoon that drops off quickly for excellent snorkeling around coral and through schools of multi-hued fish.

The Great Market Hall in Budapest should be any visitors first stop in order to get acquainted to the people, goods and grub of Hungary. The market is one of those strange places that caters to both locals and tourists alike without losing its authentic appeal. Under one roof you can by meats and sausages, Royal Tokaji wine, paprika, hot Hungarian favorites, such as Goulash, an assortment of pickled vegetables and fresh produce. The upper floor has small eateries, where you can sample a variety of Hungarian favorites for very little money.

A hot lobster roll from Neptune Oyster is summertime heaven on a butter-soaked brioche, and bivalve lovers queue up daily to sample the two dozen varieties of oysters chilling in the front window of this diminutive North End restaurant. Fresh-off-the-boat fish and creative takes on New England seafood are the draws here—the clam chowder is made to order, the fish-and-chips uses Acadian redfish (not cod), and it’s probably the only place in town where you can get lobster tacos. Yeah, it’s pricey—hot or cold, the lobster roll will set you back around $30—but share the Neptune Plateau raw-bar plate with your friends and you’ll truly feel like the king of the sea.

“Well, we’ll see about that!” loudly harrumphs an endless of stream of out-of-town customers, eager to challenge the claim that Willie Mae’s makes “the world’s best fried chicken.” They’re usually much quieter when they depart—invariably cowed into silence by the spicy, armor-plated crust surrounding strikingly moist meat. Not a chicken lover? You can also dig into pork chops, veal, or catfish at this iconic (if out-of-the-way) neighborhood institution in Treme, a five-minute taxi ride out of the French Quarter. Willie Mae herself is no longer at the helm, but her granddaughter has taken over and seems to guard its reputation as tightly as she does the family chicken recipe.

Place des Arts, the jewel of the Quartier des Spectacles in the center of town, is a cultural complex attached to the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal that unites five performance spaces, including the Maison Symphonique de Montréal. It has two main performance arts spaces: Théâtre Maisonneuve, a nearly 1,500-seat modern-day rendition of a classical Italian theatre where dance organizations including Grands Ballets Canadiens regularly perform; Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier, which with just under 3,000 seats is better suited for big, boisterous Opéra de Montréal productions; and the smaller, 400-seat Cinquième Salle, home to series of shows by Danse Danse, among others. Photo: Susan Moss

Portland isn’t exactly the kind of city that’s known for being “fancy,” which was why it was so bold for the Starwood Luxury Collection to add a sleek 15th floor to the top of the iconic Meier & Frank department store building downtown—and turn the top nine floors into the swankiest hotel in town. Who would’ve thought that Louis XVI chairs, tufted white leather and teal velvet, crystal chandeliers, and ornate wallpaper would work so well in the city of plaid, beards, and twee bird patterns? In true Field of Dreams fashion, Starwood built it and the travelers came out of the woodwork, hungry for a luxury hotel that embodies the Rose City with everything from environmentally conscious practices and farm-to-table restaurants to an extensive art collection and rooftop honey bee colony. All that’s to say nothing of the private club-like Library, a collaboration with Portland icon Powell’s Books (the world’s largest bookstore) that allows hotel guests to borrow from a curated collection of 3,000 books during their stay. As it turns out, it’s not all that hard to dress Portland to the nines.

The moment the snow melts, young Torontonians begin their annual spring migration to Trinity Bellwoods Park. The hippest park in town, Bellwoods stretches from the shopper’s paradise of Queen West up to central Dundas Street. On a summer’s day, sun-and-fun seekers spread out on beach blankets to watch the action: at the dog run, on the tennis courts, in the kiddie pool, and even closer, on the adjacent blankets. After dark, head to nearby Bellwoods Brewery for a pint.

Although severely damaged during World War II, the Old Town of Toulon retains narrow cobblestone streets and picturesque squares with inviting cafés. Toulon is a major naval base and its maritime history is evident in Le Mourillon quarter, the old waterfront area with vibrantly painted fishermen’s houses and an esplanade with restaurants and boutiques overlooking the harbor.

I’m not one to skip breakfast, especially in Italy, where thoughts of cappuccino, pastries, and local ham tend to rouse me early from slumber. But on my first morning at the Hotel Sant’Angelo, in the old quarter of Matera, I was having a hard time dragging myself from the creature comforts of my cave. Staying in a cave, it turns out, can be surprisingly pleasant. There was just one small window high overhead, but the room and adjoining bath were in no way dank—a testament to the natural ventilation that keeps the caves cool and comfortable. The wavy contours of the white tufa-rock walls conjured a feeling of being enveloped in some primordial womb. Yet there were modern amenities: luxurious linens, Internet service, a telephone. Fred Flintstone never had it this good. I might have snoozed until noon, were it not for an impatient mate eager to see the sights. We had arrived in the village the previous night after a long drive across the treeless plains of the Basilicata region, located at the instep of Italy’s boot. Matera is an enchanted world of Stone Age splendor. Known as the sassi (Italian for stones), the bisque-colored hilltop cave homes comprise one of the oldest continuously inhabited places on earth, according to UNESCO. The caves have provided shelter for more than 7,000 years. A millennium ago, shepherds inhabited them and carved churches into the rock; during the Renaissance, the area prospered and elaborate buildings were carved out, the excess tufa sculpted into ornate facades. By the early 1900s, the sassi had fallen into neglect. Families and their animals crowded into the caves for warmth, and disease was rampant. When writer Carlo Levi brought this tragic state of affairs to light with his 1945 book Christ Stopped At Eboli, the Italian authorities moved residents en masse to modern housing—leaving the sassi abandoned, save for the occasional crew brought by film makers (Pier Paolo Pasolini and Mel Gibson among them) in search of a biblical-looking backdrop. It was only in the 1990s that the Italian government encouraged people to move back. Residents revamped the cave dwellings as homes, restaurants, and inns. When the Sant’Angelo opened in 2004, it was the area’s first luxury hotel. The 19 cave rooms are sparsely but tastefully appointed with rustic wooden furniture. Some carved decorations—crosses, hearts, an owl—date back hundreds of years. Fossilized shells embedded in the walls reveal that the region once lay underwater. Eventually, my fiancé and I did emerge from our cave to wander the town’s ancient alleys. A local guide named Dora Cappiello took us into some of the 150 chiese rupestri (rock churches), where she pointed out wine troughs and frescoes of San Nicola, the patron saint of local shepherds. We also visited a cave dwelling that had been restored to resemble its state when the caves were equal parts manger and living space.
Simple, delicious meals punctuated our explorations. The curvy walls of Baccanti, a cave restaurant, created a private nook where we feasted on silky pappardelle pasta with a cinghiale (wild boar) ragu, accompanied by a dry, fruity red aglianico from the nearby Vulture wine region. Tired and sated after a full day, we headed back to our cave—on moonless nights, a flashlight or trail of bread crumbs is advised for the stumble back to the hotel—where the promise of a deep, sound night’s sleep awaited. —Amy Cortese Hotel Sant’Angelo, 39/0835-314010, from $211 for a double. This appeared in the March/April 2010 issue.

Arabica coffee beans, one of Tanzania’s largest exports, are widely grown in the rolling foothills of Mount Meru, outside Arusha. The Arusha Coffee Lodge offers tours of its estate to show how these beans are farmed, harvested, and dried. The lodge offers accommodations in their 30 plantation cottages, tucked among the lush green coffee fields. A beautiful on-site bistro café, which opens out onto a garden terrace, serves full meals or just a cup of very locally sourced coffee. Don’t forget to stop in and browse or visit the workshops at Shanga while you’re here: This social enterprise employs people with disabilities to create handcrafted goods.

In a picturesque setting near the shores of Lake Geneva and the famous Jet d’Eau fountain, the Grand Hotel Kempinski Geneva is a modern, upscale hotel that serves as a high-end summer and winter retreat. Its 412 rooms, suites, and apartments mix contemporary and classic decor and come with modern technologies such as flat-screen TVs and in-room iPads. If you want views of Lake Geneva and the Alps, you’ll need to book one of the Deluxe rooms, most of which have the added allure of being situated in the historic part of the hotel.

The service is immaculate, with a concierge team that can work miracles. The hotel has three restaurants and a second-floor bar with a fantastic terrace. Weary travelers can revive themselves at the spa. For the ultimate health break, you can also take advantage of the hotel’s on-site pharmacy and dentist.

While many walked through the streets of the small town, I decided to head along the river and came across this beautiful view of Lake Brienz.

Goldeneye, to be clear, is not an easy place to leave. The land—the former home of Ian Fleming, where he wrote each of the 14 James Bond thrillers that would cement his place in literary and cinematic history—sits next to the tiny town of Oracabessa, on the northern coast. A warm, blue-green lagoon curls from the ocean around a small island and then lets out into a bay. You can look one direction and see a jungle, then turn around and see pristine white sand.

Blackwell bought the property in 1976 as a vacation home and a space to entertain family and friends but later he decided to transform it. In 2016, Goldeneye debuted a jumble of new huts, arranged around a small cove, a short walk from Fleming’s house and the resort’s original villas. The huts vary in height, designed to capture cooling breezes and allow guests to forgo air conditioning. And, crucially, they’re much cheaper to book than the Villas. Which is key because, up until this point, if you wanted to plan a visit to Goldeneye, you needed to either know Blackwell personally or have the excess capital to shell out potentially five figures on a vacation. (Part of the resort’s enduring gravitational pull is that many of the celebrity guests check both boxes.) With the beach huts, Blackwell has expanded, once again, the ambition of his famous resort.