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When you hear the phrase, “summer in southern Arizona,” naturally your thoughts will tend toward heat and sunshine. Most wouldn’t think of mounds of fresh produce at a farmers’ market in the desert city of Tucson. But the arrival of the monsoon coincides with nature’s edible bounty, even here in the desert. The nearby Santa Cruz valley is actually one of the oldest continually-farmed regions in North America, with agriculture dating back four thousand years! Heirloom beans, squash, chiles, and tomatoes are still grown. The nearby higher elevation lands near Willcox are known for their orchards and even a few vineyards. Mesquite flour is made into cookies and tortillas. Prickly pear cactus is made into jams and frozen treats. All this is available throughout the week at various farmers’ markets around Tucson. The biggest one is on Sunday morning in the neo-colonial courtyards of St. Philip’s Plaza. And, if you’re curious, you’ll get language and cooking lessons, too. On a recent Sunday morning, my wife and I asked what some curious looking greens were. The answer? Purslane, or “verdolagas” in Spanish. They grow like weeds once the monsoon rains begin, and they contain more omega-3 fatty acids (think fish oil) than any other leafy plant. In a salad, or sautéed or stewed, they’re great. Who knew? Farmers’ markets are always a great place to get a vibe for a city—a cross section of people and produce. And, even in the desert, it is possible to shop and eat local.

Tucked away on an eight-acre estate at the top of St. Helena’s main street, Harvest Inn could easily be mistaken for a private country manse somewhere in England, or even northern France. Its lush gardens are traversed by winding pathways, and its brick-accented, Tudor-inspired architecture suggests somewhere far more Old World than upstart Napa. Even its sinuous pools and cozy rooms (many with fireplaces and private outdoor hot tubs, mind you) are reminiscent of a style somewhat less rustic-chic than tends to be in vogue here in wine country. Indeed, by Napa Valley standards, the intimate inn is part of the old guard, its original 25 rooms dating back to 1975, just after the famed Judgment of Paris tasting brought the region’s New World wines into the international spotlight.

But the Harvest Inn is no less luxurious than the new resorts popping up all over Napa Valley. It has one of the most desirable locations in one of the most desirable parts of the world, surrounded by celebrated vineyards and presiding over arguably the most picturesque town in wine country. It also features a popular restaurant, Harvest Table, which serves dishes full of ingredients from the hotel’s on-site vegetable and herb garden.

Adorned with more than 20,000 blue handcrafted İznik tiles, stained-glass windows, and the golden brushstrokes of a 17th-century calligrapher, the Blue Mosque is the legacy of Sultan Ahmet I (1590–1617). The young sultan audaciously wished to outdo the builders of Hagia Sophia, commissioning six minarets to match the number at Mecca’s Sacred Mosque (which now has seven minarets as a result). Today, this magnificent mosque is a place of worship for thousands who visit from around the world.

Designed by Thai architect Khun Lek Bunnag—who has garnered a reputation for building luxury resorts that highlight the natural beauty of southeast Asia (Four Seasons Resort Chiang Mai; Phulay Bay, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve)—the centerpiece of this peaceful boutique property is a 330-foot swimming pool that’s anchored by four massive gold-leaf columns and meanders through a forest-backed eight-acre garden. Vast domed and wood-covered rooms are controlled with iPads and express a fusion of modern Thai and Indian aesthetics—think sleek marble surfaces, whimsical panelled walls, and silk throw pillows. Guests are mostly couples and child-free travelers unfazed by the freestanding bathtubs that sit next to king-size beds and showers separated from sleeping areas by glass sliding doors. The many unfenced walkways over the swimming pool and other water features make the hotel unsuitable for very young children, though older kids might appreciate outdoor movie screenings.

Facing the impressive Jesuit complex in the Old Town, Kopun is just far enough from the tourist hot spots to elevate its already good food with a pinch of serenity. The menu here focuses on traditional delicacies from the region, including a buzara stew with mussels and a capon prepared from a 16th-century recipe with Eastern spices, honey, and sour orange (there’s also a 19th-century version sprinkled with porcini mushrooms). The wine list boasts several lesser-known local producers, so be sure to ask your server what pairs best with your meal.

Down the hallway of an old elementary school is an unexpected art exhibit featuring local talent. Every couple months it changes themes and one month it highlights the youth of the Roaring Fork Valley from kindergarten to high school. There have been exhibits on texture that showcased quilts and tapestries and exhibits that tell a story through a series of pieces. It is quite special to see the talent that lives in the area.

At La Cuchara de San Telmo, on the corner of the plaza Valle Lersundi in San Sebastian, the specialties were hot pintxos, quickly prepared to order--from the menu or the specials board, or by pointing to what your neighbor was eating. This was one of best scallops I have ever tasted. But then, so was the second one we had when we returned after another hour or so of pintxo bar hopping in the Parte Vieja (Old Town).

An air of casual cool permeates the atmosphere at this, one of Glasgow’s best gathering spots for fans of alternative music. A judiciously curated events schedule runs the gamut from book readings to live performances, while the cafe serves great vegan food and a wide selection of beer and wine. In house record store Monorail has a small but excellent choice of sounds.

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.

The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust rescues orphaned baby elephants from the wild, nurturing and raising them through the grief of losing their families, and then eases them back into their natural habitat when they are old and strong enough. The animals are not forced to return to the wild—at around four years old, they are moved from the Nairobi nursery to a new home near Tsavo National Park to help them gain the independence to move on. The baby elephants can be visited every day at 11 a.m., where you’ll see them playing in the mud and guzzling gallons of milk. Guests who choose to adopt an orphan can return at 5 p.m. to watch the babies enjoy an evening snack of leaves before being put to bed.

In Istanbul, the most authentic place to smoke nargile (also known as hookah and shisha) is Corlulu Ali Pasa Medresesi. The 300-year-old Medrese evolved from a religious school and dervish lodge during the Ottoman times to bazaar stores in the mid-20th century to its current form—a respite for locals and tourists from the bustling Grand Bazaar district. Relax amid the bubbling sounds of the nargile while indulging in the wafting aromas of fruity tobacco. Alcohol is not served; instead, savor a Turkish tea in a tulip-shaped glass or try “boomba” tea with lemon, hibiscus, and mint at the café on the left as you enter the complex. In winter, the warm milky cinnamon drink called salep is a local favorite. The customers are mainly men, but ladies, don’t feel intimidated. It’s a great place to people watch and meet locals who speak many languages. Corlulu Ali Pasa Medresesi is open till 2am and located on the tram line between Cemberlitas and Beyazit/Grand Bazaar stations. If you want my recommendation, try the apple and mint or rose and mint nargile—best shared with old and new friends. Afiyet Olsun (bon appetit)!

Shanghai tailors are the best in the world, says fashion designer Christy Holzer, whose label, Dowry Designs, was inspired by the city. She suggests visiting the South Bund fabric market to order custom garments. DRESS: STALL 308 “A fun style to wear is the qipao [a centuries-old Chinese dress that got its form-fitting shape in the 1920s]. Traditional silk patterns make the garment look old, so request a solid-color silk.” SUIT: STALL 309 “If you want truly exceptional fabric, ask for 100 percent wool. Most of the wool fabrics they have are blends. Specify that they line your suit with 100 percent silk or cotton.” COTTON SHIRT: STALL 310 “Look at the buttons the tailors are planning to use, as they often choose cheap ones. If you don’t like the buttons, stop by a button stall at the market; it will be worth the extra investment.” Illustration by Michael Hoeweler.

Pescheria Mattiucci is a fish store by day that transforms itself into a small standing-room-only restaurant a few nights of the week. Mattiucci is an old family operation, but this place is the brainchild of a young son, Luigi Mattiucci. Luigi speaks to me from behind the counter as he preps plates of fish. “There’s a tradition of eating raw fish in southern Italy,” he says. “But it wasn’t a restaurant thing. It was something fishermen did because they couldn’t store all the fish they’d caught.”

He passes me a plate of raw red shrimp with the heads still on, slices of Sicilian tuna, and some amberjack, all of it topped with only a spray of lemon juice and some thick grains of sea salt.

Mattiucci has expanded his family business, which began as an outdoor fish stall in the Quartieri Spagnoli. (Everything artisanal in Naples seems to originate from there, probably because only a poor neighborhood like that could supply the child labor that was the foundation of old-school artisanal culture.) Mattiucci expanded from that original location into this store in posh Chiaia and also bought fishing boats in Sicily so they could eliminate the middleman. He serves me a dish of baby calamari stuffed with friarelli, a distinctively Neapolitan bitter green. Then he offers me a sample of a new dish: the same seafood stuffed with sprigs of spring vegetables, just now in season. Mattiucci, I realize, is someone who’s taking an artisanal approach to the very traditional, and non-artisanal trade of fishmongering. He’s already expanded his restaurant to London and Milan, but Naples is still where he cooks himself. “The fish is freshest here,” he says.

In a swift four minutes, the Dubrovnik cable car will deliver you to the top of Mount Srdi for awe-inspiring views of the Old Town and Elaphite Islands. On clear days, you can even see Italy far out on the horizon. Next to the cable-car station is Napoleon’s Fort Royal, an immense stone fortress that played a strategic role in the 1992 Siege of Dubrovnik during the Croatian War of Independence. Today, the fort houses the Museum of Contemporary History, which showcases artifacts from the Dubrovnik battlefields as well as a BBC film that vividly illustrates the events of 1991 and 1992.

Formerly the 1888 Hotel.
What used to be a wool shed in the middle of a sheep farming area is now a youthful hotel that celebrates the Pyrmont district’s heritage while featuring the full suite of modern amenities. Opened in 2013, the hotel is an extravaganza of wool, which is found in the felted black lampshades attached to old pulleys in the lobby, in the lower wall panels in the hallways, and as carpeting throughout the building. The old Wool Brokers Arms is visible across the street from the heritage rooms on the west side of the hotel. Modern and cheeky touches also abound at this boutique property, known as the world’s first Instagram hotel. There’s an empty “Selfie Frame” hanging amid mismatched furniture in the lobby, and guests with at least 10,000 Instagram followers are offered a free night’s stay. (Mere Instagram mortals have a chance to win, too, by using the hashtag #1888hotel to be entered into a monthly photo contest.) 1888 is also a leader in sustainability; the hotel preserved the building’s original ironbark beams and built desks from recycled floorboards. The minibar is more conscious than usual, too, stocked with Alter Eco chocolates, Charlie’s juices, coconut water, and fresh milk. The best things about 1888 are the little surprises. Even the hotel’s name has a double meaning: 1888 was the year the building was constructed but was also the year that the Kodak camera debuted.