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Chef Joshua McFadden is Portland’s “vegetable whisperer.” That’s no small accolade in a town where vegans roam free and farm-to-table is table stakes for most high-end restaurants. Tusk, his Middle Eastern–inflected restaurant on Burnside Street, turns out small plates under the watchful eye of his business partner, chef Sam Smith. Each dish is near reverent of its ingredients, with “Vegetables, Fruits, Grains” literally at the center of the printed dinner menu. Brunch at Tusk is a more eclectic affair, and also one of Portland’s hottest weekend seats. The bright space even makes the wait for a table a pleasant experience and one well worth the time it takes for the chance to taste the creations of one of Portland’s premier chefs.

Québec City has an abundance of elegant restaurants, both contemporary and classic, where you could easily imagine you are dining in Paris or New York. Bistro St-Malo, on the other hand, is a no-pretense, casual favorite, albeit one that still serves excellent renditions of French and Québecois dishes. Steak frites, duck confit, and boudin (blood sausage) are among the classic bistro options served here. The setting is as memorable as the cooking—the stone walls, hung with oil paintings and knickknacks, gives the restaurant a feeling similar to that of the many antique shops that sit near it on Rue Saint-Paul. In the summer, alfresco dining on the street, which runs along the waterfront of Lower Town, adds to the cafe’s popularity.

Huahine is home to the most extensive collection of pre European marae (traditional temples) in all of French Polynesia. These are found at Maeva, which is about 7 kilometers from the island’s only town, the sleepy port of Fare. Prior to European arrival, Maeva served as the seat of royal power on Huahine and you’ll find the 30 excavated marae (many of which have been restored) scattered among the village’s modern buildings along its shoreline and up the side of Matairea (Pleasant Wind) Hill. There is a designated walk around the site, which starts at the water’s edge and then leads up the slopes of Matairea Hill, where the most marae are located. It takes about two hours to complete. Make sure to bring plenty of water. You can pick up a brochure outlining the walk and what marae you’ll see along the way from the small archeological museum at the water’s edge. The museum also tells the story of the excavations which began in the 1920s.

With its leafy side streets, must-browse boutiques, and burgeoning food scene, Gueliz is quickly resembling pockets of Paris, particularly as more and more bistro-inspired places open their doors. Le Petit Cornichon is like a breath of spring with its splashy Majorelle blue and daffodil yellow color palette, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street, and animated atmosphere. Toward the end of the week, you’ll find half of Marrakech here indulging in a laid-back lunch before heading down to the beach at Essaouira for the weekend, but it’s a lovely place for a prix fixe lunch any old time and a good value to boot: two courses for $17, three for $21. Settle in to peruse an excellent wine list before tucking into dishes such as sea bass ceviche with grapefruit and pink peppercorns, tarragon chicken, and a sliver of wickedly rich chocolate tart.

Go shopping at Villagio Mall, an opulent Venetian-style shopping mall traversed by water canals and a fleet of gondolas offering rides to the shoppers. The Mall is inconspicuously partitioned into two sections: one geared to cater to middle class patrons which resembles an elegant shopping mall in the USA, and the exclusive side with high-end boutiques (Cavalli, Roles, Versace, Louis Vuitton, etc), French restaurants and designer jewelries, all under a lavish glass dome and flanked by balconies evocative of an old Italian town.

A few green acres of valuable Midtown Manhattan real estate affords office workers and visitors with valuable peace and space, two things that are hard to find in the surrounding streets. Bryant Park shares the block between Fifth and Sixth avenues and 41st and 42nd street with the main branch of the New York City Library (also worth a visit). The library runs an al fresco reading room along the north end of the park, and occasionally hosts readings and author events. In summer, a stage at the western edge of the vast green lawn runs a busy schedule of performances and films. In winter, the lawn becomes an ice skating rink and the site of a busy holiday market. All year round, the park is a popular destination for the bocce ball courts, ping pong tables, small carousel, food kiosks, open lawns, gravel paths, seasonal plantings, and a graceful fountain. It may be a challenge to find a seat at lunchtime, but it’s worth the wait. Take a break from your walk and enjoy some great people-watching, as well as shade and a measure of serenity in a green space bound on all sides by tall buildings.

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.

The sky above Jasper National Park comes alive at night. Celebrated as a Dark Sky Preserve, the national park is one of the best places in the world to stargaze. Light pollution is that orange hue often seen above cities, which is caused by the large amount of iridescent light omnipresent in populated areas. Jasper, home to only 5,000 people in a 10,000-square-kilometer area, is essentially light-pollution free. Because of this, the skies are darker—the area around Columbia Icefield is one of the darkest places in North America—so it’s possible to clearly see more stars than nearly anywhere else. Although the dark skies are best viewed in autumn and winter, from September to March, the best time to learn about the stars is during Jasper’s annual Dark Sky Festival that takes place at the end of October. The best part? It’s absolutely free.

Columbus Landfall National Park encompasses both the land and water on the entire west side of Grand Turk, a total of 1,280 acres of protected areas, including around 25 excellent scuba diving sites. Most of these dive sites sit along a submarine wall that drops more than 7,000 feet deep. Places such as Coral Canyon and Black Forest have stunning gardens of hard and soft corals clinging to the edge of the wall, and divers can spot everything from colorful angelfish to sleek reef sharks there. (As you may have guessed by its name, this is also believed by some to be where Christopher Columbus first landed in the New World.)

While this complex for the Cao Dai religion—which was founded in Vietnam in 1926 and combines elements of a number of other faiths—includes offices and a clinic, the real draw for tourists is the great temple. The giant, bright, surreal building is located some 50 miles northwest of Ho Chi Minh City and it is the most important shrine for the religion’s 2 million followers. The temple has an eclectic design, with front towers that resemble those of a mosque coupled with pagoda-style roofs along the sides. More striking still are the interiors, with brightly colored dragons wrapping themselves around columns and the ubiquitous symbol of a giant eye (the movement’s emblem is an eye inside a triangle), including on the large, orblike main altar.

Since 1862, fresh flowers and plants have arrived by barge from the Dutch countryside to Amsterdam. While this assemblage of flora still shows up daily, it comes by van, not boat, to the Bloemenmarkt, the world’s only floating flower market. Here, you can browse 15 fragrant stalls on houseboats permanently moored on the Singel. Now the best-known flower market in Holland, this colorful attraction is packed with tourists on sunny weekends. Still, it’s a great place to pick up Dutch tulip bulbs in a plethora of shades and varieties, as well as many other types of bulbs, seeds, cut blooms, and houseplants. Ship a bag of bulbs home, or grab a souvenir at one of several shops hawking T-shirts, mugs, clogs, Dutch cheese, and other fun and inexpensive gifts.

The most enviable address in Waikiki, the beachfront Halekulani is all about restrained elegance and pitch-perfect service. The hotel dates back a century, though it was entirely rebuilt in the 1980s—and the room decor—fifty shades of white and plantation shutters framing the turquoise sea—complements the scene outside. The beach itself is small and usually mobbed, but the pool is a dream—a giant oval big enough for laps, and quiet enough (few kids here) for a long doze under your chaise’s umbrella. The grassy courtyards and seaside restaurants are just as improbably serene; some might say stuffy, but for others, the reliably hushed atmosphere is a welcome tonic to the hubbub of Waikiki, just outside the Halekulani’s marbled entrance.

Historic Santo Domingo offers a unique look at how the New World was settled in the years following Christopher Columbus’s arrival in the Caribbean on his first voyage in 1492, as well as subsequent expeditions. The Colonial Zone sits along the Ozama River, where the settlement’s original layout, walls, forts and other buildings remain much as they were 500 years ago. With its wealth of colonial architecture, the area has not surprisingly been recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. Among the historic buildings is the first cathedral built in the Americas, the Basilica Cathedral of Santa María la Menor (also known as the Catedral Primada de América, recognizing its historic significance). The ornate church once housed the remains of Christopher Columbus until they were moved to the Columbus Lighthouse, in the eastern part of the city.

There are few places where you can better learn about the beauty and complexity of desert ecology than the Desert Botanical Garden, not far from downtown Phoenix. Check out the Desert Discovery Loop Trail for a look at local flora, go for a flashlight tour or cooking class (using plants found in the region, of course), or catch one of the musical performances that are part of the garden’s concert series. Make a point to visit the Desert Terrace Garden for the best views of the surrounding buttes and desert.

Open every day for lunch and dinner, this casual spot next to the Fort Myers Beach pier has been around for more than two decades. Grab a spot on the outdoor terrace overlooking the sand for mango ceviche made with Gulf shrimp and bay scallops, or the more-adventurous gator tail platter. For an extra lively scene, go during happy hour at the grill or the twice-daily live music at Famous Blowfish Bar. With an always-on-vacation vibe, this spot keeps the party going from early until late.