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Tahiti invented the concept of the overwater bungalow so, when visiting, you’re almost compelled to stay in one. The island’s top luxury resort, the InterContinental, offers 32 surprisingly affordable options, plus a few hundred rooms in three beachside buildings, two infinity pools, a swim-up bar, a private beach, and a lovely spa. Modeled after traditional Polynesian fare houses, the bungalows reach out over the lagoon and include roofs woven from pandanus leaves, private jetties that provide direct access to the water, and terraces ideal for watching the sunset. When hunger strikes, head to the onsite Tiare Restaurant, which features an open kitchen and nightly Tahitian dance performances, or Le Lotus, which is set in an overwater building and gives off a romantic vibe with live piano, gorgeous views, and French cuisine. The resort is also home to the Tiki Bar, a favorite local watering hole that serves cocktails in coconuts.

Sir Bani Yas is a desert island five miles off the city’s Arabian Gulf coast with some curious residents, namely cheetahs, ostriches, and giraffes, among others. Three distinct properties allow visitors to make the most of the rustic wildlife refuge with game drives and one-of-a-kind animal encounters: the Desert Islands Resort & Spa, with its plethora of amenities and dining options; the safari-style Al Sahel Villa Resort, at the island’s rugged center; or the luxe shorefront Al Yamm Villa Resort, where barasti-style villas have turquoise infinity pools and a lagoon teeming with migratory birds. Though each property stands on its own, guests can take advantage of all the amenities with free transfers between them. Don’t miss the innovative Dining by Design experience, which lets you dine at different venues around the island, from a romantic dinner on the beach to a family picnic on safari plains.

This tiny hideaway overlooking the sea near Port Antonio originally served as a live-in recording studio for performers such as No Doubt, Alicia Keys, and Amy Winehouse. Although recording sessions still go on, Geejam is now a seven-room hotel, its guests often honeymooning couples acting out fantasies having nothing to do with rock and roll. Geejam’s cabins, especially, are very private, and guests sometimes spend days taking meals on their veranda and splashing in their outdoor Jacuzzi without being seen by anyone but the staff, who appear only when called. Of course, who wants to stay hidden forever when the Bushbar restaurant promises convivial chitchat, an occasional game of pool, and even live music? Not to mention that the hotel beach, in a cove across a road at the bottom of the property, promises four-poster sunbeds and, yes, Wi-Fi.

You might hear Long Street before you see it—this bustling artery is the heart of Cape Town, home to some of the city’s most popular restaurants, bars, and boutiques, all within a few blocks’ radius of the Grand Daddy Hotel. Built in 1895, this landmark building has been transformed into one of the city’s quirkier havens, though it somehow manages to walk the fine line between campy and classy. It’s a spot that’s beloved by tourists and locals alike (don’t be surprised to stumble onto a local fashion shoot in the gilded Daddy Cool bar).

Behind the stately gray exterior lies a whimsical world: snuggle into crisp white sheets in one of the 26 colorful rooms or suites, or settle into a stylishly appointed Airstream in the rooftop trailer park. And speaking of the rooftop: there’s no better place to take in the view of Table Mountain presiding over the city.

Not every celebrity who visits Harbour Island stays at the Pink Sands Hotel. Bill Gates, for instance, has his own home on the island. But Keith Richards has checked in here, as have Martha Stewart and Kate Moss. Since its opening in the 1950s, the 25-room hotel, like the island itself, has been a low-key enclave of the rich and famous, drawn not just by the like-attracts-like vibe (one of the previous owners was Island Records founder and Bob Marley “discoverer” Chris Blackwell), but by its location on Pink Sands Beach, widely considered one of the world’s prettiest. Accommodations are in plush one- and two-room cottages that have king beds and ocean or garden views; some have outdoor showers. Reserve a table at the British-colonial–inspired Malcolm 51 for island-style bouillabaisse and charred octopus salad, but don’t get too carried away with the sundowners. All manner of aquatic activities (snorkeling the nearby coral reef, bonefishing in the shallows, or merely swimming in the heated freshwater pool) await in the morning.

After a hard day of chorten circling and monastery mayhem, there’s nothing like a cellar temperature beer and some fresh, hot fries to drive out the demons of the day’s travels. We found ourselves in this remote corner of Eastern Bhutan, actually all of Eastern Bhutan is remote, with our stop for the night at the Karmaling. It had to be good with “karma” in its namesake. Of course, there was no power in Trashyangtse the afternoon we arrived, typical, and a town without electricity that is normally pretty quiet, is really quiet. The propane was still working at the hotel and the fries were hand-cut and served with a homemade ketchup. The place was really quite comfortable and the owner, very accommodating. The town is home to Chorten Kora, a stupa style normally found in Nepal; revered here and well preserved. The Himalayan south slope seems close enough to touch with the river Kulong cutting through the valley and picking up speed. There is the Rodungla trek west to Tangmachhu with its twelve thousand foot pass, but we couldn’t find anyone to talk with that had done it. A short day hike up out of the valley was enough of a persuader to send us back to town with a sense of having done enough. The Karmaling is a sweet spot at the end of the road north. The road east leads to Arunachal Pradesh, India and the birthplace of the sixth Dalai Lama. We couldn’t talk our guides into sneaking us into India for a quick visit; instead sending us south with the mountains in the rear view.

Foro Sol, like Auditorio Nacional, is a massive venue for big concerts, and if your favorite group hasn’t played Auditorio Nacional, it’s probably taken the stage at Foro Sol. Newer than Auditorio Nacional (it was built in 1993), Foro Sol is also an entirely different kind of venue; the Auditorio is entirely indoors, while Foro Sol is a stadium. Familiar names who have played here in recent years include Bon Jovi, Joan Baez, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and Tool, among dozens of others.

After years at its original, jewel-box-like (and maybe even a little solemn) location, the city’s high temple of Mexican regional cuisine has moved to a more expansive—some say more relaxed—space. It includes more light, a bar area for “taco omakase,” and large windows overlooking the garden, plus a groovy, midcentury accent that might recall Manhattan’s late, lamented Four Seasons restaurant. Changes aside, diners can still count on a six-section prix fixe menu, with each section home to multiple bites involving an astounding variety of local ingredients that even most Mexicans have never tasted, all exquisite enough to have placed Pujol on several best-restaurants lists for years running. And yes, you still get a taste of chef Enrique Olvera’s mole madre, well over a thousand days in the pot as of this writing.

Between 15th and 16th streets on Ninth Avenue in Chelsea, the Chelsea Market is a food court with New York attitude. Its restaurants and shops sell Australian meat pies, banh mi, and lobster rolls. These are no fast-food chains—this is a place to find cheese from upstate or that spice you can’t find at your supermarket. There is now a Posman Books and an Anthropologie outpost, but most of the places here stay true to the market’s culinary roots with Sarabeth’s, Ronnybrook Dairy, and Berlin Currywurst as good places to pick up food to eat on the spot or to take home. If you are looking for a hard-to-find kitchen gadget, the Bowery Kitchens store is almost sure to have it. The market is also ideally located if you want to purchase picnic supplies before ascending to the High Line if the weather is good.

Despite being a modern capital city, Brussels is still very much in touch which its historic past. Festivals, parades, architecture and traditions all hint at times gone by. One fascinating tradition is still active in Brussels and you can see it in action every Thursday night, near Place Royal. Tucked behind the museums and palace is a nondescript door, leading to a time gone by. It opens into the home of the Grand Serment Royal et de Saint-Georges des Arbalétriers de Bruxelles - the Crossbow Guild of Brussels. At one time, Brussels had many crossbowmen who protected the city walls from intruders. These days, they let the tourists in, but the crossbowmen (and now women) remain. The current mandate of the guild is to preserve the history and traditions of the crossbowmen and to teach others about this fascinating trade. Their guildhall is now a museum dedicated to the guild’s history. It still contains three shooting ranges of different lengths, where members practice every night. Meetings are open to the public (but are conducted in French) and new guild members are welcome. Being Belgium, there is a bar stocked with Ommegang beer, named for a historic pageant that was once integral to the crossbow guilds. It’s a fascinating way to watch history come to life before your eyes.

The plaza of Place Seffarine, dominated by the entrance to the al-Qarawiyin Library and a sturdy old tree, is one of the most pleasing areas in Fes. As you approach, you’ll hear the sound of the copper beaters tap, tap, tapping away. It’s well worth perusing the stalls to find high-quality cookware to take home, such as pixie pans for boiling milk for your coffee, copper tagines and teapots, and prettily etched bowls for use in the hammam. Stop at the café for seriously strong coffee and to watch the world go by, or scoot around the corner onto Derb Chouara for hot, sweet mint tea spiked with various other healing herbs at a hole-in-the-wall where you’ll rub shoulders with local craftspeople taking a break from their labors.

Union Market is the perfect D.C. destination if you’re searching for a weekend brunch spot, craving a snack on your way to visit the Capitol, or, you know, hungry. Oyster bar, bakery, taqueria, soda shop, sandwich shop, Korean taco grill—all of the food is here waiting for you. The 47,000-square-foot space is a throwback to the original Union Terminal Market, which opened in 1931 with more than 700 produce, meat, fish, and dairy vendors in airy indoor stalls. The market moved to a warehouse in the 1960s and closed in the 1980s before reopening in 2012. When you’re finished stuffing your face, you can shop for home goods and vintage finds at shops like Little Leaf and Salt & Sundry.

Those who have never visited Dollywood may be surprised that Dolly Parton’s namesake attraction is anything but a dusty tourist trap up in the hills. In fact, it’s a world-class amusement park with top-notch thrill rides for all ages. With everything from the Tennessee Tornado roller coaster to the Drop Line tower to the Daredevil Falls log ride, Dollywood rivals the country’s best-known theme parks for variety and adrenaline-spiking coasters. There’s plenty to entertain little tykes as well, including a carousel, playgrounds, and kiddie-size versions of the adult rides. Dollywood’s adjacent Splash Country water park means you can make several days out of a visit, especially if you stay at the on-site resort and cabins. The park also hosts holiday events, including a Smoky Mountain Christmas light display and nightly concerts and shows. Just don’t get so distracted that you forget to explore the Smoky Mountains.

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.

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.