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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.

When it comes to Kindred, you can forget your preconceived notions of vegan restaurants. The South Park spot features killer cocktails, filling food, and an edgy design, complete with a coffered ceiling, a white-marble bar, and a demon-wolf-head sculpture mounted on the wall. Pair the refreshing Place of Certainty (vodka, elderflower, Aperol, lemon, Thai basil, winter melon bitters, and cucumber) with Kindred’s take on the charcuterie board (smoked golden beets, kale pesto, and red-chili-and-orange-fennel seitan), or order something more substantial, like the beet risotto or the seared cauliflower steak with squash puree and steak sauce. The restaurant also offers an excellent weekend brunch with everything from cinnamon rolls and banana bread French toast to pancakes with bourbon butterscotch.

After five years of filling seats at Avondale’s modern Korean restaurant, Parachute (and earning the kitchen an annual Michelin star, as well as sharing last year’s James Beard Foundation award for the Best Chef: Great Lakes category), Beverly Kim and Johnny Clark had proved they definitely had what it takes to open a second venture, right down the street. Wherewithall, a 50-seat restaurant, is intimate and inviting, thanks to felt-lined banquette seating, light wood details, and an open kitchen. Unlike the a la carte option at Parachute, Wherewithall offers a four-course prix-fixe menu that changes nightly, and has included matcha-tinged onion beignets with sherry-glazed Norwegian trout, and bavette steak with hollandaise and gooseberry-laced semifreddo. Those seeking just a few bites can sit at the bar, where cocktails are just as exciting as the eats (try the 50/50 martini, made with flavors of coriander, cardamom, and apple from New York-based Neversink Gin).

Taiwanese chef-owner Ling Huang landed in Shanghai after stints in New York, London, and the Seychelles, and Pirata’s tapas menu reflects her globe-trotting spirit. The octopus salad with chickpeas and fennel appears on nearly every table in the restaurant, as does the platter of mini gyros, palm-size pitas stuffed with shredded steak, onions, and French fries. If you eat seafood, order the clams with Thai basil and the ventresca (tuna belly) paired with a slice of sweet piquillo pepper, drizzled with good olive oil, and served on a slice of baguette. For dessert, go straight for the praline ice cream crepes—squares of sweet and savory ice cream rolled in crushed peanuts, topped with coriander, and wrapped in (yes) a crepe.

Marrakesh’s legendary La Mamounia, which dates back to the 12th century, reopened in 2009 after a meticulous three-year renovation by noted French architect and designer Jacques Garcia. Step behind its fabled doors and a sensory feast awaits, from the gentle tinkling of the numerous water fountains and basins; to the fragrant waft of jasmine, orange blossom, and cedar; to the lush Arab-Andalusian interiors, filled with traditional Zellige tilework, sculpted wood, and carved plaster. There are 209 rooms and suites, with the largest topping out at more than 1,000 square feet. Views range between Koutoubia Mosque, the snow-capped Atlas Mountains, and La Mamounia’s own legendary gardens, which abound with 2,000-year-old rose bushes, 700-year-old olive trees, and flowering bougainvillea and jacaranda. Three secluded, standalone riads each feature three bedrooms arranged around a central patio and private pool, though guests would be remiss not to hang around La Mamounia’s dreamy central pool, lined with palm trees, loungers, and lanterns.

The present-day Summer Palace is China’s largest royal park and was once called the Garden of Cultivated Harmony. It took its current name when Empress Dowager Cixi, in a controversial action, used some money earmarked for the navy and rebuilt the park, which had been destroyed during the second Opium War in the mid-19th century. It was damaged again during the Boxer Rebellion in 1900. Imperial rule in China ended in 1901, and in 1924 the Summer Palace opened to the public. The grounds are covered in traditional Chinese pavilions, halls, and temples. A nice way to take a load off after touring the palace’s extensive grounds and buildings is to tool around the placid lake in a pedal boat or rowboat.

Opened in 2003, Carlisle Bay is set on a lush, isolated section of Antigua’s south coast and has a 21st-century design that feels more contemporary than Caribbean. With muted shades of grays, whites, and greens, the hotel projects an uncluttered, understated luxury. Its most remarked-on feature, though, is the way it appeals to both couples and families by keeping the two separate. Each group has its own cluster of rooms at its own end of the beach, and never the twain have to meet, except perhaps for lunch at Ottimo, the poolside Italian restaurant. The crescent of beach is tucked into a sheltered bay, so the waves seldom do more than whisper up onto the white sand, against a backdrop of forested hills. It’s all very restful, but the long list of free non-motorized watersports and the extensive kids’ club ensures everyone has plenty to do.

I hadn’t been awake for longer than a minute. I peeled back the tarp door to my room, walked out onto my deck, and leapt. It was an abrupt but purifying way to start the day. The cool, brackish water instantly defogged my mind, and my eyes opened to see the surrounding Tatai River and dense Cambodian rain forest. A lone sampan, anchored along an islet, was the only man-made object to interrupt the natural scenery. My chic bungalow lightly swayed on the calm water behind me, an incongruous encampment against the wild jungle backdrop.

Located on the southern tip of the Cardamom Mountains, near the Gulf of Thailand, the 4 Rivers Floating Lodge lives up to its name. The retreat’s 12 landless suites all float on their own buoyant platforms, moored to the riverbank. Outfitted with a ceiling fan, armoire, and wood-paneled shower, each of the towering, safari-style tented rooms also provides a nearly 360-degree view of the tropical landscape. A boardwalk connects the rooms to a central lounge and dining area decorated in a muted variety of Miami Beach sleek.

At first blush, getting to this secluded outpost might seem daunting. Guests can arrive by boat, drive, come by cab or take a bus from Phnom Penh: I took a five-hour bus trip from Phnom Penh, followed by a half-hour longboat ride from the village of Tatai. But the journey is well worth the peaceful reward. The Cardamom Mountains contain the largest and most intact evergreen rain forest in mainland Southeast Asia. For decades, the region was largely off-limits to developers because of land mines and fighting between government forces and the Khmer Rouge militia. This very isolation protected the area’s natural habitat, which is now home to scores of endangered species, including Asian elephants, hairy-nosed otters, and Siamese crocodiles.

Mine-clearance efforts and the end of hostilities have made travel here safe for more than 10 years, but it remains a sparsely populated frontier. The area’s remoteness is remarkable in and of itself. In the afternoon, I took a boat ride to the Tatai waterfall with several other guests. Even our skipper, a young Cambodian man who leads visitors on these trips every day, was still in awe of the lush surroundings. “So quiet and beautiful,” he said, looking at the palm trees along the river’s edge. After we arrived at our destination, I spent the rest of the day sitting beneath the waterfall’s forceful but soothing cascades, letting nature’s masseuse relax my muscles.

I returned to the lodge for dinner beneath an orange and purple sunset. On the restaurant’s uncovered patio, the only sound accompanying the clang of my utensils was the soft splash of kingfishers swooping to pluck fish from the river. I was less delicate, digging into skewers of mozzarella, watermelon, and fresh shrimp and a plate of steamed river fish topped with a basil cream sauce. In the lingering twilight, I sipped a gin and tonic on my private terrace before easing under my bedsheets. As the gently undulating waters rocked me to sleep, any illusions I had about roughing it in the wilderness drifted away. —Brendan Brady

Often described as a “Little Paris,” Gueliz has grown into itself in recent years with many of the city’s designers and restaurant owners choosing to set up their flagship fronts there. The Rue de la Liberté is now shoulder to shoulder with fashionable restaurants such as Kechmara for live music, cold beers, and killer burgers; Bistrot Le Loft for platters of French cheese and charcuterie; and the swanky new Asian Resto-Lounge for Chinese steamed dumplings, sushi, and Thai classics; as well as the wine bar Le 68. There’s a Caudalie Spa for great pep-up facials and some must-visit boutiques for snagging made-in-Morocco gifts. Try Lalla, just across the junction at Boulevard el Mansour Eddahbi, for must-have handbags, weekenders, and clutches; Patisserie Al Jawda for delectable Moroccan pastries to take home; and Sidi Marrakech for men’s tailoring. Cross over the main boulevard Mohammed V, and you’ll hit Atika for Tod’s-style suede loafers—brilliant for traveling—in a kaleidoscope of colors. Then hit the Rue Vieux Marrakchi, home to stalwart Moor, for natty embroidered kaftans and cushions, and the envelope-pushing David Bloch Gallery, which showcases the best contemporary urban artists from North Africa.

The Swiss-born modernist giant was many things: architect, painter, sculptor, graphic artist, furniture designer, and writer. This museum, also known as the Centre Le Corbusier, is located in the Zürichhorn park, and offers a chance to view examples of his work across all these realms—the most striking of which is the building itself, Le Corbusier’s last, a steel-and-glass masterpiece marked by multicolored enameled panels.

Anyone interested in the city’s complex and vivid past—and if you’re still breathing, that should include you—would do well to make a stop at the Historic New Orleans Collection. This is a private entity with a public purpose: It was founded to both preserve French Quarter buildings and to amass and display some of the key documents and artifacts covering the city’s three centuries of history. The collection is housed in the impressive Merieult House, which dates back to 1792 and which underwent a Greek Revival makeover in the 1830s. Self-guided tours of the Williams Gallery downstairs and the Louisiana History Galleries upstairs are free; be sure to check out their exhibits on Louisiana’s culture and legacy.

In the 17th century, the British and French were fierce rivals for control of St. Kitts. The only thing that eventually brought them together was the existential threat of an attack by the island’s native Carib inhabitants—a fear so real that, in 1626, a joint force of British and French soldiers cornered and massacred more than 2,000 Caribs at what came to be known as Bloody Point. Today, guests can visit the historic site by hiking along the river—which was said to have run red for three days after the slaughter—from the village of Challengers through Stone Fort Canyon, where they can also find 100 petroglyphs carved into the rocks.

If walls could talk, you’d be stuck in conversation with the Fillmore for hours. The building was a dance hall when it opened in 1912 and a roller rink during the 1940s, and led its first concerts in 1952 with artists like James Brown and Ike & Tina Turner. But in the mid-1960s, the venue really had its moment. Concert promoter Bill Graham made the ballroom a hub for psychedelic music and brought would-be legends like the Grateful Dead, Big Brother and the Holding Company, Jefferson Airplane, and Santana to the stage. Needless to say, there’s history here. Learn it best by attending a show. The standing-room-only ballroom still brings in big-name artists—think Lorde and the 1975—at budget-friendly prices, along with a constant stream of smaller acts. There’s a full-service restaurant and a bar, and the vibrant collections of old photos, artwork, newspaper clippings, posters, and billings will school you on the club’s colorful past.

One of the oldest streets in the city, Rue Saint-Jean begins in the heart of the Upper Town, not far from the Hôtel de Ville (city hall). It was laid out in the 17th century to connect a country estate to the city; now it connects old Québec City to its newer neighborhoods to the west of the historic center. Today it’s also one of the city’s liveliest shopping areas. The blocks within the city walls cater largely to travelers, and alongside bars and restaurants you’ll find gelaterias and popcorn stores. Francophones who want to shop for books in French should pop into the excellent Librairie Pantoute. After the street passes through the Saint-Jean Gate, there are more independent stores and cafés.

On Madklubben’s website is a manifesto that sums up its philosophy: “to offer excellent food and drink for an unusually reasonable price.” That’s not an idle boast. You can get one course for 100 kroner ($16), two courses for 150 ($24), or three for 200 ($32), featuring dishes such as mushroom pie, veal with pickled beets, and cured cod with horseradish cream – a great deal in a notably expensive city (with well-priced wine on the menu, to boot). The original venue, Madklubben Bistro-de-Luxe, is still going strong in central Copenhagen near the Queen’s Palace, and there are now several other locations scattered around town.