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Starting in 2014, this collection of historic buildings was reinvented as a gastronomic hub—helping to revitalize the city’s downtown in the process. An early 20th-century citrus packing warehouse became the Anaheim Packing House, a virtual United Nations of food: Walking through the 42,000-square-foot hall, you’ll find citrusy ceviche at Urbana, fried chicken sandwiches at Sweetbird, garden-fresh hot pot at Rolling Boil, organic curry at ADYA, and matcha shaved snow at I Am. Craft beer—quickly becoming a signature of Southern California—is in no short supply, thanks to bars like Anaheim Brewery, housed inside a 1925 mission revival building. A circa 1917 marmalade factory became the MAKE Building, where you can linger over a flight of California reds at Pali Wine Co. or a plate of pulled pork at Jav’s Barbecue. The compact district is distinctly Californian, from the succulents and air plants inside to the palm trees and olive groves of Farmers Park outside—a grassy knoll where, at any given time, you might happen upon a free yoga class, a gardening demo, or a live acoustic band playing under the sun.

Tokyu Hands is a quintessential Japanese lifestyle shop designed to make your life more refined, or at least more fun. There are now branches throughout the country, as well as international ones in Taiwan and Singapore, but the Shibuya branch is the largest, with more than 20 floors of merchandise if you include the mezzanine levels. It is a treasure chest of items, practical and not, for home, travel, and garden. The select collection of luggage and bags, many made by Japanese craftsmen, is especially worth perusing. Each floor is themed, organized around subjects such as the kitchen, travel, health and beauty, DIY, and stationery. It’s easy to get lost, as there is so much to see, whether shopping for yourself or for gifts for friends.

So you want to drive through a tree? Well, you’ve got options. (At least for now. Since no new drive-through trees will be created any time soon, for obvious environmental reasons, the existing ones are maybe the last of their kind.) There are actually three trees in the vicinity of Redwood National and State Parks whose trunks are wide enough to accommodate a car. The Chandelier Tree, at the Drive-Thru Tree Park, may be the most well-known and most frequently photographed; pay your $5 and get behind the wheel. The Tour Thru Tree, near Klamath, is the other tree with a human-constructed tunnel. The only organically occurring drive-through tree in the area is the Shrine Tree in Myers Flat, on Avenue of the Giants. The opening in this tree was primarily nature-created—though at this point it’s held together with some human help. Shrine also has a fallen tree with a drive-up ramp, a stump you can walk through, and a couple of playhouses carved from redwoods.

This isn’t downhill ski country, but the nordic trails in and around Rocky Mountain National Park are remarkable. You can see the Stanley Hotel—which is actually a compound of white-painted buildings at the base of some enormous stone formations—from miles away as you roll into Estes Park. Built in 1909 as the private guest house of F.O. Stanley, it is now one of the most historic (and, say some, haunted) hotels in the country. It is famous for its role in Stephen King’s The Shining, but also for its proximity to the National Park, its partnership with local outfitter Kent Mountaineering, and for its pop-up weekend dinner club and extensive whiskey bar (over 1200 expressions and counting).

CoLAB, one of Rio’s coolest venues, may serve breakfast all day but it is much more than a breakfast joint. The tight space starts the day as a coffee house, then morphs into a cafe in the afternoon, and as the night falls, it becomes a bar. In addition to sundry coffee, granola, and artisanal baked goods, there are brunch items on the menu, as well as several curries, “street food” prepared with care (the falafel is especially recommended). The drink menu includes a range of nonalcoholic choices like kombucha and lemonade, as well as beer, and both classic and creative cocktails. A recent expansion introduced an additional small space for live music, a chill second floor, and a terrace. A performance schedule can be found online.

The area of gently rolling hills just to the northeast of Lucca is famous not only for its impressive villas, but also for olive oil and wine. A perfect gastronomic stop-off between visits to the magnificent Villa Mansi and Villa Torrigiani, the 30-hectare farm estate Colle di Bordocheo produces both, and offers tastings and tours for visitors. Estate wines such as the complex, spicy Picchio Rosso (a blend of sangiovese, merlot, and cabernet grapes) and the white Bianco dell’Oca (chardonnay, vermentino, sauvignon) marry well with the house extra virgin and platters of local cheeses and foccaccie. Book ahead and you can add lasagne and cold cuts to the basic €15 per head package, making a fine, rustic lunch. There are also apartments for rent on the estate, which lies in a strategic position for visits to the coast, the lush, mountainous Garfagnana region, Florence, and, of course, Lucca.

The Black Sheep Bistro, or BSB as the proprietors call it, is an upscale and modern restaurant that features a globally inspired menu. It’s one of the few establishments in Panjim (also known as Panaji) that can rightfully call itself farm-to-table: Most of its ingredients are sourced within a 100-mile radius. Menu favorites include clams and Goan chouriço, osso buco, and crabmeat ravioli. Housed in a traditional Portuguese-style building, BSB has an extensive wine list with an internationally trained sommelier to make pairing recommendations. Cocktails are available, too, with wacky names and taglines like “Hakuna Ma Vodka: It means no worries for the rest of your night!” Check out the menu during the monsoon time, when the wet season’s produce transforms what is available.

Take the bus south to the neighboring town of Mölndal to visit Gunnebo Slott och Trädgårdar. This charming 18th-century castle and garden has been restored to its original style, both inside and out. Built in 1778 as a summer home for a wealthy Gothenburg family, it is now a living museum where everything from the greenhouse to the kitchen garden evokes that era. Don’t miss the café, where sandwiches and cakes are made using produce grown in the outside garden.

Skiers and visitors who think fondue and raclette are the best expressions of Switzerland’s melted-cheese cuisine will be surprised when they taste their first Käseschnitte (called croûte au fromage in French-speaking Switzerland). This soul-satisfying, open-faced, broiled-cheese sandwich is usually laden with bacon or ham and topped with perfectly bronzed cheese or a cheesy cream sauce before being garnished with cool pickled cukes and cocktail onions. Cabane du Mont-Fort, a self-serve kiosk located in a 1920s stone Alpine hut on the slopes of Verbier at Les 4 Vallées (Switzerland’s largest ski resort), has the best in the country, not to mention stunning views of Mont Blanc from its outdoor picnic tables. Don’t expect fawning or fast service, but you can count on a thick slice of bread anchored by a slab of melted cheese, marbled sweet and smoky bacon, and a few tomato wedges to offset the fatty richness.

Formerly the headquarters of the U.S. District Court in these parts, the low-slung brick building on the central waterfront now houses the island’s best handicrafts display. The maze features 150 artisans selling everything from handmade dolls and quilts to note cards and wooden serving items. There are also food vendors on site.

One of many mezcalerías in the trendy Condesa neighborhood, Alipús Endémico distinguishes itself by extensive wine, beer, and cocktail menus in addition to the selection of mezcal—tequila’s more complex cousin. Nearly all of the beverages and spirits here are from Mexico, so sample the varied flavors of the country. Worried about imbibing too much? There’s a kitchen on site where you can order specialties inspired by the state of Oaxaca, including guacamole with chapulínes (grasshoppers).

With glass walls that can soar as high as 50 feet, Palmenhaus is dramatic, but it’s also a quiet and calm place smack in the heart of Hapsburg-era Vienna. As the name suggests, the Palmenhaus is a greenhouse of the variety that nations of the 19th century were so good at creating to show off palms and other exotic plants plucked from the colonies. And thanks to a $17 million renovation in the 1990s, yes, Palmenhaus still has palm trees and tropical flora, as well as a lepidopterarium, or butterfly house. As Vienna’s palm house looks over the lush Burggarten park, its broad terrace makes for the ultimate spot to sit under sunny skies and sip a riesling or quaff a beer. On summer Fridays, DJs and live musicians perform.

Singapore’s a pretty flat place. There used to be more hills, but some were flattened partly to help fill in the country’s expanding coastline, as Singapore has always pursued an aggressive land-reclamation push (it’s almost 25 percent bigger than it was two centuries ago, and it’s still growing!). At 347 feet above sea level, Faber Point is one of the nation’s tallest peaks; the views from this highest spot in Mount Faber Park are great. Enjoy sweeping views of the city, harbor, and surrounding islands. A pleasant and short trail travels up through lush greenery, and if you’re lucky you’ll catch a nice cooling breeze up there (which is not a given in much of Singapore). It’s especially lovely in the early evening if a nice sunset is complementing the twinkling lights of the city and ships below.

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.

1 a.m.
The Chillest Nightcap

The evening crescendoes across town at Chinese House, a refurbished colonial mansion. Behind the colonial facades you’ll find exposed rafters, distressed walls, antique Chinese furniture, and eclectic tiles, eliciting the vibe of a mellow after-hours house party. The bar serves classic cocktails to a well-heeled crowd that clearly doesn’t want the night to end. Duck into an intimate corner for sophisticated late-night Cambodian snacks such as crickets with lemon pepper dip and beef lok lak, as you groove to live jazz bands or guest DJs spinning Motown and Asian house.

This appeared in the September-October 2017 Issue.