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I had one goal for the trip to Australia: hugging a koala. This was a little more difficult than you might think; it’s only legal in Queensland province, and there are strict rules about how long the koalas can work per day and how much rest they’re permitted away from the affectionate public. My dream came true in Brisbane’s Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, which has 130+ koalas as well as kangaroos, wallabys, wombats, platypus, Tasmanian devils, kookaburras, and many other exotic (to us) animals. Presentations and demonstrations happen all day long, but don’t forget to set aside a few minutes for the extremely popular koala-hug photos. My koala was a smallish, woolly female who rested comfortably against my chest and calmly looked at the camera like a true pro. Lone Pine is absolutely a must-do day trip if you’re in Brisbane — as the Aussies say, you can’t go past it!

To immerse yourself in the life of a Moroccan housewife, take a stroll through the fresh-produce market of R’cif, which winds through the lower part of the Fes medina. Plan to arrive by 10 a.m. when the market really gets going (by 11:30 a.m., it’s packed). In addition to browsing stalls of plump fruit and vegetables from farms in the Middle Atlas, you can snack here, too: hot trid—a gossamer-thin pastry baked over a rounded clay pot or “egg”—and irresistible meloui (multiple layers of dough that become soft and flaky as they are cooked) stuffed with spiced onions. Don’t miss seeing the infamously grumpy camel butcher whose signage is a real camel’s head hanging from a hook. Around lunchtime, mastermind your way deep into the souks to find the Achabine area, where the city’s best street food vendors ply their trade. The dishes served up here built this city and continue to do so every lunchtime: comforting bessara (split-pea or broad-bean soup) and harira (a Moroccan staple of chickpeas, lentils, and lamb broth); sardines doused in charmoula and deep-fried until crunchy; hard-boiled eggs dipped in cumin. Come in the evening if you crave bite-sized brochettes of tender lamb and spiced liver.

The tram gives Portland visitors stunning views of the city, river, and mountains beyond. Grab the streetcar from downtown out to the waterfront. You’re delivered to the lower terminal for the three-minute ride carrying you 3,300 feet at 20 MPH to the upper terminal at OHSU. Linger for photo ops then head back down to explore. If it’s nice, skip the streetcar and walk back along the river. Daily workout, check. Roundtrip cost: $4. At the lower terminal, the Daily Cafe is an easy find in the atrium of the OHSU Clinical building as you disembark the pill-shaped car, built with precision by the Swiss. Head for the river and stroll along the shore in any weather. Double back along SW Bond Ave and consider lunch at Bambuza Vietnamese Bistro. Check out the pricey high-rise condos on the market in the real estate office windows, then relax in one of the pocket parks to people watch. It snows in Portland. A couple of times a winter, even downtown gets dusted and it’s a huge mess. I’ve dreamed about getting my ski gear on, grabbing my boards and heading for the PDX Tram at the South Waterfront. I’d casually climb aboard with the patients and medical folks heading up to “Pill Hill” and blow their minds.

I can never forget our adventure to the northernmost inhabited island of the Philippines, called Itbayat Island, in Batanes. The weather is cooler than the rest of the Philippines and the surrounding terrain is just so different, I feel like I’m in another country. First of the adventure was the 3-hour boat ride across the rough seas in a Noah’s Ark-like 30 capacity boat. For a moment there, you will feel the vastness of the world enveloping you, and you can just surrender everything to God and Mother Nature. It’s definitely not for the weak at heart. Upon docking, you’d have to time yourself with the waves as you jump off, so as not to fall off into the water. Then a uphill trek along a very narrow pathway of 14 zigzag sections, up the steep mountain to await the open dump truck that served as our transport in the island. For the night, we stayed in one of the homestays in the island and was taken care of by the locals, who were very friendly and caring people. At Itbayat, you can really experience the outdoors as you catch your breath with all the beautiful sceneries around you. We started our 3-hour hike to the cave underneath the Torongan Hills (shown in the left middle area of the photo) and emerged into this beautiful sight as we circle our way to see the traditional boat-shaped burial markers (dark gray rocks at the lower left of photo) which were believed to belong to the ancient settlers here called Austronesians.

Known for being a bit boisterous and rowdy, Little India has a distinct personality from the rest of Singapore. It can start to feel a few degrees hotter than the rest of the city as you dodge shoppers, temple goers, and trinket sellers on Serangoon Road. The crowds and pungent smell of flowers, curries, and frying prata excite and assault the senses. The sidewalks are taken up by racks of DVDs, cases filled with phone cards, carts selling garlands of fresh flowers, and men working at sewing machines. It’s a uniquely South Asian crush of color and hum of activity. If you head there on a Sunday—the day most Indian and Bangladeshi construction workers have off—the streets might be even more crowded than usual.

We all have a mental image of upscale European alpine villages from countless spy movies and Vogue fashion shoots. There’s the little café with etched glass and women sipping Alsace with perfect hair and puffy parkas. The men are capable sorts, usually lean and well-traveled. Jet-setters, rich ski bums, and other dubious types mill around low-slung Citroëns with skis on the back, while the air feels charged with intrigue and adventure simmering under the laissez-faire insouciance. Sorta like the Arrabelle at Vail Square. “There’s no other place like this in North America that captures the iconic ambience of classic Old World European cities like Salzburg, Innsbruck, and Prague,” says John Dawsey, director of sales. “During the design phase, we really wanted to capture a feeling aligned with a cultured European central plaza.” The Arrabelle consists of 86 suites overlooking the town square, which converts into a skating rink in winter at the gondola base of Vail Mountain. The charm is in the details: working wood shutters, copper drainspouts, and subtle fairy-tale stenciling around the Bavarian Biedemeier-style architecture. The lobby’s windows are Czech, no less. Off the lobby, the Tavern is always buzzing with locals and visitors in the shadows sipping hot chocolate and Grand Marnier. The menu is meat-friendly. Try the Bone-in Veal Schnitzel with saffron risotto because that’s what spies and dangerous women eat.

Sunday brunch at Perry’s is not your usual run-of-the-mill affair. Yes, there is an all-you-can-eat buffet bar filled with typical brunch fare. Yes, there are the usual boozy drinks to go with your brunch meal. Yes, there is music piped over stereo speakers. But this is far, far, far from an ordinary brunch because it has fabulous drag queens to entertain you while you eat! Perry’s Drag Brunch is among D.C’s most loved institutions. There are two seatings each Sunday and they don’t take reservations. The line forms outside around 9am for first seating which is at 10am. Make sure you’re in that line. As soon as the doors open, ask to be seated toward the center of the room—the bad seats are on the periphery. A split second after you get to your table, throw your stuff down and RUN to stand in the buffet line. After you get your food, then flag your waiter down to get your drinks. At about 11am, the show will begin. The drag show features queens that are campy and witty, and the show is raunchy and HILARIOUS! Perry’s Drag Brunch is definitely not for the timid, though! You may get called out, and next thing you know you’re a part of the show. Whatever happens, you can be certain your friends will have captured the moment on their smartphones and before the red blush leaves your face, they will have already posted it up on Facebook! It’s all in good fun! Just remember to bring along a wad of $1 bills for tips. The ladies do work hard for the money!

Key West’s most famous literary resident, Ernest Hemingway, lived in this two-story Spanish-colonial villa for nearly a decade and composed several of his best-known works here. His second wife, Pauline, insisted they add a pool to the spacious grounds—the first inground pool in Key West. The cost ballooned to around $20,000, a fortune in the 1930s, and was said to have contributed to the breakup of their marriage. It’s just one of the fascinating stories guides will share on the half-hour tour of the home and gardens (included in the price of admission). And yes, you’re guaranteed to see plenty of six-toed cats, descendants of Hemingway’s original six-toed cat, Snow White.

The Habsburgs were, generally speaking, lovers of art and many of the works of the Kunsthistorisches Museum come from their collections. While the grandiose interior alone may be reason enough to visit, the collections here are outstanding. The Egyptian and Near Eastern Collection, Collection of Greek and Roman Antiquities and Coin Library are just a few of the collections to get lost inside. The Picture Gallery includes works by Albrecht Dürer, Jan van Eyck, Pieter Brueghel the Elder and Peter Paul Rubens.

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.

“Buongiorno, Signor Farley,” said Umberto, the head waiter at Hotel Missoni’s Cucina restaurant. By the beginning of the third day of my stay, the staff knew my name. And what I drank with breakfast. An espresso doppio was delivered to my table a minute later. “Prego,” the server said.

You’d think I was in Italy. In fact, I was 2,500 miles southeast of the country’s heel, in the capital of diminutive, oil-rich Kuwait. Opened in spring 2011, Hotel Missoni, owned by the eponymous fashion and home furnishings house, is one of many designer-conceived hotels that have popped up around the globe.

I have to confess: I have a complicated relationship with fashion. Maybe it’s related to my childhood. (Isn’t everything?) In the seventh grade, I wore a T-shirt to school that read, “My Son Is in the Navy.” My trend-conscious peers, who clearly had no sense of irony, laughed at me until the final bell rang. When I wore bowling shoes to high school, I was similarly mocked. How would I do in a hotel designed by a couturier?

I was picked up at the airport in Kuwait City in a Maserati (a complimentary perk for all Missoni guests). Not a bad start.

The property (like its sister hotel in Edinburgh, which opened in June 2009) is the brainchild of the Missoni family matriarch, Rosita. The hotel’s 169 rooms were designed to feel like her home. Compact Hans Wegner wishbone chairs and tuliplike Eero Saarinen–designed tables rest on hardwood floors, and everything—espresso cups, towels, even the swimming pool—displays the colorful striped patterns Missoni is known for. Generous helpings of turquoise, gold, and beige are splashed throughout the hotel to evoke the bayfront landscape outside, and every room looks out on the ever-expanding Kuwait City skyline. Like many things Italian, the hotel is simple and comfortable.

The Missoni team, which is fine-tuning its approach before opening hotels in larger markets, learns fast. There are no design hotel clichés here: no faucets with the function designed out of them, no overly formal staff. “Are those Camper shoes?” a waiter asked me one day at breakfast. I nodded. “Like bowling shoes,” he said. “Very cool.” Here, it seemed, fashion and I got along great.

965/2577-0000, from $414. This appeared in the September, 2012 issue.

Film fans may remember the scene in Out of Africa when Denys Finch Hatton’s little yellow gypsy plane swooped above the pink flamingo–filled waters of Lake Nakuru to the sound of the John Barry soundtrack. The lake is indeed known for the thousands of flamingos that nest along its shores, attracted to the lake’s vast quantities of tasty algae. (Recent rising water levels have resulted in many of the birds moving their nests elsewhere, but naturalists believe they’ll return when the waters recede.) In 1961, the lake and its surrounding land were named Lake Nakuru National Park, now protecting the black and southern white rhinos, warthogs, lions, baboons, and other wildlife that live here. The lake is a roughly three-hour drive from Nairobi.

Taking a nighttime stroll through Brooklyn, retracing George Washington’s footsteps as he was engaging British forces in Brooklyn and Long Island who went on to invade New York City in the summer of 1776 during the American Revolution (I love a good dose of American history). I paused for a moment to admire the ingenuity and design of the Brooklyn Bridge as well as the Manhattan skyline. Then I found myself humming Alicia Keys’ “Empire State of Mind.”

The best views of San Francisco are from the top of Twin Peaks, the two hills that are located in the geographic center of the city. Only from Twin Peaks can you get a 360-degree view of the entire city. If you are lucky, on a clear day you can see all four Bay Area bridges—from the Golden Gate to the Richmond-San Rafael and the Bay Bridge all the way south to the San Mateo. Standing on North Peak, you can look down the tree line of Market all the way to the Ferry Building. All the city neighborhoods, scattered over up and down the hills, from Mission to Bernal Heights to Russian Hill to the Presidio are in your vista. If it’s clear, you’ll be able to see the Marin Headlands, Alcatraz, Sausalito, and even Mt. Tam. From the North Peak, you can walk over to the South Peak and take in the city views from the Sunset District down to San Francisco International Airport. Tips: 1. Bring a jacket with you. Even on a warm summer’s day, it can be chilly at Twin Peaks. 2. Wear sturdy shoes, especially if you want to walk up to the Peaks and or around them. 3. Bring binoculars, if you have them. There are telescopes that you can pay to use if you don’t have binoculars.

In 1971, squatters moved into the barracks on an abandoned military base and established Freetown Christiania, an autonomous district in the middle of the city. Later, many dwellers built their own homes on the 86-acre property. Although the Danish Supreme Court ruled this year that the state owns the land, the area’s nearly 1,000 residents have yet to be evicted. Today, visitors can bike along tree-lined paths and check out the handmade structures before they disappear. christiania.org. This appeared in the July/August 2011 issue.