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With only a couple of exceptions, you can’t soak in Yellowstone’s thermal features (this is for numerous reasons, not the least of which is that most are so scalding hot they’d burn the flesh off you). North of Gardiner, Montana, though, in the no-stoplight community of Pray, Chico Hot Springs has welcomed soakers to its spring-fed hot pools since 1900. Spend the night in one of the quirky rooms in the historic main lodge, originally built as a boardinghouse for miners, or in a refurbished caboose from the Northern Pacific Railroad. If at all possible, plan to be at Chico on a Sunday morning, when it serves the best brunch in Montana.

When the Art family bought the struggling Chico Hot Springs Resort in 1972, some of the earliest improvements they made were to its dining room. The idea was to create one of the best restaurants in the state; if guests came for the food, maybe they’d spend the night. The family succeeded. Today the Chico Dining Room is so beloved it spawned a cookbook, A Montana Table: Recipes from Chico Hot Springs Resort. While ingredients are as fresh as can be—with produce from on-site greenhouses, meat from local ranchers, seafood flown in overnight from the coast—the menu includes some dishes that have been around for more than 40 years. The classic Chico meal is beef Wellington (service for two) and, for dessert, a Flaming Orange, which is exactly what it sounds like.

Little-known fact: New Orleans was the first place in North America to license pharmacists (starting in 1769, when the city was still under Spanish rule). After Louisiana became a territory, the U.S. governor extended the requirement, also decreeing that pharmacists take a three-hour licensing exam in order to practice. And no wonder illness got such attention—the city was arguably the least healthy place to live on the continent; it was riddled with yellow fever, malaria, and dysentery. This dark but fascinating history is explored in this atmospheric 1822 town house, which was once the home and shop of Louis J. Dufilho, the first licensed pharmacist in the city—and hence in the country. Exhibits include apothecary jars, tools of the trade, and leeches. (Yes. Leeches.)

Botswana’s most famous crafts are baskets woven from fan palm fibers. They are dyed with natural pigments: blue from fever-berry leaves, dark brown from magic guarri shrubs, and yellow from the roots of red star apple trees. Some baskets take a month to make. Nearly all lodges sell baskets, but you can also purchase them online.

The River of Golden Dreams that connects Alta and Green lakes is a calm, meandering stream that gently conveys your kayak or canoe with hardly a riffle in sight. The self-paced three-mile voyage, typically about three hours, takes you under willow branches and between the second growth alder forests. This rare alpine riparian zone is a habitat for breeding yellowthroat warblers, great blue herons, and all manner of amphibians and reptiles, as well as wildflowers like foxglove and Indian paintbrush. Most rivers in the Coast Range have whitewater passages and require guides, but on this run between Whistler’s largest lakes, a novice will feel comfortable behind the paddle. Vessel rentals, guides, and return shuttle services run throughout the summer.

For many years, good Mexican food was sadly missing from Nairobi. A couple of restaurants served bits and bobs—guacamole, maybe a tortilla on the menu—but there wasn’t a great spot dedicated to the cuisine. Happily, all that changed when Fonda came along. Fonda, meaning a welcoming inn, is a fitting name for this laid-back bistro complete with bright yellow walls and rustic crockery. But don’t let the casual nature of the place fool you into thinking these guys don’t care about their food. They only use locally sourced, organic ingredients and the menu features inventive new taco fillings like sweet potato and pineapple marinated in an achiote paste, which can be paired with watermelon margaritas.

Hands down the best place to stay in Mexico City’s Centro Histórico is the aptly named Downtown. Located inside a restored 17th-century casona (mansion), the hotel shares its property with a select group of Mexican businesses, including a chocolate boutique and a mezcal bar, as well as restaurants, cafes, and fashion and jewelry ateliers. Appropriately, rooms evoke a bygone era, with low lighting, brick ceilings, and tile floors somewhat reminiscent of a monastery. Amenities are spare but select (C.O. Bigelow toiletries, for starters), and service is unobtrusive but attentive. After a day spent exploring the city, head to the rooftop pool and bar, where you can sunbathe on a bright yellow chaise lounge or sit under an oversized umbrella while waiting for your cocktail to arrive.

The dyeing vats at Chouara—as well as at the city’s other tanneries—are among the Fes medina’s most iconic sights. The ancient craft of tanning and dyeing, in all its visceral authenticity (cow urine and pigeon poop are still key components in the process), plays out much as it always has. Chouara has been around since the 11th century. The dyes used in the tannery pits are natural: Blue comes from indigo; red, from poppy or paprika; yellow, from saffron, pomegranate, or even a mix of turmeric and mimosa flowers. The best vantage point for observation is from one of the roof terraces. Leather shops hawking everything from butter-soft leather babouches (iconic Moroccan backless slippers) and poufs, to copies of designer jackets and handbags. (That Hermès Birkin bag, or a facsimile of it, could finally be yours at a fraction of the price.) Although the guides around here are a tenacious lot, don your best smile, carry a posy of mint to hold beneath your nostrils, and settle in for a long chat with the shopkeepers to learn about fascinating process. Expect prices in the shops to vary wildly—much depends on your haggling prowess. A favorite store is the aptly named La Belle Vue de la Tannerie, off the main drag. The shop has sought out skilled tailors with European know-how to create items of better quality using all Moroccan hides, which results in better leather goods. The tailors can copy a motorcycle jacket for you in three or four hours from goat or lambskin, the softest of the hides.

Skip the tacky magnets this time around and instead visit Cosecha for a souvenir truly reflective of Aruban culture. The word ‘cosecha’ translates to ‘harvesting,’ and that’s just what the curators of this shop and design space have done, offering handicrafts such as jewelry, paintings on driftwood, textiles, sculptures, and more from a variety of Aruban artists. Everything for sale has been certified as locally produced with a national seal of craftsmanship, ensuring you’ll leave with something authentic. The store has two locations, Cosecha Oranjestad and Cosecha San Nicolas, the former of which is housed in the 100-year-old Zoutmanstraat 1. Built in 1910, the building emerged from a complete restoration in 2015, but once served as a government office and also housed Aruba’s archaeological museum for many years.

One of Anguilla’s most secluded beaches, Little Bay is tucked beneath a series of bluffs on the island’s northwest. Usually reached by boat or kayak from Crocus Bay, this tiny, undeveloped stretch of sand hugs a cove with calm turquoise waters filled with small tropical fish, sea turtles, and starfish. Bring drinks and snacks, rent gear from Da Vida Restaurant, and kayak (or boat taxi) over in the morning to avoid the crowds and spend a couple of blissful hours away from it all.

Foodies from all over flock to Mama’s Fish House for ocean-to-plate dishes in a postcard-perfect setting. At this tiki bar meets restaurant, the fish is delivered daily by local anglers and many dishes showcase regional ingredients like Maui onions, Hawaiian chili pepper, and Hana ginger. As a young couple in California, owners Floyd and Doris Christenson fell in love with Maui while on vacation. In 1960, they sailed back across the Pacific, navigating only by sun and sextant, and anchored back on their dream island, where they eventually opened Mama’s. Today, the hot spot can be crowded and pricey, but few begrudge the premium for the fresh fare and stunning panoramas. Make a reservation well in advance for an ocean-view table.

Famous since its 1998 opening as the place with the dancing fountains (further immortalized in the final scene of the 2001 film Ocean’s Eleven), the 3,933-room Italian-themed Bellagio is a Las Vegas icon. There is a fantasy feel about it, with its five courtyard pools, its indoor botanical garden and conservatory that change with the seasons, its lobby-dominating Dale Chihuly blown-glass flower sculpture, and its eight-acre lake, out of which rise the fountains. Yet following a 2015 upgrade, it also feels as modern as any hotel on the Strip. The Bellagio still does a few things the old-fashioned way: Along with the expected celebrity restaurants, there is a buffet (a long-cherished Las Vegas tradition) brought up to modern standards with an all-you-can-drink alcohol option. Throughout the hotel, service is tops, shopping is high-end, the Cirque du Soleil production O draws ’em in, and—another Las Vegas tradition—a casino with nearly the area of two football fields makes it all go ‘round, which is no doubt why everybody has to be out of the pools by 7 p.m.

The national sport of Bhutan is archery. Serious archery. These gentlemen (the Prince was a competitor before he became King) are so good they hit targets we couldn’t even see from the competitors end of the grounds. When they did well they would all do a little jig in celebration. Their equipment was extremely high tech in this tournament but we saw others with what looked like regular gym class style bows and arrows. When in Bhutan you will have no problem findng a tournament to watch - the archery grounds are near the center of town usually near the river.

If you’re into trains (or your kids are) this museum is a ferroequinologist’s (a person who studies trains) paradise. This museum houses over 100 steam and diesel locomotives, passenger cars, and cabooses as well as a G-scale model railroad in its 15-acre rail yard. There is also a restoration facility and working round table that will wow curious minds and train fans.

A string quartet used to serenade diners here at the restaurant inside what is arguably the most famous inn in the entire National Park Service (and one of the largest log structures in the world). A pianist in the lobby has replaced the quartet, but most of the other details that make dining at Old Faithful a rustically elegant experience remain: the fireplace made from 500 tons of locally quarried rhyolite; hickory chairs and chandeliers; the soaring 76-foot-tall ceiling in the lobby; and Robert C. Reamer’s asymmetrical design, which purposefully mimics the chaos of nature. Breakfast and lunch are served buffet-style, with filling fare like corn bread, roast beef, and baked beans. Reservations are required for dinner, which can include offerings such as smoked trout ravioli or locally raised lamb.

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.