DAY ONE

Our first night was spent at the very special 50-room boutique hotel Anna and Bel in Fishtown, the artsy/foodie hipster neighborhood just northeast of the center of town. The beautifully renovated 18th-century former ladies home has three stories with New Orleans-style cast-iron balconies surrounding an interior courtyard with a heated outdoor pool. Without ever seeming on the nose, the mood here is like a private 1930s club, but with a feminine edge. Dusky jewel-like tones of ochre, claret, grey and deep greens in velvets and linens contrast with the light oak finish of the floors and original central staircase. A curated art collection throughout the space contributes to the sense of something special and personal, lending each room its own story. There is a strong throughline of the considered here; rooms are thoughtfully equipped with yoga mats, hidden kitchenettes with everything one could wish for (with more available on every floor in an open necessities closet, which also houses a helpful filtered water spout for refills), Frette bedding and Le Labo amenities. Downstairs is their Sardinian- and Corscian-inspired restaurant Bastia, run by chef Tyler Akin and already a Philly favorite. We especially loved the adjoining cocktail lounge, Caletta, which spills out into the courtyard in warmer months.

For lunch we dropped into the much-loved Middle Child Clubhouse, a casual luncheonette-style spot under an elevated track with classics like reubens and burgers with a little irreverence and style thrown in. My favorite was an unexpectedly elegant latke hashbrown with a fresh green dill cream sauce.Thanks to a great tip from Aperture Executive Director Sarah Meister, we ventured over to the Tilt Institute, a gallery-cum-printing space for photography and print making, which serves as not only a world-class exhibition space, but also as a resource for artist production and community. Currently on view is Pennsylvania-based artist Shikeith’s People Who Die Bad Don’t Stay in the Ground, a stunning show of large-scale photographs in saturated dark tones. Evoking the ongoing tension and loops between past and present, they are both beautiful and haunting. Tilt is one of a few gallery and artist spaces in the Crane Arts Building, and it’s worth it to explore some of the other spaces while you’re there. Another gallery worth a visit is Fleischer/Ollman, a long-standing contemporary art space with a fascinating selection of folk and self-taught artists.

After depositing our day’s treasures and availing ourselves of a deeply restful disco nap in the room, we met friends for drinks at Calleta, and continued on to Jaffa, a fantastic oyster bar and restaurant with Middle Eastern flair and housed in an iconic 19th-century firehouse. Other spots to try in Fishtown are Thai favorite Kalaya, Lebanese Suraya, and Mexican LMNO.

DAY TWO 

For my second day, I moved over to the Four Seasons, which is a little bit like floating on top of the world as you zip up 60 floors to reception, overlooking the entire city of brotherly love at the dizzying and majestic perch of 1,121 feet. Given its location, just a short ten-minute walk or an easy hop into one of the chauffeured Range Rovers available to guests, it is the perfect home base for a day with the Calder, Barnes, Rodin and Philadelphia Art Museum, all of which are adjacent to one another. The rooms are serene and classic, which grounds the immensity of the view. After a day spent covering the truly deep bench of art in this city, it’s the soft cocoon you crave. I would also highly recommend saving time to lounge by the infinity pool on the 57th floor, and slather on samples from their spa area. In addition to a knockout Jean-Georges Vongerichten dining area on the 60th floor, Philadelphia chef Greg Vernick anchors the ground floor with his always-packed and delectable Vernick Fish.

An admission: I always liked them, enjoyed being in them, smelling the roses, etc, but I was never INTO gardens. My in-laws build international travel around visiting famous gardens. That is being into them. All of that changed radically when I was first exposed to Dutch garden designer Piet Oudolf’s work in the early 2000s. His sculptural approach to perennials throughout the seasons—that the colors and stalks of winter aren’t simply dormant and dead, but beautiful themselves—was electrifying. As exemplified in maturity at the High Line in New York City and his own wondrous garden at Hummelo, organic swaths move through space, soften architecture, and keep us engaged throughout the year with changing narratives of shape and tone. It made sense, then, that the Calder Foundation would choose to work with Oudolf to activate the landscape around the Herzog & de Meuron-designed structure housing a rotating array of pieces at the new Calder Gardens. There’s harmony to all the parts: the building, a long sliver of blurred and shimmering reflective metal slices across the two-acre space; the Calder pieces, angular, stoic and musical are in constant shadow play with walls and themselves; and then the garden, still not at full maturity, but already in relation to the building and the art with its alternating zones of softness and spiked buds. They all communicate something moving to the visitor; reflection and play. Peace and close inspection. The building does the clever trick of unfurling into ever greater and unexpected space as you descend and allows for a sort of intimate discovery of the work; for example, one piece, a delicate and smaller mobile in modest unpainted metal, is only viewable through a window tucked into an organic modern tunnel-like stairwell. It might not be out of place on the planet Tatooine, and I mean that in the very best way.

Since moving to its exquisite Tod Williams and Billie Tsien-designed modernist home in 2012, the art collection of the Barnes Foundation is still hung salon style, stacked up and across the walls and very much sans wall text, by intent and decree of Barnes himself and enshrined in ongoing governing rules. To my mind, it’s the ideal way to experience this collection of some of the best Impressionist, Post-Impressionist and Modernist (with a few Middle Ages and Renaissance thrown in) work in the world. To wander through and discover a piece because it gave you pause, not because it has been stamped a major work of art you must photograph and catalogue as an experience. Its effect? The viewer moves through the rooms with a personal lens and lives much more in their own unmediated experience of things like light, form, line and figure. Cezanne and Bosch, centuries apart, share a wall with decorative iron work. It is an exercise in contemplation. Currently showing through the end of February, 2026, is a wonderful Henri Rousseau exhibit also well worth the visit.

At the top of the cluster of museums lies the Philadelphia Art Museum (note: same place, new name for the Philadelphia Museum of Art, due to a recent, locally controversial rebrand), instantly recognizable to all who remember Rocky bounding up its steps. Like the Barnes, masterpieces of art history are all here —Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, Eakins’ Gross Clinic, Rubens, Cézanne, Turner and more—and without tourists five rows deep with their phones outstretched, as we so often encounter in other cities’ great museums. Also known for its extensive Duchamp collection, the museum is collaborating with MoMA in New York for the first major retrospective of the artist’s work in over fifty years. 

A little secret I picked up was that while the celebrated Vernick Fish at the Four Seasons is a hard dinner reservation to snag, it is open for lunch and a perfect break between viewings, especially if traveling with someone who gets museum legs and requires a crisp muscadet with their yellowtail crudo and scallop and ricotta cavatelli!

After lunch, a quick zip across the bridge brought us to the Institute of Contemporary Art (within the U Penn complex), where we caught a small but powerful show of Jamaican Abstract artist Mavis Pusey, whose drawings I particularly liked.

From there to the Fabric Workshop and Museum, where I had one of those great where have you been all my life moments discovering the fantastic world of the artist Moki Cherry in the show Living Temple. Moki, the Swedish-born mother of singer Neneh Cherry and wife of jazz great Don Cherry, was the true embodiment of the concept of the Gesamtkunstwerk (total work of art). She made everything from textiles to set design at the Apollo, to jazz album covers and classroom wall hangings for children. I left moved by the reminder that we should all be making and supporting art in our lives, whether we identify as artists or not. 

On my way to meet a friend at Rittenhouse Square, which is not far from the Fabric Museum, I popped into The Print Center, a two story non-profit art gallery and print workshop. We especially liked the work of Iranian-American artist Nazanin Noroozi and a photography installation from Will Harris. In the back is a print shop with a range of photographs and prints for flipping through and purchase, including a series that caught my eye of antique photographs from 19th-century Egypt.

Rittenhouse Square has its stars: French bistro Parc and the brand new Borromini are both worth a visit, but I especially loved the gem my friend claims as her special spot (and also from the Starr group), The Dandelion. Occupying two bustling floors, one with a cozy fireplace, it has the feel of an elevated pub, with updated takes on dishes like Welsh rarebit, devilled eggs, and fish and chips. 

While I covered much ground, I left with a foodie wishlist for  my next visit, most notably the newly opened Mexican, La Jefa, as well as Dance Robot, a recently launched Japanese diner by the famed duo behind Royal Sushi & Izakaya, Jesse Ito and Justin Bacharach. It was a whirlwind, but one that I hope to repeat, especially now that I know that it’s possibly faster than moving through New York City on UN General Assembly days. Maybe next time I’ll even try a cheesesteak and an Eagles game!

Good to know: The Barnes and the Calder offer tickets for dated and timed entry only, and are sold out sometimes weeks and months before, so purchase them as far ahead as possible.The food scene is serious, and the people of Philadelphia are serious about it, so make reservations in advance for dinners especially.  

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Then I heard that Wildland, the conservation organization behind Killiehuntly, had purchased land in Transylvania, and that the King of England had been visiting for decades, restoring houses in tiny villages and taking walks in the Zalan Valley where nobody recognized him. I figured they must be onto something, and I was curious to find out what that was. Fast forward to this fall, I finally planned a trip and convinced a few friends to join me. The week before, I got two apologetic texts saying they couldn’t make it. Maybe the trip was doomed, but the idea had been simmering too long. So I went alone.

Bucharest

On first impression, Bucharest looks kind of like Paris… if it was in the Soviet Union. One moment you’re on a leafy street lined with Beaux-Arts facades and people sitting on bistro chairs outside cafes, the next, you’re staring at a block of brutalist concrete structures that look about as inspiring as an empty spreadsheet. One of the more beautiful buildings was my hotel, The Marmorosch, kitty-cornered between two main streets in the Old Town. The hotel was once the country’s largest bank, and has very cool bones—a grand marble staircase that brings you to reception, a lounge in an atrium with gold-leaf-trimmed columns and stained glass skylight. I thought the rooms fell flat for such a grand building, but it was a perfectly comfortable stay (especially for $250/night) with a gym, spa, and fun subterranean bar in the bank’s former vault that served a mean Negroni. Most importantly the location was perfect, and walking distance to everything I planned to see.

Each morning, I’d go in search of good coffee—some favorite finds were C22, Artichoke Social House, the lobby bar of the Corinthia—then wander to museums, shops, and find myself in the middle of Bucharest’s 566th birthday celebrations. The National History Museum was great, and the Romanian Village Life Museum was maybe the coolest I’ve ever been to—hundreds of peasant settlements and monuments from the 17th to 20th century moved to a 24-acre park from all corners of the country. It really feels like you’ve been transported to another era, surrounded by all sorts of whimsical Seussian wooden homes, churches, and schoolhouses with wells, windmills and gardens weaving throughout. 

Beyond the museums, I popped in and out of antique shops with museum-worthy relics—don’t miss Sertar Magic or Circa 1703-3071—and came across an amazing store packed to the gills with fur coats, stoles (many of which had feet still attached), and leather jackets. The shopkeepers looked straight out of I, Tonya, with fanny packs and bleach blonde hair, draped in fur, leather and jeans on an 80 degree afternoon. I seriously considered springing for one of the mink coats, in great condition and only €300 [Romanian Lei is the official currency, though this shop quoted all their prices in Euros], but settled on a leather blazer that would be much easier to pack. 

One morning I met Daniela, the tour guide. Born in Transylvania, she grew up in Bucharest and is now a lawyer who moonlights as a guide when she’s not working on her book about riding the Trans-Siberian Railway. A self-proclaimed history nerd, she started our walk in antiquity and as we paced through the cobblestone streets, we inched our way through the country’s grueling history, detailing all sorts of clashes, conquests and coups that shaped the country to what it is today. The principalities of Wallachia, Transylvania, and Moldavia (which make up modern day Romania) were controlled by a handful of empires throughout their history—the First Bulgarian Empire, the Ottomans, Romans, Hungarians—and were seemingly always fighting off some intruding force to retain autonomy. One person who was especially successful at this was Vlad Dracula, also known as Vlad the Impaler, who ruthlessly killed thousands of his enemies, often impaling victims. If the name sounds familiar, he was the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and though the blood sucking was fabricated, vampire folklore runs deep. Daniela weaved in all sorts of legends and stories of vampires and mythical creatures in the forest that I couldn’t tell if she believed or not. 

At one point, she noticed the tiny cross on my necklace and said she wanted to show me the Church of the Stavropoleos Monastery. Since it was Sunday morning, we ended up in the middle of the liturgy. The exquisite church is designed in the ornate Brâncovenesc style, with a dim interior and frescoed ceilings. Byzantine chants reverberated against the walls, and light beamed in through tiny windows at sharp angles. She whispered about the head nuns as if they were celebrities, and taught me the Romanian Orthodox sign of the cross—right to left, using your thumb, pointer and middle fingers pinched together—which distinguishes it from the Catholic or Russian Orthodox versions. Apparently centuries ago, this difference alone could mark you for exile. She assured me the stakes were much lower now.

Afterward we lit candles for the living and the “asleep,” and joined the courtyard where people shared homegrown apples and grapes. At that point I completely forgot I was on a tour, but Daniela had a few more centuries of history she wanted to cover. We ended up spending nearly 6 hours together. She told me about growing up under Ceaușescu, the dictator who commissioned elaborate palaces and some of the world’s largest (and ugliest) buildings, while normal families like hers rationed bread and milk. Despite the hardship, she seemed almost nostalgic for that time, and was a card carrying Communist (literally keeping her grandfather’s membership card tucked inside her lanyard). Before we parted, she gave me a list of things to see in Transylvania, but warned me not to drive by myself like I had planned, since the roads (and the drivers) are known to be a bit rough. I thanked her for the former and shrugged off the latter. 

Brasov, Transylvania

I took the 2.5 hour train to Brasov the next morning to pick up a rental car, except they wouldn’t give it to me without an International Drivers Permit. My meticulously mapped road trip evaporated, but after Daniela’s warning, maybe it was some sort of cosmic redirection. I checked into a small hotel called Casa Wagner on the main square to regroup. Brasov felt a world of a difference from Bucharest with its Gothic and Baroque architecture and pastel merchant house lined streets, surrounded on all sides by thickly forested hills. I spent a day sipping coffee and blueberry juice on the sunny terrace of CH9, browsing craft shops like Inspiratio for ceramics I had planned to source directly from studios, peeking into churches and trying ciorba, a traditional Romanian soup, at Bistro de l’Arte, while live music wafted over from the square down the road. It wasn’t the day I’d planned, but in hindsight, it was nice to shift into a lower gear between the city and my final, much sleepier stop, deeper into Eastern Transylvania.

The next day a very young man who looked like he might have gotten his driver’s license that morning picked me up from Brasov and we started towards The King’s Retreat, the King of England’s aptly named guesthouse in the Zalán Valley. We left Brasov behind and drove through endless fields of wheat and scorched sunflowers, and about an hour later peeled onto a gravel road and began climbing up into the hills. As we climbed up, the tree canopy above us was so thick that at points it felt like we were underwater. Eventually we came across a clearing where two yoked horses munched on the grass, and in the distance I saw an old barn and a few cottages. Not another person in sight. He grabbed my suitcase and we scrambled up the hill to a room with a wide open door and dropped my bags. I thanked him with a “multumsec,” and he was off. 

Zalán Valley, Transylvania

My room was incredible: creaky wooden floors and a black beamed ceiling, hand embroidered lace curtains, and a traditional Transylvanian double-decker twin bed so high off the ground I had to run and launch myself onto it. Nothing really matched—an oriental tapestry hung above a striped rug next to a sun-faded floral upholstered sofa—but it all worked. Every item was antique, sourced from Transylvania, and the layering of it all created that amazing texture that so many places try to replicate but can’t.

I poked my head into a cerulean building that seemed to be the main house. A smiley woman with plump, rosy cheeks appeared and I greeted her with a “buna ziua,” which was about the extent of how we could communicate, as she didn’t speak Romanian, but a Hungarian dialect common in this part of Transylvania. She handed me a piece of paper to write my name and phone number on, and a shot of room temperature palinka for my efforts.

Dinner wasn’t until seven, so I read in the garden, with the soundtrack of cowbells, cicadas and birdsong as the scent of early autumn smoke wafted over from the next valley. Just before dinner, I stepped outside the gate for a walk and met a flushed British man who asked breathlessly, “King’s House?” He had driven not from Bucharest, but nearly 11 hours from Budapest, which made sense in the sort of way you don’t question in places like this. I pointed him uphill and started down the dusty gravel road in my unsensible J.Crew loafers. The entire road had maybe a dozen houses, each with small farm plots, and I saw far more horses than cars. I made eye contact and waved to a stoic farmer through the slats of his wooden fence, who quickly turned back to supervise his sheep as they chowed on freshly scythed grass. If he told me he was 400 years old, I wouldn’t have doubted it.

That night at the communal dinner table over more ciorba and palinka, I met a jovial German man who comes by himself for a week every year and was staying in the room next to mine, the British man from earlier, and his two Aussie friends who were staying in the cottages just down the hill. I asked the German all about his visits to this area and if he believed in vampires—which he laughed off. I didn’t tell him I threw some garlic from the grocery store in Brasov in my bag for good measure.

We all retired to our rooms and I slept soundly in my quirky bed with the fresh air streaming in through the leaky single-paned windows. Around 3AM, I woke to someone or something walking up and down the warped wooden deck and rustling with the door next to mine. What was at the door—a person? Animal? Were vampires out of the question? Whatever it was kept coming back. Suddenly I realized my go-with-the-flow plan had left out one crucial element—an exit strategy. There was nowhere to go. No car. No signal. Woods full of hungry bears preparing for winter. Or maybe something worse, if I believed the legends Daniela had told me. 

I lay absolutely still. Eventually the ruckus stopped, or I fell asleep, or maybe the whole thing was just a bad vivid dream—I swear I only had one glass of palinka! At breakfast, I casually asked the German man if he went out to look at the stars in the night. He had slept straight through. 

That afternoon, I returned to Brasov, then onward to Bucharest, then home. I didn’t see the Peles Castle or the ASTRA Ethnography Museum or drive on the scenic Transfăgărășan Highway or visit the ceramics studios I’d planned. I’m not entirely sure what happened that night, and I’m less sure than I was before about what happened throughout the thousands of years of history Daniela and I sped through. But I was sufficiently enchanted and spooked, and ready to book my return trip to do it all again. Though next time with a car. And hopefully not alone.

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Few places in Europe blend medieval charm, the cultures of three countries, and a stunning mix of lake and Alps quite like Lake Constance. For me, it’s also home.

I grew up in Michigan, but for more than half of my life I have called Konstanz, Germany (“Constance” in English) home. Love brought me here. My husband is originally from Constance. We met while working in Detroit, Michigan. When he got transferred back to Germany, I joined him and never looked back. I traded the shores of Lake Michigan for those of the Bodensee, Germany’s largest freshwater lake at the country’s southern tip. The city of Constance is the biggest city on the lake, directly on the Swiss border. Lake Constance is bordered by three countries: Germany, Austria and Switzerland, with tiny Liechtenstein only a short drive away. 

A large, rotating statue welcomes you into the harbor of Constance. Her name is Imperia, and she stirred plenty of debate when sculptor Peter Lenk unveiled her in 1993. I affectionately call her the twirling prostitute, as she is a large, voluptuous woman who was a courtesan during the Council of Constance from 1414 to 1418, a series of meetings held to resolve the Great Schism of the Roman Catholic Church, when multiple rival popes claimed authority. Look closely and you will see she is holding the naked king in one hand and the naked pope in the other, a bold symbol of moral hypocrisy and political manipulation.

The building where these meetings took place still stands alongside the harbor in Constance, with views of the lake and the Alps. From the harbor, it’s just a couple of minutes before you are in the pedestrian-free downtown area. For lunch, I often head to Essbar, where the menu of small plates changes constantly. Don’t leave without trying the warm chocolate cake for dessert. On Tuesdays, my secret tip is to head to the tiny Milk and Honey café for their unforgettable bánh-mì sandwich and a slice of homemade cake.

I love wandering the small downtown streets, lined with buildings from the 12^th to 15^th centuries. Residents left their lights on at night during WWII, making the city indistinguishable from neutral Switzerland and sparing it from bombing. Don’t miss ‘sFachl, tucked inside a 900-year-old house and brimming with handcrafted treasures from local makers. If you’re looking for a new leather bag, Alexander Heitz has four shops across downtown Constance.

I am always sure to show guests the “Niederburg,” the oldest section of Constance. This quarter is a maze of alleyways and winding streets lined with small shops. Stop into Kolekto, a concept store brimming with ethically made finds. I can’t pass through the Niederburg without stepping back in time in one of its many wine bars. A favorite is the Weinstube Hintertürle, located in a very charming 600-year-old building. Order a glass of Müller-Thurgau, the popular local white, or a Spätburgunder (Pinot Noir) for red, both grown right along the lake’s shores. 

For dinner, I like to head down to the Rhine River, which flows out of Lake Constance to the unassuming-looking Restaurant Anglerstube. But don’t let appearances fool you. Step inside to a warm welcome and always inventive dishes.

For a more affordable option along the Rhine, the Constanzer Wirtshaus serves all the Southern German classics (Maultaschen, Spätzle, and Wurstsalat), best enjoyed in its beer garden overlooking the river. In Constance, history greets you at every turn. Kaiser Wilhelm II built this building as an officers’ casino in 1899.

In keeping with history, I recommend staying at the Inselhotel, a former Dominican monastery located on a small private island on the lake. Even if you don’t spend the night, be sure to walk through the old cloister surrounded by its well-preserved frescoes, which depict significant historical events from the city’s past. Constance also has several other islands worth discovering. The Island of Mainau, otherwise known as the flower island, is home to a million tulips, roses, dahlias, 15-meter-tall palm trees, giant sequoias, and a palace from 1746. Owned by a Swedish noble family, the palace flies the Swedish flag whenever the Bernadottes are in residence.

Constance is also home to the vegetable island of the Reichenau. This is a UNESCO World Heritage site. You can visit the oldest herb garden in Germany at the monastery garden behind the Church of St. Mary and St. Mark, dating back to AD 724. On the 12-kilometer trail around the island, you may be surprised at how often you have the trail to yourself. Depending on the time of year, you will stroll by rows of lettuce and many small farm stands where you can purchase locally grown vegetables. Stop at the restaurant Sandseele for fresh fish from the lake. My favorite is the Zanderknusperle, crispy, golden pike-perch. You can also go for a swim and enjoy the best spot on the lake for a sunset. In summer, the lake warms to about 23 degrees Celsius.

If the lake feels too chilly, head to the warm thermal pools at the Bodensee Therme, with sweeping views of the Alps across the lake.

I live close to the car ferry, which carries commuters between Staad in Constance and the fairytale town of Meersburg. Your first stop in Meersburg should be the oldest inhabited castle in Germany, the Burg Meersburg. After stepping out of the Middle Ages, I like to take a short stroll past the New Castle to the Gutsschänke for a jaw-dropping view paired with a Winzerbrot, a German take on a pinsa. From here, you can continue about 3km through the vineyards to Fräulein Seegucker for a glass of local wine, seated right between the rows of the vines.The most stylish way to discover the lake is by ship. The Hohentwiel is a historical steamship from 1913. You can book gourmet cruises and other events on this elegantly renovated paddle steamship. Another spectacular way to see the lake is from above, aboard a Zeppelin. Flights range between 30 minutes and two hours. These airships start from Friedrichshafen, the birthplace of the Zeppelin, where they are still designed and built today. If you can’t make it up in one, visit the Zeppelin Museum in Friedrichshafen, where you can walk through a life-size replica of the Hindenburg. After the museum, stop at the Zeppelin Hangar Restaurant to watch the Zeppelins take off and land, a truly spectacular sight.

Leave the city behind and stay at Heinzler am See in Immenstaad to enjoy a private slice of paradise directly on the lake.

The Bodensee is a place of castles, monasteries, vineyards, and islands, all framed by the beautiful backdrop of water and mountains. Whether for a day or a week, I highly recommend seeing it for yourself!

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I had always dreamed of visiting the Galapagos, this mystical, bountiful archipelago of volcanic islands located 1,000km off the coast of Ecuador. My grandparents had honeymooned here in the 1970s, a trip which only reaffirmed my grandfather’s great passion for conservation—in 1984, he would set up The John Aspinall Foundation, a charity dedicated to the reintroduction of endangered species to their native habitats. But no amount of imagination or expectation could quite prepare me for the wonders of the Galapagos, or indeed Ecuador’s other treasures.

Metropolitan Touring have been leading tours around the country since 1953. Thanks to a meticulous itinerary, I was able to experience three of its four main regions over my 12-day trip: The Pacific Coast, the Andean Highlands and the Galapagos. Being early March, I was visiting at the end of the wet season, which runs from November to May, and features less wind, warmer temperatures, and more verdancy.

Quito

At 2,850m, Quito is the second highest capital city in the world. Founded in 1534 on the ruins of an Inca city, it was one of the jewels of the Spanish crown. Strolling around the ancient city it is easy to see why, with its more than 5,000 exquisitely preserved colonial buildings. Overlooking Plaza Grande is the imperious Presidential Palace. Nearby, in Plaza San Francisco, is the Basilica and Convent of San Francisco, considered the oldest and most important religious site in Ecuador. It is worth exploring its beautiful palm-lined courtyard and ascending the rickety tower staircase for an unrivalled view of the city, and the snow-capped Cotopaxi Volcano beyond.

Across the cobbled square from the church was my day’s only appointment, a chocolate tasting at Yumbos Artesenal. Here, I learned about Ecuador’s rich history with chocolate — evidence suggests the earliest cacao cultivation may have occurred 5,000 years ago in what is today the Ecuadorian rainforest — and how to make my own bar. Today, the country produces around 63% of the world’s fine Arriba variety, considered the best cacao for chocolate production. I tasted a selection ranging in purity from 100-60%. The mandarin, lemongrass, and coffee alternatives were particularly memorable.

On the southeast corner of San Francisco Plaza is another colonial marvel, Casa Gangotena — my hotel for the evening. Formerly the private residence of several Republican-era presidents, Gangotena opened as a 31-bed boutique hotel in 2011. It is the only Relais & Chateaux in Ecuador and its restaurant consistently ranks among Ecuador’s best, offering a cocina mestiza menu stylish reimagination of traditional Ecuadorian fare using fresh, regional ingredients. That evening, I had a delicious Locro Quiteño soup of potato, cheese, avocado, pork rinds, and chulpi corn, followed by buttery prawns served over a coconut, shallot and lemon verbena sauce.

Mashpi Lodge

After a four-hour car journey navigating through street crowds celebrating the annual Taita Carnival, we arrived at Mashpi Lodge, a 24-bed eco-lodge tucked into the foothills of the western Andes. Mashpi is the brainchild of Roque Sevilla, an Ecuadorian entrepreneur and environmentalist who in 1976 established the country’s first conservation NGO. Situated in its own private 2,800-hectare reserve, Mashpi is one of the country’s most exciting and vital conservation projects, devoted to protecting the cloud forests of the Choco-Andino Biosphere — an area under constant threat from agriculture, mining and logging.

It is also a fabulously luxurious hotel and retreat; a place to lose yourself in the clouds. Every detail has been considered with forest immersion in mind: the bedroom windows offer panoramic views of the forest; the bathrooms are stocked with eco-friendly toiletries using Mashpi magnolia fragrances, and the restaurant focuses on native forest ingredients. Mashpi means ‘friend of the wild’ and this is the lodge’s abiding theme, from its construction, built using only sustainable techniques, to its mission to support and educate local communities to protect the surrounding biodiversity.

Days at Mashpi include guided hikes through the giant ferns of the cloud forest, twisting through vines and swirling mists, observing rare species of fauna, and swimming in gushing waterfalls. Guests can experience the hotel’s Sky Bike and Dragonfly Canopy Gondola for breathtaking views of the reserve; visit the Life Centre to learn about the reserve’s many butterfly species; or relax in the Hummingbird Garden. Here, I observed these wondrous birds up close, their tiny hearts beating at 1,200 bpm as they dipped their elegant, variously shaped beaks in the water feeds. As I pulled out my phone to take a picture of a White Whiskered Hermit, another hummer, a Velvet Purple Coronet, landed and perched on top of my phone screen.

Evenings include ‘night briefings’ where Mashpi’s team of naturalists and biologists share their knowledge of recent findings; and ‘night walks,’ where one can experience the wonders of the forest’s nocturnal activity. On one night walk I spotted a camouflaged moth as big as my hands, an endangered Mashpi Glass Frog, its organs entirely invisible through its translucent skin, and the largest tarantula I had ever seen. Above, gleamed a night sky with stars from both hemispheres (Ecuador is uniquely positioned on the equator, hence its name). On my final evening, I checked into the hotel’s Wellbeing Center, treating myself to a hot stone and lemongrass oil massage.

The next morning, before making the journey back to Quito, we breakfasted atop the Observation Tower, a viewpoint commanding the 3,000-hectare protected domain. Working together with local landowners, Mashpi has bold plans to protect 500,000 hectares in the next decade.

Quito

A day to explore Quito’s rich artisan culture. Over to Casa Montecristi, home of the famous but misnomered Panama hat. Montecristi hats, woven from Toquilla palm straw in the Inca tradition, became ‘panama’ hats early in the 20^th Century when they were popularized by workers on the Panama Canal, At Montecristi, they range from $100 to $40,000, depending on the fineness of the thread. I opted for a brown-banded Panama for $220 which came beautifully wrapped and boxed with its own Denomination of Origin Certificate.

Hidden in San Rocque’s bustling Mercado San Francisco, you will find Quito’s fabled curanderas (‘healers’). These ladies practice traditional Andean herbal medicine, a ritual which involves stripping down to one’s underwear and being rubbed all over with roots and plants: nettle, rose, verbena, mint, lemongrass, chamomile. Blessed with 400 years of Amazonian wisdom, I didn’t doubt Mama Rosita’s process — after all, 25% of modern Western drugs are rainforest derivatives — and left the market with a tingling sensation of relief and rebirth and smelling quite fragrant. Afterwards, we visited the San Marcos studio of renowned Quiteño artist Bolívar Araujo, who made us coffee and showed us around his Colonial-era workshop. We then visited the Jesuit complex to check out a community initiative, De Vuelta al Centro (‘back to the centre’) which plants and nurtures endangered species of geraniums, iconic flowers of the Old Town.

In the afternoon, we explored the city’s modern north with Metropolitan’s Dominic Hamilton, an English expat who has been living there for twenty years. Knowing I was in the market for some camera film, Dom took me to see his friend Sebastían Rodríguez who runs a large photo studio with a film processing lab, darkroom, and camera shop. Sebas diagnosed an issue with my camera and kindly loaned me one of his own for the rest of the trip. Following this we had an aperitif at Vermuteria Clandestina, a vermouth bar in the La Floresta neighborhood, and dined at the impressive NUEMA, the first Ecuadorian restaurant to land on the World’s 100 Best Restaurants list.

The Galapagos Islands

The best way to experience the Galapagos is of course by boat. Our home for the next five days was Metropolitan’s Yacht La Pinta, a 24-cabin, 209 feet luxury touring vessel complete with jacuzzi, gym and sundeck. Our itinerary was the Humboldt Isles Expedition, named after legendary German naturalist Alexander von Humboldt, who in the early 19^th century made extensive studies of the waters off the coast of South America. He concluded that the cool current that flows north from Antarctica along the west coast of South America brought nutrient-rich water to the Galapagos, fundamental to sustain the islands’ rich biodiversity. Our itinerary included the central and southeastern islands which are among the first to welcome this mighty ‘Humboldt current.’

We began in Baltra (from where my grandparents would have boarded the Golden Cachalot in 1972 — coincidentally, one of Metropolitan’s first touring vessels) and embarked on a southeasterly loop, exploring South Plaza, Santa Fe, San Cristobal, Española, and Santa Cruz. We swam, snorkeled, kayaked, and of course saw a great deal of wildlife: iguanas perched on volcanic rocks, sea lions splashing about in turquoise waters, hawks soaring, pelicans plunging, frigate (‘pirate’) birds stealing lunch from blue-footed boobies, and several species of the ubiquitous Darwin finch. When a 26-year-old Darwin visited the islands in 1835 (he came only once and spent no more than five weeks here) he observed the remarkable variation in the beak shapes and sizes of the Galapagos finches, which led him to formulate his groundbreaking theory of evolution by natural selection.

Each night aboard La Pinta, we learned about Darwin and the history of the islands in ‘eco-talks’ given by Francisco Pancho Dousdebes, an expert naturalist and former Galapagos resident who has studied the islands for over 40 years. Curiously, they were discovered entirely by accident 490 years ago by Bishop Tomás de Berlanga of Panama, whose ship was blown of course while sailing to Peru. He initially found them barren and inhospitable, describing them as “a land where God seemed to have showered stones in the middle of the ocean.” But he did not fail to observe the unusual size of the island’s giant tortoises, and later visitors, pirates, whalers, and settlers, would come to discover their extraordinary biodiversity.

Our last few nights were spent in the comfort of Finch Bay Hotel, a luxury beachfront base near the vibrant town of Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz. With a pool, spa, and world-class restaurant, it was the perfect place to lose one’s sea legs and experience the charms of the Galapagos by land. From here we visited Rancho El Manzazillo, a nature preserve and the best place to see giant tortoises, and Las Grietas, a saltwater swimming hole a short walk from the hotel. Finch Bay sits in the middle of the Galapagos National Park and the hotel is itself a haven of sustainability, committed to minimizing its environmental impact through solar power, circular waste management, and local hiring and purchasing. It is hardly surprising to learn that it was set up by Mashpi founder Roque Sevilla.

Just as you’ve gotten used to giant pelicans swooping overhead, to small blacktip sharks swimming between your legs in the shallows, to whiskered sea lions snoozing on benches in the port, it is time to go home. Ecuador is an extraordinary country, a land of vibrant color and culture, a cornucopia of precious species and ecosystems. Rarely does a place exceed even one’s wildest dreams.

Where to stay

Casa Gangotena

Mashpi Lodge

Yacht La Pinta

Finch Bay Hotel

Where to eat/drink

Cocina Mestiza at Casa Gangotena

Mashpi Lodge restaurant

Vermuteria Clandestina

NUEMA

Finch Bay restaurant

Golden Prague Pub Galapagos

What to see and do

Presidential Palace or Palacio de Carondelet

Basilica and Convent of San Francisco or Iglesia y Convento de San Francisco

Yumbos Artesenal

Sky Bike at Mashpi Lodge

Dragonfly Canopy Gondola at Mashpi Lodge

Life Centre at Mashpi Lodge

Hummingbird Garden at Mashpi Lodge

Wellbeing Centre at Mashpi Lodge

Observation Tower at Mashpi Lodge

Casa Montecristi

Mercado San Francisco

Sebastian Rodrigues’ photo studio

Bolívar Araujo studio

De Vuelta al Centro initiative in the Jesuit Complex

The post Dispatch from Ecuador appeared first on Yolo Journal.

My consummate vacation includes a chic place to stay, strangers who become friends, and possibly some physical exertion. Ideally, I do as little planning as possible. So, when my friend Diego Arzú texted me and my husband Paul to join his “Highlands to Lowlands” adventure, a weeklong arc from volcano-fringed Lake Atitlan and Antigua to the lost city of Tikal, I said yes before asking who else was coming.

Diego, the son of former Guatemalan President Álvaro Arzú, has a background in political science and a deep love for his home country. Possessed of an ability to bring the right people together in the right place, Diego assembled an exotic crew: a mix of Brazilian royalty, fashion designers, plus a decorator (who tended to style everything in sight like it was being shot for Italian Vogue), a handful of American travel journalists, entrepreneurs and artists. Booked through Diego’s collaborator, Sofia Paz (Sofia operates local travel agency Studio Paz), there was, of course, access to a shaman.

THE HIGHLANDS

Chopper-ing in from Guatemala City—over verdant mountains that open onto Lake Atitlán—we landed on a grassy helipad at Casa Piedra Santa, a three-story house carved into the cliffs, owned by the textile designer Mitch Denburg. Mitch is a legend: his rugs are the stuff of decorator lore, and his houses in Guatemala are temple-like, open to the elements but spiritually edited.

Our group split between two houses on the lake. Paul and I shared quarters with Diego, Sofia, the Brazilian decorator, and a dazzling travel planner named Sabrina. Within minutes of arrival, cocktails appeared, and eventually a chicken tortilla soup was served that still haunts me.

Lake Atitlán, with its blue expanse and volcanoes, is rumored to sit on an energy vortex. The following morning, in search of cosmic realignment, we navigated through pines and boulders for a shamanic ceremony with a local healer. The ritual was high on clarity in that the shaman lady identified Sabrina as “emotionally unsettled.” Sabrina seemed jolly to me, but in fact revealed that just the day before she had endured a breakup: “he only makes coffee for himself.”

Neither the vortex nor the shaman tapped me that day, but I resolved to stay open. That afternoon, the Brazilian decorator and I dove into the lake’s cold waters and floated on our backs while Mayan women crossed the ridge lines high above in their centuries-old costumes. There was a slowness to everything that felt rare. And yet, time is an elastic commodity (Peter Mayle said, I believe), thus we managed to pierce the slowness with a rapid succession of Instagram posts.

The next day, we met up with the rest of the group for lunch at Kinnick, a Pinterest-dream of a restaurant at the hotel Casa Palopó,  where meat and seafood arrived on hibachis, alongside charred vegetables. By the time we finished dessert, a helicopter had landed in the garden to pilot us back to Antigua. 

This, I would come to realize, is how things work on Diego’s trips. One moment you’re drinking rosé at lunch, and the next, you’re flying over volcanoes (with Mitch Denburg at the wheel—what can’t he do?).

ANTIGUA

Antigua itself feels like New Orleans. The cobblestone streets are hell to drive over, but rich in atmosphere. A UNESCO world heritage site, Spanish colonial architecture is painted in cheerful hues of ochre, coral, and soft blue. The city is cosmopolitan, accessible and surprising. Of course, Guatemala comes with a nasty backstory, but show me a jewel of a country that doesn’t.

In the historic center, we shopped like truffle pigs. Luckily, an expert was in our midst, Nazaré Metsavaht—co-founder of the Brazilian fashion brand Osklen—who quickly became everyone’s free personal shopper. I dared not make a purchase without Nazaré weighing in. I have her to thank for an excellent pair of ribboned sandals hiding in plain sight at Wayil. Meanwhile, Sabrina (who seemed unaffected by her recent breakup) and I hit Jade Maya for matching animal necklaces. To satisfy our tablecloth obsession, a journalist in our group sniffed out a fine shop called Colibri. 

Later, at La Nueva Fábrica, Mitch Denburg’s curator daughter walked us through the gallery’s contemporary art collection and the textile factory next door. Denburg’s spot is hard to miss. Just look for the two restored Guatemalan buses fused together into a café.

After so much shopping and gallery-ing, our group hit the French fusion restaurant Clíos, for a leisurely two hour lunch. Our hotel, Villa Bokeh—formerly the Denburg family city house, now a Relais & Châteaux hotel with staggering gardens—was exceptional. But the real highlight of Antigua was Diego’s dinner party at his own chic house, Casa Vista Volcá (pre styled with the help of the Brazilian decorator) which included an assortment of Antiguan and expat tastemakers. 

My favorite person at the party, Molly Berry, founder of Luna Zorro, realized she and my husband Paul had gone to the same high school in Napa Valley, and together shared a Proustian level of detail regarding its underage drinking hangouts. The whole thing felt like a fever dream version of diplomacy.

The following day at FUNBA (Antigua’s answer to the Barnes Foundation), we ogled the architecture and famous paintings by blue-chip artists like Efraín Recinos and Marco Augusto Quiroa. While the rest of the group fell into a champagne-fueled chat about how time isn’t linear, Paul and I snagged a deal on a painting at auction by mid-century conceptual artist Carlos Merida (unknown to us). Time does feel slippery when you’re bumping up against vortexes and volcanoes and frenzied internet shopping.

Eventually, Paul and I snuck off to the National Archives housed in a romantic building where all Guatemala’s historic papers are kept. Instead of poring over the archives like good students, we wound up sunbathing around the gorgeous courtyard fountain instead. One of the pleasures of Diego’s itinerary was the freedom to opt in and out of group activities. 

As the sun slipped lower and Volcán de Fuego smoked in the distance, we finally hit Molly Berry’s workshop, Luna Zorro, nestled in the middle of a picturesque 150-year-old coffee farm. Luna Zorro is much more than a stylish repository of sought after stuffs, it is a shady compound serving fresh juice (have never tasted such delicious elixirs), with an event space and weaving operation, where we lingered for hours snapping up rugs, textiles, bags, hats, dresses and jewelry. 

Our group had become quite close by now. I won’t soon forget our family dinner that night at a popular wedding venue, Casa Troccoli. Under a canopy of stars, Casa Troccoli’s matriarch and her daughters had us in stitches regaling us with the highs and lows of their ancestor’s journey to Antigua hundreds of years prior.

THE LOWLANDS

Via a small plane and the cutest boat ever, we travelled from Antigua to the lowlands, landing at La Lancha, Francis Ford Coppola’s jungle idyll on Lake Petén Itzá. A blend of bougie luxury and Apocalypse Now ruggedness, the hotel has a cold pool and breezy open-air lodge with a perfect view. It’s hot, though. So hot that Sabrina and I didn’t bother climbing the 300 stairs to our rooms for swimsuits, but rather opted for immediate gratification, taking out paddleboards in our underwear (which is where I heard the more detailed story of her breakup).

Still searching for that energy vortex, I braved the temazcal sweat lodge hoping for a vision. It seemed like one was on the verge of coming when a bright light appeared, but it was merely Sofia delivering fresh coconut water through a tiny door. All things considered, that coconut water itself was some kind of small miracle.

TIKAL

Practically unanimously, the group decided on a 3:30 a.m. departure from La Lancha to Tikal, the heart of ancient Mayan civilization and a LiDAR lover’s paradise.

At the ungodly hour of the middle of the night, with just the stars overhead and howler monkeys roaring, we hiked up through ruins. Many of us were grumpy. But eventually, perched atop the apex of Temple IV with dawn breaking, the lot of us were stunned into a reverential silence that, to me, revealed how much we still don’t know. 

Naturally Diego had arranged for a private tour with Guatemala’s lead Indiana Jones, Edwin Román, through an active dig site, off-limits to tourists. Only a few members of our group, including myself surprisingly, dared venture downward. There, buried under layers of jungle and dirt, history is being rewritten.

With the help of LiDAR technology—lasers that emit pulses measuring the amount of time it takes for light to return after bouncing off objects—archaeologists have created 3D models revealing a complex swath of undiscovered cities. Structures and causeways, distinctive of the Teotihuacan people, and belonging to all strata of socioeconomic class—including an imperial enclave of homes, artifacts, and altars suggest that the Mayans weren’t the only ones here. 

As it stands, the Teotihuacan may have migrated here from much further North than we ever knew, porting their gods, gold and furniture with them. How they got there and what wiped them out is yet to be determined. The implications are enormous.

We ended the trip the way all good ones end, slightly altered, with a new set of friends and a sense that we’d shared something private and powerful. Maybe I never accomplished vortex bliss, but to quote Timothy Leary, “In the long term, the quest for fulfillment is more important than that of accomplishment”.

To book this insider itinerary, or any other Guatemalan journeys, contact Likizio Travel: booking@likizotravel.com

The post A Highlands-to-Lowlands Passage Through Guatemala appeared first on Yolo Journal.

By the time I turn into the driveway of Masseria Prosperi, I can feel my shoulders drop. After weeks of spluttering around Spain speaking Spang-itang-lish, there’s something reassuring about being back, where at least a few words come easily. I’ve rented myself a little car, and today marks the start of my two-week solo road trip through the southern part of the boot. As someone who, until recently, described herself as a Northern Italy devotee, this is my fourth time visiting Puglia in as many years. The food, the seaside, the slower pace of life, with a light that falls like no other, have brought me back to deepen my connection to this region and its legendary hospitality.

I arrive tired and hungry, and though lunch is technically over, the beautiful ragazza who greets me smiles: “I can pull something together… Would you like a rosé?” Moments later, I’m sitting beneath a creeping vine at a table laid with monogrammed napkins and a plate of burrata and tomatoes—ripe, juicy, red, doused in salt and olive oil.

Out on the lawn, a big bronzed horse grazes lazily. Mercedes, the donna of the casa, tells me he has trouble with his legs, her eyes soft. The animals here are loved like family—seven dogs, fourteen cats, chickens, geese, donkeys, and one solitary goat who apparently thinks he runs the place. They all live together in a kind of rural United Nations, where the cats ignore the chickens and the rooster crows indiscriminately, day and night. It’s part of Prosperi’s charm.

When I’m not drifting between the pool and my suite, I drive to Grotta della Poesia, where locals plunge from limestone ledges into turquoise water. I myself don’t make the leap, but those of us who watch on laugh collectively when a little boy counts down to a jump with his father, only to pull out at the last second and giggle as his papa realises a second too late that he’s jumping alone. 

I join the Palombara family for dinner on my first night, an Italian gesture of hospitality that they will repeat every night during my stay, and my Italian flows easily. These are the kinds of meals that demand to be eaten slowly, with wine, sun-warmed skin and nowhere else to be.

From here, I wind inland to Nardò and Palazzo Tafuri, an elegant boutique hotel that I stay at every time I’m in town—one that feels less like checking in and more like quietly joining an old-world secret. Davide greets me against the terracotta-and-powder-blue façade with a prosecco in hand. Inside: soaring ceilings, 17th-century frescoes, and a spa that feels stolen from the pages of a design magazine. Though there are just 16 suites—small enough that it still feels like your own—there are always interesting people milling at the bar or in the open-air seating area. Whenever you sit yourself on their luxurious couches in the reception area for a drink, passersby stick their heads in or look against the windows to peek inside. It’s the place to be… and to be seen. The little town of Nardo is akin to the set of a Fellini film. Locals and tourists swell and contract across the seasons, coming to visit the seaside as well as learn about the history of the area’s Byzantine era… but mostly, to revel in the authentic slower pace of a proper little Italian città.

I spend a day venturing further along the coast. In nearby Santa Caterina and Santa Maria al Bagno, I swim until my hair smells of salt and sunscreen, then wander the cliff walk that threads between the two like a private invitation. One afternoon, feeling adventurous, I kayak into the national park. The locals have a little spot in a particular alcove here where, I’m told, a 10-second dunk will shave ten years off your appearance. There’s clearly a little spring here that feeds icy cold water into the ocean, so the ten seconds feel a lot longer. I lower my body into the small cove and brace (and count). At the very last second, I dunk my face under… just in case it all works. But you’ll have to ask a local for directions when you pull your kayak into the cove—I was sworn to locational secrecy. We can’t all be looking that young!

At sunset on the little coastal spot of Santa Maria al Bagno, I claim a table upstairs on the rooftop at Matam, order a spritz, and watch the horizon turn molten gold while the fishing boats bob home. It’s fancy but unpretentious—my favourite kind of spot. For dinner, I’m treated to L’Art Nouveau, the kind of beautifully classic French-Italian fusion that practically hums with candlelight.

Back in Nardò, I walk the streets to Piazza Salandro and people-watch, my favorite past-time whenever I’m in town. Children on bicycles, old nonnas sipping prosecco and the older gentlemen who gather for their nightly words of wisdom with one another over on the benches that border the piazza. In this area, I make a habit of drinking aperitivos solo, buying ‘70s-style postcards for 20 cents apiece, and eating panini stuffed with stracciatella, mortadella, and pistachios—my kryptonite—for €7 at Rendezvous; a little hole-in-the-wall tucked behind a church-turned-artist’s showroom. Between bites, I flirt with the rental and sale signs posted on palazzos. How much for a little bolthole? Could I do it?

For something smaller and more affordable, I sometimes stay at Area 8 Rooms, a charming little rental tucked just off Nardò’s main square. Up a short, steep flight of stone steps, it opens to a sunlit terrace that overlooks the chapel’s chiming bells and terracotta rooftops. The interiors are pared back yet beautifully designed—think crisp white walls, linen curtains, and just enough rustic character to feel authentic. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel momentarily local: close enough to the piazza to hear the evening chatter, yet quietly your own.

For my final evening in Nardò, I perch in my favourite seat at the bar for a Negroni before dinner. The new chef’s menu begins with sea urchin and foie gras, both revelations. We joke about “just one ultimate glass of wine,” but the night—like most nights in Puglia—refuses to end neatly. Later, I snap a Polaroid from the balcony, and for once, the exposure is perfect. A tiny artifact of this little city I keep falling for.

Further south, I reach Palazzo Daniele in Gagliano del Capo, home of “the perfect” shower—a shower so good it’s practically famous. Behind a tall blue door, I’m greeted by a neon sign that reads “Questa casa non è un albergo”—this is a home, not a hotel—and I believe it instantly. This is a hotel I’ve wanted to visit for years, and the audible gasp I make walking in is indicative of all one needs to know of this haven.

Gabriele Salini, the creator of the hotel, leads me through the palazzo. He is engaging, familiar and with an authentic enthusiasm about the design that feels infectious. But only after a Café Salentino and homemade almond biscuit in the kitchen. You can smell it before you see it: bright produce piled high, fresh bread in the oven, laughter spilling out of the door. The palazzo is full of quiet wonders: an altar by my room devoted to the sea—shells, coral, sacred hearts—and an honesty bar called “Holy Spirits,” glowing crimson in the corner like a private joke. Oversized arches, perfectly undulating pavers and dripping green vines add an atmosphere to the Palazzo that feels grand but not overbearing. It feels intimate for such splendour.

In Room 10, I find shelves of books and perfectly crinkled linen. And then there’s the shower—water cascading from the ceiling like a private ceremony. Under its warm stream, I take my time. I dry slowly, massage oil into my skin, and catch my own gaze in the mirror like I’ve been let in on a secret. That night, I sip Negronis with Gabri and Sarah, the creative director, beneath the carrube trees, snacking on anchovies so good I have to close my eyes for a second.

Between naps, coffees and private yoga sessions, I make the most of having a set of wheels and take myself off on mini road-trips to Punta Prosciutto Beach, where the sand is pale and the water impossibly clear, then on to Grotta Verde, where the sea glows emerald inside the rock. This corner of Puglia feels like a postcard you can swim in. 

But Puglia is never just one kind of place. A couple of hours north again, in Polignano a Mare, I lunch at Il Quadrifoglio—a pizzeria so good it has ruined me for every other gluten-free pizza in Italy. Afterward, I walk down to Cala Monachile Beach, where the crowds and cliffs feel equally theatrical. If you’re not carrying a camera, you’ll wish you were. Don’t let instagram fool you—bring rock shoes or risk looking remarkably unphotogenic. 

After visiting the hive of activity of Polignano, I head towards Fasano to Borgo Egnazia; that white-stone dream near Savelletri that perhaps shouldn’t entice me so much because of its sheer grandeur, but somehow does. It’s one of those rare “created” places that feels seamless, where staff greet you by name and every little lane seems designed for getting lost. Designed and built from the ground up in more recent times than the much older masserias of the region, the team have done an excellent job of keeping in touch with the legend of the landscape here. One evening, a sunset turns the entire sky into pink and violet fire, and everyone—staff, guests, even the usually unimpressed children—just stop, mouths open. The bike ride activity offered through the olive groves, ending with cheese still warm from the farm, should be prescribed as medicine. There’s something about these old, old olive trees that remind me of bodies winding towards one another. Equipped with multiple swimming pools, its own beach club and golf course, wellness area and fitness classes, Borgo Egnazia has everything to help you relax or keep you busy, depending on what you’re looking for (or who you’re traveling with).

By contrast, Borgo Silentio is the antidote to having been on the move with a suitcase in tow. A scattering of trulli tucked deep into farmland, the kind of place that feels like it exists outside of time. Privately owned by a local family, this Borgo gives you the chance to live like a local, having the house and surrounds all to yourself. I spend a few days here barefoot, plucking warm cherry tomatoes straight off the vine in typical Puglian teal green and deep blue bowls, working at a sunlit table, and hanging laundry that dries in minutes. My husband had been watching my Instagram stories and decides he can’t let me have all the fun. He meets me here from Barcelona and one afternoon we do very little but swim, drink rosé, and write until the sun drops. Peace can be startling when it actually arrives. It’s also startling when you realize how easily one can drink a bottle of rosé in one sitting with Italian chips straight from the bag. We use the kitchen in the evenings and it’s heavenly to be cooking pasta with local ingredients. 

Finally, I retreat slightly more inland to Masseria Palombara, the stay with the most familiar feeling of being hosted at home. My room isn’t really a room—it’s an apartment I’d happily move into. Domed ceilings, soft sheets, the perfect Apulian whitewashed walls that bounce light. A private hammam, a deep-set bathtub, a plunge pool on the terrace. There’s even a desk settled outside on the terrace, sunlit and waiting, the kind of place you could write a memoir if armed with enough espresso and resolve. 

Days here pass in the most delicious repetition: long sleeps, deep swims, and kitchen cuisine that is as excessive as it is exquisite. The Puglians don’t want you to eat less so you can enjoy more later—they want you to eat more now and more later. Più, più, più.

I photograph the seemingly endless property, kiss Blu the resident dog more than should be allowed, and wander past flowering artichokes. In the garage, a rusting old Fiat makes me fantasize about becoming the kind of woman who could coax it back to life—rather than the one who has never changed a tire. My book stays closed; I’m too busy living the story outside. 

One afternoon, I surrender to the hammam and the hands of a masseuse who somehow finds every knot. She massages my jaw (turns out I’ve been clenching), works the tender spot beneath my “wing,” and smooths oil through my hair until I almost laugh with relief. At some point, I drift off to sleep on the table—a first for me—and wake only at the soft swoosh down my feet, her quiet benediction.

When I stumble out, Francesca (the hotel manager and my newfound amiga) meets me in the corridor, takes one look at my dazed smile, and says simply: “Don’t speak yet. I’ll ask you later.” And for once, I don’t.

Because in Puglia, there’s no need for words.

In my final stop before heading north for Firenze, I stop in Lecce, at La Fiermontina Collection. I stay in a room graced with works by Yoko Ono—an old family friend of the owners—and am lucky enough to experience a guided tour of the family’s art collection. With three properties across a small area of town, one is spoiled for choice as to what they are looking to experience in this beautiful haven of sandstone. Behind the large doors and old walls of this Lecce establishment, the palazzo is grand and stately. Oversized sculptures don the entranceways and grand staircases sweep up to the first floor where you find a beautifully palatial games and sitting room. It’s warm enough to make you feel like you’re at home, if you’re home were a Salentino dream from the pages of Architectural Digest. I don’t have long in Lecce, but there’s just enough time for a rooftop martini, a swim, and a sleep so deep it feels medicinal. 

Look, if I’m being honest…in the end, Puglia isn’t about where you stay or what you see—it’s about how it rearranges your pace, meal by meal, swim by swim. My best advice? Leave room for one more glass of wine, one more dip in the sea, and one more reason to come back. Because you will.

The post A Two-Week Puglia Road Trip appeared first on Yolo Journal.

More than a few eyebrows were raised and jokes made when I mentioned my plans to visit The Hague. As the International City of Peace and Justice settling some of the world’s most serious disputes, The Hague might not immediately scream leisurely weekend break. But look beyond the business suits and criminal courts, and the home of Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring—who is under permanent house arrest at the city’s Mauritshuis for fear of damaging the masterpiece in transit—reveals an embassy-backed, multicultural scene that’s quietly beginning to rival Amsterdam.International institutions have drawn a worldly crowd to the Netherlands’ seat of government, and the cuisine follows suit: Indonesian rijsttafel sits beside French wine bars, Japanese kaiseki is served in wood-panelled rooms, and Syrian bakeries offer flaky, pistachio-laced pastries. Het Noordeinde (formed by intersecting streets Hoogstraat, Heulstraat, and de Plaats around the Royal Palace) is lined with galleries, jewelry stores, and independent makers, as well as Art Nouveau buildings to admire while you shop. Jugendstil houses line leafy squares in Zeeheldenkwartier (Sea Heroes Quarter), the city’s oldest neighborhood, where buzzy wine bars are popping up and lively street parties are held. The main method of transport? Bicycle, of course. There’s also a well-connected tram line, and some pedestrianised areas worth perusing on foot.

What to do

Mauritshuis: Vermeer, Rembrandt, Rubens. The Dutch Masters are all here, on display in an intimate setting that was once a count’s private residence. Currently, The Bull by Paulus Potter (the museum’s largest painting) is being restored in an open exhibition where you can watch the conservators at work on the giant canvas. Plein 29, 2511 CS Den Haag

Museum Voorlinden: A short trip out to Wassenaar brings you to this privately funded contemporary museum—an architectural marvel housing James Turrell light installations, immersive Yayoi Kusama pieces, and enough Dutch minimalism to please even the most discerning aesthete. Buurtweg 90, 2244 AG Wassenaar

Escher in the Palace: Surrealists, this one’s for you. Step into the mind-bending world of M.C. Escher, one of the world’s most famous graphic artists (and a Dutchman, naturally). Pieces play with perspective, space, and reality, adorning the ornate walls of Lange Voorhout Palace, formerly the winter residence of Queen Emma. Lange Voorhout 74, 2514 EH Den Haag

Kunstmuseum: This is the international home of Dutch abstract painter Piet Mondrian, with over 300 works displayed in light-flooded galleries. Housing 160,000 pieces by predecessors and contemporaries like Monet, Picasso and Kandinsky, and successors including Francis Bacon, the Art Deco building designed by architect H.P. Berlage dazzles with its distinctive yellow brickwork. Stadhouderslaan 41, 2517 HV Den Haag

Paleistuin: Originally the private garden of the Dutch royal family, Paleistuin is now a public green refuge behind Noordeinde Palace. Perfect for a picnic under a chestnut tree or a quiet stroll along rose-lined paths. Prinsessewal, 2513 EE Den Haag

Beelden aan Zee: Shaped like a shell and tucked amidst the Scheveningen dunes, this sculpture museum champions form and material in conversation with sea and sky. It’s one of the few museums in the Netherlands dedicated solely to sculpture—and its coastal setting is one to write home about. Harteveltstraat 1, 2586 EL Den Haag

Scheveningen: The Hague’s seaside alter ego, with wide, sandy beaches, retro pier architecture, and a growing scene of beach clubs that lean more Ibiza than North Sea. Come for sunset aperitifs or brave the waves with a session at one of the surf schools.

Oostduinpark: On the northeast fringes of Scheveningen, locals come to this expanse of undulating dunes and pine forest to escape the city. You’ll spot cyclists, dog walkers, and wild Highland cattle. If you’re driving, use the address ‘2586 ZZ Scheveningen’ in your GPS. By tram, take line 9 towards Scheveningen Noord; get off at the Zwarte Pad stop, then walk 10 minutes.

Where to shop

Moofers Clothing: Designer Jennifer van Haastert has thoughtfully stocked her Toussaintkade boutique with sustainably woven Dutch knitwear, structured pieces, and sculptural jewellery. These are made-to-last, everyday garments, crafted from recycled organic cotton from the Netherlands, traced alpaca yarns, and reclaimed Italian fabrics. Haastert also fosters a network of local, predominantly female artists to dress the walls and host in-store exhibitions. Toussaintkade 22, 2513 CK Den Haag

Nobel Store: Compact yet brilliantly curated, this vintage store feels straight out of your Vinted ‘saved’ items. Come to thrift in one of The Hague’s oldest buildings. Nobelstraat 1, Den Haag

BOOKSTOR: Equal parts café and indie bookshop, this 100-something-year-old building on the Noordeinde still has its original bookcases and moveable ladders to reach the upper shelves. In winter, head to the back and sit in the old conservatory with stained glass windows; come summer, sit on the terrace under the yellow-striped awnings. Noordeinde 39, 2514 GC Den Haag

Store du Nord: Everything in this Scandi-leaning men’s fashion store is handpicked by owner, Jeroen, from makers he knows personally. The bespoke raincoat service with Norwegian Rain is a real highlight. Also, just go in for a chat—Jeroen is lovely and brimming with local recommendations. Noordeinde 49, 2514 GC Den Haag

De Passage: Built in 1882, this is the Netherlands’ oldest shopping arcade. Stained glass, mosaic floors, and glass domes are all part of the charm, and you could just as easily be in Paris or Milan while deciding which flavour of homemade chocolate to take home. Passage 72, 2511 AD Den Haag

Where to eat & drink

Bartine: Blending a Copenhagen-style café, bakery, homeware market, and wine bar into one (well, two different locations), Bartine is an all-day hangout. The café (Herengracht 11 2511EG Den Haag) is open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but the bakery (Piet Heinstraat 72 2518CK Den Haag) usually sells out early.

Birdflower: Garlic naan sandwiches, cheese toasties, buttery almond croissants. Professor Kaiserstraat 55, 2562 KA Den Haag

Pompernikkel: As adorable as its name, this bakery specialises in organic sourdough and from-scratch pastries. The vanilla gooseberry ice-cream special sandwiched between cinnamon rolls is the perfect antidote to a hot summer’s day. Beeklaan 370, 2562 BG Den Haag

Café Bleu: Look out for the electric blue awning, and head inside for small plates, an interesting wine list, and live jazz. Hooistraat 5, 2514 BM Den Haag

Café Constant: This corner café would look right at home in Paris. A Scheveningen neighbourhood spot for lunch and dinner, with tables spilling out onto the terrace. Neptunusstraat 2, 2586 GS Den Haag

Single Estate Coffee Roasters: Freshly roasted whole beans behind the counter, great coffee with seasonal specials, and a lovely terrace to sip your brews on. Piet Heinstraat 15, 2518 CB Den Haag

Bøg: Refined Nordic fare with a Dutch twist, served on minimalist wooden tables in an exposed brick dining room. Come hungry, but also curious. Prinsestraat 130, 2513 EB Den Haag

De Zoute Kater: This is where The Hague’s trendiest crowd comes to dine and catch-up over glasses of natural wine. The bistro’s name translates to ‘salty tomcat’ (or ‘hangover’ in Dutch slang), if that’s an invitation to pace yourself… Zoutmanstraat 53C, 2518 GM Den Haag

Glaswerk: In the Binckhorst industrial district (or ‘Binck’ for short), this chic bistro overlooks the Trekvliet canal and dishes up ingredient-led, thoughtfully presented dinners. Fokkerkade 14, 2516 CC Den Haag

Basaal: Part biodynamic bottle shop, part restaurant, the menu here changes regularly as chefs get creative with local produce. The Basque chicken with girolles and frites is a real crowd-pleaser. Dunne Bierkade 3, 2512 BC Den Haag

Bowie: Candlelit tables are filled with French-Mediterranean dishes to share from brunch to dinner, where nights start with sourdough and salted butter and end with pistachio chocolate mousse. Regentesselaan 24A, 2562 CS Den Haag

Marius Wijncafé: This café and wine shop are next-door neighbours, with an impressive sake selection alongside low-intervention bottles. The menu changes with whatever the chef picked up at the market that morning. Piet Heinstraat 93, 2518 CD Den Haag

Restobar: The terrace here gets so packed out on sunny evenings that tables are often added to the street (encouraging yet more passers-by to join). The white asparagus, fermented pear crème, and leek are summer on a plate. Nobelstraat 22 Den Haag

Where to stay

De Plesman: A striking fusion of aviation history and Dutch design, housed in a monumental 1940s building that once served as the KLM airline headquarters. Today, it’s been reimagined by Amsterdam-based studio, Nicemakers, into a refined urban retreat—with nods to its industrial heritage throughout the apartment-style spaces that are ideal for extended stays in the city. The seafood-leaning menu at Restaurant Suus takes inspiration from the hotel’s Scheveningen setting, with Dutch prawn cocktails and Gillardeau oysters to North Sea crab. Plesmanweg 607, 2597 JG Den Haag 

*Read the full Guest Book here

How to get there

The Hague shares an airport with Rotterdam, and is connected by a 30-minute, direct train to Amsterdam Schiphol. The Eurostar goes to both Rotterdam and Amsterdam Centraal, and then it’s an easy transfer to a Dutch Intercity train to The Hague.

The post Dispatch from The Hague  appeared first on Yolo Journal.

I start each year with a short list of places I’ve never been. Ireland hadn’t originally made the cut—even though it’s always been on my someday list. What finally pushed it to the top was my mom. She had never been to Europe, and I wanted to give her an easy, welcoming first trip that still felt full of wonder.

And that’s exactly how Ireland greeted us. A place that doesn’t feel the need to boast—just quietly beautiful, deeply charming, and somehow still a little slept on among my travel friends.

We landed in Dublin running on no sleep and bad airport coffee, but the adrenaline of arrival kept us going. Within an hour, I was behind the wheel of a rental car—my first time driving on the left. Jill at the counter pressed a green bracelet into my hand with “Stay Left” printed on it, a souvenir and helpful reminder. The roundabouts near the airport were chaos, but once we got out of the city, the road got narrower but also more scenic, cutting through endless green hills, stone walls, and tiny villages.

About an hour in, we kicked off our trip in the most absurdly charming way possible: with a visit to a sheep farm.

County Galway: scones, sheepdogs and the Burren

Our first stop was Rathbaun Farm in Ardrahan, a family-run farm that felt more authentic than touristy. We arrived ten minutes late after a wrong turn but Evelyn, our host, immediately roped us into helping make scones. Then we headed to the barn for the bottle-feeding of baby lambs, sheepdog demos, and a primer on the wool industry—only a small part of the industry remains profitable today. The farmers’ passion for keeping the tradition alive was palpable, and the experience ended up being a highlight of the trip.

From there, we continued an hour west through The Burren National Park—a horizon of otherworldly gray limestone paving the hillsides, and dotted with wildflowers, stone walls, dairy cows, and sheep. The scenery looks like nowhere else in Ireland.

By late afternoon, we checked into the Wild Honey Inn in Lisdoonvarna—our first night’s stay, run by husband-and-wife team Aidan and Kate McGrath. Aidan is well-known in the area as a Michelin-starred chef, and the inn has become as much a destination for its food as for its warm, homey atmosphere. It has the calm, considered feel of a place where everything is done well, but nothing is overdone. The inn is cozy, with low ceilings, soft lighting, and antique furniture that makes it feel like stepping into someone’s home. Before dinner, we made a quick drive to the Cliffs of Moher for sunset. Pulling into the lot, the sea air hit us, salty, sharp, and colder than expected. Yes, it’s touristy, but it’s also staggering—the dizzying cliffs dropping sheer down to the crashing Atlantic. With the wind whipping all around us, it felt like one of those views you can’t quite absorb in a photo. Since we were there just before closing, the €30 parking fee felt steep, but if you plan ahead and give yourself a few hours to walk the landscape, it’s worth it.

On the way back we stopped in Doolin, a tiny coastal village often called the traditional music capital of Ireland. Brightly painted pubs line the road, and the town backs onto a running creek, which was especially charming at sunset. We ordered fish and chips at McGann’s Pub, wandered past shops that had closed for the evening, and returned to the inn for some much-needed sleep.

Day 2: Counties Limerick & Kerry: markets and manors

The next morning, we headed toward Kenmare, stopping in Limerick to spend the morning at The Milk Market, the city’s open-air food market. Popping into one shop, my mom and I met an older gentleman named Jim, who shared stories of his time living upstate New York, which reminded me how easily these genuine and unforced connections happen in Ireland.

Passing through Adare, we got a glimpse of the thatched-roof fairytale cottages with brightly painted doors, manicured gardens and ancient churches. It’s no wonder the town has won Ireland’s Tidiest Town award many times. Though we didn’t linger, it was one of those places that left an impression.

By late afternoon, we arrived at Sheen Falls Lodge in Kenmare, a hotel so deeply tucked into its landscape—across a one-way stone bridge and along a road covered by a canopy of trees—that my mom and I actually missed the entrance several times.

The lodge sits on the river, with the falls rushing just outside the windows. The main building is a stately stone house that looks like a grand country estate, but has the warmth of a peaceful and private retreat. The grounds stretch out with manicured lawns and woodland paths, and the rooms themselves have a warm, modern cabin-like feel with soft wool throws, leather club chairs, and windows that frame the water.

Dinner at their restaurant The Falls, was a standout, each course inventive but not at all pretentious or formal. From the tuna tartare amuse-bouche to the best filet I’ve ever had, meltingly tender and paired with seasonal sides, it was thoughtful from start to finish and one of the most memorable meals of our trip.

County Cork: a port town and treehouse stay

We left reluctantly but headed towards Cork, pausing in Kinsale, a colorful port town known for its art galleries and fresh seafood. We stopped for breakfast at O’Herlihy’s and watched the boats from the pier. My mom found a perfect Irish wool sweater made by a local artisan and a tweed cap, while I picked up a magnet, which I collect for my fridge wherever I go.

That night’s stay, The Montenotte, sits above the city, with sweeping views. We stayed in one of their new Woodland Suites, designed by Irish architects Henry J Lyons and interior designer Róisín Lafferty, tucked into the trees like a luxe treehouse. Deep green walls, velvet armchairs, brass accents, and playful mid-century lighting created a space that felt both bold and cocooning. At the center of the room, a large freestanding bathtub added a touch of quiet luxury, and the smaller details, like locally made ceramics for morning coffee and wool throws, tied it all back to Ireland.

That evening, we went into the city for a drink and stopped by two pubs, Sin É and The Corner House, which sit right next to each other and seem to have a friendly rivalry over which locals prefer. We had to try both, and the end preferred the latter—a little dive-bar with all the pub charm, and they even served their own house-made Baileys. It had also happened to be marathon day, so the city was buzzing with runners still in their bibs, spectators spilling out of bars, and live music drifting from open doorways. The whole city felt like it had been celebrating since morning.

County Kilkenny: castles and craftsmanship

By day four, the whirlwind pace was catching up with us, but Kilkenny Castle revived us. Some rooms are museum-style; others are fully restored and make you feel you’re time traveling. We walked through tea rooms, bedrooms, and long corridors lined with hanging tapestries. The ceilings in some spaces were intricately painted, telling stories from the castle’s history. First in that morning, we had the place nearly to ourselves.

Afterwards, we wandered into the shops in the old castle stables, now used as artisan spaces. Every proprietor there is required to make what they sell—candles, pottery, jewelry, clothing, holistic healing products—and it all felt very connected to place.

That evening, we checked into Lyrath Estate, a sprawling property just outside Kilkenny. The front of the hotel is a restored 17^th-century manor, with ivy-covered stone walls, tall sash windows, grand staircases and ornate fireplaces. Walking through the rooms, we could still feel the estate’s history in the creak of the floors and the portraits of former owners—it was fascinating to imagine their lives while standing in the same spaces. The guest rooms, though, are set in a modern extension behind it—sleek, contemporary spaces that are airy and comfortable—while the front holds the character of centuries past.

We ended the night in the estate’s old-school cinema watching The Secret Garden, which felt especially fitting for our travels, surrounded by gardens and old manor houses. Early the next morning, I walked the formal gardens and wooded trails of the property with my camera, spotting deer moving quietly through the trees, rabbits darting across lawns, and a few cats roaming the paths like they owned them. It added a sense of liveliness to the estate, like history and nature were both still very present.

Dublin: the finale

Our final stop was Dublin, which was a relief after days of winding country roads. We stayed at The Merrion, a five-star hotel in the heart of Georgian Dublin and just steps from St. Stephen’s Green Park. The building is made up of four restored 18^th-century townhouses, and the interiors preserve that old-world charm in the best way. Tall ceilings, period furniture, and framed artwork give the common spaces the feel of a grand home. Much of the hotel’s artwork comes from a private collection of 19th and 20th century Irish art closely tied to the National Gallery of Ireland, so it feels like you’re staying inside a living museum. It was a perfect place to end the trip, with all the comfort and grace we’d come to expect from Ireland.

The last day was more structured, so we could cram everything in. We had afternoon tea at the hotel (with pastries inspired by the artwork), then headed to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells and the Long Room. It was packed with tourists, but that didn’t detract from the experience. The manuscript sits under glass in a darkened room, its illuminated pages glowing softly in the light. It’s hard to fathom that something so intricate and so old—created over a thousand years ago—is right in front of you. I was stopped by a guard when I pulled out my camera—and maybe that was for the best.

Our last stop was the Guinness Storehouse, which I thought my mom would enjoy, and it was surprisingly well done—walking you through the entire brewing process, from ingredients to the fermentation and how the beer became so tied to Ireland. That night, we toasted the end of the trip with pizza at Bambino, walked the cobbled streets one last time, and collapsed into our beds.

Five towns in five days isn’t for the faint of heart, especially with left-side driving. (I did clip a mirror leaving Cork, no harm done.) But with my mom as co-pilot and “Stay Left” bracelet on my wrist, we figured it out together, and laughed a lot along the way.

Ireland is as beautiful as everyone says. But it’s the incredibly kind people, the warmth, and the feeling of being welcomed that made it unforgettable, for both of us.

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I grew up in Donegal, but I live in and love Galway because it demands so little. It is super laid back with lots going on—it’s got a lovely kinetic energy. It is alive with visitors in the summer, but in the winter, it migrates back to a sleepy town punctuated with a few festivals. Its geographical location—south of the iconic Connemara and north of the magical Burren region and east of the three Aran Islands—makes it perfectly positioned to be the best place to stay for exploring the region.

I live and work here, mainly in my restaurant Ard Bia, which next year is turning 25. We serve brunch, lunch and dinner in an iconic building sitting on the river Corrib and overlooking the Atlantic. It’s a special place with rotating exhibitions and a commitment to the way food should be—local, seasonal and made with feeling. I also work on my ethical fashion brand, The Tweed Project, with my friend and business partner Triona Lillis. We create once-off pieces with our indigenous Irish fabrics—tweed, linen and arans (knitted wool sweaters from the Aran islands)—subverting tradition with a contemporary twist.

Eat/Drink

Ard Bia, of course. It’s the locals’ gathering spot.

Sheridans – Love a cheese board and a glass of natural wine—it’s above the famous cheesemongers.

Universal – For simple but perfectly pitched small plates and buttered spuds and a great cocktail or natural wine.

Kai – For a fresh uber-seasonal lunch of local crab and a blueberry juice 

Magpie Bakery – For morning bakes, then grab an expertly made coffee at Coffeewerk + Press and sit on their top floors and read design books and listen to the Monocle radio there.

Bierhaus – For easy street food with a great vibe and late-night tunes if you’re lucky, and a sit in the sun if the sun is shining 

Saturday Market – A great convivial morning—pop into Danny Doughnut for New York-style ones. The Juice Jeanie for juices and goodness shots. Wonderful fish and organic veg stalls 

Coffee and an açai bowl at Black Rock Cottage and Black Rock Diving Boards after a swim and a walk—perfect. Black Rock Diving Boards are iconic 1950s diving boards that everyone jumps off—they’re very special, very Wes Anderson.

I’m not much of a pub-goer, but the Crane Bar has traditional Irish music, and then Tigh Neachtain has been open since 1894—it’s great to sit outside in sunny weather.

Shopping 

Our Tweed Project studio at 12 Henry Street is lovely to visit—we have once-off and smaller pieces like hot water bottles, cushions and scarves.

Coffeewerk + Press have a wonderful print studio and shop with lovely Scandi-style home purchases, functional objects and Gestalten books.

Charlie Byrnes is an iconic old bookshop … you can spend hours here browsing and reading.

Kindfolk is our only really cool shop—great people, great coffee, and great labels like Carhartt and Edmmond.

Ernie’s grocery shop for organic veg and all things good for you…  run by Ernie Jr. and Sr. Both play great music. 

To do

Rent a bike at the shop beside Monroes and cycle out past the 6 beaches and head onto Silver Strand, which has wild energy.

Fly to the Aran Islands with Aer Arran, an 8-minute flight for about 40 Euros that you won’t forget. Very few people know they can fly (vs the ferry) and it’s fabulous. Spend a day on Inisheer, my favorite and the smallest island, and get lunch at Teach an Tea, a beautiful tea house with salads and soups (only open in summer).

Try the Driftwood Sauna in Spiddal—recently voted the best sauna in all of Ireland and the UK. They’ll walk you through the ritual bath and sauna.

Places to stay 

This can be very difficult in Galway. The best stay is The Stop B&B – a contemporary art-filled spot with beautiful design and breakfasts 

For a quirky stay, there’s a classic Dutch cargo ship that’s been beautifully renovated and sitting on the sea on the long walk stunning location

Editor’s note: Our friend Tim Marvin just stayed at this Airbnb in Spiddal and says—”One of the best I’ve ever stayed at—perfect in its imperfections and charm. Not an ikea-d out guest house. A converted Protestant church owned by Sheila and Redmond. Perfectly appointed with Irish antiques, books, and art along with modernity where you need it. Ripped from the pages of World of Interiors.”  

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Earlier this year I found myself heading to Dresden, as my husband and I were invited to visit A. Lange & Söhne, a company that has been making watches by hand in the tiny town of Glashutte since 1845. Our visit coincided with our daughter’s spring break, so we made a whole trip around it, beginning in Vienna, then Dresden, Prague, and finishing in Berlin. I had no idea what to expect—I’m usually not with Matt when he is visiting watchmakers, something he does frequently, both for his magazine Wm Brown and for his book, A Man & His Watch (his first was published in 2017 and he’s now working on the second edition, to be published in 2027).

I wasn’t sure how Clara and I, the non-watch nerds, would fare. Watch, car, sports talk… I always feel like a bit of an outsider—the people who are into these worlds are really into it—and while I so appreciate the level of craftsmanship, when talk turns to tourbillons I’m a bit lost.

We arrived in the evening and checked into the Grand Hotel Taschenbergpalais, which recently reopened as a Kempinski after an extensive renovation, and is so lovely—the rooms feel modern but reference their history, and the food and beverage program is strong, with a big emphasis on local, even if it caters to a very international crowd. The next morning we drove about 40 minutes to Glashütte, which is the home base not only for A. Lange & Söhne, but nine other watch companies, in a little town of only 7,000 residents. Our tour was just incredible—we got to see every department that works on just one component of each watch. The level of focus and their passion for what they’re doing, plus just how many hands and how many hours go into these beautiful timepieces… both Clara and I were riveted. Afterwards we went to the watch museum in town, which had a huge collection of timepieces, from wall clocks to pocket watches to wristwatches.

The next day we explored the town of Dresden, which I had a hard time putting my head around. I had seen the before-and-after war photographs, and was expecting to see more residual damage. Instead, here was what looked like a perfectly preserved Saxon city. Looking at it, you’d never imagine that it wasn’t original—there is nothing Disney or new about it at all, it just looks like it’s always been this way. In reality, the rebuilding started in the early ‘90s, continuing through 2005, with the Palace completed in 2021. It’s just so impressive to see the craftsmanship that went into it, and the pride the locals take in it—the adults of today grew up living in a city of ruin. We got a behind-the-scenes tour of Semperoper Dresden, the opera house—razed in 1945 and rebuilt 40 years later—that was once the home stage of Wagner and Strauss, visited the very impressive Dresden Zinger museum, and checked out the Royal Palace. I was particularly taken with the Fürstenzug (the Procession of Princes), the world’s largest (102 meters) porcelain artwork that miraculously survived the WWII bombing of the city.

Our next day we drove to Meissen, which porcelain collectors will be familiar with. It’s a beautiful factory in a charming little village, and Matt and I kept saying we couldn’t understand how we hadn’t seen or heard of it before. (Of course, once we got to Berlin we saw it everywhere, from stores to the flea market.) And we ended the afternoon with a visit to a local winery, Schloss Proschwitz, which had excellent wines and a lovely tasting, overlooking Meissen. 

While there, I received so many messages from friends who have come to the area because they are A. Lange & Sohne watch collectors, or they have family in the area, or one whose daughter is going to the Bauhaus school in Weimar. I collected all of their notes for my future Saxony road trip. It’s so rare that you can go somewhere and feel like you’ve seen no Americans, and the locals are genuinely giddy to have you there. After being in so many places that are just oversaturated with tourists, this area feels like a breath of fresh air, and we just barely scratched the surface.

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