…But right now it’s still one of the strongest tools we have—so conservationists are innovating to make it work. More
From $255 for low-season doubles and $435 for private villas. (High-season rates are $390 and $614.) More
Once upon a time, when Caribbean vacations were only taken by a lucky few, Nassau, in the Bahamas, was considered cool. More
In Bondi Beach, Sydney’s famed playground, epicurean restauranteurs are outshining the surfers.
Ask any random smattering of people—Australian or not—what they know about the Sydney suburb of Bondi, and odds are they’ll nearly all mention “the beach.” More
At 7:49 on a recent Sunday morning, six people had already lined up in the sweltering heat outside Hen & Heifer, a small pastry shop near the Guilford Town Green. The doors would not open until 8 a.m. More
As I’ve told friends for years, if I ever get to heaven, I hope to find that it’s a parking lot, right off a great surf-break beach, lined with taco trucks. If there’s one cuisine I could happily munch into eternity, it’s Mexican street food. More
Through my camera lens, the lions looked startlingly close: five young brothers with silky manes, sprawled on a dune that matched the tawny color of their bodies; and a sleek older lioness, sitting high above on a rocky promontory. More
Powder season and the X Games get all the hype, but there’s a thriving artistic side to this Rocky Mountain town year round.
I started surfing only recently—just six years ago—but the sport had beckoned for a long time. A big part of surfing’s appeal was its beauty—the enviable, effortless-looking grace that skilled wave riders bring to their pursuit. But I was also drawn to the sport’s solitude. More
Just a few years ago, the very idea of a luxury surf resort would have seemed oxymoronic to most any wave rider. Surfers, after all, have traditionally eschewed creature comforts in favor of access to their favorite breaks. More
A year after being battered by a hurricane, the Baja hot spot is buzzing again.
When I first fell for Los Cabos—the resort area that stretches for about 20 miles between the towns of Cabo San Lucas and San José del Cabo on the southern tip of Mexico’s Baja peninsula—it was for all the usual reasons. More
Skiing with the guys can be great fun. But when it comes to learning new slopeside skills—like navigating steeps, moguls, or backcountry terrain with confidence—many women prefer the support and rapport of other gals. More
With a slew of innovative chefs and stylish inns for both sleeping and noshing, the graceful South Carolina city is a bona fide dining destination. More
How To Have Thailand’s Most Idyllic Islands (Almost) To Yourself
When our dive boat captain cut the engine, just east of the island of Mayreau, we lurched for a few minutes in the cyan waters as we prepared to jump overboard. More
As anyone who has wandered the centuries-old epicurean aisles of Harrods in London or Le Bon Marché in Paris knows, food halls are not a new phenomenon. More
In the waters off the Yucatán Peninsula, travelers can get up close to the largest sharks in the world
It seemed like we’d been searching for the sharks for hours. Our group had actually only been motoring through the Gulf of Mexico for 40 minutes, scanning the Mylar-smooth water for telltale fins. But anticipation had made time sluggish. More
With fewer than 10 rooms, these truly boutique hotels still offer big luxuries, like gourmet restaurants, rooftop pools and spas
Not long ago, staying at a hotel with fewer than 10 rooms usually meant one thing: bedding down at a guesthouse. In the U.S. and abroad, small-scale options were largely limited to inns and B&Bs—some lovely, but others with fraying upholstery, too-thin walls and resident gangs of tchotchkes. More
Long hyped as the next Tuscany, Croatia’s northerly Istrian peninsula shares vibrant coasts, pastoral vineyards and a mellow growing climate with its Italian neighbor. But the region has a culinary culture all its own. More
A ride through Rajasthan, India, with humanitarian work along the way
When the camel cart came lurching around a bend and headed straight for us—wooden wheels clattering, turbaned drivers blaring Rajasthani music from a boombox—I was determined to keep my cool. My horse had other ideas: She reared up, spilling me out of my stirrups and into the dirt. More
Pets Alive works to provide sustainable solutions for Puerto Rico’s “satos”
If you’ve been to Puerto Rico, you’ve surely seen them: stray dogs the locals call satos. You can spot them everywhere, trotting in the heat alongside roads from San Juan to Mayagüez More
Whether you’re after sweeping beaches or mountain trails, barbecues or Michelin-starred restaurants, these chic resorts offer quintessential summertime pleasures. More
When Tiffany Sommer began organizing a group trip to India this past October, she knew that the focus had to be on food. More
Ravaged by natural disasters and poverty, Haiti is nevertheless trying to revive its tourism industry. Here, the process begins with voluntourism.
“Bucket!” a deep, Creole-inflected voice sang up to me. “BucketBucketBucket!”
From where I stood, partway up a steep, crumbling dirt hillside on the south coast of Haiti, the owner of the voice was invisible. But then Ernst, a tall young man with bare shoulders like gleaming obsidian, rounded a stand of boulders just below me. From his hands swung two plastic five-gallon buckets, each heavy with rocks. More
Near the beginning of “Moby-Dick,” Ishmael explains why he decided to set sail from Nantucket: “There was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island.” Today, nearly 160 years after being written, that characterization still rings true. Though its downtown cobblestone streets and windswept fringes are now filled with expensive (some say exorbitant) restaurants and elegant cocktail bars, the island still has a swagger. To see it in full swing, linger over pints at one of the many harborside pubs, especially at sundown when sailors and fishing boats return to port.
The term “Hawaiian cuisine” might once have conjured images of pineapple-and-Spam-strewn pizza and cloying rum cocktails—but visitors to Hawaii’s first Food & Wine Festival this month will find those notions laughably outdated. Sustainable agriculture is now the buzzword on the islands, resulting not only in world-class produce but, a proliferation of international chefs happy to sing its praises.
When John Lee, a doctor from North Yorkshire England, was looking for a place to holiday in Australia last December, he started by researching the sorts of properties he was used to: five-star hotels.
Where anyone can learn how to ride the waves.
Upon observing wave-riding Hawaiians in 1907, Jack London rhapsodized that surfing was “a royal sport for the natural kings of the earth.” These days, everyone from kids to CEOs can connect with the elemental thrill of the surf, and devotees of the sport have set up schools and camps around the globe for would-be beach royalty.
A Kenyan luxury safari lodge has forever changed the traditional relationship with its Masai landowners—and the experience for its visitors.
There are bats hanging over my bed.
I discover them the morning I arrive at Shompole, when I’m escorted to my private sleeping loggia, which can’t quite be called a room because it has no walls. The sheets on my king-size bed are freshly ironed, eucalyptus-scented, and cooled by a solar-powered fan, but all that separates them from the surrounding landscape—a sweeping panorama of East African veld, thorny scrub, and sky—is a framed cube of mosquito netting and a steep thatched roof.
An expedition to Canada to see wild polar bears—while it’s still possible.
Empty, snow-covered tundra stretches for hundreds of miles in every direction. An icy wind is blowing; a thickly batted quilt of cloud covers the sky. But I am trying mightily to jam open a frost-streaked window, brutal weather be damned. I want a clear view out of the rugged steel “Polar Rover” vehicle I’m in.
What’s hardest about middle age are the regrets. When you suddenly, alarmingly recognize that your life’s half over, what’s jarring isn’t just the realization that you’ll never have the chance to do everything you’ve planned. More
Some of the world’s most creative artwork lives—often temporarily—on buildings, walls, and sidewalks. Here’s where to find it.
For much of 2005, I walked the same five-block stretch of Rivington Street, on New York City ’s Lower East Side. A direct route to my favorite bars and restaurants, the street was lined with tenements and storefront bodegas that I usually strode right past. Then one day something stopped me in my tracks.
These eco-conscious volunteer vacations help animals, parks, and the planet while giving you an experience of a lifetime.
At 3 a.m. on a moonless, steamy night, I trudged along a stretch of Caribbean coast, peering into the darkness. My sneakers sloshed with a mixture of wet sand and seawater; sand flies bit my ankles. A few hours earlier, the half-dozen people in my group had chatted quietly as we’d marched along, but now, stumblingly tired and with a light rain misting our faces, we’d fallen silent. We still had miles to go before we slept.
Wandering through the riotous, labyrinthine stalls of Bangkok’s Chatuchak Market has given you an appetite. For hours, you’ve been pressing between crowds of local women haggling over mangoes, melons, and rank-smelling durian fruit; karaoke-CD hawkers wailing into staticky microphones; and bamboo cages full of fighting cocks and fluffy barking puppies. More
“Hey!” a high-pitched voice called down to me. I stopped raking and looked up: The owner of the voice was a boy, maybe five or six, who was sitting on the fire escape of the apartment two floors above mine. He was sucking on a bright blue Popsicle, his brown legs dangling through the railings.
Like many writing teachers, I am privy to secrets. I’ve read stories about lost love and illicit affairs, addiction, shame, family dysfunction of every stripe. I know the parting words one student’s father said to her before dying; I know how another’s wife reacted when he revealed his long-hidden homosexuality. These are such private stories that, without encouragement, they might never have made it onto the page. And like any teacher, I feel privileged to have helped bring them to life.
“My God, this is marvelous!” cried Robert Grayson, as a herd of snuffling, yapping pugs swirled around his ankles. “It’s like some sort of French farce!”
Grayson, who’s from L.A., was riding a bus pask Alta Plaza park one Sunday when he spied the gathering of about 40 pugs and their owners cavorting on a grassy hillside. He immediately did what any self-respecting pug person would do: he got off the bus and joined the fun.
At Imad Khachan’s shop, chess is serious. So what’s David Lee Roth doing there?
On a recent afternoon at the Chess Forum on Thompson Street, owner Imad Khachan is irked. “It is ridiculous,” he grumbles, “this throwing together of celebrity and chess.” Khachan has just returned from a 45-minute exhibition chess match played in a Times Square television studio between Garry Kasparov, the current World Chess Champion, and Sting. “Why must a rock star play a match on television for people to believe chess is important?”
MFA in kvetching: the truth about writing programs
When I look back on the two years I spent as a graduate writing student in New York, I wish I could say that I spent most of that time writing. In fact, what I recall spending a much greater amount of time doing was worrying.
My friends all warned me about first-floor apartments. They told me nightmare stories about thundering footsteps and stereo noise from above, wailing babies, squeaky bedsprings. But as soon as I saw the street-level studio in Park Slope, I was a goner. The apartment, at the rear of a small, saggy building, had a tiny deck and a little fenced-in square of mud that the management-company rep called a garden.I could already see the beds of marigolds that I would plant, the morning glories that would wind up the fence posts and the neat little lawn I’d trim with my Kmart weed whacker.
One afternoon during my first semester at Simon’s Rock College, a classmate and I were hanging out in the crammed dorm room of one of our sophomore friends, a girl named Alex. Classes at the small college in Great Barrington were over for the day, so the three of us were relaxing–sprawled on the floor and gabbing–when a knock came on the door.
“Okay, you guys!” Walter shouted to the 12 of us who had gathered behind the back end of the bus. “One…two…THREE!”
Digging our shoulders in and bracing our feet against the ground, we pushed. For a moment I thought I heard a creaking noise, and felt a slight rocking motion under my hands, but that was it. The bus hadn’t budged from where it sat, stuck two-wheels deep in mud at the side of a Tennessee dirt road.