Ply the backwaters of southwestern India on a luxury yacht.

The best reason for traveling by ­riverboat through the lush tropics of Kerala—India’s agricultural heart, where many of its most distinctive spices are grown—is that it’s the only way. The region’s vibrant-green rice paddies, dirt-road villages, and palm-shaded fields of cardamom, ginger, and black pepper are crisscrossed by a maze of rivers and lakes; boats are the main mode of transport here. While locals get around in canoes and thatch-roofed barges, you can opt for a spot on the Oberoi’s eight-cabin luxury riverboat, the Vrinda. A four-day, three-night itinerary (from $2,250 per person; http://www.oberoihotels.com/oberoi_vrinda/index.asp) ­ in­cludes daily excursions to Hindu temples and riverside communities where miniature markets sell tea and bananas and local carvers display their wares, and a guided tour of a docked “snake boat” (a traditional wooden racing canoe more than 100 feet long). Nightly onboard entertainers perform regional music and dance, and meals incorporate local seafood and produce. (If it’s on the menu, try the karimeen pollichathu, a Keralan specialty of fresh-caught pearl-spot fish cooked in banana leaves). In between, you can catch rays on Vrinda’s sun deck, watch the passing parade of motorboats and duck farmers herding their feathered charges, or retire to your comfy cabin with its king-size bed and giant glass windows.

The thrill-o-meter: No more unnerving than a TSA pat-down.

“Food in India is such an enormous part of daily life,” says the Utah-based corporate-event planner. “Families spend hours a day preparing dishes and eating together…the colors and the smells of cooking are just everywhere.” Consequently, she made sure that the bespoke itinerary organized for her by Micato Safaris included such memorable food experiences as cooking demonstrations, trips to local spice markets and meals that showcased chefs’ distinct regional specialties.

“It was a full sensory experience,” Sommer says of the culinary forays. “I know we all came away with a deeper appreciation of where we’d been.”

Many travelers already understand that cuisine provides a particularly vivid peek into the inner workings of a culture. More and more, however, tour operators are offering trips that specifically cater to their guests’ desire to taste—and cook—their way through a destination. These newer excursions go far beyond familiar gastronomic pilgrimages to Tuscany. Hungry globetrotters are keen to visit goat-cheese producers in Iceland, with the likes of food writer and chef Jody Eddy; sample street food in Vietnam on a trip with Artisans of Leisure; or press their own olive oil in Egypt during a journey with Backpacker Concierge.

“Even people who eat adventurously at home find that their experience is completely different” when traveling to a cuisine’s native country, says Marion Miller, Micato’s director of operations. “Ordering a dish in an Indian restaurant is one thing…but going into an actual kitchen in India, seeing all the steps that go into creating that dish, smelling the aromas and then sitting down to enjoy it with, say, a view over the Taj Mahal—that elevates eating to a new level.”

“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. Grinning, he thrust the buckets up toward me; I took them, staggering a little from their weight. Luckily, I had to lurch only about a dozen steps up the hill before handing them off to the next person on line.

It was the fourth day I’d spent on the hillside, in the small village of Cyvadier overlooking the sapphire-blue Bay of Jacmel. Each morning, before the late-July temperatures climbed above 100 degrees, some 25 locals and visiting American volunteers gathered at the base of this 400-foot slope. There sat a giant heap of rocks, next to a dirt trail that snaked up between slabs of porous stone, flowering shrubs, munching goats, and yellow butterflies. Our task was simple, and Sisyphean: move the rocks from the bottom of the hill to the top.

At the summit, a local community-building organization called Let Haiti Live had its headquarters. The compound consisted of two cement buildings—where dozens of village children attended classes in agronomy and environmental conservation—and a small lean-to where cooks prepared meals for the kids over an open charcoal fire. Our pile of rocks would form the walls of a new kitchen—one that could feed more kids, more ecologically and safely.

A backhoe could have done the job in an hour, if there had been a backhoe—and a road for it to drive on, and cash to pay the driver. But since there were none of those things, we had strung ourselves each day along the trail and, sweating through our clothes in the punishing heat, passed the load bit by bit, like an old-time fire brigade putting out a blaze.

The project, in the scope of things, was tiny; the effort required to achieve it, huge. But this, it seemed, was the way that things got done in Haiti: the hard way.

***

None of my friends could imagine actually wanting to go to Haiti. All most of them knew of the country was what they’d read about in headlines: the 2010 earthquake that had killed some 100,000 residents and devastated millions of homes; the cholera epidemic that had subsequently swept through the population; the decades of political corruption and economic hardship that had relegated Haiti to its standing as the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. People like me, it seemed, went to Haiti not out of interest but out of a sense of obligation—to join the ranks of the estimated 10,000 relief organizations operating on the ground there.

But I’d heard other stories about the country too—ones that had piqued my curiosity as well as my desire to lend a hand. Haiti had dazzling and unspoiled landscapes, sweeping beaches, and verdant mountains that had given it the nickname “The Pearl of the Antilles” during its heyday in the pre-Duvalier 1950s. And the island’s distinctive cultural traditions—art, music, cuisine, and voodoo-infused spiritualism—made it unique among Caribbean nations.

I’d learned about these draws through a somewhat surprising recent campaign to brand Haiti as a vacation destination. Haiti’s Ministry of Tourism has thus far allotted some $450 million to this effort, and launched a splashy new logo and slogan inviting visitors to “Experience It!”—promoted, of course, on its new Twitter feed and Facebook page.

But the tourism push isn’t just internal. Several major chain hotels, including a Marriott, an Occidental, and a Best Western, have plans to create some 2,000 new hotel rooms in Haiti in the coming year. A small herd of A-listers, including Bill Clinton and Donna Karan, have been devoting time and money to promote Haiti as a hub of cultural riches. And in November, British imprint Bradt Travel Guides plans to release the only English-language Haiti guidebook to publish since the 1980s. According to Bradt’s publishing director, Adrian Phillips, “tourism has a key role in the process of rebuilding Haiti…our hope is that this guide will play its part.”

How, I wondered, did these radically different ideas of Haiti jibe? Could the country really support an influx of foreign travelers when, almost two years after its disastrous earthquake, 500,000 residents were still living in tent cities?

Exploring this question, I knew, would require traveling to Haiti myself. And since I was both unfamiliar with the Creole language and wary of traveling alone in a developing country, it made sense to go with a group. But choosing the right outfit was a dizzying proposition. The profusion of volunteer-assisted development organizations operating in Haiti—ranging from church mission groups to grassroots art collectives to renowned multinational corporations like Partners In Health—had prompted the American media to coin a nickname for the country after the earthquake: “the Republic of NGOs.” And, in a sign that Haiti is already moving toward commercial tourism, there were newer travel opportunities too—ones with more of an educational focus, like nature photography, yoga workshops, and art festivals.

One option I didn’t have: mainstream tour companies, which aren’t offering itineraries yet. But since there was so much rebuilding to do, it seemed the best interim step for experiencing the country was through voluntourism. So I chose a nine-day trip with a small Boston-based tour operator, Elevate Destinations, which combined volunteer work (with Let Haiti Live) and trips to some of Haiti’s most famous attractions (Jacmel’s art galleries, southern-coast beaches, waterfall-fed forest pools). I especially liked that Elevate Destinations required trip participants to spend several weeks fund-raising before the trip; that meant that the money we raised (about $10,000) would cover all the building and educational materials we’d be using, as well as our own food and transport. No one in Haiti, in other words, would have to put themselves out for us.

***

My flight to Port-au-Prince, only three and a half hours direct from New York, was a cinch. Things got rougher when our group of 13 piled into two battered vans for the three-hour ride to Cyvadier. After juddering along the rutted city roads, which led through garbage-heaped slums and tent cities outside Port-au-Prince, our drivers headed south across a mountain range riddled with freakily skewed hairpin turns. Still, the route looked out over beautiful scenery—terraced valleys, swales of shade trees, a hazy scrim of blue ocean—which I appreciated as best I could between bouts of nausea.

Most of my travel companions were, like me, first-time visitors to Haiti; many were also serial do-gooders, who’d put in time volunteering for causes and organizations around the globe. Our two trip leaders, Andrew and Meryl (who worked day jobs as, respectively, a journalist covering responsible tourism and a lawyer for various nonprofits), told us about the Let Haiti Live compound—the dozens of children we’d meet there, the warmth of the staffers, the delicious porridge and cabri en sauce (stewed goat) cooked over open fires.

The vans dropped us at the base of the same hill we’d soon be climbing with our buckets of rocks. But for our inaugural walk up the slope, all we carried was our own luggage. After ducking beneath a handmade archway that local residents had fashioned from bent sticks and flowers (on the dirt next to it, “Welcome” was spelled out in small white stones), we were warmly received by the three full-time Let Haiti Live staffers—reforestation expert Guerlyne, agronomist Cheler, and community developer Elie. A group of children had trailed us up the hill, and one, a shy four-year-old girl with beaded braids named Lunja, suddenly recognized Meryl from the previous summer’s trip and leaped into her arms.

The majority of our group would be setting up tents here. But once I’d scoped out the rock-strewn terrain (which we later learned was crawling with biting ants and tarantulas), and the single bathroom without running water, I felt glad that with a handful of others I’d decided to stay in a hotel down the street that catered to foreign relief workers. It was a little rough around the edges, but infinitely better than shacking up with dinner roll–size spiders.

***

We spent each morning over the next week hauling rocks up the hillside for Let Haiti Live’s new kitchen—and after just a few days we could see staffers mixing the cement and starting to lay the walls. The kids who came to the compound every day for lunch and classes were eager to pitch in; many mornings when we showed up for the bucket line, eight or nine teenage boys had arrived earlier than us and had already started shoveling and carrying rocks on their own. Those who were too small to help would keep us company, or run to fill our water bottles with dlo—the Creole adaptation of “de l’eau.”

In the afternoons, we led classes for these same kids, about 40 of whom came to the compound for daily “summer camp” and hot meals. With the help of Creole translators, we each took turns teaching some subject in which we had expertise. Some of the sessions turned out to be great fun; a yoga class led by a group member named Nancy, for example, turned into a squealing giggle-fest as the young kids yelled out the names for each pose: “Tree!” “Frog!” Others, like the basic first-aid class run by a medical student named Stephanie, were met with rapt attention and energetic discussion (Do you cover a burn or leave it open to the air? What about a dog bite?).

Regardless of the subject matter, I was touched by the seriousness that many of the children brought to the classes. While some kids took part in a now nearly universal distraction—texting on their cell phones—I saw others taking careful notes in their composition books, or seeking us out after class to ask questions in halting English.

The spirit of earnest enthusiasm seemed to permeate all the endeavors at Let Haiti Live. We saw some of these, like the large nursery to grow crops for the community and educational programs in reforestation and conservation (Haiti’s forests have been decimated by the perpetual need for charcoal, the only cooking and heating fuel most residents have). But it was clear these efforts made a strong impression on the kids. Many of them said they wanted to be agronomists when they grew up; and more than once, as I was walking through the compound, a child would steer me away from stepping on a plant that had been intentionally cultivated.

The kids joined us on many of our after-class outings as well. One afternoon, we all loaded into a tap tap (a brightly painted local bus) and rode to see a local soccer game. Another evening, we went to see a band playcompas (a percussive style of dance music unique to Haiti) at a neighborhood bar—and ended the night crowding a tiny dance floor with students and staffers from Let Haiti Live. A few days later, we took a field trip to a palm-shaded local beach, where the children danced for us, trounced us at soccer, and—despite lacking both swimming ability and bathing suits—jumped, fully clothed, into the surf with us.

***

The nearby historic port town of Jacmel left a markedly different impression on me. Jacmel has for decades been celebrated as the country’s artistic heart; its streets, where the crumbling-but-genteel architecture evokes the French Quarter of New Orleans, are lined with galleries and art studios. On the day we visited, the electricity was out in much of the city, but we could still peruse exhibits of paintings, which looked remarkable even in the near-dark.

For Haiti’s Ministry of Tourism, as well as several developers and tour companies, Jacmel has occupied a particular spotlight in recent years. The outpouring of creativity has the potential to lure culture-minded travelers, and it’s here that the artistic community hosts annual film and music festivals, voodoo ceremonies, and one of the Caribbean’s biggest Carnival celebrations. Drawing attention to these attractions, the ministry hopes, will help boost the number of annual visitors to Haiti (just 300,000 in 2011) closer to that of the neighboring Dominican Republic (4.3 million).

But even this promising city didn’t seem quite ready for wholesale tourism. As we walked through town and down toward shore, we saw streets still lined in rubble from the 2010 earthquake. Ringing the open-air Iron Market—where vendors sold everything from used shoes to produce—were heaps of stinking trash (Haiti has no official garbage-disposal system, so what doesn’t get burned simply piles up). Stray dogs, rib cages showing through their mangy fur, were everywhere.

Still, once at the beach, we found a great seafood shack, where we lounged around brightly painted tables and feasted on platters of aromatic lobster Creole and whole roasted fish. Partway through our meal, though—when night had fallen and we had all drunk many bottles of Prestige, the local beer—one volunteer, Kara, suddenly spun in her seat, as though searching for something behind her. Over the next few minutes, she did the same thing twice more.

“What is it?” Andrew asked, noticing her discomfort.

“There’s a boy,” Kara said quietly. “A young boy, sitting back there. He’s pitching rocks at me.”

At first I misunderstood. I imagined that the boy felt indignant, offended enough by our presence to want to chase us away. But then Kara clarified.

“He’s not throwing them hard,” she said. “I think he’s just letting me know he’s there. I think he’s just hungry.”

***

Those who hope to drive tourists to Jacmel, and to Haiti in general, are well aware of the inherent obstacles. Haiti’s Tourism Minister, Stephanie Villedrouin, spent a good part of the past summer on a speaking tour to rally foreign investors; the funds she hopes to drum up would go a long way toward helping the country build some of the infrastructure it needs to support international travelers. Among the proposed projects are an expansion of Jacmel’s tiny airport to accommodate flights from the U.S., and new roads that would allow access from Jacmel to other south-coast attractions—like the gorgeous white-sand beaches of Port Salut and Les Cayes, which rival those in the Exumas and Turks and Caicos.

As well as laying a foundation for new tourism, such elementary resources would allow at least one high-profile but half-finished development project in Jacmel to be completed. For the past two years, Michael Capponi, a Miami-based construction magnate and nightclub promoter, has spent significant time and effort to convert a 200-year-old coffee-sorting house near Jacmel’s port into a boutique resort. Le Village de Port-Jacmel, as Capponi envisions it, will include shops, restaurants, galleries, and bars, as well as accommodations; once finished, Capponi says, the complex could “lay the tracks for tourism in Jacmel.”

But the project is currently sitting only partly completed, as it has for several months. The reason is simple: lack of funds. “Investors are nervous,” Capponi says. “They see Haiti as high risk. So it’s a struggle getting funding, at least now when those basic elements [an airport, roads] aren’t in place. I mean, it’s not going to be St. Barth’s anytime soon.”

But while it may take time for travelers to see Haiti as a glamorous beach destination, some promoters are trying a different tactic—using the country’s undeveloped environment as a selling point. Extreme-sports enthusiasts, in particular—mountain bikers and ultra-marathoners—are being lured by the debut of major race events in the coming year.

According to Paul Clammer, author of the soon-to-be-released Bradt’s Travel Guide to Haiti, there are also plenty of garden-variety adventurers who are attracted, rather than discouraged, by the very grittiness of the travel experience in Haiti.

“If you think back, there’s a long tradition of travelers seeking out destinations that are off the beaten path,” Clammer says. “A few decades ago, places like Peru and Nepal were really untrammeled…they didn’t have anything like the infrastructure they have now. But people still went there; that was part of the draw. So Haiti is already ready for visitors—certain kinds of visitors.”

While Clammer says it makes sense that foreigners—especially North Americans, who are practically next door—will want to continue helping Haiti, it also makes sense to expand the boundaries of what we think of as “help.”

“Sometimes just going out and spending your money at a local bar or restaurant is what makes a difference,” Clammer says. “Personally, I’d love to see people go to Haiti just for a vacation. Haiti isn’t a project—it’s a country, and even though it’s a poor country, it’s also gorgeous.

“It seems somewhat radical to think of it as just another travel destination,” Clammer says, “but I believe it can be.”

***

I got to share in that vision—Haiti as vacation spot—on one of the last outings we took on our trip. We boarded our vans that day and drove north from Cyvadier into a range of thickly forested mountains. After parking at the entrance to a slippery uphill hiking trail, we all climbed, accompanied by guides who helped us cross rushing streams and scramble over moss-covered boulders. Eventually, we emerged into a high clearing, where we were greeted by a breathtaking sight: three glittering, cyan-blue freshwater pools surrounded by rocky cliffs and fed by a thundering waterfall.

The Bassins Bleu are some of Haiti’s most prized natural treasures. And we certainly weren’t the only ones who had come to enjoy them; everywhere, groups of Haitian teenagers and foreign travelers were floating in the clear, cold water; sunning on the rocks; and jumping off outcroppings above the pools. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—not with all the splashing and shrieking—but I felt a deep sense of calm there, of almost beatific serenity.

For a while I treaded water alone under the churning waterfall, watching friends and strangers cavort around me. And then suddenly I realized why I felt so happy. It wasn’t just that the pools were arrestingly beautiful. It was that I didn’t feel like a stranger here, like some sort of outside intruder. The week of working at Let Haiti Live, and being part of its community, had allowed me to feel like this was—if only a tiny bit, and only temporarily—my place, too.

***

Voluntourism Programs in Haiti

While there are thousands of opportunities for doing unadulterated volunteer work in Haiti, a few programs have distinguished themselves by adopting a voluntourism-type business model. These programs augment their work on community-building projects with visits to some of the country’s natural and cultural treasures.

Elevate Destinations runs trips based in Cyvadier, a village just outside the south-coast city of Jacmel. Its volunteer projects, which include construction, agronomy, and workshops with local children, are done in partnership with the organization Let Haiti Live. Trip participants also make visits to beaches, waterfalls, and art galleries in Jacmel and Port-au-Prince. elevatedestinations.com; lethaitilive.org

The Village Experience offers trips to Haiti’s northern coast. Participants make their home base in the city of Cap-Haïtien, from which they travel to several of the area’s UNESCO World Heritage sites and beaches. They also take part in community outreach projects—including literacy, education, and economic development—in conjunction with Haitian organization Sonjé Ayiti. experiencethevillage.com;sonjeayiti.com

Yoga Ventures runs weeklong trips to Jacmel that incorporate daily yoga and meditation sessions; trips to local museums, galleries, festivals, and cooking classes; and volunteer projects with several local organizations, including the Jacmel Children’s Center and Angel Wings International. yogaventures.org; jacmelchildren.org;angelwingsinternational.org

Mountain Bike Ayiti is introducing the first part of what will eventually be an 80-mile multistage race between Port-au-Prince and Jacmel in January 2013. Not only will participants get to compete on challenging terrain against bikers from around the world, they’ll also work to clear and improve trails for subsequent races (thus helping to bring more long-term adventure events to the country). mtbayiti.org

For runners who want to contribute by supporting Haiti’s new focus on extreme sports, Run Haiti is holding its second annual 60-mile race, which will bring runners from Port-au-Prince to Jacmel; February 7–9, 2013.runhaiti.com

Long a point of pride on the island—it had opened with great fanfare in 1891, enticing tourists with its croquet lawns, ballroom and orchestra, and invitations to try the novel pleasures of “sea bathing”—the resort had fallen on hard times. After a developer who’d bought the property in 2005 went bankrupt trying to turn it into a luxury condo club, the graceful wood-shingled manse was shuttered, its stately front staircase boarded up, its sweeping veranda a sad reminder of more prosperous times.

This summer, at last, glory days seem to have returned to the vaunted old property. In fact, thanks to the careful attention of new owners—who gave the hotel a stem-to-stern overhaul in time for Fourth of July weekend—the newly christened Nantucket Hotel & Resort seems poised to enter its most vibrant period yet.

Mark and Gwenn Snider, the couple responsible for the property’s rebirth, were already established Cape Cod island hoteliers before they purchased the resort. Their first enterprise, the Winnetu Oceanside Resort on Martha’s Vineyard, quickly became a favorite family beachside resort when it opened in 2002. Since then, the Sniders had dreamed of creating a sister property on Nantucket—one that would echo the Winnetu’s casually genteel vibe. Nantucket, they reasoned, had plenty of quaint B&Bs and upscale boutique hotels, but very few options in between; they envisioned a place where parents could enjoy a day of sandy, barefoot fun with their kids, then retire for a sophisticated meal and bottle of wine.

Though they first bid on the Nantucket resort in 2010, the Sniders weren’t awarded ownership until January of this year. By the time they’d secured the necessary permits to start work on the property, the Sniders had exactly 184 days to get the hotel gut-renovated, redecorated, and staffed by June 29 (their self- and ordinance-imposed deadline). No one—not even the contractors they hired—believed it could be done. But with dedication and hard work they pulled it off, and on the 29th threw open the doors for a public reception. More than 700 local residents and business owners showed up that evening, Mark Snider says, to see the resort’s new incarnation up close.

“I think everyone there that night felt proud,” Snider remembers, “and not just those of us who’d rebuilt it. It was like the hotel belonged to the whole island.”

A visit I made to the resort last week revealed that, amazingly, despite the whirlwind renovation, nothing about the property’s redesign feels hurried. The 30 guestrooms and suites—all crisply upholstered in nautical blue-and-white textiles, with airy glass-cube showers, gleaming kitchenettes, and cleverly hidden Murphy beds for extra guests—have the sort of understated elegance that can take years to get right (even the books lining the shelves of my suite were a perfectly curated mix of Tom Wolfe, Balzac, and guides to Nantucket birdlife). The hallways and common areas are lined with graceful black-and-white photos showing the island’s history, and punctuated with window seats for admiring views over the town’s church spires. Parked out front is a vintage 1934 Ford bus, which Mark Snider had refurbished to shuttle guests to and from local beaches. Even the food and cocktail menus at the poolside restaurant, Breeze, seem studiously cultivated (I was equally wowed by a bowl of plump local mussels in sparkling wine broth and a neon-bright prickly-pear margarita).

The Sniders are far from finished, however. They have big plans to expand the resort in the coming months—including completion of a spectacular new freestanding ballroom (far larger than the hotel’s original, and suitable for weddings). By next summer, the property will include a rooftop cocktail bar, a 4,400-square-foot spa and fitness center, and three private cottages where guests can bring their pets.

Just as ambitious, though, are the Sniders’ aims to extend the scope of what a Nantucket hotel can be. This summer, in an attempt to bridge the age-old divide between Nantucketers and Vineyarders, they’ve begun offering “Two Island Vacation” packages that let travelers stay a few days in each of their resorts, with ferry travel in between. There’s also their plan to build interest in Nantucket as a year-round destination—by being the only hotel on the island to stay open through the winter.

“Can’t you imagine a big New Year’s party here?” the hotel’s General Manager, Jamie Holmes, asked me, sweeping his arm around the hotel lobby. “Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

It would, actually. I can’t think of a better place to ring in the new.

Doubles from $435.

Guest blogger Sarah Gold is a freelance writer-editor and frequent contributor to TravelandLeisure.com.

Photos courtesy of Sarah Gold

Friday

3 p.m.

1) HISTORIC BEARINGS

Main Street is lined with 19th-century storefronts and buckled brick sidewalks that seem to require deck shoes. To bone up on island history, visit Mitchell’s Book Corner (54 Main Street; 508-228-1080; mitchellsbookcorner.com). The venerable 42-year-old bookstore was renovated last year and now includes a spacious second floor that hosts weekly readings by local authors like Elin Hilderbrand and the National Book Award-winner Nathaniel Philbrick. The beloved Nantucket Room remains, with hundreds of titles about island lore.

5 p.m.

2) PREPPY IT UP

You can still find a bona fide pair of Nantucket Reds (those iconic pinkish chinos) at Murray’s Toggery Shop (62 Main Street; 508-228-0437; nantucketreds.com). But a crop of snappy boutiques have also opened this season. Jack Wills (11 South Water Street; 508-332-1601; jackwills.com), the first stateside outpost of the British university outfitter, carries jaunty polos, cable-knit sweaters and canvas totes in signal-flag colors. Also new is Milly & Grace (2 Washington Street; 508-901-5051; millyandgrace.com), which sells bohemian-style Yoana Baraschi caftans and tunics, Minnie Rose cashmeres, and embossed-silver jewelry from Waxing Poetic.

8 p.m.

3) FISH OF THE MOMENT

One of this summer’s most talked-about new restaurants is Dune (20 Broad Street; 508-228-5550; dunenantucket.com), where the veteran island chef Michael Getter uses local seafood and produce. The intimate, warmly illuminated space has three dining rooms, as well as a patio, but you’ll need to book ahead. Recent menu standouts included the flaky, pan-roasted halibut fillet ($28) and the minty spring-pea soup with tender baby shrimps ($10). Stop by the petite quartzite bar on your way out for a Hot & Dirty cocktail — Thai chili-infused vodka with a splash of olive juice.

10 p.m.

4) BEACH MARTINIS

A young, tanned crowd fills the back room of Galley Beach (54 Jefferson Avenue; 508-228-9641; galleybeach.net). The cherished beachside restaurant has become a late-night gathering spot since its 2008 renovation, serving pomegranate margaritas ($16) and the Seaside martini, made with Hendrick’s gin and cucumber ($15). By midnight the party spills outside, where tiki torches and sofas line the sand.

Saturday

10 a.m.

5) ISLAND MARKET

Started in 2007, the Nantucket Farmers & Artisans Market (Cambridge and North Union Streets; 508-228-3399; sustainablenantucket.org) is the first weekly market to grace the island. Now encompassing two blocks of Cambridge Street and one of Union downtown, it showcases the wares of 65 different island farmers and artisans throughout the season (and hosts workshops to encourage other would-be island growers and craftspeople). Keep an eye out for handmade quilts in beach-umbrella stripes from Spoon Home Textiles, freshly picked blueberries and raspberries from Moors End Farm, and baked rugelach and fruit tarts from SuperNatural. Open Saturday mornings (9 a.m. to 1 p.m.) through Oct. 16.

Noon

6) SURF AND SEAL

Some of Nantucket’s wildest and most pristine beaches are on the island’s far west end, where it tapers to the twin forks of Eel Point and Smith’s Point. You’ll need a four-by-four with a beach-driving permit — included with most rentals, or available at the Nantucket Police Station for $150. You’ll also need to reduce your tire pressure to maximize traction and minimize environmental damage. But after bumping along hillocky dune trails, you’ll enter onto wide-open, mostly empty shores. There are no amenities to speak of, so bring all the supplies you’ll need for the day: food, water, sunscreen. Oh, and a camera. You might spot gray seals.

5 p.m.

7) BREW WITH A VIEW

An afternoon of salty, sandy fun can leave you pretty thirsty. So it’s convenient that the island’s fabled west-end watering hole has reopened this summer as Millie’s (326 Madaket Road; 508-228-8435; milliesnantucket.com). Unlike its predecessor, the Westender, which closed a few years back, Millie’s takes full advantage of the sunset location. The owners, Bo Blair and David Scribner, have added a new menu and a glassed-in second-floor bar that lets you drink in panoramic vistas along with your Grey Lady or Whale’s Tale Pale Ale, both from the Cisco Brewery a few miles down the road.

8 p.m.

8) BAJA STYLE

Corazón del Mar (21 South Water Street; 508-228-0815; corazonnantucket.com), the latest venture from the seasoned island chefs Angela and Seth Raynor, has attracted a slavish following since opening last summer. The cozy, tiny papaya-orange den — the downstairs has 7 tables and 10 bar stools; the upstairs, 9 tables and a tequila bar — turns out south-of-the-border-inspired dishes like sea-scallop ceviche dressed in chili-citrus aji sauce ($17) and soft, Baja-style tacos filled with beer-battered cod, cabbage slaw and spicy aioli ($22). After dinner, take a stroll along Straight Wharf to Nantucket Ice Cream (44 Straight Wharf; 508-332-4949; nantucketicecream.com) for a cone or the house specialty: a sandwich of lemon sugar cookies and blueberry ice cream ($5.50).

Sunday

10 a.m.

9) SEA SAVIORS

More than 700 shipwrecks litter the treacherous shoals and surrounding waters around Nantucket. For a fascinating glimpse into the island’s underwater heritage, head to the Nantucket Shipwreck & Lifesaving Museum (158 Polpis Road; 508-228-1885; nantucketshipwreck.org). Reopened last year after a $3 million expansion, the museum has vintage “surfboats” once used to save wreck survivors, child-friendly exhibits on Coast Guard sea dogs, and — most chillingly — grainy black-and-white 1956 film footage of one of the most infamous wrecks, the Italian ship Andrea Doria, slowly listing into the sea after its collision with a Swedish ocean liner.

Noon

10) BEACHSIDE BRUNCH

Old-school islanders tsk-tsked at the news this spring that the celebrity chef Todd English was redoing the menu at the Summer House Restaurant in Siasconset village (17 Ocean Avenue; 508-257-4542; thesummerhouse.com). The restaurant, however, is still the island’s most civilized spot for lunch, especially at its umbrella-shaded Beachside Bistro. Besides, Mr. English only jazzed up the summertime classics, like a crab cake with corn salsa and tarragon aioli ($24), and a warm poached lobster salad with green beans and beurre blanc ($29).

2 p.m.

11) NOT QUITE OPEN HOUSE

The Bluff Walk in Siasconset village was once the south shore’s most fiercely guarded secret. But though you’ll probably share the unmarked path with other visitors these days, a stroll here is still breathtaking. Pick up the trail in the village center (take a right and then a quick left at the end of Front Street) and walk along the high, Atlantic-skirting bluffs, past the backyards of some of the island’s stateliest gray-shingled mansions. Erosion has left its mark (the last third of a mile, which used to extend all the way to Sankaty Head lighthouse, is now closed). But just stay on the path, keep your voice down and wear long pants — some residents, whether intentionally or not, let their sections become overgrown.

IF YOU GO

JetBlue is among the airlines that fly nonstop to Nantucket from New York; it has daily flights from Kennedy Airport through mid-September. A recent Web search found fares from $117. The Nantucket Regional Transit Authority (shuttlenantucket.com) runs shuttle buses all over the island, but a rental car with four-wheel drive is recommended.

The Cottages & Lofts at the Boat Basin (24 Old South Wharf; 866-838-9253; thecottagesnantucket.com) has 24 shipshape cottages that are perched along Nantucket Harbor wharves. Rates start at $520.

The Union Street Inn (7 Union Street; 888-517-0707; unioninn.com) has 12 rooms in a 1770 house, along with Frette robes and modern baths. Rooms from $299.

The White Elephant (50 Easton Street; 800-445-6574; whiteelephanthotel.com) is downtown Nantucket’s only true resort property, with a harborside patio, a restaurant, a spa and 64 rooms, suites and cottages; rates from $680.

The city has a few bars where the snacks attain near haute-cuisine levels of artistry and deliciousness—and are every bit as much a draw as the cocktails. If you need a quick bite before a movie or concert, enjoy sampling from several different plates, and would rather avoid slices at the corner pizzeria, the bars below can make for a perfect evening meal.

The first thing that strikes you when you enter Artisanal (apart from its cavernous size and echoingly high ceilings) is the place’s briny, pungent aroma. It’s the smell of cheese—in fact, of about 300 cheeses, some of which are aging unseen in the special cave at the back of the bar/bistro, some of which are set out for tasting and purchase at a marble cheese counter, and many of which are whipped into fabulous recipes. The long wooden bar here has a menu that’s naturally and unabashedly cheesy; among the best choices are paper cones of gougères—light, ping pong ball-sized cheese puffs, flavored with gruyere and nutmeg—and Parmesan-filled gnocchi, served in garlic butter and accompanied by seasonal veggies. The steak tartare, which comes in nibble- and feast-sized portions along with buttery toast points, is reputedly some of the best in town. The selection of wines by the glass (there are more than 160) is almost overwhelming—but there’s no reason why you should limit yourself to just one choice.

Foodies make reservations far in advance to dine at the semi-formal Etats-Unis restaurant—but slipping into the narrow, cheery Bar @ Etats-Unis right across the street is like discovering a secret (and less pricey) entrance to the same place. The bar and restaurant share a wine list (with more than 250 labels—about a third of them are French) and also a kitchen; many of the hearty comfort-food dishes on the bar menu are partly cooked in the restaurant and then hurried across the street to the bar patrons. The rich beef and lamb stews, the chicken-and-white bean chili, and the divinely gooey mac-n’-cheese are all superbly satisfying after a brisk autumn day of park-strolling and museum-hopping; but if you’re in the mood for something lighter and more refined, try the pheasant terrine or the crisp-skinned duck confit with a salad of mango, orange, and fennel.

If the term “Malaysian street food” doesn’t ring any bells, don’t worry—wunderkind chef Zak Pelaccio has made it his mission to educate the uninitiated. His cramped, red-walled restaurant, Fatty Crab, is always full—but the best way to get acquainted with the spicy, intense flavors here is to grab one of the seats at the tiny bar (there are only four stools, but waiting for one is worth it). Here, you can try small-scale dishes like a crunchy salad of watermelon and crispy fried pork belly, or an assortment of Raja-Chulan pickles—sweetly sour marinated veggies whose heat index can go up to “where’s that fire extinguisher?” Slices of green mango come with a dipping powder of chili-sugar-salt; and elegant quail-egg shooters, topped with different spicy sambals, arrive lined up and ready to be tossed back right from their tiny shells. The perfect accompaniment to the profusion of flavors is a Hitachino Nest beer from Japan, whose 24-ounce bottle is just right for sharing.

The Lower East Side may be a far cry from Rome, but snagging a table at the utterly authentic ‘Inoteca can make you feel like you’re in a Fellini film. Wine, and only Italian wine, is the draw here, with more than 620 labels (more than 20 of which are available by the glass). The bar menu here, also quintessentially Italian, focuses on different breads—panini, tramezzini, and bruschetta—which come with an array of toppings and fillings. The addictive truffled egg bruschetta with Bottarga (dried caviar) is the perfect foil for a glass of Trebbiano (ask for a glass of the coveted Valentini, an artisanal label that you’ll be hard-pressed to find elsewhere). Panini filled with a zesty mix of soppressata, goat cheese and black-olive tapenade pairs beautifully with a glass of spicy Lacrima di Morro D’Alba. There are also some wonderful salads, including a summery plate of salt-cured beets, mint, and orange.

Stepping into the Pegu Club, a well-hidden second-floor bar off the main thoroughfare of Houston Street, is like stepping into another time. Modeled after a British officers’ club in turn-of-the-century Rangoon, the space is a serene oasis of dark wood and woven rattan, and low lighting that makes the traffic outside feel a world away. The staffers that work the gleaming bar here are more than bartenders—they’re alchemists, who whip up seasonal menus of exotic elixirs (they’ll also, on request, surprise you with custom creations). But while the libations tend to favor whiskeys and brandies in the winter and gin and pisco in the warmer months, the bar menu stays constant—and patrons wouldn’t have it any other way. In fact, a colonial-style coup might erupt if the deliciously light coconut shrimp or the fresh vegetable-filled spring rolls were to disappear off the menu. And removing the “sloppy duck” sandwiches—mini buns filled with shredded duck meat in a tangy barbecue sauce—might incite a full-on war.

Justifiably famous for its weekend brunch, the petite, shabby-chic downtown nook called Prune morphs into a cozy place for cocktails at night. The bar menu here has a simple, country-style bent; almost all the dishes are ones you can imagine packing into a picnic hamper for a day in the sunshine or a tailgate party. There are devilled eggs, crepinettes — small, slightly flattened lamb sausages made with garlic and parsley — even that old picnic-spread standby, raw radishes (served with sweet butter and salt for sprinkling). It’s exactly the sort of easy, snacky fare you want while lingering over your wine or cocktail glass (the house specialties have included a superb quince daiquiri). Plus, if there’s any left on your plate, you can always ask to take it home—you can be sure it’ll be just as good the next day.

• Artisanal,
  2 Park Ave. at 32nd St.
  Midtown East
  212/725—8585

• Bar @ Estat-Unis
  247 East 81st St., between 2nd and 3rd Aves.
  Upper East Side
  212/396—9928

• Fatty Crab
  643 Hudson St., between Horatio and Gansevoort Sts.
  West Village
  212/352—3590

• ‘Inoteca
  98 Rivington St., at Ludlow St.
  Lower East Side
  212/614–0473

• Pegu Club
  77 West Houston St., between West Broadway & Wooster St.
  SoHo
  212/473—7348

• Prune
  54 East 1st St., between 1st and 2nd Aves.
  Lower East Side
  212/677—6221

By Sarah Gold
From Fodor’s New York City, 2005 Edition

It functions as a communal living room for the neighborhood—a place where aspiring recording artists sing snatches of lyrics to one another over plates of shrimp and cheese grits; where older couples share the Sunday Times and discuss the local artwork decorating the walls; and where groups of students spread their study notes over the wide wooden tables and nurse mug after mug of caramel cappuccino. On late weekend mornings, the brick-walled space fills with hungry families. In the late afternoons, though, the vibe gets mellow: Affable, dreadlocked servers are likely to pull up a chair when taking orders; the stereo hums with old-school soul and reggae, and sunlight streams through the storefront windows.

— Sarah Gold

Chef and co-owner Abdoul Gueye originally hails from Senegal, and many of his dishes, like the Akara starter, cayenne-dusted black-eyed-pea fritters, and the West African chicken salad, have the spice and soul of his home country. But the menu also features classic French fare like moules and steak frites as evidence of the years Gueye spent studying in Paris and working in the kitchen of La Goulue. The Senegalese fried chicken, served with pineapple-infused jasmine rice cake, is savory but not as crispy as American palates might expect; the sublimely spicy bread pudding, however, served with warm caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream, may be among the more delectable versions you’re ever likely to try. The restaurant is a warm, friendly, family affair: Gueye’s wife Cassandra manages the dining room, and their daughter Sonia can often be seen with her coloring books at a back table near the kitchen.

— Sarah Gold

Brunch

Sat.—Sun., noon—3 p.m.

Outfitted with a handful of creaky booths and barstools, peeling linoleum, and a couple of battered pool tables, it’s the kind of place that, even for many locals, is eclipsed by the area’s flashier, cheaper fast-food joints, like the giant Burger King right across the street. But for Central American immigrants missing the tastes of home, this shabby spot is a stellar hub, a reliable base where a couple bucks buys an edible passport, no visa required: a steaming pupusa—a griddle-fried cornmeal pocket stuffed with melted cheese and pork cracklings—or a hearty, homemade baleada, which folds a thick tortilla around black beans, crumbled manchego cheese, fresh avocado and slightly spicy marinated beef. The sweet café con leche is the finish of choice, along with a side of conversation about what the family is up to back home—or at least what Los Yanquis are up to a few subway stops away.

— Sarah Gold

Recommended Dishes

Baleada con aguacate, $2.50; pupusa de queso chicharron o revueltas, $2; pechuga al vino blanco, $9.50; platanos maduros, $3