Every city, it seems, has its own follow-up question, that line that comes after “How are you?” when meeting someone for the first time. In New York City, it’s “What do you do?”; in Austin, it’s “Who are you listening to?”; in D.C., it’s “Who are you voting for?”; and after only one day of visiting my sister in Charleston, that South Carolina city’s question rang out as loud and as clear as the hourly bells on Church Street: “Welcome to Charleston! Grab a seat! Now…what will you have to drink?”
The answer, alas, does not roll off the tongue as easily as the question, and as my sister quickly discovered, locals need to be prepared—with shaker in hand—for almost any answer.
Yes, Philippe Starck may be one of the most overexposed hotel designers in the world. But just when you think, “If I’ve seen one room by Philippe Starck, I’ve seen them all,” you step into a space like the Spa at Icon Brickell.
First there was the Donovan House. Then the Park Hyatt. Now the W has set up shop. It seems Washington, D.C. is swapping its white-shirt-and-khaki image for a little New York edge. And on a recent pop-in to the new W property, I found myself thinking, ‘D.C. is kind of cool.’
Pristine Copenahagen, famed for its ancient canals and post-modern architecture (not to mention Tivoli, the most spectacular amusement park I have ever visited—and I'm a connoisseur), has added another series of tourist attractions—an array of cool fashion designers, many of whom have shown at Copenhagen Fashion Week. The town is insistent that one day soon it will be considered, after Paris, Rome, Milan, and New York, as the fifth fashion capitol. Here is where to find some of the leaders of the pack:
Sure, sure, Siesta Key, Florida, is known for having one of the world’s nicest beaches, but it's also home to some of the world’s best breakfasts. The Broken Egg (140 Avenida Messina) came recommended to my breakfast-deprived boyfriend and me upon our arrival at our Sarasota hotel after taking one of those ridiculously early LGA to TPA flights.
“It’s where the locals go,” said the hotel manager (and sure enough the BE’s website plays “Where Everybody Knows Your Name”).
Travelers to Morocco usually check out the typical attractions: the ancient alleys of Fez, the snake charmers of Marrakesh, the dunes of the Sahara. But on my visit, my friends and I were fortunate enough to discover a relatively little-known escape: the charming, blue-tinged village of Chefchaouen in the Rif Mountains about four hours from Fez.
After a few hectic days getting lost in Casablanca and dodging donkeys in Fez, this relaxing retreat was just what we were looking for. The tiny town is known for its stunning medina, bathed in breathtaking shades of blue. It’s the kind of magical place you plan as a 12-hour detour and wind up staying for three days.
"Every time I visit San Francisco I ask out loud 'Why don't I live here?'," traveler-artist-musician-blogger David Byrne recently confessed to the Wall Street Journal. I could not agree more. And I know exactly where I'd live: The Mission.
Two weeks ago I discovered all the basics that I would need in a four-block radius: a perfect grocery store (with an outpost for homemade ice cream), an ideal neighborhood gastropub, and a surprising boutique featuring young designers.
Since I've dined (and dined, and dined) at all of the restaurants in my own lovely neighborhood of Fort Greene, Brooklyn, I've set a new task for myself: To explore the rest of New York City's blossoming borough, one fabulous meal at a time, forking over no more than $10 a plate.
Some people can’t wait for dessert. Me? I count the minutes till breakfast—especially when I’m on the road. When I open my eyes in a foreign country, I can’t wait to hit the streets and check out what the locals are eating for their first meal of the day. Pho in Hanoi (above), congee in Hong Kong, dosa in Mumbai, poke (POH-kay) in Maui: I’m a quick study.
I wasn’t going to let the rain get in the way of seeing the quaint city of Zurich, Switzerland. I had just landed and only had a few hours free, so I made a beeline to the famous confection shop, Sprungli, on Paradeplatz to meet with a friend.