I’ve just returned from a blissfully relaxing trip to the deep Caribbean. After the Christmas rush, my family annually escapes to the West Indies for a week of sailing, diving, and, with months-in-advance reservations in place, great food! As French and posh as ever, St. Bart’s seemed virtually unaffected by the unfavorable economic climate—with Microsoft magnate Paul Allen’s 416 foot mega-yacht Octopus in the lead, an unparalleled collection of pristine 150+ footers took up their usual spots on Gustavia’s glitzy dock.
That is, until a powerful tide and unforeseen surge forced the multimillion dollar vessels to leave their front-row seats on the flashy dock and retreat to the outer harbor (where our relatively diminutive sailboat lay), leaving the high-profile passengers to be shuttled in their heels and tuxes to the mainland in lieu of stepping right off their boat onto dry ground. A nice reminder that being on a boat does, in fact, involve being in contact with water!
They must put crack in the fried chicken at Gus'sin Memphis. My sister has lived there for years and has always gone on and on about this place. Whenever I'd visit from New York, I wanted real Southern barbecue, whether the Bar-B-Q Shop or the Three Little Pigs. But last month, she insisted. So I went. And I'm a total convert.
Washingtonians are treated to one of the best international dining scenes in the world. Everyone in D.C. knows where to go for the best Ethiopian (Meskerem), best Scandinavian (Domku), and best Trinidadian (Teddy’s Roti Shop). Tucked into different neighborhoods in Northwest, many of the international restaurants in D.C. are quite affordable.
But when I go home to D.C., my favorite place to eat is the Lebanese Taverna. The staff are affable, the vibe is congenial, and the food is uh-mazing. The shared small dishes always makes a dinner feel more like a party. I try and get a big group together so that we can try different things. I can’t leave without ordering the Foole M’daas (fava beans with garlic and lemon) and the shrimp Arak. Trust me on this one.
Think you know London? Think again. Most locals would struggle to place the under-the-radar Fitzrovia district on a map. Follow writer Mark Ellwood as he takes you around the artists' haven, which is featured in the January issue of Travel+Leisure.
Clark Mitchell is an associate editor at Travel + Leisure.
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.
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:
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.
How’s this for a cool job (or, as he would say, “the greatest job in the world”): Anthropologie buyer-at-large Keith Johnson travels around the globe in search of unusual pieces—furniture, textiles, artwork—to sell at the store. It’s also the premise of my new favorite travel show, Man Shops Globe, debuting tonight at 10 p.m. ET on the Sundance Channel.
"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.
If you’ve ever traveled to Mexico, you know that—contrary to popular belief—the cervezamás fina south of the border is not Corona, that ubiquitous and admittedly tasty siren of beer. Nor is it Dos Equis (meh), or Tecate (God forbid). No, the country’s best beer is Negra Modelo—a German-style, exceedingly palatable, complex amber lager.
Now you don’t have to go to Acapulco—or even to your best-stocked corner store—to find your favorite Mexican beer. Just grab a pint at your local bar.