Depending on when you travel to Uruguay’s José Ignacio, you could either find a sleepy fishing village or a crowded jet setter’s playground. Chances are, you will love José Ignacio either way, as there is just so much to fall in love with. Well off the beaten path and fantastically difficult to get to, José Ignacio combines some of our favorite things in one place: untouched beaches, casual but fabulous food, and a chill vibe. Lunch at the rustic beach shack Parador La Huella, a Jose Ignacio see-and-be-seen scene, starts at 2pm and runs into dinner.
Travel to Uruguay For José Ignacio’s Under the Radar glam
Dirt roads with hand-painted signs add to the casual chic-ness of José Ignacio. But don’t be fooled, it is incredibly under-the-radar glam. Tiny pop-up boutiques along the beach roads are charming and then juxtaposed with a bright red Ferrari, which you soon realize isn’t unusual in José Ignacio. Imagine the Hamptons fifty years ago, as that starts to give you an idea of what to expect from this tiny strip of land, sandwiched between two beaches, a little over an hour from Montevideo.
As we decided to travel to Uruguay in the off-season, there were fewer Ferraris and more bicycles, and we were able to get around easily enough. Our resort, Bahia Vik, had bikes on hand for all of us, but we could have just as happily walked into town. The long vast beach line was so untouched and relatively tourist-free in March, perfect for kite flying as we soon discovered. There are so few people and so much to explore along the craggy coast.
At one point, my husband started to look for music to accompany his beach yoga session and quickly realized that he was already listening to the perfect playlist, the beach sounds were soft and soothing. No Spotify is necessary.
Travel to Uruguay For José Ignacio’s Estancia Vik
My daughter and I took advantage of Bahia Vik’s sister property, Estancia Vik, which is ten minutes away, for a half-day horseback ride. Horses are generally not my thing, but the riding was gentle, and the scenery majestic. Trotting along the expanse of rolling hills of the estancia for a few hours was incredibly peaceful and serene. It is surprising to see the landscape change from sand, dunes, and rock to pure forest in the span of a few miles.
We spent six nights in this little corner of Uruguay and could have stayed longer. It was a lifestyle I could see myself adopting. I imagine the high season is as crazy as the low season is sleepy. About a mile down the beach from us was the third Vik property, Playa Vik, which was severe and angular, and thoroughly modern in design.
The pool, with its dark blue water and underlighting of stars, jutted out towards the sea like a knife. I have never seen another pool like it. We ordered the house wine and sat on the pool’s edge for sunset more than once. Then, we retreated to the nearby firepit to get warm as the sun disappeared.
Travel to Uruguay For A touch of France in José Ignacio
One restaurant that kept drawing us back (until the waiter knew not only our wine choice but our kids’ names) was Almacen El Palmar. The menu is French, surprisingly. Part bakery, part market, part outdoor garden, it is intriguing mostly because of how unassuming it looks.
A hand-painted group of signs greets you on the path, pointing you toward Peru, Spain, and Japan. The France sign points you to the front door. It looks so low-key you might not expect anything from the food. We loved the low-buzzy atmosphere (and the food!) so much that we went back three times. An unusual move for a family that prides itself on never doing the same thing twice.
While there was much to do in and around José Ignacio, such as horseback riding, olive oil tastings, and touring nearby Punta del Este, we realized the most beautiful thing about José Ignacio was just settling into it and letting go.
Tannat is the bold, savory, spicy red grape that has put Uruguayan wines on the map. Bodega Garzón is a perfectly modern, slick, 85-million-dollar property from which to taste it. Uruguay has much to offer oenophiles the world over. Lovingly called the Tuscany of Uruguay, wine lovers travel to Uruguay to experience the unique wines and admire the rolling hills and hectares of vines.
Travel to Uruguay
Travel to Uruguay for the wine, the beaches, the beach shacks, and the remote hotels. Stay for the vibe and the scenery. José Ignacio’s under-the-radar style is a breath of fresh air—miles from the expected. Time to get there before the secrets of José Ignacio are secrets no longer.
Five reasons to get lost in José Ignacio, Uruguay:
The starry-bottomed architectural and gravitational wonder of a pool at Playa Vik.
Trying the Tannat, Uruguay’s star red grape.
Sinking into a three-hour lunch at Parador La Huella…barefoot.
The nightly fire pits at Bahia Vik and Play Vik will motivate you not only to have one more drink but to maybe engage in conversations with strangers.
Opening the doors to Playa Vik around sunset, and being temporarily blinded by rays as you head out towards the pool. Remember that scene in Indiana Jones when the sun finally hits the staff in the right place to reveal the location of the ark? That kind of blinding light.
(Please note a few affiliate links above. But rest assured—I only recommend products and hotels I fully support.)
Tucked up in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. Blackberry Mountain sets a high bar by combining unique adventures and holistic wellness activities. And, it takes adventures even further with locally sourced food, and the comforts of home. This post describes how Blackberry Mountain entices each of the senses, in completely unexpected ways.
This is Blackberry Mountain
Big Double Shelter is a wide, wooden deck at the end of Big Double Trail. The treetops in the distance look freshly painted. Brushstrokes of oily red, orange, and yellow skim the uppermost leaves.
The result is an undulating wave of late autumn color. Big Double Shelter hovers above pine trees adorned with clusters of prickly pinecones jut precariously over a deep ravine. We are the only hikers out this brisk November morning. The silence is deafening.
THUMP.
“Uh oh,” my friend says, “there goes the walkie-talkie”.
I peer over the edge. But she’s already scrambling down the steep slope to recover it from the forest floor. I think to myself, this is the part of the film when things begin to go horribly wrong.
What’s to fear? It’s not as if there are black bears roaming the Smoky Mountains in late November. Or, that the walkie-talkie is our sole connection to the lodge? Alerting the front desk of our hiking route, as recommended, is no longer unimportant.
We’d brought only a 4 oz bottle of water between us because we want to travel ‘light’. And, perhaps I’m not the confident map reader I pretend to be. Is the sky starting to turn an ominous gray? Is the wind picking up? Why do I feel suddenly parched? Curse you, my overactive imagination.
At Blackberry Mountain, adventure and luxury overlap
If this mini-adventure appears to be threaded with fear, it is fleeting. In this case, the ‘Girls’ Weekend Gone Wrong’ thriller would have to wait, as our hike had an uneventful ending. My friend recovered the slippery walkie-talkie, the skies reverted to cerulean blue, the wind abated, and the water sufficed. The only evidence of bear was an ambiguous claw scrape in the dirt.
Blackberry Mountain, a luxury/adventure lodge in Walland, Tennessee, is as eventful or uneventful as one wants it to be. The property’s sweet spot is best illustrated between the layers. Layers as thick and interesting as the Smoky Mountains themselves.
Blackberry Mountain, in brief
The Beall family started Blackberry Farm as a six-room country inn in the mid-70s. Over the years it has grown and gained worldwide attention in the hospitality sphere. In 2018, the Beall family opened a sister property, Blackberry Mountain. Blackberry Mountain covers eight miles of protected ridge line over 5200 acres. Almost half of which is dedicated to land conservation. Not to overdramatize, but it’s spectacular.
The Watchman Cabins
Ramshackle, Cripple Creek, Crackling Hen, and Old Smoky. Welcome to the watchman cabins. A six-of-a-kind collection that lines the top ridge of the property. Each cabin comes with its own personalized golf cart so getting around the property is never an issue. Our cabin is Ramshackle, set just across from the forest-enclosed, infinity-edged, hot tub. No golf cart is needed.
Outside, the smell of new wood-burning wafts from the neighboring cabins. And the fresh scent of morning dew is ever more noticeable after the night’s heavy downpour.
The cabins are rustic-chic. For instance, Ramshackle has layers of wooden beamed walls, and wide, wood-planked floors. Additionally, there’s a wood-burning stove and a free-standing deep soaking tub to complete the comfy, cozy setting. Endless little luxuries are sprinkled throughout the cabin.
Amenity Overload
As an example, Aesop toiletries sit at the edge of the deep, stand-alone tub. A Nespresso maker and assorted teas are on hand for a morning caffeine fix. And, remote-controlled roller shades reveal the lofty view from floor-to-ceiling windows. Amenities, galore.
Additionally, brass binoculars (for bird or bear viewing) are set atop the iron stove. Also, there is a basket of firewood ready to take the chill from the cool evening air. Thick, wool, blankets drape the chairs, begging to be worn. So, that regardless of the outside temperature, we could still enjoy views from the deck.
The trees in front of Ramshackle’s picture window are stark, having already lost most of their leaves. Spindly branches overlap one another, an inky contrast against the morning’s milky fog.
7am. I’m not a morning person. But, I try to keep my eyes open long enough to witness the mist rise beyond the windows. I want to watch the sun break through to reveal the patches of farmland below. Watercolor hues of overlapping blues shape the mountains. Steel blue, gray-blue, periwinkle, cornflower, and as expected, smoky blue. I don’t even have to leave my bed. If there is ever a place to have cabin fever, this is it.
Naturally, views trump everything at Blackberry Mountain. And none are more intoxicating than from the hilltop Watchman Cabins.
THREE SISTERS, AND A FIRETOWER RULE OVER BLACKBERRY MOUNTAIN
There are two restaurants at Blackberry Mountain: Firetower and Three Sisters. Firetower is aptly named. It sits at the base of a restored 1950s fire tower that guests can climb for sweeping views. The restaurant is an uphill stone’s throw from our cabin and is where we enjoyed many of our best meals. Three Sisters is a slightly more formal dining experience at the main lodge. We divided our meals between both—always in fear of missing out on something the chefs were inventing. Foodie FOMO, it’s real.
In an effort to try every dish on the menus, we shared everything. My friend has been a vegan for 20 years. I decided to become one for three days. I was curious if my tastebuds would forgive me. If I was making too big a culinary sacrifice. My fears were unwarranted.
Breakfasts and dinners are included in the room rate at Blackberry Mountain, which made being experimental easy. The chefs are more than happy to split the meals so that guests can try everything. In one case, we couldn’t decide on which two of the three main courses to share. Our waitress surprised us by bringing all three.
The chefs and waitstaff were as excited and eager for us to sample the entire menu as we were. It is just that type of ‘above and beyond’ service that shows up in every facet of Blackberry Mountain. No ask was too much trouble. Ever.
Executive Orders
The executive chefs, Joel Werner, of Firetower, and Joey Edwards, of Three Sisters, both create extraordinary multi-course and multi-dimensional meals. The dishes have layers of colors and textures—as interesting visually as culinarily.
Fresh, foraged mushrooms sit atop a crusty flatbread with piles of herbs and garlic. A warm grain bowl explodes in flavors as bold as its colors, a brushstroke of cashew butter at its base. At breakfast, sweet potato hash is sprinkled with crispy rice on a thinly-sliced avocado.
Each dish is an unpretentious work of art; confident, simple, and purposeful. I made no sacrifices being a part-time vegan. Although I did allow myself one diversion, as I couldn’t pass up the wagyu beef entree at Three Sisters.
With chefs like this cooking for me each day, I could easily imagine life as a vegan. At least a part-time vegan.
Pretentious Glass, a Blackberry Mountain exclusive
Speaking of unpretentious works of art, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the decanter. In fact, I could write an entire post about the decanter. Matthew Cummings, owner, founder, and glassblower-in-chief of Pretentious Glass spent years cultivating a relationship with Blackberry Mountain. He now creates exclusive pieces of glassware for them. A fine art sculptor turned commercial artist, Cummings’ creations in glass are a modern, festive, take on classic styles.
His decanter is a carnival of glass. Wide and round with long, whimsical ribbons that stretch from bottom to top. It begged us to choose a wine worthy of it. As a side note, I’m angling to buy one. But I’m told they’re not yet for sale. Yet, I will keep inquiring. Matthew, are you listening?
Perhaps, the highlight of the getaway is one that I hadn’t anticipated. I was prepared to love the food, the atmosphere, the lodge, and the lodging. I had seen photos, heard stories from friends, and read about the chefs and food. Blackberry Mountain is not an inexpensive undertaking, so a certain level of expectation was inherent. However, the sound bath experience was unexpectedly transporting.
That blustery morning we meet our master of ceremonies. Chris introduces us to the ritual of sound bathing with his warm, lulling voice. The room has high ceilings and is drenched in champagne light. Chris is surrounded by a multitude of instruments; gongs, rainmakers, and chimes, among them. Next, all six guests form a wide semi-circle on the floor with our yoga mats. Lastly, we drape ourselves in soft blankets and placed lightly-scented lavender cloths over our eyes. This is already amazing.
Gongs, Chimes, and Rain
The senses in my body awaken and are warmed from the inside out. I melt into the sounds. The gongs overlap the chimes. Then, the chimes overlap the rainmaker, which sounds like waves crashing onto a beach. First softly, then gaining power, before receding again. I fall asleep, I think. Then awaken to tuning forks in G major, chants, and a few unnameable sounds. The vibrations of those sounds lift and settle within me as I drift in and out of a dream-like state.
All too soon, Chris asks us to sit up. I reluctantly follow orders. The gauzy roller shades are raised, the curtains are drawn. Had I even noticed them earlier? I find myself facing purple mountains— the start of sunset. The ridge is razor sharp, and pink and orange hues are just beginning to appear behind it. I smile. Then wonder when I can do it all over again.
Time’s Up
We attempted a leisurely pace throughout our three days at Blackberry Mountain. We were aiming to find the right balance of chill time and activities. There is much we left undone, which is all the fuel I needed to plan a future trip.
On our final afternoon, a layer of dark clouds descends over the tree line. As if to remind us that it’s time to go. The wind whips in gusts and rattles the stark branches. Not surprisingly, it is still incredibly scenic. But, our time is up.
Blackberry Mountain alighted my senses. It reminded me to admire beauty in the ordinary. Like trees, birdsong, and morning mist. Yet, it had the understated comforts of home but felt extraordinarily luxurious.
It is a hideaway that sparks creativity, calm, and restorativeness. And, it is just what I needed at this moment in my life. To feel snug and secure somewhere outside of my own home.
Whatever it is—the food, the cabins, the hospitality, the treatments, or the adventurous hikes. It is an escape from the familiar. And, who doesn’t sometimes need just that?
The landline rings. I immediately know it’s my mother calling. From the way she says ‘hello’ I know something else—that I’m not going to like the conversation. I’m tempted to feign a poor connection and hang up.
‘A woman was kidnapped in Uganda’, my mother says, her voice measured, with frantic undertones. ‘At gunpoint’, she continues, ‘alone, while on safari.’
‘I’m not going to Uganda for four months, Mom’, I say, my voice measured, with annoyed undertones.
‘And, I’m 49 years old. I’m a grown-up.’
‘She was 35’, my mom replies.
I hang up.
The phone rings again. It’s my dad.
I’m measured by nature. So much so that my baking skills are flawless. You can’t improvise a chocolate soufflé no matter what The Great British Bake Off would have us believe. I’m a recipe follower. A rule follower. I color inside the lines.
So while it’s true the unfortunate kidnapping in Uganda happened only a few months before I’m due to go. And also true I’m traveling solo to Queen Elizabeth National Park, the very park she was kidnapped from, I do what I do best—I measure.
As departure day looms, I research as if my life depends upon it. Ultimately, I deem Uganda safe. Safer, I’ll add, than my current hometown. I tell my parents that lightning never strikes the same place twice.
They don’t buy that, either.
Where we choose to travel matters. Some of us choose to cage dive with sharks off the coast of South Africa for a high-adrenaline thrill. Others choose to restore coral reefs in Australia in order to help save the planet’s fragile ecosystems.
Our adventure mindsets are decidedly different and have individual arcs—from dangerous to safe, worthless to worthwhile. I think of the center of this arc as my comfort zone. The times I step out of my comfort zone are rewarding beyond measure. Uganda is one such time. But there are others.
Checking in with my good friend Merriam-Webster, I note the synonyms for ‘preconceived’. They include biased, bigoted, influenced, prejudiced, and opinionated. Preconception sure does come with a lot of heavy baggage.
Over the years, I’ve been ‘encouraged’ to rethink travel plans. That encouragement may have been due to a particular country’s current state of civil unrest. Or, because the terrain is considered treacherous. Or, simply because it just doesn’t seem fun. Most of the time it’s due to preconceived notions about our destination. Notions that I’m keen to dispel.
The unsolicited advice is well-intended, I know. Yet, in the end, we are masters of our own domains. Or in this case, travel itineraries. Sorry, mom.
You’ll get kidnapped in Uganda
I possess a healthy fear of traveling to Uganda. I rarely travel solo. The last time I traveled alone was in 1994 when my then-boyfriend and I broke up and I booked a spontaneous flight to St. Thomas to cry.
My salty tears drip into plastic goblets of overpriced, oaky, California chardonnay. A few days later, two friends track me down to save me from myself (and to suggest a cold Carib, instead).
Any fears I carry with me from DC to Uganda dissipate upon arrival. Reality versus preconception. The gap is deep and wide.
I’m due to meet up with a friend in Bwindi National Park later on, which leaves me solo in the southern Ishasha sector of Queen Elizabeth National Park. I spend three nights at a remote tent camp alongside the Ntungwe river, where the sounds of wildlife begin to fill the warm African air just as I am heading to bed.
The savannah after dark is a universe unto its own. It is one of the only place I would rather be awake while everyone else is asleep. One night, I hear an elephant’s enormous body graze the side of my canvas tent. I note the natural tempo of his slow-paced, padded steps.
My heart thumps so loudly that I’m sure he can hear it. In the dead of night, the chorus of animal life is nearly spiritual. Not much later, I feel the roar of a lion as much as I hear it. I try my best to stay awake, not wanting to miss a growl.
The famous tree-climbing lions are part of the reason I choose to visit Uganda. The Ishasha sector of Queen Elizabeth National Park is the only place in the world to see them. Lions that climb acacia trees to find shelter from the heat, take a well-earned nap, or spy on helpless prey. Another reason is to observe the Silverback gorillas, a species that can’t be found in any zoos or game parks.
Finding Gold, in Africa
Yet, there are reasons beyond wildlife that make this trip remarkable. It’s the people. Not only the people who live and work in the destinations we are traveling to (bartenders, guides, trackers, and school kids) but the other adventure-seekers we meet along the way.
Whether that be the women I meet in seats 2B and 2C en route to Ishasha, the birders with whom I cross the Mabamba Swamp, or the digital nomad punching keys on the bar stool beside me. It’s all about the animals, in Uganda. But, it’s also all about the people.
The bush plane I take from Ishasha to Kihihi seats four people. Across the aisle sits a tall, elegant man with inquisitive eyes and an endearing smile. We chit-chat (an activity I love) while waiting for wheels-up. My husband is not a chit-chatter, so when I’m alone I chit-chat like there’s no tomorrow.
I learn that although he currently lives in Milan, he’s originally from the small African nation of Burundi. I ask him about Burundi and why he is visiting Uganda. We exchange stories of our game drives and animal sightings. We compare kills in detail and count ourselves lucky for having seen one. He tells me about his twins and that he works for Nike.
“Have you been to the United States?”, I ask.
“Once”, he responds, “to Atlanta, back in 1996.”
I feel creaky, rusty cogs turn slowly in my mind. My Trivial Pursuit general knowledge resurfaces and I imagine inserting a red wedge into a little, plastic wheel.
“Wait. Did you go to the Olympics?”
Bashfully, he tells me he was in fact, in the Olympics. My jaw hits the tray table. I’m about to ask more but just then the engine sputters to life at a decibel level that renders speech useless. Stray zebras clear the runway. We’re off.
Later, when I’m reunited with Wi-Fi, I google my humble seatmate, (you wouldn’t?). His name is Vénuste Niyongabo. I learned he trained to compete in the 1500-meter race for the ’96 Olympics. He was considered the clear favorite, but at the last minute forfeited his space to a teammate who hadn’t been able to compete in ’88 or ’92. Vénuste entered the 5000-meter race instead, one he hadn’t trained for. In his final lap, Vénuste went on to win an unexpected Olympic gold.
The only Olympic gold medal winner for Burundi. Ever.
Where I choose to travel matters. I choose Uganda and expect to observe climbing lions and track Silverbacks. I don’t expect a chance encounter with an Olympic Gold medalist on a four-seater Cessna. As valuable a memory as any other I collect while in Uganda. Maybe the most valuable. Human connection trumps all.
Oh, and no one gets kidnapped in Uganda that week. I check.
You’re going to Colombia? Haven’t you seen Narcos? Ahhh, if I had a peso for every time I heard that one. To those stuck in the Netflix version of Colombia, circa 1980, I ask you to join me in the present day.
I visit Cartagena because I’d like to be dazzled by a Spanish colonial city in a Gabriel García Márquez kind of way. Magical Realism is a part of Colombia’s allure, at least in the literary sense. My expectations are unreasonably high. I picture men levitating in the streets and musical notes dancing in mid-air. I conjure up the aroma of deep-fried yucca from street vendors and imagine the echo of clomping horse hooves on cobbled streets.
I read One Hundred Years of Solitude for the third time, in anticipation.
Many things are sold on the electrically-charged street corners of Cartagena, but as far as I see, none of them are drugs. The street corners I pass sell pineapples, papayas, and wedges of juicy watermelon. Messy perhaps, but not illegal, merchandise.
The palenqueras are the glorious fruit sellers of Cartagena. Their bright clothing and broad smiles are colorfully woven into the fabric of the city. At one time, these iconic women carried baskets of fruit upon their heads from their Palanque village to the city center. Today, they find a shady patch of the street or plaza to offer their bounty of produce to tourists.
The World Cup: USA v. Colombia
One day we walk to Getsemaní, a neighborhood just beyond the fortified walls of the old city. It’s gritty, raw, and all about street life. We stumble upon the chipped mustard-yellow walls of the Town Hall on Plaza de la Trinidad. The colors of Cartagena are kaleidoscopic—a harmonious match to the zeal of the city.
We see young Colombian kids playing a game of pick-up soccer. They run as fast and effortlessly in torn flip-flops and battered Crocs as most American kids can in Nike Airs. Premier League jerseys hang loosely off their lanky frames. A group of men is stooping nearby, their faces weathered and grooved like an old LP. I take a mental photo. I still have it.
My son is nine years old. Without warning, he dives headfirst into the game. My husband, daughter, and I sit on a bench nearby—front-row seats to an impromptu World Cup match.
The kids don’t bat an eye at the American newcomer and absorb him into the game like an old friend. They don’t have language in common, but somehow figure out who is playing which position and who is on which team. Sport has a language all its own.
Goalposts are marked with soda cans. Yet, the game matters in ways beyond scoring. My son takes a shot on goal and misses. The game resets. A lesson in Latin American football, my husband muses on the sidelines. A lesson in a lot of things, I can’t help but think.
Finnish Lapland doesn’t sound like fun
“You do realize there are only a few hours of daylight in Finland during winter?”, chirps a nosy woman seated on my left. She is way too close to my screen, I think, as I scoot further down the banquette at my local coffee shop.
Yes, I discover that little factoid while researching our post-Christmas trip to Finnish Lapland. A holiday of near-perpetual darkness isn’t for everyone. I’m hoping it’s for us.
I want to tell her “if we all traveled to the same place, the Dominican Republic would sink to the bottom of the sea. So, while I appreciate your concern that we might not have fun in Finland, let me say one thing—I’m a grown-up. I can go where I want.”
I don’t say any of that. But I want to.
Finland turns out to be one of the funnest vacations we have as a family. I use ‘funnest’ deliberately here. I know it isn’t a real word—I have Grammarly.
The main reason I want to go to Finland is to see the Northern Lights, which I hear is all but guaranteed in Finnish Lapland. Naturally, I don’t tell my family this. Instead, I google all the ways to have fun in the Arctic Circle in December. There are 35,800,000 results. Phew.
I get the guaranteed aurora borealis on our first night in Lapland. Ticking that box early means I can fully embrace the other 35,799,000 fun things I’ve promised my family we can do. Among many fun activities, the funnest (again, for emphasis) takes the form of 17 yelping huskies pulling us on small metal sleds at breakneck speed at dusk (aka noon).
Toni, the dog whisperer of Finland, is our guide. He has an ease and lightness about him that belies his 20-something years. Before departing into the wilderness, Toni gives us vital instructions on how to maneuver the dogs. None of which I can hear. The dogs are barking so loudly they shake the snow off the trees.
Once the dogs get mushing, the landscape deafens. It’s like someone muted Finland by remote control. The beauty of the landscape is enhanced by the centuries-old silence of dogsledding.
Toni guides us over frozen lakes and under tall pines. The sky renders shades of lavender and pink. Then almost imperceptibly, those colors transform into magenta and orange. A setting from a fairy tale, the low-angled winter sun casts long shadows on the snow, which is far from snow white. It is purple-white, pink-white, and blue-white. Benjamin Moore could learn a thing or two about color in Finland.
Night-filled days are fun, but tiring. After seven nights in the Arctic, I’m excited to get home for some vitamin D and to watch White Fang. The memory of Toni and his unwavering command over our pack of huskies will be hard to forget.
Do you know about that terrifying runway in Bhutan?
By the numbers, Paro, Bhutan’s only international airport, has incredible stats. Only 17 pilots are qualified to land there. The runway is a skimpy 6500 feet long and surrounded by steep 18,000-foot snow-covered Himalayan peaks. Airplanes need to carve a 45-degree angle around these dramatic peaks moments before touchdown. Oh, and flights are only allowed to land during the day, in good weather conditions, and when a full moon is rising.
The full moon part is a joke. The rest is no joke.
We go to Bhutan to celebrate my 40th birthday, despite the statistics people have kindly sent us regarding plane crashes. ‘Bhutan is the happiest place on earth!’, I read. If I have to turn 40, then I’m going to do it in the happiest place on earth, dammit.
Leopards, tigers, and dragons. Oh my.
The Kingdom of Bhutan is known as the ‘Land of the Thunder Dragon’. One of its most famous sights is called The Tiger’s Nest. The Himalayan foothills are home to the elusive clouded leopard. Leopards, tigers, and dragons? Whoa. Bhutan is setting a high bar.
The crowned jewel of Bhutan is the Tiger’s Nest (Paro Taktsang), an ancient monastery that hangs precariously off of a 10,000-foot cliff. The Tiger’s Nest is a sacred space built on a cave site where Indian gurus meditated in the 8th century. The cluster of temples that are perched there now was built in 1692. The Tiger’s Nest is why I choose to visit Bhutan—to absorb a small part of its immense spirituality. To get there, I will push myself physically and mentally.
Pema, our Bhutanese guide, personifies the happiness index I have heard so much about. His dimpled smile radiates as he tells us the history of his country. He talks about his favorite Bhutanese dishes, his wife, and his kids. I again remember why I travel is as much about the people as it is about the destination.
The hike is rigorous, which we expect. Red, yellow, and blue prayer flags flap—primary colors fraying from years of wind and rain. An enormous prayer wheel meets us along the way and I attempt to channel the surrounding aura. Mountain peaks, craggy rocks, and cloudless, bright blue skies. I am looking for a sign—a way to connect, however unrealistic that is.
From a physical point of view, I’m well within my comfort zone—the center of my personal arc. The terrain is tough to climb, but not impossible. Yet, from a spiritual viewpoint, I’m out of my depths. I’m eager to embrace it, but it’s a challenge.
Eventually, we enter a clearing—a break from the blue pine forest. I see the Tiger’s Nest directly across the valley, hanging onto a sheer rock face exactly where I expect it to be. I imagine the tigress in her lair as well as the generations of people who have trekked here before me. We have 700 steps to descend and another 250 to ascend before we reach our goal. Slightly out of breath, I stop to look up.
Above me, I see a fully-formed 360-degree rainbow circling the sun. I’ll say that one more time for impact—a rainbow circling the sun.
This phenomenon, I later discover, is a sun halo. It occurs when sunlight refracts millions of hexagonal ice crystals. Those crystals then become suspended in the atmosphere to cause an otherworldly ring around the sun.
I didn’t even know sun halos existed. I have yet to see one since. Maybe this is the goal? A sun halo—my forever connection to Bhutan. Who doesn’t believe in signs?
Travel matters
In Cartagena, I expect to be immersed in a magical, yet real, world of art, culture, and food. I don’t expect to watch an impromptu pick-up soccer game on a gritty Colombian plaza.
In Finland, I expect to glimpse electric green brushstrokes of charged particles crossing a black sky—not to be immersed in the age-old sport of dogsledding within a world of white.
In Bhutan, the Tiger’s Nest is my intended goal. Yet, it’s overshadowed, quite literally, by an ethereal atmospheric phenomenon.
And in Uganda? In Uganda, I track mighty Silverbacks and see rare climbing lions. So-called ‘once-in-a-lifetime experiences.’ But, then I meet Vénuste Niyongabo—a man who brings home gold to the poorest country in the world.
Why do I travel?
One of my favorite authors says it best:
“After all, we travel for the same reason we read: to remind ourselves of the existence, and also the inexplicability, of other lives, to recognize ourselves within that which is foreign to us. We are one person when we begin a trip, or a book or an article; we are another person when we conclude it. Another person, but also the same-we take the journey to see ourselves.” —Hanya Yanagihara
Where I choose to travel matters. I take the journey to see myself. Although what I discover isn’t always what I expect, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The risks of my choices are mine to bear. I’ll take those risks because I value the rewards that accompany them.
Inness is the latest property to take on the Catskills, in New York State. With its low-key escapist vibe and majestic mountain scenery, Inness delivers a weekend getaway for those lucky enough to live within driving distance. Think a cabin-laden, nature-centric resort in the Catskills can’t deliver? Inness will prove you wrong.
“Give me a 5-hour radius, Daniel?” I plead. My husband hates to drive. The last time we took a road trip, a four-hour drive turned into eight, due to an overturned tractor trailer and an ill-timed oil spill. Let’s just say that closed the books on road trips for good.
With airplanes being public enemy #1 of travel these days, I thought I could re-open the case. Newspaper headlines cry, “Unfriendly Skies”, “Airmageddon”, and “The Summer of Lost Luggage”. Every day I’d email Daniel an article reinforcing my point. I’m nothing if not persistent. Although Daniel would likely use a different adjective.
I send more self-serving sound bytes, but he’s unresponsive. If I’m making any headway, it’s impossible to tell.
As a last resort, I offer this: “We can listen to 80s on 8 the whole way.” A statement, while brilliant, I regret the moment it’s leaving my mouth. I detect a glint of possibility in his eyes.
Inness, here we come.
You’re going to the Catskills?
Friends ask, ‘Ummm, are the Catskills still a thing? Were they ever?’. Yes, we are going to the Catskills. The Catskills of Dirty Dancing lore. That place your grandparents used to go. ‘The Catskills are cool again.’, I reply. I hope I’m right. If they aren’t, I’ve given up road trip rights forever.
I’m sensing you don’t believe me. I can see your mouse hovering over that red dot to close this tab. Give a travel blogger, I mean, a travel writer a chance.
We fly past local farm stands and ramshackle barns that look one gust of wind away from absolute destruction. No traffic, no detours, or oil spills. Waze rules—we arrive at Inness at four hours and fifty-eight minutes.
We park. In the distance, enormous willows weep in pairs and in clusters. Queen Anne’s Lace delicately weaves around tall grasses. Cattails emerge with telltale cigar-shaped tips, adding texture to the overgrown landscape. Their pollen has already disintegrated into wispy pieces of cottony fluff that float dreamily through the air.
Thank you, Inness. This is just the welcome I’m hoping for. First, I dutifully thank the traffic gods. Next, I unsuccessfully try to get the refrain from ‘Karma Chameleon’ out of my head. We head towards check-in.
American painter George Inness came of age during the Hudson River School era. He is referred to as ‘The father of American landscape painting.’ It took me all of 60 seconds to see why the farmhouse and cabin-laden property of Inness is named for him.
A master of light and tone, George Inness couldn’t have chosen a better place to paint than this pastoral part of New York State. The landscape is the main event at Inness. Its location between the Catskill and Shawangunk mountain ranges provides both wide-angle vistas and macroscopic wildlife. I’m smitten. I think George would be, too.
Inness, the property
Inness is comprised of 28 cabins and 12 farmhouse rooms set over 220 bucolic acres. Each cabin is created to maximize the view. I had a hard time deciding where to spend my viewing time. On our private deck? On the hill by the fire pit overlooking the valley? Or, from the adults-only circle pool. In the end, I rotate between all three. I’m an equal opportunity view seeker.
Inness is all about the outdoors. Yet, the indoors have been curated and designed with ‘modern-farmhouse-chic’ in mind. A combination of sparse Scandinavian living with layers of luxury like Frette sheets and robes. Aesop toiletries and locally-sourced snacks are within arm’s reach. The cabins feel effortlessly designed, with vintage furniture and found objects, tea kettles, and minimalistic earth-toned pottery.
The Farmhouse has lovely common and outdoor spaces. A pool table, ping pong table, and corn hole are ready and waiting for a match. An honor bar opens in the afternoon, and we take full advantage of its proximity to the pool.
Fit For a King
Our King Cabin interior is a lesson in geometry. Two pentagons are divided by a square archway. A lone bulb encased by hand-blown glass dangles above a minimal wooden table in the center of the room.
Sheaths of linen are draped against the windows and match the warm dove-gray color of the walls. The Frette bed linens also match the walls, so the entire room feels bathed in shades of gray.
The bed is so underdone it appears naked. No decorative pillows, no patterns, or embellishments. It’s a perfect metaphor for Inness. Underdone, but luxurious.
Our cabin’s exterior is a lesson in simplicity. Rich, graphite-colored siding, iron-framed windows, and doors pop up between the wild green grasses. The cabins pay homage to the Catskill resorts of old, but with a casual and modern twist. They run serpentine along a dirt road that leads from the Farmhouse at one end to the restaurant barn at the other.
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Peas in a pod, and other delights at Inness
One of the reasons I choose Inness is its closeness to the mountains. I love hiking with Daniel. Nothing makes him happier than tackling a mountain with a view. Nothing makes me happier than eating a great meal after tackling a mountain with a view. We are two peas in the same pod.
In addition to DJ’ing five hours’ worth of Tear For Fears, A-Ha, and other dreadful 80s bands, it’s Daniel’s job to choose our hikes. It’s my job to choose our restaurants. Two peas.
Inness’ restaurant encompasses the same simplicity found elsewhere on the property. The large open dining barn has a convivial bar and two outdoor dining areas. Why anyone would choose to sit anywhere but the balcony overlooking the fields and mountains is a mystery I will never solve.
Creatures of Habit
In fact, we eat every meal at the same balcony table and never get bored—either of the menu or the views. Each night the balcony serves us much more than lovely meals.
Storms with dramatic purple clouds roll through while we share a plateful of thinly-sliced tuna carpaccio. Bolts of lightning strike during our shared course of homemade pasta. By the time our mains are served, the sky has cleared and golden light touches the fields below.
On Mondays and Tuesdays, Inness serves wood-fired pizzas and pasta dishes only. For the remainder of the week, the menu is more extensive. It includes local finds like steelhead trout with butter beans and salsa verde and an oven-roasted pork chop with charred rapini and hot honey mustard.
We did attempt to have a dinner off-property. Perhaps find a local farm with a restaurant? But we are creatures of habit, as my friends and family can attest. Leaving the ever-changing skies and sunset from the balcony never materialized. Shocker.
The Catskills Overdeliver
Daniel expects to be underwhelmed by the hiking trails in the Catskills. He’s what you’d call a hiking snob. To be fair, we’ve done some challenging hikes in the past few years. The Tetons, Chamonix, and Helvellyn, as examples. How can the Catskills compare?
I love when Daniel’s expectations are exceeded.
The downside of having no say in our hikes is that I never know what I’m getting into. Traditionally, Daniel and I fight while we hike. We fight because he gets us lost. He won’t admit that, of course. But it’s written right here on the internet so it’s 100% true.
The upside of our fighting is that it scares the bears.
Lakes and Loops
Daniel tells me we are hiking Millbrook Mountain to Gertrude’s Nose. It’s a 7-mile loop hike, rather than an in-and-out one. I’m thrilled. I don’t like in-and-out hikes. I spend the whole ‘in’ wondering when we are getting to the ‘out’. It spoils the experience.
The hike, which begins at the base of Lake Minnewaska, starts out friendly enough. Aside from the sign at the trailhead warning us that we are entering a rattlesnake habitat and to take heed. At least that takes my mind off the bears.
The hike has a soft-padded start, with fallen pine needles paving our way. Inevitably, the work begins, and the terrain gets steep. But thankfully the trail rewards us with views that are worth the struggle. And Daniel’s constant amazement at the hike’s beauty makes me feel like saying ‘I told you so.’
For the sake of marriage preservation, I refrain. Plus, he hasn’t gotten us lost yet.
On Gertrude’s Nose
Who is this Gertrude and why is her nose so climb-worthy? In a nutshell, Dutch settler Gertrude Bruyn set up her house on the range opposite this geological marvel—a cliff escarpment that projects out over the Palmaghatt Ravine ‘like a nose’. I wonder if she’s disappointed by the body part chosen for this honor.
The cliffs, crevices, and joint cracks that lead to the nose offer spectacular eastern and southern views of the Hudson Valley. It also offers a sheer drop to imminent death. If selfies are your thing, think twice. Your Instagram feed isn’t worth it. As silver linings go, maybe you’ll meet Gertrude in your next life.
Daniel tells me our next hike is called Lemon Squeeze. Cute, I think. How hard can that be? He mentions it’s another 7-mile loop, but not to worry because it’s mostly downhill. Why I don’t calculate what that says about the uphill part still boggles my mind.
One mile straight up a mountain is what I fail to compute. It’s a doozy of a climb, and I never use the word doozy. We crawl under, over, and around rocks that weigh several tons and balance precariously upon one another. A maze of boulders and tight squeezes dot the route.
Every time I think we have come upon Lemon Squeeze, an even squeezier spot appears. Finally, the real squeeze is obvious, as only children aged ten and younger or supermodels can get through without losing layers of skin.
The Real Lemon Squeeze
After climbing a slippery ladder within an ultra-narrow crevice, I pop out onto a rock ledge overlooking a cerulean blue lake and matching skies. I kiss the rocks under my hands and feet and thank the Almighty this is not an in-and-out trail. The views of Mohonk Lake, creepy Mohonk Mountain House, and the Catskill range are worth every layer of skin I lose that day.
Later, a friend texts me she hiked Lemon Squeeze too—when she was ten. I’m ever-humbled.
The best reward for a morning of hiking is threefold: food, wine, and a pool. Inness has all three waiting for us each day. We dive deep into relaxation like the seasoned professionals we are.
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Inness is for the dogs, and other well-behaved guests
If you live in NYC, Boston, or Philly, I envy your proximity to Inness. As is noted by the license plates which fill the parking lot, the property clearly pulls from the northeast. A mini-escape from the summer heat and city life, Inness is a quick 90-minute drive from Brooklyn. I would have definitely had control of Sirius XM if our drive was that short.
As an added bonus, Inness welcomes dogs (for a fee). The website states it accepts up to two, crated, well-socialized, and well-trained dogs per reservation. This rules out our labs for one reason for sure. That Frette duvet cover would never have survived Indy and Shaka.
However, we meet many adorable canines while at Inness. Most are better behaved than the guests.
Pool, Golf, and other obstacles at Inness
We aren’t golfers. At least not yet. I’ll go out on a limb and say I’ll never golf. But then my dad will inevitably comment, ‘Never say never! You now eat fish!’ and I’ll never hear the end of it.
I overhear a woman at the pool describing the course as having a good aura. That sounds a bit woo-woo, but what do I know about the past lives of golf courses? Built by King Collins Golf, the course has nine holes designed for ‘repeat play to fully appreciate the countless shot-making possibilities.” Their words, not mine.
Two pools book-end the property. The rectangular, kid-friendly pool and the circular adults-only one. I imagine the architects discussing how to keep shrieking children as far away from the grown-ups as possible. The ones who have just dumped, I mean, dropped off their kids at summer camp. Well-played, team Inness.
Inness takes advantage of that fantastic, new middle-aged activity—the obstacle course. Part Tough Mudder, part elementary school playground, the course is a nice alternative to the classic hotel gym, of which there is one on-site, as well.
Checking Out at Inness
Three nights at Inness is the right amount of time to escape the city heat and enjoy the beautiful surroundings. A leisurely balcony breakfast allows us to savor the valley and mountain views one last time before we pile into the car.
The check-in/check-out greenhouse of Inness doubles as a museum-like boutique and overpriced farm stand. We have our boxed leftovers from last night’s dinner for a road trip picnic. ‘This couldn’t happen on an airplane, Daniel.’ I don’t say.
We jump in the car and I quickly change the station to ’90s on 9’. I glance back at Inness. I miss the balcony.
George Inness died in 1894. According to his son, he was viewing the sunset, when he threw up his hands into the air and exclaimed, “My God! Oh, how beautiful!” Then he fell to the ground and died.
The Claremont Hotel and Acadia National Park are a Maine tour de force. The recently redesigned Claremont Hotel has upped the ante on guest experiences in an unparalleled setting. So, if a glass of wine on a wraparound porch facing sunset-tinged mountains excites you, look no further than The Claremont Hotel. And, if hiking mountains to 360-degree panoramic vistas excites you, look no further than Acadia National Park. Read on to discover why The Claremont Hotel, just outside Acadia National Park, is a waterside gem.
Acadia National Park is a national treasure. After decades of overlooking beauty in my own backyard, I discover our national parks. Is it weird that my discovery overlaps Obama’s Netflix series, Our Great National Parks? Or can we all agree that he and I are kindred spirits? “Yes, we can!”
In the summer of 2020, when our overseas travel plans were so rudely interrupted, we decided to visit Utah’s Canyonlands and Arches National Parks. These desert parks were so deserted that I had no one to ask, ‘Where are you from?’. Or, ‘What brings you here?’. Questions all but guaranteed to embarrass my kids and husband.
Arches and Canyonlands encouraged us to fall back in love—with the USA.
So when a friend asked if I could join her on a girl’s trip, complete with a stay at The Claremont Hotel, including daily adventures to Bar Harbor, Mount Desert Island, and Acadia National Park, I didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes! Yes, I can!”
The Claremont Hotel + Acadia = Adventure + Luxury
Finding the optimal balance between adventure and luxury on a holiday is personal math. Some seek a 75/25 or 60/40 balance between the two. I strive for 50/50. Hmmm, does that sound like I’m satisfied with 50% of each? I’d like 100% each. So, I’m striving for a 100/100 balance. Is that even a thing? I hate math. You get the point.
The Claremont Hotel on Mount Desert Island is the consummate compliment to an adventure in Maine’s Acadia National Park. My sought-after 100/100. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for finding this waterside escape on the edge of Somes Sound. What I can do is pass it along with reasons why it makes a heavenly home base for an Acadia National Park trip.
For me, passing on nuggets of inspiration so that others may enjoy it is what travel is all about. That’s certainly why this website exists. It’s no fun being the only one to know about a sensational travel destination like Acadia National Park or a hot place like the Claremont Hotel. Well, sometimes it’s fun. As long as I get there first.
The Claremont Hotel, first impressions
Our car weaves up and around rolling hills and through scenic towns like Bar Harbor. I see Mount Desert Island in the distance. I see handcrafted signs that cheer, ‘Welcome To Maine! The Way Life Should Be!’ I’ll be the judge of that, I think cynically.
When we pull into The Claremont Hotel’s long driveway I can’t help but take a moment’s pause. A soft landing for my eyes and ears. In front of me stands a grand, lily-white, three-story home set against a cornflower blue sky. I hear the lulling melody of seagulls overhead.
Fuchsia geraniums and forest green ivy cascade over window boxes. A carpet of short, manicured grass lead my gaze toward the mirror-calm sound. Mountains rise majestically in the distance. I pause a little longer, resisting the urge to snap, tag, and post.
I feel like I’m home. I’ve yet to step onto the full wraparound porch or into the Claremont Hotel itself. I’ve been here less than five minutes and I’m already disappointed I’ll eventually have to leave. I know a treasure when I see one.
The Claremont Hotel, The Captain’s Choice
The Claremont Hotel is a historic and impeccably maintained six-acre property on Southwest Harbor, near Acadia National Park. It was built as a summer destination for wealthy families to escape the oppressive summer heat of the northeast. Its location near Bar Harbor was hand-picked by a retired sea captain named Jesse Pease. Capt. Jesse knew a treasure when he saw one, too.
Built in 1883, the Claremont Hotel was family-run until 1908 when it was sold to a local doctor. In 2020, it was bought by hospitality guru and real estate developer, Tim Harrington. Mr. Harrington is also the man behind other magnificent Maine properties like Hidden Pond and Tides Beach Club.
Upon entering the hotel, I first notice a tall, white ceramic dog sitting regally on a window ledge. Instead of facing inwards toward the room, this stoic Doberman is facing out, admiring the lavish grounds, just like me.
The next thing I notice isn’t visible. It’s sandalwood—the Claremont Hotel’s signature scent. Signature scents are all the rage these days. I saunter past the Doberman, knowing full well I’m being lured into the gift shop against my will. Now, every time I enter my living room in DC I’m reminded that I’m no longer at the beautiful Claremont Hotel. Pavlov’s theory was no joke.
The Claremont Hotel’s main house has common spaces that ignite my love of interior design and all things pretty. To say I swoon is an understatement. Patterns I’d expect to clash, instead harmonize. Palettes that I’ve always disliked, I suddenly love. Sister Parish paper wraps the walls. It’s textile nirvana—as if the DC Design Center exploded and thousands of colorful fabric samples were forced to find new soul mates.
Each piece of furniture feels collected rather than bought. Every coffee table book appears well-read and well-loved. The room has an ever-burning fireplace and a games table where I spy guests actually gaming. And I don’t mean Xbox. It’s so accommodating and peaceful, that I’m tempted to sink into a chair and stay there indefinitely.
But I don’t. There’s so much to explore both indoors and out at The Claremont Hotel. I only have three days. Time is of the essence.
The Claremont Hotel: A room, cottage, or house, with a view
I’d normally gravitate towards a cottage or house when at a property like the Claremont Hotel. But I wouldn’t have traded my intimate and bright guest room in the main house of this gorgeous Acadia hotel for any other that week. This being a girls’ trip, I have a room to myself—a rare event, indeed. I don’t take it for granted.
The main house has three and a half floors and 24 guest rooms. The rooms facing the front of the Claremont Hotel have the before-mentioned window boxes. The rooms facing Somes sound receive the morning sun. Beds have piles of cushy pillows propped up against William Morris fabric-covered headboards. Fabric-covered headboards are propped up against patterned-covered walls. Patterns rule at The Claremont. I’m tempted to stay in my room all day to admire them.
But I don’t. Acadia National Park is calling. And my friend is antsy to get going. She’s a very fast walker. The last time we hiked together was in Uganda tracking the Silverback Gorillas. I’m hoping she slows her pace this time. These views don’t weigh 600 lbs and move.
Acadia calls
Lest I forget the reason for our trip—three days of taxing trails, peaks, and panoramas in Acadia National Park. At nearly 50,000 acres, the park includes natural coastlines with rocky headlands, exposed granite rock faces, and U-shaped valleys. It has biodiverse wetlands, stone beaches, and pine forests. Pretty impressive stats, Acadia. I’m putting on my hiking boots now. Be patient!
Acadia National Park is home to Cadillac Mountain, the tallest mountain on America’s eastern seaboard. Tack on 158 miles of hiking trails, 27 miles of motorized roads, and 45 miles of pedestrian-only carriage roads, and I easily calculate, (even with my miserable math skills), that I don’t have enough time here.
Built between 1913 and 1940, the historic carriage road network was a gift from philanthropist and oil tycoon John D. Rockefeller. Sixteen low-arched granite bridges connect the pebble-lined paths. Mr. Rockefeller, an avid horseman, was adamant the park be non-motorized. I hope his horses appreciated the gesture.
Off-Season Rules
We visit Maine in mid-May, which is considered off-season. My friend warns us that Mother Nature isn’t always kind to Maine in May and tells us to prepare for cold and rain. Ever the rule follower, I do just that, despite the weather forecast that continues to predict sunnier and warmer climes than the destination I’m coming from.
Over the next three days, I’m ridiculed for my over-preparedness. Go ahead and laugh. Had we gotten lost, I would have been the only one with a baggie of trail mix and a Stroopwafel.
This brings me to our Acadia park hikes. As advertised, the 3.3-mile Ladder Trail Loop that leads to the summit of Dorr Mountain includes a series of ladders to help scale the rock faces. I liken the Ladder Trail to an open-air StairMaster.
Any part of the trail that is not a ladder is a steep granite step. I curse the person who made these steps. I curse the person who invented ladders. My quads curse me. But then we get to the summit and all is forgiven.
The following morning, we tackle St. Saveur and Acadia Mountains. A 3.9-mile loop with two glorious mountain peaks. The trail meanders around lichen and moss-covered boulders. Gnarled, ancient tree trunks appear rooted in the rocks themselves.
The pines have clusters of lavender buds against green needles. Wild purple Rhodora emerges en masse and frames the distant views. Little kelly green ferns unfurl. Later, I recognize these very colors sewn into the fabrics at The Claremont. Mother Nature’s palette never disappoints.
The trail takes us above the conifer tree line for a rewarding water-filled view. More than once we get turned around and retrace our steps to find the trail markers. No one mentions my stash of Stroopwafels, but I know they are jealous.
Stop and smell the blueberries
Maine may be known for blueberries, but in mid-May, we are out of luck. I’m willing to sacrifice the plump blueberries to the bears in order to have the trails to ourselves.
Acadia National Park, however, thrives in ways well beyond flowering and fruiting shrubs. Evergreen pitch pines and colorful native woodland flora abound. At the water’s edge, I peer into mini eco-systems living within the tidal pools. While we don’t see much wildlife, I’m told there are otters, deer, red foxes, and of course, bears, if you look hard enough.
The Claremont Hotel: Porchin’
We survive the hike, the ladders, the granite StairMaster, and the bears. Time to bask in our accomplishments. Back at the Claremont Hotel, a hot shower beckons, followed by a front-row seat on an evergreen rattan porch rocker with a glass of wine. The rest of my day will be rosé-tinted and food-centric.
The porch. It’s undoubtedly the best outdoor spot at The Claremont Hotel. In the foreground, there is a welcoming heated pool, with pink and white striped umbrellas that summon up scenes from Dirty Dancing. (Ugh. I forgot to avoid all cultural references that reveal my age.)
The pool is surrounded by an intricate pattern of lattice-cut grass. At the Claremont Hotel, even the lawn has patterns. In the distance, there are mountains to daydream about climbing. On the porch, there are green blankets in a basket to take the edge off the crisp air. I savor the soothing built-in beauty of the hotel while reflecting on our day. I reflect on Patrick Swayze. My 100/100 balance of luxury and adventure is realized.
Meet Harry and Fern
I’d be remiss if I didn’t introduce Harry and Fern. Two ways to enjoy dining and drinking at the Claremont Hotel. What a coincidence that these happen to be my two favorite post-hike activities.
The Claremont Hotel’s main restaurant, Little Fern, isn’t little, but somehow still feels cozy. Kudos to the interior design team for the homey touches. Built-in bookcases, a fireplace, soft banquettes, an entire wall of windows, and a large bar that has us making friends at first sip.
I order a cocktail that matches the ever-present hot pink geraniums. I’m nothing if not matchy-matchy. Ask anyone. Even my dogs match.
The food is good, although the portions are too large, even for hungry post-hikers like us. My risotto entrée could have fed the city of Milan. By the next night, we decide to share, which is more fun anyway. Perfetto!
The Claremont Hotels’ clubby, chummy Harry’s Bar is the kind of place to snuggle into with a tumbler of bourbon at an antique chessboard. I don’t drink bourbon or play chess, but Harry’s Bar makes me feel like I should. I imagine Harry’s is best visited on nights when the porch is too cold, but that said, I’d be hard-pressed to pass up having a drink there despite the weather.
Swarthy sea captains peer down on us from oil paintings above. I hope Cpt. Jesse doesn’t mind the bar is named after some yahoo named Harry.
A fine balance
I do the math again and get the same outcome. The combo of The Claremont Hotel and a visit to Acadia National Park strikes an ideal balance between luxury and adventure. You need not be an artist, designer, or photographer to appreciate the natural beauty of both. The colors rooted in Acadia and Mount Desert Island are mirrored at the Claremont—gem tones like emeralds, sapphires, and pink tourmaline abound.
A national treasure is defined as ‘something that is greatly valued by the people of a country.’ With its all-encompassing natural beauty, Acadia National Park certainly fits the definition. Combine Acadia National Park with a stay at the Claremont Hotel and they become a treasured pair. “Maine! The way life should be!” Can we agree on that, Barack?
There are countless ways to spend a weekend in and around Joshua Tree National Park. Bike, hike, climb, stargaze. Take a sound bath, watch the sunrise, and spot a shooting star. Rent a vintage Airstream or a modern Airbnb. How you spend a weekend in Joshua Tree is personal, and sometimes spiritual. Need some inspiration to plan a weekend in Joshua Tree? You’re in the right place.
Desert sky Dream beneath the desert sky The rivers run, but soon run dry We need new dreams tonight
—In God’s Country, U2
The Joshua Tree, circa 1987
I storm out of the house. A flimsy metal headband secures foam-covered earbuds to my head. Tangled cords attach my head to a fiery yellow Sony Walkman Sport. The color is appropriate, as it matches my blazing teenage angst.
It’s March of 1987 and U2 has just released The Joshua Tree. Without exaggeration, it’s a defining moment in my ego-centric, music-driven teenage life. The album, their 5th, may have catapulted U2 to superstardom, but I’m already in deep. I know every song lyric from War, Boy, Under a Blood Red Sky, and The Unforgettable Fire, by heart.
I’m 17 years old. Ecstatic and furious at the same time. Two sides of the same record.
I haven’t a clue what a Joshua tree is, or where it’s found. Only now, decades later, do I find myself in God’s Country, the very part of the world that inspired these eleven unforgettable songs.
Joshua Tree, A brief history
Joshua Tree National Park is in southeast California, about 50 minutes from Palm Springs, but easily accessed by car from Los Angeles, Las Vegas, or San Diego. It outsizes the state of Rhode Island ever-so-slightly at 795,156 acres.
It’s named after the signature Joshua trees (Yucca brevifolia) that are native to the Mojave Desert. Joshua trees are succulents closely related to the agave plant. If your mind shoots straight to tequila then you and my husband are kindred spirits.
I learn from Wikipedia, that the Joshua tree is a symbol of faith and hope in the midst of aridity. Early Mormon settlers named them after the prophet Joshua, as the branches reminded them of him raising his arms in prayer.
To me, the shape of the Joshua tree looks like my son when I accuse him of devouring the last two pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. His arms rise up defensively in disbelief while I point out empty cartons of Americone Dream and The Tonight Dough in the garbage bin.
A pile of rocks and a sea of stars
Among the two best reasons to spend a weekend in Joshua Tree are the rocks and the stars. Some of the park’s oldest rocks are 1.7 billion years old and owe their shape to groundwater that has eroded their hard edges. 1.7 billion years is hard to comprehend, and I imagine this ancient timeline contributes to the spirituality of the area.
Golden boulders look like overlapping mounds of soft, drippy sand kids create on the beach. I climb a pile of these massive rocks. In every direction, I see specks of human life. Some are sitting, eyes wide open, absorbing the vortices of the desert. Others are meditating, eyes closed in contemplation. The serenity of the park is palpable. No wonder it attracts 3 million visitors a year.
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A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Stargazing
Joshua Tree National Park is a stargazing utopia. It’s certified by International Dark Sky Parks as one of the best natural ‘dark sky’ places in the world. The IDSP has been ‘protecting the night from light pollution since 1988’. That’s just one year after The Joshua Tree was released. I wonder if Bono knows about this?
With astrotourism (yes, astrological tourism is a thing) on the rise, the eastern side of the park provides some of the darkest skies in the area. If you want to get closer to the universe, this is the place to do it.
Our Airbnb is located about 15 minutes from the park’s west entrance. The sky at night looks infinite in its lunar starkness. We spend hours flat on our backs to take it in.
I try not to blink. The sky is awash in stars brighter than I’ve ever seen. The Milky Way is showing off. More than once a meteor silently screams across the sky, with a long tail of energy trailing behind. Those who see it shout in delight while the ones who don’t pout and say we’ve made it up. This nightly activity is a highlight of my weekend in Joshua Tree. I’d declare myself starry-eyed if it weren’t such an awful pun.
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: The Park
Joshua Tree is easy to tackle in one day, or in our case, just a few hours. Perhaps lounging around the Airbnb all morning with a cappuccino is not the optimal way to plan a national park day. By the time we finally head out we realize our lunch will be so ill-timed it threatens to spill into dinner. Some of us, me, are already hangry.
Since we blow through the park at breakneck speed, I’ll identify must-see places for future reference. I don’t recall which landmarks we visit that day as I’m so ravenous I can’t see straight. Thankfully the park itself is so tranquil and peaceful, that I’m able to put my hunger aside to enjoy it.
A few highlights follow, in semi-logical order. Don’t blame me if you get lost, I’m not a travel advisor for good reason.
A few highlights
The route starting from the south entrance towards the west entrance could look like this:
Cholla Cactus Garden: A great place to begin, especially for sunrise junkies. The masses of soft and fluffy-looking cacti species are sweetly called Teddybear Cholla, but I wouldn’t attempt to cuddle one.
Arch Rock: At 30 feet across, this natural arch at Joshua Tree doesn’t rival its counterparts at Arches National Park, but it’s still worth a look. Joshua Tree allows visitors to climb the boulders making the park feel like a prehistoric playground.
Skull Rock: A rock shaped like, you guessed it, a skull. Kind of underwhelming. Possibly due to the throng of visitors or the straight-up fact that I’m still really hungry. Skull Rock is located just off the side of the road so it’s easy to do a fly-by if the crowds are overwhelming.
Keys View: For sunset chasers, head to Keys View to catch the late afternoon sun that enhances the colors of the landscape. Rivers of the past are now a dusty mocha brown, and snake between the arid valleys. All in all, it’s nothing short of spectacular.
Author’s Note: In case you’re curious about our lunch crisis (and something tells me you’ve quickly forgotten it) I’ll fill you in. We pull up to Pappy & Harriet’s jam-packed parking lot at 230pm and are told there’s a 45-minute wait. Ugh. Next time, I’m packing a picnic.
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Beyond the rocks
Joshua Tree National Park’s surrounding areas have much to offer beyond the park itself. Three of the main nearby towns are Joshua Tree, Yucca Valley, and Twentynine Palms. Each lies within a short drive to one of the park’s three entrances (north, south, or west). Each has its own homestead desert vibe, quirky attractions, and accommodation options.
Rock Shops and Crystals
I don’t plan to visit Joshua Tree to get in touch with my spiritual side, but it’s hard to avoid. The area is oozing with opportunities to experience spirituality. Yoga retreats, sound baths, and ancient vortices are just a few ways to recharge and relax.
The Joshua Tree Rock Shop sells gems and crystals that each have their own characteristics and healing properties. Collect a piece of Amber so you can carry around your very own piece of the sun. Or, Angelite to communicate with Spirit Guides. I buy Amethyst for my daughter, to counter negative energy. And Rose Quartz for myself to cope with negative daughters.
Our trip revolves around a friend’s birthday. We are a group of six, three couples, who have known each other for over 15 years. Between us, we fall into the wide array of types that are drawn to this far-flung part of the country—artists, musicians, writers, and yogis, among us. Joshua Tree is a retreat with wide appeal. It’s hard to imagine anyone not finding comfort and peace here.
Wine and Rocks
With organic wines, craft beers, gems, crystals, stones, and good vibes, the Wine and Rock Shop is as eclectic as they come. Walk in and stock up on Tutu’s Tortilla Chips and a bottle of Gearhead Crazy Sexy Cool wine for a post-hike snack. Leave with a Blue Agate Plate to improve concentration. Wait, what did I come in for again? Go ahead and get distracted. It’s all good here.
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A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Getting Spiritual
The Integraton looks like a 50-year-old sci-fi movie set. Located in Landers, CA, about 20 miles north of the park, and built in 1954, this geodesic structure is a well-known sound bath and a historically recognized place for rejuvenation.
While it’s said to be created according to the design direction of extraterrestrials, the Integraton is worth a visit whether you believe in life beyond our planet or not. I’m pretty open-minded, but can’t quite wrap my head around aliens as art director. If nothing else, its Instagram-ability is reason enough to go.
The Integraton is built on a powerful intersection of geomagnetic forces which is thought to amplify the earth’s magnetic field. The 60-minute sound bath experience promotes sonic healing and total relaxation. As you might imagine, it’s highly popular and needs to be booked well in advance.
Is it all bit woo-woo? Yes! But that’s part of why I’m here. I want to get out of my light-polluted city and into a different mental state. I’d like to explore the desert in all of its glory. If that happens to include lying down under a blanket with 40 strangers in a sci-fi movie-esque, alien-engineered, geo-dome that’s miles from civilization, sign me up.
The experience is, umm, different. I wish I could say I felt the powerful forces of the earth’s magnetism beneath me. I wish I felt electrically charged and noticeably changed afterward. Perhaps I’m not evolved enough. Wearing a face mask didn’t help my breathing technique and someone next to me was snoring. I won’t name names. Enrico.
Jokes aside, it’s an intriguing experience I’d like to do again (sans facemasks) someday. The dome is so ET-friendly that I’m afraid it might get sucked up into space before I get a chance to revisit it.
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Where to stay
Airbnbs are prevalent in Joshua Tree. So much so that the New York Times recently wrote an article begging the question “Is 1,818 Airbnbs Too Many in Joshua Tree?” Our Airbnb, Tierra Del Sol, is so remote we get lost driving the dirt roads back to it at night. To think there are 1,817 others nearby is mind-boggling.
Yet, there’s little doubt the modern desert aesthetic has been rebranded in Joshua Tree, partially due to Instagram and a boom of COVID-induced domestic travel. The ‘Joshua Tree look’ is pretty hard to dislike, especially for those of us on the east coast who don’t live near nude-shaded landscapes with dried botanical gardens and cowhide rugs.
The ‘Joshua Tree look’ can be summed up as boho, high-desert swank sprinkled with bleached-out antlers, hand-woven baskets, rattan poofs, and cowboy hot tubs. That summation is a bit wordy but necessary for accuracy.
Fireplace mantles are oh-so-perfectly staged with stone buddhas, cacti, crystals, and local pottery. Tack on Wolf ranges and Miele built-in coffee machines and you’d think Design Within Reach changed its creative model to Eat-Pray-Love-homestead chic.
Some Airbnbs accessorize their properties with pétanque courts, stand-alone lounges, and windswept, curtain-lined, wedding chapels.
Others boast low eco-footprint, energy-efficient, zero waste accommodations alongside giant gas-lit fire pits.
Others are practically invisible.
PC: The Invisible House
The Invisible House
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the overwhelming, overpublicized, and overpriced Invisible House.
Mirroring nature—and I mean literally mirroring nature, this $4050/night property is set on 90-desert acres. It has, among other amenities, its own 4,000 ft. mountain and 100 ft. indoor pool. It’s a visual feast for those who don’t mind the mountainous price tag.
PC: The Invisible House
The 5500 sq. ft. 22-story horizontal structure sleeps only six, but if you have more guests, fear not. They can stay in the 720 sq. ft. pre-fab ‘escape pod’ somewhere else on the property. Just don’t expect them to still be your friends afterward.
Don’t want to shell out $4050 a night for a weekend at Joshua Tree’s Invisible House? No worries, it can be all yours for the bargain price of $1,750 an hour. Instagram it and get out.
Desert Vintage circa 1975
Airstreams in Joshua Tree are all the rage, not to mention a way to get up close and personal with the desert. The features that accompany some of these vintage trailers are as unusual as the surroundings themselves.
PC: Airbnb
Some Airstreams have swinging queen sized-beds for stargazing. Others have metal barrel hot tubs, outdoor living spaces, and raised wooden decks adorned with twinkling fairy lights. Really? Who needs the fairy lights when you have the starry skies above?
A Weekend in Joshua Tree: Where to eat
The beauty of an Airbnb stay is the ability to cook your own meals. It’s simultaneously a downfall for those who go on vacation to not cook. As always, balance wins. We decide to eat a few lunches out but have breakfasts and dinners in. This turns out to be a hidden blessing as there’s no way we’d be able to find the house at night anyway. This is an International Dark Sky Zone, mind you.
One night a local chef creates a feast for the birthday girl’s dinner, while other nights we grill, sit by the fire pit, and stargaze with a bottle of wine.
For those seeking ultra-fine dining, the desert is not the place for you. Most restaurants are casual and informal.
Worth a mention
La Copine: This 42-seat highway-side, uber-casual eatery attracts foodies for miles. And for good reason. Said to have the best fried chicken in the desert (am I the only one wondering where the chickens live in the desert?) the menu tackles items like artichoke toast, Spanish crispy rice, and duck confit among other culinary delights. Eclectic indeed, and highly sought after.
Pappy & Harriett’s: Go early or don’t go, in my humble opinion. But if you’re as hungry as I am when you arrive, everything will taste as if it’s prepared by a Michelin-starred chef.
A convivial hangout if there ever was one, Pappy’s is the place to listen to live music, dance, and throw back a pint of beer along with some baby back ribs. If you have to wait for a table—AND YOU WILL—you can pass the time in Pioneertown, conveniently located a short walk behind the restaurant.
Pioneertown is as cheesy as it sounds. Built as an old western movie set in the 40s, it has all of the expected kitsch from the General Store, Red Dog Saloon, and fancy soap goats. Ok, maybe that part is not expected. What’s a soap goat? Maybe you can find out. You’ll have lots of time to kill.
The Natural Sisters Cafe:The website reads “Food made with kindness, focus and love.” Who can argue with that philosophy? Known for vegetarian and plant-based wraps, sandwiches, and smoothies, this local eatery caters to the breakfast and lunch crowd. Located close to the Joshua Tree entrance, it’s an especially good spot to hit before you head into the park.
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Outside it’s America
On the last morning of our short weekend in Joshua Tree, I wake up before sunrise. On purpose. This is unusual for me. I value sleep more than just about anything, except perhaps wine and coffee.
I sneak outside just as the first rays are rising over the distant mountains, some of which are still snow-capped in March. The mountain range silhouette is razor-sharp on this unusually cold morning. I race back inside to grab a blanket (in shades of desert neutrals, naturally) wooly hat, and fuzzy birks. Desert cold is no joke.
It’s worth the early hour and cold feet. The scene illustrates why an Irish band would pay homage to the open spaces of America. I summon up the theatrical and melodic notes of Where The Streets Have No Name—the first song on the album. I stand still.
It’s written in the Stars
As I write, the haunting harmony of The Joshua Tree envelops me—this time tangle-free on my wireless AirPods and iPhone 13. The music is as ethereal and transporting as it was then. But now I listen to it through the framework of Joshua Tree—the place.
What connected me to the music back then is realized decades later on the deck of this gorgeous desert house. The soundtrack of my teenage life comes back with a roar. Milky blue desert skies and cracked riverbeds are lyrical elements of U2’s best-selling album. They define the music and this vast landscape, but also a state of mind. I vow to see the park again one day to spend more time absorbing it.
When I do, I’ll make sure I eat first.
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I’m at Black Coffee, sitting on a cushy, green leather banquette—my usual spot. On my right are two well-heeled Washingtonians talking about Koks, a two-Michelin-starred restaurant in, wait for it—the Faroe Islands. I can’t contain my excitement! I know Koks–it’s on my travel wish list! How in the world do they know about Koks? I’m dying to ask. Then reconsider.
That would be weird.
My excitement manifests physically. It’s like I’ve had six espresso shots in as many minutes. I’m quite literally bouncing off the banquette. The women leave rather suddenly. I wonder if my bouncing has something to do with it.
What’s the point?
Let me back up a few hours—to 8am in my kitchen. I settle into a swivel chair with an oat milk cappuccino. I swirl, twirl, and sip while playing Worlde, Quordle, and Spelling Bee. This perky combination of caffeine and wordplay ignites my brain on even the dreariest DC mornings.
That the outcome of these games determines my mood is an overstatement. But I’d be lying if I said the days I get Wordle-in-two doesn’t feel good. Combine that with ‘genius’ status on Spelling Bee and a winning Quordle, and it’s the trifecta of morning happiness. Sometimes I go right back to bed, exhausted from having overachieved so early in the day.
I’ve devoted a paragraph to my New York Times-centric morning routine for good reason. ‘Geez, get to the point already!’, you’re thinking. The point is, while most mornings are uneventful and dominated by a trio of silly brainteasers, some days I overhear a pair of chatty women in a coffee shop, and my brain kicks into overdrive.
Travel talk gives me a jolt as powerful as those six shots of espresso. It fuels me in a way that can only be described in multiple coffee-related metaphors. As illustrated by my encounter at Black Coffee, being a participant in the conversation is irrelevant.
Travel Wish Lists
My travel wish list has been curated from multiple trustworthy sources. Sources likeCondé Nast Traveler’s ‘Gold List’, Travel+Leisure’s ‘It List’, Forbes Travel Guide’s Star Award Winners, and San Pellegrino’s ‘World’s Best List’. And increasingly more often from the most-addictive travel resource ever—Instagram. My wish list is always at hand, by which I mean is on my phone, which is always in my hand.
‘But, where to begin?’ My travel wish list is a lengthy, unorganized account of hotels, lodges, countries, cities, ranches, and restaurants. An inventory of adventures, experiences, and expeditions. Describing them all would far exceed my typical 2500-word count.
I pause to think. (This pause lasts a week). My brain, only moments ago on a Quorldle high, is now creatively stuck. I’m swimming in mental cement.
Aha! I’ll list my top five travel wish lists. Not only will it be entertaining to write, but it will also force me to organize this ongoing, unsystematic list that has been vexing me for years.
PC: Hotel Esencia
Wish List v. Lust List
Years ago, I created an entry in my ‘Notes’ app called, ‘Travel Lust’. For the sake of SEO, I’m renaming it Travel Wish List. If you think the words Travel Wish List are being overused already, it’s not by accident. Anyone who’s had experience with Search Engine Optimization will understand why. And, I certainly don’t want this post to rank for ‘lust’. That’s someone else’s blog, I mean, website.
My top five travel wish lists in five categories follow. Hotels and Resorts, Lodges and Retreats, Experiences, Countries, and Culinary Adventures. One winner and four other winners per category. There are no losers, it’s a wish list remember.
This is going to be fun, and possibly very expensive—for all of us.
Last month, a friend sent me an article about Hotel Esencia, in Mexico. After reading it, I sent it to my husband Daniel, explaining my deep need to go there. He now deeply dislikes her.
This happens often, much to my husband’s chagrin. Many of these seemingly harmless emails turn into future three-night, non-refundable deposits. My list is longer than I have time or money to accomplish. But please, keep sending. Daniel will need to postpone retirement for a few more years. I’m sure he’s ok with that.
PC: Hotel Esencia
Esencia sky-rocketed to the top of my travel wish list. Conceptualized by a Hollywood producer and entrepreneur, the hotel’s 45 rooms and suites, and three uber-sophisticated villas were once the private hideaway of Italian duchess, Rosa de Ferrari. Lucky duchess.
Quiet, unassuming, and refined luxury abounds. Located between Tulum and Cancún, Esencia’s home-away-from-home vibe is intentional (that is, if your home is beachside, flanked by jungles, and includes sea turtle nesting grounds).
Morning treats are delivered to rooms through secret cubby holes. That’s pretty irresistible. I imagine enjoying warm brioches and flaky croissants while lounging in my pjs. The bold, bright tropical decor adds to the hotel’s glamour. It reminds me of Mondrian, the Dutch painter who rejected perceived reality and stripped form down to its most basic elements. Esencia’s palette is a refreshing change from most Mexican resorts which rely heavily on traditional colors and rustic furnishings.
The yoga loft is insta-perfect, with ecru, crocheted hammocks hanging below an open-air wooden platform. My savasana would surely last hours, which would put me at risk of missing afternoon cocktails. I’d best leave the chaturangas to Daniel.
PC: Hotel Esencia
USP (Unique Selling Point):
Esencia’s two-story, Rooftop Wellness Suite is the ultimate in modern Mayan jungle luxury. With a full-sized pool, multiple terraces, and a private fitness studio (including a Peloton bike and The Mirror), I see no compelling reason to leave it. As an aside, I see no compelling reason for a private fitness studio, either. I’m on holiday. I’ll punish myself with The Mirror when I get home, thank you.
This premiere suite acts as a ‘hotel within a hotel’ at this sweeping 50-acre estate. So, if you’d like to go on a resort holiday without having to see another soul, Hotel Esencia is the place for you. It’s most definitely the place for me.
PC: Hotel Esencia
Note: August 26, 2022. As I place the finishing touches on this post, Forbes Travel Guide has just announced today that Hotel Esencia earned its coveted five-star award for 2022. Well deserved Esencia, but now I’ll never be able to get a reservation.(See how I’m able to be both topical and tropical at the same time here?)
Each of these hotels and brands is not only top of its class in terms of service and accommodations but also takes style and artistry to innovative levels.
Swoon over the organic architecture and natural coastal beauty at Post Ranch Inn. Spot the elusive Quetzal in Costa Rica at Hacienda AltaGracia. Prepare to get lost in the Montana wilderness, at One&Only’s first US-based resort. The Four Seasons’ San Domenico Palace in Italy is a restored 14th-century convent with views of Mount Etna. Enough said.
Click the links at your own risk. Yes, they are expensive. Whoever said, ‘you can’t take it with you,’ is my soul mate.
I’m reluctant to write about Islas Secas. I don’t want you to know about it. Yes, that’s how selfish I am. That I’d rather not write about a hot, new destination for fear that you get there before I do is indefensible.
I’d like to go to Panama before every else has it on their radar. Ten years ago we told friends we were headed to Costa Rica. We may as well have said we were taking the kids to North Korea on a beach holiday. Look at Costa Rica now—the epicenter of spring break family travel.
As is evident by its name, Islas Secas is an island. An archipelago, to be more clear, comprised of 14 volcanic islands off the Pacific coast of the country. With iconographic names like Isla Barracuda, Isla Iguana, and Isla Coco, I imagine days snorkeling beside shiny, snake-like fish, photographing colorful reptiles, and drinking from oversized coconuts. Over-caffeinated yet again, my imagination runs wild.
Panamanian design is everywhere; light, breezy tactile fabrics, plantation shutters, and thatched rooftops. The four-bedroom Casita Grande looks especially captivating. I daydream about a milestone birthday there. It could be mine, a friend’s, or a neighbor’s. I’m not going to be picky.
PC: Islas Secas
USP:
The website affirms Islas Secas’ devotion to sustainable and nature-driven tourism. It tempts me with stats like 750 species of fish, 80 species of birds, and humpback whale-watching.
When I read the website, I almost can’t bear it. I bounce again, the universal sign for overexcitement.
I think you should go. And I think you should take me with you.
It’s a secret to no one who keeps up with luxury and adventure retreats that these four make the list. Known for tailor-made, one-of-a-kind experiences, Eleven Experience owns 13 remote properties around the world. Its Colorado-based Taylor River Lodge was once a local fishing and tackle shop before it became an off-the-grid, eight-cabin river retreat.
Auberge-owned Bishop’s Lodge in Santa Fe embraces the rich mountain colors of New Mexico’s Sangre de Cristo range. Each room, with woven Navajo rugs and textiles, is a sanctuary unto its own.
Kachi or Mashpi? Both/and, please. This duo of South American lodges is equally breathtaking. Mashpi Lodge is set deep in the Chocó-Andean Cloud Forest. No, I didn’t make that up. Conversely, Kachi Lodge sits at the foot of the Tunupa Volcano, and atop Bolivia’s famed Uyuni Salt Flats. Cloud Forest or Salt Flat? How to choose? I’ll repeat. Both/and.
Wish List Winner: Explore the Galápagos Islands via Pikaia Lodge
I must have a thing for archipelagos because here I am adding yet another to my list. Archipelagos are obviously all the rage.
PC: Pikaia Lodge
One thousand kilometers off of the Ecuadorian coast lies 19 islands of marine wonders—the Galápagos Islands. They are often referred to as a ‘unique living museum of evolution’. If that isn’t a tantalizing travel soundbite, I don’t know what is.
That the Galápagos Islands’ wildlife lacks natural predators is pretty well-known. This is partly due to the islands’ volcanic origin and extreme remoteness. I’d love to swim with sea lions, dolphins, and giant tortoises. I want to admire exotic birds and uncover species that don’t exist anywhere else in the world. The animals are approachable and tame (and I hear they love the camera). Sign me up.
USP:
Pikaia Lodge’s prime access to this extraordinary part of the world is why it pairs so organically with a Galápagos Island adventure. Pikaia Lodge is a luxury eco-adventure property with cutting-edge architecture and a strong environmentally conscious mindset. Its 14 rooms sit 450 meters above sea level on the edge of an extinct volcano. I’ve always wanted to stay on the edge of an extinct volcano, (rather than an active one), naturally.
PC: Pikaia Lodge
Pikaia Lodge is entirely carbon-neutral and is made up of stone, lava, glass, and steel. This striking architectural combination doesn’t attempt to steal the limelight from the landscape. It looms high over Santa Cruz Island as if it too is leisurely observing the wonders of the Galápagos.
Hiking at Acadia National Park complements my passion for photographing panoramic views. A vineyard stay in Bordeaux embraces my obsession with cabernets, berets, and soufflés. (I don’t actually like berets, but I’ll do anything for cadence). My love of wildlife would be taken to extremes in Antarctica and Africa.
Narrowing down my top five travel experiences is a challenge. Each time I think I have a final list, another idea emerges. It’s like whack-a-mole in my head. That these five experiences align with my favorite activities is no surprise. What is a surprise is how well these wish lists are acting as birthday, anniversary, and Christmas gift lists, too! I’m nothing if not efficient.
PC: Dylan Shaw, Unsplash
My Travel Wish List: 2 /Countries
Wish List Winner: The Faroe Islands
Do you know where the Faroe Islands are? Despite my current obsession with this self-governing nation, I didn’t know exactly where they were either. I’ve since learned this archipelago of 18 mountainous islands (yes, another archipelago!) is located halfway between Scotland and Iceland and is named after sheep. I love sheep! Now, I want to go there more than ever.
PC: Marc Zimmer, Unsplash
Turf-roofed houses are nurtured by the year-round rainy climate. Even your year-round rain isn’t enough to deter me, Faroe Islands. And I hate getting wet.
PC: Lynn Fae, Unsplash
The hamlets of the Faroe Islands are the stuff of fairy tales. Frodo would feel at home in the shire-like countryside. Lakes, lagoons, and lighthouses are all virtually untouched by tourism. At least for the moment. That I’d like to get there before everyone else reinforces just how selfish I am.
Four other winners:
Panama
Bolivia
Ecuador
Namibia
Why did these make the list?
If you’ve read this far, it’s clear why these countries round out this travel wish list. They each have resorts, hotels, retreats, or experiences I would love to visit or do one day. They are also countries not quite on the mainstream travel radar.
What a coincidence! If you believe in coincidences, that is. The restaurant at the top of my culinary wish list is located at the top of my country wish list—the Faroe Islands. A visit there would be a travel wish list twofer. I wonder if I’ve lost Daniel by now?
Chef Poul Andrias Ziska is the culinary creator-in-chief behind Koks (which since my morning at Black Coffee, I learn has been temporarily relocated to Greenland). That’s ok, I’m in no rush. That he uses mainly Faroese ingredients in his Michelin-starred dishes compels me to open up another tab and find out exactly what those ingredients are.
PC: Claes Bech-Poulsen
Being a set of islands should be a significant clue. However, beyond fish and seafood, the Faroese diet consists of organic lamb, fermented meat, and root vegetables like kohlrabi, turnips, and rhubarb. I wonder if the two ladies at Black Coffee are aware of this?
Koks is known as the ‘world’s most remote foodie destination.’ Its imaginative dishes follow the seasons and its architecture follows the traditional Nordic style. I will follow Koks anywhere, even to Greenland, if I have to.
Left, PC: Claes Bech-Poulsen Right, PC: Beinta á Torskilsheyggi
Dine in the gardens of Arles-based, Michelin-starred La Chassagnette or at farm-inspired micro-seasonal Single Thread in Healdsburg, California. Their spectacular settings match their equally spectacular culinary offerings.
With no sign and one table, Restaurant été, run by female chef Natsuko Shoji, is one of the most coveted reservations in Tokyo. Her French-Japanese-inspired menu is considered flawless, as is her sense of style and design.
Finally, Three Chimneys marks yet another impossible-to-reach-but-worth-the-effort restaurant. It’s hidden on the dramatic shores of Loch Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye. The Nordic-Scottish epicurean experience can only be topped with a night’s stay at adjoining House-Over-By. Those Scots are nothing if not literal.
On the surface, these lists seem superficial. ‘I want to go here. Eat there. Do this.’ I dig deeper into the ‘why’ and notice it’s the experiences I crave. Would I like those experiences to be in or near lovely places, at nice hotels, and with extraordinary food? Why, yes I would
There are many ways to experience cultures, countries, and food. Less expensive ways and more authentic ways, no doubt. This is my wish list so I get to choose the way I want to explore the world. You get to choose yours.
My lists are both aspirational and inspirational. Reading about them makes me happy. Sharing them with you makes me happier (earlier selfishness aside). Going to them would make me ecstatic.
Go big or stay home
My daily life in Washington DC revolves around a one-mile radius. I go to Black Coffee for golden lattes, Millie’s for overpriced salads, CVS to channel inner patience, and Battery Kemble Park to walk my labs. I like my routine, it centers me.
Sometimes inspiration strikes, whether by eavesdropping at Safeway or reading the Sunday Style section of the New York Times. I write lists. Sometimes those lists lead to trips where I leave my DC bubble and discover a far-flung corner of the globe. Sometimes they gather dust up there on the cloud.
But, the days I get Wordle-in-two? Watch out world, anything can happen.
Author’s Note: I am grateful to the hotels, resorts, restaurants, and lodges who kindly gave me high-res photos for use in this post. I’m also using Unsplash for the first time, and praise the photographers who are giving away their gorgeous photos for free. Typically, I only feature my own photos. But alas, if I had my own pictures of these stunning places, they wouldn’t be on my wish list.
If you ever want to get in touch, ask a question, or discuss a way to partner, please email me at [email protected].
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Did you know that a whopping $100 million dollars worth of luxury products are stolen from hotels each year?
You’d be surprised by what disappears. Or, maybe you wouldn’t be.
Hotel toiletries, pens, and notepads are free, aren’t they? But where does complimentary end and grand larceny begin? Guests have been known to take robes, towels, pillows, bedding, artwork, silverware, and mattresses. Yes, even mattresses number among the many luxury hotel products guests try to sneak past the front desk at checkout each year.
Occasionally, I’ve found items in hotel rooms I’d like to steal, I mean, take home. Luxury hotel products that have been curated by a designer with my identical sense of style and hygge. Things I covet from the moment I see them, touch them, or smell them.
So what’s the protocol on ‘included’ items versus the ones that will send you on an all-inclusive stay at Rikers? I’d like to see the manual, please.
Post-Pandemic Pampering
Luxury hotel products I crave usually fall into the creature comfort category. Linens, bath soaps, blankets, and candles are examples of items I’d love to stuff into my carry-on at the end of a trip. The desire to replicate the hotel room’s scent and ambiance in my own home is tempting.
Let’s flip the narrative. What if the luxury hotel products we’d like to take, we instead decide to track down and buy? More aspirational. Less illegal. Isn’t the reason these irresistible products are on display is so that we become future clients? That’s my rationale. It’s all a part of a master branding and marketing plan, which I fall for every time.
My Top Five Luxury Hotel Products
Read on for five luxury hotel products I’ve fallen in love with and eventually purchased. Ones I’ve googled, ordered, and found waiting at my doorstep before our plane touched down at Dulles. Need a little post-pandemic pampering? Which little hotel luxuries will you fall for?
And how, exactly, does one steal a mattress?
5/Sferra blankets, Amangiri
Sferra, in brief: In 1891, Italian-born Gennaro Sferra took a steamer across the Atlantic for a stab at the American Dream. His company sold exquisite lace, cuffs, and collars to the East Coast elite and socialites. Today, Sferra is a celebrated brand of luxury textiles, with products ranging from super-fine Merino wool throws to rare Egyptian cotton bedding.
Sferra maintains its linens were the in-flight bedding for Pope John Paul II. And says its fabrics topped the tables of Reagan-era state dinners. While I don’t have enough status on United to warrant custom bedding, Sferra linens can at least grace my dining room table at Thanksgiving.
Props to the source: I discovered Sferra at Amangiri, a boutique hotel located in the Escalante National Monument foothills of southern Utah. Aman resorts have a knack for creating rooms so enticing that we never want to leave them. They simultaneously offer one-of-a-kind excursions that make us constantly yearn for the outdoors. A champagne problem, indeed.
Our suite, a study in desert neutrals, had uninterrupted views of caramel-colored dunes, mountains, and scenic plateaus. Upon entering, a pop of bright orange caught my eye. A Sferra throw, (aptly named Paprika, I’d later discover), was draped across the sofa.
Paprika became my new BFF. I wrapped it around me each evening while searching for shooting stars. I swaddled myself in it while reading the latest Kristin Hannah bestseller. My husband felt replaced. Did I want to stuff Paprika into my roller bag? Absolutely. But I didn’t. Sourcing Sferra was only a click away.
And who wants to get blacklisted from Aman? Not me.
Why I love Sferra: The combination of hues, textures, weights, and patterns of Sferra blankets and throws is dizzying. With seductive, nature-inspired colors like Silver Sage, Slate, Lilac, and Lake, try to buy just one. I couldn’t.
We now have Sferra throws (Merlot, Mushroom, and Moss among them) piled strategically throughout the house. A luxury hotel product that speaks to my homebody nature and keeps me toasty on cool DC nights. And of course, I have my very own Paprika.
Aesop, in brief: Headquartered in sunny Melbourne, Australia, Aesop has been in business since 1987. How this blissful brand escaped me my entire adult life is a question I can’t answer.
Aesop says their objective is ‘to formulate skin, hair, and body care products of the finest quality.’ Not an incredibly unique objective, frankly. It’s possible Aesop is spending its budget on ingredients rather than PR. Thankfully Aesop products require no explanation. If you haven’t tried the Geranium Leaf Body Cleanser, open up another tab and get an order going.
Props to the source:Dunton Hot Springs, a property with fourteen log cabins set in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado is where I first found Aesop. Its vast 1500 acres are flanked by majestic mountains, cool waterfalls, and the serpentine Dolores River. A natural playground for the multitude of activities it offers.
Our family stayed at the Potter House, set at the top of the property overlooking a pond filled with busy beavers. The bathroom had full-sized 16.9 fl oz Aesop products, rather than impossible-to-open, single-use ones. Dunton’s trust in its guests was implicit.
With my newfound hotel-thieving insights, I can’t help but wonder how many bottles are taken each year. Perhaps they don’t mind or don’t know. Most likely, I paid for them one way or another.
Why I love Aesop: The scents, naturally. Take your pick: citrus, woody, herbaceous, earthy, smoky, or spicy. The Geranium Leaf scent still takes me back to our spectacular week at Dunton Hot Springs. The simple and bold, typography-driven designed labels speak to the graphic designer in me. And not for nothing, they also look really good on the shower ledge.
New West KnifeWorks, in brief: Corey Milligan, the founder of New West KnifeWorks, runs his company from oh-so-picturesque Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Corey says his passion for creating fine cutlery is matched by his love of food and aims to bring joy to the chore of cooking. I’m definitely in need of that, Corey.
That said, Corey’s knives can be found in the homes of everyday cooks as well as professional ones. Nancy Silverton, of LA’s Osteria Mozza fame, wields Corey’s critically-acclaimed knives. But you certainly don’t have to be a James Beard Award winner to own one.
Props to the source: The first time I noticed New West’s knives was while visiting Amangani. If the colorful cutlery had somehow eluded me there, I would’ve certainly spotted it when dining at the nearby restaurant, Snake River Grill. This might not be a typical luxury hotel product to desire, but then again, Amangani is far from typical.
Amangani is a low-profile and high-impact property perched upon a hilltop just outside of town. With illustrative snow-capped mountain views and green pastures of cows below, Amangani’s vibe is modern rustic lodge-chic. A worthwhile destination in Jackson no matter what the season.
Why I love New West KnifeWorks: Created with American-made steel, New West knives are strong and razor-sharp (certainly a must-have for a knife company). But, the USP (unique selling point) is its extraordinary and whimsical beauty.
Each G-Fusion steak knife is an individual work of art, designed with glass-woven fabric and epoxy resin. To me, that’s just a technical way of saying they are incredibly cool. Less technical are their illustrative and fanciful names: Peacock, Sunburst, Cadet, Lichen, and Huckleberry. A luxury hotel product that’s both beautiful and functional? I’m all in.
Our New West knives always remind me of tackling the Tetons, Amangani, and dinner at Snake River. And when I grill a steak at home, I always choose Sunburst.
The Citizenry, in brief: Established with the concept of celebrating the people behind their products, The Citizenry believes ‘homes should be reflections of the journeys we take.’ My beliefs exactly, The Citizenry! They partner with artisans across the globe to produce bedding, blankets, and home accessories that mirror that philosophy.
College friends Rachel Bentley and Carly Nance co-founded The Citizenry in 2014, inspired by objects and materials they discovered while traveling the world together. Ghana, Guatemala, Mali, and Morocco are just a few of the places where they found artisans to create their home goods.
I feel like Rachel and Carly should be my friends, too. I wonder where they are going next, and if they’d let me join.
Props to the source: Five minutes after falling into the ultra-cushy bed at the newly opened green o, in Montana, my husband bolted upright, and snapped on the bedside lamp. ‘We have to get these sheets!’, he exclaimed. For those who know Daniel, exclaiming is unusual. Of all the things I could’ve predicted to come out of his mouth at that moment, this would’ve been the last one. Since when did Daniel notice the thread count?
In fact, our tree haus at the green o was filled with items worth lusting after. Cozy blankets so dense I lost my glasses in them. Lush, waffled bathrobes and towels, and a modern desk lamp. This combination of highly-curated objects created a laid-back oasis. I wanted to steal, take, bring home every little luxury product in the haus. But mostly, I wanted the bedding.
Why I love The Citizenry: I may not have known what french flax linen was then, but I knew I wanted it. The website says the bedding is woven in the oldest, family-run linen mill in Portugal which in itself is a good enough reason to buy it.
The Citizenry sheets and bedding are stonewashed which makes the textured linen softer with each wash. The overall look is disheveled-chic, and ever-so-slightly wrinkled to make our bed even more enticing. If it was hard to get up in the mornings before we had The Citizenry bedding, it’s nearly impossible now.
It’s Daniel’s fault, as I remind him every morning.
Pretentious Glass, in brief: Matthew Cummings is the owner, founder, and glassblower-in-chief of Pretentious Glass. Mr. Cummings spent years cultivating a relationship with Blackberry Mountain, a wellness retreat nestled in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee not far from his studio in Knoxville. A fine art sculptor turned commercial artist, Cummings’ creations in glass are a modern, festive, take on classic styles.
Props to the source: On our three-day girl’s trip to Blackberry Mountain, we spent much of our time hiking, sound bathing, and eating. But we also spent much of our time ‘rehydrating’. The Firetower bar, at the peak of the property, was a great place to settle with a cocktail and a glass of wine. I would soon learn that all of the glassware at Blackberry Mountain was created by Pretentious Glass.
Why I love Pretentious Glass: At dinner, I fell in love with our decanter’s fanciful design. I swore it made our cabernet taste bolder, which then made the food taste better, and our night even funner. (Yes, I know funner isn’t a word, but it should be).
I tried to buy one on the spot to no avail. In fact, they aren’t for sale even on Matthew’s website. I’m still trying to get my hands on one to this day. I don’t give up easily, Matthew. Be warned.
In the meantime, I’m content to purchase other hand-blown glassware from Pretentious Glass. For Father’s Day, I bought Daniel four Subtle Beer Glasses. The designs are truly extraordinary, sculpted to fit his hand like a well-worn baseball mitt. I wish I liked beer just to have an excuse to use one.
Stealing Time, among other things
Ever curious about what the rules are when it comes to what’s included in a hotel stay, I dug deeper. I’m a rule follower. I get nervous when I color outside of the lines. If a bathroom is for customers only, I become a customer. I’m not sure where this annoying moral compass comes from but will make a note to take a deep dive with my therapist next Thursday.
While in some cases, it’s a blurry line, others are razor sharp. Maybe it depends on one’s perspective. Pens, toiletries, and notepads all seem legit. Take a robe, towel, or duvet and you may get charged for it eventually. Walking out with artwork and furniture seems downright illegal.
But hey, that might just be me.
Here’s a list of the most commonly stolen luxury hotel room items:
And for those still wondering how to steal a mattress? Apparently, your best bet is to sneak it out in the middle of the night and hope there’s a sleepy bellman on duty. Happy travels!
“Winter in Finland? Are you crazy? Who does that?”
Having been on the receiving end of these questions not long ago, I gave my answers heavy thought. ‘Yes.’, ‘Unclear.’, and ‘Me, apparently.’ I don’t have the stats on winter tourism in Finland. But, I can say with absolute certainty, that for those who crave unusual and adrenaline-filled adventures, winter in Finland is the place to go.
Read on for details of our week of snow-filled adventures in the Arctic. Who knew there would be so much to say about a vacation spent in almost complete darkness?
Is it crazy to go to Finland in the dead of winter? You decide.
2:58am
Winter In Finland
I wanted to go to Finland to witness the Northern Lights. In Finnish Lapland, I was told, seeing the lights is all but guaranteed. What other reason would anyone travel to a place with 22 hours of inescapable darkness each day? Why go, if not to see this spectacular natural phenomenon—the Aurora Borealis.
This was a family trip, however, and the rest of my crew had little interest in the Northern Lights. I had to convince them there were endless things to do in Finland in December. Were there? I started to panic, then googled ’winter in Finland’.
276,000,000 results. We were going to be just fine.
Explorations and Expectations
Winter in Finland, I assume incorrectly, is solely about the Northern Lights. As every Finn already knows, the lights are not the reason to come—they’re merely a bonus. Winter in Finland is a layered experience. One that is, at times, as subtle as an elongated afternoon shadow. Or, as obvious as the sound of dry snow crunching underfoot.
I expect unique cold-weather activities, like dog-sledding and ice-carting. I expect warm fires, hot drinks, and cozy if unusual, meals. What I don’t expect is the chance to be fully immersed in Finnish culture. To take part in centuries-old customs, like having tea inside a traditional Kota. The opportunity to get under the skin of this harsh, remote, and majestic polar landscape.
How does a person who isn’t fond of being cold, cold-weather activities, and long, dark days end up falling for the Arctic? It’s all about the adventure.
1:04pm
Where Is Lapland?
You don’t know? Ok, I didn’t either. Thankfully there’s this wonderful website called Wikipedia that answers all questions that ever need answering. If Wikipedia doesn’t know the answer, then it isn’t a question.
Wikipedia tells me that Lapland is the region of northern Europe that lies within the Arctic Circle. It includes the northernmost parts of Sweden, Norway, Finland, and Russia and is home to the Sámi people.
Finnish Lapland has about 10,000 native Sámi and is widely associated with Christmas, Santa Claus, and the North Pole. Truth be told, it has the infrastructure for year-round tourism that extends well beyond St. Nick.
Geography lesson complete. Let’s move on to the fun part.
Normally, I write about our accommodations first, to set the stage (literally) for our trips. Winter in Finland is unlike other places we’ve traveled to. It’s more like planning a polar safari than a traditional vacation. Whereas typically, I start my searches with a hotel or resort then back out to activities and excursions, Finland flips the script. It’s more about what to do than where to do it.
I consider how to best order our family’s week of Arctic adventures, of which there are four main daytime highlights. I use the term ‘daytime’ loosely, as the sun rises at 11am and sets at 1pm.
That’s not a typo. Twenty or so hours of near-pitch darkness illuminated nightly by a few billion twinkling stars. Of all varieties of darkness, this is the most beautiful, no doubt.
Aha! I’ll ask the kids to weigh in. They don’t agree on the order. Have they ever agreed on anything? What follows are personal rankings from Ella (17), and Chase (15).
Keep in mind these are teenagers, that weird breed of human who’s impossible to please. Salty and moody most waking hours, of which there are few. Demonstrative happiness is rare.
Until Finland, that is.
9:45am
Ice Carting (Chase #1, Ella #3)
Our alarm goes off at 9am. It’s pitch-dark outside. Let me be more clear. It’s obsidian dark, raven dark, swarthy, inky, coal mine dark. This is winter in Finland, I remind myself again.
Oh, and it’s -7 degrees. ‘What am I doing here?’. My lifeline, the in-room Nespresso machine, is only a few feet away. I crawl towards it like a weary polar explorer discovering shelter. That’s pretty dramatic. A luxury polar explorer. This room is pretty cushy.
Lapland winter activities are well-timed and designed to overlap the fleeting light-filled hours of the day. Yet without light cues, it’s hard to wake up despite the civilized hour.
The Arctic gods are testing us. Our coldest day aligns with our coldest outdoor activity—ice carting. If we survive this, the days ahead will feel like spring.
Nikita is our guide for the week. We pile into his toasty, pre-heated van. I’m wearing 14 layers of clothing and immediately begin to sweat. It seems I have much to learn about the art of layering.
At the gear hut, we add on a full-body snowsuit, along with balaclavas, helmets, and heat warmers for our gloves and boots. I’ve quickly surmised that fashion is utterly irrelevant in the Arctic, but don’t ever say that to your 17-year-old daughter.
The track outside looks desolate. Our Finnish instructors are doing jumping jacks to keep warm. A bad sign. I couldn’t do a jumping jack if I tried. Layered up, I weigh nearly 250 pounds.
10:30am
The Fun Part
I’ve painted a bleak picture. But, the minute I hit the gas on the ice cart everything else is forgotten. I’m instantly taken back to my amusement park days at the Jersey shore. My competitive side kicks into high gear. I’m the worst driver in my family, which is depressing as my son doesn’t even have a license yet.
The extreme cold is blunted by extreme fun. On a glossy sheet of ice, we push the limits of our inner NASCAR drivers. We ‘accidentally’ crash into one another, which is frowned upon. These are not bumper cars. Luckily, our guides are too immersed in their cardio workout to notice.
The wind on my face, while cold, is exhilarating. Ice flakes crystallize our eyebrows and eyelashes. They sting our nose hairs. TMI? The guttural sound of revving engines is Pavlovian and I go full throttle. Lewis Hamilton would be impressed with my performance.
11:58am
Winners and Loser
After several laps, our instructors stop exercising and signal us off the track. It’s time for a hot drink and snack. This, we will learn, is the routine that makes all Finnish winter activities tolerable. A mid-activity break to warm the senses. It’s noon. Is the sun going up or down? It’s too hard to tell. I’m too cold to care.
We drink hot berry tea from traditional Finnish cups at the trackside fire pit. It’s a moment to recalibrate before the finalé—a ‘friendly’ family race. I look over at the track. It reminds me of my TYCO Challenge 100 electric racing set, circa 1983. I channel my lost inner tomboy and prepare my racing mindset.
I slink back into my cart and start the engine. The flag goes down and I hit the gas with all 250 lbs of body weight behind me. My cart slides off the track as often as my electric race car did in 1983. Needless to say, I lose. Everyone else in my family, however, claims to win. And since we can’t tell who is who under all of the matching gear, we will never know for sure.
At 130pm, we return to the lodge for lunch. We argue over who won the race and decide how to spend the remainder of the day, I mean, night. For me, sauna, read, and sit by the fire.
Beana Laponia, the family-run boutique lodge where we are staying, owns over 500 huskies. Interestingly, we learn they’ve been brought over from Alaska. Today, we are going to enjoy the peaceful sport of dog sledding. Our guide, Toni (the dog whisperer of Finland), has an ease and lightness about him that belies his 20-something years.
It’s a balmy, windless, 5 degrees outside. Toni is dressed like he’s about to take on the Back Bowls of Vail in spring. I wear fewer layers than yesterday, but not many. Toni gives us vital instructions on maneuvering the sleds and controlling the speed of the 17 huskies. I can’t hear a word he is saying. The dogs are yelping and barking at a decibel level that’s shaking the snow off the trees.
I let Ella drive first. Maybe she’s heard Toni’s instructions? I slide under the sled’s warm reindeer pelt. My view is less than ideal, lining up directly with the backsides of two decidedly male huskies. They leap over one another as if the snow beneath their paws is on fire. The howling could wake the dead. My ears are ringing. Am I having fun yet?
11:51am
The Fun Part
Then the most amazing thing happens. Toni unleashes the sleds, and all at once, the world quiets. What was a tangle of huskies, ropes, and primal howling is now instantaneously tranquil.
The sounds of shushing sleds and huffing huskies envelop me. I take a deep breath and notice how the low-angled winter sun creates long dramatic shadows on the snow. Our color landscape reads black and white, and the snow-laden pines disappear into the milky sky.
Since I’m not driving, I get to take photos and admire the views. Not the view directly in front of me, mind you. The pines are dressed for winter, bundled up in their fluffy white coats, and huddled together like a troop of weary soldiers. The branches keel under the weight of heavy snow, which every so often surprises us with an invigorating snow shower.
12:02pm
Later, over the mid-ride fire Toni builds on a mound of snow (yes, he’s that bad-ass), and we learn each litter of huskies has themed names. The ‘candy’ litter includes pups called Bounty and Snickers. But not Mars, however, who belongs in the ‘planet’ litter with Pluto and Venus. Toni tells there’s a ‘virus’ litter with variants like Delta and Omicron. But, that could just be Finnish humor I fail to comprehend.
12:07pm
Through a gap in the trees, I notice the sky. Lavender streaks the pointy tips of the pines. Ethereal shades of blue and pink emerge. The sun is rising/setting at a speed I can’t mentally compute. I run to a clearing and stand in awe, turning in circles to fully commit it to memory. Regrettably, this agitates the dogs who also start turning in circles. They bark, howl, and cause all-around canine chaos.
The color display vanishes. We head back to the lodge for lunch and argue over who the dogs liked best. I can’t wait to begin the chill portion of my day. Another sauna, more reading by the fire*, and a nap. My husband and son grab headlamps and a trail map to embark on a snowshoe trek. Ella doesn’t tell us what she’s doing. We don’t ask.
*Book It
If you haven’t read Nathaniel Ian Miller’s debut novel, The Memoirs of Stockholm Sven, run, don’t walk, to your closest bookstore. This extraordinary account of a young Swede who seeks solitude in the Arctic Circle after a tragic accident is sublime and begs to be read by a warm fire. The descriptions of the Arctic are so convincing, I got chilly while reading it.
11:02am
Snowmobiling (Chase #3 Ella #1)
Another 9am wake-up. Another arduous climb to the Nespresso machine. I can’t wake up. I hate cold. Not fun. We layer up and head to the lodge’s gear hut to meet Yonas, our snowmobiling guide. Yonas is ruggedly handsome and naturally charming. The Finnish version of Matthew McConaughey circa Dazed and Confused. Ok, this is getting fun.
After a few lessons on how to operate the snowmobiles, we pair up and are on our way. Again, I draw the lucky straw and get Ella, who takes to the throttle like a cheetah chasing the weakest impala. I cling to her for dear life as we round narrow forest turns, race over frozen lakes, and fly across the snow-covered landscape.
11:10am
The Fun Part
The whole thing is the fun part. Ridiculous, fast, crazy fun. I haven’t seen Ella this happy since a Justin Bieber concert in 2017.
The sky is a rich, cloudy, cobalt blue, which casts a celestial tint across all of Lapland. The few pine branches not draped in snow become the only way to differentiate the earth from the sky. A remote, isolated and untouched world.
We pull up to the lodge exhausted and hungry, but happy. At lunch, I let the three of them squabble over who was the best driver. For the next four hours we cuddle up and binge watch space movies. I fall asleep, despite Matthew McConaughey’s stellar Interstellar performance.
11:48am
Reindeer Farm Visit (Chase #4, Ella #4)
My favorite daytime winter activity is the lowest ranked on Chase and Ella’s list. A visit to a working reindeer farm. It’s the week’s most relaxing and leisurely excursion, which surely influences this imbalance. Embarrassingly, I didn’t even know reindeer existed until I planned this trip. Did you? I don’t believe you.
The farm has been family-run for generations and our guide is none other than the owner herself. Her traditional Finnish garb, coupled with the surrounding mystical reindeer, make me feel I’ve just gate-crashed Santa’s holiday party.
1:33pm
We learn the farm has over 150 reindeer. Thankfully the owner offers this information voluntarily, as our guide tells us it’s considered a rude question. The equivalent of asking how much money a person earns. Thank you, Nikita. Finnish faux-pas averted.
The reindeer are curious, friendly, and utterly loopy. Farm-trained for 3-5 years, they subsist on a diet of grass, lichen, and mushrooms. Hence, the perpetual loopiness. Their coats are all shades of the coffee rainbow from mocha brown to vanilla latte. Is it obvious my days are caffeine-fueled?
Reindeer roam the country freely for six months each year. Eventually, these half-wild mammals are rounded up and divided among their rightful owners. This is easily determined by a distinct cut on the ear, similar to the way a rancher brands cattle.
Babies are often born during this reindeer ‘rumspringa’. The farmers determine who owns which newborn just by noticing which mamas tend to which calves. A brilliant baby sorting system, indeed.
12:11pm
The Fun Part
The idea of being pulled on a sleigh by reindeer makes me as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. With no prerequisite skills needed and lots of cozy blankets, reindeer sledding is the cold-weather activity for me. We swiftly glide along quiet narrow paths and take in the pure, powdery panorama.
I spot a large arctic hare sitting against a nearby pine. Ten inches of fresh snow sit atop a wooden fence on one side of me and endless forest views are on the other. Unlike the dogs, the reindeer are silent creatures (and high as kites, remember), so the ride is peaceful in its entirety.
We stop for the mid-ride warm-up ritual we have come to expect and love. Billowy puffs of smoke escape the roof of a nearby cabin. It’s a Kota—a rustic, enclosed, hexagon with a central grill surrounded by wooden, reindeer pelt-covered benches. It’s a scene from a fairy tale, and I half expect the fabled Snow Queen to join us.
12:40pm
Our master of ceremonies makes us tea and jam crepes. We grill juicy sausages on long metal skewers, turning them until they glow and sizzle. As we eat, she recounts stories of her family, her reindeer, and her life in Lapland.
We discover the biggest gift a parent can give a child is their own reindeer ‘mark’, even if they have yet to own many of their own reindeer. And, eating reindeer is an everyday occurrence. Our experience in the Kota is natural and organic—a slice of Finnish life.
Nikita meets us at the farm’s entrance and we pile into the warm van. Ella and Chase bicker over who would survive in the Arctic longer. I’m ready to let them give it a go.
At the lodge, we de-layer and find our own little nooks to cozy up until dinner. The sky is turning deep dark shades of blue and I feel totally at peace.
2:30pm
This is Winter in Finland, Embrace the Arctic
While I’ve only highlighted a few winter activities from our family trip to Finland, there are countless more to enjoy, as my 276,000,000 ‘Winter in Finland’ search results confirm.
Ice fishing, tobogganing, skiing, ice floating, ice skating, and kick sledding are the tip of the polar iceberg. Not to mention other cultural activities, including visits with Arctic explorers and Finnish shamans. My next post will describe all of that and more. And why winter in Finland is a family holiday for the truly adventure-minded.
‘What did the kids think?’ I’m repeatedly asked since returning home. I’ll admit now that a part of me worried they’d hate it. They didn’t, of course. Extreme adventure is always a winner with my kids.
Out of curiosity, I googled how many visitors visit Finnish Lapland in the winter. In 2019, a record-breaking 3.1 million tourists headed to the far north.
Winter in Finland? Perhaps not so crazy after all?
Want to beat jet lag? Anyone who has experienced jet lag first-hand knows how quickly it can take the buzz off of a holiday. The Mayo Clinic defines jet lag as a ‘temporary sleep problem that can affect anyone who quickly travels across multiple time zones.’ After years of battling, I just may have cracked the jet lag code—at least for my family.
Welcome back to ‘Found’. A series of practical posts about how I do things, travel-wise.
PC: Ella Edwards, flying over Finland
It’s January 2nd, and I’m 38,000 feet in the air. 600 miles into a 3,662-mile trip. Six hours and 26 minutes to go. The Flight Path display is taunting me with its low-tech smugness. That little white plane appears to be stuck over the Atlantic Ocean. I have lots of time on my hands.
Holiday Madness
We are on our way back to Washington DC after having spent the holidays in the UK and Finland. We started our journey yesterday from dark, snowy Kittilä in northern Finland, then overnighted in dark, snowy Helsinki. A 5am alarm woke us for a flight we nearly missed due to COVID-testing hassles, lengthy and disorganized security lines, and overall holiday madness.
Kittilä to Helsinki
Our layover in London has us racing from Terminal 3 to Terminal 5. For anyone not familiar with Heathrow Airport, those two terminals are so far away from each other that they require passengers to exit the airport and take a bus transfer on real roads!
At last, I sink into seat 35A, British Airways flight 217, and take a deep breath. We made it. I’m about to order a drink to celebrate but remember that I’m having a dry January. Ugh, is it January? Instead, I think about what awaits me at home. 1. Pick up dogs. 2. Food shop. 3. Unpack. 4. Laundry. 5. Laundry. 6. Laundry. 7. Jet lag.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from years of travel, many spent with small kids in tow, it’s tricks to beating jet lag. If you already have successful tactics in place, no need to read further. But perhaps I have something new to add to your process? Maybe you have a tip or two I can add to mine?
So how do I beat the inevitable jet lag that threatens to derail my exciting days of laundry ahead?
Read on for five steps I use to beat jet lag, as well as some useful tips when traveling with kids. If jet lag were a person, it would be my teenage daughter; irritating, unpredictable, exhausting, and every so often, a total joy.
Above St Maarten
Beat jet lag. The step-by-step process.
I certainly haven’t reinvented any wheels here, as many of these tactics are common sense. But this process works for us. Fair warning, it’s a Draconian approach. The key to beating jet lag is following these five steps in order, not picking and choosing one or two.
Words, like AVOID and RESIST, will pop up often. As will prompts for you to sleep or stay awake when your body firmly disagrees with that decision. As my friends and family know, I treasure my circadian rhythms and am not happy when they are disrupted. Hence the attention to details that might otherwise seem unimportant.
Flying over Munich
Beat Jet Lag. Step 1:
Set all clocks to the time at your destination.
As many globe-trotting travelers already know, this is the crux of beating jet lag. I convince my mind that it is a different time than it thinks it is. Trick the mind and the body will follow. Don’t quote me on this, I’m not a doctor. It does take practice, however. Here are some tips to help.
Tip A: Change the time zone on your phone before taking off. How many times have I settled uncomfortably into my narrow middle seat to play music and been confronted with my iPhone home screen displaying the ‘wrong’ time? Too many.
It’s just like that scene in Somewhere in Time with Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour. Remember that 80s film? The part where Reeve finds a modern-day coin in his pocket and is dramatically pulled back to real-time from 1912, and away from the love of his life? Ok, you don’t know that movie? Trust me, it’s a tear-jerker.
Approaching St Barths
Tip B: Don’t look at the plane clock. Ever. I mean it. Flight Path is your enemy—avoid it at all costs.
Tip C: Never refer to the time at your place of origin in order to make a point. Resist encouraging your kids to eat by saying, “At home, it’s dinner time.” Or, to get to sleep by pointing out, “It’s really the middle of the night right now.” The faster you trick your brain the better. Trick your kids’ brains while you’re at it. Well, try to.
As an aside, I’m writing about legitimate jet lag here. EST to PST barely counts. Daylight savings doesn’t count at all. Unless you are under two years old. Or a dog.
Beat Jet Lag. Step 2:
For overnight flights, eat dinner before boarding.
Or, as soon as possible. Whether you’re on a 6pm or 10pm flight, eat first so that you can go to bed the moment the wheels are up. Sleep experts like me can doze off well before take-off, but that takes practice. Don’t overdo the liquid intake. You’ll thank me later.
Tip: Many sources tell travelers to avoid alcohol to help beat jet lag. This may be true, but until today I’ve yet to attempt it. Damn you, dry January. Have you ever taken a 12+ hour flight with toddlers? I rest my case. Alcohol wins.
Athens
If you are on a daytime flight, stay true-ish to your daytime routine. I’m not implying you’re a couch potato but binge-watch even more TV. Ted Lasso, the Jimmy Chin documentary, or re-runs of Law & Order. There are at least ten episodes of Arrested Development on most long-haul flights. Watch them all. Anyone who doesn’t like that show is not my people. Eat, take a nap, read a book, repeat. Do not look at a clock! Stay mainly awake. Skip to Step Four.
But first, pee. You don’t think you have to pee? You do. Then settle in. My carry-on always has an easy-to-access sleep kit. That’s an embarrassing thing to admit, but it’s for the greater good, I suppose.
My sleep kit includes the following items: an eye mask, earplugs, socks, hand sanitizer, melatonin, and lip balm. I also now own a neck pillow, having spent much of my life ridiculing people who use them. If no blankets are provided, and these days that is typical, I keep a light jacket or a sweater on hand. I always get cold on flights, even when flying to warm-weather destinations. In fact, especially when flying to warm-weather destinations.
Don’t say, “But I don’t go to bed at 630pm”. Don’t even think it.
Passing over the Italian Dolomites
Tip: If you take a sleeping pill or herbal supplements, like Ambien or Melatonin, wait until wheels up. I can’t stress this enough. No one wants to be heavily sedated when switching planes due to mechanical failure. Take it from someone who’s been there.
Be sure to stay asleep when it kicks in. Resist the urge to watch another episode of Arrested Development. Someone I know once took a sleeping pill and decided to wake up for dinner. She may or may not have poured a glass of white wine into her lap, spoiled the ending of her husband’s thriller, and then proceeded to walk the aisles with a pink eye mask on her head and an ill-placed wine stain.
Botswana to DC
Beat Jet Lag. Step 4:
Wake up and have breakfast.
We all know it’s the middle of the night when those perky flight attendants come around with their cart of coffee, OJ, and breakfast sandwiches. Pretend it isn’t.
Tip: Those who are really forward-thinking might pre-pack a sesame bagel and cream cheese or yogurt parfait for this step. I don’t, but I should. Plane dinners are pretty awful. Plane breakfasts make plane dinners look like Michelin-starred meals.
Jackson, Wyoming
Beat Jet Lag. Step 5:
Stay the course.
It’s all too easy to get home, or to the hotel and fall into a dead sleep, regardless of how many hours were spent sleeping on the plane. Plane sleep is restless sleep. Carts bang, kids scream, lights flash, and the PA system tortures us at unfathomable decibel levels and at the worst possible moments.
When the flight attendants have finally finished their diatribe on how to use a seatbelt (still?), oxygen mask placement, and the protocol for the ‘unlikely event of a water landing’, I breathe a sigh of relief. Then they start up again—in Mandarin.
Prepare to stay awake until a ‘normal’ bedtime. Normal-ish at least, give or take an hour. This will help realign those circadian rhythms in the days ahead. When kids are involved, there are a few tactics that have worked well for us.
Baja to DC
Tip A: If your destination has a swimming pool or a beach nearby, use it as a tool to stimulate. Cool water will invigorate the senses, and help prolong sleep. No pool? A bathtub will do. Stick to your destination’s meal schedule as much as possible.
Tip B: Stand your ground on the kids’ bedtime. Explain that while they might not feel sleepy that it’s still time to go to bed. Encourage them to lay in bed with their eyes closed and not worry about falling asleep. This certainly didn’t sit well with our kids right away and took many trips to truly enforce. But eventually, they got it. It’s the very technique I use, too.
Uganda to DC
Someone out there is sneering right now in disbelief. They are saying, ‘My kids, are too young to do that.’ They aren’t. It won’t go smoothly though. It’s all about long-term training to really beat jet lag. It takes time.
Don’t worry if the kids don’t or can’t adapt to the plane schedule. Getting them reasonably close will still help. Our daughter used to fall asleep the minute the landing gear was deployed on every long-haul trip. Her eyes would be wide open for 11.5 hours of a 12-hour flight. She would then fall into a slumber so deep a rocket launch couldn’t rouse her. Good times.
New York City
Repeat. Repeat. And Repeat.
This might not be documented anywhere, but I believe there is muscle memory in regards to beating jet lag. I say this because in all the years we’ve traveled back and forth to Asia, and to the UK, we increasingly got better at coping with it. There have been trips where we have virtually not jet-lagged at all. Sometimes the pure excitement of reaching our destination will keep severe jet lag at bay.
One of my closest friends in Tokyo was also our next-door neighbor. Let’s call her Margaret. (Actually, Margaret is her real name, but I doubt she reads my posts so all good.) Margaret and her family would return to Tokyo from New York and allow jet lag to take its natural course.
We could hear her kids at night, as our bedroom wall aligned with their living room wall. Japanese-dubbed Dora The Explorer would be playing on an endless loop, her kids singing along wide-eyed and bushy-tailed like it was 2pm, not 2am. It took them weeks to beat jet lag, shaving off an hour each day, max. We hardly saw them. That Dora song is still in my head.
Washington DC
To Beat Jet Lag, Just Follow the Rules
I’m now 6.5 hours into my 8-hour flight. I haven’t napped, read, or watched Arrested Development. I’ve been staring at Flight Path for three hours, and I’m pretty convinced the plane icon is stuck over Newfoundland. The man next to me is sound asleep and I can’t get past him to use the restroom. I haven’t followed any of my own rules. Writing about beating jet lag may not be the best way to go about beating jet lag.
But, if this article helps even one person cope, I’ll go to bed happy. If I can sleep, that is.
Maybe I’ll order a drink. Wait, it’s still January. Ugh.
