Hemispheres Inflight Magazine » Three Perfect Days

Three Perfect Days: U.S. Virgin Islands

admin — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 06:00:44 +0000

Charlotte Amalie’s shop-lined Main Street

PHOTOGRAPHS BY PETER FRANK EDWARDS

IT’S EASY TO IMAGINE that when the members of the Virginia Company stopped in 1607 on what is now St. Thomas, on their way to establish the first permanent English settlement at Jamestown, their sublime surroundings would have sparked an impassioned debate about the merits of just staying put. It wouldn’t have been the first: Native American tribes and Christopher Columbus, among others, also figure in the U.S. Virgin Islands’ rich history. Seven different flags have flown here, with the last changeover happening in 1917, when Denmark sold the trio of Caribbean islands to the United States for what was then a princely sum of almost $300 an acre. The acquisition turned out to be a masterful use of Treasury money: St. Thomas offers bustling streets and brisk commerce, and has done so ever since it was a favorite haunt of infamous pirates like Blackbeard and Captain Kidd; St. John has rugged natural beauty (two-thirds of it is a U.S. national park) as well as culinary sophistication; and St. Croix, which is larger, flatter and, unlike its siblings, nonvolcanic, has laid-back ambience to spare. But what truly distinguishes these islands is the easy hospitality of the unique group of Americans who live there and who just might, in three short days, have you, too, debating the merits of sticking around.

DAY ONE | After you wake up in your luxurious suite at the Ritz-Carlton, St. Thomas (1), you pad out to the balcony, take in the view of tranquil, turquoise Great Bay and breathe in the sea air. Feeling fully decompressed, you head to the hotel’s Bleuwater restaurant for a breakfast of lobster Benedict with spinach callaloo-style hollandaise sauce, and then get in your rental car to begin the day’s adventures.

Your first stop is the bustling little capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands, Charlotte Amalie. To explore it, you meet Simon Larsen, the Danish sailor who leads the Charlotte Amalie Historical Walking Tour (2), at Emancipation Gardens. Larsen gives a lively, humorous and often surprising account (telling you, for instance, that the Mamas and the Papas perfected their harmonies in the city’s alleys). A highlight of the tour is the lovely St. Thomas Synagogue, with its floor covered with fine white sand; some say the sand represents the Israelites’ journey through the desert, while others contend that it honors the conversos, Jews who were forced to convert to Catholicism but practiced their own religion in secret and floored their cellars with sand to muffle the sound of their prayers.

Following Larsen up the steep, winding streets that overlook the waterfront has earned you a hearty lunch. Within the labyrinth of alleys once teeming with cutthroats and buccaneers you find Gladys’ Café (3). Not long after you order the house specialties of conch fritters and curried goat, the eatery’s namesake owner (and bartender) belts out a song. Her singing voice and her lip-smacking arsenal of hot sauces are both legendary here — the former calls for a standing ovation; the latter calls for a cooling soursop colada.

You take Highway 35 up and over St. Thomas’ higher elevations to the sheltered, mile-long expanse of pristine white sand at Magens Bay (4), where you take a dip. The bay is on the island’s north shore, which means the 82-degree water you’re enjoying is technically the Atlantic, not the Caribbean. The peaceful surroundings have a profoundly soothing effect on you, but not everyone has been so easily lulled: It is said that Sir Francis Drake used the bay as an anchorage while lying in wait for Spanish ships to plunder.

After an hour spent drifting in and out of consciousness, you drive back to the hotel and board the Ritz’s elegant 53-foot catamaran, the Lady Lynsey, for a sunset sail. A crew member offers you an aptly named “Painkiller”: dark rum, coconut cream, pineapple juice and orange juice topped with fresh-grated nutmeg. You bring it topside to watch the sun disappear below the horizon with a Technicolor flourish.

You’re back at the dock with ample time to check out of the hotel and drive down to nearby Red Hook, where you catch the day’s last car barge to the island of St. John. You arrive in Cruz Bay and minutes later are seated at a sidewalk table at La Tapa (5), a contemporary Mediterranean spot that had celeb chef Mario Batali tweeting his enthusiasm for it last April. The atmosphere is as exuberant and sophisticated as you’d find in any southern European harborfront restaurant, enticing you to order appetizers — the seared foie gras with grape-gewürztraminer compote and the grilled langostinos with passion fruit-cilantro aioli — before tucking into a plate of grilled local yellowtail snapper Basquaise with squid ink orzo.

Batali was certainly onto something, as La Tapa is a gastronomic paradise. But two bays north lies yet another paradise: your hotel, Caneel Bay (6), where, full to bursting, you check in under cover of darkness.

Three Perfect Days: Buenos Aires

admin — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 06:00:00 +0000

◄ Back

Next ►

Avenida Corrientes with El Obelisco in the background

PHOTOGRAPHS BY JAVIER PIERINI AND YADID LEVY

IN THE HEART OF BUENOS AIRES, just off the avenue that honors the day Argentina won its independence from Spain, is the Teatro Colón. One of the most acoustically perfect theaters in the world, the 2,500-seat venue was designed by Italian architects using Belgian and Austrian marble, with French furnishings and floors made of oak from the forests of Croatia. Like Buenos Aires itself, the theater is a combination of the best of Europe, built at a time when the emergent city sought to become the Paris of South America, before its tortured run of brutal military dictatorships interspersed with fragile, contentious democracies (one featuring Eva “Evita” Perón, the charismatic first lady who posthumously became an international icon). Today, newly reopened after a three-year, $100 million renovation, the Teatro Colón is a symbol of a thrumming metropolis as eclectic as they come, not only in its architecture but also in the mélange of nationalities and cultures that blends European sophistication and Latin spice. The result is a diverse, thriving city that is wholly South American and, at the same time, absolutely unlike any other.

DAY ONE | You check in at the Hotel Panamericano (1) on Avenida 9 de Julio — said to be the widest boulevard in the world, with seven lanes in each direction, plus four more each way on parallel side streets. From the hotel’s grand lobby, with its ornately tiled floor and soaring ceilings, you follow the tuxedoed bellman to your room among the upper suites and studios, and take in the commanding view of El Obelisco, a monument built in 1936 to commemorate the city’s 400th anniversary.

January is summer in South America, so you go outside and explore the grid of streets fanning out from El Obelisco. At the Plaza de Mayo (2), the symbolic center of the city, you get your bearings with a private tour from Eternautas (named for a time traveler in an Argentine comic strip), led by students and professors from the University of Buenos Aires. The guides separate Buenos Aires fact from mythology (of which there is no shortage) while recommending the hippest cafés and dance halls, or milongos.

Tour over, it’s time for a late lunch at Café Tortoni (3), the oldest coffee shop in the city, having opened in 1858. The Tortoni is situated on Avenida de Mayo, which locals, known as porteños, call the “Spanish Avenue” for its architecture. The café is decidedly French, however, with dark wood, stained glass, historical photos, small tables and neighborhood intellectuals holding court beneath ornate high ceilings. “The tourist who arrives in Buenos Aires has the entire city in the Tortoni,” Argentine author José Gobello has said.

An after-lunch stroll down Avenida 9 de Julio brings you to the Teatro Colón (4). So extraordinary is this building that it’s harder to get tickets for the one-hour tours than for a performance; booking ahead was smart. Past the gorgeous lobby and anterooms, the U-shaped auditorium is itself a breathtaking symphony of velvet and gold leaf. In addition to operas from April through December, there are concerts almost every Thursday and low-price standing-room spots high in the balconies, where the acoustics are purportedly the best. Sometimes there’s a free chamber concert scheduled in the gilded patrons’ room, which the local aristocracy modeled on the Palace of Versailles.

Showing up for dinner any earlier than 9 p.m. is déclassé in Argentina, so you have plenty of time to amble along Avenida Corrientes (5), lined with bookshops and theaters. For your merienda, or teatime snack, you pull up a stool at the bar in one of the many pizzerias and enjoy a little people-watching along with your Argentine pizza, which is greasier than what you’ve had elsewhere (though deliciously so), with a doughier crust.

Before heading back to the hotel, you join the flood of workers coursing through the chaotic pedestrian retail strip of Calle Florida and make a quick stop for a cucurucho clásico, a cone of Argentina’s famously rich ice cream, at the Freddo (6) window. You opt for the chocolate amargo, studded with big chunks of chocolate — and are instantly hooked. Fortunately, though maybe not for your waistline, there are Freddo cafés all over town.

After a nap at the hotel, you arrive for your 10:30 dinner reservation at the extraordinary restaurant housed in the Panamericano, Tomo 1 (7), which serves haute riffs on classic porteño fare in a sleek contemporary setting. You’re saving room for all the world-renowned Argentine steak you’ll be eating tomorrow, so you order the classic spinach ravioli. Sated from the food and a few glasses of local malbec from the extensive wine list, you call it a day.

Three Perfect Days: Hawaii

admin — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 06:00:30 +0000

◄ Back

Next ►

A Kona sunset

PHOTOGRAPHS BY MARCO GARCIA

DESPITE BEING the most geologically raucous member of its archipelago, with two still-erupting volcanoes, the island of Hawaii is remarkably peaceful. Its 4,028 square miles are home to a population of just 185,000 (compare that with 953,000 for the much smaller Oahu), and its nights are so dark that the world’s foremost land-based observatory is located on one of its mountains. Even evidence of the erstwhile wrath of the island’s five original volcanoes is mostly blanketed in the kind of greenery that compels people to pull over to the side of the road to stare, dumbfounded.

It’s enough to make you wonder how the native Hawaiians ever got anything done — one lingering glance at a riot of pastel wild ginger flowers suspended above the fog of Rainbow Falls, and a fishing canoe might go unmanned for days. Over afternoon beers at a bar in Hilo, an expatriate French painter fully entranced by Hawaii (residents much prefer the original name to the “Big Island,” the handle favored by mainlanders) put it this way: “This is a place for forgetting. It is so beautiful that it pushes all other thoughts from your head. The other islands, maybe you go for shopping or nightlife. But anything you might want to forget” — he waves a hand at the view of a sprawling banyan tree — “you can forget here.”

Three Perfect Days: Mexico City

admin — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 06:00:38 +0000

◄ Back

Next ►

Lifting the lid on an artful dish (baby corn in coffee mayonnaise) at upscale eatery Pujol

PHOTOGRAPHS BY HOLLY WILMETH

MEXICO CITY, a.k.a. “El Monstruo.” The French poet André Breton called it the most surreal place on earth, while writer Salvador Novo said you don’t live in Mexico City, you merely practice it. For generations, writers, wanderers and musicians have flocked here from around the world, drawn by the city’s mad improvisational energy and deep culture, its freewheeling lifestyle and seeming lack of any organizing principle.

Formerly Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, Mexico City still suffers from a reputation earned in the later years of the past century, but the city known by the roughly 20 million residents in its metro area as “D.F.,” for Distrito Federal (akin to D.C. in the U.S.), is booming. Real estate prices are rising; the film, publishing and music industries are among the strongest in the Spanish-speaking world; and a new mayoral administration has launched a slew of programs to cut smog, improve mass transit and enhance public safety, making it easier to enjoy the city’s 160 world-class museums, countless acres of beautiful parks and some of the best food going.

An endlessly surprising, utterly fascinating mix of the sublime and the surreal, D.F. is beloved by its people, known as Chilangos. Come here and they’ll squander no opportunity to tell you about it, argue about it, sing its praises. And here’s the thing: After a few days, you will too.

DAY ONE | It’s Saturday morning, and the push of a button on the bedside console in your corner suite at Las Alcobas (1), a stylish new hotel in the wealthy Polanco neighborhood, opens the curtains, revealing, through the gracefully curved window, an uncharacteristically quiet street below. You have the front desk call you a taxi. By the time you get to the lobby — more like the front hall of a grand residence than a hotel foyer — the car is waiting to take you a few miles south to Coyoacán.

Step out at the Frida Kahlo Museum (2), in the Casa Azul, the former home of painter and global cultural icon Frida Kahlo, where she learned to paint while bedridden after an accident and where she later lived with her equally iconic husband, Diego Rivera (and, for a time, an exiled Trotsky). The rambling home is airy, full of light and cluttered with art, pre-Columbian pottery and books; on a kitchen wall, “Frida” and “Diego” are spelled out in hundreds of tiny teacups.

After an hour of wishing you lived here, you walk out and follow Avenida Ignacio Allende past vendors setting up stands of woolen plush toys, lucha libre masks, clothes and food. You follow the mariachi strains to El Jarocho (3), a lively corner café. Coffee in hand, you take a seat on a sidewalk bench and catch up on the local gossip. Farther down, you cross Plaza Hidalgo (4), a stately public space with the old city council building on one side, ringed by cafés and ice cream shops, and then pass through the shady, manicured Jardin Centenario to Francisco Sosa, a leafy street lined with colorful colonial homes.

You cross the major avenue La Paz and make your way to the Plaza San Jacinto in San Angel, home of El Bazar del Sábado (5), D.F.’s legendary weekly art fair. Chilangos pack into the bazaar building to peruse handmade jewelry, iron solar system mobiles and impossibly detailed sculptures carved out of single toothpicks, while outside, hundreds of artists sell their paintings, which range from conventional to subversive to exuberantly kitschy.

Wind your way along cobblestone residential streets to San Angel Inn (6), a famed local institution housed in a sprawling, high-class hacienda. You take a table in the bar area, call for one of the house margaritas, poured from a silver decanter buried in a dish of crushed ice, and follow that with roasted poblano peppers stuffed with cheese and beef in a sweet sauce with undertones of smoke.

After a brief nap back at the hotel (the city is 7,200 feet above sea level, and the air is thin) and a shower, you stroll through Polanco, past mansions, embassies and streets named for great writers, to Pujol (7), considered by some to be Mexico City’s most important restaurant. The dizzying tasting menu marries the traditional with the avant-garde. There are the pumpkin flowers stuffed with bean paste; the baby corn in coffee mayonnaise; the egg in a pastry puff drizzled with caterpillar sauce; fried dough and tomato crudités with fried tomato skin, queso fresco and a sprinkling of tiny, crunchy beetles; a raspberry sorbet served with salt and flaming mezcal. It seems to go on forever.

You’re half-delirious from food, but you’d be remiss if you didn’t take in some of the nightlife, so you have the waiter call a car and you head out to the Roma neighborhood. Per the urging of an expat, you stop first at La Nuclear (8), a narrow, noisy, brick-lined space that sells pulque, a traditional milky beverage made from fermented cactus that’s enjoying a revival among bohemians. Then it’s off to Mama Rumba (9), a popular salsa club. The place is slammed, with two levels of people dancing to a ferocious salsa band. You stake out a spot by the bar and order a mojito. You try to keep from being sucked in, but resistance is ultimately futile.

View Three Perfect Days: Mexico City in a larger map

Three Perfect Days: New York City

admin — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 06:00:55 +0000

◄ Back

Next ►

Grand Central Terminal

Photographs by Chris Sanders

NEW YORK CITY: The name alone conjures images of the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Rockefeller Center and the pulsing lights of Times Square. While those are worthy sights, the soul of the city lies closer to the ground, in its neighborhoods, its parks, its history and its people — and there is no better way to experience it all than on foot. It would take more than a lifetime to grasp the full, five-borough scope of the Big Apple, but don’t let that deter you. As Thomas Wolfe wrote, “One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.” He was right. And those five minutes will keep you coming back for years, even decades, to come.

Three Perfect Days: Barcelona

admin — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 06:00:29 +0000

◄ Back

Next ►

Gaudi's La Pedrera

BARCELONA IS NOT a place given to posturing. This former Roman outpost, now the capital of the northeastern Spanish province of Catalonia, isn’t as self-consciously pretty as Paris, as studiedly vibrant as London or as achingly stylish as Milan. It’s secure enough to refrain from draping banners from lampposts advertising its status as “Europe’s City of Culture.” Most important, its leaders seem to understand the principle of benign neglect. There’s little in the way of the compulsive scrubbing and sandblasting you encounter in other historical cities. This has a couple of benefits. First, you see buildings rather than scaffolding. Second, many of these buildings look and feel like they’re supposed to: old.

The overwhelming sense is that this is a city comfortable in its own skin. Barcelonans are fiercely protective of their Catalan heritage, they simmer with emotional heat (fender benders can be theatrical affairs) and they are inordinately friendly. This is a town where you can walk into a shop, wildly mispronounce the name of the place you’re looking for and then wait while the shopkeeper consults Google Maps. This is good not only for your faith in human nature, but for your feet. A lot of what Barcelona has to offer is unheralded, even hidden, and this allows for wonderful moments of discovery. Of course, it also means you’re going to need some help from the locals to find this stuff. Luckily, you’re in good hands.

Three Perfect Days: Stockholm

admin — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 06:00:07 +0000

◄ Back

Next ►

Boats moored at Skeppsholmen.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY NICHOLAS PITT

LEGEND HAS IT that Vikings founded Stockholm after filling a hollowed-out log with gold, laying it in the water and letting it guide them ashore. The tale is dubious, but the mes sage is clear: This city is golden. The 14 islands that make up Stockholm were once known to the rest of the world as the Venice of the North. And although classic Swedish humility prevents locals from saying so, Stockholm gives that other canal city a run for its money in many regards, especially in the culinary department. Forget frozen meatballs and bland potatoes; as Nordic cuisine finally receives the attention it deserves, Stockholm’s foodie scene is coming of age. Today, visitors to Stockholm will find a cool capital filled with rich history, cosmopolitan glamour and stunning beauty. With an unparalleled standard of living and cutting-edge style, this Nordic archipelago has proven itself worthy of its uncharacteristically immodest self-applied title: “The Capital of Scandinavia.”

DAY ONE | You wake up to the sound of birdsong at Hotel Skeppsholmen, an understated boutique inn appointed with a collection of recognizably Scandinavian furniture and offering sweeping views of the shimmering Lake Mälaren. Skeppsholmen, a small, verdant islet located at the gateway to the Baltic Sea, was once mainly used for military purposes, but has since become a little oasis away from the bustle of the museum-dotted city. After a Swedish breakfast of yogurt, cheese and bread on the hotel’s waterfront terrace, you go for a stroll. Långa Raden leads from the sparkling waterfront to Le Paradis Fantastique, a whimsical sculpture garden where bright, corpulent figures by Niki de Saint Phalle frolic among Jean Tinguely’s Dadaist kinetic machines. A walk around the outdoor exhibition whets your appetite for more modern art.

Ascend the hill to Moderna Museet, an expansive space of light and air, where you pass the time browsing paint ings in a world-class collection including works by Picasso, Matisse and Dalí. You take a seat at the café, a platform of hardwood and glass, for a light lunch of baked salmon and spring salad. The view across the bay is rich in more ways than one: The promenade of Strandvägen boasts some of the most expensive addresses in all of Scandinavia.

Cross a couple of bridges over to Gamla Stan, Stock holm’s medieval old town, located on a neighboring island. The orange- and vanilla-colored 17th-century buildings harken back to Stockholm’s heyday, when the Baltic Sea was effectively a Swedish pond. From the harbor, a statue of “King Charming,” Gustav III, faces the steep boulevard of Slottsbacken. You walk up the hill, following the same path that Princess Victoria’s wedding procession took in 2010, passing the Baroque Royal Palace, which crowns the old city, and head to Stortorget, with its postcard-pretty shops and cafés.

Exploring the rolling cobblestone lanes that crisscross the island, you stumble upon Mårten Trotzigs Gränd, a trompe l’oeil of an alley that tapers down to 3 feet wide, playing with your perception of distance. When you emerge on the other side, you’re a bit disoriented. A glance up at the brick-and-copper clock tower of the iconic Storkyrkan, the 700-year-old cathedral where the Swedish Reformation began, in 1520, helps you get your bearings.

The old name for Stockholm, “Staden mellan broarna,” means “City Between Bridges.” You cross one footbridge, then another, then another, working your way east until you arrive at the Grand Hôtel on Blasieholmshamnen, which has accommodated every Nobel Prize winner since 1901. Sink into a plush velvet armchair at the Cadier Bar, and order a cocktail from Henrik Jensen, who clinched the 2011 Swedish Bartender of the Year trophy with his “Raspberry Lemonade,” made with elderflower liquor and lemon vodka. Sipping the drink, you scope the place for any stray Nobel laureates. They prove elusive.

For dinner, try the on-site Michelin-starred Matbaren, a casual “food bar.” Walk up in jeans (the dress code is casual, reservations are optional) and secure a seat at the horseshoe shaped counter in a modest wood-paneled room. Chef Mathias Dahlgren creates small-plate interpretations of Swedish cooking, like sashimi of salmon and reindeer. It says a lot about the eatery that your neighbor is a restaurateur himself. You take his recommendation and order the perch steeped in an emulsion of forest mushrooms.

After all that, you’ll need a drink. Head to Riche, an old-school bar that has withstood the caprice of trend-conscious Stockholmers. It has two sections: one elegant and mellow, peopled by 40-something patrons, and the other full of slick-haired bright young things who wear aviator sunglasses at night. You opt for the latter, and watch the locals shed their cool reserve as champagne mist fills the air. You stay well into the night. This is, after all, the land of the Midnight Sun.

DAY ONE

(1) Hotel Skeppsholmen Gröna gången 1; Tel: 8-407-23-00
(2) Le Paradis Fantastique Långa Raden
(3) Moderna Museet Skeppsholmen; Tel: 8-5195-5200
(4) Gamla Stan Västerlånggatan and Österlånggatan
(5) Royal Palace Slottsbacken 1; Tel: 8-402-61-23
(6) Mårten Trotzigs Gränd Västerlånggatan
(7) Storkyrkan Trangsund 1; Tel: 8-723-30-16
(8) Grand Hôtel South Blasieholmshamnen 8;
Tel: 8-679-35-00
(9) Riche Birger Jarlsgatan 4; Tel: 8-545-035-60

Three Perfect Days: Dublin

admin — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 06:00:53 +0000

BY JON MARCUS
PHOTOGRAPHS BY BRIAN PARK

◄ Back

Next ►

The harp sculpture outside of the Ritz-Carlton Powerscourt

“YOU’RE VERY WELCOME.”
That traditional Irish greeting will likely be the first thing you hear from every taxi driver, hotel clerk and maître d’ in Dublin, and it’s seldom seemed so heartfelt. Since Ireland’s so-called Celtic Tiger economic boom went bust in the 2000s, this island nation has weathered some harsh economic times. But while that pushed down restaurant prices and hotel rates — propelled not long ago to previously unimaginable heights — it hasn’t slowed the confidence or entrepreneurship of a generation raised on energy and affluence. Talented chefs are launching innovative restaurants, and whole neighborhoods of hotels and theaters that appeared overnight are now thriving. The new Dublin is fashionable, cosmopolitan and confident, yet it’s also, in a way, returned to basics, with a tempo that has slowed down to the leisurely pace of a pour of Guinness. But for all the changes, there’s one thing this city never lost: its Irish hospitality, the warmest anywhere. You’ll be very welcome.

DAY ONE | Check in at The Morrison (1), a sleek boutique hotel favored by visiting musicians and actors (Beyoncé, Rihanna, Colin Farrell, Katy Perry and Christina Aguilera, to name a few) with an eclectic East-meets-West motif devised by the Hong Kong–born, Dublin-based designer John Rocha. Tapering hallways, high ceilings, dark wood, leather furniture and aromatherapeutic toiletries contribute to the feng shui of this laidback, comfortable place. It’s also centrally located on the River Liffey just across from the rowdy Temple Bar nightlife district — but not so close that you’ll be disturbed by the nighttime clamor — and near the Henry Street shopping area.

Stroll across the Liffey on the Ha’penny Bridge (named for the one-time toll) and start your visit with a breakfast of tea and fresh-baked pastries at Bewley’s Café (2), a Dublin institution. In warm weather, ask to sit on the second level in the James Joyce Room (it was a favorite haunt of not only Joyce, who mentioned Bewley’s in Dubliners, but also fellow writers Samuel Becke and Sean O’Casey) overlooking Grafton Street, the bustling main pedestrian shopping strip. Bewley’s has stayed up to date, with lattes crafted by artistic baristas, but there’s one arguably appealing throwback: no Wi-Fi.

Dublin is eminently walkable, and the Dublin Tourism Centre (3), in a high-steepled decommissioned Presbyterian church, makes for a good starting point. Arrange to meet up with witty Lorcan Collins, who leads the 1916 Easter Rising walking tour (4) about the event most associated with the long Irish struggle for independence. It’s best to have at least some knowledge of the uprising in advance, and prepare to learn much about Collins’ politically incorrect takes on religion and the British monarchy, complete with a raft of Irish curse words. It’s a good way to circle the city center, including Trinity College and O’Connell Street, whose monuments — most famously, the post office, which was occupied by the hopelessly outgunned insurgents — still bear the bullet holes of the rebellion.

Next, stop for fish and chips from Dublin’s hands-down best “chipper,” Leo Burdock (5). A single portion is big enough for two, and since the little takeaway joint has no tables, carry your lunch across the street to the park at the cathedral and enjoy it outdoors. To wash it down, stroll over to the Guinness Storehouse (6) a few blocks farther west — but not just for the tour. Enjoy a fresh-brewed pint, included in the cost of admission, in the Gravity Bar atop the seven-story storehouse, which has the best, most breathtaking views of low-rise Dublin. Most of the Guinness for the Irish, European and American markets is brewed here, but nowhere does it taste as fresh as it does from a tap in Dublin.

For dinner — the Irish eat around 8:30 — hit Michelin-starred Thornton’s (7) in the Fitzwilliam Hotel on St. Stephen’s Green. This is one of those “new Dublin” kinds of places where Irish-born, French-trained chef Kevin Thornton performs alchemistic twists on Irish standards, such as rabbit, suckling pig and black sole. The mullet appetizer, for example, arrives at the table in a glass bowl filled with wood smoke that’s released with a flourish by the server.

If Paris has its cafés, the Irish like to say, Dublin has its pubs — close to 1,000 of them in this city of 1 million, or one for about every 1,000 people. Skip the ones in Temple Bar for now; with some exceptions, they’re for tourists and students. Strike out for the real thing on Baggot Street, where you can bar-hop with the locals from O’Donoghue’s Pub (8), which has live music every night, to Doheny & Nesbitt Pub (9), a popular hangout for journalists and politicians. O’Donoghue’s, one patron says admiringly, hasn’t been repainted in 50 years, apparently the sign of an authentic Irish pub. You linger a while to discuss this topic further.

DAY ONE
(1) The Morrison Lower Ormond Quay; Tel: 353-1-887-2400
(2) Bewley’s Café 78-79 Grafton St.; Tel: 353-1-672-7720
(3) Dublin Tourism Centre Suffolk St.; Tel: 353-1-605-7700
(4) 1916 Rising walking tour International Bar, 23 Wicklow St.; Tel: 353-1-868-583-847
(5) Leo Burdock 2 Werburgh St.; Tel: 353-1-454-0306
(6) Guinness Storehouse St. James’s Gate; Tel: 353-1-408-4800
(7) Thornton’s 128 St. Stephen’s Green; Tel: 353-1-478-7008
(8) O’Donoghue’s Pub 15 Merrion Row; Tel: 353-1-660-7194
(9) Doheny & Nesbitt Pub 4–5 Lower Baggot St.; Tel: 353-1-676-2945

Three Perfect Days: Chicago

admin — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 06:15:16 +0000

By Layla Schlack – Photographs by Bob Stefko

◄ Back

Next ►

CHICAGO’S A TOWN OF MANY MONIKERS — Windy City, City of Big Shoulders, Second City and, as poet Carl Sandburg wrote, “hog butcher for the world.” While each speaks to the city’s history as an industrial powerhouse led by fast-talking politicos, none of these nicknames does justice to Chi-town’s cleanness, greenness or top-notch culinary scene. Exploring the patchwork of neighborhoods and expansive outdoor spaces will give you a sense of the city’s past, present and future. It’s an understated—and quintessentially American—megalopolis, where Midwestern hospitality meets big-city worldliness. Spend a few days wandering around and you won’t just want to stay longer—you’ll probably want to move here.

DAY 1 | This is not a trip on which to count calories, starting with breakfast at local favorite Original Pancake House (1). The enormous, fluffy, oven-baked omelets and the loaded baked apple pancake are house specialties—you’re on your own to answer the age-old question of sweet or savory. Fortified, you set out to explore the Gold Coast (2). Once home to the city’s steel magnates and retail tycoons (along with Abraham Lincoln’s son), this has been a posh neighborhood since soon after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Feel the lake breeze and drift into posh boutiques such as Shrine haberdasher and the Euro-inspired Sarca, as well as more well-known brands such as Marc Jacobs.

Journeying south, you eventually hit the Magnificent Mile, Chicago’s shopping mecca, marked by the Water Tower (3). One of the only structures to survive the fire, this building looks like a fairytale castle, and to fashionistas it kind of is. Familiar clothing outlets like J. Jill and Lacoste line the shiny interior alongside the shimmering storefronts of several jewelers.

Take a quick diversion off of Michigan Avenue for lunch at Portillo’s Hot Dogs (4). The Chicago-style dogs—with pickle relish, hero peppers, chopped tomato, onions, mustard and a pickle spear on a poppyseed bun—are delicious. An equally good choice, though, is the heartier Italian beef sandwich with hot and sweet peppers, served au jus. The thinly sliced roast beef and roasted sweet peppers melt into the now-soggy bread, with the hot peppers and giardiniera (Chi-town’s signature mix of pickled veggies) adding just the right amount of kick.

You roll yourself out of the restaurant grateful that your next activity involves sitting and amble south- east to the Chicago River for the Chicago Architecture Foundation’s boat tour (5). Cruising down the waterway, you’ll get a who’s who of great architects—Mies van der Rohe, Daniel Burnham and Charles B. Atwood, to name a few—who masterminded career-defining structures to make their mark on the city. The volunteer guides, mostly practicing or retired architects, also spin the fascinating tale of how the city fathers rebuilt very deliberately after the Second Industrial Revolution– era fire, creating parks and beachfront all around the bustling downtown.

Ninety minutes later, you step off the boat with a great appreciation for the city’s past. Ready to learn about its present, you make a quick stop at the Chicago Cultural Center (6). Regulars come here for the expertly roasted Intelligentsia coffee and WiFi, but stick around for the rotating art exhibits, mostly the work of local artists.

Check into the Elysian Hotel (7), a posh, almost unmarked villa set back from the street to make you feel as if you’re escaping the city for a night. Take a few minutes to explore your massive room and soak in the view from the balcony. The rooftops below are planted with grass to absorb rainwater and provide insulation. The foliage ripples slightly, making for an urban landscape like none you’ve ever seen. But you don’t have too much time to take it all in—you’ve got to eat.

Tonight’s dinner is at Rick Bayless’ much-lauded Frontera Grill (8). You can’t go wrong with anything on the menu at this upscale Mexican cantina. The food is fresh, flavorful and perfectly accented by a spicy cocktail called the Michelada Moderna—like a Bloody Mary but made with beer. Feeling adventurous, you try the goat taquitos, which arrive sprinkled in queso fresco and turn to butter in your mouth. Linger over dinner, taking in the clubby digs before you retire to the cloudlike king bed at the Elysian.

LAKEFRONT LOUNGING

Chicago lines its lakefront with miles of urban beaches

12th Street Beach On a little island near the Adler Planetarium, this uncrowded beach feels as if it’s miles from the city.

North Avenue Beach (shown below) Just beyond Lincoln Park, this spot offers amazing skyline views and a beach house that looks like a boat. Locals love it, so you may find a bit of a crowd.

63rd Street Beach The big draw here is history: A woman who once dared to bathe without a skirt on was legendarily arrested on this beach, and there’s a lovely bath house built in 1919. Concerts and volleyball courts are bonuses.

Osterman Beach A boardwalk and shallow wading area make this a favorite destination for families with small children.

Montrose Beach This vast stretch is where locals come to hang out and party. You’ll find people grilling and dogs frolicking, with ample space for everyone.

DAY ONE

(1) Original Pancake House 22 E. Bellevue Pl.; Tel: 312-642-7917
(2) Gold Coast East of Clark Street and north of Chicago Avenue
(3) Water Tower 806 N. Michigan Ave.; Tel: 312-742-0808
(4) Portillo’s 100 W. Ontario; Tel: 312-587-8910
(5) Chicago Architectural Foundation boat tour Southeast corner of the Michigan Avenue Bridge at Wacker Drive; Tel: 312-922-3432
(6) Chicago Cultural Center 78 E. Washington St.; Tel: 312-744-6630
(7) Elysian Hotel 11 E. Walton; Tel: 312-646-1300
(8) Frontera Grill 445 N. Clark St.; Tel: 312-661-1434

Three Perfect Days: Rome

admin — Sun, 01 May 2011 06:09:30 +0000

By Joe Keohane • Photographs by Mark Read

◄ Back

Next ►

IT’S THE TREVI FOUNTAIN that does it. You’ll be strolling aimlessly around Rome’s alleyways at night, ideally with an almond gelato in hand, and all of a sudden, there it is: the Trevi, packed into an undersize square, the light off the water flickering up against the Baroque masterwork, gazed upon by young Roman lovers sharing bench space with tourists. It’s one of the city’s—which is to say one of the world’s—leading tourist attractions, but nothing can prepare you for the sensation of just happening upon it.

Many a Roman holiday has been ruined by outsize ambitions. It’s more important to feel it than to see it. In Rome—a single syllable that once encompassed the world—stylish businessmen wander down narrow mazelike streets originally trod by distant ancestors, and workaday Romans chat idly in the shadows of great monuments to lost power and faded glory. Here, the weight of history subtly imbues even the most pedestrian routines of city life. Three days here is all the evidence you need that though the Eternal City has lost its imperial reach, it has lost none of its power.

DAY ONE | You wake up in your room at the Radisson Blu in Esquilino, by the Termini train station. Once the sort of district associated with, well, proximity to the train station, Esquilino now attracts everyone from newly arrived Chinese immigrants to young Romans drawn to the bar scene atop the wittily minimalist Blu. You hit a switch by your bed and the curtains draw open with a so whir; you step off the bed onto a thick shag rug and pad across the foam rubber floor, past the light fixtures that inflate when you turn them on, preparing for a day spent afoot.

You take a taxi to Trastevere, one of Rome’s classic neighborhoods, located on the other side of the Tiber, and step out at Viale di Trastevere. You take a le onto Via di Sant’Francesco a Ripa, stop at Babylon Café (1), stake out a sidewalk table and relax over a classic Roman breakfast: a delicious croissant filled with chocolate cream and the best, richest cappuccino you’ll have during your time here. Afterward, you allow yourself to get lost in Trastevere’s meandering streets for a couple of hours.

For lunch, cross one bridge to the small, picturesque Tiber Island (2), then another to get to the Ghe o, a bastion of classic Roman food. On Piazza delle Cinque Scole, you encounter Sora Margherita (3), home of some of the best Roman food in the city. Inside the cramped, windowless space, the server, mildly annoyed at your lack of Italian, jabs her finger at the menu and walks off, having decided what you’re having. Two whole artichokes—one roasted, one fried to the consistency of potato chips—a bo le of house red, heaping plates of ravioli with sausage and fettuccini with ricotta and black pepper, a hunk of cheesecake and an espresso later, it’s all you can do to toddle back to Tiber Island, take a seat on the cobblestone incline at the northern edge and watch the river—and a number of fugitive soccer balls—drift past.

Next, you stroll to the Largo di Torre Argentina (4), a ruin that once contained the steps on which Julius Caesar was assassinated. Now it’s a cat sanctuary. Rome is full of cats, and it’s full of aggressive drivers, so the sanctuary was established to give the animals a safe place to live. You stroll down a flight of stairs, past felines napping on the ruins. The volunteers introduce you to some of the residents, including a li le blind cat named Lucky Luciano, who wanders up, a aches himself to your leg and has to be pried off by a volunteer. He may as well have a ached himself to your wallet. You make a donation on the way out.

After a couple more hours spent wandering, being blindsided by the Trevi Fountain (5) and stopping off for a leisurely Campari and soda, you find yourself in Campo dei Fiori (6). During the day, this square holds a bustling open-air market; in the evenings, it’s a nightlife hub. A street performer creates giant bubbles with a bucket of soapy water and a length of rope, blowing the minds of nearby children. You stop by the busy Forno Campo dei Fiori (7) for a slice of pizza bianca with salt, pepper, olive oil and rosemary, which is far be er than it has any right to be. Then you hail a cab to your next hotel, The Grand Hotel Plaza (8), a 19th century beauty that has hosted statesmen and a pope. Your floor has an outdoor terrace lined with benches and lemon trees, and you linger out there a while, looking out over the nearby Spanish Steps, uncharacteristically quiet in the moonlight.

ROME REBUILT

Architecturally, Rome is best known for works from the ancient world (the Colosseum) and Renaissance (St. Peter’s Basilica), punctuated by Baroque masterpieces (Bernini’s fountains) and some forbidding Modernist blocks (the train station). But over the last decade the city has brought in some leading architects to spiff up the place. Renzo Piano designed Music Park with a large amphitheater and three concert halls, which vaguely resemble a trio of insects or a pod of whales, depending on your angle. Zaha Hadid contributed her prize-winning Centre for Contemporary Arts. And American Richard Meier designed both the sleek travertine and glass structure housing the Ara Pacis, a pristine 1st century altar (below), and the striking Jubilee Church, with its bright white concrete shells and glass. The boom hasn’t been without controversy—Meier has come in for a drubbing—but the Eternal City is nonetheless (gradually) embracing some new architectural ideas.

Three Perfect Days: San Francisco

admin — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 06:00:21 +0000

By Matthew Thompson

Photographs by Erin Kunkel

◄ Back

Next ►

AS THE HYDE-POWELL CABLE CAR NEARS THE TOP OF RUSSIAN HILL, the rumpled blanket of the city spreads out before you—a mosaic of electric buses, Chinese markets and cubist houses clinging to the pinnacles of ski-jump streets. This is San Francisco: a collision of history, whimsy and 23rd century technology, all meeting at oddly canted angles. A walk down the Embarcadero might reveal aging beatniks who look like Mark Twain, Art Deco street cars, sunburned longshoremen jawing in Spanish and trendy boutiques specializing in sustainable bamboo iPad covers. Whatever you’re looking for, be it rare bookstores in North Beach, fortune cookie factories in Chinatown or flocks of wild parrots at the top of Telegraph Hill, San Francisco rises to meet you and inevitably proves to be well worth the climb.

DAY ONE It’s almost unfair to call the Fairmont Heritage Place (1) a hotel. With its massive suites, exposed brick walls, ocean-view patios and fire pits, it feels more like a trendy loft co-op. While it’d be tempting to kill the day lounging on your private porch or digging through their 500-title DVD library, you lace up your walking shoes and throw yourself out into the city.

First, you head around to The Buena Vista Café (2), a local institution famous for its Irish coffees. You order the Dungeness crab omelet and marvel as the bartenders whip up drinks 30 at a time behind the long wooden bar. Don’t linger too long, though. You’ve got a boat to catch.

Reached via a 1.5-mile ferry ride, Alcatraz prison (3) stands like a crumbled castle above San Francisco Bay. Once home to the likes of Al Capone, George “Machine Gun” Kelly and Robert “Birdman” Stroud, it is now run by the National Park service. Former prisoners and guards narrate the self-guided audio tour, highlighting everything from the bullet holes in the walls to the beaten lawn of the baseball diamond.

Back on the mainland, you take a left down Embarcadero Street and walk to the Ferry Building (4). Once a transportation hub, this brick colossus has been converted into a marketplace for artisan foodsellers— check out Acme Bread Company for sourdough and Cowgirl Creamery for gourmet cheese— and a jaw-dropping farmers market on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. You forage together a fresh picnic lunch and eat staring out at the waterfront.

Now it’s time to burn those calories. You head through Levi’s Plaza to the Filbert Street Steps (5), an epic staircase climbing to the summit of Telegraph Hill, and soak up the gardens on either side—a brilliant mix of banana plants, azaleas, bamboo groves and agave that often play host to flocks of wild parrots. At the top you catch your breath in the shadow of Coit Tower (6), a stone observation deck with 360-degree views of the city, from the pyramidal Transamerica Building to serpentine Lombard Street. (Mercifully, there’s an elevator.)

Next, head down to Grant Avenue. Running north to south, this street bisects two of San Francisco’s most storied neighborhoods: North Beach and Chinatown. In North Beach, check out the quirky boutiques and inhale the tantalizing aroma of Italian bistros. Be sure to drop into Vesuvio (7) for a cheap drink and a stiff shot of Beatnik culture—Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg used to hang out here, and the walls are crammed with pictures, poems and scribblings they left behind.

Below Columbus Street, Grant transforms. Gone are the tiny shops and clothiers; in their place are the markets, importers and dim sum restaurants of Chinatown (8). As the street begins to rise toward Nob Hill, be sure to pop down a few of the alleys, where working spice shops and junk stores replace the tourist emporiums along the main drag.

Back at the hotel, it’s time to freshen up for dinner, but don’t spend too long on your outfit. Where you’re going it won’t matter. Opaque (9) is a gourmet restaurant with a twist: It serves its meals in pitch darkness. It’s messy, but the deprivation of one sense enhances the others in ways you never thought possible. With fantastic cooking from head chef Michael Whang and phenomenal service from the waitstaff (all of whom are visually impaired), it’s a dinner worth remembering.

You’ve got one more stop to make before bed. Catch a cab over to First Crush (10) for a little taste of Napa Valley. Ask the knowledgeable waitstaff to assemble you a custom flight (a lineup of mini glasses) from the 500-plus-label wine list. You savor a variety of jammy reds or aromatic whites before heading to bed.

Three perfect days: Mexico

admin — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 06:00:42 +0000

By Jordan Heller // Photographs by Kevin J. Miyazaki

◄ Back

Next ►

TAKE A LEISURELY DRIVE down the lush Mexican Riviera, a stretch of coastline dotted with small fishing villages and surf towns, and anchored by the bustling metropolis of Puerto Vallarta, and you’ll notice some curious sights. Cacti and palm trees share the same ecosystem with crocs, raccoon-like tejons, sea turtles and iguanas; and Mexican ranchers and farmers share pristine beach space and barstools with gringo expats, hippies and surf rats from points near and far northeast. Here, the jungle and the sea coexist in perfect harmony.

Historically, this part of Mexico consisted mostly of remote villages, but after John Huston filmed 1964’s The Night of the Iguana with Richard Burton and Ava Gardner here, it became a destination. San Francisco bohemians and the Hollywood glitterati began turning up seeking a respite from the rat race, and soon afterward cruise ships started to regularly port in Puerto Vallarta—including the fictitious Pacific Princess from The Love Boat.

Seldom has there been a better time to visit. Great deals abound, the beaches are pristine and uncrowded, and the natives welcome visitors with open arms—or at least a “Jalisco Jiveshake” (see sidebar). In this part of Mexico, where the locals leave their doors unlocked and their hearts open, the blazing sun is all you’ll need protection from. And for that, some sunscreen, a pair of shades and a classic Mexican straw fedora will do just fine.

DAY ONE Headed south from Puerto Vallarta in a rented ragtop Jeep Wrangler, you decide to stop for lunch in Boca de Tomatlán, a small beach town about 30 minutes from the city. As you turn off Route 200 and descend a steep cobblestoned hill, paraiso reveals itself: green, jungled cliffs framing a serene sandy beach and tropical blue waters dotted with skiffs. Streetside, across the cobblestones that led you to this charming cove, a group of boys are singing an impromptu a cappella folk tune.

You park the Jeep in the dead end at the bottom of the hill and take a seat on the outdoor terrace of El Embarcadero (1) restaurant, which offers a great view of the beach and a delicious salad of shrimp, octopus, tomato, cucumber and onion, all washed down with a hot mug of jugo de camarón (shrimp broth served like a cup of tea). For dessert, you walk 30 paces onto the beach and hop a $10 water taxi to Yelapa (2), a small town accessible only by boat. In 20 minutes, after a scenic tour of the coast, you find yourself in a tropical paradise. There you meet a stout woman with a big smile and a bowl of pies balanced on her head. This is Chelly Rodriguez, otherwise known as the “Pie Lady.”

She’s been baking and selling her pies here for more than 20 years. The banana cream is a standout: ripe sliced plantains on a sweet pudding, sitting atop a flaky crust.

You take the water taxi back to Boca de Tomatlán, then drive south through an alternating landscape of jungle and dusty pueblos that smell of sage. In two hours, you arrive at Costa Careyes (3), a luxury resort that draws a glamorous international crowd. Francis Ford Coppola was a regular visitor for 20 years; Heidi Klum and Seal own a villa; and everyone from Henry Kissinger to Giorgio Armani has spent time here.

Though its reputation is for decadence, Careyes is more than a seaside playground for the jetsetting elite. It’s the creation of Gian Franco Brignone, an eccentric 84-year- old Italian financier who dropped out of European high society more than four decades ago to build his Mexican ensueño. To Brignone’s mind, Careyes—comprising several kilometers of coastline and hundreds of hectares of jungle and mangrove swamps—is a living, breathing art project fully integrated with nature. There are no jet skis in the water or umbrellas crowding the beaches. The 56 villas and 38 casitas are alternately painted yellow, green, blue and red, and they appear as if they’ve sprouted naturally from the grounds. When Brignone dies, a specially prepared cliffside cave high above the property will serve as his tomb.

After sunset, you go to find him at Punto.Como, an outdoor restaurant in the plaza where many of Careyes’s regulars gather at night. You order the pizza—thin-crust with fresh pomodoro sauce and mozzarella cheese—and scan the tables of well-heeled but casually dressed people engaged in lively conversation. Brignone is easy to spot. Just look for the man with the wild white beard and the look of mad genius sipping on a special reserve of Partida tequila made just for Costa Careyes. You introduce yourself and the old man pours you a couple on the condition that you don’t bring up business, real estate or any other unpleasantness. The exquisitely smoky aftertaste stays with you as you make your way back to your casita and turn in.

Three perfect days: Hong Kong

admin — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 08:04:57 +0000

By Jacqueline Detwiler // Photographs by Lauryn Ishak

[]

THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD is a way of life in Hong Kong. Ever since the flrst mainlanders settled the hilly islands in the first and second century, the harbor city has been coveted by dozens of cultures and countries. Its best-known occupants, the British—who lived there for more than 150 years before returning the city to China in 1997—diluted its Eastern heritage with Earl Grey tea, red double-decker buses and Chinese delicacies served with the quintessentially English Worcestershire sauce. But that Western accessibility only makes the small mysteries—the all-but-abandoned temple on a tropical hillside, a traditional songbird market in the middle of a modern city—all the more remarkable.

Hong Kong is more than an international city; it is the original gateway between East and West. A frenetic harbor town that glows throughout the night with beacons of commerce, it literally exists at the end of China and the beginning of the rest of the world—making it the perfect place to explore both.

DAY ONE Waking up in a harbor-view room at the Island Shangri-La Hotel (1), you marvel at Kowloon’s jagged skyline before dressing for a day of walking. Today you’re going to start exploring the neighborhood that most tourists do: Central. One of Hong Kong’s primary business districts, it’s full of aimlessly winding alleys and narrow, rambling staircases.

In one of those alleys, you come upon Gage Street Wet Market (2), an open-air bazaar that off ers all manner of traditional Chinese foods. The stall owners are just as eager to sell you a flsh head as any of the spiky produce in their crates, but you settle on a pink and green dragonfruit and continue up to Lyndhurst Terrace.

Your next stop is Tai Cheung (3), a closet-size bakery that serves savory-sweet dan taat (egg custard tarts) that were beloved by Chris Patten, the final British governor of Hong Kong. The bright yellow tart crumbles easily, so eat carefully as you follow the blue government signs to Man Mo Temple (4). The shrine to Man Cheong and Kwan Ti (the civil and martial gods, respectively) is the main Chinese temple on the island. You pause to watch local women light incense sticks and bow in front of the golden statues, then explore the rest of the smoky, fragrant temple.

You love anything that comes in dumpling form, so for dim sum—a Cantonese specialty—you stop into one of the most famous parlors on the island, the wood-fronted Luk Yu Tea House (5).

Sitting in a booth, you order the har gow (shrimp dumplings), char siu bao (barbecued pork buns), pea shoots in broth and a pot of jasmine tea. This is fairly easy, because Luk Yu, like many restaurants in Hong Kong, has English menus and English- speaking servers.

Everyone you’ve met so far in Hong Kong has praised the view from the top of Victoria Peak, the forested hill that dominates the northwest part of Hong Kong island. So you ride to the top on the historic Peak Tram (6) to see the panorama for yourself. Once you reach the top, however, you break from the masses heading to the Peak Tower mall and turn on Findlay Road to hike back down. Pause a moment at Lion’s Pavilion (7), a pagoda perched atop the misty cliffs overlooking Victoria Harbour, to snap some photos, but then keep walking through the tropical forest that covers the hillside.

By the time you reach the bottom, the sidewalk bars are starting to fill up with stylish locals, so walk a few blocks to Lily and Bloom (8)—a dark, bilevel, New York– style speakeasy in Hotel LFK, complete with a hidden cigar room marked only by a tiny pig’s head—for a champagne-topped daiquiri at the slate bar. Before long, a group of locals you’ve met insists you join them for bone marrow and smoked pork ribs at a table downstairs, and you do, marveling at the exposed-fllament lightbulbs, bare wooden beams and flowerpots on chains on your way down.

By the time you finish, the party at the bar upstairs has gotten raucous. You’d love to stay, and it seems that some of the revelers would like you to as well, but you’ve got a long day tomorrow. You hail one of the red-and-silver taxis back to your hotel and fall into an easy sleep.

Three Perfect Days: Las Vegas

admin — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 06:12:25 +0000

AUTHOR MICHAEL KAPLAN PHOTOGRAPHS BRAD SWONETZ

[]

IT IS 2 A.M. in Las Vegas, but you wouldn’t know it from the crowd at Mr. Lucky’s 24-7. Inside the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino’s always-open coffee shop, excited-looking twentysomethings chow down on pancakes and omelets on one side, a poker fiend dines on steak fajitas on the other, and a Japanese crowd that just decamped from the Hard Rock’s nightclub of the moment, Vanity, tucks into a round of turkey clubs in the back. Many cities claim to be ’round-the-clock. Vegas truly is. But its appeal is broader than that. Yes, L.A.’s glitterati fly in for sleepless weekends of clubbing, but nature-lovers also come to marvel at desert sunrises and luxurious retreats. Gamblers from around the globe enjoy blackjack with their morning coffee, but foodies flock here too, to sample dishes prepared by some of the planet’s top chefs. You finish off the last of your Mr. Lucky’s Secret Special (an eight- ounce steak and three shrimp, available for $7.77, ordered off-menu) and head to your room to bank some of the sleep that you’ll surely be missing over the next three days.

ROCK ‘N’ ROLL
CityCenter
Image – Brad Swonetz

DAY ONE The bed is big, the sheets are a zillion thread count, and there’s a dock for your iPod built right into the wall. HRH (1), the new luxury hotel tower at the Hard Rock, exudes just the right mix of posh and edge. Your room service breakfast arrives right on time, as the iPod shuffles from the Rolling Stones to Jay-Z.

In Vegas, getting up before 10 a.m. is unheard of. But don’t let that stop you from paying an early visit to the Gambler’s Book Club (2), a store stacked with tomes that can teach you to count cards and bet sports with the best of ’em. Remember to visit when retired former owner Howard Schwartz is around. He knows as much Vegas lore as anyone.

Having boned up a bit on Sin City’s bad old days—thanks to Book Club perennial The Green Felt Jungle—you venture out to the edge of town and pay your respects at the Neon Museum’s Boneyard (3). It’s an outdoor lot loaded with multistory signs that once twinkled in front of joints like the Silver Slipper, Stardust and El Cortez. The famous dancing waters in the fountain at the Bellagio may be stately, but a giant horseshoe made from thousands of gold-colored light bulbs—well, that’ll stick in your mind.

Blackjack at the
Hard Rock Casino
Image – Brad Swonetz

Keeping it classic, you lunch at Peppermill Coffee Shop (4), situated between the Riviera and the spot where the late, great Stardust used to be. You take in the 1970s space-age décor, dig the fireplace and order a delectable burger from a waitress who calls you “hon.”

Next, you make a quick stop at the Charleston Antique Mall (5), a homey repository of old-timey Vegas ephemera. The vintage casino postcards and matchbooks beckon, and you leave with a pocketful.

Appetite sated and Golden Age revisited, you go back to HRH and hit the Reliquary Spa (6) for a quick massage and circuit of steam, cold shower and jacuzzi. In a town notorious for gussied- up spas, the Reliquary feels straightforward and happily free of new-age flourishes.

You leave the spa relaxed and limber, and your mind turns to dinner. With all the good restaurants in Vegas, settling on one can be harder than winning at roulette. Joël Robuchon ranks among the world’s great chefs, so opting to dine at one of his two restaurants in the MGM Grand is an easy decision. L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon (7) is the cooler and more casual of the pair, with dim lighting, ruby red furniture and spectacular food. As you savor your quail stuffed with foie gras, the noisy, clanging slot machines near the entrance may as well be on the other side of town.

After dinner, hand the valet your ticket for the flashy red 2011 Porsche Boxster Spyder you rented (a convertible, naturally) and cruise down to Forum Shops at Caesars. That’s where Casa Fuente (8), a Cuban-themed lounge, offers more than 100 different fine cigars. You opt for a $40 Opus X, accompanied by a 40-year-old Glenfiddich single malt. The scotch is the perfect accompaniment to this smooth- smoking stogie and a winning wind-down to your first day in Las Vegas.

Three Perfect Days: São Paulo

admin — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 06:02:37 +0000

AUTHOR STEPHAN TALTY PHOTOGRAPHS RAYMOND PATRICK

[]

RIO MAY OFFER the flash, but São Paulo, with its Latin motto non ducor, duco (“I am not led, I lead”), is where you’ll find the sophistication, the power and the future of Brazil. Founded by Jesuits in the 16th century, the city grew rapidly over the next 300 years into a center for the coffee trade before its merchants—many from families that originated in Italy, Portugal and Germany—branched out into heavy industry, banking and financial services.

Its population has since mushroomed to 11 million, making it the biggest city in South America. But what makes “Sampa” (the affectionate nickname for the city) truly a world-class metropolis is how the city’s fathers have managed to keep it surprisingly livable. They’ve blended the monumental and the intimate, the cutting-edge and the folk, the European and the South American. Within the crowded, sprawling megalopolis you’ll find serene parks studded with startling modernist sculptures, restaurants that take Brazil’s beef-dominated culinary tra- ditions and advance them with flourishes from around the world and, of course, teeming clubs that blend Brazil’s bossa nova breeze with the unrelenting thump of modern dance music. With the power and glamour of a cosmopolitan city, but minus the neon-lit ego, São Paulo doesn’t beguile you like Rio or assault you like New York. It sizes you up then smiles and invites you over for a caipirinha.

Basilica de
Nossa Senhora
da Assuncão.
Image – Raymond Patrick

DAY ONE You wake up in the elegant Meliá Jardim Europa (1), a sleek concrete and glass affair in the heart of the busy Itaim Bibi neighborhood. The Meliá is a serious hotel, with tycoons in $3,000 suits making billion-dollar deals in the posh, minimalist lobby, so leave the flip-flops upstairs. Step outside and hail a taxi for the Benjamin Abrahão Mundo dos Paes (2), a legendary bakery. Grab a croissant and a cup of dark local coffee, then grab a taxi and follow the natives into the Centro, the gritty heart of São Paulo. Your first stop is the century-old Teatro Municipal (3). The building’s gorgeous baroque interior—including a chandelier made of 7,000 Belgian crystals—was the site of the revolutionary 1922 exhibit “Week of Modern Art,” which helped launch Brazilian modernism, a stylistic blend of the European masters and Brazil’s more primitivist native traditions.

To get a look at what those rebel artists were freeing themselves from, walk over to the Basilica de Nossa Senhora da Assuncão (4), a beautifully somber church where every morning you can hear the vaulted central chamber thrum to the sound of or- gan and Gregorian chant. It’s here that you feel Sampa’s connection with Old World Europe most profoundly.

In need of a snack, you head across the square to Cafe Girondino (5), a faithful recreation of one of the famous Centro hotspots favored by the noisy bohemian types who roamed the streets at the start of the 20th century. You scarf down a slice of Girondino’s delicious torta húngara topped with chocolate shavings and cherries while surveying the crowd—mainly bearded artists and the tourists they hope will buy their work. You walk over to Rua 25 de Marco (6), a throbbing avenue packed with shouting vendors selling everything from trinkets to folk art, and pick up a handcrafted tourmaline necklace as a gift. The indigenous semiprecious crystals come in greens and blues so brilliant they seem to glow.

By now that torta has worn off, and you’re ready for lunch. Hop a taxi and head to the fabulous Obá (7), whose Mexican-born owner, Hugo Delgado, travels regularly to Thailand, Mexico and Italy to find inspiration—and spices—for his restaurant. You ask for the English-language menu (a rarity in São Paulo) and choose the salty, sun- dried carne seca, a northeastern Brazilian pork specialty. For dessert: the bolinha, fried tapioca dusted with almond. It’s so good you take a picture of it with your cellphone and beg Delgado for the recipe. He only smiles.

A bodega proprietor
Image – Raymond Patrick

You visit Sampa’s leading museum, Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo (8) and stroll among the Rodins. Then finding yourself suddenly in need of some street- level culture, you hail a cab for “Beco do Batman” (9), a street famous for its walls and alleyways adorned with eye-popping graffiti. Among the sprawling mythical creatures and political allegories are some of the most vibrant spray-can works south of the Bronx. Continuing with the art theme, you take another cab to dinner at the charming Mercearia do Conde (10), the rafters of which are festooned with paintings and crafts by local artists. Order the fantastic beef medallions with mustard sauce and have a gander at the art on the walls, all of which is for sale. Pick up a Santeria- inspired statuette of a white chicken and take it back to the hotel, where you grab a seat at a table next to one of the outdoor fountains and order a caipirinha, the traditional Brazilian cocktail made with cachaça, sugar and lime. You say “Obrigado” (Portuguese for “thank you”) to your server, finish your drink and retire to bed.

Three Perfect Days: Ho Chi Minh City

admin — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 06:00:34 +0000

AUTHOR MATTHEW THOMPSON PHOTOGRAPHS MICHAEL TUREK

[]

LIKE VIETNAM’S FAMOUS high-octane coffee, Ho Chi Minh City is a jolt to the system. Between the chaotic dance of the motor scooters hurtling through the streets, the businessmen in bespoke suits downing bowls of pho, the old women shouldering pots of coconuts on balanced poles, and the ubiquitous vendors peddling an irresistible array of Vietnamese street food, the sheer energy of the place is intoxicating.

Though long a major port of call for the Mekong Delta’s rice trade, a recent warming of relations with the West has led Ho Chi Minh City out of its postwar doldrums into a blooming economic renaissance. Now the city (call it Saigon-most natives do) is transforming its skyline and streetscape with a puzzlework of new high-rises and luxe shops. An average day in modern Saigon might involve sipping artisanal beer at a Czech brewpub, haggling over the price of silk scarves at a market and white-knuckling it on a crosstown scooter-taxi ride en route to April 30 Park-all punctuated with regular doses of sweet iced coffee. You’ll need the kick to keep up with the pace of life in this frenetic city.

Ngon
restaurant
Image – Michael Turek

DAY ONE Waking in the Caravelle Hotel (1)-a favorite hangout of reporters during the Vietnam War-you can practically feel history seeping from the walls. Sitting by your room’s high, north-facing window, you feast on complimentary rambutans and look down on the Saigon Opera House, a pink and white French Colonial cream puff of a building. Now put your shoes on; it’s time for a stroll.

Exiting the Caravelle, walk toward City Hall, a dramatic mini-Versailles. Beyond it is Pasteur, a street that will lead you to the Ho Chi Minh City Museum (2), a gray mansion with a vintage American fighter jet out front. Though not Saigon’s most famous repository of history (that honor goes to the War Remnants Museum), the City Museum is the best, offering extensive exhibits featuring traditional instruments and costumes, along with a collection of war memorabilia that places special emphasis on the personal items the soldiers carried. Who knew the Viet Cong had accordions?

For lunch, head up Pasteur to Quan An Ngon (3), a restaurant that assembles a dozen of the finest local food vendors under one roof, with each chef serving one or two signature dishes. Grab a table on the patio and order the flaky banh xeo-savory pancakes stuffed with fatty pork and shrimp.

Done eating, you continue up Pasteur to Cong Vien 30-4 (4). There, past the crowds of chatting teenagers and old men playing xiangqi-a board game similar to chess-you’ll see the strikingly modern façade of the Reunification Palace (5). During the 1960s and ’70s, it served as the seat of the South Vietnamese government. Today it’s a time capsule of and a monument to the Communists’ victory. Join a tour of the ’60s-era green-carpeted meeting rooms on the main floor and the mazelike warren of high command offices in the basement, eerily kept exactly as they were when the North Vietnamese tanks smashed through the gates in 1975.

Ho Chi Minh
City Museum
Image – Michael Turek

By now, Vietnam’s tropical heat and humidity have left you feeling poached. Regain your cool at Soi Da Café (6), a two-story coffee house with rattan couches, bamboo gardens and koi ponds. Order a café sua da (iced espresso with milk) and relax for a bit. When your drink arrives, leave the stainless steel drip filter atop your espresso cup for five minutes and then pour it over the provided glass of ice. Stir briefly and enjoy.

For dinner, head to Tú Xuong and try out Com Nieu Sai Gon (7). A local favorite, Com Nieu has gone upscale in recent years, adding dark wood furniture and a plant-entwined entryway. Order their specialty, com dap, a rice cake cooked in a sealed clay pot that must be smashed open to serve. Don’t be surprised when the waiter tosses yours into the air; that’s just a way to make sure there are no shards left in it. Order the xiu mai-a delicious stew of pork meatballs, tomatoes, onions and cilantro-to go with it.

After dinner, walk off a few calories heading south on Le Quy Don to the Centec Tower and the bar/restaurant Shri (8), whose rooftop terrace provides a panoramic view of the city. Over a red wine nightcap, let the distant blur of traffic hypnotize you until your eyes get heavy. It’s time to turn in.

Three Perfect Days: Los Angeles

admin — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 06:00:11 +0000

AUTHOR TRICIA ROMANO PHOTOGRAPHS AMANDA FRIEDMAN

[]

JAZZ AGE RACONTEUR Dorothy Parker once said, “Los Angeles is seventy-two suburbs in search of a city.” When she lived there in the 1930s, it was still practically the Wild West compared to the more settled cities of Chicago and New York. Today, L.A. is a megacity, the second-largest in the U.S., spread over nearly 500 square miles of beaches, foothills, bike paths and winding, tree-lined roads. All those suburbs—closer to 100 these days—are now connected by a latticework of some 23 freeways, with top-flight restaurants, bars, parks and hotels popping up like daisies. They’re also connected by a proud, sun-dappled plurality: L.A. is a quilt of neighborhoods, each with its own unique identity—from the beach culture burgs of Venice and Santa Monica, to the arty hillside hoods of Los Feliz and Silver Lake, to the hubs of celebrity such as Bel Air and Beverly Hills, to the woodsy enclaves of Topanga and Laurel Canyon.

If you try to see it all at once, you’re going to spend most of your time en route. So plan carefully—that way, you can hit the beaches, the hills and the shopping strips, and experience one of the most diverse, beguiling and, yes, laid-back cities in America.

Café Intelligentsia
Coffeebar
Image – Amanda Friedman

DAY ONE You wake up at the edge of the world, where the continent runs into the Pacific. From your bed at Shutters on the Beach (1), a posh resort that’s more Newport mansion than Tinseltown hotspot, you look out your window and watch surfers carving picture-perfect waves, then head down to Coast, one of the hotel’s two beachfront restaurants, to nosh on some lemon ricotta pancakes with fresh berries.

The Santa Monica boardwalk is irresistible, so you rent a bike from Spokes N’ Stuff (2) and pedal south, waves crashing to your right. Succumb to the urge to stop on the beach and dig your toes into the sand for a few minutes. Your ultimate destination, though, is Abbot Kinney Boulevard, a street that has been transformed in the past decade from a hippie bastion into an upscale shopping district. Here you’ll find the rustic, too-hip-for-a-sign-out-front restaurant Gjelina (3). Sit out on the back patio and admire the modernist, woodsy design of Culver City– based architects Modern Arc Inc. while nibbling on marinated heirloom tomatoes served with delicious burrata cheese, sweet basil and green olive oil. Top off lunch with a visit to the most revered espresso artisans in LaLa Land: Café Intelligentsia Coffeebar (4). Although the ordering system is a little confusing—a “concierge desk” routes you to one of several espresso stations—the rich black coffee is well worth the effort.

Peristyle of the
Getty Villa
Image – Amanda Friedman

Sated, you head back to Shutters and trade in your bike for the shiny Cadillac CTS-V you rented and drive up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu. If the scenery looks familiar, it’s because this iconic strip of blacktop has starred in more films than all the Hollywood powerhouses who live along it combined. When you get to Malibu, your first stop is The Getty Villa (5), the smaller of L.A.’s two Getty museums (the larger Getty Center is in Brentwood). The Villa focuses on Greek, Roman and Etruscan antiquities, but what really catches your eye are the lush scenic gardens, complete with waterfalls and ancient Roman bronze sculptures. Though a visit is free, you’ll want to make a reservation.

You’d also be wise to reserve a table for dinner. That way, there won’t be any delay when you get to the Paradise Cove (6) in Malibu; you’ll be able to feel the sand underfoot right at the table as nosy seagulls gaze greedily at your oysters. Sadly for the birds, you finish every last one before turning in for the night. Feeling perfectly sun-kissed from your day near the beach, you take in the view of the water to the right and mountains to the left as you drive back to Shutters and collapse happily in your well-appointed bed.

Three Perfect Days: Paris

admin — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 06:00:26 +0000

AUTHOR SARAH HORNE PHOTOGRAPHS BRUNO FERT / PICTURETANK

[]

PARIS, THE DIVINE CITY OF LIGHT, elicits passionate reactions from visitors, and for good reason: Its streets and architecture are aglow with captivating light at all hours; its cuisine is widely imitated (though never replicated) in nearly every corner of the globe; and its sidewalk cafés are so redolent with romance that Hollywood has tried for decades to bottle the magic. Some visitors arrive in Paris with return tickets and are so completely seduced they simply never leave. Others depart reluctantly, only to remember their time here for the rest of their lives.

And then there’s a third group, who find the maze of narrow streets overwhelming, the language a roadblock and the pressure to make the most of the mind-boggling selection of historical sights enough to provoke a major meltdown in the shadow of Notre Dame. The trick? When in Paris, do as the Parisians do: Hardcore lovers of culture, the locals would never try to visit half a dozen museums in a day. Committed food fanatics, they cheerfully let lunch stretch to three hours whenever possible. And when a server seems brusque, they never, ever take it personally.

The most important secret to enjoying Paris? Don’t fret if you get lost. Sometimes a wrong turn is the fastest route to that perfect little shop or picturesque wine bar. A sprawling, heartbreakingly beautiful city, Paris is ripe for those who appreciate serendipity.

So take a deep breath, and off you go.

Hôtel Amour
Image – Bruno Fert / Picturetank

DAY ONE Stretch indulgently as you open your eyes at the Hôtel Particulier (1), a Montmartre mansion that once belonged to the Hermès family. Descend to the mod salon for a taste of perfection served on a silver tray: a warm chocolate croissant, slices of airy, chewy baguette with butter and jam, and a steaming pot of coffee, all proffered by a demure serveuse clad in a proper French maid’s uniform.

Outside, wend your way down majestic Avenue Junot, admiring the grand Haussmann-era homes that French film stars like Fanny Ardant call home. A well-heeled dame shuffles past, off to do her provisioning at the local boulangerie Le Grenier à Pain (2), which was awarded the prize for best baguette in Paris earlier this year (and is therefore duty-bound to supply President Sarkozy and Carla Bruni’s daily loaves).

After getting lost on the crowded stairways of Montmartre—made famous by Toulouse-Lautrec and Picasso—you happen upon the Lamarck-Caulaincourt metro stop, where you’ll say goodbye to this arty enclave and make for the center of the city.

At the St-Michel stop, avoid the noisy bustle of the Latin Quarter and turn toward the river, wandering down the Quai des Grands Augustins and browsing through the bouquinistes’ stalls of vintage books before crossing the Seine on the Pont des Arts (3). Here, on the wooden span of the bridge, you’ll find a bench at which to pause and take in the Ile de la Cité and much of medieval Paris arrayed before you. Suddenly you feel a touch of vertigo, but relax, it’s just a little sensory overload. The best antidote is lunch.

Dancing in Montmartre
Image – Bruno Fert / Picturetank

Thankfully, you’ve booked ahead at La Régalade Saint-Honoré (4), one of Paris’ most highly regarded “neo-bistros,” set just behind the Louvre. Take respite in the unadorned dining room and kick things off with a rustic pot of chicken pâté served with delectable mini cornichons. The prix-fixe menu, concocted by chef Bruno Doucet, is exactly the initiation into French dining that you’ve been yearning for, all the simple joys of foodie Paris on three no-frills white plates.

Sated, you decide to walk off this feast in the Jardin des Tuileries (5), beginning at the glass pyramid of the Louvre and sauntering west, marveling at the precisely pruned gardens first laid out for the delight of Louis XIV in 1664. Once filled with courtiers, the Tuileries are now packed with chic sunbathers who lounge on green metal chairs wearing ballet flats and ultrashort shorts, small dogs napping in the shade under their legs.

You extract yourself from the bliss of people watching for a healthy dose of culture at the Musée de l’Orangerie (6), the French monarchs’ former greenhouse just off the Place de la Concorde. You are transported by the room full of Claude Monet’s water lilies and feel your blood pressure lowering as you settle into the rhythm of Parisian life.

Next, hop the metro back to the hotel and slip upstairs for a late afternoon nap before primping for a fashionably late dinner. You’ve made reservations in cool- again Pigalle, where you dine on the back patio at Hôtel Amour (7) among the very young and the very thin. Order some French comfort fare and raise a glass to your exceptionally tired feet.

Three Perfect Days: Denver

admin — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 06:00:48 +0000

AUTHOR RACHEL STURTZ PHOTOGRAPHS JEN JUDGE

[]

ONCE UPON A TIME, Denver was the ultimate Wild West town. Its very creation was almost an accident. No roads led here, no railroads or major waterways. The nearest city at the time of its establishment was 600 miles away. Then one day in 1858, a prospector hit a vein, and Denver was born—sired by a few ounces of gold shiny enough to lure men from across the continent who were looking for more. Together, they built a town where there was no other reason to have one.

But now, the capital of Colorado and the great outdoors enjoy equal footing on the high plains, surrounded by the majestic Rocky Mountains. And the people who live here—some of the healthiest and most active in the country—are more than happy to share. Today, you can finish a fresh cup of Brazilian drip coffee in the time it takes for you to drive to South Table Mountain for a prework mountain bike ride. After sampling a mixologist’s happy hour agave cocktail, you can stroll the path along the South Platte River and watch freestyle kayakers flip and twist on the slow-moving water. Or you can learn to rock climb with some of the world’s top mountaineers before making it back to enjoy a seven-course tasting menu at one of the best restaurants in the West.

After spending a long weekend in Denver, you’ll find that even though it’s no longer the Wild West, it’s as close as a big city can get.

Matthews/Winters Park
Image – Jen Judge

DAY ONE Wake up in your opulent room at the Teatro Hotel (1), a boutique property lined with Indonesian sandstone and black Italian marble housed in the old Denver Tramway Building, which offers a view of the Denver Center for the Performing Arts across the street. No wonder the Police, Green Day and Paul McCartney like to stay here.

Waste neither time nor sunshine, and make your way over to The Market (2). This deli, a Denver staple, was founded by a couple of New Yorkers who claim to have personally introduced Colorado to the espresso machine. The honeyed hardwood floors are unique to the neighborhood, but gawking at the décor will have to wait. Get that hearty breakfast pocket to go—you’ve got Red Rocks to explore.

Change into your outdoor clothes (packing hiking boots and a jacket). It’s time to hit the trail. Unless you’re an experienced mountain biker who’s ready for the übertechnical Matthews/Winters trail, stick with the four-mile running and hiking path that takes you to an overlook at the edge of Red Rocks Park. Guide Nick Miller leads the way and points out the local fauna and particularly large outcroppings of rock along the trail. His main goal is to keep you from falling, so he won’t have to carry you home. But the view from the turnaround point—an outcropping of tilted 250-million-year-old sandstone monoliths that hang over a valley of paths—makes the rugged trails worth the risk.

In the shadow of an on-ramp to I-70, pull over for lunch at Kermitts Roadhouse (4). On weekends, motorcycles pack the parking lot and live rock ‘n’ roll blasts while you polish off a bowl of the best green chile stew in the state. Wash it down with a Colorado brew and marvel at the hundreds (thousands?) of dollar bills that paper every surface, before moving outside to enjoy the tunes. (Word to the wise: The proprietors have heard every Muppet joke in the book.)

Skyline
Image – Jen Judge

You’re feeling slightly roasted from sitting in the sun, so you and Nick pedal toward St. Mary’s Glacier (5) to cool off in earnest. In a scene worthy of an Ansel Adams shot, you find a few brave souls cliff diving off a rock ledge into the freezing mountain lake below. Refreshing! At the bottom of the glacier, strap on a pair of snowshoes (provided by the outfitter) and prepare to feel the effects of elevation as you climb up the steep tongue of ice to its peak—10,500 feet. You’ll be rewarded with a panoramic view of the Rockies. Throw a few snowballs and contemplate using your jacket as a sled on the way down (then think better of it).

When you turn your key in the door back at the Teatro, you’re thankful you called ahead and had the concierge draw a bath. You slip into the water redolent with aromatherapy oils and sip champagne while savoring a plate of tiny dark chocolates.

Later, when your stomach starts to growl, you head down the street to Vesta Dipping Grill (6), which serves Western bistro food with dozens of spicy sauces. The warehouse-chic spot has exposed beams, wrought-iron flourishes and mini-streetlights that illuminate the bar. Order up the Madras grilled venison and pair it with the chimichurri, barbecue and red pepper rica rouille dipping sauces for a range of Western flavors, after which, it’s back to the hotel for some much-needed rest.

Three Perfect Days: Amsterdam

admin — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 06:00:18 +0000

AUTHOR ADAM K. RAYMOND PHOTOGRAPHS BALL & ALBANESE

[]

ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS OPEN YOUR EYES in this 13th century metropolis and you’ll see that the bustling Dutch capital is alive with color, from the pink and purple tulips standing guard in front of canal houses to the dusty brown brick paths snaking between them. Look a little closer and you’ll see splatters of the bright orange representing the Dutch royal family, the blinding yellow of the city’s overflowing cheese shops and the burnt sienna and glowing ambers favored by its most famous artists, Vincent van Gogh and Rembrandt van Rijn.

There was a time when Amsterdam came in but two hues: the green of the rolling Dutch hills and the icy blue of the Amstel River. Eight hundred years ago, fishermen dammed the river, giving the city its name and starting the transformation from small port village to global hub of business and culture. It has endured the rule of feudal lords and Spanish kings, flourished as a center of art and finance, and suffered plagues brought by rats and terror wrought by Nazis. But a visit to present-day Amsterdam proves this city is a resilient one, maintaining its medieval charm while growing into one of Europe’s most forward-thinking and brightly colored metropolises.

Canal view near the Hotel Seven Bridges

DAY ONE Pull yourself out of bed as the warm silver light creeps into the The Dylan (1), a dapper 41-room hotel with a staff that confirms a widespread rumor about the Dutch— they’re extremely friendly. You’ve shrewdly booked the loft suite, a tranquil hideaway tucked under the building’s gable roof. After a moment of hesitation, you fight the urge to fall back into the marshmallow-soft bed and set out for the city below.

Passing through The Dylan’s stone courtyard, you find yourself staring into the Keizersgracht, the widest and most handsome of Amsterdam’s canals. The name means King’s Canal, which is appropriate given the aristocratic feeling you have as you step into Bakery Paul Année (2), a cozy organic shop teeming with fresh-baked treats. Inside, you confront one of life’s ultimate dilemmas: bread, pastry or cookie? Sensing your indecision, the clerk points to a platter with a golden pastry on it. “You get the last one,” she says, handing you an apple date tart. One bite reveals why it’s sold out at 9 a.m.

As you exit, you notice that you’re smack in the middle of the Nine Streets (3), the epicenter of Amsterdam cool. The streets straddle four canals and are dotted with designer boutiques, eateries and secondhand shops. Step into Cortina Papier (4) and grab a postcard to help you say hallo to those you left at home.

After a visit to the nearby fashion emporium SPRMRKT (5), a former supermarket that gave up its vowels and victuals for postmodern designs and asymmetrical haircuts, you emerge the new owner of a leather jacket, and you continue your spin through the streets of the Jordaan until you stumble across Old Dutch Candy (6). Feeling disciplined, you ignore the chocolate and move on to the main attraction: licorice, or as the Dutch call it, “drop.” You rely on the expertise of the clerk, who hands you a Tootsie Roll–shaped piece of jet-black “drop” stuffed with a creamy beige substance called salmiak. Eyes closed, you take a skeptical nibble, only to find that the contrast of salty and sweet is not just tolerable, it’s delicious.

A pleasant canal view

Pocket bulging with candy, you make your way to the nearby Anne Frank House (7). The line outside snakes around the building, but the ticket you bought online allows you to head right inside. Along with the perfectly preserved secret annex where Anne Frank and her family lived for two years, the museum includes exhibits on persecution and discrimination around the world. Quotations from the 13-year-old’s diary line the walls of the space, reminding you that Amsterdam wasn’t always as beautiful as it is today.

It’s lunchtime, and here that means pancakes. The Dutch version is large, thin and often savory. You ascend the astonishingly steep stairs at the Upstairs Pancake House (8), enter a homey dining room and order something “typically Dutch,” a pizza-size example with bacon cooked into it and a warm layer of baked apples on top. Ten minutes later you’ve paid the cook the ultimate compliment: a clean plate.

As you head back to The Dylan to reacquaint yourself with the mattress, you pass through Boekenmarkt (9), a bustling used book store stocked with the latest bestsellers and dog-eared classics. You stumble across a copy of The Dutch, I Presume?, a book that attempts to explain the peculiarities of Dutch culture, and pocket it for some canalside reading.

After a quick nap back at the hotel, it’s time for dinner. You hop the tram to the eastern edge of town, where you’ve made reservations at De Kas (10), a former greenhouse converted into a haute eatery. Enjoy an aperitif on the porch as chefs shuffle past you to snip green herbs from the lavish garden. Once you’re seated, a server brings out a spread of fresh, in-season delicacies, including sliced turkey and pillowy roast pumpkin served with smoky bacon and jicama jus. The dessert, a sliver of white chocolate served with fresh rhubarb and pistachio ice cream, sends you home full and happy.