Snippets from Marrakech: the entrance to the Medina, local spices and roots for sale in the souks, one of countless ornately hand-painted ceilings at Bahia Palace, a charming riad front door, and, of course, genie pants.

Despite an abbreviated stay of just a couple of nights (resulting in, I think, more hours on an airplane than actually on the ground), my trip to Marrakech last month was no less magical than one would expect. Surely part of it was the labyrinthine souks filled with snake charmers, fortune tellers, and genie lamps, but what really transported me was Palais Namaskar. The new hotel—which I’d sooner dub a resort due to its location outside of the hectic city center and serene atmosphere filled with perfectly-landscaped gardens and lakes—chilled me out virtually on contact. Lake-side yoga, a Guerlain facial, a foie gras-heavy menu, and some seriously sexy Feng-Shui interiors were enough to turn a 72-hour stay into the ultimate retreat. And will you just look at that killer Ochre City sunset? more»

The Colchagua Valley and surrounding winelands were my last stop in my Chilean adventure, topped off with a stay at Lapostolle Residence, a swank little resort run by the country’s most celebrated winery, Clos Apalta. The property is nothing if not decadent—I started out with a wine-paired five-course lunch and finished with a massage on my casita’s private deck, with a Grand Marnier tasting (using chocolate shot glasses!), an extensive wine tasting, and a tour of the property’s underground, lair-like wine cellar fitting somewhere in-between. With the exception of an unfortunate swarm of bees that were terribly interested in my breakfast jams, the entire stay was damn-near perfect. more»

Tidbits of my time in Santiago, including the chic and sexy Aubrey Hotel; a magical, if smoggy, park in the sky (which I was told features—though viewed no evidence of—excellent vistas of the Andes); a political-statement-slash-tapas-bar; more free art and cultural spaces than an American knows what to do with; and pastel de choclo (look it up, make it, and prepare to have your world rocked). more»

A last bit of Patagonia that I just couldn’t bear not to post. Sadly, my trip came on the heels a tragic fire that ravaged more than 20 square miles of Torres del Paine National Park. That the blaze just barely missed Explora’s Hotel Salto Chico was hardly luck. Rather, a devoted staff that stayed behind to battle the flames was the property’s saving grace. Nonetheless, Salto Chico was undergoing a much-needed scrubbing during my visit—thus the limited photography—rendering the great outdoors my home for much of my stay. But, really, isn’t that the point of Patagonia anyway? more»

Between the 17-hour days (hello, golden hours!), the jagged scribbles that Torres del Paine’s mountain ranges form over the horizon, and those funky lenticular clouds that hang like orbs in the sky, Patagonia is absolutely one of those places that requires little-to-no skill to photograph. I wish I could say I’m this amazing of a photographer, but, alas, these landscapes (not to mention the breathtaking new Tierra Patagonia Hotel and Spa) really deserve all of the credit. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m so in awe of these shots that they get a bit redundant—allow my deficiencies in self-editing this one time! more»

You always read about how Patagonia is this life-changing pocket of the world where people go to find themselves—or lose themselves—in the frighteningly vast and utterly unadulterated landscapes strewn with Krypton-like mountain ranges and furious winds. And, really, even when staying in an amazing new resort like the Singular Patagonia just outside of Puerto Natales, it’s no different. Never mind the daily-changing farm-fresh menus, the marshmallowy beds, and the massive holistic spa at this former-meat-processing-plant-turned-industrial-mod hotel, what really stuck with me were the same experiences that people have been having here for centuries: fording a river on horseback, hiking a glacier, kayaking through fjords, and stalking those cuddly cousins of the camel, guanacos. Sure, I might be fooling myself—I never had to rough it in a wind-battered tent, and even the strenuous nine-hour hike to las torres never really got to the point of “dangerous”—but how often do you get to hang out with a bunch of gauchos slamming beers right before they mount a bucking bronco? Not too often. more»

I honestly don’t know which I love more: carbs or animals. So it’s no wonder I fit right in with the Negev Bedouins who make the best bread (by burying it in dirt, mind you) that I have ever tasted in my life. Both Muhammad, whom I met in the desert, and Zarifi, whose acquaintance I made at her home in the village of Derig’at, showed me a few different ways to make bread. Sometimes soft, thick, and fluffy, other times more tortilla-like, let it suffice to say that whatever the style, I ate it like a wild animal who’d just emerged from hibernation. Muhammad also provided me with ample opportunities to fawn all over his camels, not to mention letting me take one of ‘em for a spin, so, you know, I can pretty much say with confidence that the funnest day of my life has come and gone. Oh, and then there’s this little gem, about which I have absolutely nothing to say. more»

Benni, a surly, stocky dude with a shaved head and an accent that’s part British, part Belgian, part American, and part local, was my guide through the behemoth 23-mile-wide Makhtesh Ramon. The giant hole in the Negev’s barren landscape looks so much like a crater that it’s virtually always called a crater. But if I were to dare call it such, as opposed to its, ahem, proper name—a makhtesh!—Benni informed me I’d be tossed out of his Jeep faster than a fat sand rat scurrying through the desert. Anyway, whether you care about the official nomenclature of this mammoth non-crater or not is moot—what really matters is the amazing Beresheet resort propped along its edge. Say what you will about the art at the entrance (is it a positive or negative comment on the burka?), this sweet little oasis in the middle of the desert is one hot potato in my book. more»

My six-day Israeli cram session on virtually everything between Tel Aviv and Eilat felt at times like a surrealist experiment, in which my exploits included bobbing in the Dead Sea while my recently shaved legs begged for mercy, throwing rocks and screaming “Hello!” at the top of my lungs in the middle of the desert, swimming with dolphins at the apex of Israel, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt, encountering a level of devoutness that almost frightened me, hiking to the top of Masada in time to catch the sunrise, and cramming all of Tel Aviv into four measly hours. The result is a collection of photos that makes very little sense altogether. So enjoy this random catch-all—I promise a (hopefully) more structured set of posts featuring Bedouin bread-breaking, a sassy camel, and a 24-mile crater that isn’t a crater at all (and don’t you dare call it one) in the next few days! more»

Last week I joined the über-elite* ranks of those who carry a Global Entry passport. Consequently, from now on, I will no longer have to wait in long immigration lines or explain why there are so many stamps in my passport or (this is the best part) fill out that annoying blue customs form. I probably only reenter the United States around a dozen or so times per year, but given the fact that (a) it usually takes upwards of an hour to clear JFK, and (b) it’s almost always after a long flight in which I have achieved minimal shut-eye, I deemed it most definitely worth the registration fee, background check, and subsequent interview with Homeland Security. Perhaps I’ll remember last month’s trip to St. Lucia as my last trip without my Global Entry passport. More likely, I’ll remember it for the big beautiful Pitons, the tree house-like spa at Jalousie Plantation, and the utterly mind-blowing architecture at Jade Mountain. Happy traveling in 2012!

*That’s sarcasm! Anyone with $100, a clean record, and a little bit of patience can do it! more»

I’d recommend John Hill’s new Guide to Contemporary New York City Architecture even if my photography wasn’t in it. A thorough walking guide of virtually every modern structure worth seeing in the city, it’s also wonderfully written, provides the ever-important public transportation directions, and—oh yeah—features some pretty amazing photos (Amy Barkow’s dusk shot of the Sperone Westwater Gallery is absolute perfection!). Can’t wait to work my way from cover to cover!

I had been in the Caribbean for nearly three weeks straight and, in all honesty, was pretty much working on autopilot by the time I got to La Banane. After two weeks in St. Maarten I had learned little more than the fact that I am not a fan of St. Maarten. And though St. Barts is an exclusive and fabulous respite from the masses clogging every corner of St. Maarten, I’d reached the point where only something truly amazing was going to break the zombie-like workaday way in which I had been going at it for so long. So it’s saying quite a bit that this nine-bungalow hotel had me flipping out over its thoughtful decor, from vintage Eisenhower chairs covered in a funky mint and pink pattern, to mahogany tables stacked high with stuffed parrots and art books from all of my favorites (Warhol and Koons and Raschenberg, oh my!). And who wouldn’t love that little white-and-yellow gum drop sprouting a single palm tree in the middle of the pool? As happy as I was to finally head home, La Banane was one of the few I was actually sad to say goodbye to. more»

Perhaps the royal couple can be blamed (or credited) with the incredible amount of coverage that Seychelles is getting lately. Or maybe it’s just one of those best-kept secrets that’s no longer much of a secret. Whatever the reason, I’m seeing the African isles everywhere this month—on the cover of Budget Travel, in the latest issue of Islands—and don’t forget my honeymoon destination piece in this month’s Destination Weddings and Honeymoons. And though Robb Report appears to be on-trend by including two Seychelles resorts in its November private islands feature (written and photographed by yours truly), the magazine was actually quite the trailblazer for this of-the-moment destination when they ran my feature on the future of this pristine island-nation back in January. more»

Snaps from our trip to Mexico last month. It was off to a shaky start in Mexico City, where basically nothing is ever open when it says it will be, resulting in thwarted attempts to see the Luis Barragon home, the Frida Kahlo Museum, and the Diego Rivera studio (we at least got to the see the exteriors of the last one), not to mention a host of unfulfilled restaurant recommendations.

After a flight to the Costa Alegre, a lost (and recovered) credit card, and an illegal U-turn that resulted in a hefty bribe (ahem, I mean fine), things started to look up. Highlights included a shanty town church framed almost perfectly by a donkey on the mend, a distillery where the bees loved the tequila almost as much as we did, a hike filled with spiders as big as your hand and circling vultures and falcons overhead, a Día de la Independencia sprinkled donut, learning how to roll in and out with the tide like driftwood, feeling like that last two people alive on the appropriately named Bird Island, Virgin of Guadalupe candles, and the best margaritas and micheladas in Mexico—nay—the world. Oh, and we got engaged. more»

Another quickie post! Shot a couple of New York City hotels last week—the sexy Mark Hotel and the spacey Yotel—and the two properties couldn’t be more different. In one corner, we have the cool-as-ice Mark Bar filled with low-slung animal-skin chairs and sparkly glowing orbs. On the other end of the spectrum, Yotel’s Dohyo restaurant serves up punchy colors, pop art murals, and minimalist furniture. Take your pick—either way, a cocktail is certainly in order!

As promised, a break from island photography—and what a break indeed. I’ve always been a lake girl, perhaps due to my Texan roots (no matter how much Austin calls itself “The Third Coast,” the cruel truth is a lack of any substantial body of water beyond the gem that is Lake Travis), and now I have a new favorite in Lake Placid. More specifically: Lake Placid Lodge. You’d never know the property was ravaged by a fire in 2005: an extensive Hudson River School art collection, rustic twig-and-branch beds (each handcrafted by a different local woodworker), and dark wood plank floorboards that creak just the right amount all suggest a family camp that has grown more and more refined over the last century. Throw in the country’s best pancakes (no, really) and s’mores on Placid’s edge, and I’ve officially found my new favorite destination. more»

A smattering of random shots from the last few months in the Caribbean, including conch fried three ways, an almost-blasphemous tropical decoration of a Roman bust, a proper English teatime in Bermuda, buoys as the best styling props ever, decadent sweets (of course), and my favorite hotel amenity of all time—a poolside kitty. I’m hoping to ease up on the tropical posts for a while, which may prove easier said than done with upcoming trips to St. Maarten, St. Barts, and St. Lucia. more»

This past month has had me bouncing between Bermuda, the Bahamas, and Turks & Caicos. Consequently, I can’t get a certain Beach Boys song out of my head. Anyway, I’m nose-deep in photos but felt shamed into putting something—anything—up as it’s been a while since my last post. So here we have Horseshoe Bay + me sneaking up on little girls like a weirdo = magical golden hour shot. More to come eventually!

A few highlights from last month’s quick trip to Switzerland: cafes on Lake Geneva; a ski lodge in Verbier; mastering the art of deboning a fish; a facial at Valmont Spa; eating my weight in Swiss chocolate, wine, and cheese; a hike to a glacier; and chasing a herd of sheep until I got the right shot. more»

The views from Barcelona’s Hotel Arts are, to put it mildly, impressive. Which made it all the more challenging to hit the ground running and see everything I wanted to see in the 24 hours I had between docking at Port de Barcelona and catching a flight home. Nonetheless, my awesome travel companion, Sam, and I managed to make the obligatory stroll down La Rambla, visit the chocolate museum, saunter past my favorite Miró sculpture, check out the former-bullfighting-arena-turned-shopping-mall, sip mojitos in El Raval, peruse the boutiques in Born, do handstands on the beach, have a soak in the hotel’s hottub under the famous Frank Gehry fish, and hit a few of the necessary Gaudí landmarks. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I want to live in Barcelona! more»

These types of posts are so time consuming but, really, a collage just looks so much better than any one photo—especially when almost every imaginable shade of blue seems to play into nearly every shot. I surprised myself by enjoying Ibiza the most out of all of the islands visited on my Mediterranean journey. Corsica was just ok, Sardinia was so not my speed, and Formentera and Porquerolles were sweet but perhaps a bit too quaint. I didn’t don any glow sticks or stay out until sunrise, but Ibiza’s street life and sangria were about as good as it gets. more»

Homemade buttermilk banana pancakes are a Sunday morning ritual around here. It’s enough to start the week off on the right foot, even if it means downing more butter and maple syrup in a single sitting than one should consume in any seven-day period. Last Sunday, however, was extra sweet when the New York Times delivered a few of my photos in the travel section for a story on Hangzhou. You can check out the full article online (that is, if you are willing to give up one of your 20 free monthly articles!).

Not to complain, but there’s a certain level of suckiness when I visit an amazing resort in the middle of paradise and, after three days of non-stop shooting, come to realize that my toes have yet to touch the ocean, my bathing suit remains packed away at the bottom of my suitcase, and every night I pass out the moment I get back to my suite. More than ever before, this was the case at Las Alamandas, where the intensely bright colors of this authentically designed Mexican resort were just too much of a draw for my camera. There’s good news though: I get to go back in September—this time sans camera, with a boyfriend in tow and margaritas on my mind! more»

With winter and spring in the middle of what seems like a never-ending wrestling match here in New York (today, winter is winning), it’s quite a comfort to pick up the April issue of Robb Report and reminisce about my trip to Ani Villas in Anguilla last December. Look at that gorgeous turquoise pool! Alas, my swimsuit hasn’t seen the light of day since. more»

Suzhou was—for lack of a better term—a trip. Sure, I heard the same “Hello! Hello!” that white people hear all over China when wandering the streets with their cameras and sticking out like a fly in a bowl of rice. But in Suzhou, the cultural difference was, quite honestly, shocking. People followed me through the streets. Parents pointed me out to their children as some sort of educational lesson. Young girls surrounded me, asking for a picture and my email address. I was even denied service in several restaurants, the reason for which I am still unsure.

Despite feeling like an alien, Suzhou captivated me with its never-ending parade of contradictions. There were the I.M. Pei-designed art museum, the cafes and bars on trend-ified Pingjiang Road, and the main boulevard with its multiple Louis Vuitton and Hermes stores on alternating blocks that pointed to a rapidly Westernizing city. But right there too were the clotheslines drying cured meats next to damp boxer shorts, the ever-present smell of stinky tofu, and, of course, the hordes of people elbowing their friends and pointing and nodding in the direction of the lone white girl. I can’t say I know which is the real Suzhou. Some would be inclined to say the old man repairing shoes on the side of the street has more Suzhounese street cred than the spiky-haired guy shooting a fashion spread in front of a “British pub.” I’m not so sure. I suspect both are authentic in their own way. more»

More than a few times during my trip, I heard the phrase “Heaven above, Hangzhou below.â€� Funnily enough, when I got to Suzhou, the saying had changed—this time it was “Heaven above, Hangzhou and Suzhou below.” I think the latter is the correct version, although, after spending several days in both cities, I understand why the Hangzhounese would claim the saying for just themselves. Somehow, even during the busiest of times—whether shopping on Hubin and Nanshan roads, visiting ancient Buddhist temples, wandering from gallery to gallery at the Zhejiang Art Museum, or dodging aggressive shopkeepers on Hefang Street—the city possesses a certain peacefulness that Suzhou lacks. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that even when struggling (usually unsuccessfully) to find a taxi or walking the city’s stone sidewalks until the bones in your feet pulsate with searing pain, the serenity of West Lake is always just a stone’s throw away. more»

By the time I made it to Banyan Tree, the popping of firecrackers was almost incessant as Hangzhou’s locals counted down the days to the Lunar New Year. I, on the other hand, could not have been more sluggish. Having skipped from Seoul to Shanghai to Hangzhou to Suzhou and then back to Hangzhou, I was one weary traveler. With just 36 hours at Banyan Tree before retracing my circuitous path back to New York (via Seoul via Shanghai!), I had no greater desire than to bury myself deep under the covers of the fluffy king-size bed in my suite. But after an eight-course meal at Bai Yun, a two-hour Balinese massage at the spa, a stroll through the sleepy grounds of the neighboring Xixi National Wetland Park, and an invigorating workout in the gym, I was feeling like a firecracker myself, exploding with energy for the 24-hour-plus journey home. Xin Nian Kuai Le! more»

While staying in Hangzhou, I hit the jackpot and found the one taxi driver in perhaps all of China that speaks perfect English. Jerry, whose business card identifies him as “The Grass Roots Ambassador of Hangzhou,” was full of little nuggets of wisdom, like “wear your napkin from your neck when eating hot pot,” and “take ginseng to relieve menstrual cramps.” But his most valuable piece of advice was this: “If you haven’t been to the lake or the temple, you haven’t been to Hangzhou.”

The temple to which my new friend was referring is the Lingyin Temple, and lucky for me, Amanfayun, the second resort in my Tour de Hangzhou, is located just steps away. Much like the temple, where visitors can watch Buddhist monks in afternoon prayer each day at 3:30, Amanfayun reeks of authenticity from another time. Located on the site of a former tea plantation workers’ village, the resort’s guest rooms, restaurants, and tea houses are the same structures in which workers resided centuries ago. Monks even like to hang out at the Tea House from time to time, most likely on their way to the temple from another nearby landmark, the Buddhist University. But as exciting as it was to mingle with such enlightened creatures, I remembered yet another gem that Jerry shared with me: “If you want to take a picture of a monk, you must first ask.” more»

I ate well and I ate often at the Four Seasons’ traditional Chinese restaurant, Jin Sha, where eight-course meals are not reserved solely for dinner, and lunches can take up to several hours. Aside from the incredible meals, I went nuts over the restaurant’s 11 private dining rooms dotting the edge of one of the hotel’s man-made lagoons and accessible via a glowing, labyrinthine pathway. Each room has a distinct decor, and many include expansive waterfront terraces and plush lounging options. I quickly understood the need for these private spaces as my tour skipped several rooms from which the sounds of drunken carousing exploded. Even more exciting, these private dining rooms have a history as deliciously decadent as the DongPo pork served on their tables: General Manager Rudolf van Dijk divulged that the tradition dates back to the sexy swinging days of concubines! Meow! more»