When I visit a new city, I have a habit of doing this thing where I go completely nuts trying to see everything. Consequently, upon arriving back home, my body raises the white flag, forcing me to make up for all of that lost sleep. So, after everything I did in just three short days in Amsterdamâ€”dim sum in the Red Light District, a chef-prepared meal on the canals’ snappiest boat, the city’s best cheese tasting, a shot of herring, the Van Gogh Museum,Â a six-hour meal atÂ The Dylan Hotel’s Michelin-starredÂ Vinkeles,Â the city’s newestÂ Marcel Wanders-designed hotel, the Anne Frank Museum, a mind-bendingÂ art-space-slash-hotel, and an unfortunate run-in with a sassy cyclist (of course)â€”it’s no surprise that I just about went into hibernation upon returning home. Pity so much action rendered so few photos. But, alas, sometimes life is meant to be lived rather than documented. more»
My trip to Honolulu was as much of a quick jaunt as one can achieve when living five time zones away. My three-night stay may have been bookended with two 10-hour flights, but that didn’t stop me from getting the most out of my trip. Highlights included Doris Duke’s Shangri-La, racing an outrigger, and learning to surf (that last one being something I had predicted I would totally crush with mad skill and yet I turned out to be just as mediocre as ever). But the main attraction for my trip was the newÂ Modern HonoluluÂ hotel, which, with minimalist decor and a cool South Beach vibe, truly lives up to its name. Throw in a Morimoto restaurant and spectacular Waikiki views and you’ve got the hottest ticket in town. Does it get any bigger than Wilmer Valderrama spending his 33rd birthday at the hotel’s Addiction nightclub? (I’m told it doesn’t). ThenÂ this happenedÂ a few weeks later on one of the hotel’s balconies, just after the Academy Awards, which, if you ask me, would have been a way cooler sighting. more»
My quick trip to Toronto was all about art and food, thanks to the city’s newÂ Four Seasons Hotel, which was filled with both. All of the hotel’s art was created by local Canadians, from the giant dandelions in the lobby to the gold-foil Artimals in the rooms. Then there was the Cafe Boulud restaurant, whose walls were covered with pop-icon pieces from a non-Canadian, and someone I’m about 95 percent sure is aÂ total hoax. I actually almost spewed my water all over my duck terrine when I realized that screen print of Charlie Chaplin over a spray-painted heart was the “artwork” of one Mr. Brainwash.Â I had coincidentally just re-watchedÂ Exit Through The Gift ShopÂ a few weeks earlier, and was sort of amazed that so many people haven’t quite caught on yet. Of course, who is to say what art is? At least there was no question the next day when I visited Frank Gehry’s Art Gallery of Ontario, which was not only a stunning architectural wonder, but also the exhibition space for the amazing Frida and Diego show. I’m still kicking myself for not buying the book. Oh, and I also fell in love withÂ Evan Penny’s sculptures. Can’t get enough of that uncanny valley! more»
“Ugh! Don’t you wish we were still there?” Three months after our honeymoon, this has become my weekly mantra of sorts. It’s like I’m almost disgusted that we are no longer trekking through mud and staring with our breath held at 400-pound gorillas. Luckily, I’ve been granted the opportunity to relive what I’ve taken to calling “The Best Trip EVER!” (capitalization and punctuation compulsory) by writing a few articles about the whole fabulous adventure. The first came out in the January issue of Robb Report, and I’m so happy my editors decided to keep that first sentence in. From what I hear, it narrowly escaped the axe, but I do just love it so! more»
A few weeks before Christmas, I got a call from an old graphic design chum for a job that was definitely a first for meâ€”photographing billboard ads at JFK. Not one to turn down work, both for experiential and rent-paying reasons, I headed out to the airport and shot away. Though the assignment was to capture the ads, I couldn’t help but don my creative cap, and this shot, I must say, turned out quite nicely. Anybody can take a pretty photo of something gorgeousâ€”say, the new Four Seasons Hotel in Toronto for example (stay tuned for that one!)â€”but it’s shoots like this that I enjoy most.
Odzala’s Ngaga camp spoils all typical notions of safari. Not because the gorillas are so much more thrilling to see than most other animals (which they are), or because the setting is so much more beautiful than you’d imagine (which it is), but because you have to work damn hard to see what you came all the way to the Congo for. Unlike my other safari experiences, we didn’t pile into a Land Cruiser and roll past lions and giraffes who marched before us as if on cue. Rather, we walked, and we hacked through giant marantaceae leaves, and we listened, and we waited, and we walked and hacked some more. And when we finally found the gorillasâ€”with whom we were permitted to spend just a single hour each dayâ€”we were always, without fail, swarmed by sweat bees that wanted nothing more than to blind us by flying kamikaze-style into our eyeballs. In spite of (or perhaps because of) all of this, interacting with the gorillas is an experience like no other. Whether watching an infant cautiously shuffling down a tree trunk, spying a lone female napping in a tree, or trembling with fear as a silverback charged us within mere feet, every moment seemed poised to be the most magnificent we’d experience for the rest of our collective lives. And if that wasn’t quite the essence of a romantic honeymoon, we at least had private dinners on the terrace of our hairy-looking raffia hut most every night. Oh, and plenty of Ngok. more»
Most people don’t fantasize about a honeymoon that entails waking up at 5 AM every morning to slosh through murky swamps and mud so deep you almost lose your shoes. Then again, most couples jet off to Maui or Jamaica to sip Mai Tais and lounge on beachesâ€”something I certainly don’t disparage, but nothing I’d consider particularly life-changing. Since we had hoped for something closer to the “mind-blowing” end of the travel spectrum (and since, truth be told, we’d already been toÂ MauiÂ andÂ Jamaica), John and I decided to go all in and head to the Republic of Congo’s newest, and quite nearly only, safari lodge. First stop was Lango camp, located on the edge of a bai where buffalo, bongos, and elephants regularly congregate for their own version of cocktails and sunbathing. We humans, on the other hand, boated through the Lekoli River alongside hundreds of agile mangabeys, trekked through jungles filled with chimpanzees as startled to see us as we were to see them, and, in-between, dozed off on our porches to the soundÂ colobus monkeys swinging and snacking in the trees above. Of course, this was all just precursor to the main eventâ€”gorilla tracking on our next and final stop! more»
Between Sandy, election fever, and now this blizzard that appears to be happening outside of my window, the arrival of French architecture mag, Decoration International, in my mailbox today was a welcome respite from the frenzies of late. For the cover of their second issue, the publication featured one of my favorite shots from my trip to Tierra Patagonia in Chile. Those blue skies sure seem like a world away right nowâ€”and I guess they kinda are.
Even if I hadn’t been reveling in our newly-wedded bliss, I would have been amazed by La Residence Hotel. Set among private vineyards in Franschhoek, where springbok and ponies frolic, this drop-dead gorgeous oasis along the edge of a picturesque lake was made for honeymoons. I had been to Franschhoek several years before so knew a few of the good stopsâ€”Huguenot Chocolates for a mid-morning snack, The Common Room for lunch, and La Motte for some serious Shiraz (a varietal that John claims to dislike, and yet not a drop remained in any of his tasting glasses). But La Residence, in its secluded location behind the town’s suburbs and away from its main street, had escaped me. This time, we were so lucky to stay in the Frangipani Suite, where a marble quarry had seemingly exploded, and the bathroom was larger than our apartment. And will you just look at that pink chair? It’s possible I have never been so sad to leave a hotel. more»
Post-Sandy cabin fever is setting in right about now so it only makes sense to drool over our photos from South Africa for the umpteenth time. I had already been completely in love with Cape Town fromÂ my previous trip, but our recent discovery of Kalk Bay between the city center and the Cape Peninsula has moved the region to the number one spot on my Places-I-Want-To-Live wishlist (sorry,Â Barcelona). Even if you pretend not to care about Kalk Bay’s close proximity to Cape Point and Boulders Beach (penguins!), this hip little beach town is out-of-control adorable, from the trendy oceanfront B&B we stayed at to the cool shops along Main Road. My only regret is that we weren’t able to stay longerâ€”but, alas, we had a rigid itinerary that demanded we drink our way through the Cape Winelands. more»
The aforementionedÂ Oceania Riviera may be less for old-timers than most cruise ships, but what really sold me on the boat was its attention to decor. No vertigo-inducing carpet patterns, no stuffy staterooms with unflattering lighting, and no tacky artwork in the hallways (well, mostly, at least). Rather, a perfect mixture of stylishly of-the-moment and classically grand details made for a swimmingly successful design. Highlights included the Red Ginger restaurant with its explosion of color and chain chandeliers, a Lalique grand staircase, and an art collection that requires its own catalog. Sure, a few over-the-top detailsâ€”like the funky LED-lit bar that my mom and I just couldn’t seem to stop hanging out inâ€”scream “cruise ship!” but with just the right amount of gaudiness that every seafaring sanctuary needs. more»
The first time I went on a cruise, I disembarked with the mostly-correct notion that ocean liners are for old people with more interest in the 3 o’clock waffle station by the pool than the daily ports-of-call. So when I agreed to write a piece for Robb Report about the return of luxury to cruising, I first had to convince myself that it was even true. My plan of action included reading David Foster Wallace’sÂ A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do AgainÂ (well, maybe that part was just for kicks), followed by jumping on board the new Oceania Riviera for its maiden voyage from Monaco to Barcelona. Somewhere between the ship’s Canyon Ranch Spa, its Wine Aficionado wine cellar, ten restaurants, a Bon AppĂ©tit culinary school, and yes, a plethora of ridiculous poolside snacks and cocktails with umbrellas, I decided that my first cruising forayâ€”along with its geriatric guestsâ€”wasn’t the only ship experience out there. Rather, my second go-round was totally age appropriate and, yes, even luxurious. By the time we docked in Barcelona I was a convertâ€”maybe not for every trip, but at least a few more before I hit retirement. more»
I have what I like to call a “realistic fear” of heights, which means I’m mostly fine behind a railing at Hoover Dam and I’m even okay sky diving, provided I’ve got an expert strapped to my back. But when it comes to peering over the edge of a towering mountaintop, the very real possibility of falling to my death instills in me a terror that results in vertigo and paralysis. So it only made sense to agree to an amazing week of heli-hiking withÂ Canadian Mountain Holidays, where I climbed 9,000-foot-tall Mount Nimbus, tiptoed along taught cables over roaring rapids, and traversed mile-high swaying footbridges with many a missing step. Physically, I knew I was up to the challenge, but my mental limits were tested time and time again, and despite theÂ occasionalÂ internal freak out, I became a regular mountain goat by the end of the week. Turns out, rappelling was the most relaxing part of the journey. more»
Unintentional blogging hiatus continues, thanks to post-wedding make-up work and pre-honeymoon preparation (yellow fever vaccinations andÂ gaiterÂ purchases are next on the to-do list!). But thought I’d post a quick shot of my favorite place in the world,Â Lake Placid Lodge. John and I woke to this stunning view the morning after our wedding last week. So, you know, married life is looking pretty sweet so far.
One of the first trips John and I ever took was waaaayyyy back in 2002 when I won a free six-night stay in Jamaica in a raffle at my freshman-year college dormitory. Ten years later, I headed back for work and literally nothing looked the same, except maybe the jerk stands and one or two roadside goats. Sadly, theÂ RenaissanceÂ Grand Hotel we stayed at so many years ago is no longer in operation, so I checked in at the newly renovated GoldenEye instead. To say the resort is a bit nicer than my previous stay’s digs is a serious understatement. And the name isn’t just some dumb gimmick eitherâ€”GoldenEye is located on the original estate of one Ian Fleming, who for decades spent several months per year in its quiet solitude working on his famed James Bond spy novels. The Fleming Villa is still intact as the resort’s largest accommodation, and even features the same desk over which Fleming toiled year after year concocting elaborate scenarios for 007 to narrowly escape. For those of us who aren’t die-hard spy fans, Panton chairs, driftwood sculptures, and outdoor bathrooms featuring claw-foot tubs aren’t too shabby eitherâ€”perhaps even good enough for Mr. Bond himself. more»
Still trying to decide how I feel about the new NoMad designation of the tiny, previously unnamed neighborhood (which is really less of a ‘hood and much more of an enclave) just above Madison Square Park. Consequently, I’m trying the notion on for size throughout the City. In our immediate vicinity, I’ve come up with SoHa (south Harlem), CoCi (Columbus Circle), and, my favorite, MoSiHei (Morningside Heights). Like it or not, the new NoMad Hotel is a sort of pillar in the new district, and its velvet-clad, draped-from-top-to-bottom Parlour restaurant is so swanky, it easily deserves an acronym all of its own. Perhaps NoMaPaRes? I could do this all day.
Guilt consumed me during breakfast this morning when I realized that my last post was nearly two months ago. It became almost unbearable when it occurred to me that my two or three regular readers (you know who you are) might have even noticed my absence, and perhaps even shaken their heads in collective disappointment. So I’ve scurried back to my hotel room to fix that during the 30 minutes I have before heading out to yet another Jamaican resort. No commentary hereâ€”except to pick up an August issue of Robb Report and check out my feature on breathtaking Patagonia. Can’t wait to return home to see this bad boy sitting in my mailbox. more»
I still kind of can’t believe that I got to go to Patagonia earlier this year. The weird side effect has been that virtually nothing else seems to get my dander up the same way since. The New York skyline? Psh. The Mediterranean Sea? Meh. South Beach? Ho-hum. I guess I’ll just stay home and stare at this page featuring Tierra Patagonia in the May issue of Robb Report instead. more»
I find it truly amazing that I’ve been to 12 of what Robb Report deems the world’s top 100 resorts. That means way more decadent dinners, drop-dead gorgeous suites, panoramic vistas, and mind-numbing spa treatments than I deserve. What I’m most pumped about though is the volume of my photography that made it into the articleâ€”from the bush of South Africa to the vineyards of Chile to the beaches of Mexico and Seychellesâ€”even my hyper-critical self can’t help but sit back and sigh contentedly at these pages! more»
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 hotelâ€”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 lakesâ€”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 decadentâ€”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 sexyÂ Aubrey Hotel;Â a magical, if smoggy, park in the sky (which I was told featuresâ€”though viewed no evidence ofâ€”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 visitâ€”thus the limited photographyâ€”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 redundantâ€”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 themselvesâ€”or lose themselvesâ€”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 theÂ Singular PatagoniaÂ 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 myselfâ€”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”â€”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.Â 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’sÂ 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 nameâ€”a makhtesh!â€”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 mootâ€”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-allâ€”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 ĂĽber-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»