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16 picks across the catalog.
The handful we keep coming back to.
Old streets, new restaurants, the kind of walking that earns dinner.
Direct flight to a city where every neighborhood feels like a different decade. Alfama's tile and trams, Bairro Alto's night energy, Belém's custard tarts at the source. Lisbon works because it never tried to become Barcelona.
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The Gilded Age mansions are there year-round, but the town belongs to you after Columbus Day. Cliff Walk without the crowds, oysters at a corner bar that's been shucking since 1989, a harbor-view hotel that drops its rates when the yachts leave.
Sand, oysters, the kind of porch where the day just goes.
Direct flight to a city where every neighborhood feels like a different decade. Alfama's tile and trams, Bairro Alto's night energy, Belém's custard tarts at the source. Lisbon works because it never tried to become Barcelona.
A Victorian beach town at the tip of New Jersey that never went corporate. Wide porches, painted gingerbread, a beach that empties out by 5pm. Three nights gets you past the Painted Ladies walking tour and into the version of Cape May where you pick one restaurant and go back twice.
Three nights at the Jersey Shore town that doesn't feel like the Jersey Shore. Victorian gingerbread houses, a beach that doesn't have a boardwalk, and a downtown where the restaurants close in January because the chefs actually care. Stay at Congress Hall, eat dinner at 8pm at Peter Shields, bike to Sunset Beach on Sunday morning.
The Gilded Age mansions are there year-round, but the town belongs to you after Columbus Day. Cliff Walk without the crowds, oysters at a corner bar that's been shucking since 1989, a harbor-view hotel that drops its rates when the yachts leave.
Trees, trails, fires, fewer people. The cabin kind of weekend.
Three nights, one new country. Done by Sunday night.
Direct flight to a city where every neighborhood feels like a different decade. Alfama's tile and trams, Bairro Alto's night energy, Belém's custard tarts at the source. Lisbon works because it never tried to become Barcelona.
Seven nights in a city that hasn't priced itself out yet. Tile-fronted buildings on seven hills, seafood that costs what it should, and trams that run on time. A week gets you past the Belém checklist and into the neighborhoods that matter — Príncipe Real, Alfama after the cruise ships leave, and a day trip to Sintra that earns the early alarm.
Seven nights based in Cairo, with three at the pyramids in a 19th-century hotel that overlooks the Giza Plateau from the garden. The Egyptian Museum before the crowds, a felucca on the Nile at sunset, and a meal at Abou El Sid that costs what pharaonic history should cost — nothing.
Seven nights in a city that moves faster than its motorbikes. District 1 for the hotels and the rooftop bars, District 3 for the coffee shops that don't have English menus. Bánh mì at 7am, phở at a place with plastic stools, and a dinner at The Racha Room you'll compare every tasting menu to for the next year.
Seven nights in a city built on volcanic rock, where the Old Town closes in like a medieval fist and the New Town opens into Georgian squares wide enough to breathe. Whisky at a bar with no menu, oysters at the fishmonger's counter, a walk up Arthur's Seat that earns the view. Edinburgh is the European city Americans skip for London and shouldn't.
Six nights in the city that invented pizza and has spent the last 2,700 years refusing to apologize for anything. Stay in Chiaia, eat on Via dei Tribunali, take the ferry to Procida on day four. Naples is the Italian city that doesn't perform for tourists—it just keeps being Naples.
The Golden Temple at 4am when the chanting starts. Partition Museum when you're ready to stop smiling. Butter chicken at the dhaba that invented it, not the one that franchised it. Five nights gets you past the temple-selfie version of Amritsar and into the city that still feeds 100,000 people a day for free.
Drafted by our agent, kept on the list when they hold up. Labeled honestly.
Direct flight to a city where every neighborhood feels like a different decade. Alfama's tile and trams, Bairro Alto's night energy, Belém's custard tarts at the source. Lisbon works because it never tried to become Barcelona.
Seven nights in a city that hasn't priced itself out yet. Tile-fronted buildings on seven hills, seafood that costs what it should, and trams that run on time. A week gets you past the Belém checklist and into the neighborhoods that matter — Príncipe Real, Alfama after the cruise ships leave, and a day trip to Sintra that earns the early alarm.
Seven nights based in Cairo, with three at the pyramids in a 19th-century hotel that overlooks the Giza Plateau from the garden. The Egyptian Museum before the crowds, a felucca on the Nile at sunset, and a meal at Abou El Sid that costs what pharaonic history should cost — nothing.
Seven nights in a city that moves faster than its motorbikes. District 1 for the hotels and the rooftop bars, District 3 for the coffee shops that don't have English menus. Bánh mì at 7am, phở at a place with plastic stools, and a dinner at The Racha Room you'll compare every tasting menu to for the next year.
Seven nights in a city built on volcanic rock, where the Old Town closes in like a medieval fist and the New Town opens into Georgian squares wide enough to breathe. Whisky at a bar with no menu, oysters at the fishmonger's counter, a walk up Arthur's Seat that earns the view. Edinburgh is the European city Americans skip for London and shouldn't.
Two hours east of San Diego into a desert town that got modernism right the first time. Mid-century houses that photograph themselves, a tram that takes you 8,000 feet up in twelve minutes, and hotel pools designed by people who understood that water in the desert is the whole point.
Two hours down I-24, you walk into a city that rebuilt itself around a riverfront and the kind of downtown people actually want to be in after dark. The Tennessee Aquarium isn't the point — the point is St. John's for dinner, the Walnut Street Bridge at sunset, and a hotel in the Southside that used to be a Coca-Cola bottling plant.
A mountain town that traded its hippie reputation for a restaurant scene worth the drive. Three nights in a neighborhood that isn't downtown, mornings at High Five Coffee, dinner at Cúrate where the gin and tonic comes with a proper pour. The Blue Ridge Parkway is there if you want it, but the trip works without leaving city limits.
Six nights in the city that invented pizza and has spent the last 2,700 years refusing to apologize for anything. Stay in Chiaia, eat on Via dei Tribunali, take the ferry to Procida on day four. Naples is the Italian city that doesn't perform for tourists—it just keeps being Naples.
A box canyon at the end of the road with a ski town that never sold out. Main Street fits eight blocks between two cliffs, the gondola's free, and the après scene peaks at 4pm before everyone goes home to cook. Four nights gets you past the first day's altitude headache and into the rhythm of a place that closes half its restaurants on Tuesdays because it can.
Gilded Age mansions on a cliff walk, oysters that cost what they should, and a harbor town that earned its reputation before Instagram. Two nights gets you past the Breakers selfie line and into the Newport that sailors and old money still recognize.
Four hours through the Smokies to a mountain town that figured out beer and breakfast before the rest of the South caught up. Two nights gets you the Biltmore if you want it, the breweries if you don't, and a Sunday morning drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway when it's still yours.
A Victorian beach town at the tip of New Jersey that never went corporate. Wide porches, painted gingerbread, a beach that empties out by 5pm. Three nights gets you past the Painted Ladies walking tour and into the version of Cape May where you pick one restaurant and go back twice.
Three nights at the Jersey Shore town that doesn't feel like the Jersey Shore. Victorian gingerbread houses, a beach that doesn't have a boardwalk, and a downtown where the restaurants close in January because the chefs actually care. Stay at Congress Hall, eat dinner at 8pm at Peter Shields, bike to Sunset Beach on Sunday morning.
The Golden Temple at 4am when the chanting starts. Partition Museum when you're ready to stop smiling. Butter chicken at the dhaba that invented it, not the one that franchised it. Five nights gets you past the temple-selfie version of Amritsar and into the city that still feeds 100,000 people a day for free.
The Gilded Age mansions are there year-round, but the town belongs to you after Columbus Day. Cliff Walk without the crowds, oysters at a corner bar that's been shucking since 1989, a harbor-view hotel that drops its rates when the yachts leave.
