Filtered to Washington, DC. Switch origins below.
16 picks across the catalog.
Old streets, new restaurants, the kind of walking that earns dinner.
Four days in a city that eats dinner at 10pm and means it. Palermo Soho for coffee and leather goods, San Telmo for the Sunday market that locals actually attend, and a parrilla where the waiter brings you exactly what you need without asking. BA is the European-feeling city that costs half what Europe does.
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Three hours south, a city that still has bookstores with chairs and restaurants that don't take reservations. Powell's until your feet hurt, natural wine in a former garage, a hotel that remembers when Portland was weird before it was a brand.
Two hours up I-95 to the Maine coast city that figured out how to be a food town without turning into a food scene. Lobster rolls that locals actually eat, a walkable peninsula, and a harbor that still works for a living. Stay at the Press Hotel in the old newspaper building and eat like you mean it.
Four days in the world's northernmost capital — a city that runs on geothermal heat and closes its restaurants at 10pm. Blue Lagoon is fine but the city pools are better. The Golden Circle is a rental car cliché. Stay in town, eat fermented shark once, drink coffee four times a day.
Two hours up the Hudson, you walk off the train into a town that figured itself out. Warren Street is the whole point — antiques, ceramics, a wine bar where the bartender knows what you want before you do. No car, no plan, no rush.
Sand, oysters, the kind of porch where the day just goes.
Tulum still works if you know when to be where. Early mornings at the ruins before the tour buses, lunch in town not the beach zone, a cenote swim at 3pm when everyone else is napping off mezcal. The jungle boutique hotels are real — pick one that was there before the influencer wave.
Two hours up I-95 to the Maine coast city that figured out how to be a food town without turning into a food scene. Lobster rolls that locals actually eat, a walkable peninsula, and a harbor that still works for a living. Stay at the Press Hotel in the old newspaper building and eat like you mean it.
Four days in the world's northernmost capital — a city that runs on geothermal heat and closes its restaurants at 10pm. Blue Lagoon is fine but the city pools are better. The Golden Circle is a rental car cliché. Stay in town, eat fermented shark once, drink coffee four times a day.
Two hours north of the city, a corner of Connecticut that knows what it is — white clapboard towns, bookstores that matter, a Saturday farmer's market where the vegetables look like they posed for a photo. Stay at Winvian Farm where your room is a helicopter or a stable or a treehouse, because sometimes absurd is exactly right.
Trees, trails, fires, fewer people. The cabin kind of weekend.
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Bathhouse Row in a national park, a mid-century motor lodge with thermal water piped into the rooms, and a town that never forgot what it was built for. Hot Springs isn't a spa resort pretending to be authentic — it's the original American spa town that happens to still work.
Six hours west of Dallas, the desert town that art made famous finally lives up to the hype. Chinati Foundation installations in old artillery sheds, a hotel that used to be a water-stop tavern, and a sky so dark the Milky Way looks fake. Marfa works because it never tries.
Two and a half hours east of LA, Joshua Tree National Park sits at the edge of the Mojave — boulders stacked like sculptures, sunsets that change the rocks every ten minutes, and a town small enough that you'll recognize the bartender on your second night. Stay at a mid-century desert lodge where the pool faces the mountains and every room opens to the rocks.
Tulum still works if you know when to be where. Early mornings at the ruins before the tour buses, lunch in town not the beach zone, a cenote swim at 3pm when everyone else is napping off mezcal. The jungle boutique hotels are real — pick one that was there before the influencer wave.
Four days in the world's northernmost capital — a city that runs on geothermal heat and closes its restaurants at 10pm. Blue Lagoon is fine but the city pools are better. The Golden Circle is a rental car cliché. Stay in town, eat fermented shark once, drink coffee four times a day.
Seventeen hours door-to-door to see the waterfall that makes Niagara look like a lawn sprinkler. Stay at the Victoria Falls Hotel — the pink colonial relic that's been here since 1904 — and walk to the falls before breakfast while the spray catches morning light. Zimbabwe earns the flight.
Two hours north of the city, a corner of Connecticut that knows what it is — white clapboard towns, bookstores that matter, a Saturday farmer's market where the vegetables look like they posed for a photo. Stay at Winvian Farm where your room is a helicopter or a stable or a treehouse, because sometimes absurd is exactly right.
Three nights, one new country. Done by Sunday night.
Seven nights is the minimum for a city that takes three days to stop feeling like a postcard. Stay in two neighborhoods on purpose — four nights in Shibuya for the eating, three in Yanaka for the version of Tokyo people who actually live there go home to. Tsukiji at 6am once. Coffee at Glitch every morning. A 14-seat omakase you booked three months ago.
Four days in a city that eats dinner at 10pm and means it. Palermo Soho for coffee and leather goods, San Telmo for the Sunday market that locals actually attend, and a parrilla where the waiter brings you exactly what you need without asking. BA is the European-feeling city that costs half what Europe does.
Four days in the world's northernmost capital — a city that runs on geothermal heat and closes its restaurants at 10pm. Blue Lagoon is fine but the city pools are better. The Golden Circle is a rental car cliché. Stay in town, eat fermented shark once, drink coffee four times a day.
Seventeen hours door-to-door to see the waterfall that makes Niagara look like a lawn sprinkler. Stay at the Victoria Falls Hotel — the pink colonial relic that's been here since 1904 — and walk to the falls before breakfast while the spray catches morning light. Zimbabwe earns the flight.
Drafted by our agent, kept on the list when they hold up. Labeled honestly.
Seven nights is the minimum for a city that takes three days to stop feeling like a postcard. Stay in two neighborhoods on purpose — four nights in Shibuya for the eating, three in Yanaka for the version of Tokyo people who actually live there go home to. Tsukiji at 6am once. Coffee at Glitch every morning. A 14-seat omakase you booked three months ago.
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.
Six hours west of Austin, a town of 1,700 people has better art installations than most cities and a taco truck that closes when it closes. Three nights gets you past the Prada hoax and into the version of Marfa where you're up at sunrise for the light, not the Instagram.
A river town forty minutes from Philadelphia where the antiques are real and the restaurants are better than they should be. Two nights gets you through Saturday's antique crawl, Sunday morning at the farmers market, and dinner at a BYOB that's been written up in Bon Appétit twice.
Pennsylvania wine country nobody talks about yet, with a main street of antiques dealers who actually know what they're selling. Two hours from Newark gets you a weekend of Chambourcin that costs what it should, mid-century chairs you can still afford, and a dinner at a farm restaurant that would have a Michelin star if it were 90 miles closer to the city.
Four days in a city that eats dinner at 10pm and means it. Palermo Soho for coffee and leather goods, San Telmo for the Sunday market that locals actually attend, and a parrilla where the waiter brings you exactly what you need without asking. BA is the European-feeling city that costs half what Europe does.
Bathhouse Row in a national park, a mid-century motor lodge with thermal water piped into the rooms, and a town that never forgot what it was built for. Hot Springs isn't a spa resort pretending to be authentic — it's the original American spa town that happens to still work.
Six hours west of Dallas, the desert town that art made famous finally lives up to the hype. Chinati Foundation installations in old artillery sheds, a hotel that used to be a water-stop tavern, and a sky so dark the Milky Way looks fake. Marfa works because it never tries.
Three hours south, a city that still has bookstores with chairs and restaurants that don't take reservations. Powell's until your feet hurt, natural wine in a former garage, a hotel that remembers when Portland was weird before it was a brand.
Two and a half hours east of LA, Joshua Tree National Park sits at the edge of the Mojave — boulders stacked like sculptures, sunsets that change the rocks every ten minutes, and a town small enough that you'll recognize the bartender on your second night. Stay at a mid-century desert lodge where the pool faces the mountains and every room opens to the rocks.
Tulum still works if you know when to be where. Early mornings at the ruins before the tour buses, lunch in town not the beach zone, a cenote swim at 3pm when everyone else is napping off mezcal. The jungle boutique hotels are real — pick one that was there before the influencer wave.
Two hours up I-95 to the Maine coast city that figured out how to be a food town without turning into a food scene. Lobster rolls that locals actually eat, a walkable peninsula, and a harbor that still works for a living. Stay at the Press Hotel in the old newspaper building and eat like you mean it.
Four days in the world's northernmost capital — a city that runs on geothermal heat and closes its restaurants at 10pm. Blue Lagoon is fine but the city pools are better. The Golden Circle is a rental car cliché. Stay in town, eat fermented shark once, drink coffee four times a day.
Seventeen hours door-to-door to see the waterfall that makes Niagara look like a lawn sprinkler. Stay at the Victoria Falls Hotel — the pink colonial relic that's been here since 1904 — and walk to the falls before breakfast while the spray catches morning light. Zimbabwe earns the flight.
Two hours north of the city, a corner of Connecticut that knows what it is — white clapboard towns, bookstores that matter, a Saturday farmer's market where the vegetables look like they posed for a photo. Stay at Winvian Farm where your room is a helicopter or a stable or a treehouse, because sometimes absurd is exactly right.
