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12 picks across the catalog.
Sand, oysters, the kind of porch where the day just goes.
Vietnam's beach town two hours from Saigon. Fresh seafood at plastic tables on the sand, a cable car to a 100-foot Christ statue, and a Soviet-era lighthouse you can climb for the view nobody warned you about. Five nights gets you past the Saigon-weekend-crowd rhythm and into the version where you're the only foreigner at the morning market.
Seven nights split between cloud forest and coast. Monteverde for the morning silence and hanging bridges, then Manuel Antonio for surf towns that haven't been strip-malled yet. The rain in July is the price you pay for empty beaches and sloths you actually see.
Three nights, one new country. Done by Sunday night.
Vietnam's beach town two hours from Saigon. Fresh seafood at plastic tables on the sand, a cable car to a 100-foot Christ statue, and a Soviet-era lighthouse you can climb for the view nobody warned you about. Five nights gets you past the Saigon-weekend-crowd rhythm and into the version where you're the only foreigner at the morning market.
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 in a city where breakfast is standing at a zinc bar, lunch is three courses at 2pm, and dinner starts at 9:30pm in Trastevere. Stay in Monti for the first half, switch to Trastevere for the back half. The Pantheon at 7am before the crowds. Carbonara at Flavio al Velavevodetto because you tasted the version tourists get and knew there had to be a real one.
Seven nights split between Hanoi's Old Quarter and three days on the water in Ha Long Bay. Pho at 6am from a street cart that's been there since 1979, a junk boat that sleeps eight and costs less than a Manhattan hotel, kayaking through limestone caves at high tide when the tourists are back at the dock.
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 the Old Quarter and French Quarter. Coffee on a plastic stool at 7am, bún chả at the place Obama sat, a hotel with a rooftop pool overlooking Hoan Kiem Lake. Hanoi is the Southeast Asian city that hasn't been turned into a selfie backdrop yet.
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.
Seven nights split between cloud forest and coast. Monteverde for the morning silence and hanging bridges, then Manuel Antonio for surf towns that haven't been strip-malled yet. The rain in July is the price you pay for empty beaches and sloths you actually see.
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.
Vietnam's beach town two hours from Saigon. Fresh seafood at plastic tables on the sand, a cable car to a 100-foot Christ statue, and a Soviet-era lighthouse you can climb for the view nobody warned you about. Five nights gets you past the Saigon-weekend-crowd rhythm and into the version where you're the only foreigner at the morning market.
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 in a city where breakfast is standing at a zinc bar, lunch is three courses at 2pm, and dinner starts at 9:30pm in Trastevere. Stay in Monti for the first half, switch to Trastevere for the back half. The Pantheon at 7am before the crowds. Carbonara at Flavio al Velavevodetto because you tasted the version tourists get and knew there had to be a real one.
Seven nights split between Hanoi's Old Quarter and three days on the water in Ha Long Bay. Pho at 6am from a street cart that's been there since 1979, a junk boat that sleeps eight and costs less than a Manhattan hotel, kayaking through limestone caves at high tide when the tourists are back at the dock.
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 the Old Quarter and French Quarter. Coffee on a plastic stool at 7am, bún chả at the place Obama sat, a hotel with a rooftop pool overlooking Hoan Kiem Lake. Hanoi is the Southeast Asian city that hasn't been turned into a selfie backdrop yet.
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.
Seven nights split between cloud forest and coast. Monteverde for the morning silence and hanging bridges, then Manuel Antonio for surf towns that haven't been strip-malled yet. The rain in July is the price you pay for empty beaches and sloths you actually see.
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.
