Every fall, my family piled into our station wagon and set out from suburban Boston to view the foliage in northern New England. I still have a shoebox full of the home movies my father shot on those weekend outings; the grainy, jouncy footage shows a succession of white band stands, weathered barns, mom-and-pop roadside motels, and my sister doing cartwheels in swirls of falling leaves.

Even then, I got the message that while New Hampshire and Maine were indeed pretty (and, bonus points, had amusement parks with trained bears and pet-able deer), Vermont—pristine, billboard-free, and broad-vistaed—was the gold and orange and crimson standard of leaf peepery. It turns out it wasn’t just my family’s opinion. There’s solid science to back that up.

Things to Know About Vermont’s Fall Foliage

A combination of factors makes Vermont foliage hard to beat in North America, according to William Keeton, a professor of forest ecology and forestry at the University of Vermont, in Burlington. For starters, more than three-quarters of the state is forested—and one out of four trees are showoff-y maples. A riot of species comprise the other 75 percent.

“We have such diversity here: American beech, yellow and paper birch, red oak, white ash, poplars, willows, aspen, alder, and others—and they each yield different colors,” Keeton says. “Then there’s the diversity of the topography, with different elevations and aspects and landforms, and different climate conditions that influence foliage timing and intensity. The result is a mosaic of color that’s quite breathtaking.”

This magic triggers in late summer by the onset of cooler nights and shorter days, signaling chlorophyll, the green pigment that allows trees to create energy from light, to dissipate. When it does, the leaves’ true colors emerge in what Keeton calls “the great reveal.”

Vividness varies from year to year, depending on rainfall, temperatures, and other factors leading up to the season. While scientists are concerned that climate change may be leading to a dulling, shortening, or shifting of the foliage period, they admit that the exact recipe for optimal color remains a mystery.

“That’s part of what makes it so fun and exciting,” Keeton says. “We never know how it’s going to play out.”

What is certain is that the technicolor wave starts in northern Vermont in the highest elevations around mid-September and and ends in the valleys in the southern part of the state sometime in mid-to-late October. You can watch it as it unfolds with a or you can just get in the car and drive. Here are nine of the most beautiful places to check out Vermont’s big show.

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1. Underhill

You could join the masses in Stowe and ascend Mount Mansfield, Vermont’s highest peak, by car, gondola, or foot. But for a less congested approach, consider starting in Underhill, on the mountain’s western flank. A rewarding roughly five-mile loop follows the Frost Trail to the more challenging Maple Ridge Trail and a rocky scramble up to Mansfield’s “Forehead,” then descends via the mellower Butler Lodge Trail through hardwood forest. Find more bliss back in Underhill’s Pleasant Valley, where a 20-mile gravel and paved bike loop winds through a wonder of silo-studded farmland backed by Mansfield’s snaking ridgeline.

Don’t Miss: , a self-service bakery near Underhill Center, selling sweet (maple cream!) and savory (pulled pork mac-n-cheese!) pies.

2. Shelburne

, a 1400-acre education nonprofit, was founded by a Vanderbilt heir in the late 19th century as an agricultural showplace. Walk the pastoral grounds along the Lake Champlain shoreline and past the grand estate house turned inn, and visit the Farm Barn, whereÌę cheesemakers produce award-winning cheddar (my go-to is their clothbound variety) with milk from the resident Brown Swiss herd. Then head south to hundred-year-old and its diminutive 968-foot namesake peak. The summit trail was recently improved with stone stairways; the killer view of farms, Lake Champlain, and the Adirondacks remains the same.

Don’t Miss: The ridgetop , in nearby Monkton, for you-pick apples and their signature Dreamee, that is, maple soft serve ice cream atop a warm cider donut.

3. East Burke

The renowned Kingdom Trails 100-mile mountain bike network, carved out of private land in the state’s rugged Northeast Kingdom, celebrates its 30th anniversary with three new trails in the Kitchell area, including Drop It!, a triple black diamond with jumps and drops. When and if you’re ready to get off the bike, make the 15-mile drive north to cold, deep Lake Willoughby, a fjord-like glacial gash between the sheer flanks of Mount Pisgah and Mount Hor; trails on both peaks lead to magnificent overlooks.

Know Before You Go: Most of the bike center’s trails and roads damaged by two bouts of flooding rains in July have been repaired, but check for updates.

4. Waitsfield

The funky, slow 1948 single chairlift at the co-op-owned cranks up for foliage viewing on three consecutive weekends starting September 28 and costs just $20 ($15 for kids and seniors) to partake. Once you reach the summit, head north or south for an out-and-back ramble on the ridgeline . For a different perspective on the Mad River Valley, make your way to nearby Fayston to saddle up for a guided trail ride (from $133) on country roads and through open meadows.

Don’t Miss: , just off Route 100, serving stellar IPAs, including their flagship Sip O’ Sunshine, in a soaring post-and-beam taproom with a mountain-view outdoor patio.

5. Windsor

Mount Ascutney, an isolated 3,144-foot monadnock, dominates the landscape in the Upper Valley of the Connecticut River, where I live. You can pedal or drive the narrow 1930s Mount Ascutney Parkway or hike the five-mile round-trip Weathersfield trail to get to the top, but since the summit is mainly forested, you’ll want to climb the 25-foot observation tower for the 360-degree, Green and White Mountains panorama. Back in the valley, book a self-guided canoe or kayak trip with ; they’ll shuttle you and your chosen craft to a put-in on the broad Connecticut (from $43).

Don’t Miss: The 1866 Cornish-Windsor bridge, the longest wooden covered span in the United States, connecting Vermont to New Hampshire.

6. Woodstock

With its flawless brick-front shops and whitewashed historic homes, Woodstock is la-la land Vermont. And sometimes that’s what you want—even if it means dodging tour groups. I like to take in the tidy village from the top of Mount Tom, either by hustling up the heavily used Faulkner Trail or by taking the longer Pogue route, which begins on Victorian-age carriage roads in Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park. Mount Peg, another in-town peak, has 16 miles of woods and meadow trails co-managed by the Woodstock Area Mountain Bike Association and the , where you can spend the night. (Rooms from $669).

Know Before You Go: After being overrun by social media followers vying for shots of the ridiculously scenic Sleepy Hollow Farm, Cloudland Road is closed from September 25 through October 16 to all but residents.

7. Manchester

Stately 19th century homes, flanked in the west by soaring 3,848-foot Mount Equinox, the highest peak in the Taconic range, and yes, a strip of designer apparel outlet stores, make this southern Vermont shire town a hot spot for visitors. You can drive to the top of Equinox on the serpentine five-mile toll road or hike up on the relentlessly steep Blue Summit trail through forests of beech, yellow birch, and maple. For more level miles, walk the landscaped grounds of Hildene, the 1905 summer estate of Robert Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln’s son and the president of the Pullman Palace Car Company.

Know Before You Go: Hildene’s Many Voices exhibit chronicling the lives of the Black Pullman porters is the southernmost stop on the , which takes you to historical and cultural sites that explore the stories of Black Vermonters.

8. Bennington

It’s no surprise that this is Robert Frost country; the poet is buried in the Old First Church cemetery near the curved white picket fences and stately homes of sugar maple-lined Monument Avenue. A 20-mile loop drive through North Bennington and Shaftsbury takes you past Frostian covered bridges and old stone walls. Make time to stop at the , the poet’s home for most of the 1920s, where readings, lectures and workshops are held throughout the fall. . From there, the gently sloping two-mile Robert Frost trail traverses his old apple orchard and leads to Lake Paran, with inspiring views along the way of the Berkshires, Taconics, and Greens.Ìę

Don’t Miss: The classic 1948Ìę , saved from post-Covid closure by a nostalgic Bennington College alum. The menu features lots of vegetarian options, but let’s be honest, post-leaf-peeping moments usually call for a Reuben.

9. Newfane

The town green in this tiny village is at the center of an extraordinary collection of architectural gems, including a columned Greek Revival courthouse and inn, two imposing Gothic Revival churches, and a brick Romanesque bank. Grab snacks at the 1822 Newfane Country Store, then head east to the for a low-key woodland stroll or run to the wide-open summit. You’ll have the company of birdwatchers participating in the annual Hawk Watch; every autumn, thousands of migrating hawks and other raptors can be seen riding the ridgeline thermals.

Know Before You Go: Newfane’s adorableness peaks on October 12 and 13 during its , when local volunteers sell (by the slice or whole) the more than 200 apple pies they baked for the occasion.

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The leaves are past their peak where I live in western New Hampshire, and fall festivals have mostly come and gone, but that doesn’t mean the autumn road-tripping season is over. That’s especially true if your goal is finding ingredients—and inspiration—for your Thanksgiving and holiday feasts.

Plenty of New England farms, vineyards, and dairies are still going strong. And heading out on an adventurous pre-holiday sojourn comes with big outdoor benefits: uncrowded trails and beaches, swell perfect for surfing, and scenic roadways waiting to be explored after you score your bounty. Here’s a state-by-state breakdown of the best places to visit on such a quest.

Where to Find Cheese in Vermont

The tiny town of Salisbury (population 1,200) straddles a sweet spot between the Green Mountains to the east and the agricultural Champlain Valley to the west. It’s a picturesque setting for , a cheese-making operation run by Hannah Sessions and Greg Bernhardt, who were just 23 years old when they began transforming an old dairy-cow operation near where Sessions grew up into one suitable for goats. Some 150 goats later, the place isÌę known for its terrific fresh chĂšvres (my go-to is the herb-crusted variety) as well as bloomy rind and hard cheeses, some made with milk from the cows next door. Call ahead to book a tour ($20), and plan to load up on the goods at their self-serve farmstand.

Ten minutes south, Moosalamoo National Recreation Area beckons with 70 miles of spectacular multi-use backcountry trails. For a fun, flowy ten-mile mountain-bike ride, park at the Minnie Baker Trailhead and follow the singletrack up to Chandler Ridge before looping back on the ferny flats of Leicester Hollow.

Unwind later over a hard cider at Woodchuck Cidery, a production facility and taproom in Middlebury, 15 miles north. Then head east into Ripton to overnight in one of seven two-bedroom (from $237)—request one with a fire pit—off a forested dirt road about five miles fromÌę the poet’s summer home.

Craft Spirits and Farmed Mushrooms in New Hampshire

To me (and I suspect a lot of other travelers), Tamworth was always that little town you zipped through while driving north to hike in the Mount Washington Valley. Maybe you slowed for the famous vista of bald-topped Mount Chocorua, but you didn’t linger: the Presidential Range awaited.

It turns out Tamworth is well worth a stop, thanks in part to Steve Grasse, the creative mind behind Hendrick’s Gin, who’s made it his mission to help revitalize the historic village where he owns a home. Grasse’s , set in a barnlike building on the Swift River, crafts wildly innovative spirits with New Hampshire ingredients such as beets and balsam buds, as well as more palate-jolting elements including invasive green crabs and beaver-gland extract. Tastings and cocktail workshops are held in the Grasse-owned Lyceum, a restored 19th-century store on Main Street. The gatherings are good prep for making what could be your new signature Thanksgiving or holiday drink.

Continue the happy mad-scientist vibe up the road at the , where mycologist Eric Milligan cultivates gorgeous blemish-free fungi—meaty black pearls, luminescent blue oysters, shaggy lion’s manes, and more—in high-tech grow rooms. You can buy both fresh and dried mushrooms there, and for the fungi-curious, free tours are offered on Sundays or by appointment.

Bring your hiking shoes along and get your steps in at the nearby Big Pines Natural Area. The 2.4-mile loop through massive old-growth eastern pines and hemlocks up to the 1,270-foot summit of Great Hill; there you can climb the 35-foot-tall fire tower, a 1934 Civilian Conservations Corps project, with magnificent views for miles.

Unpack your bags that night at (from $205), a traditional bed-and-breakfast in a restored 1851 blacksmith shop, with a working cider press.

The Best Oysters in Maine

Midcoast Maine is oyster country; most of the state’s production comes from its cool bays, estuaries, and inlets, where big shell-tumbling tides foster deeply cupped bivalves. Though most farm tours end by mid-October, John Herrigel of the , located in West Point, a fishing village near the tip of the rugged Phippsburg peninsula, is game to run boat trips as long as the weather cooperates. The two-hour experience includes visiting his small offshore farm to learn about the growing process (and slurp a few oysters right out of the water), then motoring back to the dockside Base Camp for private shucking lessons. The outing (from $250) includes a dozen oysters. Alternatively, you can order deliveries from Herrigel and the other Midcoast growers who are part of the co-op he runs; the goods will arrive when you’re ready to stuff your bird.

Don’t miss Popham Beach, a beautiful three-mile-long sweep of broad, firm sand at the island-studded mouth of the Kennebec River. Horses are allowed on the beach in the fall; book a two-hour guided ride with (from $175).

Another coastal option is a visit to Bath and the Maine Maritime Museum, 15 miles north, to admire its working boat-building exhibit and collection of 140 historic small crafts. If you haven’t had your fill of oysters yet, hit the waterfront , run by sisters, one of whom also operates an oyster farm. Bluet, a dry wild-blueberry sparkler crafted in Maine by a Napa-trained winemaker is a worthy accompaniment to your dinner, not to mention a good gift for a Thanksgiving-day host.

From Bath, turn south on Highway 127 onto Georgetown Island. Book a night at the woodsy ($125), a two-bedroom log cabin not far from Reid State Park, where you can surf, birdwatch, and explore the tide pools and sand dunes.

Where to Find Cranberries in Massachusetts

When you find your way down the narrow drive to in the Mid-Cape village of Dennis, you’re in the cradle of cranberry cultivation. Here in the early 1800s, close to Cape Cod Bay, a retired sea captain named Henry Hall discovered that the wild cranberries on his land produced more fruit after they’d been covered by storm-blown sand. The practice of covering bogs caught on, and the berry went on to become the state’s most important crop.

In 1911, a ÌęHall descendant sold one of his bogs to Annie Walker’s grandfather, and today, on certain fall weekends, Walker gives historical tours of the restored bog she works with antique equipment. You can buy fresh, dry-harvested berries out of her museum-like shop.

Cape Cod’s sandy, well-drained soil is also prime terroir for turnips. Eastham, on the Outer Cape, celebrates its namesake heirloom variety, the Eastham turnip, with an annual festival before Thanksgiving (this year scheduled for Saturday, November 18). If you can’t make it, you’ll find the unusually large, sweet root veggies for sale at the Orleans Farmers’ Market, just three and a half miles away, on Saturday mornings.

A popular area for fishing, biking, and exploration is Brewster’s 1,900-acre Nickerson State Park. Walk through scrub pine and oak to Cliff Pond; the large, glacially formed kettle pond and seven others in the park are stocked with trout. Or pedal an eight-mile paved path that connects to the 26-mile-long Cape Cod Rail Trail. Call it a day at the nearby (from $329) an antique Georgian-style mansion within walking distance of the broad tidal flats of Breakwater Beach.

The Best Apples for Pies in Connecticut

You know those carnival-like farms that feature a corn maze, zombie laser tag, a petting zoo, and you-pick orchards of apples? isn’t one of those. Six years ago, owner James Wargo planted 4,000 trees on the side of a drumlin in rural Southbury with the intention of creating a simple, no-frills country orchard. His 31 varieties of apples include hard-to-find antiques like Esopus Spitzenburg (Thomas Jefferson’s favorite) and the 16th-century Calville Blanc d’Hiver, favored by bakers for classic tarte Tatin and pies. The pick-your-own season runs through the first weekend of November, or buy apples in the open-air farm stand through the end of the month.

You’re farm-bound for your next stop, too, but not for produce. Drive 18 miles north to on the grounds of a working farm high in the state’s northwestern Litchfield Hills. Wander among the planted hops and farm animals, tour the brewing operation on Saturday afternoons, then hit the tasting room to sample two-ounce flights of signature brews like Sweatpants pale ale and Awkward Hug IPA, made with locally sourced ingredients.

Some of the Appalachian Trail’s least daunting terrain is nearby along the Housatonic River (park just north of where River Road intersects with North Kent Number 1 Road). You’ll likely have company from birders on your walk or run, because the area serves as an important migration corridor.

IfÌę you’re looking to stay somewhere local, the downtown (from $475) are a good choice within walking distance of shops, restaurants and galleries. Ask to be put up in the restored 1800s boxcar.

Wine and Vineyards to Explore in Rhode Island

Down a long dirt road five miles from the mansions and marinas of Newport, you’ll find the peaceful , a producer of estate-grown wines. Set on land that slopes to the Sakonnet River, the winery was once a 19th-century gentleman’s farm. Its stick-style stable—now the tasting room—and Gothic main house are on the National Register of Historic Places. Sip samples by the fire pits, listen to live jazz on Saturday afternoons, and take home some bottles, like the 2022 Greenvale Select Chardonnay and 2021 Meritage, both of which will pair nicely with your turkey.

Pick up pumpkins and decorative gourds at the post-and-beam market just two and a half miles south, then continue on to Newport and saddle up for an equally sweet ride in a town where cycling has been popular since the Victorian era. Rent a cruiser from and head out on the classic 13-mile Ocean Loop that passes the palatial Gilded Age homes of Bellevue Avenue as well as the Atlantic shoreline, or cycle east to Sachuest Point Wildlife Refuge. Viewing platforms there let you spy on the big flocks of harlequin ducks that arrive in November. Overnight at the (from $200) a colorful hotel three blocks from Newport’s harbor.

Journalist and lifelong New Englander Meg Lukens Noonan grew up in suburban Boston, went to college in Vermont, and now lives—and hosts Thanksgiving—in Hanover, New Hampshire.

For more Thanksgiving food and fun inspiration, check out Steven Rinella’s story on how to cook a turkey over a campfire.

The post A Delicious New England Road Trip appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Bahamas
Fly-Fishing

“PUT THE FLY RIGHT ON HIS HEAD” is the common refrain of sight-fishing guides to their clients standing knee-deep in the crystalline Atlantic waters off Long Island, a four-mile sand strip 165 miles south of Nassau. In some cases, the head belongs to a six-pound bonefish; in others it’s a tailing, manhole-cover-size permit. And when the fly drops, more often than not the fish devours it. So goes pretty much every experience with the crew from Bonafide Bonefishing. With everything from flats casting off white-sand beaches to raiding a secret permit stronghold accessible by a 45-minute boat ride from Stella Maris Resort, the 80-mile-long isle makes it tough to say they weren’t biting. Be sure to request either Docky or Alvin Smith, longtime guides who are often booked six months to a year in advance.

PLAYTIME: Bonafide offers day trips from Stella Maris for bonefishing, permit fishing, and reef fishing. Rental rods and gear are available, but they suggest that you bring your own. From $450 a day for two;

ISLAND LIVING: Relax in the newly developed Stella Maris’s Love Beach Bungalows. Set on five acres, each of the three cottages offers two-bedroom, two-bath accommodations, all facing a swimming lagoon and beaches. An SUV is available for unencumbered on-island excursions. From $1,365;

Antigua

Sailing

Antigua

SAILING IN THE CARIBBEAN? It’s tough to narrow down to just one island, we know, but if there’s a single place that balances both the sport and its well-lubricated after-hours lifestyle, it’s 108-square-mile Antigua. The island has become the quintessential yachtie hot spot and, from late April to early May, hosts more than 1,500 sailors during Stanford Antigua Sailing Week, the Caribbean’s second-largest regatta. More than 200 boats race in eight different classes, with participants ranging from landlubbers on chartered sloops to America’s Cup winners crewing billion-dollar boats. And when the sails drop, the long pours begin. The island’s own Antigua Distillery churns out award-winning rums (pick up a bottle of the English Harbour five-year-old). In Falmouth Harbour, where many of Sailing Week’s festivities take place, work your way from the Last Lemming to the Mad Mongoose and then on to Skullduggery, where it’s required that you have at least one espresso martini before hitting up the bars in English Harbour.

PLAYTIME: A slew of private charter companies like Horizon Yacht Charters, whose founder, Andrew Thompson, often races in Sailing Week, operate out of Antigua (a full list is available at ). Qualified captains can take off on their own, or you can always hire a skipper.

ISLAND LIVING: If you don’t feel like sleeping where you sail, grab a room at the newly opened—and swanky—Antigua Yacht Club Marina and Resort, in Falmouth Harbour. They’ll even dock your boat for a daily rate. Doubles from $277;

Bonaire

Diving

Bonaire

THE AQUATIC BOUNTY and 80-plus-foot visibility in the waters off this arid, mostly flat isle 50 miles north of Venezuela inspire a kind of reef madness among scuba divers. “Bonaire has some of the nicest diving in the world,” says Bruce Bowker, who came to the island in 1973 as its first full-time dive instructor. “It’s like jumping into an aquarium.” Just a flutter-kick away from the island’s leeward shore, you’ll find seahorses, soft corals swaying like hula girls, and swirls of sergeant majors and blue tang. Eighty-nine buoy-marked dive sites, all within the Bonaire National Marine Park, shelter almost 500 species of fish—more than can be found anywhere else in the Caribbean.

PLAYTIME: Bari Reef, on the island’s western shore, is said to be the best fish-spotting location in the Caribbean. Hook up with Bonaire Dive & șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű’s Jerry Ligon, a naturalist who can help you on your way to identifying more than 100 different species of fish. From $40;

ISLAND LIVING: Opened in September 2007 on a hillside overlooking the sea, La Pura Vista is a five-room guesthouse with a mosaic-tiled pool. Doubles from $125;

Puerto Rico

Surfing

Puerto Rico

A MULTISPORT DRAW, Puerto Rico offers enough mountain biking, hiking, snorkeling, and diving to keep an energetic visitor occupied for months. But it’s the surfing—centered around the town of RincĂłn, on the western shore— that you’ll come back for. Tied with Huntington Beach, California, for hosting the most ISA surfing events, Puerto Rico reigns as the surf mecca of the Caribbean, with 310 miles of coastline. “All the other islands have open windows, but they’re small,” says Rip Curl team rider and Puerto Rico native Brian Toth. “PR has huge open windows for swells to come through.” The 2007 World Masters had surfers barreling off RincĂłn’s point break, Maria’s, which produces waves up to 14 feet. Toth’s favorite break? Jobos, near the town of Isabela, 45 minutes from RincĂłn, which pumps perfect rights most days.

PLAYTIME: Waves break consistently from October through April—pass up the standard foam board for a lesson on a classic fiberglass longboard with Playa Brava Surf Underground. Surf-school owner Tupi Cabrera takes pride in his island because it has the widest variety of waves and, in his words, “it’s freakin’ cool!” Ninety-minute lessons from $40;

ISLAND LIVING: RincĂłn’s luxurious Horned Dorset Primavera Hotel has 22 private, plunge-pool-adorned villas on four hillside oceanfront acres. Doubles from $610;

British Virgin Islands

Sea Kayaking

British Virgin Islands

WITH ABOUT 35 ISLANDS situated miles apart, consistent trade winds, and strong currents, the BVIs inspire connect-the-dots sea kayaking. But one route stands out: a 14-mile open-water crossing from Virgin Gorda to Anegada, a flat, coral-limestone island that was once a pirate haven with blissful beaches, low-slung brush, and almost as many iguanas and flamingos as locals. Horse Shoe Reef envelops the land in thick and treacherous coral growth, meaning boats need to steer clear or join the 200 or so offshore shipwrecks. But the inner-reef waters are ultra-calm, and your kayak will allow you to snug along the shoreline and squeeze through the narrow inlets to salt ponds, where you’ll find some of the Caribbean’s most diverse and abundant wildlife. Look for brown boobies, pelicans, herons, egrets, and ospreys flitting among the piles of conch shells. Then kayak to the north shore, where you can snorkel for treasure or paddle south to fish the flats.

PLAYTIME: Arawak Expeditions offers custom trips to Anegada and throughout the islands, as well as multi-day camping trips.

ISLAND LIVING: Virgin Gorda’s Biras Creek Resort is a luxurious, eco-friendly resort with 33 suites. Last year’s face-lift added two new plunge pools, a brand-new fleet of kayaks, and a bicycle for every guest. Doubles, $615;

St. Bart’s

Lazing & Eating

St. Bart’s

FROM PASTRY TO PARADISE is how your day on St. Bart’s will most likely start. You just need to make a couple of decisions: almond, chocolate, or butter croissant, monsieur? And then: quiet with great sunning or happening with great barefoot dining? Located about 15 miles east of St. Martin, where the Antilles chain bends to the south, tiny St. BarthĂ©lemy (just eight square miles) is the Frenchiest of the French West Indies. The mostly European visitors—some 230,000 a year—come to eat, drink, and lounge. It’s leisure as extreme sport. And it’s easy to spend $150 on lunch—but worth it. For the tuna tartare at La Plage (), on St. Jean Beach. For the tiger prawns at Le BartolomĂ©o, at the Hotel Guanahani (). For anything on the menu at the St. Barth’s Isle de France ().

PLAYTIME: Digest in peace on a secluded beach, like Governeur or Saline. You can also windsurf at St. Jean, surf at Lorient, and scuba-dive in offshore reserves.

ISLAND LIVING: Do like those in the know and rent a private villa from an agency such as St. Barth Properties ().

Islas Los Roques

Snorkeling & Exploring

Islas Los Roques

EACH MORNING, while the sun warms the sea and the pelicans bomb sardines, the small harbor in Los Roques, Venezuela, slowly comes alive. Here, about 100 miles north of Caracas, sits arguably the largest concentration of beautiful beaches in the hemisphere—some 42 islands of white sand, with turquoise lagoons and only one town among all of them. Gran Roque (pop. 1,600) has breezy inns, an espresso bar, and sandy streets plied only by flip-flops. But wander down to the harbor and you’ll find the fishermen. They’re the ones with literally a menu of deserted islands nearby, and for $15 or less they’ll take you and your snorkeling gear there. “Francisqui? Crasqui?” they say. “Which island you like today?” The decision isn’t easy. There’s premium snorkeling among hundreds of thousands of tiny silversides off Crasqui, a 30-minute boat ride away, and great diving in the coral pinnacles of La Guaza, which teems with jacks and grouper. But of all the islands and all the beaches and all the things to do—Francisqui for kiteboarding, Cayo de Agua for lagoons, and so on—Cayo Muerto, just a 20-minute ride away, is particularly special. A sandbar 500 paces long surrounded by a sea so clear you could mistake it for air, “Death Key” is the classic deserted island of castaway fantasies.

PLAYTIME: If riding a fishing boat isn’t for you, Ecobuzos Dive șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs runs boats out of Gran Roque to various destinations off Los Roques. $35;

ISLAND LIVING: Gran Roque’s newest inn, Posada Natura Viva, features a quiet courtyard and a predominantly Italian clientele and can help arrange everything from flights to renting snorkeling gear. $247;

St. Lucia

Mountain Biking

St. Lucia

FORGET THE BEACHES. The mountain biking on St. Lucia has visitors looking inland, where riders can rip past waterfalls and saman trees on dozens of singletrack trails and fire roads throughout the 238-square-mile island. The best riding is in the 400-acre Anse Mamin Plantation’s 12-mile network of jungle-lined track, dedicated solely to knobby tires. Suitable for a range of abilities, the trails wind through the old sugarcane fields and offer opportunities for freeriders to drop some of the plantation’s original stone walls and stairways. The biggest challenge? The two-mile Tinker Juarez Trail, designed by the endurance mountain biker and two-time Olympian. This climb to the top of a 900-foot peak has been completed only once sans hiking, by Tinker himself.

PLAYTIME: Bike St. Lucia provides Cannondale F800 mountain bikes for day use. $89 per day;

ISLAND LIVING: The new Jade Mountain Resort, which is connected to the Anse Mamin Plantation, features private “sanctuaries” that have infinity pools with views of the Piton Mountains. Doubles from $1,020;

Turks and Caicos Islands

Kiteboarding

Turks and Caicos Islands

UNTIL RECENTLY, IT WAS SCUBA DIVERS who salivated over the turquoise waters and Technicolor reefs. But recently, kiteboarders have discovered the Turks and Caicos—a 166-square-mile archipelago in the eastern Caribbean—and it’s fast becoming a hallowed destination for world-class riding. During the winter, cold fronts rolling across the lower 48 arm-wrestle with the prevailing trades blowing from the east. A deadlock ensues, and that puts the squeeze on, blasting the Turks and Caicos from January to May with buttery-smooth winds. Bathwater-warm seas let you leave the wetsuit at home, and its proximity to the North Atlantic ensures there’s always a swell if you have an appetite for big surf.

PLAYTIME: The Kitehouse is a full-service international kiteboarding outfitter run by pro Paul Menta. Full-day lessons from $300;

ISLAND LIVING: Menta loves houseguests. An upscale suite at his new villa runs from $150 a day, including gear.

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IN 2004, PARADISE WAS PUMMELED. Late December’s tsunami in the Indian Ocean, caused by a 9.15-magnitude underwater earthquake west of Sumatra, destroyed beach resorts in Thailand, Sri Lanka, and the Maldives. More than 230,000 people perished—thousands of travelers among them—and hotels, restaurants, and other businesses were ruined along with the beaches. Earlier, in August and September of that year, four major hurricanes crushed the Caribbean community, racking up more than $6 billion in damages across the region. In both Southeast Asia and the Caribbean, many of the affected towns and provinces depend on tourism for their livelihood, so once the survivors were accounted for and the dead were buried, reconstruction and rebooking quickly became the top priority. But just how do resort areas bounce back from such devastation? To answer this question, we checked in on two disaster-struck islands: Phuket, off the western coast of Thailand, and Grenada, one of the southernmost islands in the Caribbean.

Before the tsunami, Phuket was one of the most popular beach destinations in Southeast Asia, generating more than two billion tourist dollars in 2004. On the day of the disaster, December 26, 2004, three giant waves slammed into Phuket’s beaches, flooding hotels, uprooting trees and debris, and killing almost 300 people—with more than twice that number still unaccounted for. While the disaster was horrific, the lingering perceptions of the devastation have also proven detrimental: Due to extensive media coverage of the most severely hit areas in the Indian Ocean region, most people assume that the entire 30-mile-long island was leveled; in fact, only 12 percent of Phuket’s rooms were damaged by the disaster. Still, tourism in Phuket has dropped 65 percent, and in the first half of 2005 the island lost more than $1 billion in tourism revenue.

In the Caribbean, no island suffered more than Grenada, traditionally considered south of the hurricane belt. Ivan, the first major hurricane in recorded history to have formed below ten degrees latitude in the Atlantic Basin, struck on the afternoon of September 7, 2004, with winds of at least 111 miles per hour. Its eye passed just south of the red-roofed harbor town of St. George’s, ripping apart nearly everything in its path. Thirty-nine people were killed, and 90 percent of the island’s houses were damaged. The tourism industry, still recovering after lean post-9/11 years, was upended. Total damage came to nearly $1 billion, more than 200 percent of the country’s gross domestic product.

After both tragic events, aid poured in from around the globe. The United States, England, China, India, Trinidad and Tobago, and Cuba donated $58 million to Grenada. While the Thai government has refused monetary aid, more than $27 million has entered the country through post-disaster relief efforts. Now the two islands, victims of very different catastrophes, are gearing up for the high season facing equally different situations: Grenada, despite being slapped by Hurricane Emily this past July, has recovered further than anyone would have expected and anticipates a good winter season; Phuket, on the other hand, has been open for business for months, but no one’s biting. Take a look at how these islands are faring and remember this: The best way you can help is to book a plane ticket and go.

Case Study: Phuket, Thailand

Ready and Waiting

HARDEST HIT IN PHUKET was Kamala, a beachfront village on the west side of the island. By the time the third wave struck the enclave, many residents had escaped up the hill behind the village. After the chaos and shock of the first few weeks, survivors displayed characteristic Thai fortitude and began to rebuild from the rubble, anticipating the return of the tourists. One store owner handpainted a sign and hung it in front of his store: even tsunami cannot beat us. we make the best homemade pizza. But nobody came to eat.

More than 95 percent of Phuket is up and running again. Not only have the beaches been cleared of debris, but many are wider—by as much as 30 feet in some spots. Restaurants and bars have been cleaned and remodeled, and shops have been restocked with everything from sarongs to sequined handbags. The only thing missing now is the tourists. One day last April at the Terrace, a popular seaside restaurant, three musicians played the pan flute, xylophone, and lute, but there was only one couple dining in a room that seats 60. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű, there were no bumper-to-bumper backups of cars, motorbikes, or bright-red minivan taxis headed to the beaches, because the seasides were deserted. As of August, hotel occupancy was down 65 percent from last year.

Phuket’s tourism board has responded by working with local businesses to woo visitors with two-for-one deals, extra meals included in the price of a hotel room, and lower airfares. In addition, the Thai government has teamed with Thai Airways International and others to promote its “Best Offer”—three days and two nights at any of 11 different resorts for as little as $80. The Trisara, a brand-new five-star resort on the Andaman Sea, is offering villas—complete with a 30-foot infinity pool, 37-inch plasma TV, and a yacht available for charter—for nearly 20 percent off. Meanwhile, Amanpuri Phuket and Mom Tri’s Villa Royale hotels have cut their prices by 50 percent.

Still, the island is like a ghost town—literally. Much of the 60 percent decline in visitors from other Asian nations is a result of Chinese and other nationalities’ cultural and religious beliefs that the spirits of the missing are still roaming the beaches. (More than 3,000 people remain unaccounted for across the region.) To win these tourists back, a highly publicized series of events is planned, culminating on December 26, 2005, the first anniversary of the tsunami. Monks and priests of all religions will “free” the departed souls and give permission for visitors to return to southern Thailand.

Tourists are also concerned about safety, should another tsunami occur. The Tourism Authority of Thailand is developing what it calls the “Safer Beach” concept, a plan that includes the construction of a “Memorial Gateways” wall in a heavily touristed area of Phuket, to serve as a permanent memorial to those who lost their lives while, in concept, slowing down any advancing floodwaters. The Thai government also developed a Tsunami Early Warning System, which has been operational since late May and is monitored 24 hours a day. (It was successfully put to the test in July, when it detected a 7.3-magnitude quake more than 400 miles from the island.)

Holidaygoers and merrymakers may not have returned en masse to Phuket yet, but judging by the locals’ speed in rebuilding after the disaster and the government’s concerted effort to shore up the tourism industry, not even the tsunami will keep the Thais down. A T-shirt that has cropped up in markets across the island underscores that resilience. On the back is a list of trials the region has faced in recent years: a post-9/11 bomb alert, worldwide panic over SARS, mass bird-flu hysteria, and now the tsunami devastation; the front of the shirt reads still alive.

Beyond Phuket

Across the Indian Ocean region, communities are still recovering from the 2004 tsunami

DESPITE THE TRAGEDY IN PHUKET, the island fared better than other Indian Ocean destinations—places like the nearby Thai island of Koh Phi Phi; the Maldives; and Galle, Matara, and Yala, in Sri Lanka. “When I arrived in Galle in April,” says Alexander Souri, owner of Massachusetts-based outfitter Relief Riders International, “beachfront resorts were still rubble, just plaster and brick on the ground.” Images like that, coupled with fear of another tsunami, have sent tourist numbers plummeting across the region.

Koh Phi Phi suffered extensive hotel damage, including the loss of 1,400 rooms, and is projected to give up $90 million in tourist revenue in 2005. In the Maldives, the tsunami flooded the heavily touristed atolls of Mulaku and North and South Male, destroying hotels and restaurants. By mid-August 2005, the country was estimated to have lost $250 million tourist dollars since the disaster. Sri Lanka’s burgeoning coastal tourism industry suffered as well, losing $42 million through the first half of 2005.

Thanks to locals’ perseverance and foreign aid (the U.S. government has pledged nearly $1 billion in support, with private donations topping $1.2 billion), many of the nations that were underwater just nine months ago are speeding forward with the reconstruction process. The damaged hotels gracing the southern beaches of Sri Lanka are 67 percent up and running, and those in the Maldives are 87 percent in service. And though Koh Phi Phi is still in the early stages of rebuilding, American outfitter Big Five șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Travel is offering day trips to explore the island’s limestone cliffs by boat.

The governments of the affected areas are gearing up, too. Last spring, the Maldives’ Tourism Promotion Board began spreading the word about the archipelago to travel agents and tour operators across Asia. They also sent delegations to parts of Europe in hopes of regenerating foreign interest in the islands. Thailand has aggressively pursued the airlines, setting up deals with Thai Airways International, Bangkok Airways, and Orient Thai Airlines to reduce fares and bundle flights with discounted stays at resorts. And in September, Sri Lanka launched a $4 million advertising campaign to lure European travelers back to its beaches and highlands for the upcoming high season.

“The attitude should not be ‘Look how terrible it was.’ The attitude should be ‘Look how far the area has come to recover,’ ” says Ashish Sanghrajka, Big Five’s VP of sales and partner relations. “There’s still lots of great things to see and do there.”

Case Study: St. George’s, Grenada

Full Speed Ahead

NEW GROWTH: St. George’s is flourishing, thanks to a resolve to “build back better”

HURRICANE IVAN gave an unfathomable shock to a nation whose unofficial motto is “God is a Grenadian.” It had been just shy of half a century since the last serious hurricane struck Grenada, and even as Ivan was bearing down, few residents sensed real danger. “We were so naive,” says Lawrence Lambert, managing director of the Flamboyant Hotel, which sits on a hill above the southern end of Grand Anse, Grenada’s celebrated two-mile stretch of white-sand beach. “I thought maybe some doors might blow in.”

In fact, the Flamboyant, like so many other buildings, was pounded, losing its main restaurant and all of its roofs. Ivan was so good at dismantling roofs, locals started referring to the storm as Hurricane Roofus. Very few buildings were erected with hurricane survival in mind; analysts now say that $4 metal hurricane straps, which help keep a roof fastened to the top of an exterior wall, would have greatly reduced the islandwide structural damage.

Now—despite all this destruction and despair—Grenada is bouncing back, at a pace no one could have imagined in those initial grim post-hurricane days. After the first dazed month, insurance claims began getting settled; construction materials made their way to the island; teams of workers put in countless hours of hard, hot labor; red tape was cut through; and the government mandate to “build back better” began to seem possible. By the end of this year, 94 percent of the island’s nearly 1,600 hotel rooms will be available to guests. Among them, the rebuilt Spice Island Beach Resort, on Grand Anse, will reopen as a five-star hotel. A few hotels never closed: the candy-colored cottages of Bel Air Plantation, which were built to Florida hurricane standards by American owners in 2003, and down-but-not-out True Blue Bay Resort, which provided lodging and meals to an endless procession of insurance adjusters and embassy personnel in the months following the storm. The last major hotel to reopen, LaSource, will welcome guests beginning sometime in 2006.

Of course, the island still bears Ivan’s scars. Some are obvious, like the many houses—especially the more rural ones—sheltered by blue tarps. Some are less obvious, like the thatched umbrellas at the understatedly chic Laluna resort, put up on the beach to replace shade trees lost to the storm. Tourism is rebounding: In August, the island was expecting around 15,000 visitors, a return to almost 90 percent of last year’s pre-Ivan numbers. Meanwhile, the future of the nutmeg industry—which accounted for about half of Grenada’s agricultural-export earnings and supplied a third of all nutmeg worldwide—remains uncertain, as almost all of the island’s nutmeg trees were destroyed.

Challenges notwithstanding, visitors to Grenada this winter will find a heartfelt welcome from a nation that knows how crucial the return of tourists is to its economy—and its battered psyche. They’ll also find beaches that are clean and inviting. The reefs and wrecks off Point Salines are still great dive spots. The Morne Fendue Plantation House, high in the hills of Saint Patrick’s Parish, is still serving its astonishing soursop ice cream. And the nutmeg-dusted rum punches at True Blue Bay Resort’s rebuilt waterfront bar are as sweet—and as potent—as ever.

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On October 2, Team șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Philosophy, which comprises Graham Charles, 39, a photographer and adventurer, and Marcus Waters, 39, a human resource manager, both from Christchurch; and Mark Jones, 41, an outdoor leadership instructor from Auckland, will attempt the first circumnavigation of South Georgia Island by sea kayak. The stakes for failure—or even death—are high and the team could take as long as six weeks to complete their journey.

Made infamous by Sir Ernest Shackleton’s two-year expedition, South Georgia is an icy, barren isle 100 miles long and 20 miles wide, inhabited by ferocious fur seals and located in the “furious fifties,” approximately 1,100 miles east of Tierra del Fuego, the hair-raising southern tip of South America. In 1916, Shackleton’s ship, Endurance, drifted for ten months in pack ice off Antarctica’s Caird Coast before it succumbed to the elements. The crew took refuge on Elephant Island while Shackleton, along with five other crew members, sailed the whaleboat James Caird some 800 miles to King Haakon Bay on South Georgia, where Shackleton, Tom Crean, and Frank Worsely then traversed the island to Stromness Station. The entire crew was eventually rescued.

The biggest challenge in șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Philosophy’s quest for the unclaimed coast isn’t the mileage, it’s the weather. “We can paddle in 25 or 35 mile-an-hour winds, but it’s rare that the wind in South Georgia gentles on a nice 30 knot (35 mile-an-hour) breeze,” says Charles. “It’s like creeping up on the enemy. When the weather’s facing away, we can go. But as soon as the weather turns around and looks, we have to be twiddling our thumbs and looking innocently like we’re not trying to do anything.” On a previous visit to South Georgia, Charles had experienced wind gusts over 100 miles per hour.

The three men are no strangers to firsts, merciless conditions, or each other. Waters and Charles have known each other since age 13, when they spent endless hours on the ropes course at New Zealand’s Outward Bound School, where Waters’ father was deputy director. Jones, Waters, and Charles have all worked for The Sir Edmund Hillary Outdoor Pursuits Centre, the pre-eminent outdoor education center in New Zealand. Aside from highly-refined technical skills, each contributes a unique expertise to an expedition: Charles as the visionary, Waters as the “details freak,” and Jones, says Charles, as the “Kiwi bloke who’s really good at fixing stuff with a piece of number eight wire and duct tape.”

In January and February 2001, the team paddled 500 unsupported miles from Hope Bay at the northern tip of the Antarctic Peninsula to beyond the Antarctic Circle in the south, the longest stretch ever paddled in Antarctica. In January 2003, they faced 300 miles worth of Tierra del Fuego gales down the Beagle Channel to the Pacific Ocean before pioneering a new route through the Darwin Cordillera into Argentina.

When compared to the Antarctic Peninsula expedition, Graeme Dingle, a noted Kiwi explorer and author of “Dingle: Discovering the Sense in șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű,” (to be released by Craig Potton Publishing in October) says the South Georgia Island attempt is much more dangerous. “The wind, the currents, and the size of the sea are considerable,” he said. “You need a mix of very good technical skills, you need a bit of luck on your side, and I also think you need a kind of strength that these guys have together. The bond between them is quite awesome.”

The team, however, is quick to dispel the idea that this is just a sea kayaking expedition: it’s about a purist’s definition of a classic adventure. “This is the romantic exploration-era kind of thing where it’s day after day of ugliness, hard work and crucial decisions that could change the course of your life or the expedition,” Charles said. “It’s not about sea kayaking, it’s about rolling the dice with intuition and prudent judgment. A kayak just happens to be our mode of transportation.”

Technology has changed since the days of Shackleton, but even șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Philosophy’s reinforced, custom-designed Kevlar kayaks will not guarantee protection from harm. The team’s prepared for the worst. They’ll stow a month’s worth of fuel and vacuum-packed food, as well as mountaineering equipment in case an emergency evacuation on the island is necessary.

Two teams, one in 1991 and another in 1996, have previously attempted to circle South Georgia. Both failed. Team șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Philosophy, though, isn’t the only squad out for bragging rights this year. Operation South Georgia, a British-Israeli team under the leadership of veteran sea kayaker Pete Bray, who in 2001 was the first person to paddle solo and unsupported across the North Atlantic, hope to be under way November 12.

Pete and his teammates are inspired by adventure and a “South Georgia circumnavigation is one of the last remaining challenges in the sea kayaking world,” said Jim Rowlinson, Operation South Georgia project manager.

Team șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Philosophy chose to depart earlier, October 2 to be exact, after their research indicated that the half-ton, carnivorous fur seals that dominate the island come mating season will be on the island’s northern end in early November. “Our plan is to go counterclockwise starting from the northeast side,” Charles said. “We’re hoping to beat the seals rush hour ashore. When they weigh half a ton and are pumped up on hormones, they want to charge everything in their little territory zone.” The presence of the seals also poses another problem—fewer places for the team to camp ashore.

Since there are no search and rescue services within 1,000 miles of the island, both teams are required by British law to be accompanied by a support vessel to help in the event of an emergency. Charles’ team will have support aboard their emergency vessel to help gather footage for the documentary the team is producing about their attempt.

In the end, it will come down to the unpredictable and more than a little skill. “There are so many unknowns for us,” Charles said. “But we don’t go out there ignorantly. We research as much as we can, but no matter how much research we do, there are so many unanswered questions. And that’s the beauty.”

Check in with șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online for updates on the Team șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Philosophy’s progress in the coming weeks. The team will also post daily dispatches of their expedition on their Web site, .

The Shatter-Proof Skeleton

Bone Cuisine

High-impact exercise is one way to maintain bone density, but it may not sustain the calcium levels you need for the long term. In a 1995 study of college basketball players at the University of Memphis, researcher Robert Klesges’s bone-density scans revealed significant mineral loss in the athletes during their four-month season. To find out why, his scientists literally wrung out the jerseys after a practice. “Our analysis showed huge expenditures of sodium,” says Klesges, “which we expected, and surprising amounts of calcium, which we didn’t.”

The next season, to counteract the mineral flush, Klesges advised the players to supplement their diets with up to 2,000 milligrams of calcium per day, administered by stirring inexpensive calcium lactate into an energy drink. That season, “bone loss was virtually eliminated,” he says. For five years, the team continued to add calcium to their drinks, with the same results.

His findings, published in The Journal of the American Medical Association in 1996, exposed a common shortfall in the American diet: too little calcium. “Most people don’t even come close to the recommended daily allowance of 1,200 milligrams,” says Klesges, “but that amount is still not enough for an athlete exercising over an hour each day.” Nearly ten years later, most sports drinks still don’t contain enough calcium for Klesges. “Without a demand for it, manufacturers simply aren’t going to add the mineral’s cost to their products,” he says.

So how much calcium should you be getting? For most, anything over 2,000 milligrams is overkill; 1,200 a day is plenty for a recreational athlete, says Klesges, and you can meet your needs through milk, dairy products, calcium-fortified orange juice, and tofu. Each serving contains about 200 to 300 milligrams of calcium. Going on a long workout? Nab an additional 200 milligrams of the stuff for every hour beyond the first.

Bill Holland follows this advice religiously. He still rides as much as ever, but now he also rotates in thrice-weekly four-mile runs, plus three trips to the weight room each week, and he takes 1,200 milligrams of calcium a day. Since his first bone scan, in 2001, he’s reversed his bone loss and seen 1 to 2 percent increases in density each year.

“Someday,” says Holland, “I might have average-strength bones again.”

Beyond Grenada

The 2004 Caribbean hurricane season was one of the most destructive in recent history

THOUGH HURRICANES ARE A FACT OF LIFE in the Caribbean, no one was prepared for the massive destruction and loss of life the islands experienced in 2004. There were six major hurricanes in the Atlantic Basin (defined as Category 3 or higher on the Saffir-Simpson scale of hurricane strength, with winds topping 111 miles an hour). This was twice the annual average, and four of them slammed the Caribbean. The cost to the region was more than $6 billion, according to the UN Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean.

In August, Hurricane Charley hit Cuba and Jamaica, killing five people. Three and a half weeks later, Hurricane Ivan struck Grenada. Ivan then intensified to a Category 5 storm (winds over 155 mph) and pounded Grand Cayman, washing over the island and causing severe damage to homes and hotels, many of which couldn’t reopen until this fall. Ivan generated the largest ocean waves ever recorded—upwards of 90 feet—before knocking out the monitoring buoys; post-storm computer models put the waves at up to 130 feet. Ivan also struck parts of Jamaica, killing 17 people, racking up nearly $600 million in damage, wiping out many of Negril’s waterfront bars, and forcing hotels to close for several months of repair work. Days later, Hurricane Jeanne and the massive flooding that followed killed 2,700 people in Haiti and 23 in the neighboring Dominican Republic. Jeanne also brought floods and wind damage to Grand Bahama and Abaco, which had been hit hard by Hurricane Frances a few weeks earlier.

In mid-August, with the hurricane season already off to a record start, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) was forecasting 18 to 21 tropical storms in 2005. Of those, NOAA said, nine to eleven could become hurricanes, and five to seven could end up as major storms. The season officially runs from June 1 to November 30, with the peak between late August and early October. This grim outlook reflects a continuation of increased storm activity that began in 1995, when shifts in atmospheric and oceanic flow patterns resulted in warmer Atlantic water. Forecasters say this pattern may continue for at least another decade, if historical cycles repeat themselves.

As the 2005 season began, NOAA added seven weather-data-buoy stations in the Caribbean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Atlantic, to fill some gaps in its data-monitoring map. It also launched a Web page called Storm Tracker, which provides advisories and tracking maps. Still, international agencies continue to call for better early-notification systems. “I’ve warned the world that it is not going to get better; it is going to become worse,” said UN Emergency Relief Coordinator Jan Egeland last June, at a workshop on disaster preparedness. “We owe it to the people to prepare them.”

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By Robert Earle Howells




By Meg Lukens Noonan




By Nick Heil




By Granville Green


PLUS: Resorts for all reasons-great hideaways on , , .

Tierra Secreta

Where do Mexicans vacation? Among the snowcapped volcanoes, frothy rivers, and mysterious ruins of Veracruz—gringo-free…for now

veracruz mexico rio bobos

I DIDN’T COME TO VERACRUZ as a tourist—but, hey, what American does? The economy of Mexico’s third-most-populous state, which curves between the rugged eastern Sierra Madre and a 425-mile coastline on the Gulf of Mexico, is driven not by gringo hordes but by a gaggle of tropical crops—from sugarcane in the sweltering lowlands to coffee in the mist-shrouded mountains—and a significant chunk of the nation’s oil reserves.


Which is why, after nearly a year living in the state capital, Xalapa, I’m wearing an impish Dr. Evil smile. I know the big secret: For the adventurous traveler, Veracruz is a find, its wonders known to Mexicans but mysterious to most outside the country. Hike a trail, climb a mountain, or paddle a river here and your comrades, if any, will be vacationers hailing from Mexico City or Puebla.


Wherever I go—from a raft on the burly RĂ­o Bobos, threading the state’s western mountains, to a lost stretch of the Costa Esmeralda beach north of the city of Veracruz—I’m always one of the very few norteamericanos around, if not the only one. So dust off your traveler’s Spanish and come south to Mexico’s travel frontier to enjoy these essential attractions of Veracruz; when you get back, your friends will want to know what the hell you’re grinning about.


:: RÍO BOBOS

A 40-square-mile preserve, Filo-Bobos marks the confluence of whitewater and history. Here, the thrill-inducing Bobos and six intriguingly mysterious archaeological sites, including Vega de la Peña and El Cuajilote (both abandoned after 1200), share a verdant valley.


The RĂ­o Bobos rapids are Class II–III during the dry season but work themselves up to memorable Class IV–V in September and October. The river’s upper section has sheer limestone walls, while the lower stretch winds past orange and banana groves and the omnipresent bougainvillea in rich purples, magentas, and oranges.

Trinidad’s Tropical Blend

Fierce jungle and tame beach mingle

Bonaire

Bonaire-Style Bliss

IT’S MORE THAN JUST STANDARD island-time slo-mo that turns a one-hour mountain-bike ride through the scrubby outback of Bonaire’s north end into an all-morning affair. It’s the exuberance and knowledge of your guide, naturalist Jerry Ligon, and the profusion of the weird and wonderful on this 24-mile-long, boomerang-shaped island in the southern Caribbean that keeps the pace many notches below breakneck. There’s just so much worth stopping for: the whiptail lizards darting across the rocky trail, the dusty-gray feral donkeys picking their way around giant kadushi cactuses. There are castor bean pods to pop, yellow-shouldered parrots to listen for, plump aloe leaves to palpate. Ligon has a story for nearly everything you see, and it becomes clear that he doesn’t merely hope you learn a thing or two on this outing; he wants you to fall deeply, madly in love. No need to work so hard, Jerry, you feel like saying. You were gone on the place an hour ago.

About 50 miles off the coast of Venezuela, Bonaire is the “B” in the “ABC islands” of the Netherlands Antilles—along with Aruba, known for its long white beaches and accompanying strip of hotels and casinos, and Curaçao, with its busy international port. Bonaire is the least developed and, with just 13,000 residents, the least populated of the three.

The mostly flat, semi-arid island has few natural beaches, so it may not fit conventional fantasies of the perfect tropical isle, but after a few days you’ll very likely be rewriting your definition of paradise. The day-in, day-out sunshine, the cooling trade winds, the limpid 80-degree water, and the painted-dollhouse Dutch-Caribbean architecture of tiny downtown Kralendijk—not to mention the way local brew Amstel Bright tastes, very cold, with a slice of lime, after a long bike ride—are more than enough to win you over. Add to that the island’s ahead-of-its-time commitment to environmental preservation and its warm, welcoming, ethnically diverse population—including native islanders (descended from Arawak Indians or African slaves), Dutch transplants, and American and Venezuelan expats—and you, too, may find yourself thinking that swaying palms and thundering waterfalls are way, way overrated.

Bonaire’s unique charms have long been known to scuba divers, who consistently rank it among the best destinations in the world. More than half of the island’s 87 marked dive sites are accessible from shore. So plentiful and diverse is the marine life that it’s possible for a fish freak to log a dream “century”—identifying 100 species during a one-tank dive. The vitality of the reefs owes much to the creation, in 1979, of the Bonaire National Marine Park, which prohibits commercial fishing, anchoring, or collecting anything—dead or alive—in the waters around the island.

On the leeward coast is a string of low-key scuba-focused resorts, including the well-regarded Buddy Dive Resort, which has sunny, balconied rooms and spacious apartments on the edge of a coral bluff. The place to stay, though, if you want a less diving-intensive environment and can splurge a bit, is the Harbour Village Beach Club, set on a peninsula at the entrance to a small but lively harbor. The cluster of artfully landscaped ocher-colored Spanish-Dutch colonial villas, which recently underwent a $4.5 million renovation, are decorated plantation style, with teak furniture and tile floors; some have patios with hammocks overlooking a powdery, big-for-Bonaire beach and the nearby uninhabited isle of Klein Bonaire. The beach club has a new full-service spa, a pretty swimming pool, an open-to-the-breezes bar positioned perfectly for sunset cocktails, and, just off the beach, the wreck of a 60-foot merchant ship to explore.

As good as the diving is, though, you’d be missing the soul of Bonaire if you didn’t spend some time topside. Hike and bike the island’s dramatic north, including the black- and red-rock wilds of Washington Slagbaai National Park, and stop to see one of the few flamingo breeding grounds in the world at a nearby lake called Goto Meer. Head south to the flatlands and past the salt pans to the ridiculously blue, 1.5-square-mile Lac Bay and some of the best windsurfing conditions in the Caribbean. You can rent a board or take lessons at one of two windsurf centers on Sorobon Beach—or hang out and watch the amazing “Bonaire Kids,” a group of young local hotshots who clean up on the international freestyle circuit.

Lac Bay is also famous for its Sunday-afternoon parties. Every week, locals and visitors gather at Lac Cai, amid mounds of sun-bleached conch shells, to picnic, swim, drink, and dance to bands playing the kind of island music irresistible to even the most rhythm-challenged. When the shadows get longer and the bay begins to turn silver, look up; you may see a line of carnation-pink flamingos, made pinker by the setting sun, heading toward South America in search of dinner. Now, really, who needs lush?

Dominica At Its Wildest

Untamed, unspoiled, and yours alone

KOOL & THE GANG’S “Jungle Boogie” was stuck in my head. I was scrambling up a near-vertical trail drenched by a tropical deluge, making my way back from Dominica’s Boiling Lake, a fizzing 31,000-square-foot sulfuric cauldron. The monsoon had arrived early in the southern Caribbean, and I was worried it would put the kibosh on my island adventure—particularly the rugged six-hour round-trip to the lake, in Morne Trois Pitons National Park, a route vulnerable to floods and mudslides.

“What do you do if it rains?” I had asked my guide, Ali Auguiste, a young, cheery Carib, when he came to pick me up for the hike. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű, the clouds were heavy and as gray as a gull’s wing.

“Well, mistah,” Ali had said, a brilliant white smile cracking across his face, “we get wet!”

Wet we got. First the rain fell in a sweet, saturating drizzle. Then it came at us in curtains. Finally, as we crested a high ridge, it stormed with such primordial intensity that it rained up, our ponchos snapping above our heads so that we looked like some strange overgrown flora moving eerily through the ferns.

By the time we were crabbing our way to the top of the flooded buttress, I had achieved trekking’s equivalent of a runner’s high—energized by the tough hike, thrilled by the meteorological action, and humming along to Kool & the Gang. When I reached the lip, runoff hosing my chest and pouring over my head, Ali stuck out his hand to help me over the edge. We were both grinning like schoolboys. This was hardly some manicured nature walk: It was as close to mountaineering as you can get in the Caribbean.

Sandwiched between Martinique, to the south, and Guadeloupe, to the north, Dominica (pronounced Doh-mi-NEEK-a) is the youngest island in the Lesser Antilles—a volcanic chile pepper of green thrusting out of the tourmaline sea. I had come chasing reports of unspoiled rainforest hiking, hidden hot springs, secluded beaches, world-class diving, and a holistic, enviro-friendly culture that was just beginning to get real adventure tourism off the ground. While 29-mile-long Dominica is home to 72,000 people (5,700 of whom are native Caribs), it’s blissfully undeveloped. Thanks to the efforts of farsighted preservationists, Dominica has established more protected parks, forests, and marine reserves per capita than almost anywhere on the planet. As a result, hikers, bikers, and paddlers can explore 4,000-foot peaks, 128,500 acres of untrammeled rainforest, more than 100 miles of trails, and 365 rivers—”One for every day of the year,” locals like to enthuse.

After my Boiling Lake epic, I needed a day to convalesce in the Roseau Valley at the Papillote Wilderness Retreat, a botanical fantasyland about four miles from the capital, Roseau, on the southwestern coast. Though free of televisions, phones, and air conditioning, the rooms are comfortable, with arrestingly beautiful surroundings. Credit goes to Anne Baptiste, the expat owner and gardener from Florida, who visited Dominica in 1961 and was so enchanted with its horticultural splendor she spent the next 40 years creating this internationally recognized Eden.

“If you just stand still, you begin to realize how much is going on around you,” she said, pausing on a footpath to deadhead a begonia. Surrounding us was a rainbow gallery of indigenous and exotic species, though it was only a tiny sample of the island’s 1,200 species of flowering plants: glistening jade vines, cascading heliconia, ginger blossoms as big as your face, and, as Anne pointed out, an orchid smaller than your thumb, growing like spider silk on a tree branch.

That night, on the dining patio overlooking the lush valley, I was served prawns in garlic sauce, saffron rice, and rum punch made from guava juice. If Boiling Lake had shown me Dominica’s rambunctious side, Papillote was the pastoral antithesis. This was the binary character I would encounter all over the island: tough and serene; wild and peaceful. I fell asleep thinking my deep thoughts while fireflies flashed through the open-air room.

From Papillote, I headed about ten miles downcoast to the quaint, pastel-colored fishing village of SoufriĂšre, where I connected with Nature Island Dive for a few hours of kayaking and snorkeling above a dive site, Champagne—so named because geothermal vents in the sandy seafloor emit streams of warm bubbles. The all-but-beachless “Nature Island” tends to get overlooked as a fun-in-the-sun Caribbean destination, but here, drifting above parrotfish, sergeant majors, brain coral, barrel sponges, and countless other forms of showy reef life, I tasted one of its premier attractions.

Afterwards, I embarked on a whirlwind clockwise tour of the entire coast. The most luxurious lodging—the historic Fort Young Hotel—is on the waterfront in Roseau, as is the best shopping for locally made jewelry, woven baskets, and wood crafts. It was a different scene as I crossed the northern tip and headed down the eastern shore: rocky coastline gouged by secluded coves, rustic banana plantations, languid villages, and the occasional black-sand beach or rum shop.

It was far down this coast, in the island’s southeast corner, that I saw Dominica’s future: a nearly completed luxury spa called Jungle Bay Spa Resort, the brainchild of Samuel Raphael, an island native with a degree in international studies from American University, in Washington, D.C. This self-contained eco-resort tucked into a hillside overlooking the Atlantic will offer studios for yoga and Pilates, two restaurants, conference facilities, and 35 private cottages built from tropical hardwoods.

I knew the arrival of such a place would mean little to those up the coast—the domino klatches, the rastas, the matriarchs balancing laundry baskets on their heads—but for overworked, overstressed Americans seeking a double dip of wellness, here was the promised land. As we chatted, Sam told me that the human with the longest known life span, Elizabeth Israel—a.k.a. Ma Pampo—was Dominican. She lived on this life-giving island for 128 years and died in 2003. Stand still and you begin to realize how much is going on around you. I stood as still as possible but couldn’t begin to fathom it all.

Little Cayman, Big Fun

The action here is out of sight

I BECAME A PRO DODGING snoozing iguanas while pedaling a beach cruiser along the narrow road that rings Little Cayman. That’s about as exciting as life gets on this ten-mile-long, scrub-covered British outpost south of Cuba, the smallest of the three Caymans. When visitors touch down on the grass-and-crushed-coral airstrip, they’re not coming for swinging nightlife and duty-free shopping.

On Little Cayman, the action happens underwater. The island’s claim to fame—aside from its unspoiled interior and gorgeous white beaches—is the Bloody Bay Wall, a spectacular span of coral off the northern coast that begins at 18 feet and plummets 6,000 feet into the big blue. Here, divers swim through narrow chimneys, fin past a vibrant gallery of sponges, and encounter eagle rays, sea turtles, and spotted drums. A popular T-shirt slogan sums up the lifestyle: LITTLE CAYMAN, A SMALL DRINKING ISLAND WITH A BIG DIVING PROBLEM.

There are only a handful of places to stay and one real store. I check in at the oldest resort, the Southern Cross Club, opened in 1959, when Little Cayman was no more than a fishing camp. Ten bungalows are sprawled out on a handsome stretch of gleaming sand studded with palms. Mahogany furniture fills the large, airy guest rooms, which have no TVs or telephones; shady front porches facilitate hammock lazing. Fishing and dive boats ferry guests around, and there are kayaks for the short paddle across the sound to tiny Owen Island.

After settling in, I set three goals: dive the Bloody Bay Wall ad nauseam, catch a bonefish on a fly for the first time, and spot the mysterious Toe-Sucking Bog Man, a nocturnal monster that, according to local legend, lives in murky Tarpon Lake (which, a more reliable legend claims, was fished by Ernest Hemingway).

By far the easiest of these efforts is diving. Every morning I board the dive boat for the resort’s daily two-tank trip to the Bloody Bay Marine Park, and it doesn’t take me long to rack up some memorable dives. A large resident grouper named Jerry allows me to pet him at Marilyn’s Cut, and as I swim into a grotto 50 feet down at Randy’s Gazebo, I arrive in time to see a massive barrel sponge spawning. But nothing beats the sheer drama of the wall itself: Seussian sponges sticking out in all directions, spotted eagle rays gliding past, and brightly colored parrotfish, queen angelfish, and filefish darting around.

Bonefishing is more frustrating. After hours of poling around the flats with my patient guide, a mellow young Floridian named Jeremy Loercher, I finally land a feisty three-pound bonefish on an eight-weight fly rod.

I somehow never make it to the lake to look for the Toe-Sucking Bog Man. Instead I content myself each evening with feeding squid bits to an octopus in Preston Bay and dancing on the bar at the Hungry Iguana, the local hangout, after a couple tequila shots. That’s pure excitement, here on Little Cayman.

Tierra Secreta

El Pico de Orizaba, Costa Esmeralda, & El TajĂ­n

:: EL PICO DE ORIZABA

Known as CitlaltĂ©petl (“Star Mountain”) in NĂĄhuatl, the language of the Aztecs, 18,700-foot Orizaba hardly presents a technical challenge for the “Everest is easy” crowd. But the volcanic peak is no snap for the rest of us. Straddling Veracruz’s boundary with Puebla, to the west, it’s the highest mountain in Mexico and the third-tallest in North America, and most of the summit ascent is over a glacier and snow.


On a clear day, once you’re atop Orizaba, you can see her sister volcanoes, 17,887-foot PopocatĂ©petl and 17,343-foot IxtaccĂ­huatl, to the west, and, if you’re lucky, the Gulf of Mexico, to the east.


:: COSTA ESMERALDA

With its small, funky hotels and large private homes perched on a strip of grassy land between Highway 180 and the Gulf of Mexico, 12-mile Costa Esmeralda is reminiscent of the Florida Keys of a bygone era—with more cattle ranches and fewer Hemingway look-alikes.


The Hotel Torre Molino, with air-conditioned rooms and a swimming pool, is the best spot to roost. If you’re in the mood for a low-key paddle, the front desk can hook you up with a kayak to tour the nearby CiĂ©nega del Fuerte, a protected freshwater wetland.


:: EL TAJÍN

Every pre-Cortesian ruin in Mexico gooses a different part of the anatomy. Some make your jaw drop. Some make your head spin. El TajĂ­n always makes the hairs on my neck stand at quivering attention. The hulking stone pyramids and grassy ball courts of the four-square-mile site feel labyrinthine, almost claustrophobic. But wait—it gets creepier: Even after studying the place for more than 200 years, archaeologists still can’t say for sure who lived here. (They know the city peaked in the Classic Period, between 300 and 900, and probably waned in the 13th century.)


El TajĂ­n—its modern name is Totonac for “Thunder”—was a contemporary of TeotihuacĂĄn, to the west, and the Maya cities to the southeast. Today, El TajĂ­n exudes enigmatic charm. Don’t miss the 65-foot Pyramid of the Niches, which, with regularly spaced square niches on every vertical surface, looks like a cross between a Sumerian ziggurat and a Japanese pagoda. (Should be easy to spot: It’s featured on 2004 Veracruz license plates.)

Tierra Secreta

Access and Resources

veracruz map

RÍO BOBOS:: The best base of operations for exploring the RĂ­o Bobos is Aventurec (011-52-225-315-4300, ). A three-day, two-night package includes two river runs, guided hikes, a ride on a cross-canyon zip line, and meals ($140 per person for lodging in one of the outfitter’s new cabins; $127 if you camp).

EL PICO DE ORIZABA:: Reputable Orizaba operators, like Servimont (011-52-245-451-5009, ), expect clients to have experience climbing on ice and snow before tackling this volcano. Servimont’s six-day mountaineering trip, which includes meals and three nights in a historic lodge—a converted soap factory—costs $685 per person.

COSTA ESMERALDA:: The Hotel Torre Molino (doubles, $74; 011-52-232-321-0055, ) offers a breezy restaurant, which sits under a gigantic palapa and serves locally caught seafood in dishes like robalo Ă  la veracruzana—sea bass sautĂ©ed with tomatoes, onions, green olives, and capers.

EL TAJÍN:: These mysterious ruins, crammed into a steamy, thickly wooded valley, are located an hour’s drive northwest from the Costa Esmeralda. Take Highway 180 north to Papantla and follow the signs five miles to the ruins. El TajĂ­n is open seven days a week, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and admission is about $2.50 per person.

The post The Sun-Kissed, Hibiscus-Scented, Palm-Studded, Rum-Soaked, Blissed-Out, In-Your Dreams Caribbean appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

1. ISLA ESPÃSANTO MEXICO

Guana

Relaxation Redefined: Guana Island

Twenty miles off Baja’s La Paz, this arid, Manhattan-size island in the Sea of Cortez, with its towering cliffs and deeply carved inlets, is home to a third of the world’s whale and dolphin species. Though kayakers flock to the island’s electric-blue waters, you can always find an empty cove to call your own.
Hideaway: There are no accommodations, but camping is allowed on most beaches.
Exploring: Besides world-class kayaking, there’s snorkeling, scuba diving, and fly-fishing for black skipjack and topsail pompano; you may find yourself in the water with sea lion pups or giant manta rays.
The Fine Print: Baja Outdoor Activities (011-52-612-125-5636, ), in La Paz, runs four- to seven-day guided trips starting at $370 per person.

2. SEABIRD KEY FLORIDA
A five-minute boat ride from Marathon, in the central Florida Keys, this wooded ten-acre island has one old-Florida-style stilt house with lots of decks, a widow’s walk, and an eco-conscious setup using solar power and a rainwater-collection system.
Hideaway: The house sleeps eight in two double bedrooms, with private baths on the main level, and four bunks in a sleeping loft. Cook the snapper you catch, or cruise over to Marathon for dinner out.
Exploring: The house comes with a 19-foot runabout, a canoe, kayaks, sailboards, and snorkeling and fishing gear.
The Fine Print: $4,695 per week for up to four people, $350 per additional person; 305-669-0044,

3. MUSHA CAY BAHAMAS
Rent this entire 150-acre island, in the aqua shallows north of Great Exuma, for yourself and up to 23 of your closest—and luckiest—pals. You’ll be doted on by a discreet, sworn-not-to-name-drop (OK, Oprah Winfrey and Tom Hanks have been here), live-in staff of 37.
Hideaway: Of the five guest dwellings, the most lavish is a 10,000-square-foot hilltop English colonial manor house with two bedrooms. The others are brightly painted two- to five-bedroom beachside villas and an ultraprivate thatch-roofed beach house for two. Enjoy multicourse feasts prepared by a world-class chef in the waterfront dining room, the beach bar, or your villa.
Exploring: Play tennis, snorkel, fish for blue marlin, take advantage of a flotilla of speedboats and sailboats, or hop over to Nassau on the resort’s Twin Otter (unless, of course, you’ve brought your own plane).
The Fine Print: Except for two weeks each year when guests can rent an individual house, the island is reserved exclusively for one party at a time; the nightly rate is $24,750 for one to eight guests (all-inclusive), $43,150 for 24 guests; 877-889-1100,

4. GUANA ISLAND BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS
You’ll share this mountainous 850-acre island wildlife preserve, just north of Tortola, with flamingos, screech owls, six-foot iguanas—and a maximum of 30 people.
Hideaway: Fifteen rooms in seven simple stone cottages, most with decks overlooking tranquil Muskmelon Bay, are strung along a ridge. West Indian–style cuisine is served on the terraces of the main house, built on the ruins of an 18th-century sugar plantation.
Exploring: Miles of hiking trails lead to lookouts and empty ivory beaches. You can circumnavigate the island by kayak, search for black-necked stilts, sail small boats, and snorkel the reefs off White Bay beach.
The Fine Print: Doubles, $895, including all meals; rent the island for $15,500 per night; 914-967-6050,

5. PETIT ST. VINCENT GRENADINES
After the golf-cart ride from the dock to your cottage, you may not see another soul during your stay on this hilly 113-acre island, 40 miles south of St. Vincent—if that’s how you want it. Need something? Hoist a yellow flag on your personal bamboo flagpole. If you want to be left alone, fly the red one.
Hideaway: Twenty-two airy stone cottages with terra-cotta floors and private sundecks are tucked in the palms along, and above, a sugary two-mile strand. Dishes like spicy tannia-root soup and grilled local snapper are served in the stone-and-timber dining pavilion, in your cottage, or in one of the many thatched palapa huts dotting the island.
Exploring: Help yourself to glass-bottom kayaks, sailboards, and catamarans. Hike through banyans and rubber trees to the top of 275-foot Marni Hill, where a lone hammock—and killer views—await. Larger yachts and sportfishing boats can be chartered for daylong fishing or scuba-diving trips.
The Fine Print: Doubles, $585–$910, including meals; for two weeks each year, rent the island for $12,870 per night; 800-654-9326,

6. ISLAS SECAS PANAMA
In the little-visited Las Secas archipelago, off Panama’s Pacific coast, lies lush Isla Cavada, a ladle-shaped 1,000-acre enclave with jagged cliffs and waterfalls that’s home to a one-year-old, low-impact resort for just 12 guests.
Hideaway: Stay in one of six secluded, cove-front, canvas-sided casitas, each with a queen bed and full bath. Dine on seafood specialties, including the superb ceviche de corvina—raw white sea bass marinated in lime juice—in the open-air cocina, or in your casita.
Exploring: Deep-sea fish for giant black marlin and tuna; scuba-dive among sharks, dolphins, and 400-pound jewfish; search for humpback whales; or surf the epic barrels at Morro Negrito, a 12-mile boat ride away.
The Fine Print: Doubles, $600 (four-night minimum), including all meals and some activities; 805-729-2737,

7. WILSON ISLAND AUSTRALIA
Just north of the Tropic of Capricorn and a 40-minute boat ride from Heron Island, this coral platter in Great Barrier Reef Marine Park welcomes only 12 guests at a time.
Hideaway: Six permanent tented cabanas with raised wooden floors offer king beds, battery-operated lamps, and water views. Simple meals of fresh fish and local fruit are served family-style in the community tent.
Exploring: The emphasis is on appreciating the fragile environment, with snorkeling, birdwatching, and, from December to April, guided walks to view the hatching of green and loggerhead turtles.
The Fine Print: The five-night Wilson Island Experience ($1,425 per person) includes two nights on Heron Island and three nights on Wilson Island, all meals included; 800-225-9849,

8. DOLPHIN ISLAND FIJI
A ten-minute cruise from the north end of the Viti Levu mainland, this nine-acre coral islet hosts just two couples at a time. Hideaway: A pair of elevated, open-to-the-breezes bures are decorated Fiji-style with tapa cloth and lashed beams. One has two double suites for sleeping; the other is where chefs work magic: Think papaya, mud crabs cooked in coconut milk, and poisson cru. Exploring: Kayak around the island, look for clownfish on the reefs, sail a Hobie Cat, and scuba-dive sites like Dream Maker, where sheer walls sport multihued soft corals.
The Fine Print: $1,540 per night for two, $1,940 for four (four-night minimum); 011-64-7-378-5791,

9. MOTU HAAPITI RAHI BORA BORA
A nearly perfect circle of coconut palms and white sand, this islet in the coral barrier reef encircling Bora Bora is only big enough for two houses—the owner’s and a three-bedroom cottage that holds up to five guests. Hideaway: Decorated with traditional bamboo furnishings, the solar-powered house sits on stilts just 15 feet from the clear lagoon. Buy groceries en route to the island, and cook at home.
Exploring: Kayaks, fins, and masks are at your disposal; the snorkeling—look for eagle rays and giant wrasses—is superb. Buzz over to Bora Bora by motorboat for scuba diving, water-skiing, and horseback riding.
The Fine Print: Rent the house for $550 per night; 011-689-74-24-73,

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There’s a swoosh of heaven that runs from Hawaii through Mexico to Central America and the Caribbean. Don’t let it bask in the sun by itself. Our 43 sweet spots are waiting—surrender and go.
By James Glave
By Meg Lukens Noonan
By Kevin Moeller
By Jeff Hull
By Kent Black

Trailing Off on Kauai

It was our first morning in paradise. The deserted white beach at our tent flap stretched a quarter-mile out to the breakers. The backdrop was a sheer-walled green valley—some oo aa birds flitting over ancient taro terraces thick with wild guava trees, orchids, and vines. Off to our left, nubile twentysomethings splashed naked under a beachside waterfall. It was almost too much to take.
So why were the neighbors packing up already?
Most who make the grueling, full-day 11-mile trek to the Kalalau Valley, an isolated outpost at the far eastern end of Kauai’s spectacular Na Pali Coast, rest on the sand for at least a day. Many take time to explore the lush highlands and visit with the dozen-odd “full-timers” who, dodging Hawaii State Parks regulations, have formed a tropical microsociety straight out of a certain Leo DiCaprio box-office flop.
But these two hikers were acting like they were late for work. We’d met them the day before on the hike in; now they were hoofing it in toward Red Hill, a steep, sun-scorched 360-foot slope that you must descend into the valley, fully aware of the work it will take to climb back up it on the way home.
“Wait, didn’t you just get here?” I asked.
The boyfriend came over and lowered his voice. “Don’t you know how it works here?” We didn’t.
“First they invite you in on a game of chess, right?” He looked around, fidgeting. “Next thing you know, the afternoon is gone, and someone’s offering you roast wild goat for dinner. And then you’re waking up the next morning and that—he motioned toward Red Hill—looks like a lot of work. So you hang around for another day. And play some more chess. And the day turns into a week . . .”
His girlfriend rolled her eyes. She clearly wasn’t buying his Aloha Moonies theory.
Neither were we. My wife, Elle, and I were savoring our first taste of wild Hawaii. Our mud-and-sweat adventure had begun after we crossed the Hanakapi’ai River—the Kalalau Trail’s two-mile mark and the mandatory turnaround point for day hikers. We ascended 5,000 feet, seesawing in and out of five valleys along the only hikeable stretch of the Na Pali Coast.
Protected by steep pali, or cliffs, the Kalalau Valley is the perfect hideout. It was here in this jungle in the 1880s that an ailing fugitive and his wife eluded authorities for years—Jack London immortalized them in his 1908 story “Koolau the Leper.” Taro farmers populated the valley until the early 20th century. The hippies came later.

We found much to like in this Eden, including a series of deserted waterfall pools deep in the forest. After leaving our beachside homestead, we blew hours goofing off, swimming, exploring, sticking our noses into wild lilies. Heading back, we met one of the residents, dragging a folding chaise lounge—how the heck did he get that in here?—along the sand.
“Jay” is a high school gym teacher who lives in Kalalau during the off-season. He’s terribly mellow and powerfully muscled, sporting a shark-tooth necklace and not much else.
How does he survive here? “I have friends all over the island who help me out,” Jay said, adding that he also pulls papio and moi fish from the surf and hunts goats in the backcountry. After a few minutes, the conversation wound down, and Elle and I headed off to explore the nearby sea caves.
Then Jay called after us. “Hey . . . do you play chess?”

The Ins and Outboards of the Exumas

Beached: solitude off the Exumas Cays

Cut your boat engine in the clear water of the Bahamas’ Exuma Cays and who knows what will appear: a five-foot lemon shark swimming slow S-curves under your hull, a pair of stealthy eagle rays, clumps of conch shells among purple barrel sponges, even a family of swimming pigs—yes, pigs—which, long abandoned by their owners, live quite well off their pink good looks and the Wheat Thins tossed overboard by boaters. This bountiful 100-mile strand of 365 narrow, mostly uninhabited islands, bounded by the cobalt depths of the Exuma Sound to the east and the aquamarine shallows of the Great Bahama Bank to the west, is amazingly only 40 miles from the Vegas-like excesses of Nassau. But when you drop anchor on one of the cays’ empty, wild, bisque-colored beaches, you might as well be on the other side of the big blue world.
A peripatetic island escape begins at quiet Staniel Cay in the center of the Exuma chain. Book one of the Staniel Cay Yacht Club’s snug pastel cottages—each comes with a 13-foot Boston Whaler powerboat—in advance. Then spend a week day-tripping your way around these narrow, close-together islands, some barely the size of a major league pitching mound, others large enough to support a fishing village, a beach resort, and a couple of open-air bars serving conch fritters and Kalik beer. Don’t worry about your sketchy navigational skills—these are nearly idiotproof cruising waters. You need only your eyes to figure out how to get to your next anchorage. A fairly reliable sense of how shallow is too shallow for your boat will help, too.
One day you might focus on fishing, working the shimmering bonefish flats of Harvey Cay and Pipe Creek, about three miles from Staniel Cay, or angling around Exuma Sound Ledge, a thousand-foot drop-off just a few hundred yards offshore. On another day, motor to Thunderball Grotto, a snorkel-through cave, swing by “Pig Beach” on Major Spot Island, and then visit Compass Cay, where you’ll be greeted by a group of creepily Pavlovian nurse sharks looking for handouts. Make the short walk to the bluff-backed crescent of sand on Compass Cay’s east side and spend the rest of the day prone. Or head south one morning to Bitter Guana Cay (no need to know how it got its name), where you’ll see iguanas prowling the beach, and stop on another island, Great Guana Cay (don’t ask), for cracked conch with the locals at Lorraine’s Cafe.
Plan on taking a couple of days to explore the pristine reefs and coves of the Exuma Land and Sea Park, a 176-square-mile, no-take preserve (no fishing, no collecting) overseen by the Bahamas National Trust, where you can also hike the four miles of trails near Warderick Wells. The park begins at Conch Cut, about five miles northwest of Staniel, and ends 22 miles north at Wax Cut Cay.
Most evenings, you’ll be content hanging out in the Staniel Cay Yacht Club’s dockfront bar, eavesdropping on the catch-drunk anglers and hypertanned nomadic yachties. Save one night, though, for dinner in the hilltop clubhouse at Fowl Cay, a swank new three-cottage resort about a mile and a half by boat from Staniel Cay. You should know, however, that this is one very classy place—shoes are mandatory.
THE DETAILS:
Flamingo Air flies from Nassau to Staniel Cay every day but Saturday for $70 one-way (242-377-0354, ); from Fort Lauderdale, many companies charter planes to Staniel Cay—try Island Air Charters ($900 for up to seven people; 800-444-9904, ), or from Nassau, Air Charter Bahamas ($590 for up to five people; 305-885-6665, ). Cottages at Staniel Cay Yacht Club (242-355-2024, ) start at $167 per person per night and include a 13-foot Boston Whaler. At Fowl Cay Resort (866-369-5229, ), cottages start at $4,750 per week for two people, including meals, beverages, and a 17-foot boat. For information on the Exuma Land and Sea Park, visit .

Off Belay on Culebra

Flamenco Beach: Culebra’s prized possession

When I took off for Culebra, a seven-mile-long island outpost east of Puerto Rico with a stash of oceanside face climbing, I had every intention of spending my time on the rocks. I was ready for the feel of sea spray on my back while working 5.10 friction moves. But then I discovered how the sleepy rhythms of an undeveloped island can get in the way of any serious ambition.
Like Vieques, its neighbor to the south, Culebra is part of the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico and has played host to Navy bombing practice, though things have quieted down since the 1970s, when locals protested to stop the ordnance rain. In fact, everything is quiet. There are no sprawling resorts or gaudy casinos, just one town, Dewey, and 1,542 Spanish-speaking islanders. There are opportunities for adventure—sea kayaking, sailing, diving, and of course climbing. You just have to fend off total lethargy to get to them.
Flamenco Beach is Culebra’s prize possession, with consistently clear water and a mile of silky white sand. To get there, visitors take a 20-minute flight from San Juan aboard a prop plane, which buzzes over scrubby dry-tropical forest before dropping with a gulp onto the lone landing strip; I walked, sandals flapping, the mile and a half to Flamenco Beach. Weekends can bring ferryloads of Puerto Rican families, but even then there’s little competition for sandy real estate. Find yourself a vacant acre, plop down under a palm . . . and erase those Jersey Shore memories of folks stacked around you like frankfurters on a Weber.
Restless beachgoers strap on masks to eyeball hogfish and schools of tang just offshore, or they boogie-board the shoulder-high breakers at the beach’s south end. A mile-long dirt path leads to neighboring Carlos Rosario beach, which borders the Luis Pe-a Marine Reserve—part of the island’s 1,568 acres of wildlife refuges—where snorkelers snoop the seagrass beds for conchs. In the deeper waters of the reserve, near Cayo Yerba, divers swim with stingrays among huge boulders festooned with yellow cup corals.

I eyed the trail to my intended destination, the Punta Molinas climbing area, an hour and a half of ridge hiking from the beach parking lot. The volcanic crag, riveted with bolts covered in sea salt, is a humble 30 feet or so high, but the routes are 5.9 to 5.10—and the views of the Caribbean while dangling from a flake are expansive. Most times you share them with no one. But the afternoon slipped by, so I pitched my tent at Flamenco’s campground—surf 20 feet away—and watched a spearfisherman amble along with a dive bag full of red snappers, conchs, and lobsters, all of it hunted in a single lagoon.
By the next day, I’d let island time have its way with me and simply abandoned my notions of climbing. Too much work. I prowled around Dewey, stopping in a restaurant, El Caobo, where the cook pulled me into the kitchen to taste her guisada (chopped pork stew), handing me a spoonful with a smile. I ate a helping with fried snapper. Instead of being pumped out, knuckles bleeding, I sat there with a full belly and a sweating glass of Coca-Cola, slightly sunburned and utterly content.

THe Breezes Of Belize

Destination wet: the distant allure of Goff Kay

Read Kerr steered our 38-foot catamaran through a quartering chop off the southern coast of Belize. “Gee, Read,” I said, “kind of a rough ride. Can’t you smooth it out a little?”
“I’m not in charge of the ocean,” replied ten-year-old Read. “I’m only in charge of the boat.”
That was the tone for this eight-day sailing sojourn among Belize’s southern cays, a smattering of islands—some inhabited, none larger than a square mile—sprinkled between the coastal village of Placencia and the Mesoamerican Reef, the largest barrier reef in the Western Hemisphere. The cluster of elkhorn and ivory bush corals, among others, stretches 450 miles from Mexico’s YucatĂĄn Peninsula to the Bay Islands of Honduras, and is 20 miles offshore here.
A few days earlier, my friend Onne van der Wal (a nautical photographer and seasoned sailor), his wife, their three children, and I had chartered a sailboat without a captain (a.k.a. a bareboat). We left from Placencia, a friendly, quiet village of about 500 residents made even quieter in October 2001 when Hurricane Iris obliterated 80 percent of the structures in town and killed 22 people, including 17 American divers. We headed 20 miles east-southeast to Ranguana Caye, a spit of sand with palm trees and turquoise bungalows. Read and her younger brothers hit the water the moment the anchor did, gamboling like porpoises amid massive leaf corals.
Belize, Central America’s only English-speaking country, has 1,000-foot-wide barrier reef atolls to dive, 100-pound tarpon off Ambergris Cay to catch, and Mayan temples to explore. But from the moment Read enlightened us about her responsibility vis-Ă -vis the sea, we freed ourselves from agendas. We were dinking around the outposts, dropping anchor alongside coral castles, and exploring former pirate haunts. We might cruise Punta Ycacos Lagoon in hopes of spotting manatees. Or we could swim with hawksbill turtles in the marine preserve at Laughing Bird Caye. We’d decide all this later.
Following Ranguana Caye, we ran 15 miles in an afternoon to the Sapodilla Cays, the southernmost islands. That evening Onne puttered the dinghy to a fishing panga and swapped two quarts of pineapple juice and a frozen key-lime pie for just-speared snapper fillets—dining out, cays style.
On one of our last nights, everyone retired to the cabins, leaving me on deck to sleep under the full moon. Clouds stole across the sky like great white secrets. Exhausted, I tried to remember how I got so tired: woke at sunrise, kayaked to a broad turtle-grass flat, waded around stalking bonefish and permit, paddled back, snorkeled. Not such a mystery after all. I started to think about the next day and realized that . . . well, I am not in charge of tomorrows.

Just Park Me in a Palapa in Yelapa

Rocky’s shrill whistle pierced through the sound of waves crashing beneath my bedroom. Untangling myself from mosquito net and sheet, I lurched out to the balcony of my two-story casita to peer at the dark pre-dawn ocean. Rocky, my beachfront neighbor and a former fishing guide from Arkansas, was gliding past in his sea kayak, trolling with a simple hand line of 30-pound test and a two-inch lure. He jabbed his paddle in my direction. Vamos!
I sighed. It was going to be another routine day in Yelapa, a fishing village 12 miles southwest of Puerto Vallarta on Mexico’s Pacific coast. Getting to the 1,200-person settlement requires a bumpy 30-minute ride by outboard water taxi south from Puerto Vallarta, along the rocky coast of the Bah’a de Banderas to Yelapa’s little hidden cove.
I’d start the day by joining Rocky to fish along the southern edge of the bay, Mexico’s largest, through schools of porpoises and the occasional manta ray, and past cliffs alternating with uninhabited, palm-laden lagoons. If I was lucky I’d come home with some tasty fish—known locally as sierras—for ceviche. By midmorning I’d be back at my rented casita cleaning my catch, eating a late breakfast of mangos, and pretending to write in my journal while staring out at the Pacific.
My first hard decision would be whether to hike or swim next. If the onshore wind seemed steady and strong, it might be a good day to hike two and a half hours to the top of one of the 2,000-foot summits that nearly surround Yelapa—a derelict ranchito atop one peak is a favored takeoff spot for parasailors. Or I could swim a half-mile from the casita to the center of Yelapa’s main beach, where lollygagging and slurping fresh shrimp cocktails are the main pursuits. I’d squeeze in a siesta, of course, and then make my way to the south end of the beach, where steps lead up to the town—a maze of adobe walls and red-tile roofs crisscrossed by cobblestone lanes. There are no cars or motorcycles in Yelapa, though there is traffic of a sort. Mules, the taxi/truck/car/bus of Yelapa, provide the only overland way out of town, up narrow mountain trails that would make even the hardiest SUV stall.

About two years ago, the town got electricity. Some people lamented this progress, though its only real results are television, two dozen streetlights, and too much Ricky Martin played late into the night. And the placid village has adapted itself to more vigorous visitors: Sea kayaks can be rented from Hotel Lagunita or Casa Isabel, local fishermen at the docks arrange day trips, and Miller’s Dive Service offers multiday trips to the small islands in the bay.
I might contemplate these changes as I prepare for a twilight fishing jaunt. Unless, of course, it’s game night. The locals (Raicillas) and the gringos (Bimbos) play softball three or four nights a week at a dusty field a mile up the RĂ­o Tuito from town. The game starts around 5 p.m. and ends eight or nine innings later or when you can’t see the ball—whichever comes first. After several hundred games, the series is just about even.
If the innings are quick, there’s time to get back to the casita for a cocktail and sunset observation. Then it’s a short walk to satisfy my addiction to the barbecued chicken, fish, and ribs served at Pollo Bollo. By 10 p.m. it’s time to tuck myself under the mosquito net—where the rhythm of the waves will anesthetize me until Rocky’s whistle wakes me again.
Yep, same old routine.
THE DETAILS:
Boats bound for Yelapa leave at 11:45 a.m. Monday through Friday in front of the Hotel Rosita in Puerto Vallarta (about $9.50 per person one-way; 011-52-322-223-2000, ). Cabanas for two at Hotel Lagunita (011-52-329-298-0554, ) cost $45-$75 per night; the hotel offers kayak rentals and guided waterfall hikes. Casa Isabel (; e-mail, Isabel@yelapa.com) also has kayaks and rents five palapas that sleep two to six people for $45-$75. Miller’s Dive Service (; e-mail, millersdiveservice@juno.com) offers five-day dive packages for $165 to $175 for two-tank dives. For fishing and kayaking with Rocky, contact his company, Yelapa Extreme Kayaking (rockmoninoff@hotmail.com).

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I would be lying if I told you that the vacations my husband and I take with our two daughters have been a series of far-flung, educational adrenaline fests, mounted in tireless pursuit of the kind of peak bonding moments that can come only from, say, sharing a cup of ibex-milk tea in a wind-whipped mountain shelter or spotting a giant croc from the bow of a dugout canoe. Here’s the truth: In the decade-plus since we became parents, we have never done any traveling as a family that has required immunizations, mosquito netting, headlamps, or even the regular wearing of socks. When it comes to family trips, we have been and remain unrelentingly, unapologetically boring. We go to the beach.

Welcome to your una-beach, with all the requisite ingredients in place

Happy days and the gang

Bermuda: Offshore haven where your vacationing tax dollars can go a long—or short—way

We go to the beach because we are happy there. We like sand and water and a big sky. We like the way the waves line up in the first light of morning and the way the sea goes that indelible metallic blue at dusk. We like the way pelicans commit when they dive for dinner and the way sandpipers flee every surge of foam. We like the way our skin and hair feel after we’ve been in and out of salt water all day. We like the way there is always something interesting to do with seaweed and the way each day is open to whim and circumstance: If there is surf, we’ll ride it; if there are fish, we’ll try to catch them; if there is a Frisbee, we’ll consider tossing it.

We’ve had moments of pink-tinged transcendence (Palm Island, Florida, where we sat at twilight on a silvered driftwood log and watched dolphins leap just offshore with astonishing synchronism) and near-disasters (Kauai, with a tantrum-prone toddler who never got over jet lag and manifested it in appalling and very public ways). We’ve schlepped bags of canned tuna and Oreos from mainland Florida out to North Captiva Island by water taxi, and we’ve dined—on our very best behavior—by candlelight in Bermuda. We’ve played Marco Polo in countless overchlorinated pools. We’ve been stung by jellyfish and nipped by crabs and startled by fast-moving rays. We’ve spotted starfish and sea lions. We’ve built hundreds of sand castles and collected thousands of shells. And we have never gotten tired of going to the beach.

To have a great beach vacation, you must first, of course, come up with a great destination. While there are nearly as many choices as there are beaches, my family has found that the best spots are the ones that give the illusion of being exotic without requiring major time-zone shifts. We like places that have just enough things to do—but no obvious must-see attractions. We like places where you can venture out at dinnertime with the legitimate hope of discovering some great local dine-in-the-rough seafood shack.

Every April, for example, we flee New Hampshire’s mud season by heading for the southwest coast of Florida. We love the low-key islands west of Fort Myers—Captiva, Sanibel, North Captiva, Palm—with their brilliant blue shallows, broad shell-strewn beaches, critter-filled conservation land and waterways, and pastel stilt-house architecture.

In August we find the same kind of satisfying and easy escape on Nantucket Island, a two-hour ferry trip from the Massachusetts mainland. Even when summer crowds jam the downtown chowder houses and shops, we can still be alone on long stretches of footprint-free sand and on hidden paths that wind through the broom-scented moors. Nantucket has beaches suitable for everyone—from nanny-intensive shallow-harbor crescents like Children’s Beach to the big surfer-dude hangouts like Nobadeer on the island’s open-ocean south side.

Once you decide where to go, you’ll have to determine what kind of accommodations are right for your family. Depending on your budget, your desire for privacy, your need for space, and your hunger for action, that could be anything from a remote cottage in the dunes to a thumping, full-scale resort. We’ve tried them both—and just about everything in between.

Some of our best finds have been hybrids—places that are part rental, part resort. Florida’s North Captiva Island Club Resort, for one, is a very quiet, car-free enclave of rentable beach houses about 15 minutes by water shuttle from Pine Island, which is connected to Fort Myers by a causeway. Renters get golf carts and membership in the “club”: two swimming pools, a couple of restaurants, a playground, a spa, a nearby 18-hole golf course, a fleet of beater bikes, and a small marina. South Seas Resort, on Captiva Island, which is nearby and accessible by car, is bigger and slicker but offers the same kind of experience, with villas on the beach and the bay and access to the marina, pools, and restaurants. Kalmar Village, in North Truro, Massachusetts, is a whitewashed cottage colony with a huge pool and shallow beach on Cape Cod Bay that we loved when our kids were really little because there were so many other families there with young children.

In recent summers we have rented a cottage in the tiny village of Siasconset for our annual two-week stay on the southeastern shore of Nantucket. We always book the nicest one we can afford—even if it means sacrificing proximity to the beach. We began this practice after barely surviving two weeks of nearly nonstop rain while staying in what was basically a shack, albeit with a fabulous ocean view. But when the rains came and the fog closed in, it was just a shack—with sand on the floor and ticks on the worn bedspread and nowhere to go. We’ve also learned to start hunting for next summer’s cottage while we are in the middle of the current vacation. On forays around the island we fantasize about getting that architectural gem that sits alone on the point—with its turrets and climbing roses and private steps to the beach—for less than $3,000 a week. A resort hotel is a good option when you crave parasailing excursions, room service, and counselors with craft projects for your offspring that allow you to hit the tiki bar. You may have to squeeze the whole family into a double room in order to afford it—but it may well be worthwhile. We once spent a perfect long weekend with my parents at the sprawling and quite formal 600-room Fairmont Southampton Hotel in Bermuda—soaking up the faultless service, lunching alfresco, switching from pool to beach and back to pool again. Our kids still talk about playing on the elevators and the tuxedoed waiters who good-naturedly tucked their napkins into the collars of their sundresses.

Though much of our vacation time is spent on the beach (weather permitting), we periodically drag ourselves off the sand to do something that requires a little more effort. On Nantucket, we cycle the paved bike paths and occasionally rent a small sailboat or borrow a friend’s Boston Whaler for tubing. We tie raw chicken legs on a length of string and fish for giant snapping turtles—just to look at them, then send them off—in the brackish ponds off Madaket. We four-wheel out to remote Great Point to cast for the phantom bluefish and stripers feeding in the fierce-looking rips.

In Florida, we always try to rent a skiff to buzz through the channel markers and weave around the low, house-free cays that dot the Gulf. We paddle sea kayaks through the maze of mangroves and, at least once a trip, end up pedaling like maniacs into a stiff breeze—hopelessly far from shore—in one of those torturous bicycle boats.

Mostly, though, our beach vacations are about hanging out together, about not having a plan. It always takes us a few days to get into the rhythm of it—or, more accurately, to learn how to live with no particular rhythm at all. Sometimes I feel pangs of guilt for not planning something more productive or enriching or challenging, or at least better for our skin. But then I remind myself, as I watch the kids play in the sand utterly need-free, that there is plenty of time for that. After all, isn’t that why they invented Elderhostel?

Florida
The north Captiva Island Club Resort (800-576-7343, ) has one- to eight-bedroom houses, many waterfront, that rent from $2,200 per week, golf cart included. Be sure to have a meal or two at Barnacle Phil’s, a classic beach shack known for its beans and rice. Island Girl Charters (239-633-8142) operates a water taxi service to North Captiva for $35 per person round-trip. Pine Island Taxi ($60 one-way; 888-777-9653) will pick you up at the Southwest Florida International Airport in Fort Myers, stop at the Publix grocery store (941-458-8900) to get your pre-ordered groceries for an additional charge of $10, and deliver you to the water taxi marina.

South Seas Resort, on Captiva (doubles from $2,030 per week; 800-965-7772, ) has everything from hotel rooms to four-bedroom houses. Captiva Cruises (941-472-5300, ) runs shelling excursions to the isolated paradise of Cayo Costa. We had good luck renting a condo on Sanibel Island with Gopher Vacation Rentals (800-794-3107, ), which lists dozens of properties on Sanibel and Captiva.

Nantucket
On Nantucket, try Edith Delker Real Estate (508-257-4538), which specializes in Siasconset rentals, and Nantucket Real Estate Company (800-228-4070), which has a large pool of rental houses throughout the island. Expect to pay at least $2,000 a week for a two-bedroom cottage; add about $1,000 for each additional bedroom. Rates drop in the shoulder months of May and September. We’ve also booked—and received better rates—directly from the owner through .

Cape Cod
On Cape Cod, Kalmar Village (508-487-0585, ) has accommodations from apartments to three-bedroom cottages starting at $1,195 per week. Bring a bike; you’ll be just a short way from Provincetown’s excellent bike path network through the Cape Cod National Seashore dunes. For information on transportation to Cape Cod and Nantucket via land, air, or sea, check out .

Bermuda
The Fairmont Southampton (441-238-8000, ) is Bermuda’s largest hotel. Rates start at $399 per night. Save an evening to get dressed up and dine at the hotel’s 323-year-old Waterlot Inn, which is amazingly welcoming to children. Jacket required.

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PADDLING AND HIKING THE KENAI PENINSULA

Kayaking in the shadow of the Kenai massif.

The Great Wall.

[ALASKA]
Take six days to explore southern Alaska on a new trip—sea kayaking Resurrection Bay among Dall porpoises and orcas, hiking a three- to 12-mile portion of the Iditarod Trail and several glaciers, and mountain biking along the Seward Scenic Byway to the gold-rush town of Hope on Cook Inlet. Accommodations range from rustic lodges to a luxury hotel at Alyeska Ski Resort.

MINIMUM AGE: seven
KIDS WILL LOVE: seeing—and hearing—the Holgate Glacier calving into the Bay of Alaska during a boat cruise through Kenai Fjords National Park
DATES: July 20-25, August 3-8
COST: $2,498 per adult, $1,746 per child
OUTFITTER: Austin-Lehman șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs, 800-575-1540,

EXPLORING GUILIN AND CHENGDU
[CHINA]
During a two-week journey from Beijing to the “gumdrop” mountains of Guilin, families will walk part of the 1,500-mile Great Wall, learn the art of Chinese kite-making, go rafting in Zhangjiajie National Park, watch baby pandas at Chengdu’s Giant Panda Breeding Research Base, and cruise the Li River on a three-deck ship. Overnight in hotels.

MINIMUM AGE: seven
KIDS WILL LOVE: squirting each other with bamboo water pistols during a lazy float trip down the Class I-II Maoyan River
DATES: June 14-28, July 5-19, August 2-16
COST: from $3,590 per adult, $3,490 per child age 12 to 17, $3,390 per child age 10 and 11
OUTFITTER: Thomson Family șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs, 800-262-6255,

Cape Cod windmill.

Sunset over Athabasca River, Jasper National Park.

BIKING AND KAYAKING CAPE COD
[MASSACHUSETTS]
Pedal and paddle inn to inn through the classic summer towns of Chatham, Brewster, and Provincetown—biking on the paved, car-free Cape Cod Rail Trail and kayaking tranquil marshlands. The new five-day Cape Cod trip includes a seal-watching cruise to Monomoy Point. Lodging includes historic hotels.

MINIMUM AGE: none
KIDS WILL LOVE: playing hide-and-seek in the massive, wind-sculpted sand dunes of Marconi Beach near P-Town
DATES: July 7-13, July 20-25, August 3-8, August 10-15, August 17-22
COST: $2,098 per person, with discounts available depending on family size
OUTFITTER: Backroads, 800-462-2848,

HIKING AND RAFTING ALBERTA
[CANADA]
On this nine-day traverse of Alberta, you’ll travel from the arid valley of the Red Deer River, two hours north of Calgary, to the alpine trails and milky-blue lakes of Banff and Jasper national parks. Three- to five-mile day hikes include the Opal Hills Circuit, a former railroad; you’ll also raft a half-day on the Athabasca or Sunwapta river. Camp for six nights and stay in hotels two nights.

MINIMUM AGE: eight
KIDS WILL LOVE: hiking a portion of the 29-mile Dinosaur Trail in Horsethief Canyon, where many of the world’s finest dinosaur skeletons have been found
DATES: June 28-July 6, July 19-27, August 9-17
COST: $1,195 per adult, $995 per child age eight to 14
OUTFITTER: REI șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs, 800-622-2236,

Seeing the woods from the trees.

Chilled thrills down California’s aquatic highways.

BUILDING TRAILS NEAR ASPEN
[COLORADO]
Take a working vacation, high on 14,092-foot Snowmass Mountain in White River National Forest, in which parents, grandparents, and children team up to build a snowshoe trail and plant trees. Work is moderate, using tools like shovels and your own hands. Families stay in tents at 10,000 feet—and everyone pitches in with cooking and chores. Spend five days working; take one free day to hit the streets and shops of nearby Aspen.

MINIMUM AGE: seven
KIDS WILL LOVE: fishing for trout in a mountain lake through Kenai Fjords National Park
DATES: July 13-19
COST: $345 per adult, $245 per child age seven to 17
OUTFITTER: Sierra Club Outings, 415-977-5522,

RAFTING THE LOWER KLAMATH RIVER
[CALIFORNIA]
Float 39 miles in five days, through just-exhilarating-enough Class II and III rapids, from Indian Creek to Roger’s Crossing. The setting is the cedar- and fir-lined canyons dividing Northern California’s Siskiyou and Marble ranges in Klamath National Forest. Camp each night on secluded beaches.

MINIMUM AGE: six
KIDS WILL LOVE: playing in the rock pool under the twin 35-foot Ukonom Falls, reachable only by a three-quarter-mile hike into a side canyon
DATES: June-September
COST: $600 per adult, $540 per child age six to 17
OUTFITTER: Turtle River Rafting Company, 800-726-3223,

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