Los mejores hoteles y resorts del mundo: The Gold List 2023

By CNT Editors

Consider the Gold List the answer to the question our editors get asked more than any other: What are your favourite places to stay? Our 29th annual collection, passionately selected by our international team, reveals which seaside resort we return to every August and the cruise ship that gets everything right. Now all you have to do is pick the experience that’s right for you—and get travelling.

Livid at being turned away from the Watson’s Hotel—because ”dogs and Indians” were not allowed—Jamsetji Tata went on to build one of the finest hotels in the world. Great story, but not true. The architect who designed The Taj Mahal Palace jumped into the sea when he saw that they built it the wrong way. Terrible story, also not true. The book of mythology where these come from has many more stories and most of them are actually true. It is true that Mountbatten made his final address at this hotel before leaving the Indian shores. Also true that Sarojini Naidu held a suite for over a decade, retreating there when things soured at home. That a horse once walked up its grand staircase for a charity ball and a Maharaja nearly checked in a pet tiger! That the staff brought in the carpenters to fit all 6 ft 2 inches of Gregory Peck in the bed. That even today, Husain and Raza live on through their art. That matches are made over afternoon tea at the Sea Lounge; that Ronnie and his service was half the legend that is Wasabi; that many, like Shankar who retires in April after 40 years, are proud of it being their “first and last job”. First date, first deal, first meal for the parents to celebrate your first job—the Taj has been a part of many stories that roll up into the story of the great city which it crowns. Doubles from Rs33,000; website —Salil Deshpande

I find myself heading to SUJÁN Sher Bagh over and over again as it abuts Ranthambhore, my favourite forest on the planet, teeming with wildlife and relaxed tiger sightings. The superlative camp recently upped the ante with a dynamic renovation, which opens it up to the expansive views of grasslands and a hill beyond. The vista can be enjoyed from a sprawling and stylish set of spaces that weaves in the bar, dining area, library, open-air deck, and a large outdoor pool. Hidden behind a grove of trees, brimming with birdsong and an occasional troupe of langurs, are twelve luxe temperature-controlled tents, including a royal suite and two imperial suites with their own pools in private compounds. At Sher Bagh, I never leave the forest. The elegant olive and beige tones, the campaign furniture, and the thickly grouped wildlife photographs keep me firmly under its spell. My safari-rattled bones seek sanctuary in the spa and the deeply talented chefs serve up delicious Rajasthani and international fare in atmospheric settings. A member of Relais & Châteaux, Sher Bagh is attuned to the highest standards of cosseting and spoiling, and their personalised service makes for an uplifting stay. There are surprises aplenty such as the porridge served from a copper cauldron with a tot of rum early in the morning en route to the jeep. Most of all, I love the genuine passion for wildlife shared by its staff, with locals making up 86 per cent of it. It bubbles up in their stories and anecdotes, and in the showing of the pugmarks of the tigers and leopards that occasionally slink by at night. It is a place alive with excitement. Doubles from Rs79,000; website —Geetika Jain

About a decade ago, the ITC built upon its presence in the South through this magnificent luxury hotel that channels the grand Chola empire. With 600 rooms spread across 1.6 million sq ft, 10 dining experiences, a ballroom that can take over 5,000 guests, and a 23,000-sq ft spa with 12 treatment rooms, it pays a fitting tribute to the scale of the medieval kingdom. Through its art and decor, it honours the aesthetic. Palatial doors, tall ceilings from where hang brilliant chandeliers, a grand staircase, and seemingly eternal corridors inspired by Chola temples all pair to build a stately aura. And yet, despite all the scale and the opulence, the ITC Grand Chola retains a personal touch. I have been here innumerable times and was left delighted each time over how the team of well-trained butlers remembers exactly what I like. Mornings unfailingly start with a cup of freshly brewed South Indian filter coffee. My meal at Pan Asian begins with a sashimi platter, just the way it did when I dined there the first time nine years ago. And at Avartana—which ranks among India’s top restaurants per Condé Nast Traveller—I know I can count on the French Press Rasam to deliver comforting flavours. The fact that all this luxury comes with an LEED certification for eco-consciousness is pure golden. Doubles from Rs16,000; website —Ashwin Rajagopalan

There’s a certain allure to this hotel. You could peg it to the gilded opulence that greets you at every turn: chandelier-spangled interiors, Greco-Roman figurines, colonial-era prints and portraits of Peshwas, Pune’s erstwhile rulers. There’s also that fulfilling decadence of The Ritz-Carlton high tea and the soothing cocoon that the spa offers. If you are travelling on business, it blends the convenience of being in one of Pune’s corporate zones with access to the sort of facilities that approximate having an office away from the office. But its thoughtfulness and attention to detail make for hospitality gold: small touches such as the physical intimacy kit placed among the in-room amenities or having your clothes steamed or ironed within the hour. The in-room smart TVs have the coolest motion sensor clickers. Outside of the rooms, the Ritz has a strong F&B game, which even the locals swear by. On a packed Wednesday night at the inventive Japanese restaurant Ukiyo, I had a succulent yellowtail carpaccio paired with a smoky, tea-infused negroni. The yellowtail, mind you, was specially glazed with a gluten-free soy reduction to accommodate one of my several food no-nos. Then there was the 36-hour pickled arvi at the rooftop Indian restaurant Aasmana—I would go again just to have that. The sunset views are a plus. At the end of the day, what you really want from a hotel is a good bed. As a sufferer of chronic back problems, for its mattresses alone, I could place this property on the Gold List. Doubles from 22,000; website —Prasad Ramamurthy

The Oberoi Udaivilas

Way before experiential became every hotelier’s buzzword of choice, Udaivilas, the biggest of Oberoi’s five resorts, was love-bombing its guests with adventures offering a taster or full immersion in Indian heritage. From tandoor cookery to tabla recitals under the stars, Udaivilas—the ultimate “destination hotel”—encourages the culturally curious to get under the skin of the Subcontinent. My own experience at its launch 20 years ago was an out-of-body awakening: Orange light appeared before my closed eyes as warm oil poured onto my forehead (the third-eye chakra), releasing a lifetime of emotional baggage. My introduction to place and practice was eased by the sanitized perfection of the surroundings in Udaipur, India’s most romantic city, which is defined by the fairy-tale extravagance of its palaces. Whether floating in the pool spa suspended over Lake Pichola, wallowing in a checkerboard “step-well” pool, surrounded by gold-leafed cupolas, or ascending stairways that lift the gaze to heaven, Udaivilas’ guests experience the perfect marriage of spiritual and sensual. Built on former royal hunting grounds overlooking the Aravalli Hills, swathes of this 50-acre property remain a wild peacock- and deer-filled sanctuary, with the rest now landscaped gardens. Running water threads through fountain-studded courtyards into a wraparound pool you can swim in, with the vast expanse of water reflecting open skies or the flickering light of nocturnal flares. Doubles from Rs51,500; website —Catherine Fairweather

In the mid-2000s, a friend and I would brunch on Sundays at Citrus, The Leela Palace Bengaluru’s all-day diner. For hours we would drink sangrias, people-watch, and nibble through the buffet. Salads, cold cuts, roast chicken, and multiple helpings of dessert. The atmosphere was always festive, quite unlike the idea of a staid business hotel. But the Leela has never fit that mold. Aesthetically it’s a mish-mash of styles: Art Deco architecture meets colonial furniture meets South Indian temple art meets Rajasthani artisanal craft (in strong doses). Over 20 feet-tall sandstone pillars, 24-carat gold leaf accents, crystal chandeliers, floral frescos, hand-tufted carpets, and elaborate flower arrangements. And somehow, it all works. Back then, given its proximity to the old airport the hotel, it was popular with corporate visitors to ‘India’s Silicon Valley’. The airport’s moved since, but the clientele hasn’t. On a recent trip, I noticed laptop-totting techies doing Zoom meetings at breakfast and local families fill out Jamavar, the hit Indian restaurant, at dinner. While not too much has changed (thank God brunch hasn’t) some changes are welcome. The hotel generates almost all the electricity it needs from its own wind farms and offers visitors charging points for electric vehicles. A bottling plant is in the works as are other measures to conserve natural resources. So, while gold may be its dominant color, this Leela’s heart is a good shade of green. Doubles from Rs.28,430; website —PR

The Datai Langkawi

The Datai’s most frequent guest has clocked up more than 50 visits since its opening in 1993. Such is the fierce loyalty to this Malaysian mainstay, which sees Hermès-clad regulars return year after year, often with the next generation of devotees in tow. And even though my own tally isn’t nearly as high, I feel a similar affinity for this jungle-fringed island classic every time I saunter down its zigzagging staircase to the beach. It’s the unfussy atmosphere that gets me. Tropic-chic but far from flashy, it’s a testament to the timelessness of Kerry Hill’s designs, even after French architect Didier Lefort zhuzhed up the teakwood-tinged rooms and the hotel added private pools to more of the villas in the rain forest just before the pandemic. The restaurants are a brilliant pick-and-mix of Thai, Indian, and Malaysian, spread over breezy thatched-roof pavilions and the poolside Dining Room, where the rootsy tasting menu by chef Chai Chun Boon draws on the hotel’s sprawling permaculture garden. The indoor-outdoor spa, pitched up along a babbling stream in the middle of the jungle, never fails to impress, and the new sustainability center, where I made soap bars from kitchen scraps, is a hoot. But it’s the simplest joys I return for: hornbills swooping past my suite, langurs ruffling the foliage overhead, and early-morning rain-forest expeditions with naturalist Irshad Mobarak. The Datai’s back-to-nature thrill never wears off. Doubles from Rs43,400; website —Chris Schalkx

Mandarin Oriental, Bangkok

On my last visit to the Mandarin Oriental, Bangkok, I ended up chatting to a family of Thai tuna-fish billionaires over plates of sushi at kaiseki restaurant Kinu by Takagi. A few months before, I gave Russell Crowe a big smile and a nod in the corridor thinking his face looked familiar—an old neighbor? Then there was the time I was upgraded to the glorious ivory-and-jade-green John le Carré suite and spent most of my time in a bathrobe watching long-tails, tankers, and rice barges zigzagging along the Chao Phraya River, imagining myself to be a real writer. And the weekend I fell in with the right kind of wrong crowd while listening to jazz at the hotel’s shadowy little Bamboo Bar and arrived “home” just in time for what I rate as the world’s best breakfast: mountains of tropical fruit and silky eggs Benedict served under stripy canopies on the hotel’s rambling waterfront terrace. The spa is my happy place, and I love people-watching in the lobby, where the ladies wear jewels so big they have to be real. The world’s best hotels aren’t just beautifully designed, meticulously staffed, and flush with facilities—though the 146-year-old Mandarin Oriental, Bangkok, is all of these things—they are also places infused with a sense of fun, an anything-might-happen frisson. I simply don’t feel like I’ve been to Bangkok unless I’ve had at least one night soaking up the good life at the Mandarin Oriental. Doubles from Rs35,200; website —Lee Cobaj

The glide of a narrow boat. The emerald swirl of a boulder-lined river. The steep, forested mountains. Staff bowing gently on a wooden pier alongside a trio of Harry Bertoia diamond chairs. This is the familiar scene that greets me on my return to Hoshinoya Kyoto for the first time in four years. Serene, secluded, and unwaveringly restorative, Hoshinoya Kyoto is a ryokan-style escape with a modern-luxury edge. It’s a world away from the kimono-clad tourists taking selfies in front of pagodas and, since its opening in 2009, has provided the perfect antidote to temple fatigue. Nature is the main protagonist. A soul-soothing 15-minute boat journey transports visitors from the bamboo forests of Arashiyama to the hotel. Here, on a secluded mountainside overlooking the Oi River, 25 rooms are scattered among abundant gardens and ancient trees: autumn-blushed maples, cherry blossoms, and towering pines. The century-old buildings have river views and were given sensitive updates by architect Rie Azuma, with picture motifs on karakami paper above the beds, minimalist white screens, and hinoki bathtubs. The food is no less seductive, from seasonal dishes served with creative precision (beef fillet and red-bean miso wrapped in fig leaves is a favorite) to exquisite in-room breakfasts. It’s a place where haikus are penned and sleep deficits are rebalanced. Doubles from Rs78,200; website —Danielle Demetriou

Raffles Singapore

Even the oldest of grand old ladies can reinvent themselves. Originally opened in 1887, Singapore’s most iconic hotel relaunched in 2019 after a two-year transformation that stripped it down to its masonry. This elegant new incarnation celebrates the national monument’s historical charms while ushering it into the future. Some things haven’t changed: The Grand Lobby remains as “airy as a birdcage,” to borrow Joseph Conrad’s apt description. An immense crystal chandelier refracts sunlight from the overhead skylight across the three-story space’s alabaster walls, marble floors, and striking bronze screens, while pockets of plush seating offer an intimate setting for Raffles’s famed afternoon tea. The apartment-like suites embrace nostalgia—sleek, dark-wood furniture complements original teak flooring—while incorporating every modern necessity, and books by local authors nod to the literary elite (Noël Coward, Rudyard Kipling, and Pablo Neruda) who have stopped over. Raffles’s mix of local and international flavors, from the Tiffin Room’s North Indian cuisine to menus by Anne-Sophie Pic and Alain Ducasse, draws both locals and visitors. A new Writers Bar serves literature-inspired craft cocktails, while the Long Bar remains the place to sip a Singapore sling and chuck peanut shells under the counter—the only place in Singapore where littering is de rigueur. Doubles from Rs77,800; website —Shamilee Vellu

Nihi Sumba

Nihi Sumba

It’s quite the schlep, getting to Nihi. There’s that long flight to Bali, followed by a turboprop hop to Sumba island, to the east. And after touchdown, an hour and a half in the back of a safari jeep weaving through pancake-stacked rice fields and villages of thatched-roof huts. But as soon as you reach the wooden sign that reads, “Welcome to the Edge of Wildness,” you already know you’d happily do it all over again. You’d do it for the view—and feel, if you surf—of those rolling aquamarine waves and the Sandalwood ponies trundling down the beach at sunrise. You’d do it for the villas, sprawling estates made from bamboo, and ikat ensconced in gardens frothy with hot-pink bougainvillea. And you’d return for the immersive activities, too many to cram into a weeklong stay, including picnics by glassy lagoons and guided shopping tours to pick up Sumbanese woodwork and baskets woven with palm fronds. But most of all, you’d come back because you knew your contributions would make a difference to the people on this rugged island. You’d see it firsthand at the malaria clinic just outside the resort gates, or during the voluntary English lessons and nutritional lunch programs at local schools, all financed by The Sumba Foundation, of which Nihi and its cashed-up regulars are the main benefactors. Over the next two years, the company will grow with outposts on nearby Flores, Rote Island, just off West Timor, and northern Costa Rica—an exciting expansion of its give-back, do-good ethos. Doubles from Rs76,800; website —C.S.

The Cambodian sun is fierce. But by late afternoon, the harshness fades and all is tinted a cinematic sepia. Magic hour is especially lovely at Amansara, set behind nondescript beige walls that filter out the hustle and bustle of central Siem Reap, where the hotel’s inner courtyards take on the patina of a bygone era. Villa Princiére, as the property was originally known, was completed in 1962 and was a masterpiece of New Khmer architecture, all low-slung and curvy. King Norodom Sihanouk had commissioned French architect Laurent Mondet to build it as a guesthouse, a place where dignitaries, including Jacqueline Kennedy, could stay when they visited Cambodia.

Although Amansara provides a cool and quiet refuge from the busy streets and searing sun, and its top-notch spa delivers some serious pampering, this is not a destination hotel. One does not come to Siem Reap for a quiet retreat, but rather to see the spectacular remains of the Khmer empire’s golden age and connect with a thriving town that has triumphed over a complicated past, and Amansara is well-positioned to do just that. Sitting at the doorstep of Angkor complex, the hotel offers activities that plug you into the destination. Think archaeologist-led tours through the ruins, or a visit to a wooden Khmer house to dine on home-cooked nam ban chok—rice noodles in a toothsome green curry. The days’ adventures are made all the sweeter when recapped after a swim in the hotel’s paisley-shaped pool as the sun begins to dip. Doubles from Rs1,20,700; website —Mavis Teo

The Upper House, Hong Kong

The Upper House, Hong Kong

For decades, no other city in Asia could hold a candle to Hong Kong, with its camphor-covered mountains and twinkling harbor, cloud-piercing skyscrapers and smoky little temples, fish-on-a-stick food stalls and glamorous Michelin-starred restaurants. But my hometown has had a difficult few years. Since the crackdown following the pro-democracy protests of 2019, there’s been an exodus of more than 250,000 Hong Kongers. COVID-19 then closed the border for 31 months until October 2022, bringing tourism to its knees. Mid-pandemic I checked into The Upper House in Admiralty, which had used the coronavirus downtime for a discreet nip and tuck. My one-bedroom, 48th-floor suite was put together by Hong Kong native André Fu, who designed the hotel when it opened 13 years ago. Four times the size of my apartment, it has dazzling harbor and mountain views. Amid the smoky taupes, mineral blues, and blond woods were extracts from Fu’s Living Collection: de Gournay wallpaper, creamy contemporary Tai Ping rugs, and brush-gilded porcelain crockery for the 18-seat dining table. From my spa suite I could see The Peak. Upstairs, the new restaurant, Salisterra, is an earth-toned Mediterranean affair serving seasonal dishes such as velvety artichoke velouté with slow-cooked egg, lemony seafood linguini, and pear tart smeared with Chantilly cream. The turmoil of the last few years hasn’t changed this place. Doubles from Rs43,000; website —L.C.

Six Senses Punakha

During a recent epic trip to Bhutan, I was lucky enough to stay in three Six Senses lodges (there are five in total), traveling from Thimphu, with its wooden prayer pavilion and ornamental pools, to the dzong-inspired architecture of Paro. Punakha stands out as the most rustic and intimate. As you drive northeast from the capital, over the Dochula Pass and into the warmer Punakha Valley, the landscape shifts from snow-capped peaks and pine trees to lush, terraced rice paddies. It’s the wooden afternoon-tea lounge and bar, cantilevering dramatically over the pool, that you see first, with a design inspired by traditional farmhouses. Nineteen suites and villas are split across several buttermilk-yellow buildings, each with mountain or valley views from the balcony. Inside, everything from the furniture to the floors is crafted in Himalayan timber, and there’s a wood-burning stove to cozy up to after Bhutanese feasts on the restaurant terrace. The brand is known for wellness, so, of course, there’s a spa: Here the vibe is restorative, which means meditation, yoga nidra, and therapies such as the melatonin-releasing, sleep-inducing shirodhara-oil treatment. Equally therapeutic was a guided hike through fields of red chiles and eggplants, climbing up and up to a remote 17th-century temple where we rested in the shady garden. Then there was the exhilarating afternoon whitewater rafting along the Mother River before a picnic of rice-paper rolls and pomegranate Martinis. Much like the country itself, this is a sanctuary that’s immensely good for the soul. Doubles from Rs1,50,200; website —Emma Love

It’s hard not to catch your breath at the beauty of Bogawantalawa Valley’s emerald-green hills, a four-hour drive from Colombo. This is real tea country—and home to Tea Trail’s five beautifully restored tea planter bungalows. Part of Resplendent Ceylon, owned by Sri Lanka’s much-loved tea brand Dilmah, its 27 rooms are scattered across the colonial-era bungalows. It’s like stepping back in time—all antique furniture, four-poster beds, chintz armchairs, and clawfoot baths. Each residence has its own distinctive features. (Infinity pool? Pick lakeside Dunkeld. Epic garden? Go for Tientsin. Best views? Choose Norwood.) However, they all have this make-yourself-at-home ease, readily helped by the super-efficient and friendly staff. The bungalows’ resident chefs will propose dishes and cook what you want. Feast on an incredible array, from traditional rice and curry to exquisitely crafted, often tea-infused dishes such as slow-roasted pork filet, with Medawatta tea, apple, and prunes purée, butter vegetable, and orange mustard sauce. Days are spent making full use of the surroundings. Explore the estate with veteran tea planter Bernard, past colorfully attired tea pickers who show you their craft. Ramble along one of the bungalow trails—or challenge yourself with a trek up nearby Adam’s Peak. Back at base, play croquet, kayak to another bungalow for afternoon tea, or curl up on one of the cozy fireside sofas in the paneled library. But really this is a place to relax and reflect—particularly in one of the cane chaises, on the terrace, perhaps with a G&T in hand. Doubles from Rs.75,200; website —Harriet Compston

My favorite building in Istanbul, indeed the world, is not the 15-story vertiginous dome of Hagia Sophia, but a saffron-yellow former prison built in 1918 that was reincarnated in 1996 as the Four Seasons Hotel Istanbul at Sultanahmet. Thanks to my father, a retired hotelier, I had a peripatetic childhood as a hotel brat, staying, even living, in Hilton, Sheraton, and Mandarin Oriental hotels, from Istanbul to Egypt to Hong Kong. This led me to become a travel writer. One of my jobs was reporting on the Four Seasons in Sultanahmet and included a now only dreamed-of expense account and plenty of free Champagne. I took my then-boyfriend to dinner for his birthday at its courtyard restaurant, Avlu, in an attempt to impress him with my worldliness.

Some years later, we ended up getting married at the hotel. Minutes before the ceremony, I realized I had forgotten a bouquet. The staff swiftly sent two gorgeous arrangements to my door. We said our vows in a corner of Süreyya, the rooftop terrace lounge, with Hagia Sophia seemingly within touching distance. As we ate a sumptuous wedding dinner on a private terrace overlooking the Bosphorus, we noticed a rare celestial event: a partial eclipse of the moon. My 87-year-old grandmother’s feet were suffering, so the hotel brought her a pair of soft terry slippers, a look she owned as she strode nonchalantly through the lobby. We stayed in the erstwhile warden’s office, a stunning two-story suite with a huge arched window. We came back for our first anniversary and then our 10th, with two extra guests: our young sons.

In 2022 the hotel reopened after a two-year redesign, with interiors revamped by London-based studio Goddard Littlefair. Now the lobby is like a microcosm of Sultanahmet: a patisserie, La Pistache, sells Turkish sweets; Sahaf, an antiquarian bookstore, has prints and maps; and a jewelry boutique dazzles and entices. The new main bar, Lingo Lingo, has a dining space that provides a singularly Turkish ritual: seafood and meze with raki. The spa has been hugely expanded, adding a hammam and private treatment spaces. Avlu now serves modern Anatolian cuisine to tables surrounded by seasonal flowering plants. Near it is a mescit: a blue-tiled prayer room that exudes tranquility. Guests can hop on a private shuttle to the hotel’s sister, a Four Seasons set in a 19th-century palace on the Bosphorus, lap in its waterfront outdoor pool, and loll in its awe-inspiring spa. The story of me and my husband includes the dramatic appearance of a double rainbow during a recent stay. My mother, whose happy place was also the Four Seasons, died in December 2021. She was no stranger to extravagant gestures, so I like to think that the rainbows were a message from her, welcoming us home. Doubles from Rs55,700; website —Sevil Delin

La Mamounia

On her 100th birthday, La Mamounia has emerged from the pandemic phoenix-like, glowing from Jouin Manku’s 2020 makeover. The Netflix hit series Inventing Anna followed, with the hotel starring as the destination of choice for Anna Delvey (a.k.a. Anna Sorokin), the New York con woman famous for her exquisite taste. But what is the secret of La Mamounia’s success? Sitting at the edge of the madcap medina, this public palace manages to be both exclusive and popular, providing the city with a spectacular stage. In the Pierre Hermé Salon de Thé, guests treating themselves to pastries are bathed in refracted light from a Lasvit chandelier that fills the courtyard. Next to the ruby-red Majorelle bar, L’Asiatique restaurant, with its Ming Dynasty–style chairs and black lacquer tables, is a vision of Deco decadence. Art deals are done to the sound of birdsong in the Italian restaurant open to the garden, while film-festival moguls host money men in the sexy subterranean wine cellar or at the black-marble Churchill bar. Even on Sundays, local society packs the pool house for the epic buffet brunch. Ask any of them about La Mamounia and they will have a story. This pleases general manager Pierre Jochem. Like Anna Delvey, he understands that, in a world of limitless choice, relevance is everything. La Mamounia is still the talk of the town. Doubles from Rs44,200; website —Paula Hardy

Babylonstoren

Babylonstoren

Babylonstoren’s greatest trump card? It doesn’t feel like a hotel. You reach it by driving off the dusty Cape roads through vines and fruit trees. Tractors trundle by, laden with grapes and peaches. The restaurant is in an old cowshed. Ducks waddle past. A donkey puts out its nose for children to pat. It’s a place where you instantly feel at home (albeit one surrounded by the towering Simonsberg Mountains, rolling vineyards, and miles of fragrant indigenous fynbos shrubland). This is in large part because the 500-acre 17th-century Cape Dutch estate is still an actual home—belonging to Karen Roos, the former editor of South African Elle Decoration, who spent years creating an eight-acre Patrice Taravella–designed formal garden containing more than 300 varieties of medicinal and edible plants, and then wanted to share it with others.

Having spent her life conceiving elegant new spaces, Roos constantly changes things up. Babylonstoren opened in 2010 with 13 little Cape Dutch farm workers’ cottages beside the garden, each with a modernist glass “box” kitchen in which guests could cook fresh farm ingredients to enjoy by the fire in the spacious and bright contemporary interiors. Next, Roos converted the barns and stables to add characterful guest spaces. In the past few years, the creative hotelier has added a smattering of equally charming cottages among the fynbos, away from the public areas and surrounded by native landscaping, the better for admiring the rugged mountainscapes. I’ve been five times, and each time I return, there’s something fresh and chic to explore: a farm shop stocked with tempting local cheese and Cape gooseberry jams; a bakery, which at night is transformed into a wood-fired-pizza restaurant; and, most recently, a wine cellar and museum.

You can take a zippy golf cart from your cottage down to the public areas and walk in the sprawling gardens, with their chicken runs and beehives and rose-scented paths. Or you can have brunch or a long, lazy lunch in the Greenhouse or Babel restaurant, then have a hammam and massage in the recently added spa. Or you can do as I did on my last stay and retreat into nature, quietly fishing and kayaking on small dams, cycling amid fynbos in the hills, and lounging beside the new pool and hot tub, surrounded by rock gardens. Then, after a glass of wine at sunset, hang out in your light-filled, whitewashed cottage, cooking just-picked produce in your kitchen, listening to music and reading by the fire on Italian linen–clad sofas, and soaking in a deep bathtub fragranced with fresh herbs before a nightcap on the little veranda, the air thick with silence and lit by the moon and Milky Way. Babylonstoren paved the way for cool farm stays, but few of its successors can come close to matching the original. Doubles from Rs43,000; website —Lisa Grainger

The Ruaha National Park is one of those wild gems that safari insiders like to keep to themselves: Tanzania’s second-largest protected tract of wilderness, dotted with fat baobabs and hills sprinkled with giant rocks. Among them, atop a kopje overlooking wildlife-rich plains and the seasonal Mwagusi River, this intimate camp is inserted like a modern-day Flintstones home, albeit with one of Africa’s prettiest bush pools. The lodge’s eight architecturally inventive rooms—some positioned so you can watch passing elephants from your hammock, others perched among balancing boulders on which cute rock hyraxes sunbathe—are the work of the Cape Town creative Caline Williams-Wynn. Cleverly, she’s designed them to be as eco-friendly as they are luxurious: walled with pale floor-to-ceiling shutters that don’t obstruct views but do let in the breeze; roofed with shade-giving branches and adorned with sculptural wooden furniture and bush-colored linens printed with indigenous plants. After a strong massage with local marula oil, guests usually kick off their evening with an herb-infused cocktail as the sun goes down, roll on to a flame-cooked dinner in a lamplit boma, and, on certain occasions, end with a moonlit performance by the charismatic staff choir. With passionate young guides and few other guests to share sightings of big cats and rare wild dogs with, plus happy, all-Tanzanian staff who treat one another like family, it’s difficult not to fall in love with this wild little place. Doubles from Rs73,700; website —L. Grainger

With a mission as bold as its design, Singita Kwitonda is the only lodge abutting Volcanoes National Park and is the closest to park headquarters. To arrive here is to tumble into the warm embrace of intuitive service and deep-dish comfort. From the nourishing food tucked into your day pack to the hiking gear on standby, all the thinking is done for you, freeing you up to enjoy the experience of meeting animals that share 98 percent of your DNA: gorillas. Chiseled from volcanic rock, bamboo, and eucalyptus, Kwitonda’s soft-edged interiors champion local crafts, and rooms offer views of the volcanic peaks protruding from the cloud forest’s mists, while large bathrooms double up as in-room spas with massage tables for therapists to soothe post-trek muscle fatigue. Downtime is easily filled by yoga, village visits, or nature walks led by conservationists, who will explain the value of rewilding: Singita’s reforestation goals have already seen it plant more than 250,000 trees, shrubs, and orchids. For a solo traveler, nothing beats dining sociably on braised short rib, risotto, and garden greens while watching graduates from Singita’s new community culinary school learn from the accomplished chefs. I ended the evening in my suite, which—equipped with books, art supplies, a wood-burning outdoor fireplace, and a heated pool—felt like a cocoon amid the falling rain. Doubles from Rs1,83,800; website *—*Jane Broughton

The Jaffa, a Luxury Collection Hotel

A single picture inspired my first trip to Tel Aviv. It wasn’t a shot of the boardwalk heaving with sun-bronzed roller skaters. Nor was it those gorgeous white Bauhaus buildings brightening up the city’s downtown. No, it was an interior shot of The Chapel lounge at The Jaffa, a stained-glass-windowed former convent that British designer John Pawson has turned into an anachronistic masterpiece. It’s even more arresting in the flesh: the sweeping ceilings, all powder blue and rimmed with Neoclassical ornaments; the chunky Italian Botolo chairs in mustard velvet; the altar turned bar, clad in marble. This old-meets-new formula informs the hotel’s other spaces too, from the colonnaded walkways around the citrus-scented courtyard, where all-day deli Golda’s serves bagels and lox and shakshuka, to the timeworn plastered ceilings of my suite in the 19th-century former hospital wing, with a bathroom concealed in a sci-fi-looking mirror box. I found it an apt analogy for the rapid gentrification happening just outside the lobby, where Jaffa, just south of downtown Tel Aviv, has emerged as one of Israel’s most envelope-pushing creative hot spots. Legends around this labyrinthine sandstone port town date back to Biblical times. King David and King Solomon once reigned over its cobbled alleys, and the prophet Jonah’s journey, which ended in a whale’s belly, is said to have started from Jaffa’s harbor on the Mediterranean Sea. Later on, the town changed hands between Napoleon’s troops and British crusaders, until it was finally annexed to Tel Aviv in 1950.

Today, new concepts brilliantly meld this storied—and contentious—past with the city’s turbo-smart present. The Soho House group sniffed out the 19th-century nunnery behind The Jaffa for its first Israeli outpost, which is now a rendezvous for Tel Aviv’s in-crowd, who sip chili-spiked cocktails around the pool and have sleepovers in the snug, retro-tinged suites pitched up in the building’s turrets. Further north, rootsy boutiques and coffee bars such as Dama, a café run by an Israeli-Swedish couple doling out oat-milk flat whites and financier cakes, have moved into the century-old flea market, while the graffiti-scribbled Greek Market across the street turns into an alfresco restaurant hub after sunset. At concept store Hilweh Market, Jaffa-born curator and social-policy maker Adrieh Abou Shehadeh reclaims space for her Palestinian community and stocks the shelves with olive-wood bowls from Bethlehem, glassware from Hebron, and jewelry from Arab-diaspora designers. Back in The Jaffa’s lobby, a Damien Hirst spin painting abuts the crumbling remnants of a medieval bastion wall, excavated during the hotel’s construction. Its shell might be more than 100 years old, but few hotels manage to capture Tel Aviv’s current zeitgeist quite so well. Doubles from Rs53,200; website —Chris Schalkx

On my first visit to The Chedi Muscat in 2004, this refined temple of tranquility was still a bit of an anomaly. In a Sultanate where five-star hospitality was given to outré displays of Rococo glitz, The Chedi had its work cut out appealing to the flamboyant tastes of the Middle Eastern market. Happily, the brand’s first foray into the region could not have been more of a triumph. Two decades on, The Chedi has won a legion of loyal fans, both local and international, who come here precisely not to be seen. The lobby alone suggests why. Under its graceful, canopied ceiling (a nod to Oman’s Bedouin history), there’s silence. This lack of ambient music and general buzz sets the scene for what is to come: an enveloping serenity, where the daily soundtrack is the gentle burble of traditional water features winding through 21 acres of manicured grounds. In its 162 rooms and suites, defined by the restful symmetry of Omani and Asian design, teak and cool linen abound. The peace even filters into the expansive main restaurant, where carved mashrabiya screens lend an air of elegant intimacy. Omani seafood is the main event on menus at all six restaurants, one of which has a bull’s-eye view down the sublime 338-foot Long Pool. At sunset, torches illuminate the inky Arabian sky; again, the only sounds are the waves gently breaking on the beach. Doubles from Rs43,800; website —Stella Rosato

At a time when luxury properties seem to be cutting back on small things they think guests won’t notice, One&Only Royal Mirage remains unfalteringly consistent. From in-room details like fresh flowers and thoughtful amenities like poolside iced fruit and a cleaning service for sunglasses, it all adds up to a pleasing sense of indulgence. Enter the marbled lobby (to chimes from a welcoming gong), where intuitive staff perceive your every need without ever being overzealous or intrusive. When the original Palace opened in 1998, on the shores of the emirate’s Jumeirah Beach, its traditional domes and arches elegantly surpassed the ruling family’s flanking beach residences. Even though it has increased its footprint to include the Arabian Court and Residence & Spa, there’s an innate sense of space and privacy, undoubtedly helped by 65 acres of meticulously landscaped grounds. Unsurprisingly, golf buggies are the vehicles du jour, saving Loro Piana–clad guests from taking too many steps to the eight restaurants, two of which are overseen by three-Michelin-starred chef Mauro Colagreco. Amid Dubai’s showboating, posturing, and Insta-focused pretenders to its crown, One&Only Royal Mirage quite simply reigns supreme. Doubles from Rs68,200; website —S.R.

Jumeirah Al Qasr

Jumeirah Al Qasr

I never expected to fall so hard for Jumeirah Al Qasr. This marble-clad, gold-encrusted palace at the nucleus of Jumeirah’s multi-resort beach enclave is the polar opposite of the less-is-more look that I, a self-proclaimed sophisticate, usually gravitate toward. But within hours after checking in, I had already bought into its arabesque fantasy, and by the next morning, I fancied myself a veritable royal. It’s impossible not to feel princeling-special when you have an army of staff ready with mint tea at the drop of a hat, or when you float down the resort’s labyrinthine canals in an abra boat. Wander the hallways, with their Arabian-inspired columns and mashrabiya latticework, or visit any of the more than 50 cafés, bars, and restaurants spread across the palm-tufted compound, which cater to every spur-of-the-moment whim. The rooms, too, are fit for a sheik, with bathrooms replete with marble tubs. Rooms were refreshed in 2018 with mother-of-pearl inlays. And then there’s that balcony view: a city of sand-colored wind catchers poking out from a meticulously landscaped sprawl of palm trees and swirling pools, backdropped by Dubai’s gleaming skyline in the hazy distance. At first glance, Al Qasr might look like a Disney-fied bubble in the desert; spend a few days here, and you’ll find that its royal hospitality is the real deal. Doubles from Rs26,600; website —C.S.

“Built in 1962 as King Sihanouk’s guesthouse, Amansara (above) is a masterpiece of New Khmer design, low-slung and curvy, and everything is so chic—especially the pristine 1962 black Mercedes house car that ferries you to the airport.” —Rebecca Misner

It’s difficult to categorize this ranch an hour and a half from Queenstown. Part working farm, part high-design retreat in New Zealand’s high country, Lake Hāwea Station’s draw seems to be its intersectionality between the rugged Kiwi farm culture visitors want and the sophisticated taste that defines the country’s luxury-lodge circuit. But scratch a little deeper to see that this 16,000-acre property’s true point of difference is its pioneering ethos in New Zealand’s approach to cultivation and sustainability. When owners Justine and Geoff Ross scooped up the place, in 2018, the land and its structures, including a pair of turn-of-the-century cabins used to house shepherds, needed nourishing. They set to work transforming the property, replanting 100,000 native trees to replicate how the land may have been when the Ngāi Tahu iwi, or tribe, of the South Island would migrate to this area to hunt in the pre-colonial era and gussying up the cabins with cool interiors, sprawling terraces, and comfy beds, all with knockout views of the lake, for travelers who may want to stop in to watch the shepherds round up the merino sheep or simply laze around the swimming pond with the free-roaming kune kune pigs.

Certain paddocks have been designated regenerative to help nurse the land back to health, and all energy is renewable—nearly unheard-of for a working farm. The Rosses’ goal is to achieve 10 times carbon positivity in 10 years and, in so doing, set a new standard for how farms can operate in a way that more effectively sustains the planet. Yet for its impressive goals and admirable work put into achieving them, Lake Hāwea Station is still, simply, one of the most impressive, can’t-believe-this-place-could-possibly-exist retreats you’ll ever be lucky enough to stay in. Waking up before the day starts from its centerpiece Lake House, an impossibly chic landscape villa with glass walls, and sipping coffee as the rising sun slowly reveals the still-as-glass lake, edged by the snow-dusted Southern Alps and jagged hills, is simple and extraordinary, the type of slowed-down experience that forces you to reflect on how incredible it is to have ended up here in this gloriously perfect pocket of the planet. Which is one of travel’s most precious gifts. Doubles from Rs23,400; website —Erin Florio

Pumphouse Point

The process of disconnection—from Wi-Fi, everyday cares, reality—begins on the drive deep into Tasmania’s UNESCO World Heritage–listed wilderness. Pumphouse Point lies within a national park that protects some of the rarest forest on Earth: mossy, misty, and mysterious, a precious tract of cool-temperate rain forest filled with variants of species dating from the epoch before the island drifted from the Australian mainland. This lost-in-time forest frames moody Lake St. Clair and the incongruous Art Deco lines of a former hydroelectric-pump station marooned offshore. Nineteen rooms and suites have low-key interiors of industrial-style lighting and plumbing. Six are tucked into the Shorehouse, a converted substation; nearly all the others are in the three-story Pumphouse, connected to land by a 787-foot flume jetty. The pick of the suites is The Retreat, a very private love shack featuring Tasmanian-designed and handcrafted furniture and ceramics. Guests head to a new glass-and-wood-lined “pod” set in a eucalyptus forest for meditation and yoga. They assemble picnics from in-room larders, explore forest trails on foot, or e-bike and take rowboats to spot platypuses. Wholesome communal breakfasts and dinners are served in the Shorehouse’s glass-walled dining room, with wallabies and the occasional wombat family grazing in view. Doubles from Rs29,500; website —Helen Anderson

“The Red Lift, a.k.a. the ascending room—London’s first-ever electric elevator—is a Savoy (above) legend! And it continues to make a bold statement with its gold-fronted doors, red lacquer interiors, and leather bench for two. In fact, I may have ridden it a few times more than needed.” —Arati Menon

Kinloch Lodge

For half a century, Kinloch Lodge—tiny, remote, eccentric—has been among the best-loved of Scottish hotels. Yet when it opened in the spring of 1972, its proprietors, Claire and Godfrey Macdonald, were far from sure it would still be a going concern by the autumn. A couple of years previously, Godfrey had inherited a roster of ancient titles along with a vast estate. He had also inherited colossal debts. Kinloch, a run-down, whitewashed shooting lodge on ravishingly pretty Loch na Dal, near the southern tip of Skye, was practically all he and Claire had left. They welcomed their first guests to a hotel that had no electricity, only two log fires for heating, and a single telephone under the stairs. Kinloch’s reputation grew, however. The sheer beauty of the place. The unstuffy charm of the owners and their four kids—each of whom became adept at taking bookings and making beds. Claire’s brilliant, ultra-local, entirely seasonal cooking, decades ahead of its time. In 2002, Godfrey and Claire retired, and their daughter Isabella took over as manager. She has revamped the 18 rooms with sensitivity, flair, and discreet contemporary flourishes. There’s still an heirloom-forward, country-house grandeur about it, but zero pomposity. Instead, a warmth and intimacy derive from the Macdonalds’ commitment to doing simple things very well and taking proper care of their guests. That sounds easy but isn’t. Kinloch Lodge is one of a kind. Doubles from Rs34,800; website —Steve King

In college, I was in a doomed relationship with a girl and feeling extremely sorry for myself. Luckily I had a generous aunt who would say, “If you can stop moping and get to London by 6 p.m., I’ll meet you in the American Bar, and you can tell me all about it.” I’d jump on a train, then hoof it from King’s Cross to The Savoy. I’d gaze for a moment at the sign on the chrome-bright Strand-facing portico, spin past a top-hatted doorman, glide across the checkered-marble lobby floor, make a sharp left up carpeted steps, pad along a passage lined with photographs (“Hi, Frank! Hello, Ava! How do you do, Sir Winston!”) and enter—heart racing, spirits already lifting—the American Bar. There my aunt would be waiting, serenely seated at a table on the river side with a bottle of Champagne. That’s how I fell in love with The Savoy, but it’s by no means the only reason why, almost 30 years and goodness knows how many visits later, I still love it.

The Savoy is big and complicated, and its paradoxes are essential to its appeal. You can’t even see the Thames from the so-called Thames Foyer, yet there’s a riparian aspect to that stupendous space, with its palette of pale greens, the light filtered through a stained-glass dome, the staff eddying around the ornate winter-garden gazebo. The entire place, actually, is a gorgeous bundle of stylistic contradictions—high Victorian, plush Edwardian, flapper-tastic Art Deco—that adds up to much more than the sum of its parts.

Like most of the hotels we refer to as “classic” or “an institution” and think of as monolithic and unchanging, The Savoy hasn’t stayed still. A short list of its innovations between its 1889 opening and 1926, when the godlike Harry Craddock took over the American Bar, would include the introduction of electric light in all rooms, hydraulic lifts (note the absence of a central staircase) and proper ventilation in the kitchens; the thé dansant; and at least a dozen of the finest cocktails to have befuddled the world. So it continues. In 2021, the Royal Suite was restyled with irresistible flair by Gucci. And last year, Restaurant 1890 by Gordon Ramsay—a lustrous jewel box—opened in a former private dining room above the legendary Savoy Grill. Before he returned to Florence to start his little luggage business, Guccio Gucci worked as a porter at The Savoy—another layer of charm. Plus the menu at 1890 is inspired by the recipes of the greatest chef who ever lived, Auguste Escoffier, who hit the big time at—guess where—The Savoy. Doubles from Rs63,000; website —S.K.

The Goring is London to its very core. And unlike so many of its fellow luxury hotels with their slick, inoffensively international feel, it really couldn’t be anywhere else. From the scarlet-coated concierges to the antiques-filled rooms, proximity to Buckingham Palace, and a dining room that was a favorite of both Mrs. Thatcher and the Queen Mother, this is a true icon of the capital’s hotel scene. But it’s very much traditional rather than old-fashioned, and under that classic hood purrs an exceptionally modern engine. Beds are supremely comfortable and towels lusciously thick, while the bathrooms have vast walk-in showers and tubs big enough to host your own regatta. Service is smiling but very professional. Discretion is everything: Who knows how many coups, plots, and leadership bids have been quietly hatched in The Goring Cocktail Bar, which happens to mix one of the finest martinis in town? CEO Jeremy Goring is the fourth generation of his family to take the reins, and this avid surfer makes sure things never become too stuffy. In the summer a rum bar pops up in the garden, and things get very merry indeed. The Dining Room is a bastion of traditional British food: œufs Drumkilbo, rack of Romney lamb, Longhorn beef Wellington, and the restaurant’s legendary lobster omelet. Doubles from Rs54,900; website —Tom Parker Bowles

The Newt in Somerset

To call The Newt a hotel is a bit like calling Buckingham Palace a house. With gardens worth a visit in their own right, an interactive museum, a corker of a spa, plus a gelateria and bakery, it’s so much more than 42 beautifully pitched rooms. It even offers bee safaris and honey tastings. You can see why there’s been a buzz about this place since its 2019 opening in a corner of Somerset whose cool credentials were already on the rise thanks to the nearby Hauser & Wirth gallery. Now a reimagined Roman villa with an accompanying museum has been added to the 800-acre estate. Owner and South African billionaire Koos Bekker and his wife, Karen Roos, have lavished no-expense-spared attention to detail on the villa. Roos calls her design “classical contemporary,” which includes some fun touches: tapestry wall trophies; a room in the colors of a croquet set; a Roman bust wearing a necklace of seashells. Bedrooms vary from contemporary country to Scandinavian simplicity. As at the couple’s South African hotel, Babylonstoren (see above), the gardens are the focal point, so it’s no surprise that the estate-to-plate food zings with freshness. More unexpected is the Story of Gardening museum, where you can visit gardens around the world by VR. The Newt makes its own cider—or “cyder,” as it calls it. A tad pretentious? You won’t think so when you taste the single varietal brew and see the 300 types of apple trees in the egg-shaped walled garden. Doubles from Rs44,200; website —Jane Knight

Marbella Club

This heritage property on the Andalusian coast has been synonymous with unassuming luxury since it began life as a hangout for Prince Alfonso von Hohenlohe’s friends in the 1950s. Over time it has evolved from a string of Californian-motel-inspired lodges into a rarefied village anchored by the beach. Yet despite its growth, it has maintained the intimacy of a members’ club. Post-pandemic additions such as El Patio restaurant draw upmarket locals to sip pressed juices after yoga classes or crisp rosés later on. The recent reincarnation of the iconic Beach Club, once erring on the side of silver service, has an artisanal, eclectic feel, with vibrant corals, Art Deco–style umbrellas, and hand-painted tiles. It’s this rare combination of bohemian charm and specificity of service that is MC’s interstellar dust. It’s what brings smart young couples to lounge together under the citrus trees. It’s why families gather poolside for languorous lunches. But the kids’ club is the greatest triumph. There are exhaustive activities, gorgeous free-flow creative spaces, and engaging, energetic staff who work subtle magic. I’ve “encouraged” my own children into countless kids’ clubs over the years, but this is the only one that I have had to bribe them back out of. And happy children mean harmonious holidays: time to slink into the sea-gazing Thalasso spa, try some Kundalini yoga or a little paddle surfing; perhaps even a zingy Zoco cocktail by the pool. Life is all about balance, after all. Doubles from Rs37,700; website —Lydia Gard

Santo Mauro, a Luxury Collection Hotel, Madrid

Recently, the upper end of Madrid’s hotel scene has erupted in a welter of blue-chip international brands—but three decades before the current boom, Santo Mauro was already offering its discreet brand of noble luxe. Built between 1860 and 1902 as the private palacio of the Dukes of Santo Mauro, the 49-room hotel, now owned by Antonio Catalán, occupies an affluent corner of the Chamberí neighborhood where the ebullience of downtown Madrid gives way to a patrician quietude. The high-ceilinged public rooms seem to compete with one another in fin de siècle grandeur, but thanks to design doyen Lorenzo Castillo, who recently undertook a major refresh of the hotel’s interiors, what might once have been suffocatingly opulent now has a certain lightness and chic. Expansive, expensive fabrics adorn the walls and windows; restored parquet floors creak authentically as you pad across them; ceiling moldings are subtly under-lit. The 93-member staff, smiling and as impeccably turned out as the surroundings, make you believe you’re a friend of the duke, simply hanging out for a night or two in your regular Madrid bolt-hole. Meanwhile in the French-style formal garden, deliciously re-imagined by landscaper Fernando Valero as a maze of box hedges and trickling fountains, the gravel crunches underfoot. From beyond a line of towering horse chestnut trees and a high fence hung with ivy comes the murmur of what may just be, right now, Spain’s most exciting city. Hard though it is to tear yourself away from this well-upholstered bubble of gorgeousness, it must be done. Doubles from Rs50,000; website —Paul Richardson

I’ve been coming to Barcelona since just before the 1992 Olympics, that watershed moment when the city picked up the baton and ran with it. Since then I have always been swayed by the new: staying in Hotel Arts Barcelona when it rose up on the beachfront or making for The Hoxton’s rooftop taqueria. However, El Palace, like the Eixample district it sits in, is never ruffled by arrivistes. Locals still call it “El Ritz”—it was César Ritz’s last grand project—and while it officially lost the name decades ago, it clung to the theatrical pomp. The lobby’s basalt-black columns are the definition of mausoleum chic, as if ready to stage a production of Salome. Like all grandes dames, it gives good gossip and drops a few names. Everyone knows that Dalí lived here and once asked the staff to bring a giant stuffed horse that he’d bought up the stairs to his room, but there’s also a wild rumor that Trotsky’s murderer, Ramón Mercader, was once maître d’ here. I returned to Barcelona earlier this year, the first time since lockdown, to find it almost completely awake once more, and El Palace full of renewed zip. A new name has set up home here: Rafa Zafra, the topknotted former head chef at El Bulli, in Amar, a midnight-blue restaurant with ponzu oysters, caviar, and spider-crab cannelloni on the menu. And the rooftop pool terrace has been reclaimed by summer DJ sets and cocktail-fueled art lessons. I even danced the merengue–seasoned boulevardiers can learn new moves too. Doubles from Rs28,260; website —Rick Jordan

The journey is as important as the arrival, they say, and when applied to the home and garden of earthly delights that is the Cipriani, it means something. A vintage motor launch in varnished cedar, the last word in 1970s Venetian nautical chic, awaits to whisk you from the terminal or the crowds of St. Mark’s Square to the hotel, where the charming Roberto, who has been here forever, greets guests with a personal flourish. Unlike Venice’s other luxury hotels that have been poured into existing historic palaces, fighting against a corset of strict regulations, the Cipriani was custom-built in 1958 with plenty of elbow room, on three acres of land of the Giudecca, then owned by Guinness nobility. The daughters, Honor and Brigid, were fans of Harry’s Bar, a small paneled den in the heart of Venice, and invited its owner, Giuseppe Cipriani, to think big and create a hotel in partnership with them. The result is a place that is still unrivaled for that spirit of urbane hedonism; for generous and attentive service that never genuflects; for an easy atmosphere of peace and sanctuary alongside a sense of clubhouse discretion and rarefied exclusivity.

In the summer, when the canals in Venice get stinkier, the Cipriani offers more than a breath of fresh air. The grounds are large enough for tennis courts, a kitchen garden, a vineyard, and a spa within the orange blossom–scented Casanova gardens, where the eponymous lady-killer wooed the neighboring nunnery. They are a haven for birds and Roberta the tortoise, who, unfortunately, hasn’t been seen since a recent acqua alta. Meanwhile, around the showpiece Olympic-size pool, the beating heart of the hotel (and a happy accident of scale, because the architect got his meters and feet mixed up), sunbathing is raised to the level of theater, with endless opportunities for people-watching around the travertine-marble terrace. Here Hollywood moguls cement film deals in loud voices while Venetian aristocrats settle into cabanas for the day, spraying complimentary Evian like Chanel No. 5 and addressing the staff as extensions of their family. Sadly, the barman Walter Bolzonella, famous for the Buonanotte cocktail he dreamed up with George Clooney, is retired. The capable Riccardo Semeria has stepped into his shoes, while Riccardo Canella, multi-Michelin superstar chef of Noma fame, takes the culinary helm. He understands that the essence of Italian style is to keep things simple, natural, and familiar, yet still fresh and inventive. This is the hallmark of the Cipriani. Others have tried to emulate its timeless Italian chic. But glamour is an atmosphere, something harder to bottle than an Acqua di Parma scent. It is synonymous with this hotel, with its to-die-for view of the Doge’s Palace and St. Mark’s, sequestered on the edge of an insignificant island on a lagoon lapping the Adriatic Sea. Doubles from Rs1,10,170; website —C.F.

Caruso, A Belmond Hotel

Caruso, A Belmond Hotel

The first time my family went to Caruso, which is an 11th-century estate in Ravello at a summit in the Lattari Mountains that overlooks a 1,000-foot-plus plunge to the Tyrrhenian Sea, my son Henry was almost six months old. It was late April, and Amalfi’s lemon trees were blossoming. The hotel, an austerely beautiful, scrubbed limestone palace clinging to the side of a hill, was an appealingly easy escape. We carried cups of rich, not-too-sweet Sfusato Amalfitano lemonade into the grounds. Gardens arranged with lawns, rose borders, half-­concealed hammocks, and citrus trees fanned beneath the palace like giant steps. Wisteria vines dropped petals from the pergolas, outshone by the punch-pink, first-bloom bougainvillea. We slept in the hotel’s Villa Margherita, designed by Eric Egan. I imagine artists who traveled to Ravello in the early 20th century staying here as they waited for inspiration to strike. One of us opened a set of floor-to-ceiling windows, exposing a clear sweep from the coastal slopes of Maiori to Minori, with the chapel-dotted uplands of the Lattaris rising in both directions, and the improbably empty Mediterranean filling in the horizon. It is a view nothing can prepare you for.

Last May, my husband, Andrew, and I went back to the same villa with the cowrie-shell chandelier. We aren’t in the habit of repeating trips, but we both kept bringing up that lemonade. I was seven months pregnant with our second son, and if I had to be benched somewhere with a pack of antacids—well, what a place. We mooched around the pool, an adults-only place in spirit if not by decree, edged on three sides by green hills and by the coastline to the south. Shallow terra-cotta bowls, full of pansies, sat alongside huge white umbrellas, wide enough to shade two sun loungers on the patio or, even better, on the soft lawn dented with ice buckets. On some days we never went farther than the poolside restaurant, where we ordered scrape-the-plate paccheri with burst cherry tomatoes, and eggplant Parmesan that came in a puddle of bright passata.

Food—and the leisurely eating of it—was the tentpole of our return to Caruso. We hovered over breakfast for an hour each morning, scooping up rosemary omelets and fried tomatoes with soldiers of focaccia, tart rounds of caprese al limone, and sfogliatelle santarosa, my favorite, a shell-shaped pastry filled with raspberries and cream. In the afternoons we would walk into town past the duomo for hazelnut and pistachio cones from Baffone Gelateria Artigianale, and in the evenings we stayed at the hotel—a choice that usually would have smacked of laziness to me, but instead felt decadently unambitious.

As I’m writing this, the baby is due in a couple of weeks, and I hope our second trip ends up being the start of something. I hope we’ll return to Caruso as a family of four, and open the windows in that villa, and remember why we keep coming back. Doubles from Rs81,000; website —Jo Rodgers

Grand Hotel Tremezzo

In an increasingly rapacious Italian hotel scene, some iconic family-owned properties retain that made-in-Italy, one-of-a-kind elixir that the bigger players can only dream of. The decadent Grand Hotel Tremezzo is decidedly one of these: It has been in family hands since opening in 1910 and comes with Grand Tour charm in spades. Sitting a little back from Lake Como, looking out onto Bellagio, the Liberty-style building conjures a Grand Budapest Hotel set, an impression that grows when you enter the formal lobby with its sweeping red-carpet staircase, antique gilt-framed mirrors, and marble-encased bathrooms. I also love the flowers in abundance all over the property. But the hotel still manages to feel intimate thanks to its smaller cozy spaces: a cocooning spa with a heated swim-in, swim-out pool and Santa Maria Novella products; an outdoor pool surrounded by a forest of trees and blooming flowers; and tucked-away bars and corner banquettes in the restaurant (be sure to try the gold-leaf risotto). The hotel effortlessly pulls multiple punches, with a covetable shop stocking brands like Bric’s Milano, Borsalino, and Chez Dede, and a beautiful vintage wooden boat for lake excursions and to avoid road traffic. But the true pièce de résistance is the floating pool sitting on the lake—cinematic grandeur incarnate with a Lido-like beachfront, bright orange and white umbrellas, and chic custom loungers. Doubles from Rs63,480; website —Ondine Cohane

This graceful estate is such a sharp contrast to wild Palermo that once you arrive you feel as though you have traveled to the other side of Sicily, not simply 10 minutes from the city center. Villa Igiea is a legacy resort in the area, bought as a private estate by the Florios, once one of Italy’s wealthiest families, but then converted in the early 1900s into a wellness retreat that was popular with royalty. Decades later, it had lost its luster until hotel magnate Rocco Forte brought it back to life in 2021. Now its pool, bars, and breezy guest rooms feel like a glitzy clubhouse of sorts for European dynasty families, who congregate for aperitivo hour in dresses and loafers on the outdoor terrace overlooking the bay, a dapper pianist tickling the ivories in the corner. You will want to order that third ice-cold martini just to muster up the courage to chat with the multilingual family—from Sweden? England?—at the table next to you (but eavesdropping is a fine runner-up). Inside, Art Nouveau touches include whimsical frescoes and grand staircases; while no two suites are alike (mine was done in tidy navy and white with beautifully colorful tiled bathrooms), they feel like a modern extension of what still is very much a classic seaside resort. Even in this newest iteration, Villa Igiea feels like a hotel with its own orbit, and one that creates a micro universe of characters rollicking against the most fanciful backdrop. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that? Doubles from Rs47,000; website —E.F.

A morning saunter through this 2,000-acre estate in Portugal’s Alentejo is a sensory journey back in time. Paths carve through the montado landscape, where wildflower meadows are punctuated by cork, oak, and olive trees. Lusitano wild horses mingle with cattle; the medieval hilltop town of Monsaraz looms in the distance, and granite dolmens give a glimpse of the region’s pagan past. Although it’s just 90 minutes from Lisbon, it’s conceivable that these views haven’t changed in centuries. The same cannot be said for São Lourenço’s luxurious lodgings. Balancing the rustic and the refined, the agricultural and the artful, is where this elegant 40-room hotel and organic working farm excels. Humble, whitewashed farm buildings have been sensitively transformed into sophisticated suites centered on a geranium-lined courtyard. The guest activities—beekeeping lessons, foraging, and stargazing (the region is a Dark Sky Reserve)—are almost as old as the surrounding hills. Two centuries of winemaking heritage make São Lourenço a key stop-off on Alentejo’s rota dos vinhos, which winds through the region’s best wineries. Here, robust native varietals have been skilfully tempered down and pair beautifully with polished takes on traditional dishes—gazpacho, migas, and cozido stews—that are as nourishing as late nights by the firepit. Effortlessly stylish yet wholly unpretentious, this rural retreat provides a compelling case for swapping Portugal’s coast for its countryside. Doubles from Rs35,200; website —Ben Olsen

Hôtel de Crillon

Known by locals simply as Le Crillon, it’s the kind of spot celebrities roll up to with the intent of blending in and mere mortals show up to with the hopes of standing out. First opened as a hotel in 1909 and owned by dukes and counts prior to the Revolution, the palace—which this summer celebrated five years since its $300 million makeover—is Paris’s most magnificent in both reputation and design. Precious stones, elaborate floral arrangements, and so…much…marble—it’s all there in extravagant droves. As a local, I’ve popped in several times over the years, but the most memorable visit was in 2021 when the city was still closed to foreigners and the hotel rearranged the Leonard Bernstein suite, and its wrap-around balcony, into a bar for Parisians to sip cocktails and snack on tartines while overlooking the Place de la Concorde. The suite has been returned to its grand apartment glory, but at least we still have Les Ambassadeurs bar, which has a David Bowie–Labyrinth vibe that—thanks to a sky mural on the ceiling where crystal chandeliers are draped in chains—is dark, moody, and ultra-ethereal. Perhaps the hotel’s only snafu is that it’s so “fit” for royalty, its bathrobes are Napoleon-sized. (A “large” was short and snug, even for this five-foot-one Madame!) Still, comfort and class are key, from fresh hydrangeas in the room and toiletries by French apothecary Officine Universelle Buly to a charging cord appearing minutes after requesting it and an on-call butler service accessible via WhatsApp. And mon dieu, that bed! It’s like sleeping on a giant cream puff: soft, pillowy, and oh-so-sweet. In all, you come to Le Crillon for heritage with a splash of modern swank and savoir faire. Doubles from Rs1,56,800; website —Sara Lieberman

Talking point: Would Paris hotels be quite so palatial had la Révolution never happened? The Louis XIV vibe—gold leaf and satinate sheen, baroque chairs and chandeliers—has been so mimicked and dulled by repetition, it’s easy to forget how showstopping it can be. Le Meurice is a reset: Callas at La Scala compared to The Phantom of the Opera of certain other grandes dames whose scenery wobbles a little. A piece of immersive theater where all the details—the greyhound emblem stamped on the butter, the fold of the maître d’s silk scarf, the trompe l’oeil fruit by pastry chef Cédric Grolet—are scrupulously choreographed. And yet, for all the marble-lined grandeur, surprisingly cozy and contemporary. Sit amid the Versailles pomp of the Ducasse dining room and you can idly swivel on your Eero Saarinen Tulip chair while waiting for your truffled eggs. On my last stay here, I joined one of the hotel’s private art tours, following in the footsteps of Monet and up to the Belle Étoile penthouse for a view almost identical to the painter’s 1876 study of the Tuileries. Because unlike many of the city’s palace hotels, this isn’t tucked away in a posh enclave but is right in the heart of proper Paris: the Jardins right in front, the main museums spread around. When Art Basel debuted in Paris in October, Le Meurice was the obvious choice for collectors—it’s a fully authenticated masterpiece. Doubles from Rs79,00; website —R.J.

Back in 1854, when Napoleon III bought a beachfront property in sleepy Biarritz and built a palatial holiday home for his wife, Empress Eugénie, little did he imagine that the crowned heads of Europe would follow suit and turn the city into a buzzy resort with a casino. Now, after a massive four-year renovation, the former Villa Eugenie, transformed into the stately fin de siècle grande dame Hôtel du Palais in 1892, is ready for her close-up. Talk about imperial presence: Everything from the fairy-tale frescoed ballroom to the plush Napoléon III Bar, crowned with a 900-pound crystal chandelier, calls for a lighthearted waltz, flute of vintage Bollinger in hand. Add to that the impressive antique-reviving craftsmanship: armchairs, curtains, bedspreads, moldings. But there’s nothing museum-like about the 142 rooms and suites—places to throw open the windows, breathe in the ocean air, and watch the spectacle (the beach below, La Grande Plage, is big-wave surfer territory). Nautical details, like the porthole windows on the upper floor, abound. The ocean-liner vibe continues at the panoramic, curved La Rotonde, where chef Aurélien Largeau whips up eight-course seafood menus; homestyle Basque cooking can be found at the informal Côté Maison next door. The emblematic high point is the 32,000-square foot Guerlain Imperial Spa (Guerlain invented a cologne in 1853 just for Eugénie) for its regal Black Orchid facial treatment. Doubles from Rs32,764; website —Lanie Goodman

It’s been more than five years since I last set foot on the grounds of the Swiss grande dame Beau-Rivage, presiding over Lake Geneva like some proud Belle Époque aristocrat. But the memory of my suite remains vivid—of my feet on the thick padded carpet, of the fairy-tale terrace where I’d watch the light hit the Alps at dusk, of pressing a single bedside button to bring up the blackout shades before I ordered a fresh carafe of coffee. The interiors were regal and restrained; the staff, many the product of the nearby École Hôtelière de Lausanne, were efficient and kind. I spent my days strolling the manicured waterfront gardens; at night, after dining on artful plates of sole meunière at the two-Michelin-starred restaurant Anne-Sophie Pic, I’d retreat into the sleek darkness of the bar, cradling a glass of amaro while watching businessmen conduct negotiations beneath Old World tapestries. In some ways, it was all a distraction—a way to waste time until I could politely excuse myself and retire to my room, to step back into the fantasy. One I long to return to. Doubles from Rs41,775; website —Betsy Blumenthal

Deplar Farm

Some places defy, or maybe transcend, the whole notion of what a hotel is. Deplar—a turf-roofed former farm on northern Iceland’s Troll Peninsula, where sheep outnumber people—is one of those. It lingers in the memory as a series of sensations: the shuddering tingle of the icy plunge pool after meditation in a 200-degree sauna; the sight of ephemeral sea spray against the pinkish morning light on a silent sea-kayak trip among the seals; the shimmering, blissful half-sleep of a sound bath, in a small candlelit room. This all might sound a touch woo-woo, but Deplar Farm—like its parent company, Eleven, owned by the skiing- and fishing-obsessed former Blackstone executive Chad Pike—is anything but. Though it almost looks like just another black timber farmstead on the drive up the valley, the 32-guest lodge is a lair of pure-grade hedonism.

Everywhere there are tactile invitations to play, like a shuffleboard table in a cozy alcove, with its hidden game consoles and movie projector. Grown-up comfort music—think Fleetwood Mac—plays gently at all times, creating an atmosphere where frazzled bigwigs can rediscover their inner children, aided by privacy and limit-pushing adventures, from heli-skiing in the surrounding mountains to fly-fishing for char in nearby Lake Miklavatn. At times, the luxury borders on the comical: like wafting from the indoor hot bath to the steaming outdoor one, when one of the team appears in the sunken swim-up bar, wondering if we’d like the same negronis as last night. The staff seem to be having a blast too. We are on horseback when Beda Mörgeli, a Swiss-born adventure guide, tells me, unprompted but very convincingly, “Fuck, I love my job.” My partner and I stop asking who has stayed here (a winking “No comment”) and how rich or demanding they were, and give into the power of the place. We drive away on the single-track road the same as they probably all do: like happy goose-bumped children, made small and fresh again by the cold, silent valley. Doubles from Rs2,77,200; website —Toby Skinner

Waldorf Astoria Amsterdam

As a student in Amsterdam, I cycled past this clutch of mansions along the Herengracht canal hundreds of times—often wondering what would become of these stately gabled marvels that seemed to change their white-collar tenants every season. Waldorf Astoria had the answer in 2014, when the brand chose this canal-belt corner, a stone’s throw from the Museum Quarter and a carbon copy of an Old Masters painting, as the base for its Amsterdam outpost. It had its canvas cut out for the job: a row of six 17th- and 18th-century palaces, all stone-hewn festoons and swirling pilasters, that once housed the mayors and merchants I read about in history books.

After a top-to-toe renovation that restored many of the building’s period touches to their Golden Age glory, it now welcomes guests of a similar cachet (an Arab sheik and his entourage brushed past me in the lobby) and hits the sweet spot between the classic—but often stuffy—glitz of its historic hotel peers and the sophistication of its modish neighbors. An elegant mélange of navy and creams mellows out the Rococo riot of the coiling staircases, frilly plasterwork, and gilded chandeliers, while licks of marble and silk in the Cire Trudon–scented suites up the glam factor ever so slightly. There’s a high-tech Guerlain spa with all the bells and whistles, and at Spectrum, the hotel’s signature fine diner, chef Sidney Schutte transforms local produce into edible art. But what really makes it tick are the peekaboo surprises: the secret courtyard garden, a birdsong-filled refuge from the tourist throngs outside, or the angels peering down from the hand-painted (and masterfully preserved) wooden ceiling in the Backer Suite. As a long-time local, I took Amsterdam's history for granted—a stay at this storybook hotel rekindled my wonder for the city’s fascinating past. Doubles from Rs74,700, including daily breakfast; website —C.S.

Santa Marina

When I chose hotels for honeymooning in southern Greece, where my mom’s family is from, it was important to me that I support Greek-owned hotels in the aftermath of the pandemic. I was ecstatic to discover that Santa Marina, the beloved five-star resort on Mykonos, remains owned by the same local family that opened it four decades ago. The only resort on the island with its own private stretch of sandy beach—and on calm and sought-after Ornos Bay, no less—Santa Marina includes 101 seaview rooms and suites with private plunge pools, plus a selection of 13 sprawling villas, a cove-nestled beach club shielded from the mighty Cycladic winds, and two infinity pools to mix up the lounging scenery. Two restaurants, including sushi spot Buddha-Bar Beach Mykonos and Mykonos Social by Jason Atherton, serve inventive plates ranging from Asian-inspired poke and ceviches led by the Mediterranean’s abundant fish, to taverna-style dishes: slow-cooked lamb, sun-dried grilled octopus, classic horiatiki, and bread baskets served with traditional dips like taramosalata (roe puree) and htipiti (spicy whipped feta). The on-site spa has a traditional hammam as well as aromatherapy massages, medical-grade facials, and a sauna that are well worth breaking from the sun and sand for an afternoon. But the real magic of Santa Marina is in the simple pleasures afforded by its fabled location—sipping assyrtiko from a shady cabana while the mega yachts go by, you’ll forget all about the island's hard-partying reputation. Doubles from Rs38,000; website —Shannon McMahon

Kyrimai

Down in deepest Mani, the middle tentacle of the Peloponnese, there’s nothing for miles save for the occasional road lined with shrines, or fields full of chest-high thistles; here and there, old stone towers stab the sky. In one such place, Gerolimenas, on the far southwestern shore, Kyrimai hotel has occupied a 19th-century tower house for some 20 years. Originally built by the family who runs the establishment, it’s perfect as far as conversions go: immaculate and indulgent, yet retaining the deep romance of a place so remote it might have been overgrown with brambles only a week ago. It’s a maze of arches and stairways, the rooms inside the thick stone walls often split on two levels, with beds wearing white linen tucked in the eaves. Yet nothing feels cavelike. Instead, sunshine spreads beyond the windows and shutters into the amber-colored walls and along hefty wooden floors. A restaurant sits above clear water in which fish curl and loll toward the shadows. It’s impossible not to step off repeatedly for a swim. There’s usually someone doing laps around the bay, or the sound of a creaking boat resounding off thyme-scented cliffs. In spring, the high rocks can turn light blue with wild sage that also appears in the house cocktails. The food is the best in the region: sardines with black olives whose spicy freshness cuts through the fatty fish oil, and rock samphire that turns creamed feta from a salty Greek chore into something paradisiacal. Doubles from Rs,12,700; website —Antonia Quirke

Tierra Patagonia

A room with a view is enduringly special, but one that frames such retina-searing scenery is something else. All 40 rooms in this horseshoe-shaped hotel gaze up at the Paine Massif, rising beyond the Sarmiento Lake, where waves roar when the wind picks up. Whether you’re snuggled in a sheepskin rug on a windowsill or swimming in the infinity pool, those towers are transfixing and ever-changing with the weather. I’ve been to Chile’s premier national park before, but no mirador or mountain trail can match this view. A passion project for the ski-obsessed Purcell family, and now majority-owned by Australian remote-luxe pioneers Baillie Lodges, this environmentally sensitive property is almost impossible to see from afar. By storing and replanting all vegetation on site, landscape artists Catalina Phillips and Gerardo Ariztia have created a wildlife haven where guanacos and rhea graze in the bush. Respect for culture and nature is everywhere, from dioramas depicting Chile’s history of exploration to Calafate sours made with locally produced berry liqueur at the bar. Excursions appreciate people and place: visits to ancient burial sites and the chance to shadow researchers studying pumas in their natural habitat. Set in prime gaucho land on the fringes of the national park, Tierra offers a chance to see and do Patagonia differently, starting and always ending with that unbeatable view. Doubles from about Rs3,25,190 (three-night minimum); website —Sarah Marshall

“Jardin Escondido (above) is a big-city hideout with wine-country flavor. In the courtyard, an emerald pool is hugged by elephant’s ears and ferns, and a small staircase leads up to the garden terrace, where guests sip wines selected by Francis Ford Coppola—this used to be his family’s vacation home, after all.” —Megan Spurrell

While Playa del Carmen and Tulum on Mexico’s Riviera Maya teeter toward overdevelopment, there’s still an unspoiled coastline between the two fast-growing towns. Near the powdery white sands of Xpu-Ha, the secluded jungle hideaway of Hotel Esencia is a reprieve from bustling resorts and hedonistic eco-hotels—yet offers all the trappings needed to never leave its grounds. Originally built as a haven for an Italian duchess, the 50-acre estate was acquired in 2014 by Hollywood producer Kevin Wendle, who has turned the property into the area’s chicest beachside retreat, beloved by tastemakers such as Bella Hadid and Lupita Nyong’o for its privacy. Hotel Esencia centers on a main house, where afternoon tea is served daily in the ocean-facing library, while stone paths lead to four expansive guest villas and 47 suites, each with a private terrace and some with a heated pool and solarium overlooking the Caribbean. The newest and most luxurious lodgings are at the Esencia Mansion, a four-bedroom villa with three swimming pools, a 20-seat screening room, a subterranean speakeasy, and a nearby cenote where guests can paddleboard among the resident manatees. To recharge, there’s a café offering Mexican pastries, a juice bar for smoothies and acai bowls, and three restaurants, including a Yucatán eatery serving dishes with Mediterranean flair, from green gazpacho topped with crab to grilled octopus layered with creamy garlic mole. Doubles from about Rs82,000; website —Michaela Trimble

Uxua Casa Hotel & Spa

The fishing village of Trancoso, in Brazil’s Bahia, isn’t the tourist-free enclave it once was, but Uxua Casa Hotel & Spa still feels genuinely part of the community. The Dutch-born owner, Wilbert Das, first visited the town on vacation in 2004, when he was creative director of the streetwear brand Diesel. He started adding casitas one by one to his holiday home, resulting in the rustic-luxe eco-retreat you see today. The final lineup of 13 casas (some dating back hundreds of years) features reclaimed materials and locally made artwork, and they all sit just off the town’s grassy Quadrado, where kids flock to play soccer. Even while sipping caipirinhas by the bougainvillea-framed pool, one feels genuinely part of the surrounding community here—a magical contrast to typical luxury resorts. Doubles from Rs41,000; website —Juliet Kinsman

Buenos Aires is a lively tangle of fantastic restaurants and world-class museums—but I feel truly connected to the soul of the city when someone I barely know offers me a sip of their maté, or when I spy glasses of red wine dangling loosely from gesturing hands on the balconies of Art Nouveau buildings, precipitously close to being dropped to the sidewalk below. Jardín Escondido manages to capture that rare balance of cosmopolitan chic and small-town coziness—all in a seven-bedroom hotel in leafy Palermo Soho. Perhaps it’s because the property was originally not a hotel at all but the private home of director Francis Ford Coppola. He bought the place while in Argentina working on his 2009 film Tetro and never fully left: Even since he converted it into a member of The Family Coppola Hideaways portfolio, staffers say, he still returns when he needs a place to write (and a taste of Malbec). Four rooms (Sofia and Ellie, and the Francis and Roman suites) retain the name of their former Coppola-family occupants. Besides adding star appeal, this Hollywood history turns every guest into a member of the extended Coppola family.

The candy-apple-red home, ensnared in foliage, is a big-city hideout with wine-country flavor: Think terra-cotta tiles, thick wool blankets, and colorful patterned throw pillows, an effortless aesthetic that extends to every room. There’s no traditional lobby but a foyer and a living room with plush couches and Coppola’s film collection. In the courtyard, a small emerald-toned pool is hugged by a tangle of elephant’s ears and ferns. Nearby, a small staircase leads up to the garden terrace, draped in trellis heavy with vines and open for guests at all hours. There you can while away the hours sipping wines selected from the house bar by an on-call sommelier, or reading a book snagged from the main house.

The personalized attention that guests at Jardín Escondido receive is rare. Each morning, herbs were picked from the garden around me to top my eggs. When the team noticed my love of maté, they began presenting me with a thermos every morning to take out into the city, a calming ritual I soon yearned for after checking out. When guests buy out the hotel, they can request services like calling in a master barbecuer so they can host their own parilla on the backyard grill. There is no on-site restaurant, no spa, and no gym—but that’s what makes Jardín Escondido special. Here, luxury is soft-­spoken and demonstrated in the quality of service. Every stay feels like a visit to a fabulous friend’s home in one of the world’s most culture-rich cities. Doubles from Rs23,600; website —Megan Spurrell

An oasis of beachfront calm and elegance tucked just off Waikiki’s bustling main strip, Halekulani transports guests back to Hawaii’s golden era when honeymooners like Ernest Hemingway would come for sunset daiquiris at House Without A Key, the hotel’s restaurant and bar. For years, the grande dame was a little too stuck in the past, but the pandemic provided a moment to undertake an 18-month renovation that secured the property’s legacy as one of Hawaii’s most refined stays. All 453 rooms have been updated with expected modern conveniences, like Nespresso machines and complimentary high-speed Internet with higher bandwidth, plus high-tech touches like Toto toilets. Beloved traditions, like nightly mele (music) and hula beside the 135-year-old kiawe tree at the House Without A Key, continue. But the restaurant named for Charlie Chan’s first novel now has a new open-air bar from which to take in the show while you sip mai tais and nosh on ahi tataki. Attentive staff always at the ready with sunblock or another hula punch make it hard to pull yourself away from the sparkling pool (a photo favorite for its cattleya-orchid mosaic floor). But it’s worth leaving your lounger to take advantage of Halekulani’s For You, Everything program, which gives guests free access to some of Oahu’s top cultural venues, like the Shangri La Museum of Islamic Art, Culture, and Design. If you can’t bring yourself to leave the tranquility, at least take in the hotel’s renowned art collection, which has finally been formally curated for guests. Doubles from Rs53,650; website —Jen Murphy

Commodore Perry Estate

It’s hard to toss a lasso in Austin without roping an entrepreneur, so it’s fitting that Commodore E.H. Perry, the man behind this 1928 estate turned Auberge Resort, was one of the city’s originals. The Commodore (a nickname he earned after his boat capsized on Lake Austin) built a cotton trading company with partners in Europe where, no doubt, he developed his taste for the landmark’s Mediterranean architecture—stucco facades, checkered tiled floors, carved stone fireplaces—all of which were preserved during the gated property’s multimillion build and restoration. Suites are individually designed with sumptuous wallpapers and antiques, and all of the 54 rooms have soaring ceilings, original art, and customized cocktail bars. Outside, rows of sycamores frame 10-plus acres of gardens as well as a pool surrounded by striped yellow umbrellas.

The estate also has a social events calendar worthy of its Roaring Twenties roots. Curated experiences, open to guests and Commodore members, range from punchbowl parties in the elegant barroom and naturalist-led hikes to panels on art and custom fittings with a local haberdasher. A day well spent will end at Lutie’s, a jewel box of a restaurant named for Perry’s wife, who goes down in history as a born hostess with a keen wit. Here, under a canopy of ferns and ivy, smartly dressed patrons dine on dishes like red snapper over Delta Blues rice and smoked trout row, or sunchoke falafel paired with roasted garlic. An antique mirrored bar faces doors that open to a patio dotted with tables under black-and-white awnings. It’s easy to envision Perry and Lutie here, toasting with French crystal, planting the seeds of their estate and city. Since then, Austin has wrestled with its growth spurt to two million and its ever evolving skyline, but this lookout, with a glowing sunset filtering through centuries-old post oaks, remains the same. Doubles from Rs54,000; website —Stirling Kelso Neff

If you move in certain circles on the East Coast, the Ocean House will reliably drift into conversation throughout the year. Loyalists—and there are legions of them—will anxiously share notes on how to score that Atlantic-facing suite again this summer; first-timers will spend weeks recounting stories of cocktails on the resort’s enormous croquet lawn, lined by rocking chairs and with the tease of the ink-blue ocean visible down the hill; a new acquaintance may fondly reference summers spent there with grandparents. As such, this enormous yellow mansion towering like a watchman above a sand-swept Rhode Island shoreline occupied space in my mind long before I visited. When I finally did approach the check-in desk this past spring, it all felt unreasonably familiar: the 69 room keys attached to plump wooden chains, like prizes to be claimed on the shelf behind the reception desk; the antique clock ticking away the tranquil seconds before the high-season rush. It wasn’t from all the chatter that I’d absorbed over the years, but rather from a quality I’ve found increasingly elusive in a world moving inexorably toward the contactless, the modern, the new.

Since opening its big wooden doors on the remote Watch Hill in 1868, Ocean House has remained resolutely committed to a version of hospitality that simply makes people feel good. For all the resort’s plush surroundings, it is the thoughtful, personal, easy service that keeps this grande dame top of mind year-round. For me, this meant having a toy cart pull up right next to my toddler as we checked in and watching him delightedly rummage through the stash before claiming a shiny new ball. It meant being sent slices of cake in the mid-afternoon by the intuitive staff who’d been watching us chase him as he in turn chased that ball around the great lawn. When we weren’t shell-collecting on the stripe of beach below, we moved between the pool and our room, with its porthole windows, stacks of books nodding to the area’s nautical and whaling pasts, and a terrace that let us see out as far as New York State. When our son’s nap forced us to miss our lunch reservation, a trolley loaded with clam chowder, mounds of fries, club sandwiches, and warm cookies was parked outside our door. And when we mustered the will to dress up one night for dinner, a table opened inside the resort’s members club, the maître d’s wink letting us know that we’d somehow made it past an invisible red rope to a place not everyone sees. Staying at Ocean House feels special and effortless, which is a slam-dunk formula for a vacation you want to repeat year after year. Assuming you can get the room. Doubles from Rs36,450; website —E.F.

I’m not a fan of the term staycation, but I certainly enjoy the concept. And a delight of living in New York is that hotels here easily double as portholes of escape from my day-to-day existence in Brooklyn. Checking into The Mark, elegantly occupying a block between Fifth and Madison avenues close to Central Park, is like unlocking the door to my secret pied-à-terre on the Upper East Side. Here, tidy bundles of clipped white roses spruce up my dressing table, and the bathtub is a reliable 10 centimeters deeper than any I’d likely have at home. Those familiar with the work of French interiors master Jacques Grange will recognize his trademark restraint here. What The Mark lacks in ostentation it makes up for in subtle, glowing sophistication, from the tiled floor in the very discreet lobby to the sparse hallways that dimly light the way to each pale-blue door, with just the right splashes of commissioned art displayed throughout. Then there are those classic New York touch points, but fancied up a notch: the hot-dog stand with a menu designed by Jean-Georges Vongerichten, and picnic baskets for Central Park delivered via pedicab and set up under oak trees with loungers and blankets. The Mark’s calling card is how successfully it transports guests into an elegant version of that very distinct style of life in New York, one that people travel from all over the world to get a taste of. And, for a lucky few, it’s just a subway ride away. Doubles from Rs1,05,600; website —E.F.

Unless you’re perched above the South Pacific in an overwater bungalow, it’s hard to get more oceanfront than the Malibu Beach Inn. Situated a short sandy jaunt between the famed Nobu restaurant and iconic Malibu Pier, the inn has 47 guest rooms overlooking “Billionaire’s Beach,” with postcard views from sunrise to sunset. But what’s even more mesmerizing is the natural soundtrack of constantly crashing waves that lulls you into a hypnotic trance as you’re taking in the views from your balcony or drifting off for the night. While staying in your room is particularly enticing—especially with meticulous personal touches like monogrammed pillows or a printout of a map for that hike that you casually mentioned during check-in—one peek below will beckon you down to Carbon Beach Club. The restaurant’s chic coastal style is parlayed through rift oak furniture and Italian linens by Bellino Fine Linens, all part of a redesign by Waldo Fernandez, who has decorated for A-listers including Angelina Jolie and Elizabeth Taylor. Yet the real seduction lies at the deck’s edge, where you may find yourself suspended over the rocky coast, waves booming, whales in sight, grilled branzino on the table, and a local glass of Cabernet in hand as the sun drops. It’s sensory overload at its best and you’ll be singing “California Dreaming” by dessert. Doubles from Rs59,390; website —Jennifer Blaise Kramer

The Sanctuary at Kiawah Island Golf Resort

I’m not sure my children have ever asked to go back to a hotel as often as they’ve asked to return to the Sanctuary at Kiawah Island Golf Resort, the stately beachfront property on Kiawah Island, just south of Charleston, South Carolina. They loved it for many reasons, including an on-site ice cream shop, a very kid-friendly pool, and most of all an extremely fun day camp, part of a nearby complex that has a water park where they played for hours after the day’s session was over. The camp gives parents time for grown-up activities, including visiting the spa, playing tennis, and utilizing the multiple golf courses, including the beachside Ocean Course, a repeat site for the PGA Championships. Kiawah is a place that effortlessly facilitates a family choreography of separating and reuniting: for group rides on the beach cruisers available to reserve near the front entrance; for delicious meals at one of its dozen restaurants, like the Atlantic Room, which overlooks The Ocean Course, where local chef John Ondo lovingly prepares creative takes on lowcountry classics like she-crab soup and shrimp and grits; and for playing on the grand lawn as dusk settles over the Atlantic. Doubles from Rs20,480; website —Jesse Ashlock

“The Ocean House (above) is this enormous yellow mansion towering like a watchman above a sand-swept Rhode Island shoreline. For all the resort’s extremely plush surroundings, it is the thoughtful, personal, and easy hospitality that keeps this grande dame top of mind year round.” —Erin Florio

Las Vegas has always excelled at transporting its guests to borrowed locales–Venice, Paris, Egypt. But until NoMad Las Vegas entered the scene in late 2018, no one on the Strip had succeeded in delivering guests to a classic boutique hotel. MGM Resorts partnered with the Sydell Group to remaster the aging Monte Carlo to create Park MGM as well as NoMad Las Vegas, a 293-room boutique hotel that occupies the top four floors of the Park MGM. The most genius decision of the team was importing French architect and designer Jacques Garcia, known for his Belle Époque opulence. A NoMad guest-only elevator transports you to rooms whose freestanding tubs (some right in the bedroom), velvet draperies, and dressing tables accessorized with crystal glassware feel a bit like they should have a view over the Champs-Élysées—not T-Mobile Stadium. Perhaps most transporting is the Garcia-designed NoMad Library restaurant, inspired by the Royal Cabinet of Reading in Rio, whose 23-foot-high ceilings are lined with 25,000 books acquired from the collection of the late philanthropist David Rockefeller. And although the room is lavish, it winks at its Vegas locale. For instance, unless you read the inconspicuous little plates below them, you’d never know that the gracious classical busts atop wall-mounted plinths are tributes to notable 19th-century women gamblers like “Poker Alice” Ivers and Lottie Deno. And because a fascinating hotel concept attracts fascinating people, you’ll see them at NoMad Bar over dishes like truffle-and-foie-stuffed chicken (served in sandwich form at brunch) where you’ll wonder if you really are in Las Vegas, which, after all, is the truest sign that you really are in Vegas. Doubles from Rs22,000; website —Andrea Bennett

1 Hotel South Beach

In between the neon-trimmed Art Deco mainstays of South Beach rises this soothing, nature-inspired hotel that delivers a holistic retox-detox Miami fantasy–with a welcomed, eco-conscious slant. The social media-hungry favor the property for its endless picture-perfect expanses, from Miami Beach’s largest rooftop swimming pool to 600 feet of full-service linear beachfront and an eye-catching lobby, anchored by a triple-story, moss-strewn living wall. Meanwhile, the fit and the fabulous can’t get enough of the advanced wellness programming (glute camp and metabolic meltdown are two favorites), an on-site Soul Cycle studio, and the cutting-edge Anatomy Gym. The 1 Beach Club, which frames the property’s southern perimeter, houses Miami’s top feet-in-the-sand resto-bar; it’s a Tulum-inspired reverie of driftwood furniture and woven textiles planted in the sands among sea grapes, towering palms, and potted succulents. The 1’s guest rooms and suites are both vacation and staycation gold; they’re unexpectedly large, starting at 550 square feet, many with ocean-view balconies, and all featuring floor-to-ceiling glass doors or windows plus open floor plans. Finally, the 1 Hotel South Beach stands alone as a sexy, eco-warrior on a beach where environmental efforts skew surprisingly lax. The 100 percent carbon neutral resort features the likes of recycled pine headboards, clothes hangers made from recycled paper, and in-room water filters, proving that sustainability and luxury can beautifully coexist. Doubles from Rs64,500; website —Paul Rubio

A Pacific Coast twist on the traditional African wildlife safari, Clayoquot Wilderness Lodge was ahead of its time when it debuted in the heart of Vancouver Island’s UNESCO-designated Clayoquot Sound Biosphere Reserve in 1995. Reachable only by boat, helicopter, or floatplane, its 25 canvas tents weren’t built for Instagram likes. They were modeled after prospector camps to pay homage to the sound’s history as a gold-mining settlement. Activities were designed to help guests reconnect to nature and themselves, before most people even knew how much they needed a digital detox. And right from the start, the hotel embraced a regenerative approach to tourism, aiming not just to preserve but to improve the surrounding wilderness and livelihood of the local First Nations people.

A three-year, $1.6 million revamp overseen by Australia-based hoteliers James and Hayley Baillie of Baillie Lodges has ensured that Clayoquot remains a pioneer of nature-based tourism and sustainable and responsible hospitality. Those iconic tents have been updated with bentwood boxes commissioned from First Nations artist Moy Sutherland. Three-course meals served at the Cookhouse showcase locally foraged chanterelles and salmonberries and halibut and prawns harvested that day. Local ingredients like kelp and glacial clay also star in spa treatments. The surrounding old-growth rain forest and glacier-fed waterways provide a limitless playground, especially with the resort’s new all-inclusive pricing model, which bundles signature experiences such as hiking, horseback riding, and kayaking into one rate. And you often don’t even need to be out on an adventure to spot the sound’s resident otters, black bears, and eagles. They frequently pop up in the distance while guests soak in cedar hot tubs or flow through yoga poses on the waterfront deck. From Rs2,37,500 per tent, per night for two guests all-inclusive; website —J.M.

In a hidden corner of St. Barts, down a steep and winding mountainous road, you come to a Gauguin-like canopy of lush green vegetation, beyond which the half-moon sandy perfection of Flamands beach reveals itself and the Cheval Blanc Isle de France reigns supreme. Low-built and quietly sprawling, the property was elegantly renovated following Hurricane Irma by Parisian design supremo Jacques Grange, whose interiors speak to a chic European aesthetic of quiet indulgences: linens and ikat prints; palettes of pale greens, blues, and pinks; and raffia, bamboo, and stone accents. The atmosphere is almost Parisian (Bulgari hosts a fashion show here, and there’s a Guerlain spa on the premises) but with a devil-may-care attitude. Young French culinary star Jean Imbert’s Creole-inspired menu at La Case (and laid-back beach restaurant La Cabane) is light but gastronomic, and the cocktails are sublime. I spend my lunches with feet in the sand at La Cabane, watching a parade of Birkin bag–carrying Upper East Side ladies power-walking along the beach, moguls on their phones doing business, and boho French girls running into the waves in tiny Eres bikinis. It reminds me of St.-Tropez’s Plage Pampelonne, but a lot less frenetic, and with an ambience that’s both relaxed and indulgent. My assigned butler WhatsApps me when my room is done or a spa appointment is due. But it’s my private yoga sessions in the garden’s pagoda with the late Alber Elbaz’s personal instructor, Nicolas Legrez, that I won’t forget in a hurry. Doubles from Rs63,500; website —Vassi Chamberlain

Colorful is the best adjective for Jumby Bay. Emerald-green lizards dart up white-washed walls, tortoises come with red legs, iridescent hummingbirds hover over pink Mexican creepers, and yellow-chested bananaquits search for crumbs on breakfast tables. There are blindingly white sands to cross and turquoise waters to slip into for a world of plump orange starfish, yellow-tailed snappers, rays, and blue tang. All are still vivid in my memory. Beneath all this shifting color is the lush 300-acre private island that remains one of the most exclusive in the Caribbean. Its “no cars, no keys” policy brings a feeling of intimacy to the sensational villas, three restaurants, a spa (think Tata Harper), and the 28 suites (soon to be 40) that make up the hotel, all of which offer luxury as dazzling as the island’s colors. The generously sized suites come with a little entrance courtyard where a wicker chair swings, suspended, in the warm breeze. Terraces overlook the sea or are inset with a pool. Some bathrooms spill outside with vast tubs waiting under palm fronds. Step outside your room to enjoy Taittinger on tap (part of the inclusive rates, which also offer limitless water sports) or sip Antigua black daiquiris made with local black pineapple. Food served at the Estate House, once part of the original sugar plantation, brims with a sense of place. But the best experience has to be a rum tasting with the barman, Jimmy, which leads to serious Caribbean contentment. Doubles from Rs1,88,000; website —Maru Lussiana