Antarctica represented a genuine unknown for all of them. Rebecca had never envisioned it for herself, and bringing a child to one of the most remote places on Earth introduced a new layer of uncertainty. Would Violet be bored? Restless? “One of my major concerns was that it would be wasted on Violet and that I would spend a lot of time trying to entertain her when she was confined to a ship,” Rebecca says.

Those concerns turned out to be unfounded.

Plan for a multi-day journey before you even board

Getting to Antarctica is an expedition in itself. The Rowleys flew out of Salt Lake City two days ahead of schedule, concerned about potential TSA delays tied to a threatened government shutdown. They spent an unexpected day in Atlanta, then boarded an overnight flight to Santiago, Chile, a country they had never visited and didn’t want to skip.

The Rowley family went on an expedition sailing with Lindblad-National Geographic.

Rebecca Rowley

They built in three extra days in Santiago before joining their Lindblad-National Geographic expedition group. That buffer allowed them to explore the Chilean capital, make a day trip to the coastal cities of Valparaiso and Vina del Mar, and visit a resort in Portillo. It also helped ease the transition across time zones. The trade-off was packing complexity: they needed clothing for eighty-degree Santiago heat and Antarctic temperatures simultaneously.

From Santiago, the group took a chartered flight to Ushuaia, Argentina, followed by a guided bus tour through Tierra del Fuego National Park and a catamaran cruise through the Beagle Channel. By the time the family boarded their ship, the Lindblad-National Geographic Resolution, they had already been traveling for nearly a week.

What Antarctica actually feels like the first time you step ashore

Nothing quite prepared Rebecca for the moment they first went ashore. “Utah has a lot of snow and so I didn’t expect walking on snowy paths to be exciting or even feel like something new,” she says. But Antarctica isn’t Utah. It isn’t anywhere. The icebergs, the porpoising penguins, the whale spouts visible from the deck—the sensory experience accumulated quickly into something overwhelming.

On the first shore expedition, the family hiked to a peak overlooking the ship and walked to a small penguin colony. Partway up the trail, three penguins waddled past, entirely unbothered by the humans who stepped aside for them, and then belly-slid into the freezing water. From the summit, Rebecca looked out at the Resolution surrounded by icy peaks and watched small Zodiac boats ferrying expedition groups to shore. “I’ve been to over 60 countries, but I don’t think I have ever felt so much like a visitor in a place and so out of my element,” she says. “It was exhilarating to be so far from home and to realize how isolated and small we were compared to Antarctic landscape around us.”

4. Turks & Caicos

For families whose primary requirement is water, this is the answer. Grace Bay Beach makes the case quietly, with water clear enough to see your kids’ feet on the sandy bottom even when they have wandered out a bit. A barrier reef offshore keeps things calm, so younger kids can swim easily while older ones snorkel close to shore, spotting parrotfish, eagle rays, and the occasional turtle without much effort. Boat trips to nearby cays take about an hour and land you on stretches of sand that feel completely untouched. Back on Providenciales, the island is compact, easy to navigate, and well connected, which means less planning and more time actually enjoying the trip. You can lean into that ease at South Bank, where villas and residences open to the outdoors, and a calm lagoon, wide beach, and dedicated Family Club keep everyone happily occupied.

Barbados makes a brilliant beach destination for families for its diversity of activities and scenery.

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5. Barbados

Barbados makes a strong case within the first swim. The west coast water stays calm and clear, so kids head straight in and tend to stay there, which quietly sets the tone for the trip. Along the Platinum Coast, sea turtles feed close to shore, and it becomes surprisingly easy to swim out and watch them, with snorkeling just off the sand that feels manageable even for kids still finding their confidence. Inland, the rhythm shifts slightly. Harrison’s Cave runs an underground tram through vast caverns where stalactites hang overhead, and a river moves quietly below, and even reluctant explorers tend to go still for a minute. At the Barbados Wildlife Reserve, green monkeys and giant tortoises wander freely, which lands well with kids. By Friday, everyone ends up at Oistins Fish Fry for grilled mahi-mahi, macaroni pie, and music that carries into the evening. As far as where to stay, Fairmont Royal Pavilion sits right on the sand. So, beach time slips easily into the day, with swimming, paddle boarding, and long stretches by the water never requiring much effort.

Four Seasons Resort Nevis sits on Pinney’s Beach, the calm waters of which are perfect for swimming.

Christian Horan/Four Seasons

We’d been reluctant to return for years—the last time we were there, in 2021, we were in town to clean out our old house after my husband’s death. I hadn’t considered going back until I noticed a new Hampton Bays hotel while working on the last Readers’ Choice Awards. It was nice to see the town named; compared to neighboring places like East Hampton and Amagansett, our little hamlet was decidedly un-glitzy. I’d always clock that it’d be left off maps of the Hamptons that graced the totes bags and sweatshirts of trendy brands. It made me wonder what it would be like to experience our former home as visitors.

Dante and I considered our curiosity. Picking up the thread with new memories could offset any discomfort. It would be healing. We hadn’t been to the beach in ages. Running along the shore had always been an act that grounded us and proved therapeutic, and we also wanted to see what was new in the area.

The author and her son, Dante

Alexandra Sanidad

I’d been curious about Shou Sugi Ban House since it opened in 2018. It has a quiet, decidedly not-kid-friendly atmosphere that seemed suitable for exploring our new time together as adults. Though I had passed this location no doubt one million times en route to the nearby Southampton Jitney stop, it’s so discrete that I’d never noticed it. The barn-inspired buildings have glass walls that look out onto graveled paths, with tall grasses surrounded by evergreen—a microcosm of what makes this area special. We slept in our own beautifully appointed cottages, an indulgence we wouldn’t have allowed ourselves in the past. The added privacy allowed us both to enjoy the deep tubs in our bathrooms—his was modern and egg-shaped while mine was made from Japanese hinoki wood—and nap at our leisure or read without interruption.

This set-up was ideal as we had ample solitude to reset, but also many chances to simply be present together. We experienced the water circuit, replete with infrared sauna and three outdoor pools that I couldn’t have done with him when he was younger—not that it would’ve even caught his interest then. We also enjoyed a sound bath and guided meditations as part of a class of four. Lying in the dark, listening to rain sticks and resonating gongs, I reflected on my former life as a young wife and mom of a little boy, and felt deep gratitude at being able to experience the East End again with my grown son.

In 2018, my mother and I were watching Tell Them We Are Rising: The Story of Black Colleges and Universities while I curled her hair. I knew she had attended Southern University, an HBCU in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. But as the memories bubbled up, she mentioned how she’d spent the summer after her freshman year in Switzerland.

I paused with the curling iron in my hand. How in the world had my mother, a young Black woman and the eldest of four, raised by two parents who had never finished high school in a segregated town in southwestern Louisiana, spent a summer in Europe in the 1960s?

In the 1960’s, the writers’ mother spent a formative summer in Switzerland.

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“We traveled around Switzerland for two months and the trip changed the course of my life,” my mom said, nostalgia in her voice. It was part of a program called The Experiment in International Living program, she explained, and through the support of an encouraging professor, donations organized via the university newspaper, and a car wash that she hosted with fellow students, my mother raised the $1,500 needed to participate and she was off to Switzerland at the age of 19.

She hadn’t been back since. Naturally, I looked at her in that moment and vowed to return together. We could retrace her steps; we could revisit the places that had silently loomed so large over the years that followed. Nearly seven years after that conversation, we made it happen.

It was September 2025. We had one week, and two Swiss Travel Passes, which would allow us to journey by train (and bus and boat) eastward, from Geneva to Zurich. We would revisit towns she had known—St. Gallen, Lucerne, Zurich—while adding in some she dreamed of, like Geneva and Interlaken. The goal wasn’t to recreate her trip exactly, but to pay tribute to key places, and to see which forgotten memories surfaced themselves along the way. What had once felt like simply a nice idea had also become something more urgent: My father had passed away since we first dreamed up the trip, after years spent suffering with dementia. I grieved not only his death but also the memories that he’d never shared. I was determined to preserve some of my mother’s stories while I could.

Just as the writer’s mother did in the 60’s, the two of them traveled Switzerland by rail.

Getty

When we tried our hands at wax-resist batik with heritage preservation organization Jelajah Pusaka, Indah noticed her grandfather growing frustrated with his design and said emphatically, “Babu, the goal is to explore what is in your mind,” lightening the mood. I could tell each activity was a struggle. But he would never surrender. In a busy market, where random hands reached out to pinch Indah’s cheeks, he cracked, “I feel like I’m in Taylor Swift’s entourage.” But at Prambanan, an enchanting 9th-century Hindu temple complex, Indah ran up thigh-high candi (temple) steps leaving me to quietly face dad’s mobility struggles. Ultra cautious, he stayed mostly on the dusty earth, commenting, “If I fell up there it would be a disaster.” He looked visibly peeved—I read it as anger at his body’s betrayal. This is a guy who’s tackled the Camino de Santiago three times.

A Hindu ceremony at Prambanan

Kathryn Emerson Romeyn

At Borabudor, we took it slow, with the guide weaving Buddhist tales of suffering—playing to the audience—and nirvana as we spiraled up heavily carved levels to eventually reach a stone forest of 72 Buddha-encased stupas. Up there, orange-robed monks took photos, Indah skipped around, and my father reached something like enlightenment, courtesy of our 63-year-old Muslim guide who sat peaceful and pretzel-like performing mudras as he explained eight precepts for becoming Buddha. Barefoot Babu listened attentively as Hariyanto described the need to be brave: “we can’t be nervous, we need to try new things.” My dad’s appetite for adventure and living on his own terms is stronger than ever, and I hate to see his body holding him back. Asking Hariyanto to please repeat it, Babu recorded the moving speech.

He’d earned it and the glorious Amanjiwo, our lodgings for two nights, provided a well-earned respite: a windy swim in the zero-edge pool, memorable meals, naps in our paras-pillared beds, and delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies, refilled frequently by the hyper-attentive staff who also arranged a Javanese blessing with their resident guru, Bapak Kunjung. Kneeling between my sarong-ed dad and daughter, I choked up at Babu’s wish: More healthy years to enjoy his daughters and grandchildren. Amid melodious chanting I recognized “panjang umur,” meaning “long life;” words that sounded like “moogey moogey” apparently meant “we hope.” I felt my eyes wet.

The family’s private pool at Garrya Bianti Yogyakarta

Kathryn Emerson Romeyn

Finding Meaning in Craft

Why hands-on experiences turned out to be the secret to teenage travels

From my own travel experiences, I know that when you engage with craft in a meaningful way, the experience becomes reciprocal. It supports the people who sustain these traditions while giving visitors a deeper understanding of the culture, history, and community. And for our family, it offered something our teenagers needed: participation rather than observation. Instead of simply moving from monument to monument, they could sit beside artisans, carve blocks, dye with indigo, and appreciate the patience and skill required to create something by hand.

The trick was finding the right partners to make these experiences possible. We mapped our journey across Rajasthan between two anchor points: Jaipur, where the wedding would be held, and Udaipur, the shimmering city on the waters of Lake Pichola.

When we arrived in Jaipur, we began our trip right where Rajasthan’s textile story begins, just beyond the city limits. A half an hour outside Jaipur lies the village of Bagru, where almost every home doubles as a workspace for one step of the block printing process—washing, dyeing, carving, printing. For nearly five centuries, this small village along the Sanjaria River has been an epicenter of block printing in Rajasthan. We spent a morning meeting artisans on a guided village tour with Avinash Maurya, founder of Wabisabi Project. We then settled into their breezy studio to try our hands at mud-resist block printing and indigo dyeing. My kids stamped, dyed, experimented, and ended the day with scarves of their own design.

This early outing actually turned out to be the favorite day of the trip for all of us. Watching my sports-leaning sons fully surrender to creative play reminded me how much curiosity still lives on even as they get older, if we make room for it. There was also the added connection of spending an entire day interacting with the Bagru community—flying kites with kids off their roof, sharing cups of steaming chai, slowing down and allowing ourselves to move at the pace of the rural village.

In Jodhpur, a 5-hour car ride away from Jaipur, painter Vijay Raj and his son guided us through the intricate world of Rajasthani miniature painting at Umaid Heritage Art School, a welcoming storefront in the old city. Miniature painting, a centuries old court tradition known for its jewel-toned pigments, delicate, nearly minuscule brushwork, and scenes from royal life and Hindu mythology, requires extraordinary precision. Our teachers were endlessly patient—even when our son Vijay veered into manga sketches instead of tradition—and what began as a short lesson stretched into hours.

Family vacation. The phrase either inspires excitement or incites fear among adults who are lucky enough to still have their parents and siblings around and still want to hang out with them. Sometimes it triggers both disparate feelings in equal measure. Getting to spend uninterrupted time with our loved ones is a privilege! But it can also be challenging, and I’ve heard plenty of horror stories from friends and colleagues about well-intentioned trips which have ended in rather frosty flights home.

I’m lucky: I’ve traveled extensively with both my sister Emily, who’s three years older than me, and my mom. Emily and I have spent a week in Paris following a break-up and in New York, trotting through Central Park, clutching bags from Magnolia Bakery and attempting to get the perfect photo holding a frosty Martini glass. My mom has been my chosen plus-one for some of my glitziest work trips: a sleepover at Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, a weekend in Cannes, and 24 hours on the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express. But until this year, we hadn’t traveled as a trio, without my dad in tow, since we were teenagers.

Sarah’s mom Diana and sister Emily in Burano

Sarah James

As my sister and I ease into our 30s and my mom into her 70s, there’s that feeling that traveling freely—hopping on planes for a long weekend on the continent—won’t always be this easy. There will, one day, be partners to consider and family demands to factor in. So we chose Venice, somewhere my mom had long wanted to return to, and locked in the dates on one of the rare occasions when we were all in the same room.

Perhaps you’re supposed to outgrow traveling with your mom, but I know neither my sister or myself have ever felt that way. Our relationships flex and shift and change, and roles that were once set in stone shift too. Something I’ve always found especially joyful about traveling with other women is that things just get done—dishwashers in Airbnbs get loaded and unloaded, restaurant reservations get made, flights are checked into without anyone ever having to ask. But I admit I was surprised to find the same is true when traveling with the women in my family, too.

Diana in a bar in Venice

Sarah James