On an empty beach at the bottom of the world, the waves that roll over the sand are midnight blue and lit by the stars and a waxing moon. I’m only vaguely familiar with the constellations that hang above Great Barrier Island, known for centuries to the Māori as Aotea, some 56 nautical miles northeast of Auckland, New Zealand. I’m not all that used to seeing them so clearly, nor am I accustomed to the sense of unease that comes with being in a Dark Sky Sanctuary, as this place is, despite such proximity to a metropolis. Aotea profoundly lacks light pollution.

My companion for the evening is Deb Kilgallon, a guide and cofounder of the Aotea stargazing tour outfit Good Heavens. We sit in plush chairs around her ­telescope, into which we intermittently peer. Steaming mugs of cocoa are nestled in the sand. It’s well past my bedtime, but no matter—Deb reanimates me with her knowledge of, and unbridled affection for, the stars. Aside from being upside down, the constellations are different here, in regard to what they mean and to whom.

For the Māori the stars have several purposes, namely, as storybook and GPS. Over 800 years ago, having navigated their way across the Pacific with the sun and stars as their map, the first Māori arrived on Aotea, one of the few places you can see the sky as they once did. I touched down earlier that day via teensy plane (those who fear flying can take a ferry from Auckland, a four-and-a-half-hour sojourn) and joined local iwi (Māori tribe) leader Rodney Ngawaka on a stark concrete dock overlooking the turquoise waters of Port Fitzroy to get a glimpse of the seafaring element. There’s nobody and nothing much around except Captain William Park, of the boat charter company Hooked on Barrier, who takes us out to a cove where red snapper dart beneath the glassy surface before surprising us with a sashimi made from the very same fish. “[The ocean] is our people’s version of the highway,” Ngawaka says. “You have to know the water like you know the roads.” Enter the stars.

“You” in this instance means his ancestors, who named the island Aotea, or White Cloud, when they arrived because, from their position on the sea, that’s how the island appeared. New Zealand’s Māori name is Aotearoa, or Land of the Long White Cloud, which gives gravitas to this sliver of the county. Ngawaka is a trustee of Kawa Marae, a Māori complex located about a half hour north of Port Fitzroy by car. They’re not at sea so much these days, but they maintain knowledge of its map: the stars above. It’s something we as humans, regardless of heritage, can all do to get our bearings.

On the beach Deb tells me that she cracked the astronomy books after the birth of her son, figuring she might as well learn about the stars she was being kept up beneath all night. It takes a minute to find Scorpius when she asks me to, and not only because its familiar shape has made an 180-degree rotation. There’s a lot of sky to parse here, for one thing—I feel like a silly fish in a moonlit bowl—and there’s the sound of the waves lulling my eyes closed and the salt air cleaning out my lungs. But I do find it, pointing happily like a kid, and Deb tells me that Māori star lore supplies a different explanation for the insect shape. Trickster god Māui sunk his fishhook into the giant ray Te Ika-a-Māui and pulled it from the water to create New Zealand’s North Island. In celebration of his catch, he flung the hook into the sky, where it remains today.

As the demand for luxury cruising continues to soar around the globe, travelers can expect a wave of new superyachts dropping anchor over the next two years.

Enter the latest ship we’re obsessed with: Amangati, Aman’s first ocean-going motor yacht. While the 600-foot, nine-deck yacht is still under construction, the vessel’s first itineraries were announced on January 21. The debut season will commence spring 2027 with five- to eight-night Mediterranean journeys.

Restaurants across the ship include a Mediterranean hideout and a grill

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Amangati’s first voyage kicks off on May 7, 2027 with a six-night sailing to seven ports. Beginning at Palma de Mallorca and finishing at Nice, ports of call include Barcelona, Palamós, and Marseille.

Plenty of itineraries have been curated with Italophiles in mind, with the seven-night Livorno to Naples journey taking travelers to dazzling destinations like Napoleon’s exile isle of Elba and the paradisiacal beaches along north Sardinia’s Costa Smeralda via the French island of Corsica.

Plenty of outside space will offer incredible sea views

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Come August, Amangati will navigate the Croatian and Albanian coasts en route to Greek islands such as Corfu, Milos, Paros, and Santorini.

On board, prospective guests can expect Aman’s signature tranquillity across remarkably spacious rooms and social areas. Interiors draw inspiration from Japanese ryokans, where natural light pours through full-height windows, and private terraces offer breathtaking views as the motor yacht pulls into each port.

To keep tourism in check on the Outer Islands, Seychelles currently employs a “one island, one resort” policy (though the country is considering two hotels on the island of Coëtivy). Environmental and wildlife conservation has become integral to Seychellois culture. In 1994 the Seychelles government banned turtle hunting; just over 30 years later, Aldabra is now home to one of the largest green turtle breeding populations in the western Indian Ocean. “Eating turtle curry was once part of our culture,” says Gilly Mein, a taxi driver who takes me to the airport in Mahé. “Nowadays it would be sacrilege.”

In 2018 Seychelles became the world’s first country to launch a Blue Bond, raising $15 million from global investors to write off part of its national debt in exchange for a commitment to protect 30 percent of its waters—162,000 square miles of it. The Outer Islands fall within this protection zone and now bloom with rare-species comeback stories. The Aldabra Group, which includes Astove, hosts some of the planet’s largest seabird colonies. The Aldabra atoll itself is now a UNESCO site and home to more than 150,000 giant tortoises.

“The Seychelles are the Indian Ocean’s Galápagos,” says my guide Elle Brighton, the ecology and sustainability manager of Blue Safari, a low-impact ocean-adventure company. It was founded in 2012 by the South African–born Seychellois citizen Murray Collins, who owns camps on mainland Africa, and the fly fisherman and Yeti brand ambassador Keith Rose-Innes. In 2012, Blue Safari took over Alphonse Island Lodge, the lone accommodation on the tiny ray-shaped island of less than a square mile, and turned it into a 29-key eco-resort.

Flying 250 miles southwest from Mahé on a 16-seater Beechcraft jet, I see on our descent swathes of emerald green cascading through otherwise sapphire waters. They’re colonies of seagrass, an oceanic plant and a carbon sink 35 times more effective than a rainforest. Alphonse Island Lodge is the base from which I dive, snorkel, and immerse myself in the marine wilderness of the Indian Ocean.

But the resort also demonstrates what low-impact stays can look like in Seychelles. Mostly solar-powered, it runs desalination and sewage treatment plants as well as rainwater harvesting and recycling programs. On the lodge’s roughly 430,000-square-foot farm, I spot, within the beds of tomatoes, butternut squash, and brassica, a heron opening its wings like a cemetery angel. Lady finger bananas grow in pretty, mechanical spirals near hives of Seychellois bees and piles of compost that smell of parsnips and provide over half a ton of fertilizer every week. The farm produces four tons of crops a month, supplying up to 90 percent of plant-based food in all of Blue Safari’s accommodations across the Outer Islands: a guesthouse on Astove, an eco-camp on Cosmoledo atoll, and this lodge on Alphonse.

Blue Safari sources fish only from the open ocean, never the reef. In fact, the company supports the operations of the Alphonse Foundation, an NGO that facilitates Blue Safari’s conservation strategy and funds the presence of Seychelles’s Island Conservation Society on Alphonse. It surveys the atoll’s reef as well as the migratory-bird and fish populations. Last year the foundation tagged about 20 manta rays and 32 sharks—lemon, gray, reef, silvertip, and bull species among them, none a significant threat to humans. My diving instructor Andrew Irwin tells me to keep an eye out for them: “In Indonesia you’re not guaranteed to see a big shark. Here you might see one at any moment.”

Honoka‘a is the gateway to the Waipi‘o Valley, the home of many historical Hawaiian kings, including the boyhood dwelling place of Kamehameha I. The valley, surrounded by 2,000-foot cliffs, is a cathedral of waterfalls that feed the Wailoa River. In the 1700s an estimated 5,000 Hawaiians called the valley home. Today about 50 inhabitants live off the grid and off the land, farming taro patches and tending fish ponds. The valley floor, home to ancient heiau (burial sites), a black-sand beach, and wild ponies, can be reached only by a perilously steep, nearly mile-long paved road closed to nonresidents.

A sign at the lookout urges visitors to “please enjoy the valley’s beauty from here.” Rocky, the resource ranger stationed at the road’s entrance, tells me he turns away countless curious visitors throughout the day. While companies do offer legal tours to the valley floor, I think about how I’d feel having a van full of tourists ogling my yard and decide I’m content with my view from above. I head north and stop for lunch in the paniolo (cowboy) town of Waimea, which still hosts an annual July Fourth rodeo. Waimea Butcher Shop recently opened a café, and the brisket, smoked for 16 hours, is well worth the detour.

In many places around the world, including the household I grew up in, it’s customary for guests to bring a gift. Yet throughout my week I was the one being showered with presents. Rocky shared two cannonball-size avocados with me. After my meal at Na‘au, chef Hirata bade me farewell with his homemade poke spice. Kea at O.K. Farms sent me away with a box of fruit, and Breeani at SCP Hilo gave me a hat from her family’s general store in Keaukaha. Back home in Maui my hat sparks the occasional smile and knowing nod from strangers. I feel like we have a bond, a shared connection to a special place that still feels undiscovered.

How To Do It

Get There

There are no direct flights from the mainland to Hilo. You can connect to Hilo International Airport (ITO) through one of the other islands or fly into Ellison Onizuka Kona International Airport (KOA), rent a car, and drive to Hilo. Saddle Road, the most direct route, cuts through the island between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. The 52-mile roller coaster of a highway showcases the island’s diverse landscape.

Stay

SCP Hilo Hotel: This community-minded property provides complimentary bikes and paddleboards. The staff plants a tree for every guest that stays there, and the provisions market showcases products from 100 local artisans. From $160

Meaning to build a hotel in an entirely different location, Febles and Loshusan stumbled on The Potlatch Club and fell under its spell. Their reclamation project—among the thousands of its plantings are hundreds of mature palms that Febles had ingeniously relocated to look as if they’ve always been here—took them 12 years. The result feels immaculate and serene, simultaneously timeless and fresh. With only 11 whitewashed suites, cabins, and villas spread out over a dozen verdant acres, its sense of calm and pampered privacy is complete.

There are other places on the island that, like The Potlatch Club, feel a little less tame than tidy, snug Harbour Island. Places like The Other Side and The Farm, two bucolic hotels owned by Ben Simmons and his wife, Charlie Phelan. The couple grow food for the restaurants at The Farm and also run the wonderful Ocean View, across the bay on Harbour Island, which retains the air of bohemian chic of Ben’s mother, Pip, who was the original spirit behind the hotel.

If at Coral Sands we’d practiced the art of doing nothing, at Potlatch we perfected it. From Pineapple House, the property’s largest villa, a stone path led past our private pool to the sea. A pergola stood at the dunes, like a private doorway to the beautiful wide, empty beach. We spent much time under thatched beach umbrellas, contemplating the endless movement of the ocean that shaped this island from compounded shells, coral, and stone. Post-contemplation, we walked up the beach to Tippy’s, a painted blue shack with a fantastic bar and carved fish on the walls. We ate garlic shrimp and fried fish sandwiches, drank cold Kalik beers and fruit punch.

At Potlatch we wandered over to The Sandbar, an open-air pavilion with a high spire on the roof, slow-moving fans, and irresistible cocktails. In the clubhouse there was a grand piano, a fireplace, and the original black-and-white tile floor that survived during the property’s dormancy. On the walls are mementos and photos of the great and good who have holed up here over the decades. Our Beatles-mad family was immediately drawn to a framed facsimile of Paul McCartney’s handwritten lyrics to “Oh! Darling” in blue ink on Potlatch Club stationery. Paul and Linda sneaked away here for their honeymoon in March of 1969. Paul apparently found inspiration in the resort’s luxurious quiet, also writing “She Came In Through the Bathroom Window.”

Beyond the festival glamour, locals swear by Blue Drop, the island’s neighborhood bar perfect for post-beach spritzes, while the historic Palazzo del Cinema continues its role as Italy’s Hollywood. It’s a treat to walk along the island’s long sandy beaches or bike around the island and observe the Belle Époque architecture. Bookmark Osteria Al Merca for exceptional fish dishes, and splurge at Adriatico Terrace for a fine dining experience (the beef tartare and tagliolini all’astice are musts).

Hotel Melià Venezia Lido opened for the summer 2025 season, super close to the water taxi station 60 rooms. With breathtaking vistas of the golden Adriatic sea and an intimate restaurant-bar concept in Gran Viale serving osteria classics done right, this up-and-coming entry into Venice’s hotel scene keeps up with the best of them.

Sant’Erasmo

Via line 13

Sant’Erasmo is known as the “Garden of Venice,” seeing as the island is home to Osti in Orto, dreamed up by Cesare Benelli, owner of Al Covo in Venice. The historic restaurant represents an agricultural project by 13 Venetian restaurateurs growing seasonal produce by following natural rhythms. This working farm island supplies many of the city’s top restaurants with herbs, vegetables, and the famous purple artichokes that are celebrated throughout the lagoon.

The flat landscape is the perfect landscape for those looking to get a little adventure in. Rent bikes from Camping Ca’ Savio and bike through the vineyards (stop by Orto di Venezia for white wine produced in the Venice Lagoon—they age some bottles underwater in traditional Venetian boats at secret lagoon locations) and vegetable plots to get a layout of the land. The island also features the 19th-century Torre Massimiliana fortress and the beloved Bacan Beach, popular with Venetians.

San Clemente

Via hotel shuttle

The entire private island houses San Clemente Palace (a Condé Nast Traveler Readers’ Choice Awards property for 2025), a luxury resort centered on a beautifully restored 12th-century Romanesque church (built in 1131) surrounded by six hectares of centuries-old gardens. Acquerello restaurant is all about modern Venetian cuisine, while the iconic Clemente Bar, adorned with Venetian mirrors, serves cocktails indoors and out. The resort’s outdoor pool, tennis courts, pitch-and-putt course, and Longevity Spa complete the offering. A complimentary shuttle boat runs regularly to St. Mark’s Square where guests can wander the Rialto in the morning before it’s crowded, then return to tranquility by the afternoon.

Isola delle Rose

Via hotel shuttle

After hours of driving along winding, forest-lined roads, I emerge from the trees and am met by a sweeping tapestry of the landscape ahead—the soaring Cullin mountains, the shimmering sea, and the distant Scottish mainland, stretching on for miles. As I make my way towards the southwest corner of the Isle of Skye, past grassy hillsides dotted with grazing sheep and cows, I spot a vibrant red roof in the distance. It’s a tell-tale sign I’m approaching Café Cùil.

Born in an East London kitchen six years ago, the remote Scottish restaurant by award-winning chef Clare Coghill uses its location to champion the best of Hebridean produce and Gaelic culture. Skye is the largest (and most famous) of the Inner Hebrides archipelago, long drawing visitors from around the world for its dramatic landscapes, with a population of 10,000 that swells to over 650,000 at peak season each year. But more recently, its food scene has been driving the tourism industry, too, with Café Cùil arguably helping lead the way as travelers become increasingly interested in understanding the past and present of Skye through its food culture.

For generations, the island’s diet was shaped by necessity and availability—seafood, root vegetables, meat from animals that roamed the hills—whatever could sustain families through the long, harsh winters. In recent decades, however, improved access to the island and a growing interest in food provenance and sustainable sourcing have sparked culinary experimentation with many of those same local ingredients. Women like Coghill are using their restaurants to uplift local culture, challenge industry norms, and cast Skye in an exciting new light, from helping to preserve the native language of Scottish Gaelic to combating historically toxic kitchen culture.

When I arrive at Café Cùil, Coghill greets me with a hug before walking me through her space: a light and airy interior with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering diners a glimpse into the wild landscape of Carbost, Skye. Her menus are heavily influenced by the island’s seasonality, and dishes revolve around what’s found nearby. Throughout the spring and summer, foraged plants like nettle, meadowsweet, and gorse are incorporated, in addition to the abundant Hebridean produce scattered across the island. As the seasons transition, cozy autumnal dishes are served, featuring items like black pudding sourced from Harlosh, a western Skye settlement, and beef brisket from nearby Lochalsh on the mainland.

With each delicious bite, I understand her sentiment that much more. I’m still dreaming of the Highland-spiced lamb, paired with flatbread, labneh, heritage tomatoes, and fresh mint; and the Isle of Skye crab, placed atop scrambled eggs, with Cùil homemade kimchi, and crispy chili oil. Not to mention her curried cauliflower with beetroot hummus, summer greens, and nettle salsa, all washed down with a cup of the signature Cùil-Aid: a refreshing spritz of highland strawberries and foraged meadowsweet flowers.