We Took Hundreds of Trips This Year and These Are the Places We Would Go Back to in a Heartbeat

Afar contributors get about. It’s a bit of an occupational hazard. I’ve kept a lot of my trips fairly local to my Los Angeles–area home this year, exploring corners of Arizona, California, and Colorado, but have also been lucky enough to visit some fascinating parts of Peru and spent a weekend in Belgrade, Serbia. Other editors have explored cities and regions in almost every continent, and our writers have sent dispatches from all over the globe. We rounded up 25 suggestions of lesser-known places to visit for our Where to Go 2025 list. As the new year edges close and feverish planning for another year of travel begins, we reflect on some of our favorite places we visited in 2024.

Western Australia

Photo by Lachlan Ross/Tourism Western Australia

In October, I traveled to Western Australia for a conference. But really, I was there for the whales and sharks. I knew I’d miss some of them: humpback, southern right, and blue whales migrate south from May to December, and from January to March, Bremer Bay Canyon is the place to be for the Southern Hemisphere’s largest pod of killer whales.

I was traveling farther north, to the UNESCO-listed Ningaloo Reef (Nyinggulu in Aboriginal language), the world’s largest fringing reef. Between March and July, Ningaloo is home to whale sharks, which can grow to 52 feet long and weigh more than 66,000 pounds. It was outside of their peak season, but I was hopeful I’d be able to get in the water and see them.

After an incredible night at luxury eco-lodge Sal Salis, my morning with tour operators Ningaloo Discovery started early: I was traveling in a group, and we rode a Zodiac out to the catamaran that would serve as our base for the day. We were outfitted with wetsuits, masks, snorkels, and fins and given instructions were a whale shark to appear: Follow your guide into the water quickly, arrange yourselves in a single-file line, and look straight ahead when she tells you to—the whale shark will swim right by. Then, if you were a strong enough swimmer and wanted to try your luck, you could swim alongside it. (Despite whale sharks being the biggest shark species, the guides reassured us there’s no way we would be anything close to swallowed—the sharks’ throats are only the size of a fist.) A spotter plane went up into the sky to look for the sharks from above, and we sat aboard in the middle of the rocking ocean, alert.

Within 15 minutes, incredibly, it was go time. My group of 12 splashed into the water, arranged ourselves in a single-file line floating on the surface, and waited. When I heard my guide tell us to look down, I put my mask in the water. There was nothing in the deep blue, then all of a sudden, there was something: something bigger than I’d ever seen in the water, weaving languidly toward us. Gasps and exclamations evidenced that others had seen the shark, too.

Over the course of the day, I got in the water with a whale shark two more times: I swam around its tail fin, aligned myself with a pectoral fin, and I think I even made eye contact with it. (Every whale shark has a unique set of spots, so guides were able to ID that this was the same shark.) Each encounter, I felt incredibly small and insignificant, in all the best ways possible. —Katherine LaGrave, deputy editor

Minneapolis

I went to college in Minneapolis and have family in the Twin Cities, so am well familiar with its appeal: a vibrant arts and culture scene, lakes and bike trails galore, and yes, that Minnesota Nice. But it had been a few years since I’d been back, so this summer I added on a few days in the city with one purpose: to eat and drink.

There were the classics—fragrant cinnamon buns the size of my face from Isles Bun & Coffee in Uptown and oozing Jucy Lucies at Matt’s Bar in south Minneapolis, conveniently close to the airport. As ever, I made time to pick up some sambusas at Karmel Mall and some lefse (if you know, you know) at Ingebretsen’s in Longfellow, one of my favorite neighborhoods.

There was a whole lot of new, too: In the buzzy, sun-blasted dining room in Northeast Minneapolis at Hai Hai, where Christina Nguyen won Best Chef Midwest in June 2024, my college basketball teammate and I smacked our lips over pork ribs lacquered with a sweet and savory glaze and ate turmeric and dill fish so tender it fell apart with a poke. (Icy, rum-forward passionfruit slushies helped wash it all down.) At the Hmong American restaurant Diane’s Place, also in Northeast, my cousin and I split orders of Thai tea French toast and Hmong sausage with sticky rice—then added a coconut pandan croissant and a green scallion Danish on the side, which chef and owner Diane Moua herself delivered. On my final evening in the city, I took myself out to dinner at Owamni by the Sioux Chef, where I tucked into carrot tartare, corn tacos, and finished off the meal with a porridge that had been sweetened with blueberries and bison fat caramel. I ordered a glass of Lake Monster Brewing’s wild rice lager, and overlooking St. Anthony Falls, toasted to this old friend of a city, seen once again, anew. —KL

Lake Garda, Italy

Photo by Stefano Termanini/Shutterstock

As Lake Como has become a darling among A-listers, its lesser-known counterpart in the east, Lake Garda, has quietly built its own cachet among those who prefer an Italian lake getaway with less celebrity hype and more outdoor adventure.

Also known as Benàco, Lago di Garda is Italy’s largest lake, spanning nearly 143 square miles (twice the size of Como) and three regions: Lombardy, Veneto, and Trentino–Alto Adige. Just beyond are the mighty Dolomites. The farther north along the lake you go, the more adrenaline-fueled the adventures get: off-piste skiing, kiteboarding, and via ferrata excursions are popular ways to explore the spectacular terrain in all seasons.

I kicked off a fall trip in the southern end on a more leisurely note: a guided e-bike ride starting at Villa Cordevigo, a stately, 18th-century property outside Verona. We navigated ribbons of asphalt past just-harvested vineyards and ancient hamlets like Affi, where we bumped along remnants of a road dating to the Roman empire. In Bardolino, an adorable lakeside town where cheerfully painted wooden boats bobbed in the clear water, we broke for coffee. Sipping a cappuccino with a perfect puff of milk froth, I daydreamed about returning with my family.

Three days later, we again followed in the footsteps of the Romans, on an offshoot of the Ponale Trail, the area’s most popular hike. The incline is moderate, but what really takes your breath away are views of the azure lake and jagged, snow-capped peaks. You can keep Como, Clooney: Lago di Garda’s particular flavor of la dolce vita suits us mere mortals just fine. —Blane Bachelor, guest editor

Antwerp, Belgium

Photo by Iryna Makukha/Shutterstock

I love discovering destinations through local legends and folklore. So on my first overnight visit to Antwerp, I was eager to learn why its most unique landmark is a fountain depicting a naked man launching a huge severed hand. Our excellent guide, Tanguy, explained: For centuries, a wicked giant demanded a toll to cross the Scheldt River; if travelers couldn’t pay, he cut off a hand. However, a Roman warrior named Silvius Brabo slayed him, severing the giant’s own hand and throwing it in the river—the scene showcased in the main square’s 1887 Brabo Fountain.

The legend, which is believed to have inspired the city’s name (Antwerpen in Flemish and hand werpen in Dutch both mean “hand throwing”), remains rooted in local culture. Shops sell hand-shaped cookies and chocolates, while popular brewery De Koninck began in 1833 as De Hand—with its hand logo still in place.

But severed appendages are just one element of Antwerp’s ancient tales. Outside the Cathedral of Our Lady, a sculpture depicts a sleeping orphan, Nello, and his dog, Patrasche: characters from an 1872 novel illuminating the era’s harsh living conditions. Even my hotel, Botanic Sanctuary Antwerp, a 13th-century monastery turned five-star stunner, boasts its own legends: Its subterranean tunnels, now housing a wine cellar, were rumored to scurry away monks’ lovers.

During a morning run along the Scheldt on my last day, I was captivated by a sculpture of a massive man towering over onlookers—perhaps the greedy giant pre-amputation? It’s a different folklorish figure, I later learn: Lange Wapper, a trickster giant born as a cabbage. Another curious story in a city brimming with them. —BB

Hamburg

Last holiday season, my sister, a modern dancer, found out she’d be touring Germany with the dance company Pilobolus and missing Christmas with the family. I decided to take a chance on the potentially bleak weather and visit her in Hamburg during its frigid January off-season. Sure, it was a challenge: Days were short and dark, snow was plentiful, and sidewalks remained unsalted and largely unshoveled. But despite the less-than-perfect conditions, I fell hard for the city, which feels more Scandinavian than German and somehow seems totally off the radar of most American tourists. That lack of other visitors meant that I often had museums and galleries all to myself (like Museum am Rothenbaum Kulturen und Künste der Welt or Deichterhollan), that I could walk into the hottest new restaurants and wine bars (like XO Seafoodbar) without a reservation, and that I could spend lazy mornings with my laptop in half-empty, third-wave coffee shops. (Europe’s obsession with coffee largely began in this Hanseatic League port town, which welcomed its first coffeehouse in 1677 and later became the world’s largest coffee market.)

Those icy streets slowed me down to a penguin-waddle in my seasonally inappropriate sneakers, which forced me to really take in the city, its grand architecture, and its cross-cultural quirks—like using the Scandi greeting “moin” instead of “guten tag.” And by the end, I was day-dreaming about what it would be like to own an apartment in the Karolinenviertel, one of the most effortlessly cool neighborhoods in Europe (don’t tell Berlin), filled with record shops, vintage stores, street art, and a Japanese café serving curries and espresso drinks made with Japanese whisky. Next time, I just need to pack better boots. —Nicholas DeRenzo, contributing editor

Greenland

Photos by Nick DeRenzo

On a recent cruise in Greenland with HX Hurtigruten Expeditions, I had the opportunity to dine at Koks, a wildly experimental restaurant born in the Faroe Islands that had a seasonal residency in the fishing village of Iliminaq (population: about 50). The 20-course meal sprawled over six hours, with dishes like mattak (raw narwhal blubber and skin), sea cucumber and reindeer tongue tart, a delicious musk ox fillet, and a savory ptarmigan skewer served with its still-feathered wing and a sauce made from the half-digested berries found in its gizzard. It was an eye-opening, boundary-pushing meal, but the thing I enjoyed most was the time spent between courses, chatting with two local members of the Hurtigruten team. We talked about towns on the island’s rugged east coast where shipments come from the outside world only twice a year, how berries are some of the few edible plants that grow here, and why you have to hunt seals and whales and polar bears for nutrient-dense protein sources—no matter what outsiders think. And my understanding of Greenland and all its complexities started to click into place.

Even more memorable was a much humbler meal. In the capital city of Nuuk, we boarded a bright yellow water taxi and headed out to a fjord teeming with codfish, where a line of unbaited hooks might yield three flopping fish in one go. At Qooqqut Nuan, a restaurant owned by a Thai and Greenlandic couple, the chef filleted them in front of us and added them to aromatic Southeast Asian curries, served alongside buttery potatoes and reindeer Panang curry. It was comforting and familiar and yet felt like I was there at the birth of a new fusion cuisine—and it was certainly my top meal of the year. —ND

Istanbul

The last time I visited Istanbul admittedly was not the most immersive experience. It was 2010 and I was on a fast-and-furious eastern Mediterranean cruise with tour operator Contiki, which caters to the 18-to-35 set. We spent our nights partying into the wee hours of the morning, and our days briefly roaming culture-rich destinations like Istanbul and Cairo for a few hours before returning to the ship. It was time for a redo. So, I was thrilled when I had the chance to revisit for a nearly weeklong stretch this past fall during the annual Society of American Travel Writers confab—with more time to get a better sense of this dynamic city that sits at the intersection of Europe and Asia and was the world’s most visited city in 2023.

I spent my free time exploring the recently opened Istanbul Modern art museum with a beautiful photography exhibit by Turkish genius Izzet Kerribar (running through May 25, 2025). The museum is ideally situated right along the waterfront with views of the busy Bosphorus and within the fancy new Galataport retail and restaurant district. From there, I headed inland to hit up smaller mom-and-pop businesses like boutique gift shop Turkish Modern (no relation to the museum), Müz Botanik & Kahve for great coffee with a side of plants and jewelry for sale, and Cihangir Manticisi for delicious dumplings. One of my absolute favorite outings was to the recently renovated 500-year-old Zeyrek Çinili Hamam to experience the ancient scrubbing and foaming ritual in a stunning setting, including an on-site museum that houses relics discovered during the restoration. There’s also a subterranean gallery currently exhibiting works by the “Turkish Picasso” Alekos Fassianos. As for food, as a tour guide during a half-day exploration of Taksim Square (with its architecturally fascinating Atatürk Cultural Centre and vibrant shopping district) told us, in Türkiye, you will never go hungry. It’s an embarrassment of riches when it comes to Turkish cuisine.

Some of my most memorable meals included all-you-can-eat Turkish spreads (like eggplant with kaymak), and grilled meats at the chic rooftop restaurant Madera Istanbul in the upscale residential nabe Nişantaşi, and an indulgent post-hammam lunch of puffed bread, colorful dips, and a parade of meats at grill house Tere with photo-ready waterfront views. Though the traffic in Istanbul, a city of more than 16 million, is as bad as you’ve heard it is, the new airport is a modern, oversized wonder, and getting around by foot within the city when the weather is nice is an absolute delight. I could easily spend several more weeks in Istanbul and cannot wait to return to explore more of this vibrant city and enthralling country. Once again, I’ve really only scratched the surface. —Michelle Baran, deputy editor, news

Bath, England

As someone who could only be described as an “obstinate, headstrong girl,” for the majority of my life, it’s no wonder that I am a self-proclaimed Austenite and have always longed to visit Bath, a UNESCO-recognized city where Jane Austen once lived. In November, I finally made the trip for just two days.

I stayed at the Gainsborough Bath Spa, a charming hotel in the heart of Bath honoring Austen’s legacy by arranging wonderful, Austen-centric adventures for its guests through collaborations with the city’s many Austen organizations. After dropping off my bags, I headed out on a walking tour with Strictly Jane Austen tours. Our wonderfully knowledgeable tour guide, Theresa Roche, recounted incredible anecdotes about Austen’s life that often go underdiscussed, like her work as a slavery abolitionist, as we walked the same streets she did more than 235 years ago. After the tour, I went back to the Gainsborough to sit for a Heritage Afternoon Tea with Dr. Gabrielle Malcolm, an Austen scholar who works with the Jane Austen Centre. As we sipped on delightful artisanal teas, Dr. Malcom answered all of my questions about Jane Austen’s life. Though I have loved her for more than 20 years, I never once felt more connected to Austen than I did while learning from both Roche and Dr. Malcolm. Their storytelling transformed my favorite writer into a woman whose life finally felt real to me.

At every point throughout my trip, I was greeted with absolute kindness, warmth, and passion for the preservation of Bath’s heritage. Jane Austen once wrote in Northanger Abbey, “Oh, who could ever tire of Bath?” Thanks to the city’s people, I can confidently say, Not I! —Cat Sposato, editorial assistant

Arizona and California

Courtesy of Castle Hot Springs

I found two of my most memorable adventures in places closer to home this year. Both were tucked away in the hills near major cities but the antithesis of big-city life.

In May, I visited Paradise Springs, a Huttopia glampsite built in 2021 around bubbling streams and pine trees in the Angeles National Forest some 90 minutes northeast of L.A. The site, which features historic cabins and disused trout ponds, has a long history. It was favored by Charlie Chaplin and his cohort of Hollywood elite, played host to hooch parties during Prohibition, and became a Christian camp for a while. Over three days, my family unplugged for a wholesome weekend of real connection, playing table football, panning for gold, lounging in hammocks, and swimming in the enormous outdoor pool.

In November, I explored Castle Hot Springs, an upscale retreat an hour out of Phoenix, where the namesake waters, in pools of various temperature along with a cold plunge barrel, are the main draw. The resort also offers an all-inclusive buffet that includes guided hiking and biking, axe throwing, via ferrata (rock climbing on fixed ladders), chef’s-garden-to-table food, and more. You pass a sign for the actual Carefree Highway on the way there, and everything—from the outdoor bathing pool outside my room to the fireplace that ignited at the touch of a button—was tailored to nonchalant luxury.

The standout memories from each were simple yet everlasting. At Huttopia, it was the riot of shadows cast on the tent’s roof as my three sons messed around with flashlights before falling asleep while I read a good book. At Castle Hot Springs, it was floating alone, aimlessly and joyfully, around a warm pool of water after a long conference, watching the sky above the saguaros drain of color—and my body temporarily drain of cares. —Tim Chester, deputy editor

Sunnmøre, Norway

Photo by Billie Cohen

I’d been to Norway before, in summer, and been gobsmacked by the green beauty, rushing waterfalls, and what turned out to be the most beautiful bus ride of my life after the famed Oslo–Bergen train was canceled midway through because of an avalanche. But this year, I went back in November—because that’s when the Innovate for Tomorrow Climate Action Summit was being held. As you’ve no doubt guessed, that’s not exactly peak season for Norway, but damn if I didn’t end up on an equally stunning bus ride this time around too. Plus a few ferry rides and hikes.

After an overnight cruise on Hurtigruten’s Coastal Express (which started out as a mail route more than 100 years ago), we landed in the UNESCO-recognized art nouveau city of Ålesund, in the region known as Sunnmøre. Despite the chill in the air, adventure company Uteguiden was still leading kayak trips and hikes, and it was just about ready to shift into ski touring, a big winter draw in the area. The architecture and history nerd in me was satisfied too, thanks to the Art Nouveau History Center (located in a 1907 pharmacy), where visitors enter a time machine that recounts the story of the town’s rebuilding after a devastating fire. From there, we hit the famed fjords, which were even more photo-ready than in summer, dusted with snow and striped with waterfalls—but without the usual throng of cruise ships that clog the water from June to August.

Back on land, we boarded an all-electric bus (there’s a reason the climate conference was in forward-thinking Norway, after all) and coasted over arched bridges that connected a chain of dramatic rocky islands, the most dramatic of which was Runde. The tiny outcropping is a puffin sanctuary, where thousands breed between the end of March and July. By November, the birds were long gone, but so were the tourists. Instead, I hiked in the quietest, freshest air up a grassy mountain to a moodily misty viewpoint overlooking the Norwegian Sea, accompanied by researchers from the Runde Environmental Center. I’ll definitely be going back to this part of the world, and I won’t bother to wait for summer. —Billie Cohen, editorial director

Nizwa, Oman

I took a road trip through Oman with my family (husband and then–three year old). Every day, the country’s natural beauty unfolded before us—we hiked through otherworldly wadis with date palm trees, turquoise pools, and red rocks; explored the endless stretches of the Wahiba Sands Desert; and drove around the stepped mountain landscapes of Jebel al Akhdar. We planned to stop in Nizwa, Oman’s old capital, for three days as a base to explore the region. What we didn’t expect was to be utterly enchanted by the city and its residents.

We arrived in time to check out the Friday morning cattle market, where farmers from surrounding villages paraded their goats, sheep, and cows in a circle in the town’s famous souk.

We spent the rest of the day wandering around the old city, including the impressive and picturesque peach-colored fort that dates back to the 17th century. We were equally amused and horrified by the illustrations that described all the ways fort residents protected themselves from intruders—we’re talking hot date syrup pourers, dungeons, and “murder holes.” We met a local broadcast reporter with his television crew, who thanked us for visiting his country and treated us to some sweet fried snacks.

The city’s eponymous souk at first felt like a giant tourist trap, but after poking around for some time, we eventually stumbled upon the more local food market. This included a halwa shop, which sells the sweet gelatinous Omani dessert in flavors including saffron, almond, rose, and chocolate. While we sampled flavors and debated how much room we had in our carry-on suitcases, our daughter made friends with a four-year-old Omani girl who only spoke Arabic and, crucially, had a light-up ball. The kids were content to roll it back and forth to each other while my husband chatted with her father, who claimed this to be the best halwa shop in the city.

As we were finding to be local custom, the shopkeeper found little cups of halwa specifically for the girls to enjoy. It was the perfect day we didn’t know we needed or wanted. Today, when I think back to the trip, I remember the incredible landscapes as secondary to the warm hospitality I encountered in Nizwa. —Sarika Bansal, Afar editorial director

Venice, Italy

God knows one of Italy’s most popular tourist destinations isn’t necessarily a novel pick, but I’m sticking with it—there’s just nowhere else quite like it. And those convinced the Floating City is long overdone need only visit after the summertime crowds have gone to see that there’s still magic in the air.

As Afar contributor and former Venetian tour guide Mark Ellwood recently wrote, winter is the best time to visit Venice—a sentiment I couldn’t agree with more after visiting in the days leading up to Carnival this past February. Yes, you may find some restaurants closed for the season. But what you’ll sacrifice in dining options is more than made up for in atmosphere.

The sunrise over the Grand Canal as seen from the St. Regis—so romantic, Monet once painted it. The dense fog that falls over the canals and the shadows of gondolas sailing through it. Strangers decked out in outrageously decadent Carnival costumes, strolling the streets, their masks gaping with eternal grins. Lonely evening walks through silent, centuries-old alleys that feel at times so supernatural, you’ll waver between being completely enchanted and slightly unnerved—a unique experience most tourists still miss out on, given how many only visit as cruise ship day-trippers.

The cold-weather visit underscored one of the biggest trends I expect to see going strong into 2025: a new enthusiasm for “off-season” travel. Even if the scenery strays from what you’d typically expect—especially in Italy, which, for years, has dominated summer travel—the sharp drop-off in crowds, temperatures, and prices offers a massive payoff. You may even start to see destinations you’ve begun to dread with fresh eyes. —Tiana Attride, senior editor, social and video

Céret, France

Photo by BearFotos/Shutterstock

Over the summer, my friend Jule texted me with a proposition: Would I be interested in traveling to Céret, France, for a week with 10 strangers? At the time, I was two months into a digital nomad stint in Europe, burnt out after eight fast-paced months in New York. Jule warned me that the itinerary was basically nonexistent, but that only enticed me more—I finally would have the chance to take a proper vacation.

So in July I flew to Barcelona, where I met the aforementioned strangers and carpooled two hours north to the village of around 8,000 people. We bonded on the one-way roads leading up there, where we shared collective oohs and aahs over the Pyrenees Mountains. Afternoons and evenings were spent leisurely walking Céret’s streets, perusing artisan clothing shops, and indulging in tapas and cherry-flavored ice cream (the village is recognized as the French capital of cherries).

At the Musée d’Art Moderne de Céret, I learned that the village was a refuge for artists in the 20th century, with Pablo Picasso and Marc Chagall being just a few of the many who escaped to this part of French Catalonia in search of quiet and inspiration. I could empathize. Céret had become my haven, a retreat where I reignited some long-dormant passions: I journaled a lot, finally broke out my travel watercolor set, and ran around the vineyards that surrounded our Airbnb villa. For the first time in recent memory, time slowed down—and I was reminded of how good that can be for the soul. —Chloe Arrojado, associate editor

Oaxaca, Mexico

Every year, a couple of friends and I commemorate our nearly decade-long friendship with a ritual. We mark a week off our calendars and book flight tickets—which in August, took us to the southern state of Oaxaca, Mexico.

It was our first time in the state, and on a regional tour we learned that Oaxaca is a place rooted in history. Part of that I mean literally: 2,000-year-old El Tule, the oldest tree in the country, grows in one of Oaxaca’s small towns. It’s also a place full of time-honored traditions. In Teotitlán Del Valle, we visited a community that uses wooden pedals and natural dyes to make Zapotec rugs, which can take weeks or even months to complete depending on the intricacy of design. A trip to a mezcaleria taught us how ancient tools and methods turn agave into the famous smoky spirit.

The three of us particularly enjoyed exploring the flavors of Oaxaca City. We had crispy tortillas covered with beans, cheese, and meat known as tlayudas and tried different versions of mole, the state’s famous chili and chocolate sauce. It was clear that residents took pride in their cultural heritage, from the local heirloom tomatoes served at Levadura de Olla to the bowls of tejate (a pre-Hispanic maize and cacao beverage) sold on the street.

On one of our last nights, we indulged ourselves with a dinner at Michelin-starred spot Los Danzantes. Sharing platters of confit pork ribs and guacamole topped with roasted grasshoppers (another Oaxacan specialty), we laughed at how our trips have evolved since our first getaway as broke college students. But honoring our appreciation for travel—and one another—was a custom we weren’t getting rid of anytime soon. —CA

Musandam Peninsula (Oman), Abu Dhabi & Dubai

Photos by Michelle Heimerman

It was a Thursday, and I knew we wanted to take a trip to Oman and the UAE the following week. I’m the biggest procrastinator when it comes to booking travel and love that thrill of last-minute planning. August meant it was off-season, so we could find hotel availability and affordable flights. Four days later, we flew from New York to Dubai and drove the two hours across the border into Oman’s Musandam Peninsula for a few nights at Six Senses Zighy Bay. The landscape shifted from sandy desert hills to the jagged rocky peaks of the Hajar Mountains, finally ending at the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Oman. With temperatures lingering around 100, we spent most of our time bouncing between our bungalow’s private plunge pool and the beach. The hotel helped organize a sunset dhow cruise that took us along the coastline into smaller bay areas for swimming.

On the drive back into the UAE, I planned the second half of our trip, swapping the beaches for art galleries. We visited some of the classics like Abu Dhabi’s Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque and Qasr Al Hosn Fort, but also checked out lesser-known contemporary art galleries on Dubai’s Alserkal Avenue. The few blocks of industrial warehouses includes Gulf Photo Plus, a beautiful photography space exhibiting Middle Eastern photographers, and international galleries like Leila Heller.

The idea of last-minute travel is easier than you might think. All it takes is a little confidence, being open to the unexpected, and trusting that a decision on the ground can be more rewarding than an itinerary made months in advance. Maybe that means looking up a shop on Instagram and seeing who else they follow, or asking your cab driver their favorite place to get lunch. Because last-minute travel doesn’t mean you don’t have to plan; it just means you’ll have plenty of room for a little spontaneity. —Michelle Heimerman, photo director

Kyoto → Hokkaido, Japan

In early spring, my husband and I went to four cities in Japan in an effort to glimpse the cherry blossoms. We were optimistic about the forecast, which promised full blooms whilst we explored Kyoto and Osaka. But unfortunately for us, Fūjin and Raijin, the Japanese gods of wind and thunder, had different plans for us. The temperature dipped, and we spent the better part of our stay in Osaka and Kyoto borrowing umbrellas from hotels and seeing the sights.

We still had a wonderful time exploring. In Osaka, we went to the Cup Noodles Museum and bumbled through a Japanese lesson at the Chicken Ramen Factory where we got to make our own packet ramen. In Kyoto, we meandered through crowds at Kiyomizu-dera temple and ate red-bean pancakes along the Philosopher’s path.

In an effort to ditch the crowds, the day before we were set to leave for Hokkaido, we took the cable car up to the peak of Mount Hiei and took a short hike to Enryaku-ji temple, where we enjoyed a warm bowl of vegetarian soba noodles.

We chose a somewhat unconventional method of travel to get us to our next destination of Hokkaido, a 21-hour passenger ferry from Maizuru (Kyoto) to Otaru (Hokkaido.) In the height of the pandemic, I began watching silent waking videos of various cities and silent video reviews of the different ways one could get around in Japan, and the ferries had caught my attention. It was a fantastic way to slow down the pace of our trip and enjoy the vast ocean views whilst enjoying the homey meals aboard the Akashia. At the end of our first trip to Japan, we felt like we had hit every “must-do” activity on our list, and we cannot wait to return to delve into what else the country has to offer. —Ellie See, senior designer