Almost two years have slid by now since I took a reporting trip to Ireland. I looped around Dublin, Belfast, and of course the countryside, doing stories as fun as this New York Times hotel review and as serious as this Pacific Standard piece on incorporating philosophy into teen education.

Yet there’s still one story yet to be published, and somehow it’s more relevant than ever. As Brexit lurches on, it’s become clear that British leaders are flying by the seats of their pants, without any kind of grand strategy, and not even a safety net.

Few places are more threatened by this destructive bumbling than Northern Ireland. Its two decades of fragile peace—after 40 years of violent Catholic-Protestant Troubles—could be shattered if the open border between UK-governed Northern Ireland and the independent Republic of Ireland to the south gets closed (or even just manned). The New York Times just took up the scary prospect of post-Brexit violence within the past week.

People’s livelihoods are threatened, too, and that’s what I’m underscoring in an upcoming feature for Culture magazine. I met the impressive young cheesemaker Mike Thompson at Sheridans Food Fair outside Dublin. He started making Northern Ireland’s only raw-milk cheese at 26, crowdfunding his Mike’s Fancy Cheese production when no banks would finance him. I visited Thompson’s production facility outside Belfast to learn more. He calls his cheese Young Buck, and it’s a Stilton-riffing blue that’s tangy and fabulous.

Yet Thompson sends 70 percent of his cheese to either Ireland or continental Europe. A post-Brexit tariff suddenly slapped on that cheese, rendering it an export, could destroy his business. In the sausagemaking that is Euro-Brexit policy, Thompson’s small business could get crushed as easily as a gnat in the grinder.

When I met him two years ago and asked him about the political situation, a blithe Thompson smiled and said, “We’re such a small business, I’m sure we can get by.” Now he’s opened a retail shop to hedge his bets—selling all he can locally is the Mike’s Fancy Cheese Brexit protection plan—but there are still no guarantees. It’s a reminder of the individual tolls Brexit continues to take. Look for the story in Culture‘s Summer Issue.

Every travel writer’s got a working list of the world’s most underrated cities. Near the top of mine? Valparaiso, Chile. Being a seaport, Valpo’s got certain harbor-town undercurrents. A creative-but-seedy vibe, a whiff of salt-air decay. It’s the kind of city where people sip paper-cup wine on concrete benches while the sun tucks into the ocean below.

Rising from a big bay on the Pacific, Valparaiso also has to be one of the most visually stunning waterfront cities on the planet. It rolls across 40-plus steep hills, with homes painted in technicolors and walls sprayed with arresting graffiti art.

I fell for Valpo during a stint living in Chile a few years back. Two months ago I returned for New Year’s, for both work and play. (Due to the fireworks around the bay and lights on the hillsides all around, I think it’s one of the best places on the globe to bring in the new year. The poet Pablo Neruda, who kept a home on a Valparaiso hillside, agreed).

Making Valpo better than ever, I found this trip, is the ultra-sustainable new WineBox Hotel. Again, Valparaiso is a port city. This hotel is the first to take advantage of that by stacking 25 decommissioned shipping containers to make the building. (Naturally, they’re painted bright and set off with bold street art.)

The sustainability goes well beyond the containers, too. Old bathtubs and shipping pallets have been repurposed into furniture. The insulation between containers is made from old newspapers. There’s even a sign asking guests to take what we used to call Navy showers (turning off the water while soaping up!)

Navy showers aren’t decadent, but here’s the thing about the WineBox: It does feel special. The rooms are long but well-designed to feel vibrant, with balconies at the ends. And on top of all those stacked containers is a killer rooftop, with a full bar and million-buck views of the city, port, and bay. All in all, it’s one of the coolest places I’ve ever stayed. It’s inspiring me to check out more container hotels (and there are some stunning designs out there, from Vietnam to Texas.)

I included the WineBox in this recent Wine Enthusiast story about the world’s best wine hotels. Check out my official hotel review of it in the New York Times as well.

After a happy year and a half here, I’ve got a personal and professional update on Buffalo for you. Sure, I’m a travel writer, so I’ve been trying to tell the world about this city everywhere from Afar to the New York Times. But these days it’s not just me spreading comeback rumors—they’re true, and the word is getting out.

Two weeks ago Buffalo topped Travel + Leisure‘s list of “America’s Favorite Cities.” And sure, that distinction was reader-voted, so maybe passionate locals spiked the results. But the latest win blew me away: Harper’s Bazaar named Buffalo the second-best summer-weekend getaway in the country (just below the Hamptons, mind you, and above both Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard).

I got a charge out of the explanation: “In choosing destinations for some much-needed R&R, our editors are as discerning as you’d expect, and are on the hunt for the best shopping, dining, and luxury stays one can find,” the glossy fashion mag explained. Ooh la la!

And the media interest keeps coming—to a degree that surprises even me sometimes. For instance, I met with an upscale food magazine editor in New York City last weekend and came with a list of story ideas. I’d mentioned where I’m based, and he said, “Hmm. Tell me about Buffalo.”

“Well, it’s fantastic!” I blurted. I rattled off the reasons waves of entrepreneurs and millennials like us have moved in: new breweries, restaurants, coffeehouses, cocktail bars, and start-ups of all kinds take up residence in the old daylight factories and other handsome brick-and-stone buildings that are everywhere here.

At the end of the conversation I asked which stories this editor was interested in. “Get me Buffalo,” he said.

From other eds I’ve heard interest recently in Buffalo’s hipster side, biking movement, culinary scene, and creatively reused architecture (like the world’s most impressive collection of grain silos along the waterfront here). I look forward to telling more of those stories in articles to come.

On a personal level, we honest-to-God love this city. I’ll confess, my husband and I will soon be moving out of Elmwood Village, the parkway-laced Victorian midtown that I raved about at first. We’ll miss its farmers’ market, many porches, and summer concerts.

Buuut we’re not skipping town. We’re moving just a couple miles north to another walkable neighborhood, to the up-and-coming Hertel Avenue area. It’s the city’s old Little Italy, a bakery-and-red-sauce-restaurant strip that’s now staging its own comeback with stylish new shops and restaurants. Of course, I’ll keep you posted!

Lots of people rush—to the extent any car can on a two-lane road—along Florida’s roughly 125-mile Overseas Highway to get to Key West.

Last weekend I stopped halfway there and stayed. If you, too, start feeling too lazy to go farther, don’t drive another mile—I’m here to report that Marathon Key offers full relaxation. (Plus the requisite sunsets, seafood, deals on sandals, and a perfect bluesy roadhouse).

My friend Emily and I went the two or three hours down from Fort Lauderdale for the 7-Mile Bridge Run, which my uncle Dale Freehill has been doing for aroundabout 28 years. (Don’t tell anyone else about it, though—the unique overwater race is capped at 1,500 runners every year, so he doesn’t need more people trying to get in!)

We stayed at the freshly renovated Banana Bay Hotel & Marina, part of a wave of resort updates and openings in the Keys. The blue and white decor offset with dark-wood accents felt clean and hip. And I could get behind its sign commanding us to “Eat Sleep Beach Repeat.”

After a proudly unambitious post-race afternoon by the hotel pool, to catch the sunset we walked to Keys Fisheries Market & Marina, which looked like a bar on stilts. We’d been advised (online, to be sure) that the place was romantic, which we fortunately didn’t need to take seriously. It was not. How tender or passion-sparking could a place be when it distributes its food from a carryout window and passes out sunset shots?

We loved it. The high spirits of partiers on stools downing beer and rumrunners were perfect for Emily and me to snap flaming-sunset photos. And the stone crab, scallops, and shrimp we chowed on tasted like they’d come off the boat an hour before. I understood why Marathon’s considered an old-school fishermen’s key.

Post-Key lime pie we hit a roadhouse next door to Banana Bay called the Hurricane, where a soul-heavy act down from around Miami, Dottie Kelly & Rock the House, got a diverse, all-ages crowd jamming. With its brassy female lead and always-strong beat, the band reminded me of Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings. A grizzled fishing-boat captain bought us each one last rumrunner. A final wave of Marathon Key relaxation ebbed in, then flowed out.

The rich scents of apple cider and cinnamon-sugar-popped kettle corn filled the streets of Galena, one of the sweetest little towns in my home state of Illinois, on a recent fall day.

I’d remembered visiting Galena as a kid, mostly so my dad could tour the home of Ulysses S. Grant (who did business in this prosperous northwest corner of the state before making his name in the Civil War). And in high school, my cross-country team made Galena a weekend retreat so we could run and bike its hills.

The river flowing along Galena’s Main Street, and the bluffs beyond, were lots different than the glacier-flattened cornfields we were used to in Central Illinois. I recalled it as cute, if not stylish, little town.

But this Midwestern hamlet of 3,500 has gotten some millennial-friendly updates, I discovered during our recent family reunion weekend. Galena still has plenty for the older traveler, with antique stores like Grammy’s Attic. But here are three other unexpected, younger-skewing places I also found:

Blaum Bros. Distilling Co. During lunch at fresh locavore restaurant One Eleven Main, I spotted three bottles of Blaum Bros. liquors, one for a type I’d never seen called Hellfyre. It was a spicy vodka, bartender Adam explained between shaking martinis—the place was doing a roaring cocktail trade on a Friday afternoon.

I assumed Hellfyre went into bloody marys. “Actually,” Adam said, “up at the distillery they use it in a chocolate martini.” So my sister and I stopped in later to try one. It was a perfect balance of chocolate and pepper in a creamy base, and ideal for sipping on the distillery’s overstuffed leather couches.

Galena Brewing Co. They crank up the reggae in this roomy, gleaming tap room for a relax-you’re-on-vacation feel. But there’s still a sense of Illinois place, with beers like Uly’s Dark oatmeal stout.

We counted a dozen kinds of brews and sampled six of them on a tasting flight, including a woodsy Smokin’ Oak that reminded me of campfires along the bean fields with my friends downstate. Ultimately we carried out 24 cans of their blonde Farmer’s Ale for our extended family (which does in fact include several farmers), and it was a crowd-pleaser.

Noty Kitty This romance boutique opened the October weekend we visited, and its bright pink walls and fur-trimmed lingerie announced this wasn’t another antiques den. The offerings start with massage oils, lotions, and pajamas and get racier from there.

From her experience operating a sister store in Arizona, co-owner Kathleen expects to do well with Galena’s many B&B guests. “A lot of couples come in,” she said. “If he’s golfing, she can come in and get something out of this world.”

 

 

 

With its Elvis impersonators, high-kicking showgirls, and crystal chandeliers, what fresh takes does Las Vegas’ Strip offer millennials? When I was last there 10 years ago, I don’t recall beer pong, craft cocktails, mod design, pool games, or cool viewing experiences beyond the Bellagio fountains. With the Linq Hotel and its High Roller wheel, that’s all changed.

At the end of a recent girls’ weekend, the year-old Linq hit like a clean glass of water after a night of too much wine. So many Vegas hotels choke guests with opulence and excess. The cinder-blocky former Imperial Palace—its exterior now all aqua, yellow, and lime—is just plain fun.

Truthfully, I’d come for the High Roller, the Ferris—whoops, I mean “observation” wheel behind the hotel. Its capsules glide riders 550 feet in the air. That’s more than 100 feet higher than the London Eye it’s styled like, giving the High Roller claim to world’s largest riding wheel.

My friends were skeptical that the 30-minute ride, never cheap, would be worth it. It’s $25 during the day but jumps to $35 from 7 p.m. to 2 a.m. We were hopping (literally, as the wheel never stops turning) on at 7:30 p.m., just after the evening price hike.

But that timing turned out to be perfect. We just missed the sun dipping behind the Spring Mountains. But we watched the sky turn honey, peach, and violet over the mountain-ringed Las Vegas Valley as the city’s lights started to glitter. We even saw the Bellagio’s classic fountain show from above. “I’ll admit it—I wasn’t sure, but this is really cool,” my friend Jo said, snapping endless photos. If you’re in Vegas, we say don’t miss the Roller, and make it around sunset.

My friends were staying overnight at the Linq, so we also got to check out the pool and promenade. The promenade is a 300-yard brick stroll-way to the High Roller. Studded with palms and lined with appealing shops (fedoras and chocolate, Havianas and Polaroid), the promenade reminded me of Santa Monica’s ultra-groomed, outdoor-mall feel. We downed Neapolitan pizza and craft beer at Flour & Barley, taking in the colorfully lit fountains alongside us on the plaza.

My favorite part, though, was the pool. After over-the-top pool parties elsewhere the day before, I loved its low-key scene, all floating bean bags and giant Jenga, danceable music but down-to-earth people. I later learned you can luxe it up (hello, $800 bottle service), but like its High Roller, the Linq for us was refreshingly chill.

To visit some museums, you feel like you’ve got to take a timeout from the host city. And in an exciting place, or on a budding spring day, that can be hard to make yourself do.

At the new Whitney Museum of American Art, no timeout is necessary. Seeing it will push you into the mix in one of New York City’s trendiest areas. Plus you’ll get better views than the Empire State and a big hit of sunshine even while you’re surveying modern art. Here’s the story.

This past weekend, the Whitney officially moved to a splashy new Renzo Piano-designed building in lower Manhattan’s Meatpacking District. You’ll still see wholesalers’ signs along the crumbling brick streets there, but stylish restaurants and boutiques populate the rest. Most appealingly of all, the High Line—an elevated park created six years ago along former train tracks—now leads down to the Whitney.

As you approach, the eight-story museum looks nautical, with ship’s-ladder stairs between levels. They turn out to be brilliant, at least in good weather. Exhibits start on the top floor and angle you down the outdoor stairs through al fresco galleries, terraces, and an umbrella-shaded cafe. You’ll see up-close aerials of the High Line, plus sweeping views of the Hudson, One World Trade Center, and the Statue of Liberty. The New York Times calls the indoor-outdoor space “luminous.”

And the architecture sets off exciting art. The new Whitney’s inaugural show, “America Is Hard to See,” features works by big names like Georgia O’Keeffe, Andy Warhol, Jackson Pollock, and Jasper Johns. Great pieces by underrated 20th-century American artists have been studded into the exhibition as well. One favorite: “The Seasons,” a huge canvas blooming in semi-abstract green and pink by Pollock’s wife, Lee Krasner.

Look for more in September’s Arts and Culture issue of Buffalo Magazine.

A century and a half ago, Henry David Thoreau found Cape Cod to be a hardy outpost. In his view, it locked residents in a grim existential battle with the ocean. (To be fair, the first thing Thoreau saw when he reached the “bare and bending arm of Massachusetts” were bodies being recovered from a shipwreck.)

Today it’s been tamed into a classic American pleasure park of beaches and little family joys, including mini-golf courses, ice cream parlors, and a drive-in theater. The modern Cape deserves a summer-vacay whirl, and when you take it, don’t forget to try candlepin bowling.

A sub-100 standard bowler myself, I decided there was nothing to lose during our five days in the seaside town of Dennis this week. We cruised over to Cape Bowl, one of several bowling alleys here offering the candlepin variety.

We walked in to see 12 of the 20 lanes set up with tall, straight pins. Only eight were regular pins—but those lanes were busy. “Guys, we only have candlepin available right now,” the counter guy said apologetically. He went on to describe candlepin as “a New England thing, a regional thing…kind of a dying art.”

But “regional thing”—exactly! In an age of American homogenization, people shuttle between states and accents fade out. A regional thing was just what we wanted to try.

First surprise: the balls were the size of grapefruits, and not much heavier. There were no finger holes—I was told to just hold and heave. For a woman especially, the light weight felt freeing. And gutters were regular-size, which meant sometimes I got the fun of a gutter ball skipping back up and taking out an end pin.

Second surprise: I got three rolls per frame, and the knocked pins didn’t get cleared between rolls. The counter guy called these pins “dead wood” and promised they could be helpful.

And by the fifth frame, both little bonuses paid off. I hit all but two pins on the first roll, nothing on the second—then, on the third crack, blasted two far-apart pins with the help of some “dead wood.”

So why hasn’t candlepin bowling taken off beyond New England and Eastern Canada, virtually the only places it’s played? When I scored 56 on my first game, and only 78 by my third, I understood: it’s inconsistent. The not-so-tippy pins are six inches apart, and the results are wacky.

Later I read that a perfect candlepin game has never been played; the highest score ever has been 245. Of course pros would prefer a game in which the pins tumble easily, and the big question is whether they’ll strike or spare. But for those of us who take our score less seriously, candlepin is fun.

 

Have a long weekend in Buenos Aires and want to hit the highlights—steak, tango, and Evita among them? Here are the classics plus a few surprises—like a lagoon-side run, a polo lesson, and a puerta cerrada closed-door restaurant. Viva Argentina.

Friday

Run at Costanera Sur Ecological Reserve. If you’re an active type, get moving on your first morning—you’ll be up too late and eat too much later. Run, walk, or ride along the dirt trails of the Costanera Sur preserve (Av. Costanera Tristan Achaval Rodríguez 1550). Once a dump site, the reserve is now a mid-city wetland, with chirping birds and paths winding around three lagoons.

Wander the cemetery. See where Evita and other Argentine luminaries lie at rest. I would say “buried,” but they’re actually contained above ground in 6,400 fascinating mausoleums. The grand Recoleta Cemetery (Azcuénaga) reminded me of its counterparts in New Orleans—irresistibly photogenic, jammed with history, and a must-see.

Tour the National Museum of Decorative Art. Near Recoleta Cemetery is a dazzling old mansion that’s been turned into a gallery of fine art. The Museo Nacional de Arte Decorativo (Av.del Libertador 1902) holds everything from porcelain to weapons to El Greco paintings in gracious surroundings. The carriage house is a great espresso spot, too. When Buenos Aires got hot, we found an iced latte the best way to fend off an afternoon siesta.

Dine fashionably late. The door is barely marked, but some of the city’s most interesting food, like rabbit terrine and 24-hour-roasted lamb, is being prepared in the open kitchen of Tegui (Costa Rica 5852). Reservations are a must, and make them late, as is the style in Buenos Aires. (One night we found ourselves finishing dinner at 1:45 a.m.—and we were far from the only ones left in the restaurant! Kiddos were still there, too.)

Cities the world over were founded strategically—often for their closeness to water. So it makes sense that many offer beautiful panoramas of buildings along an ocean, river, or lake. Some feature mountain backdrops as well.

But let me tell you: Cape Town may trump them all. When you’re wondering, “Why go to Africa’s southwestern edge?” start with the scenery.

We’ll be living in Cape Town for 10 weeks, and we’re getting to know the food, music, culture, and people. But even if you have much less time for all that, it’s worth coming for the inspiring landscapes alone. Our studio has both mountain and water views—and that’s not unusual.

Eight-hundred-million-year-old, 3,000-foot-tall Table Mountain is justly famous. Its long, jagged base and flat top are unique and impressive. But it’s also framed by two peaks, Devil’s Point and Lion’s Head, that are equally wild and cool.

The city center is called the “city bowl,” and it’s a bowl along a bay. Buildings then wrap around Signal Hill, between the ridge and the coast. There’s an amazing running-walking path there, the Sea Point Promenade, where you can watch the Atlantic waves crash into the African rocks.

The climate is considered mild Mediterranean. Humidity is low. And luckily for a city of 3 million, the prevailing wind (nicknamed the “Cape Doctor”) seems to blow any fumes out, and pull fresh ocean air in.

Even now, in winter, temperatures range between 50s-70s F, and I’m told the summer average is 79 F. The Cape Town climate is often compared to Santiago, Barcelona, or L.A.

And where else do you see world-class beaches so close to a major city center? Elsewhere, good beaches are at least 30 minutes from downtown, since few want to risk swimming in pollution. Here, separated from the city by a ridge, is ritzy, palm-lined Camps Bay. (To be fair, the water is chilly, but that won’t stop us from lounging on the sand tomorrow.)

There is much more to Cape Town around the harbor in the opposite direction from Camps Bay, as well as on the Cape flats behind Table Mountain. We haven’t explored those yet. But even if you or I hardly got out of the main city, Cape Town’s scenery would still be worth the trip.

 

 

For years now, friends have been asking me whether I had a blog. I’d always resisted. As a freelance writer, I wasn’t sure I had time for non-paid writing, even if it were a passion project.

Now, in 2014, it’s hello world! Along with this new website, my blog starts here. Now you’ll be able to see in any given week where on the globe I am. (Consider subscribing by email—you’ll receive 1-2 posts per week.)

This spring, the setting will largely be our current home of Notre Dame, Ind. (Today, a fresh 70-degree day that’s the warmest one  here in six months, feels like an auspicious day to launch. The sidewalks of downtown South Bend are being walked by everyone from panhandlers to college girls in breezy skirts as I look out from a favorite coffeehouse.)

By June, the blog will follow me to our soon-to-be summer home of Cape Town, South Africa. Rumor has it we will be living in an apartment somehow situated within a shopping mall, so I’ll let you know what that’s all about! I’m hoping it’s at a farmer-trader-artisan market like Neighbourgoods, where we can smell raw honey and craft beer. But we’re lucky enough to be living in South Africa—I doubt we could be quite that lucky.

Every so often, I’ll also review travels from Chile, where my husband, Matt, and I closed out the last three months of 2013. The parks and the smog; the fresh seafood and the limp sandwiches; the majestic Andes and the brown river—we sampled the full range of Santiago. Weekends also took us to wine valleys, lake districts, Machu Picchu, Patagonia, Uruguay, and Argentina, so there are plenty of South American experiences to share.

Come behind the scenes on my travels and interviews. This blog will provide a sneak look at the places, dishes, people, and stories you’ll see in newspapers and magazines months later. When I write about destinations, I’ll go beyond vapid scenester-ing to look for the people and organizations making places better. And those places will include humble Midwestern towns as much as glamorous world capitals. Cheers!