It may be something of an exaggeration to say you can have Marco Island, Fla., all to yourself in September. But it wouldn’t be much of one.

This is the lowest point of low season, when the summer visitors have left and the snowbirds have yet to arrive. The remaining would-be guests are staying away because of the weather (too warm, they think, or maybe there’ll be a hurricane) and as a result, large parts of Southwest Florida’s resort areas are virtual ghost towns.

We checked into the newly refurbished Marco Island Florida Marriott Beach Resort on Thursday afternoon, and it was so quiet that for a moment we wondered if the resort was open. But it was. Our room at the Balinese-themed A-frame property offered an unobstructed view of the Gulf of Mexico, where that evening we watched the outer bands of a tropical storm make landfall.

On Friday morning we caught the Dolphin Explorer, a 30-foot catamaran that took us out into the 10,000 islands to look for dolphin and collect shells (see photo, above). The Explorer’s captain, Chris Desmond, has a knack for spotting pods of dolphins, but they can be elusive and difficult to photograph.

Our timing was excellent. The previous evening’s weather had deposited mountains of shells on the beaches, some of which are rarely seen in this area. Here’s a picture of the boys with their shell collections.

That afternoon we left Erysse and Iden with a sitter and participated in one of the Marriott’s signature attractions, the island jet ski tour. Kari, Aren and I squeezed on to a late-model motorcycle-on-water and took a rip-roaring, high-adrenaline tour of the mangrove-dotted estuaries around the resort.

This jet ski tour is the yin to the Dolphin Explorer’s yang. As soon as you throttle up your own version of Hell on Water, you are not so much looking for dolphin as you are pursuing them. Which isn’t to say that’s we did. Our able guide Brian made sure we were respectful of the wildlife. And with two passengers on my vessel, you can bet that we did this tour by the book.

Still, there’s something about flying along the water at more than 35 miles an hour that almost makes you hear Born to be Wild in the soundtrack of squawking birds and distant late afternoon thunderstorms. That’s right, folks. Yours truly is hearing things.

If it were up to me, we’d be planning a visit back to Marco next September. Room rates are really reasonable at this time of year, and there’s no waiting list for any of the tours or for a table at one of the Marriott’s restaurants, like Quinn’s on the Beach (if you go, try the Bali Chicken) or Kurrent’s.

Although I’m sure this place will be hopping in a few months, I prefer the slowness and solitude of late summer. When the guy at the front desk says, “Welcome to paradise,” I really feel like he means it.

(Special thanks to Bob at the Marriott and JoNell at the Naples Marco Island Everglades CVB for their hospitality.)Similar Posts:

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The Kansas Underground Salt Museum (working mine plus salt history) won’t open this summer after all. November is now the goal. But wipe away those salty tears of disappointment. Plenty of new summer thrills await.

Ride Expedition Everest in Orlando. Disney’s newest coaster, housed in Animal Kingdom, is abominable, but in a good way. Highlights: spooky tunnels, screamy sounds, a backward ride to escape the Yeti (hope it likes Florida humidity).

Stargaze in Hilo, Hawaii. A simulated star is born in front of your eyes at the Imiloa Astronomy Center. A volcano erupts (on screen) in the planetarium show. Also: native plants, native myths.

Jaw with Jaws in San Diego. Stand by the second-floor railing in the atrium. Look up. Now you know what it’d be like to be dinner for a 34-foot-long megalodon shark, whose toothy likeness hangs from above at the San Diego Natural History Museum’s $8 million display of regional fossils, opening July 1. Also: skeletons of mammoths and giant sloths, dino models.

Take the train in southern Colorado. The ’50s-era Alamosa to La Veta train is back: Two refurbished Pullman passenger trains will chug through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Deer, coyotes, mountain lions, bears, and hawks might wave at you! Passengers see Great Sand Dunes National Park, with freaky dunes as tall as 750 feet.

Climb a Kentucky bridge. We climb Newport Southbank Bridge, aka the Purple People Bridge, because it is there. Because it is purple (focus groups picked the color). Because a safety line, walkways, “ascension areas,” and a guide make it not too scary. Because the $60 fee entitles you to don a purple protective suit. Because at the 150-foot apex, high above the Ohio River, you can see Cincinnati. Most of all, because, according to a spokesman, “You can’t fall if you want to.”Similar Posts:

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Face it: Everyone has made vacation plans but you. The Travel Industry Association of America predicts Americans will take 325.6 million domestic leisure trips this summer (and a possible record 13 million-plus are off to Europe). Fortunately, we live on a big planet. There are still exciting vacations to be had. And some are relative bargains. You just have to know where to look.

MONTENEGRO. This former Yugoslav republic on the Adriatic coast may be “the next Croatia,” says Susan Randolph, a travel agent with AAA Mountain West in Billings, Mont., who specializes in eastern European destinations. It’s got mountains, a coastline, a medieval walled city, and affordable prices–at least by European standards. Rooms at the Hotel Crna Gora in downtown Podgorica, Montenegro’s capital, start at about $80, double occupancy (381-81-634-271). Overseas Adventure Travel has a 16-day tour, air from Newark included, starting at $3,370.

COZUMEL, MEXICO. Hurricanes Emily and Wilma tore through this resort town last year, and while some hotels have not yet reopened, there are plenty of deals to bring back tourists to the unharmed beaches. Charter vacations offer good rates, according to Donna Alkarmi, an agent with Carlson Wagonlit Travel in McKinney, Texas. For example, four nights at the all-inclusive Iberostar Cozumel for two adults, air included from Dallas, is $723–about $90 a person per night.

KENNICOTT, ALASKA. You can still plan a getaway to the state’s lesser-known national park (Denali is the big draw). Wrangell-St. Elias is about a five-hour drive east of Anchorage. “There are great hiking trails, mountain bike trails along old mine roads, and fly-in locations for raft trips and other adventures,” says Scott McMurren, an Anchorage radio show host. Best of all–you can cavort on glaciers (while they last). McMurren recommends the Kennicott Glacier Lodge, where the $189-a-night room rate (double occupancy) includes transfers to a ghost town tour.

SANIBEL ISLAND, FLA. Lie to your kids and tell them this Gulf Coast island, about a three-hour drive from Orlando, is the state’s newest theme park: Sea Shell Isle. Conch shells, sand dollars, and lightning whelks are among the cool souvenirs that are absolutely free, waiting for you on laid-back, white-sand beaches. Summer low season is hotter than winter high season, with average highs around 90. But a breeze blows off the ocean, and you’ll practically have the place to yourself. Hurricane Charley ravaged the area in 2004, but it was quickly rebuilt. A room on the beach at the Island Inn, established in 1895, starts at $130 a night, double occupancy. During high season, the rate is $205.

NEW ORLEANS. OK, it’s hot. Really hot (average highs in late summer push 90 degrees, and we won’t mention the humidity). Then there was that hurricane. But 27,000 hotel rooms have reopened, and the French Quarter is bustling. Since summer is slow season, bargains abound. A room at the HH Whitney House, an 1865 bed and breakfast, starts at $75. At Hotel LaSalle, by the French Quarter, rates start at $69 for two; book three nights and get a fourth free. Summer specials are at neworleanscvb.com. For a reminder of Katrina’s fury (and the slow pace of rebuilding), tour devastated areas via operators like Grey Line.

CAMBRIA, CALIF. It’s the next Napa–only with beaches! Cambria, about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles along Highway 1, is an emerging hub for visitors who’d like to stop by a few of the newish 80-plus wineries (like award-winning Harmony Cellars, known for its Riesling and Chardonnay), visit art galleries (modern, folk, and seascapes), and relax on pebble beaches (don’t worry, the elephant seals are there only in winter). “And it’s only 6 miles from Hearst Castle,” says Irvine, Calif.-based travel agent Tommie Imbernino. The “Big Sur Special” at rustic Cambria Pines Lodge offers one night (double occupancy), breakfast, and a tote bag with picnic blanket and $20 coupon for a deli lunch for $99; a standard room is regularly $159.

QINGHAI AND SICHUAN PROVINCES, CHINA. It’s not too late to go Chinese. Big-city residents can usually get a visa in a week from the embassy (in D.C.) or general consulate. The fee is $50. Or you can pay about $100 to a company like mychinavisa.com. Now it is true that China, like New Orleans, is kinda hot in summer. But the 2-mile-high elevation of the Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau in west central China keeps it cool enough for the yak butter sculptures of animals, people, and landscapes at the Ta Er Si monastery. Pagodas and pandas (at the Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding) are among the attractions. A $2,199, 16-day package from windhorsetours.com departs at the end of July, highlighting local horse racing festivals. Airfare is extra.Similar Posts:

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Cayo Costa, a tiny Gulf Coast barrier island near Sanibel, Fla., is one of the least visited of Florida’s state parks. Which is exactly why tourists are drawn to this sanctuary of white-sand beaches and oak-palm hammocks, a place so remote that it can be reached only by boat.

Come to think of it, that’s why I was there, too. To get away from it all.

People go to this island chain — to Sanibel, Captiva and to Cayo Costa just to the north — because they want to escape from their everyday lives. They want to check in to their cottages and efficiencies, hoping that by the time they change into their swimming suits and wade into the warm ocean waters, they can forget the world that they left behind, if only for a few hours.

There are other islands in the Sunshine State that hold the same promise. Marco Island, the Florida Keys and Amelia Island are all in constant competition, it seems, for the title of America’s Favorite Island Retreat.

But this place, in a quiet way that I can’t quite articulate, lets you untether from your life.

I had come to Cayo Costa to write about a shelling cruise on the Dolphin Waters, a 45-foot powered catamaran operated by Adventures in Paradise. For $55 per person ($35 for kids), Captain Bob Spriggs offers tours of the saltwater flats of Pine Island Sound, putt-putting from Sanibel Harbor to Cayo Costa State Park and then motoring on to Captiva for lunch at the folksy seafood-and-burgers restaurant called Barnacle Phil’s.

But my mind was not on the story. My family and I were recovering from a bout of the flu and a gastrointestinal virus, which had knocked us down the week before with a powerful one-two punch. Instead of surrendering to the sickness, I had continued to work and made a mistake that nearly cost me my career.

The experience had left me shaken, deeply disillusioned and in desperate need of — yes — a vacation.

Captain Bob, as he prefers to be called, is not a man of many words. Instead of narrating the one-hour trip from the harbor to the island, he allowed the place to speak for itself. Whenever a pod of bottlenose dolphins popped out of the water, he would slow down to let us take pictures. When we passed an osprey’s nest in the saltwater flats, he moved in closer so we could catch a glimpse of the newly hatched chicks.

“So much to see out here,” he said, revving up the engines again. “There’s always something new to discover.”

The Dolphin Waters made a sound like sandpaper sliding across a smooth plank of wood as it came to rest on Cayo Costa. The beach was completely empty. The water, almost green and perfectly clear, met the shore in small, controlled bursts of foam. The air had a faint smell of salt and orchid blossoms.

“It’s a good day for shells,” said Ruby, Captain Bob’s wife and first mate.

Sanibel and Captiva are islands that have seen hard times recently. In 2004, the eye of Hurricane Charley roared ashore just north of Sanibel, with maximum winds of 145 miles per hour and waves of up to nine feet. Many of the trees and mangrove forests sustained catastrophic damage. According to the city, the storm also inflicted $13 million in property damage.

And yet, the islands recovered quickly. Foliage sprouted. Houses were rebuilt. Just a short boat ride from Cayo Costa, the old South Seas Plantation, which was badly damaged by the hurricane, recently reopened as a new luxury property, South Seas Island Resort.

The millions of shells crunching under our feet — sand dollars, clams, conchs, cockles and lightning whelks — they survived, too. In fact, their numbers grew as the storm washed tons of them onto the shore. Perhaps their arrival was prophetic, a sign that though everything looked hopeless, these islands would prevail.

Ruby walked in the opposite direction from the crowd, southward toward Captiva, and when she was alone, she bent over and searched through a pile of shells. Captain Bob whispered to me that his wife is an expert sheller, “the best there is.” Her specialty, he said, is finding the rarest of rare shells, like the sought-after junonia.

“And rarest of all is when she finds ancient shells used as tools by the Calusa Indians. Some of them are more than a thousand years old,” he added, almost reverently.

Cayo Costa’s beach is different from the one in front of our cottage at the historic Island Inn on Sanibel, where we were staying. Walking along that generous strip of sand with my two sons, I felt like running around and splashing in the water, or wading out on to the sandbar to get a closer look at a dolphin or a tarpon.

But out here, standing on Cayo Costa’s almost-deserted shoreline, I could do no more than gaze out at the horizon, where the water meets the sky in a faint blue line, and marvel at the extreme beauty — a beauty that even a hurricane could not destroy.

Ruby held out a small, hinged coquina shell, a mollusk so small and fragile that it was almost translucent. My one-year-old son, Iden, grabbed the shell and tasted it before handing it back with a grimace that said, “Too salty.”

“When people come to Cayo Costa, they’re interested in the big shells, like conch,” Ruby said. “But I’ve found the smaller ones — the ones that are overlooked — are often the prettiest.”

In the same way, I’ve always felt there is an important difference between a tourist attraction and a true getaway. It isn’t something that can be summed up in a brochure or in a TV ad. It has nothing to do with having the biggest theme park, the best restaurants or the most pristine beaches. A real refuge has the mysterious ability to clear your mind, ease your troubles and even restore your soul.

We left this understated paradise with handfuls of small shells in our buckets and memories of releasing some of our everyday troubles, if only momentarily. I would have to face reality again, just like every other visitor who is seduced by Sanibel.

But when I did, there would always be the shells to remind me that the hard times will eventually blow over.Similar Posts:

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As a college student hiking through the French Alps many years ago, I accidentally uncovered one hotel’s shocking secret.

I didn’t mean to reveal it. It was a blistering hot day in Grenoble, and my traveling companion, Nate, wandered toward a swimming pool behind the resort while I stocked up on water and provisions. Moments later he returned, pale-faced.

“Chris,” he said breathlessly, pointing toward the pool. “There are breasts in there.”

Yes, there were. The French, like many Europeans, generally think nothing of baring breasts, butt — and more — at the beach, much to the surprise of visiting Yanks. I already knew this, because I had grown up in Europe. But my friend Nate, who was born and raised in the Bible Belt, didn’t.

Nudity! There, I said it. If the thought of going au naturel on holiday makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read on. You’ll probably be offended.

Still with me? OK, here are the five leading myths about nude vacations.

1. Vacationing nudists are just a bunch of perverts. Hardly. In fact, nudists are everyday people, and there are more of them out there than you think. The American Association for Nude Recreation (AANR), the largest organization of its kind in North America, represents nearly 50,000 members and their families. There are also 270 clubs and resorts for people who want to vacation in the buff — and that’s just in prim-and-proper North America.

2. Clothing-optional resorts are seedy. Nope. We’re talking about mainstream, professionally run properties offering a wide range of wholesome activities. Among them:
Cypress Cove Nudist Resort & Spa in Kissimmee, Fla., which has villas and campgrounds, and even sponsors its own nude bike rally every year. (Its motto: “Just as nature intended.”) And DeAnza Springs Resort in Jacumba, Calif., a 500-acre club with hiking trails, volleyball courts and swimming pools. (“You’ll love the way you feel,” it promises, “We guarantee it.”)

3. You have to take your clothes off at a nudist resort. Not necessarily. There’s a difference between a clothing-optional club and a clothes-free resort. Clothing-optional means that you can keep your clothes on if you want to – the idea being that it sometimes takes a little time to adjust to nudity (in fact, even devoted nudists sometimes keep their pants on). However, a clothes-free club means a mandatory strip-down. Knowing the difference is important when it’s your first time at a nudist resort. The AANR suggests contacting a club in advance to clarify its policies.

4. Nudists are mostly senior citizens who are off their rockers. Actually, most clothing-optional and nudist resorts are extremely family-friendly. For example, at the White Thorn Lodge, in western Pennsylvania, there are a number of activities for the whole family, including volleyball, bocci, pumpkin painting, a Christmas social with Santa, and a potluck dinner (“Meat provided, bring a side dish to share”).

OK, so there are some nudist resorts where you’re likely to find a disproportionately high number of, well, older folks. But as nudism goes more mainstream, a lot of families are embracing the movement. In fact, my former neighbors were nudists. Both parents would hang out in their backyard sans clothes with their two teenage daughters.

5. Nudists are exhibitionists who want to seduce you. Trust me, for most people, the odds of getting a date are greatly improved if they keep their clothes on. And seriously, how long do you think anyone with criminal intentions would last at a nudist resort? So why do people vacation in the buff? Well, often it’s because they don’t want a tan line. They’re not exposing their bodies to you as much as they are to the sun.

The idea of taking a vacation in your birthday suit may take some getting used to. But nudists aren’t deviant septuagenarians and their resorts aren’t sleazy hideways. The truth is, nudists are often the people next door, and if nothing else, a nude vacation can lead to many new discoveries.

Nate’s encounter with the topless French women apparently left a deep impression on him. Several short years later, he got married and he is now the father of eight children.

And me? I’m looking forward to my next trip to Europe.Similar Posts:

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To this day, I don’t know how I got infected. Maybe I picked it up on our flight from Newark or on the layover in London. But by the time I boarded the riverboat in Mainz, Germany, I had a full-blown case of the Norwalk Virus: chills, diarrhea, nausea, and stomach cramps.

Gastrointestinal viruses such as Norwalk are becoming increasingly common among cruise ship passengers. They’re caught by eating food or drinking liquids that are tainted, touching contaminated surfaces or objects and then putting your hand in your mouth or coming into direct contact with someone else who is sick.

The cruise industry is quick to point out that infection can happen anywhere – in a plane, a restaurant, an airport terminal. And that may be true. Equally true, however, is that the reports of cruise ship passengers spending part of their voyage in the infirmary are on the rise. So whether they catch the stomach flu before they board – as I did – or on the journey is probably academic to most passengers.

Fortunately, Norwalk is mercifully short. Symptoms last between one and two days, according to the Centers for Disease Control. Which, in a way, makes it the ideal traveling illness. By the time you know you’re sick, the worst of it is over and you haven’t lost much vacation time.

But I discovered another reason why Norwalk is the most desirable travel affliction, so to speak, on my riverboat cruise from Mainz to Nuremberg. It applies mainly to those of us so wrapped up in our work that the word “vacation” isn’t part of our vocabularies.

Norwalk is nature’s way of saying: “slow down.”

Under any other circumstances, I would have been asking about the closest Internet cafe when we checked in with the Viking River Cruises crew. I’m obsessive about picking up e-mail while traveling, and I had several projects that were in the works back home.

Instead, I wanted to go straight to my cabin and sleep.

It was a postcard-perfect late summer day in Germany. Not a cloud in the sky. It was comfortably warm. Indeed, conditions along the river looked as if they were right out of a promotional brochure. As the riverboat chugged upstream, we saw trees – apple, pear, and plum – bowing under the heavy weight of their ripening fruit. There were people sitting by the shores fishing or just enjoying the day.

I opened the window to my cabin and fell asleep to the sounds of people speaking a dialect of German I hadn’t heard in many years.

There is no known treatment for the Norwalk Virus. Doctors recommend drinking plenty of water and resting, but there’s no vaccine, no antibiotic treatment, no elixir to cure the stomach flu.

You just have to sleep it off.

And I did. While the rest of the passengers were reclining in lounge chairs on the roof of the vessel, drinking beers and talking about the next stop, I slumbered under the intoxicating effects of Norwalk.

I don’t use the word “intoxicating” lightly. Sure, you suffer when you’ve got the stomach flu. Big time. You feel as if you’re sore all over, just like the day after you start a new exercise routine, and every muscle in your body aches. It’s as if a bomb went off in your stomach; food isn’t an option, and even the much-needed water feels like acid being poured down your throat. Every half-hour or so, you rise quickly from your bed to evacuate your bowels.

But for a day or two, the illness also puts everything into stark perspective.

You care about nothing else but being in your bed with the window open, watching this idyllic German countryside go past you in slow-motion. You’re not hungry. You don’t want to talk to anyone.

You certainly don’t care about checking e-mail – or, for that matter, even care what happens to the work you left back home.

Could it be that Norwalk is a virus ideally suited to our frenetic times? I first wondered about that in my irrational delirium. Afterwards, as I started eating solid foods again and drinking something other than water, it still made sense.

Was Norwalk necessary in order for me to have a real vacation?

Much has been written about the necessity of suffering, and even the desirability of suffering. Much of it was written by Germans, an irony that didn’t escape me as I journeyed up the river and through locks, toward recovery.

But this I do know: if you are going to get sick, a European riverboat cruise is the place to do it. Don’t look for any chain restaurants, rock-climbing walls or ice-skating rinks. There are no evening shows starring Broadway has-beens, just cooking classes where they teach you to make Apple strudel the Austrian way, with lots of cream.

What passes for entertainment happens after sunset in the lounge, where passengers play cards and trivia games, drink espressos and watch the lights of the shore pass by.

I kept to myself, mostly because I didn’t want to infect anyone else. You can do that on a riverboat cruise, too. Reservations are unnecessary at mealtime and there’s no assigned seating. Breakfast, buffet style, features lots of fresh-baked German bread and pastries, granola, eggs and fruit. Lunch is heavy on soups and salads, which for this recovering Norwalk case was ideal.

When it was time for dinner, I was ready to try the fish and (I’ll admit it) I even had a sip of Riesling. My privacy was respected at all times, which is something that can’t be said for the floating cities masquerading as cruise ships nowadays. No one tried to sit down next to us or to force us to dine with a large party.

If I wanted to, I could slowly eat my food and stare out at darkness with glazed eyes and say nothing. And that’s exactly what I did, much to the disappointment of my traveling companion.

The suddenness of your affliction with Norwalk is eclipsed only by the suddenness of your recovery. The following morning, almost all of my symptoms had disappeared, except that I remained a bit groggy – something I chalked up to jetlag. It didn’t stop me from staying in my cabin for yet another day and watching even more of Germany pass slowly by.

To be sure, the Norwalk Virus is a dreadful illness that I wouldn’t wish on anyone else. The cruise industry is correct to be worried about its effect on business and should be doing everything it can to prevent its transmission.

But sometimes Norwalk is necessary – if for no other reason than to make you tap the brakes, slow down, and enjoy what’s left of your vacation.Similar Posts:

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No sooner had we settled into our room at the Ritz-Carlton Coconut Grove than we heard a knock at the door. Aren, our 16-month-old son, toddled over to open it, but his tiny hands couldn’t reach the knob.

“Room service,” the voice on the other side announced.

Did we order room service? Hardly, but that didn’t stop a hotel employee from delivering a silver tray with an enormous, freshly-baked M&M cookie – Aren’s favorite – to our room.

Luxury properties like the Ritz-Carlton make it their business to know what you (and your kids) like when you’re away. In the Miami area, where a new luxury hotel seems to open every month, properties are going out of their way to distinguish themselves from one another – whether it’s a decadent rooftop pool, a museum-quality collection of classic cars or white-glove personalized service.

And they’ve got something for everyone. Even if you’re still in diapers.

Aren, we should note, is not easily impressed. He’s been to more countries and stayed in more hotels at the tender age of one than we had before we met. But his eyes were locked on that still-soft cookie as it was carried across the room and placed on the table.

“This is for you, Master Aren,” the hotel associate said, completely straight-faced.

The boy climbed onto one of the oversize chairs, sat down, and began eating the cookie as if somehow he had expected it. (In fact, before we arrived, a hotel representative discreetly asked what kind of cookies he liked. Only later did we learn that this attention to detail is routine for frequent guests.)

The Ritz-Carlton Coconut Grove, which opened in September 2002, offers the same amenities you’d expect to find at another Ritz-Carlton – lavishly decorated rooms, attentive service, a spa and hallways filled with original art. But then again, so do the other Miami luxury hotels that have sprung up in the recent past.

If this new hotel has a distinguishing feature, it it’s almost certainly the Bizcaya Grill, its restaurant. In less than a year, chef Willis Loughhead has managed to win several awards for his contemporary American dishes, which include Florida Keys yellowtail snapper with baby calamari Escabeche and pommery mustard and peach-stuffed double-cut pork chop.

We brought Aren along to meet Chef Loughhead for lunch, but he seemed more interested in playing in the nearby fountain than sampling the entrees that had landed Bizcaya on a list of the top 75 restaurants in the world, according to a recent magazine poll.

A toddler, after all, has a limited appreciation of fine dining.

The classic car exhibit at the Trump International Sonesta Beach Resort in nearby Sunny Isles, Fla., proved to be more Aren’s speed. The hotel, which opened in early 2003, displays developer Michael Dezer’s prized collection of automobiles, which include a vintage 1928 Duesenberg valued at about $1 million, a 1950 Mercury used in a James Dean movie and the first convertible Mustang.

You don’t have to explain the appeal of wheels to a little boy.

“Car, car, car!” Aren squealed as we walked among the vintage vehicles.

He was especially mesmerized by a 1967 amphibious auto – he knows the word “boat” too, but didn’t seem quite sure of what to call it – and tried to climb under the railing to assume his rightful position in the driver’s seat. We stopped him just in time, trying in vain to explain that these cars were just for looking, not driving.

The Sonesta also offers something not ever luxury property in town can: a great beach. As a matter of fact, of the new luxury hotels that have opened in the last year, the Sonesta is the only one with a strip of sand in front of it – never mind the stunning ocean views from its high-rise rooms.

It’s obvious that the planners didn’t take their location for granted, though. Guest rooms are thoughtfully outfitted with mini-kitchens that feature granite counter-tops, plus sitting areas with spacious sofas that make you feel as if you never left home.

Alas, even though the Sonesta welcomes kids, its rooms are not entirely childproof, as we discovered. Actually, we’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for the water glass that Aren pulled off the table and broke. He didn’t mean it. Really.

The newest of Miami’s luxury hotels, The Four Seasons, sets itself apart in other ways. The property, which opened in October 2003, is located in the tallest building in Miami, a 70-floor skyscraper in the middle of the city’s financial district. Strictly speaking, it’s a business hotel – with lots of breakable things for toddlers to get into. But then you discover the rooftop pool. Not just one pool, but several of them. And then you realize that the Four Seasons Hotel Miami has a fun side, too.

After we checked into the hotel, and baby-proofed our room by moving the guest directories, magazines and water bottles to a higher location, we changed Aren into a swimsuit and caught an elevator to the pool level. That’s where we found a lap pool, a children’s pool and a one-of-a-kind wading pool filled with islands that were planted with palm trees.

The view of Biscayne Bay and downtown Miami from the pool deck is panoramic. As we stood on the edge of the water taking in the skyline, we almost felt as if it didn’t matter that were weren’t at the beach and struggling to find a good spot for our towel and lawn chair. Besides, the service here was second to none.

While Aren thoroughly enjoyed the pools, it was the music that managed to hold his attention. The Four Seasons hid speakers in the foliage (wouldn’t want to have loudspeakers out in the open for everyone to see) and he couldn’t figure out where the tunes were coming from. He ended up spending a lot of time looking for the source of the sound while we relaxed in the cabana, which turned out to be a pretty good thing.

Traditionally, a luxury hotel is no place for kids. But as we visited Miami’s three newest hotels, we were surprised at how many other children had brought their parents along for a vacation or business trip.Similar Posts:

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It could be the architecture – the soaring cathedrals built on Roman ruins – that draws visitors to the ancient Hungarian city of Sopron.

Or maybe it’s the sidewalk cafés, with their delectable pastries such as the dense chocolate Sachertorte or the Ferenc Rahozzi, a multilayered cheesecake, which bring them to this town along the Austrian border.

Then again, it’s probably the teeth.

With more than 300 practicing dentists – about one for every hundred residents – Sopron is arguably the world’s dentistry capital. Patients come here from as far away as Japan, Germany and the Netherlands for tooth work. One in three Austrians reportedly crosses the border to see a Hungarian dentist.

Why Sopron? In a quiet, air-conditioned office near the center of town, one doctor revealed the reason. “The going rate for a crown here is $195,” he said. “In Austria, it’s closer to $800.” How about a bridge? $170, he added. But it’s not just a bottom-line decision that compels tens of thousands of patients to make a trip to Hungary. The dentists here are more experienced than their European counterparts, they claim, simply because they get more work.

Dentistry really has its teeth in this town. At Sopron’s welcome center, visitors are handed a free directory of local doctors. Giant tooth-shaped signs beckon prospective patients to check out one of the dental clinics, where walk-ins are welcome. Restaurants even specialize in softer foods for folks who are recovering from a root canal or an implant – mousse, cheesecake and ice cream are prominently featured on their menus.

But you don’t have to have a toothache to appreciate Sopron. This is a town richer in history than most, with a remarkably diverse cuisine. And if you thought the dentistry was discounted, check out the other prices. True to its Eastern European roots, almost everything in Sopron is a bargain compared with elsewhere on the continent.

A family of four, for example, will have no trouble finding a quality restaurant where lunch costs about $35. The same meal would set you back $60 in Austria. Ditto for hotels. In Sopron, where most properties are maintained at Western European standards, room rates are about half of what they are in Western Europe. With all the money you save, you’ll probably have enough left over to get your teeth whitened.

The tooth trade has revitalized this historical city faster, and more noticeably, than other parts of Eastern Europe. Many buildings around Varkerulet Street – the thoroughfare encircling the inner city – have been restored to their former grandeur. And it’s not just the Gothic and Baroque styles, which are so common in this region, but also ancient ruins and buildings in the less common Jugendstil that you’ll find here.

Most visitors are immediately drawn to the Tuztorony, or Fire Tower, at the center of town. It dates back to the 13th Century and like so many other buildings, it stands on the remains of – you guessed it – Roman ruins. Tower guards used to keep watch over the city, sounding the alarm when invading armies approached or fire had broken out. To locals, however, the tower is a symbol of a 1921 referendum that made Sopron a part of Hungary.

There are other notable historical attractions, including a unique 14th Century synagogue on Uj Street that survived the banishment of Sopron’s Jewish population. It was restored to its original state in 1967, and is widely considered a must-visit because of its Gothic design and original pulpit.

What makes Sopron a truly worthwhile stop – even as a daytrip from Vienna or Budapest – is the food. Hungarian cooking is considerably heavier on the spices, a welcome break from the blander cuisine you’ll find in other parts of Europe. But it’s the city’s Austro-Hungarian heritage that gives it the sidewalk cafés, where you can order a mélange – a specialty drink of espresso and whole milk – and a kuchen. The cakes include the sinfully rich marble Gugelhupf and the decadent raspberry-filled Linzertorte.

Maybe it’s more than a little ironic that a place known for fixing teeth also appeals to your sweet tooth. But this is Europe, and everything doesn’t have to make sense.Similar Posts:

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Remember when air travel was an elegant experience that passengers dressed up for? When meals were served on china with real silverware? And doting flight attendants pinned honorary plastic wings on the lapels of wide-eyed youngsters?

I do, because I was one of those kids. I was charmed by crew members who made me feel like I was sitting in first class, even though I had a seat in economy. And, of course, I wanted to grow up to be a pilot. Every boy who was lucky enough to fly in those days wanted to be a pilot, especially after a visit to the cockpit.

Those days are over. Just last week I traveled from Fort Lauderdale, Fla., to Dallas with my 9-month-old son. Flight attendants hardly noticed the baby on board. When I asked one to point me to a restroom with a changing station, she rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t know,” she sniffed. “I don’t do babies.”

Infants aren’t the only thing the airlines don’t do these days. The plates and silverware are gone. Come to think of it, most flights don’t even serve meals anymore. Travelers just order takeout before takeoff, filling the recycled cabin air with the olfactory delights of french fries, kung pao chicken and pulled-pork barbecue sandwiches.

Let’s face it: Airlines have become little more than winged Greyhound buses, shuttling their human cargo from one airport to another. And forget cockpit visits. Pilots stay behind reinforced cockpit doors, thanks to terrorism fears.

Who is to blame? In many respects, we are. We demanded a democratization of the air-travel experience. We decided that tickets needed to be cheap enough for the masses. Sure thing, responded the airlines, cutting fares by 40% over three decades. Then they made it easy for us to compare bargain fares online. Then they made it even cheaper by boosting frequent-flier benefits. Some services declined, but we didn’t seem to mind, because suddenly anybody could afford to fly.

Too bad the airlines didn’t know when to say when. Fares were so low, they stopped making money, resulting in bankruptcies. Solution? More cuts — but not the kind we necessarily wanted. Want to check an extra bag? Forty bucks, please. Book a last-minute flight using your frequent-flier points? Fifty dollars. Make a change to a ticket? That’ll be a Ben Franklin. Southwest Airlines even forced overweight passengers to purchase two seats.

We can blame the airlines for running their businesses into the ground, and the government for letting them. But we can point the finger at ourselves, too, for demanding lower fares without considering the cost of a bargain. Our penny-pinching ways slowly dismantled the travel industry’s proudest example of customer service.

But that doesn’t mean we should jettison our sense of civility, even if we have to create our own “airline experience.” My son may not want to grow up to be a pilot. But when he’s old enough, I’ll get him a pair of Pan Am junior pilot wings, pack a sandwich in his National Airlines lunchbox and tell him a story about what it used to be like to soar above the clouds with class.Similar Posts:

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The come-as-you-are Florida Keys are synonymous with fishing, diving and dusk-to-dawn parties. But luxury vacations? Conventional wisdom says skip this wacky island chain and try Coconut Grove or Palm Beach instead.

Hold on. Although the Keys’ reputation as a place that’s a little rough around the edges is well-deserved, several new attractions have emerged that offer true extravagance – whether it’s a VIP dive trip, a white-glove fishing excursion, a sunset cruise on a luxury catamaran or a five-star lodging experience on your own private island.

Extravagance and eco-tourism are an irresistible combination these days. About one-half of all U.S. adults – an estimated 98 million people – have taken an adventure trip in the past five years, according to the Travel Industry Association of America (TIA). Of that, about a third engaged in so-called “hard” adventure, like whitewater rafting, mountain-biking or scuba diving.

But getting roughed up doesn’t necessarily mean you have to rough it, at least not the entire time. A recent report by the luxury travel agency consortium Virtuoso found that travelers with a taste for adventure crave the good life, too. So it’s no surprise that a destination like the Keys is giving itself an upgrade.

In Key Largo, going upscale means downsizing. Justin Minichino, who just began offering custom dive excursions through Amy Slate’s Amoray Dive Resort in Key Largo, prefers to think of it as “taking diving to the next level.” That’s not only true figuratively – but literally, too. His exclusive dive adventures on the Just-In-Time, a six passenger, 26-foot-long catamaran, are a world away from the party-boat dive trips you normally find in the Upper Keys.

And they take divers to a different world.

Each morning, the Just-In-Time slices through a flat turquoise sea on its way to John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park and the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary. The seamless blue sky stretches toward the horizon, where it’s met by a translucent Atlantic. None of the divers lift a finger to prepare their equipment – it has all been done for them before they boarded. After a briefing by the guide, the divers descend into the ocean. Moments later, at a depth of about 30 feet, they’re in a real-life aquarium: midnight parrotfish, French angelfish, nurse sharks and spotted eagle ray curiously gaze at the interlopers.

At the end of the tour, the divers remove their equipment in the water, where it is lifted on to the boat by the crew. Cold drinks are served and the boat makes its way to another location.

A few miles south along Highway One, you can experience a different kind of luxury. Islamorada, which is billed as the sport-fishing capital of the world, is a great place to hitch a ride on a party boat to go deep-sea fishing. But if you want to fish in style, skip the big boat and hire a private guide like Richard Stanczyk to see the saltwater flats in the backcountry.

The Gulf of Florida is a vast, open space of contrasts and extremes. Water and sky merge in a watercolor of blue and green along the horizon; hundreds of uninhabited islands stretch out into the sea in front of you. Out here you can catch anything from the shy bonefish to the menacing bull shark. A pro like Stanczyk knows every part of the backcountry like the back of his hand, and he takes you to the choicest fishing spots. “For most people, it isn’t about catching a fish as much as it is being out here on the water,” says the soft-spoken guide. “For them catching a fish is a bonus.”

But it’s a bonus Stanczyk invariably gets. Even on a day when the winds are kicking up tiny waves in the shallow water, he knows where to find good fish – the redfish, trout or fierce tarpon. Best of all, he takes care of everything, even baiting your hook if you don’t care to get your fingers covered in fish guts. Now that’s service.

Prefer not to interact with the wildlife in that way? On Duck Key, the wildlife (such as it is) stays on the boat. In the case of the sailing cruises offered on the Horizon, a 40-foot catamaran, it’s all about enjoying one of nature’s most impressive displays of light and color – the incomparable Florida Keys sunset. “We don’t have a destination in mind,” says Cindy Shattuck, the Horizon’s co-owner. “We just go where the wind takes us.” But they travel in style: free beer, wine and soda are served on the trip, and there’s a special champagne toast when the sun goes down.

For private parties, the Horizon pulls out all the stops. It serves gulf shrimp and vegetable appetizers and takes passengers on an extended tour of the Atlantic. Along the way, you can see dolphin, stingrays and green turtles in their natural habitat, without having to get wet or baiting a hook.

The Keys even offer unusual upscale accommodations.

Little Palm Island, a short drive and a ferry ride away from Key West (it’s only accessible by water) is something close to your own private island: 28 thatched-roof bungalows where no creature comfort has been spared. Envision Gilligan’s Island – as Mrs. Howell would have wanted it. Understated furniture, oversized bathrooms, king-sized beds with mosquito netting that the hotel insists is “for effect only.”

Think that’s decadent? Then stretch out on the sandy beach. When you get thirsty, just plant your flag in the ground and someone will be by to take your drink order. You won’t find any crashing waves on this shore – there’s a barrier reef a few miles out – but you do get the companionship of the endangered Key Deer, the dog-sized creatures that drop by to mooch a bite to eat from the sun-worshippers. The deer are extremely friendly and they obviously have highly developed tastes.

How the Keys can offer all this style without giving up their quirkiness is a mystery. Whether you’re getting the exclusive diving tour, fishing guide, sunset cruise or hotel experience, the place still manages to exude irreverence. It seems you can always hear a Jimmy Buffett tune playing in the distance somewhere, even while you’re savoring a five-course dinner.

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