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VACAT IONS THAT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE

From stunning beaches in Greece to a beloved Northeastern coast, these journeys

are sure to inspire and transform

Golden!sunlight!illuminates!the!white!exteriors!of!

restaurants"!shops"!and!cafés!in!Mykonos!Town#

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REBUILDING IN NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

J A Z Z M U S I C E M A N A T E S F R O M everywhere: an open window, a car radio, a duo playing violin and guitar in the middle of the road. At first I wonder whether the notes are coming from inside my head, a soundtrack to how I

always imagined New Orleans would be.I hear the same tunes coming from a paint-covered

boom box outside a weatherbeaten house in Algiers, a neighborhood still feeling the e!ects of Hurricane Katrina nearly a decade after its destruction. I’ve arrived at this tarp-covered site to volunteer for Rebuilding Together New Orleans, which organizes helpers to repair storm-damaged houses.

Rates at The Roosevelt New Orleans start at $199; theroosevelt neworleans.com. To volunteer, visit rtno.org.

A truck filled with construction materials sits at the worksite, where the homeowner takes me from room to room and tells me stories of the happy times her family enjoyed here pre-Katrina. She’s spent the past eight years and every bit of her insurance money fixing rooms inside, and only the exterior work stands in the way of regaining the home she once had.

Atop a ladder in the sweltering Louisiana heat, my face covered with a dust mask, I scrape away at the house’s existing layer of paint. The day soon becomes one of the most exhausting I’ve ever had, and I want more than anything to take a break and find some air-conditioning. But another conversation with the homeowner renews my energy: In this city, she explains, nothing is taken for granted—music, food, a stranger’s kindness—and that appreciation gives people amazing resilience. What I’m doing is more than just making this house look better; I’m helping to give someone else the strength to take on whatever life may throw at her. Working in time to the music, covering three dropcloths full of old paint chips, I actually finish the day stronger than I started.

After a quick cleanup at The Roosevelt New Orleans hotel, I sink my sore muscles into a chair at Restaurant R’evolution. A pair of world-famous chefs here joined forces after Hurricane Katrina in a large-scale e!ort to bring food to survivors. Their pride in their city is still evident today in their take on traditional Creole food and its inventive presentation: A corn-and-crab soup is served cappuccino style, topped with a tru"e foam and popcorn garnish.

Post dinner, I head to Frenchmen Street and stop inside Snug Harbor Jazz Bistro. It’s the crescendo of the soundtrack that has played throughout my New Orleans experience—lively music that encourages putting not just the mind, but the entire body to work. And I can think of nowhere I’d rather be than lost in its melody. —Madeleine Frank

Warm!water"!friendly!waves"!lush!mountains$!

a!dreamy!classroom! for!surf!school

 THE THREE MOST IMPORTANT principles are look forward, relax, and stay low,” says my instructor, seven-time Costa Rica national surfing champion Alvaro Solano Delgado. We’re

perched on a wooden platform on a hillside a few miles from the Pacific Ocean. After prac-ticing my pop-up to surfer crouch a few times, Delgado deems me seaworthy. We load into the Vista Guapa Surf Camp truck and drive five minutes down to Jaco Beach for the real thing.

Once there, Delgado and his teenage nephew Titi unload a quiver of sur#oards in varying sizes. “We’ll walk out until the water is here,” Delgado says, motioning to his chest, “and then we’ll get on the board and paddle.”

Gulp. Somehow, until we’re paddling toward them, I haven’t processed the size of the waves. Jaco is known for its beginner-friendly surf break, and I try to believe this despite the rush-ing walls of water coming at me.

Beyond the churning breakers is our goal: calm water. But first, we have a gauntlet to run. I paddle out for several grueling minutes with Titi behind me, helping me to stay right-side up. When I reach the promised land, I feel an immediate sense of accomplishment—and an aching in my upper body. Now, it’s time to surf.

LEARNING TO SURF

IN JACO, COSTA RICA

“Paddle, paddle, paddle!” yells Delgado. “Up!” And, like we practiced, I pop up, stay up, and am gliding toward shore. I feel wobbly, but I crouch low, look ahead, reach my arms out-ward, and try to relax. It feels amazing, and around me I hear whoops of support. The beach looks even more picturesque from my sur#oard, where I can see the entire C-curve of dark brown sand is dotted with palm trees that stretch toward the brilliant blue sky. Beyond that, hills covered in verdant forest roll gently upward. A pair of scarlet macaws decked out in vibrant plumage flies by, wings lifting and falling in unison.

I score several great rides that day, learning that catching the waves—at least under the tutelage of Delgado—is the easy part. It’s pad-dling back against the ceaseless breakers that’s the challenge. But the view and the ride are worth it, time and time again.

Returning to the surf camp, I make the steep but short walk to my cabin on the hillside. My Technicolor hammock provides the perfect vantage point for reflecting on the day’s adven-ture. I can see our surf spot below, and it feels like a treasured escape to me after my after-noon playing in its waves.

Later that night, on the way to dinner, I seize the chance to grill my coach about his surfing history—when did he start (10 years old, with a broken board), where are his favorite places in the world to surf (Puerto Escondido in Mexico and, of course, Costa Rica).

Now it’s Delgado’s turn to ask the questions: “Would you surf every day if you could?” “Oh yes,” I answer. “Every day.” —Susan Hall Mahon

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Rates start at $500 for three nights, meals, and surf lessons; vistaguapa.com.

Volunteers’!investment!in!the!rebirth!of!New!Orleans!is!

repaid!in!full!by!experiencing!the!city’s!vibrant!culture#

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I T IS MY FIFTH DAY ABOARD THE LUXURY Silver Galapagos expedition ship, the newest addition to the Silversea line, and my trans-formation is almost complete. As I swim through the waters of Champion Island, well insulated and buoyant in my wetsuit, I

believe I am becoming part sea lion. Snorkeling once or twice a day, I am on the hunt as they are, chasing penguins and colorful fish. My ears stick out slightly, pushed down by the tight strap of my mask. (External ear flaps are one of the most obvious ways to distin-guish a sea lion from a seal.) Suddenly, a pod of sea

Rates for a seven-day cruise on the Silver Galapagos start at $5,450 per person; silversea.com.

CRUISING THE GALÁPAGOS ISLANDS

archipelago. And from these posts, we are able to see the most wondrous things: the striking contrast of a tiny yellow warbler perched on the mottled shell of a giant tortoise; the bulletlike speed of penguins darting through the water after a school of fish; a dark, craggy cli! against the outrageously turquoise feet of a blue-footed booby unaware of its own impossible beauty; the heartbreaking cries of an orphaned baby sea lion as he seeks solace from other mothers, only to be rebu!ed by angry barks. (Helping him might endanger their own lives and o!spring.)

The Galápagos Islands (named after the Spanish word for a type of saddle, used to describe the now-endangered giant tortoises) are famous for inspiring Darwin’s theories of evolution. He spent five weeks here; I only have one in which to see the abundant wildlife: finches, sea turtles, pink flamingos, marine iguanas, and bright red crabs. One of the most amazing

things is that they are unafraid of humans. They don’t even blink when we lean in with our protruding lenses.

The islands themselves are less photogenic: most are inhospitable piles of lava rocks, leftover from fiery active volcanoes. Some islands look like drip castles; others, like vast landscapes of dark chocolate butter-cream whipped by electric beaters. It’s a place where very little grows, and there is almost no freshwater.

Putting it in context for us is a wonderful team of Ecuadorian naturalists, certified by the national park. They are our onboard guides as we travel 435 nautical miles through this place of complete otherness smack dab on the Equator. But thanks to them (and the sea lions), I find myself strangely at home in a world I once barely even knew existed. —Antonia van der Meer

lions greets me as its own, swimming toward me and peering straight into my eyes, then bending and twist-ing as they spiral down below me, only to pop back up by my side. What I do, they mimic: a twirl, a splash, a dive. I watch as one playfully picks up a starfish in its mouth and starts a game of sea lion Frisbee for which I now have a front-row seat.

I am on an expedition, and an expedition is nothing like a cruise. Evidence: The ship has four lounge chairs on board for its 100 passengers. More evidence: They’re always empty because no one has the time (or desire) to lounge. Expeditions, on land and in the water, head out twice a day; some start as early as 6:30 a.m. The cabins are spacious, and most have small decks, but we are kept so busy that all we really see is the bed when we crash there immediately after dinner.

We are sped in expertly manned Zodiacs to other-wise inaccessible landings of interest throughout the

From!le%$!A!Sally! Lightfoot!crab!hanging!out!on!the!seaside!rocks&!a!cute!and!curious!Galápagos!sea!lion!pup&!Kicker!Rock! near!San!Cristóbal"! the!perfect!photo!op&! a!blue'footed!booby!proudly!showing!her!true!colors

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 IAM IN A 16-SEATER FLYING ABOVE the aquamarine waters of Belize, and already my life has changed: Being claustrophobic, I have always avoided anything much smaller than a jet for air travel, yet I’m feeling a mixture of

peace and exhilaration in this tiny space with an outsized view of the Caribbean. It’s a short flight from Belize City to the country’s largest island, Ambergris Caye, and I’m soon in a water taxi speeding to El Pescador, a colonial-style resort facing the big draw of Belize: its barrier reef. The world’s second-largest (after Australia), it’s home to some 500 species of fish, and I am here to swim among them.

El Pescador’s dive instructor, Alonzo Flota, was raised on the island and grew up free-diving with his father for lobster. He has a wide smile and an easy manner, and seems part fish himself. Our first destination is a protected marine reserve a few minutes away called Hol Chan, meaning “little channel,” marked only by a buoy above the sea. Below the surface, life is teeming. First to approach are six wide-eyed fish called permits, Flota says as we bob up. Plunging back down, I’m surrounded by a school of yellow-and-black striped fish— sergeant majors—and I’m instantly one of them, swimming alongside. Through the blur of stripes, Flota points downward, where an enormous sea turtle nuzzles the sandy bottom,

SNORKELING THE BELIZE BARRIER REEF

beautifully intricate markings decorating his shell. He flaps to the surface in slow motion, takes a long breath, and then sinks.

Blue, yellow, even lavender-eyelidded fish with multi spots and stripes dart or meander by—but there are also odd little beings, like an arrow crab with spidery, pine-straw legs sprouting tiny purple claws. We encounter giant things: a green moray eel with mouth agape (I keep my distance), and stingrays skirt-ing the ocean floor like massive, undulating car mats. In nearby Shark Ray Alley, we’re sur-rounded by nurse sharks, which look and act less like sharks and more like a combo of cat-fish and seal, with whiskers and brown bodies that feel like sandpaper.

Back at my spacious, cathedral-ceiling villa, I head outside. Two long, family-style dinner tables preside under palm trees strung with paper lanterns, and fishing, snorkeling, and diving tales from the day are shared. I sample snapper that my tablemate Tim caught that afternoon—amazingly light and delicious.

From amiable El Pescador, I travel north the next day to the romantic Matachica Resort & Spa, where I lie on my casita’s hammock, the low-breaking waves of the barrier reef in the distance, a mere 20-minute kayak ride away. As I mull over that possibility, I know that anytime from now on, I can close my eyes and transport myself back to the middle of a school of fish by the reef, happy under the sea. —Jennifer Brunnemer Slaton

Inset$!A!deluxe!beachfront!casita!at!Matachica!Resort!&!Spa&!inside"!a!gauzy'canopied!

bed!and!sleek!sofa!face!out!to!open!wood'shuttered!doors"!

sandy!shore"!and!the!reef#A FTER FOUR DAYS SPENT pedaling past tiny lobster shacks and towering light-houses on our way through quiet fishing villages, it’s the final ride of the trip. When

we cross the finish line, our Discovery Bicycle Tours group members will scatter back to our home states. We have our heads, fingers, and noses buried in all three of our maps, peri-odically looking up to see if the signage is pointing us toward Bar Harbor. We’ve taken a detour to avoid a busy highway and now we need to decide if we should reverse the morning’s directions and retrace our trail. If

Rates for the six-day Coast of Maine Bike Tour start at $1,850; discoverybicycletours.com.

Villa rates at El Pescador start at $280; elpescador .com. Rates at Matachica Resort & Spa start at $225; matachica.com.

only the GPS would work! Instead, a hand-some man on a bike—barely out of breath—stops at our group. “Did you just come from Bar Harbor?” someone asks. “Can we get there from here?” “Yes, of course,” he says. “Just take a right, and then it’s all lefts.” With his directions, the ride back is downhill—and I am nothing if not an excellent coaster.

To be honest, I am not an adventure-seeker or a hardcore anything. I am an erstwhile run-ner, a sometime yogi, and lately a real couch potato. Looking back, jumping into five full days of biking around Maine seems a bit crazy, but I couldn’t have found a better tour group. Vermont-based Discovery Bicycle Tours o!ers small-group cycling vacations around the United States and Europe. The six-day coastal Maine tour has had us rolling down carriage roads and into villages, and hopping boats to the islands around Bass Harbor. Each day holds new coastal views and a chance to redeem myself from the last ride.

Each night has meant a filling dinner, excel-lent conversation, and warm beds at either The Claremont Hotel in Southwest Harbor or the Manor House Inn in Bar Harbor. I am admittedly partial to our guides, David and Cindy, who became counselors, teachers, and coaches. I was never without one of them, which ultimately forced me to grit my teeth and spin out another mile—uphill. Someone rode in the back (read: with me), and the other drove a van, which amazingly I never used.

I am the youngest by about 20 years and the worst by about 1,000 miles. Each day, I’ve drug in at dark, legs shaking and sweaty, only to find the others—mostly couples—all show-ered and ready to eat. But I am leaving so inspired: I think that all of my new friends will agree that we each lost something on this trip—inhibitions, a pair of gloves, five or 10 pounds. But we gained so much more. Inspi-ration. Determination. Knowledge. (And yes, a sore rear.) —Kristen Shelton Fielder

Biking!in!Maine!is!a!two'wheel!adventure!

through!beautiful!landscapes"!with!pit!

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BIKING THE COAST

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balcony at Mykonos Grand Hotel & Resort, I can see golden rays of sunlight streaming down from the sky, igniting the wispy edges of a plump cloud and warming the cobalt surf below. It’s an ethereal scene—for a

moment I wonder if Apollo himself might descend from that cloud and find a seat on the sandy beach.

After all, I’m staring at the island of Delos, birth-place of the god of light (and today’s destination). Even in October, when the party isle of Mykonos settles into a more languid pace, the winding, gray stone roads of Mykonos Town overflow with locals and tourists in alfresco cafés lunching over Greek salads (absolutely no lettuce—just a beautiful mix of ripe tomatoes, bell peppers, red onion, and whole blocks of feta drizzled with olive oil). After a quick ferry ride to Delos, I wan-der among the ruins of early Aegean civilization, the stark landscape punctured with rock walls. I stare up

SEEKINGTHE SUN

IN MYKONOS & DELOS, GREECE

at the tall columns, what we’re told was once the foun-dation of a grand home. I feel an electric charge that starts at my feet as I trace my fingers over some ancient Greek letters carved into sandstone. On the way back to Mykonos, I sit next to a French woman; she says she’s wearing SPF 50, but marvels at her rosy tinge from the sun. We dub this the “Mykonos glow”—bronzed by the gods.

As the sun begins to set, the bright white, curved structures of town—boutiques, restaurants, and bars—blaze orange and pink. Winding along the walkways, it’s easy to get distracted by whimsically painted doors and flowering bougainvillea hanging from balconies. “This is one of the best places on Earth to get a little lost,” a kind (and handsome) Greek man tells me, and then points me in the direction of the highly recom-mended Kounelas Fish Tavern. I settle into my cozy corner table lit by a soft blue lamp, and order the fresh catch of the day—but first, I need to pick it out. From

the fishermen’s cooling drawers, I’m presented with silver-bellied sargos (sea bream), scarlet prawns, and a gaggle of cockles; I choose a medium-size fish, which is served with rice and boiled potatoes. The flavors are simple. The meal is extraordinary.

For a nightcap, I head back out into town and end up in the Little Venice neighborhood, where the stout white bases and thatched caps of giant, round wind-mills preserved from the 16th century overlook the harbor. I take a chair two feet from the water at Caprice of Mykonos. At the moment my neat martini arrives, a wave curls up from the sea, adding a few droplets of salt to my drink. Just another gift from the gods. —Jacquelyene Froeber

From!le%$!The!bustling!harbor!of!Mykonos!Town&!colorful!shutters! and!doors"!which!become!landmarks!when!making!your!way!around!town&!the!island!of!Delos"!a!UNESCO!site!with!amazing!ruins&!an!authentic!Greek!salad

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Rates for the luxurious sea-view suites at Mykonos Grand Hotel & Resort start at $323; mykonosgrand.gr. Cozy up in a boho-chic suite at San Giorgio Mykonos, where rates start at $200; sangiorgio.gr. Rates at Kouros Hotel, a 10-minute walk to town, start at $170; kouroshotelmykonos.gr.