Jeep maintains a bucket list of “Badge of Honor” off-roading trails in the US. Of the 68 trails on the list, California is home to six. Three of those—Gold Mountain, Holcomb Creek, and John Bull—are located in Big Bear. “People travel from all over the world to try to complete those trails,” Hauer says. “Not only do they have amazing views and scenery, but they have some very challenging terrain.” 

John Bull is perhaps the most famous of the three trails, thanks in part to the entrance: 100 yards of massive boulders many call the Gatekeepers. Unlike many trails, the rocks and boulders on the John Bull trail are loose, which means they shift as vehicles roll over them, leading to constant, exciting changes. But it’s not for beginners—its black diamond rating means it’s among the most difficult on Jeep’s Badge of Honor list (similar to ski trails). 

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That’s why you won’t find yourself trundling down John Bull with Big Bear Off Road Experience, which provides customers the opportunity to learn the fundamentals of off-roading.

The company offers a guided tour in which participants drive their own off-road Jeeps, following behind a lead vehicle. Guides will show you how to air out the tires and spot you through the obstacles on the trails. “We teach them all about the techniques—driving over rocks, boulders, obstacles—and we go do it,” Hauer says. 

According to Hauer, while the introduction of trail-capable vehicles to showroom floors has made off-roading more accessible (enthusiasts used to have to build the cars out themselves), those vehicles cost upwards of $80,000. Repeat customers from San Diego and Los Angeles look to Big Bear Off Road Experience to go off-roading a few times a year without making a major investment on a Jeep of their own.

Hauer initially started a wakeboarding and waterskiing school in Big Bear, but he soon realized that many people were more interested in experiencing the high performance boats than learning to wakeboard, inspiring him to give a similar customer base the chance to get behind the wheel of off-road Jeeps. Those who don’t want to drive, though, can hop on Hauer’s 12-passenger TourZilla for a thrilling off-road tour of the valley. 

Of course, the area’s off-road trails aren’t just limited to four wheels. The mountain town also draws dirt bikers with its annual Big Bear Run. 

Molly Williams-Sunday and her husband, Steven Melhan, run Mystic Moto in the village. The unique store is part motorcycle-themed gift shop and part candlemaking bar called Ritual Provisions. The couple moved to Big Bear four years ago and is now part of a core group of dirt bikers. “We just came up for mountain biking initially. Once we moved in, we started discovering all the trails for dirt bikes,” Williams-Sunday says. 

Williams-Sunday and Mehlan previously lived in San Diego, where you have to drive at least an hour to find accessible land to ride on. In Big Bear, though, you only need to go 15 minutes to find a trail. There’s a solid posse of regular dirt bike riders in Big Bear, but plenty of out-of-towners come out to ride in the spring and summer—and often roar into the main part of town. Soon, Mystic Moto plans to offer guided rides with dirt bikes for rent. 

Off-roading in Big Bear is a year-round activity, thanks to the area’s multiple elevations (even if some trails are snowed in, you can always find an open one). So next time you’re in the area, take a break from the slopes or boats to try the trails on for size.

The post How to Explore Big Bear’s Renowned Off-Roading Trails appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

The Luxe Room is my personal favorite aspect of the 42-treatment-room spa’s recent multimillion-dollar revamp. Other new additions include vintage art (a throwback to the days when Jackie Kennedy spent time wrapped in the resort’s cozy robes), steam rooms scented with sandalwood and florals, and three hideaways tiled in salt crystals, said to ease stress and improve sleep. 

Each of the latter rooms has a pair of those high-tech, thigh-high boots that squeeze your legs like blood pressure cuffs. They’re a helpful recovery tool for athletes, but after trying them and the spa’s “reflexology path”—a trail of embedded stones intended to poke the pads of your feet in therapeutic ways—I decide I’m more into the relaxation side of a spa day: letting the outdoor waterfall shower give me a second, informal massage; devouring carrot hummus at the onsite Spa Café.

The area’s serene energy differs wildly from the vibe at the Omni La Costa’s adults-only Edge Pool, which, on a Saturday, is crowded in a fun way, its shallow depths packed with drink-clutching hotel guests like a Vegas pool party. A DJ spins the afternoon’s bumping soundtrack, drowning out the happy shouts of children whipping down water slides at the nearby family-friendly Splash Landing Pools. 

After a margarita each, my partner and I return to our room to change for dinner. The hotel’s 600 guest rooms and 170,000 square feet of meeting spaces also got recent updates, and the coastal-California-meets-Spain aesthetic sensibilities that have always defined its exteriors now further carry over inside. Our home for the night has high ceilings, soft colors, plush furniture. 

But for me, a hotel is only as good as its amenities, so it’s a good thing the 400-acre property has no shortage, especially following the remodel. In addition to eight pools, the Omni La Costa houses two golf courses, including the freshly reopened, $25 million North Course, where college-aged golfers will compete in division-1 NCAA tournaments at least through 2026. A new putting green and practice range give guests a place to warm up before hitting the links. One could pass an entire week onsite without feeling the need to venture out, between six places to eat, a 9,100-square-foot gym, even shops vending vacation-y apparel.

In the summer, the property hosts open-air concerts, which my partner and I tune into while sipping drinks from the thoughtful craft cocktail menu at Bar Traza. (If you’re into produce-driven California food, dine here instead of Bob’s Steak and Chop House, a classic white-tablecloth, meat-and-potatoes joint that’s tasty but by-the-book.) 

Dubbed “Of All Things,” my cocktail is full of pleasantly bitter and tangy stuff: grapefruit, rhubarb, Aperol. A breeze lifts off the golf course and plays through my hair while a jazz singer croons in the courtyard below Bar Traza’s elevated patio. Tomorrow, I’ll drive the 30 minutes up the road to University Heights, return to grocery runs and meetings. For now, I close my eyes and savor the feeling of being somewhere else—Carlsbad, Spain, maybe another planet entirely.

The post Finding Serenity at the Refreshed Omni La Costa Resort & Spa appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

My left thumb ran back and forth across the line, guiding it from side to side to keep it from getting tangled. My other hand gripped the fishing pole, cranking the handle and fighting with my opponent. All eyes were on me.

It had been a long time since I’d grappled with a fish. I first learned how during childhood camping trips to places like Sequoia National Park, Mount Lassen, and Yosemite. I vividly remember watching as my best friend’s dad grilled up our catch each day.

Garlic, butter, salt, and pepper. He always kept it simple, but when I was a young kid, it felt like eating at a five-star restaurant. All the work to prepare the hook and throw the line into the water; the waiting, waiting, more waiting until we finally latched onto a fish—these were the invisible spices that made each bite so delicious.  

I remembered those days by the river as I fought with my catch aboard Mauna Lani Resort’s 42-foot Yellowfin sporting yacht off the coast of the Big Island in Hawaii. This wasn’t like the peaceful waters of my childhood days, though—we were trolling the ocean near one of the world’s most dangerous channels, Alenuihaha. 

“People attempt to swim this every year,” captain Ikaika said. “They almost always fail.” Getting here by boat had also proved to be a bit challenging. Most of the other guests had gotten seasick early on and were fighting through nausea. (Pro tip: Take Dramamine, no matter how comfortable you are on the water.)

But I was ready for adventure. As we made our way across the ocean, we heard stories of island life and Hawaiian traditions and culture and learned about deep-sea fishing. And then—we heard it. The click-click-click sound that alerts fishermen that something is on the line.

Everyone rushed to the front as I grabbed onto the large fishing rod attached to the boat. “Back and forth, back and forth. Here, sit on the gunwale,” our captain instructed, pointing to the side of the boat, which would give me added support. “There. Now it’ll be easier.”

“If you need a break, you can tap someone in,” my fellow passengers assured me. Not a chance. I was 13 again, battling with my catch to bring home dinner for the night. Ten minutes later, we pulled out a 15-pound mahi mahi, tossing it into a cooler for later. It was sincerely one of the best experiences I’ve had on my travels.

Deep-sea fishing aboard the Kalama Kai is one of the offerings available to guests at the Mauna Lani. The expedition also includes the opportunity to taste your catch (with a chef’s touch) at the hotel’s CanoeHouse. Helmed by executive chef Allen Nagun, the Japanese-influenced farm-to-table restaurant sits on the beach and is surrounded by tiki torches, swaying palm trees, and plenty of outdoor seating.  

That night, mahi mahi was the star of the menu. Dish after dish, chef Nagun showcased his craft, using every inch of the fish. We nibbled cold and grilled sashimi, tempura-fried fish sticks, smoked collar, and a mouthwatering fish stew. Eight courses in, we had to wave the white flag—though, with 15 pounds of fish, the kitchen could have kept going.

Unlike in my Yosemite days, though, retreating to bed after dinner involved more white linens and oceanfront views and fewer sleeping pads and mosquito nets. Mauna Lani has more than 300 rooms and suites, as well as residences and an estate with accommodations for up to 15 people. While I can’t quite call it grown-up camping, falling asleep to the sounds of the ocean outside of my room offered the kind of nature vacation that I was looking for.

The resort sits along the Kohala Coast, about 30 minutes from the Kona airport, and is one of the island’s most iconic properties. Opened in 1983, it boasts a colorful past  marked with notable visitors and celebrity guests such as Elvis Presley and Babe Ruth. In 2018, Auberge Resorts purchased the hotel and put more than $200 million dollars into returning it to its glory days. 

Though the property is beautifully revamped, it’s the quiet nature of this hotel that makes it so attractive. There were plenty of guests around during my stay, but everyone seemed to come for a respite from the busy mainland life. Nowadays, it can be hard to have a truly restful vacation—and, truthfully, family-friendly hotels are rarely the place to do so.

But you get the sense that Mauna Lani’s guests truly understand hoʻomaha—the act of resting, pausing, and actually stopping work. It’s not easy to do, but the hotel’s Goop Glow facial sure helps. The signature spa treatment is exclusive to the resort and is meant to help detoxify, moisturize, and supercharge your skin using Gwenyth Paltrow’s high-end skincare line.

If moving your body is your personal key to unlocking zen, there are plenty of activities to keep you busy. Each week, the property puts out a list of daily offerings, including sunrise canoeing or yoga, pickleball and tennis clinics, plant tours, lei-making classes, kids’ camps, walking tours, and programming that teaches you about the island’s turtles. Or, you can settle into a pool- or beachside cabana and enjoy food and drinks from the Surf Shack.

At the end of the trip, I felt fully relaxed for the first time in awhile. Sometimes, when I come home from a vacation, I find myself craving extra days to recharge before getting back to life. But the resort seems to send some of its peacefulness home with you—I arrived back in California fully refreshed. The only thing on my mind was how quickly I could jump aboard the Kalama Kai for another adventure.

The post Relaxing (and Reeling) at Hawaii’s Mauna Lani Resort appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

During my first visit there in 2018 for a botanical-themed journalism fellowship, I developed a newfound appreciation for the mystifying wonder of plants—their astounding diversity, limitless complexity, and extraordinary beauty. Returning this winter from a gray-skied San Diego, I wanted to reconnect with that sunny greenery.

Known as the Garden Island, Hawai‘i’s most westerly offering is a verdant blotch of craggy jungled peaks and sluicing waterfalls. This violent, mesmerizing topography, and in particular its central peak, Mount Waialeale—meaning “a rippling on the water”—is the cause of Kauai’s plentiful rainfall, the most of any Hawai‘ian island. (In fact, it’s one of the rainiest places on earth.) These sharply rising mountains propel moist air skywards, where it cools and condenses into bursting clouds. The plants are happy on Kauai, and so am I.

Evidence of Kauaians’ affinity for the botanical world is everywhere on the island. Fruit and vegetable stands dot the roadsides. Everyone seems to garden. Wellness shops abound, hawking products like kava, an herbal depressant made from roots, and noni, a medicinal fruit.

As soon as I arrived at my hotel, the Lodge at Kukui‘ula, I was adorned with a lei of pua kenikeni, a pale yellow flower with a scent reminiscent of plumeria; traditionally, these pretty blooms signify affection and respect. The welcome christening occurred in view of both Kukui‘ula Harbor and the property’s communal farm stand, which boasts papaya, turmeric, and edible yellow nasturtium flowers, all harvested from Kukui’ula’s 10-acre farm.

The fellowship I’d attended in 2018 was hosted by the National Tropical Botanical Garden, a federal research organization which advocates for Hawai‘i’s indigenous flora. “Our connections with this landscape and our connections with these plants have always been,” says Lei Wann, an NTBG conservationist and Kauai native. “It’s a tradition that has been handed down from generation to generation.”

On a slow-going island, NTBG is a flurry of activity. Its brave botanists scale steep mountain ridges in search of rare plants. In pristine labs, biologists inspect germplasm under microscopes. The org’s seed bank houses 17 million seeds from 533 native flora, such as Hawai‘i’s foundational ‘ōhi‘a trees, which are currently threatened by a marauding fungus. There is also ‘ekaha, or bird’s nest fern, the feathery leaves of which adorn hula altars and are used in canoe-cutting ceremonies, and loululelo, a critically endangered fan palm whose name means “umbrella” because the large leaves were utilized for protection from the rain and sun. Some two dozen gardeners tend to every tropical plant you can imagine. NTBG guides, like Oahu-born Randy Bartlett, cart bug-eyed visitors into these sprawling edens to explore.

“If you look to your right, there’s a patch of bananas waving gently in the breeze,” Bartlett says as we descend a bumpy path in an air-conditioned van, heading deep into the bowels of the 200-acre McBryde Garden, NTBG’s flagship grounds. “They are usually pretty friendly. If you wave, they’ll wave back.”

During our drive, Bartlett identifies obscure plant species with all the gusto of a safari guide pointing out rhinos. It is clear from his commentary that Kauai is a global smorgasbord of plant life, like a botanical Babel: fig trees from Queensland, Indian and Chinese banyans, African tulip trees. Local plant enthusiasts, who observe strict divisions between native and non-native entities, are not so enthused about this; throughout Hawai‘i, invasive species wreak ecological havoc (though, it should be said, not all foreign species are invasive, meaning species that uncontrollably proliferate). If you spot these intruders, such as kahili ginger or strawberry guava, botanists recommend uprooting them.

Eighty percent of the 1,200 plant species native to Hawai‘i are endemic—they are found nowhere else on earth.

Many Hawai‘ians harbor a deep reverence for these plants, stemming from both biological interest and cultural affinity. In ancient times, the indigenous people of Hawai‘i found practical and religious uses for nearly every one.

Hala, for instance, a zany, stilted species also known as “the walking tree,” is a veritable Swiss Army knife of native utility, used for thatching roofs; weaving baskets, mats, hats, fans, and hula adornments; and crafting medicine to treat wounds, fever, and diarrhea—and it’s edible. Today, scientists glean important insights from its unique properties, too.

“Our gardens have really become habitats for not just the plant itself but this whole ecosystem to function,” says Wann, who specializes in ahupua’a, a conservation practice informed by indigenous Hawai‘ian techniques and knowledge systems. Adherents follow natural watersheds in establishing plot boundaries and practice crop rotation, among other ancient sustainable approaches on land and at sea. “It’s really the footprint of our ahupua’a ways of life that guide our knowledge, our research, and the ways in which we engage in this landscape,” Wann adds.

The first humans to introduce new plants to Hawai‘i were Polynesian seafarers, who settled the islands sometime between the 4th and 7th centuries (the reigning theory is that these explorers came from the Marquesas Islands). For medicines, supplies, and food, they shipped 27 species of plants alongside them, including bananas, breadfruit, and coconuts. Botanists today refer to these species as “canoe plants.” Often cultivated for their practical and cultural significance, canoe plants are generally not considered invasive as they do not threaten other species.

Strolling through McBryde, I spot happy specimens of several: paper mulberry, hibiscus, and milo, which provided the original Hawai‘ians with fibers, cordage, and wood, and turmeric and shampoo ginger, which had medicinal uses. I see plenty of taro, another canoe plant, with its floppy waxen leaves. Later, I’ll enjoy the sweet purple tuber in soup form at Merriman’s, a spectacular farm-to-table restaurant, alongside tako escargot and grilled ono.

For NTBG, success means continuation: more preservation, more research, and more public education. They have an impressive track record—NTBG botanists have been associated with the discovery of at least 123 new plants, which includes 59 new species in Hawai‘i alongside the rediscovery of nearly 40 Hawai‘ian species previously thought to have disappeared. Scientists are conducting research to better grasp how certain native plants are affected by the increased salinity that comes with rising sea levels or to learn how to maintain genetic diversity in populations of threatened species, among other research endeavors.

But, perhaps most importantly, NTBG has helped drive a wider commitment to tropical plant conservation among both botanist circles and the general public. Though “National” is in the name, the organization actually relies on individual donations to survive. Visitors and donors play a vital role in continuing their important work. “We really stress that we are a non-government, nonprofit organization, and that is why public engagement—membership, tours, donations—is so very important to keep us going,” says Jon Letman, editor of NTBG’s Bulletin magazine. “That is our bread and butter.”

These days, there is a lot of interest in regenerative tourism and environmentally focused travel—tourism that aids ecosystems rather than spoils them. Yet rarely have I felt more environmentally attuned or conscious of the importance of ecological regeneration than I did after having explored the vast, rousing gardens of NTBG. While there, you remember that plants are really and truly alive, and that you are too— because of them.

The post Securing the Future of Kauai’s Native Flora appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

This road is as familiar to me as the 79 to Julian, the narrow curves peppered with childhood memories of driving up here on the weekends. Hundreds of cork and holm oaks, not unlike the ones in southern California, line the road. It rained recently, so the soil is covered in grass and wildflowers, but I know that underneath, there is clay-like red earth that’s soft to the touch. Bulls graze lazily, swinging their tails to scare flies away. 

Eventually, I arrive in San Nicolás del Puerto, a small village of white houses beside a river with a Roman bridge. Around 600 people live here regularly, with the population increasing in the summertime. It’s not the prettiest or the most romantic of little Sevillian mountain towns, to be honest with you. But one thing brings me to these rocky hills of my ancestors: Saint Didacus, also known as San Diego, was born here in 1400.

When one enters the small town, the imprint of San Diego—the man—on the lives of its inhabitants quickly becomes obvious. The local school, one of the streets, and an hermitage (a small place of worship) are named after him. There are pictures of his likeness on the street. Businesses bear his moniker in big, bold lettering. 

I ask passers-by how to get to the hermitage, and they refer me to a small supermarket called La Alacena, owned by the Eldest Brother of the First Brotherhood of San Diego. He’s busy working behind the counter, but he directs me to the person who helps maintain the brotherhood’s assets, 70-year-old Ángela Gómez Macías. 

There aren’t many historic accounts of what San Diego’s life was like in his youth. Most internet articles say his origins were humble and pious. One can imagine, while walking down the orange tree–lined streets of this mountain town, that life here in the 15th century couldn’t have been very luxurious. According to the San Diego History Center, “as a young man, [San Diego] lived as a hermit and practiced asceticism prior to joining the Order of St. Francis of Assisi.”

But first, he was baptized at San Nicolás del Puerto’s 15th-century-era San Sebastián Church, a small but pretty Mudéjar-style chapel with a clock tower where a stork has made its spring nest. Gómez Macías shows me the ancient-looking baptismal font. She was baptized here, too, along with almost every child in the village. 

A tile painting behind the font depicts San Diego in his Franciscan robes. Between the folds, he hides flowers. It’s a reference to one of his alleged miracles, the reason for his elevation to sainthood. Legend says that, one day, San Diego was sneaking away some bread to feed the poor, which was frowned upon in his order. The custodian friar of his monastery asked what he was hiding. The bread turned into roses. Showing the blooms to the surprised monk, San Diego walked away. The flowers transformed back into loaves again, and he passed them out to the beggars. 

“San Diego means a lot to me—look,” Gómez Macias says, pointing at her arm, where her hair stands on end as though she has goosebumps. Some see raised hairs as a signal of devotion. 

We walk two streets down and visit the house where San Diego was born, according to the plaque on its façade. There’s nobody to open the door for us, but we peek through the window and spot a donkey hanging out in the backyard. 

We drive a mile outside of town to the hermitage, where a likeness of San Diego—a life-size wooden statue—presides over the space. “He’s very pretty,” Gómez Macías points out. “He’s beautiful.” She tells me he’s always represented carrying the wooden cross he’s said to have died clutching. On his shoulder perches a bird. 

An hour or so later, Beli Gómez, a fellow patron at one of San Nicolás del Puerto’s three restaurants, offers an explanation for the avian companion. It’s a story she heard many times from her mother: “[San Diego] loved animals, and his father had a lot of birds in captivity, and he used to open all their cages and free them,” she says. 

Beli confesses she’s an atheist. I am, too, but in Andalusia we don’t need to believe in miracles or God to love our saints, sacred statues, and rituals. Do you need to surf to love southern California’s beach culture? 

According to the San Diego History Center, it was cartographer Sebastián Vizcaíno who named the San Diego Bay in 1602, even though Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo had already visited the spot in 1542 and dubbed it San Miguel. It was the second European name that stuck. San Diego himself never set foot in the Americas—he died in 1463, nearly 30 years before the first of Columbus’s expeditions left from Huelva, 125 miles away from San Nicolás del Puerto. I arrived in the saint’s namesake city more than five centuries later, in 2015.

As I drive down the mountain, I think about all I had to change, all I had to become, to fit into my Southern California life. All the pieces of my Southern Spanish soul that I had somehow misplaced, forgotten in a dusty corner of my single-story, mid-century-modern, single-family home. 

I feel like finding Saint Diego has helped reintegrate some of those pieces I had lost. The Andalusian and the Californian. My roots and my present, all put together in a saint who turned bread into flowers. 

When I tell Gómez Macías I live in San Diego, California, her face doesn’t register surprise, but she admits it’s her first time meeting someone from the town named after the saint. It’s apparent that even though the lives of many residents of San Nicolás del Puerto are touched by the namesake of our city, they don’t much care that a town on another continent is named after him. 

To me this seems like such a crucial moment, connecting the dots of this strange coincidence that I have ended up in a town so far away from my ancestral land, and that yet it carries the name and the faith of these people, who are more like me than perhaps anyone I’ve met in San Diego. 

In the nine years I’ve lived in San Diego, it’s been hard to feel like it’s my home, in a way—even though I birthed two children and bought a house in the city. I’ve always felt a much stronger sense of belonging in southern Spain, where my heart pulses in time with the beats of flamenco, people understand my accent, and it doesn’t take a five-minute conversation to explain my name. 

It’s also difficult to reconcile the fact that people who came from the same place as me not only gave San Diego county its name, but played a big role in the despicable acts committed against the region’s first inhabitants, the Kumeyaay. 

I feel torn between pride in my culture, my roots, and where I come from and embarrassment and rage for what people from my country did to others. We need to do way better at communicating our colonial history so it doesn’t repeat.

Because just like not knowing where the name of San Diego comes from can keep us from an interesting piece of our past, not facing the history of those who came before does our city, our country, and the world a disservice.

“How can a town named San Nicolás del Puerto,” Beli muses, “not have a puerto (port) or a saint named Nicolás?” 

“How can a town named San Diego,” I think to myself, “be named after a cult that originated 5,000 miles away, and of which its citizens know nothing about?”

The post Finding San Diego in Southern Spain appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Fiercely protective of the mostly untouched interior, locals like myself and transplants alike (Matthew McConaghey is often spotted around town in Waimea) are often hesitant to share favorite hidden gems. Respect for the ‘aina (land) is a central tenet of Hawaiian culture and Western tourists tend to take advantage of the island’s expansive beauty and sheer remoteness. The old adage “Leave it better than you found it” is forgotten, along with trash and common decency. 

So, before diving into a list of the best things to do on the Big Island of Hawaii, here are a few tips to ensure you’re visiting responsibly: 

Tips for Visiting Hawaii

• Pick up your trash and “take only photos, leave only footprints”
• Respect the locals, their land, and their rules 
• Don’t drive like you’re in the city, most highways are 55 MPH
• Wear reef-safe sunscreen only and don’t wear any sunscreen at all in fresh water bodies of water
• Do not take anything natural off the island (shells, stones, coral, dried flowers, etc.) especially lava rocks—Pele’s Curse is very real 

Now that the ground rules are out of the way, these under-the-radar activities will have you seriously considering whether you could break your lease and work remotely. 

Eagles Nest (Wai’ale Falls)

This swimmable, easily accessible roadside waterfall is located right outside of Hilo. It is free, which means the trails aren’t maintained, so it’s a little treacherous getting down to the waterfall to swim. Doable, and worth it, but you’ve been warned.

Pololu Valley Hike

This breathtaking 1.5-mile roundtrip hike drops you into a river valley complete with a sprawling black sand beach and wild cows. Be sure not to venture up the hill beyond the river mouth, as these are sacred burial grounds of the native Hawaiians who once inhabited the valley. Also note that this is not a swimming beach, rough currents and jellyfish are a regular occurrence. Make a stop at Rainbow Cafe in Kapaau on the way out for an authentic Hawaiian/Chinese plate lunch.

Reed’s Bay Beach Park aka “Ice Ponds”

Swimmable, crystal clear, and, you guessed it, ice cold—these freshwater ponds in Hilo are perfect for a picnic and swim. The closer you get to the ocean, the warmer the water gets. Nene geese and sea turtles frequent the beach park, but please do not attempt to touch or get close to them. 

Big Island Farmers Markets

Produce grown on the Big Island is unmatched in flavor and variety, thanks to the ultra-rich volcanic soil and generous rainfall. You can find tropical fruits, eggs, honey, huge leafy vegetables and the like at one of the many farmers markets on any given day across the island. Hilo Waterfront Market (everyday), Waimea Market (Pukalani Stables Wednesdays and Saturdays), and Volcano Village Market (Sundays) are some of the best markets in terms of variety and accessibility. 

Big Island Skateparks

Love to skate? Bring your board and take an island-wide tour of the many skateparks the island has to offer. From Roots Skatepark in Kapaau to Shaka Paka in Hilo, and the legendary Kailua-Kona Skatepark, the Big Island has a booming skate community and the facilities to match. Fun fact: Roots Skatepark is completely community-funded and operated. 

Kaloko Cloud Forest

High above Konatown on the dormant volcano of Hualalai lays the lush Honuaʻula Forest Reserve. The scenic seven-mile drive takes you to the trailhead where miles of forest is yours for exploring on foot or mountain bike. Be aware of weather as it changes rapidly and what once began as a pleasant, sunny afternoon can become a thick, dark fog or heavy downpour in what feels like a matter of moments. 

Kiholo Bay

This brackish water bay is accessible with a short oceanfront hike. The milky turquoise water is the result of freshwater mixing with salt water and known for its bountiful sea turtle population. If you follow this hike, you will also see a black sand beach, abandoned beach shanty, and the bay itself, which is actually an ancient fishing pond used by native Hawaiians. Petroglyphs dot the lava rocks surrounding the bay, so be on the lookout.

Honaunau Bay 

Walk the ancient city and historical landmarks of the Pu’uhonua O Honaunau National Historical Park first, then cool off at Two Steps and do some snorkeling. The reef is one of the best on the island, and in the deeper waters you can often see dolphins. There is a sandy area for children, but no facilities other than a Porta-Potty. 

Honomu Goat Dairy

Check out the Honomu Goat Dairy where you can frolic with baby goats and buy some handmade goat cheese, milk, fudge, caramels, soap, or lip balm. It’s free to enter, and right off the side of the road on the way to Akaka Falls (which you should also visit!)

The post 9 Non-Touristy Things To Do on the Big Island of Hawaii appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

I probably look like one of the jesters, grinning maniacally as we approach the Clown Motel in Tonopah, Nevada, excited by its lurid exterior décor. Massive wooden clowns leer from the sides of the building. Its backlit sign appears to have been colored with Magic Markers. Themed rooms declare their horror movie affiliation: It, The Exorcist, Friday the 13th.

My girlfriend, Michaela, does not share my enthusiasm. Ensconced in the non-themed Room 103, beneath a painting of a red-nosed Freddie Mercury, I sleep soundly, dreaming, while Michaela lays rigid with terror, not even getting up to pee.

I’m here, paradoxically, in search of artifice. Visiting family as a kid, I was charmed by the raggedy roadside attractions on the drive from California to New Mexico—“trading posts,” a shriveled mummy—only to find out many were owned by the same corporate overlords. The American West, I decided pessimistically, is mostly an invention, a case of life imitating art.

The Clown Motel, for its part, certainly leans into its theme and trucks in rumors of its haunted history. But it was borne of a real-life clown obsession: Leona and Leroy David founded it in the 1980s, honoring their father, who’d died in a mine fire, by establishing his 150 collectable clowns as an onsite museum.

The motel was sold in 2019, but new CEO Hame Anand had been acquiring clowns since age 14. And, though the specters held their peace during my stay, the ghost stories check out. “At first, I didn’t believe in ghosts. I’m a science guy,” Anand says. “But after a year, I noticed that everybody’s details are the same.” People from all over the world have mentioned hearing someone unseen whisper, “Where’s my baby?”

Next door sits a real cemetery, rock-lined graves and wooden headstones marking some of the town’s earliest deceased. A self-guided tour brochure at the boneyard’s entrance details tragic, almost cartoonish tales: Miner run over by ore cart. Sheriff shot by gambler. Gold-digging seductress who died on the lam.

The stories of horrific mining deaths are poor preparation for our next activity— hunting gems in Nevada’s rocky hills with Otteson Brothers Turquoise.

Owner Danny Otteson meets us in the parking lot of Giggle Springs convenience store. His hands are calloused from a lifetime of unearthing precious stones.

“I was the first Otteson born in Nevada,” he tells me with audible pride. His father started mining at 19 in Colorado, then made his way to the Silver State. The family now owns 30 turquoise mines across the state, and Danny raised his own kids out among the rocks. They sell the turquoise—raking in $350,000 a year in direct-to-consumer Instagram sales alone—and lead tours for those who like their acquisition more hands-on.

I picture a chilling plunge into a dimly lit cave, canary whistling by our side. But, though we’re asked to bring our own gear (pickaxe, bucket, gloves) and drive a half-hour down dirt roads, we remain above ground, on a mountainside fragmented by an excavator truck’s vast metal claw.

We root through granite hunks for flashes of blue as Danny tells us of a would-be turquoise thief chased from a mine by its steely owner. “He’s a guy you don’t want to mess with,” he says, like we’re in a movie.

A few hours later, we pass fields of cows with a sack of turquoise-threaded stone in the backseat, irrefutable proof that there’s still treasure in those hills.

The Haunted Mizpah Hotel

After fried pickles, BBQ, and excellent beer at Tonopah Brewing Company, we meet night-sky photographer Russ Gartz at the Tonopah Star Gazing Park. It’s cloudy, but we peer at the moon through Gartz’s Dobsonian telescope, named after John Dobson, an amateur astronomer who used to set up his portable but powerful equipment on San Francisco‘s sidewalks, inviting passersby to peek. “We try to bring that same spirit to our star parties here in Tonopah,” Gartz says. “Anyone is welcome.”

We stay that night at the Mizpah Hotel, a more luxurious but equally specter-plagued accommodation (Tonopah has plenty of ghosts to go around; another haunted hotel, the Belvada, sits across the street.)

Founded in 1911, the Mizpah has a well-documented roster of permanent guests: A murder victim dubbed the Lady in Red. Two miners, shot by a companion in a money heist gone wrong. A pair of children, their cause of death too gruesome to repeat. “[Sometimes] I feel them hugging my legs,” says Jessalyn DiMaggio, who works the front desk.

DiMaggio offers to take us to the basement, an epicenter of ghostly activity. Michaela declines, but I ride the creaky elevator down with DiMaggio, where ordinary hotel infrastructure like a laundry room and an industrial kitchen abut creepy, unfinished brick walls and dirt floors. Someone has set up little scenes—a rusty kids’ bicycle, a dusty dinner table for two— probably for the benefit of the ghost tours that pass through.

Later, I wander the upper floors alone, hoping but failing to spot strange shadows or an unoccupied chair rocking. I head back to the room and crawl into bed beside Michaela. Her face is pale and frightened in the dark.

“You’re so brave,” I whisper.

“You’re so fearless,” she murmurs back.

How do I explain that, when she’s around, I find fear somehow perpetually absent, her steadying presence a lighthouse in the midst of any storm?

Nevada’s Weird Roadside Attractions

The next morning, we begin the first leg of our journey home. As we leave Tonopah’s poltergeists in the rearview mirror, I watch Michaela slowly unfurl. A few more ghosts remain ahead, but friendlier ones. In Goldfield, Nevada’s International Car Forest of the Last Church, a permanent outdoor exhibition, skeletal, spray-painted cars and buses rise like zombies from the dirt. At the Goldwell Open Air Museum, a field of sculptures outside of the eerily quiet Rhyolite Ghost Town, artist Charles Albert Szukalski installed white-sheeted phantoms in a composition matching da Vinci’s The Last Supper.

We pass falling-down roadside lodging, bordellos with a half-dozen cars parked outside before noon. Even the gas-station-slash-extraterrestrial-extravaganza that is the Area 51 Alien Center—an obvious tourist trap—has its touches of seediness in the form of the fully operational Alien Cathouse Brothel. Is the Wild West alive and well here in Nevada?

It feels like it at the Pioneer Saloon, founded 1913 in Goodsprings, Nevada, a desert community on the outskirts of Las Vegas that’s half crumbling ghost town, half thriving rural hamlet. The saloon sometimes serves as a movie set, but today it’s riotous with locals and travelers, live music amped to 11. My grilled chicken sandwich is bone-dry, my rocky road milkshake transcendent.

We forge onward to Buffalo Bill’s Resort & Casino in Primm, Nevada. Western-themed, it has Sin City’s uncanny unreality: cowtown façades and fake trees amid flashing slot machines. While losing $5 to a Bonnie and Clyde game, I remember a quote I read in the faux-newspaper-slash-brochure left on our bed at the Mizpah.

“Any of us can go to Vegas and enjoy the illusion of wealth, pleasure, and decadence, but authenticity is in short supply,” the hotel’s owner, Nancy Cline, told the Mizpah Review. “In Tonopah, you are closer to the land, closer to understanding that life can be hard and tough. But also closer to appreciating the simpler things in life.”

If artifice is a place trying hard to be exactly what I expect, I found it. But if authenticity is earnestness—or grit—I found that, too.

It’s like falling in love. At first, you’re doing everything you can to be the person you think they want. But being in love is coexisting as your truest self—while, sometimes, conceding to journeys you’d never take without your sweetheart leading you toward them.

Miles from here, Tonopah’s ghosts prod or ignore a new set of seekers. There’s a ruggedness there that the plaster livery and Stetson-clad mannequins at Buffalo Bill’s can’t capture. Its people still work the perilous mines, serve eggs at its linoleum-floor diners, gather at its scant few bars. Everyone I met was a marvelous storyteller, weaving sad, strange, probably true tales. Maybe the false element was me, coming in to play at their daily existence.

Beside me, Michaela warily eyes an actual taxidermied bull suspended above an arcade. “Next time,” she declares, “we’re staying at the Bellagio.” Smiling, I take the hand of the girl who faced her fear of the dead to live this life with me. Maybe, in its own way, all of it is real.

The post Chasing Ghosts, Gems & the Spirit of the West in Nevada appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Traumatized by the tiny, goofy metal frames I was forced to wear as a nearsighted elementary schooler, after getting contacts, I stuck to plastic shades despite the climate guilt. But there’s a hot new material on the sunnies market—beans. Nope, not a typo. San Diego brand Saunt makes plant-based plastic out of castor bean oil, 3D-printing it into lightweight, stylish frames fitted with polarized lenses. Now both Mother Earth and my 8-year-old self think I’m cool. –AR

Blueprint for Movement

At risk of committing San Diego blasphemy, I’m not exactly outdoorsy—typically, my take on a day in the sun involves patio brunching or seaside lounging. Lately, though, I’ve been trying to make the most of the county’s natural bounty. Enter Go Deck San Diego, 52 cards printed with local spots to hike, bike, and explore. They’re packed with historical and ecological facts and suggested trails and color-coded by region, so all I have to do is decide how far afield I’d like to go, then I can pick a card, any card, to receive my adventure assignment. –AR

Family Travel

We’ve been discussing heritage travel—visiting places related to your ancestry—recently at the SDM offices. Personally, I’m itching to check out El Salvador to see where my grandma’s pupuseria once sat. And, while a vacation is one thing, actually chatting with my abuelita in her homeland is a totally different kind of adventure. This is where VerySoul comes into play. The platform brings together mediums from across the globe (including SD) to help you connect with late loved ones via 30- or 60-minute Zoom sessions. You can call from anywhere, in any language, bringing a whole new meaning to traveling with family. –NM

The post Editor’s Picks: 3 Travel Accessories to Try This Month appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Would my colon therapist know that I didn’t meticulously follow my pre-fast instructions? I was supposed to avoid alcohol, caffeine, dairy, and meat for several days before arriving at this wellness resort in Desert Hot Springs, California. I had good intentions, but weak resolve.

The resort, We Care Spa, is serving as my home for the next three days, though many guests stay for up to a week. Daily colonics are the crux of the wellness programming here, but there are 40 different spa services on offer, from massages and body scrubs to facials and art therapy.

Upon arriving, I was welcomed with two orientation classes. The first walks guests through the daily drink plan, which includes a multitude of supplements, tea, juice, and a once-daily vegetable soup, intended to “detoxify” and heal the body with a nutrient-dense liquid diet. 

The second orientation was more spiritual. I was invited to set intentions for my stay, and I learned about the plethora of classes, treatments, and amenities available to support my personal journey. Guests can schedule a numerology reading with life path consultant Ronda, wander through a meditative stone labyrinth with a medicine wheel, or relax on a floating bed designed to echo the feeling of being in a mother’s womb. 

Personally, I came to get my insides cleaned out. I am generally healthy with daily bowel movements, but I’m a wellness junkie and have tried everything from cryotherapy to sensory deprivation Samadhi tanks. Colonics are my latest adventure.

My 20-something-year-old colon therapist, Eladia, is gentle with newbies like myself—a boon, considering that we get up-close-and-personal pretty quickly. She tells me that she gives herself weekly colonics, and we chit-chat through my entire 45-minute session. I learn that humans have five organs that eliminate waste from the body: the liver, kidneys, colon, skin, and lungs. 

Colonics are said to reduce bloating, relieve constipation, and release waste, bile, and debris within the five-foot long human colon. Once you get past the weirdness of watching pieces of poop floating by in a tube, it’s a relatively painless process. 

While advocates for colon cleanses, like We Care Spa founder Susana Belen, claim that colonics help improve energy levels, digestion, and immunity, others, such as Mayo Clinic and Cleveland Clinic, do not recommend colon cleanses, arguing that it can interfere with regular colon function and the gut microbiome. Many doctors say that the colon cleanses itself and that there’s no scientific evidence that colonics are helpful. I didn’t personally feel all that different after three days of colonics, although I was amazed they could still suck poop out of me after three days with no real food.

Post-treatment recommendations include drinking copious amounts of water and easing slowly back into your normal diet, first eating lighter meals with an emphasis on vegetables and fruit. For ideal results, proponents say, the cleanse should be a hard reset, a precursor to a long-term lifestyle change that involves fewer animal products and less alcohol and caffeine.

I certainly eat lightly during my stay. Twice a day, guests at We Care Spa receive a “detox drink” made of organic psyllium husk and seed, apple, fig, prune, and olive oil. A natural laxative, it’s meant to loosen internal waste. Like chia seeds, psyllium husk expands in your stomach, and the drink is a little gritty but sweet. Surprisingly, it does a remarkable job of making you feel full throughout the day and it doesn’t taste half-bad (though I would add cacao powder to satisfy my chocolate cravings). However, as a food journalist, I find the mundanity of consuming the same few drinks and supplements each day difficult.

In the evenings, we eat vegetable soup, a different flavor each day. We’re allowed to season our soups with Braggs liquid aminos, curry powder, oregano, garlic powder, and paprika—a limited palette for culinary creativity. Dinner is also the most social time of day, with everyone congregating at the Oasis House lobby for the meal. I trade restaurant recommendations with a friendly mother-daughter duo from Los Angeles, and we fantasize about what our first meal will be once we check out.

Guests receive massages and facials each day. In between spa treatments, I bounce up and down on a mini-trampoline outside my suite, which We Care says helps stimulate the lymphatic system. 

Many of the spa treatments are designed to facilitate colonics. The system recovery master treatment, for example, is a warm castor oil wrap combined with reflexology and scalp massage. This treatment can feel a little uncomfortably hot, as it’s meant to help you sweat out toxins.

I much prefer my deep tissue massage with cupping. My massage therapist Luis is excellent, leaving deep purple marks all over my back and shoulders that hurt so good and render my muscles limber and loose. It’s the perfect antidote to far too many hours hunched over my laptop. 

The executive suites are spacious and well-equipped with exercise equipment, a deep soaking tub with bath salts and body brushes, and outdoor daybeds, where guests can enjoy colorful desert sunsets and listen to howling coyotes. 

Overall, the program is lenient and can be customized however you choose. If you need more calories, there are protein shakes available upon request, and you can be as social as you wish or keep to yourself. If you’re at a period of transition in your life, We Care Spa is a beautifully serene retreat to reset, focus on your well-being, and do some soul searching. As for me—after three colon cleanses, I did feel a little lighter on my way to a glass of champagne to celebrate. 

Would I come back again? Well, I wouldn’t say I’m a colonic convert, but it was an interesting experience, and I’m glad I tried it. Taking three days to really focus on myself and my well-being was a really intentional way to start the year and a reminder of how important and precious my health is. 

I’m definitely more mindful about staying hydrated and chewing more thoroughly—it helps with digestion. I’m also eating a lot less meat these days, even if I do still indulge in wine a few times a week and I cannot refuse ice cream. The sensual daily joy I find in food isn’t worth eliminating entire food groups for, but I’m more conscientious about when I indulge. Balance, to me, is paying attention to my hedonist cravings while simultaneously caring for my body with water, sleep, regular yoga practice, probiotics, and massages.

The post Inside a Desert Hot Springs Retreat Focused on Colon Care appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

For our annual travel issue, I put together a wishlist of 10 recently opened or incoming properties that may be just as exciting as their locations. Since they’re all an easy drive or flight from SD, you might as well book your 2024 vacay now. See you by the pool.

Mexico | Oregon | Nevada | Arizona | Utah | Colorado | Hawaii | California

Mexico

Four Seasons Resort and Residences Cabo San Lucas at Cabo Del Sol

Opening 2024

The Cabo area is continuing to grow, with even more top-name resorts and high-end developments planting roots in the region. Last year alone, it saw more travelers to its beaches than ever (3.85 million), and it is now one of the world’s most popular luxury destinations.

So it’s not surprising that a new Four Seasons property is set to open this year. Originally planned for the fall of 2023, the brand’s sixth resort in Mexico is expected to launch in “early 2024,” according to reps.

The new hotel will be a “hacienda-style” village with guestrooms and suites, as well as residences, villas, and estates—all with views of the Gulf of California. Around the resort are typical five-star amenities, including a world-class golf course, a full-service spa, adult and kids’ pools, a swimmable beach, an open-air mercado, and contemporary Latin cuisine from executive chef Miguel Baltazar, with Mexican-born chef and restaurateur Richard Sandoval at the helm.

If you’re in the market for a second home, real estate options will start at around $4.8 million for two-to five-bedroom residences featuring private pools and 1,800-square-foot outdoor terraces

Rates: TBD

Andaz Mexico City Condesa

Opened January 2023

It seems like just about everyone has been heading to Mexico City in the last couple of years—and for good reason. The destination has evolved over the last decade, becoming a food mecca with a new wave of top chefs and notable restaurants popping up across the region.

It’s also an easily walkable city brimming with museums and historic architecture, especially in neighborhoods like Condesa, where the new Andaz opened last January. Set inside a 1960s-era Mexico City Heritage Site designed by Spanish architect José Luis Benlliure Galán, the property is the brand’s second in the country after Mayakoba Riviera Maya.

Guestrooms include brightly colored Mexican folk art sculptures, mosaic-tile headboards, paper maché piñatas, and record players with modern and classic vinyl collections—a nod to La Roma Records, the neighborhood’s oldest record store. And, for pet lovers, your four-legged family members have their own in-room amenities and a pop-up shop selling locally made pet accessories.

Above the hotel sits a Tulum beach club–inspired rooftop restaurant and pool with 360-degree views of Mexico City’s skyline. The seafood-forward eatery serves seasonal Baja and Yucatan fare while weekend DJ sets and agave-centered cocktails keep the party going late into the night.

Rates: From $222/night

Oregon

The Ritz-Carlton, Portland

Opened October 2023

When you check into a Ritz, you know what you’re going to get, which is kind of the whole point. Classic luxury, clean lines, fine dining, high-end amenities, staff calling you by your last name—it’s a formula and it works. In fall of 2023, The Ritz-Carlton, Portland—a nearly $700 million development in the center of downtown—became the PNW’s newest five-star retreat.

There’s a 20th-floor signature restaurant serving seafood from local fishermen. The enchanted forest–inspired lobby bar Meadowrue (named for the species of flowering plants known as buttercups) features a massive cedar tree trunk and hanging vines to really drive home its theme.

You’ll also find an infinity pool, a 7,000-square-foot fitness center, and residential apartments—ranging between $1.14 million and $8.9 million—if you’d rather just never check out.

Rates: From $515/night

Nevada

Fontainebleau Las Vegas

Opened December 2023

Like a freshly licensed teen behind the wheel, the Fontainebleau Las Vegas came in hot last year, making its debut on the Strip 16 years after it broke ground. After an ownership change, name update, recession, pandemic, and general life things, the $3.7 billion resort-casino is finally here.

With 67 floors (it’s now LV’s tallest building), the iconic Miami hotel set down in the West with its second iteration, featuring 36 bars and restaurants (chefs David Grutman, Evan Funke, and Josh Capon all have concepts here), LIV nightclub, seven pools, a spa, a 55,000-square-foot convention center, and a casino with all the bells and whistles.

Ten-time Grammy winner Justin Timberlake performed at its private opening celebration, which included celebs like Jessica Biel, Lenny Kravitz, Cher, Kim Kardashian, Kendall Jenner, and Tommy Hilfiger. It was a big deal, since the city’s last grand resort unveiling was in June of 2021.

Rates: From $316/night

Arizona

Global Ambassador Phoenix

Opened December 2023

Restaurateur, 12-time James Beard Award nominee, and now hotelier Sam Fox opened his first property in December. Fox’s Global Ambassador Phoenix brings Paris to the West with a stacked lineup of investors, including Phoenix Suns basketball phenom Devin Booker, former Arizona Cardinals football player Larry Fitzgerald, and country star Dierks Bentley.

Dark and moody, this isn’t particularly the kind of place you’d expect to find in Phoenix (there’s no Southwest decor in sight). Design details include Phillip Jeffries wallcoverings, artwork commissioned by curator Michael Carson, custom walnut millwork, Matouk linens and Kassatex towels, and bathroom amenities by Byredo. All these goodies are said to have cost $1 million per room.

The real stars here, however, are the hotel’s four food and drink concepts, helmed by Food Network regular Eric Kim Haugen as the culinary creative, Dushyant Singh as director of food and beverage, and Sean Currid as executive chef. A Parisian steakhouse, the poolside Pink Dolphin, the lobby bar, and Thea, a Mediterranean eatery now claiming the title of Arizona’s largest rooftop restaurant, are all part of the wine-and-dine experience.

Rates: From $670/night

Utah

Le Méridien & Element Salt Lake City Downtown

Opened February 2023

One of Salt Lake’s newest hotels is actually a two-fer. Debuting as both the Le Méridien and Element Salt Lake City, the dual-branded property is the former’s first location in Utah and the latter’s 100th global opening. (Plus, this inaugural combo of the two brands is managed by San Diego–based Azul Hospitality Group.)

Although the sister properties share the same roof, they each offer their own unique experiences. Le Méridien provides a more refined, design-driven ambiance with custom-designed beds by Nick Dine and emerald green pops of color against neutral tones. Element has a sustainable approach and a more residential feel, with fully equipped kitchens and oversized bathrooms for long-term travelers.

The dual-pad property’s Adelaide restaurant serves French-and New Orleans–inspired dishes, while its rooftop bar, Van Ryder, has small bites and cocktails. But, since SLC’s food scene has been heating up for some time, it’s worth checking out some of the area’s restaurants, such as chef Nick Zocco’s Urban Hill or James Beard Award nominee Briar Handly’s HSL. And, who knows, you may just have a run-in with a Real Housewives of Salt Lake City cast member while out.

Rates: From $274/night

Colorado

Mollie Aspen

Opened December 2023

It doesn’t take much to convince anyone that Aspen is a good choice. But if you’re going to sway visitors to choose your hotel over the area’s other extremely luxe properties, you’ll need to jump out of the gate swinging—and Mollie came to play.

The 68-room hotel’s sleek Scandinavian and Japanese design influences meld with vintage 1960s furniture (Mario Bellini leather sofas, Roger Capron coffee tables) while Aspen accents peek through in the form of ski-themed books, white oak millwork, local stone and concrete floors, and hand-dyed textiles.

Guestrooms embrace the art of hygge, featuring warm color palettes and minimalistic décor—more quiet l xury than shimmering opulence. Led by Gin & Luck (Death & Co.), the hotel’s food and beverage options include an all-day café with après-ski bites, a restaurant and bar serving dinner, and a rooftop pool and terrace offering cocktails and light snacks. As a bonus, several snowboard and ski lifts are all under 20 minutes away.

Rates: From $349/night

Hawaii

Kona Village, A Rosewood Resort

Opened July 2023

In 2011, Kona Village Resort closed its doors after nearly 50 years on the Big Island as an off-the-grid haunt for Hollywood A-listers. Now, the historic property has reopened as the first Rosewood-branded hotel in Hawaii, spanning 81 acres. Taking care to honor the island’s long legacy of stewardship, the new Kona Village has a strong sustainability focus and draws its inspiration from Kaʻūpūlehu’s culture and heritage.

The property features 150 standalone hales and kauhales—traditional Hawaiian bungalows—with oversized lanais and outdoor showers, as well the property’s crown jewels: two $40,000-a-night presidential suites. Around the hotel, guests can view commissioned works of art from more than three dozen native Hawaiian and Hawaii-residing artists.

The village’s four dining concepts include the original Shipwreck Bar (it’s been said that The Doors’ Jim Morrison once drank 21 mai tais there in one sitting). The Kona Village Lū`au, spa, a fitness center, four pools, an outdoor activities center, and a daily 3 p.m. coconut cart serving complimentary drinking coconuts round out its amenities.

Rates: From $2,180/night

California

Pendry Newport Beach

Opened September 2023

When the very first Pendry opened in the Gaslamp in 2017, I remember thinking it felt very un-San Diego. It had east coast vibes: tartan fabrics, velvet couches, gold trimmings, voyeuristic glass showers visible from your bed, and a high price tag. It was the talk of the town.

Seven years later, the once-unknown brand has taken over eight cities, including Newport Beach, where it launched its latest property this past fall. With an aesthetic that is decidedly less New York and much more SoCal chill, the hotel’s nearly 300 rooms feature neutral color schemes, floor-to-ceiling windows, balconies, and waterfront views.

Onsite, SET Steak and Sushi by Clique Hospitality is one of three dining concepts, and Spa Pendry offers wellness treatments. The nearby Fashion Island makes it easy for those who hate packing to run across the street for their vacation digs.

Rates: From $485/night

The Inn at Mattei’s Tavern

Opened February 2023

Knowing that The Andy Griffith Show was filmed in Los Olivos, a quaint Central Coast town in the Santa Ynez Valley, makes this destination that much more charming. Around 30 minutes inland of Santa Barbara, the town harkens back to a simpler time when Mayberry was on our screens (or our parents’) in black and white.

It’s here that the newly opened Inn at Mattei’s Tavern has planted roots inside what was once an 1800s-era stagecoach stop between LA and SF and four cottages built in 1910. Though the property maintains its original Craftsman-style structures, it has gone through many iterations over the years (restaurants, bars, prohibition-era speakeasies) and is now a 67-room inn. There’s time travel in every corner of the hotel.

Go if you’re looking to reset and recharge. Adirondack chairs sit near fire pits, a greenhouse bumps up next to a flower and herb garden, and some of central California’s most popular wineries and tasting rooms reside within walking distance, adding up to a vacay as wholesome as Andy himself.

Rates: From $701/night

*All rates reflect the start of high season; prices subject to change

The post The 10 Best New Hotels to Visit in 2024 appeared first on San Diego Magazine.