The 31 Places to Go in 2010

The island, with a population of just 20 million, feels like one big tropical zoo: elephants roam freely, water buffaloes idle in paddy fields and monkeys swing from trees. And then there’s the pristine coastline. The miles of sugary white sand flanked by bamboo groves that were off-limits to most visitors until recently are a happy, if unintended byproduct of the war. Among the most scenic, if difficult stretches to reach, is Nilaveli Beach in the Tamil north. While a few military checkpoints remain, vacationers can lounge on poolside hammocks under palm trees or snorkel in its crystal-clear waters. Or they can order cocktails at the Nilaveli Beach Hotel (www.tangerinehotels.com/nilavelibeach), a collection of recently renovated bungalows with private terraces. An international airport in Matara, on the island’s southern shore, is under construction, which will make the gorgeous beaches near the seaside village of Galle easier to get to. Decimated by the tsunami in 2004, the surrounding coastline is now teeming with stylish guesthouses and boutique hotels. Unawatuna, a crescent-shaped beach a few miles south of Galle, may be furthest along. Higher-end hotels there include Thambapanni Retreat (www.thambapanni.biz), which features four-poster beds, yoga and an ayurvedic spa. The Sun House (www.thesunhouse.com), in Galle, looks like a place where the Queen of England might stay, with its mango courtyard and colonial décor. One stylish place tucked within Galle’s city walls is the Galle Fort Hotel (www.galleforthotel.com), a refurbished gem merchant’s house run by a couple of Aussies. — Lionel Beehner 2. Patagonia Wine Country Ten years ago, a group of adventurous winemakers set their sights on an Argentine valley called San Patricio del Chañar, an unusually fertile and eerily beautiful corner of Patagonia. They plowed, planted and waited. The outcome? A blossoming wine country with delicious pinot noirs and malbecs and smartly designed wineries. One of the area’s pioneers, the 2,000-acre Bodega del Fin del Mundo (www.bodegadelfindelmundo.com), which works with the influential wine consultant Michel Rolland, is racking up international medals for its complex merlot, cabernet and malbec blends. And NQN (bodeganqn.com.ar), which is associated with the Argentine oenologist Roberto de la Mota, has seen its 2006 Colección NQN Malbec get 92 points from Wine Enthusiast. Nearby is the new Valle Perdido winery (www.valleperdido.com.ar), which includes an 18-room resort surrounded by vineyards. At the spa, ask for antioxidant wine-infused treatments. — Paola Singer 3. Seoul Forget Tokyo. Design aficionados are now heading to Seoul. They have been drawn by the Korean capital’s glammed-up cafes and restaurants, immaculate art galleries and monumental fashion palaces like the sprawling outpost of Milan’s 10 Corso Como and the widely noted Ann Demeulemeester store — an avant-garde Chia Pet covered in vegetation. And now Seoul, under its design-obsessed mayor, Oh Se-hoon, is the 2010 World Design Capital. The title, bestowed by a prominent council of industrial designers, means a year’s worth of design parties, exhibitions, conferences and other revelries. Most are still being planned (go to wdc2010.seoul.go.kr for updates). A highlight will no doubt be the third annual Seoul Design Fair (Sept. 17 to Oct. 7), the city’s answer to the design weeks in Milan and New York, which last year drew 2.5 million people and featured a cavalcade of events under two enormous inflatable structures set up at the city’s Olympic stadium. — Aric Chen 4. Mysore You’ve completed 200 hours of teacher training, mastered flying crow pose and even spent a week at yoga surf camp. What’s next? Yogis seeking transcontinental bliss head these days to Mysore, the City of Palaces, in southern India. The yogi pilgrimage was sparked by Ashtanga yoga, a rigorous sweat-producing, breath-synchronized regimen of poses popularized by the beloved Krishna Pattabhi Jois, who died at 94 in 2009. Mr. Jois’s grandson is now director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute (www.kpjayi.org). First month’s tuition is 27,530 rupees, or $600 at 46 rupees to the dollar. Classes generally require a one-month commitment. Too much time or money? Mysore’s yoga boom now has shalas catering to every need. Off the mat, the yoga tribe hobnobs at Anu’s Bamboo Hut or the Regaalis Hotel pool, studies Sanskrit, gets an ayurveda treatment or tours the maharaja’s palace. — Mary Billard 5. Copenhagen As thousands of environmentalists heckled world leaders in Copenhagen last month for the climate summit, a solitary unifying note could be heard amid the cacophony of discord: the Danish capital has already emerged as one of the world’s greenest — and maybe coolest — cities. Copenhageners don’t simply preach the “progressive city” ethos, they live it. Long, flat urban thoroughfares are hemmed with bicycle paths where locals glide around the city, tourists saddle up on the free bikes that dot the city center, and fashion bloggers take notes on the latest cycle chic (see copenhagencyclechic.com). Over in the harbor district, a public bath at Osterbro, due to open in 2010, will complement the two swimming areas set off on Copenhagen’s inner harbor, a formerly polluted waterway recently transformed into the city’s summertime hub. Away from all the modernism and the happy cyclists, cultural thrill-seekers are being coaxed to the once dangerous district of Norrebro, which has arguably become Copenhagen’s edgiest hub. A heady mix of hipsters, students and immigrants mingle in the cafes and galleries around the district’s focal square, Sankt Hans Torv, and the city’s young and excitable night owls can be found dancing in local clubs until the early hours. — Benji Lanyado

Restaurant Report: Venissa, on Isola di Mazzorbo, Italy

But your ultimate port of call is the small, sparsely populated island of Mazzorbo, where a pile of unremarkable homes and an ancient walled vineyard, the Venissa Estate, are almost entirely overlooked by even some of the most ambitious tourists. Mr. Bisol spent the last decade restoring the estate, which is designated as an Italian Natural Environment Park; he opened the restaurant in 2010. But his greatest act of reclamation may be his restoration of the Dorona grape, a Venetian varietal that ceased to be cultivated in the lagoon 600 years ago. Today it grows in perfectly trained rows inside the estate’s medieval walls. “The lagoon is my second home by the sea,” said Mr. Bisol, a descendant of an illustrious family of vintners who have been making wines and prosecco in the Italian province of Treviso since 1542. “It’s important to us to reclaim arable land, conserve history and create employment opportunities for people here.” At the helm of Venissa’s kitchen is Paola Budel, who relies on all things local: produce from the estate’s vast vegetable gardens; lagoon fish like eels, mullet and crabs stocked in their nearby fish farm; and oysters culled from beds on the neighboring beach. “We pay homage to cuisine from the lagoon and the Veneto,” Mr. Bisol said. “We get honey from the nearby Island of Sant’Erasmo and langoustines and salicornia seaweed right from the lagoon.” This emphasis is immediately evident on the menu. During a recent lunch, I had an unctuous starter of crumb-crusted, pan-fried lagoon eel with a cream and broccoli sauce, then a steaming bowl of nutty kamut spaghetti with fresh lagoon anchovies and sautéed wild spring onions, foraged that morning. The main course was a thin veal cutlet, breaded and pan-fried until golden, with a tangy artichoke cream. In between courses, and before the cheeses and coffee arrived, there were liberal pours of Crede Bisol prosecco and Zenato Ripassa Valpolicella, two excellent regional tipples that punctuate Mr. Bisol’s commitment to all things Veneto. Venissa, Fondamenta Santa Caterina, 3, Isola di Mazzorbo; (39-041) 52-72-281; venissa.it. A three-course meal for two, without drinks and tip, is about 85 euros, $118 at $1.40 to the euro. Open March through November for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

PERSONAL JOURNEYS; In Sardinia, Memories Come Floating Back

ON a mid-September day in the Maddalena archipelago, off the northeast shore of Sardinia, autumn still felt far off. The temperature hovered around 85 degrees, but a light Mediterranean wind kept our sailboat moving briskly and the ship's captain, Luca Imbagliazzo, and me pleasantly cool. At Spargi, one of the many undeveloped islands that make up the national park that spans the archipelago, we anchored at Cala Conneri, a small white sand cove protected by large boulders on each side. There were no other boats, and I dived into a perfectly clear turquoise sea. I first visited Sardinia as a child in the 1970s. My parents had always insisted that ''the only way to see Sardinia is by boat,'' and, indeed, they owned a gorgeous sailboat that they docked over many summers in Porto Cervo, on the northern coast of the island. I remember fondly the crystal-clear water where you could see every detail of your toes, even when waist deep in the salty sea. We would moor ourselves in deserted coves like the one in Spargi, and I would swim to the beach in the company of our three small dogs, flopping with them on the powder-soft white sand. They were my constant companions; after a number of near drownings, I was periodically harnessed to the mast along with them during the more choppy stretches. We'd all look anxiously toward the horizon as the boat would start to tilt alarmingly; my father, normally a sensible man, seemed to have an uncanny way of guiding us into storms rather than away from them. Now that I have returned as an adult to live in Italy, I am slowly reclaiming those childhood spots with my son, now almost 2 years old. Some turned bittersweet after my father died. When I revisited Sardinia and La Maddalena a few years back, I would find myself looking wistfully for our boat's name among the portside yachts (the boat was sold soon after his death in the early '80s, and in 1983 we moved full time to the United States). The mythical island was wrapped up in a memory of a man I lost too early. But my travel preferences have also changed. Along with the happy memories of swimming and exploring the coastline are the ones of being in tight quarters with a family of big personalities for months at a time (a few times my sister and I took refuge in the dinghy when parental tiffs broke out). Daytime boat rides are quite enough for me now, and I prefer the sense of control that comes with planning an itinerary that mixes time on land and sea. A hotel room at night is more comfortable for me than sleeping below deck, especially with a squirmy toddler and a seasick husband in tow. But despite its picture-perfect seaside spots, Sardinia has suffered from both overdevelopment in certain places and, in others, a lack of the sort of hotel options that appeal to me as an adult. Until recently, the only good ones were those clustered around the sparkling Costa Smeralda, where celebrities and Italian A-listers convene in August. (Many of their yachts have the kind of amenities and staff usually found at five-star hotels, which partly explains the limited choice in lodging.) But despite their great natural beauty, the island's many other parts are not well known, especially to American tourists. That is beginning to change. It's because of recent hotel openings that I have started to rediscover the island's other regions, especially in the northern, less-visited section of the island. La Maddalena Hotel and Yacht Club, where I stayed during my September visit, is a 100-room property that has taken over the island's former Boat Arsenal and caters to a clientele who, like me, wants that mix of comfort and sea access. Boat excursions can be booked during the day from the adjacent marina. They run from a vintage sailboat for 12 to a smaller motorized dinghy. The property also has plenty of land-based amenities -- a spa, a gym, two restaurants -- and a beautiful wood-deck pool area that looks out over the water. Despite a somewhat corporate vibe, it suited my purposes well. And it is a gateway into one of Italy's most naturally beautiful areas.

T MAGAZINE; Vexed in Venice

Bar hopping with a bunch of gondoliers at Christmas wasn't Joan Juliet Buck's style. When I peered over the Gothic staircase at dawn on my fourth day in Venice to see that the lobby of the Hotel Danieli was under 14 inches of water, I sent up thanks for my very first acqua alta. It meant the bar was out of commission. The bar's armchairs, stools and tables were already stacked all the way up the staircase. Our tribe began each day in the bar at 10: Peter O'Toole; his wife, Sian Phillips; her mother, known to all as Mumgee; their daughters Kate and Pat with their nanny Elizabeth; two writers in love, Harry Craig and Shana Alexander; and Joyce and Jules Buck, my parents. They and the O'Tooles had a movie company called Keep Films, and they were as inseparable in play as in work. The acqua alta receded. Just before noon the furniture was back in the bar, and, sitting with their shoes planted on wet oriental carpets, so were the beaming grown-ups. The kids, the nanny and I held back. Wasn't it kind of chilly down here? I sneezed to make my point. Kate, who was 10, was happy: she'd been allowed to walk along the concierge's desk while the water was still high. I'd gone back to bed and missed the fun. Peter and Sian's Venetian friends arrived, working-class stars of the tourist industry resting between summers: the Danieli's off-duty barman, Gastone de Cal; his pal the gondolier Gino Macropodio; their wives, parents, children and friends. There was a painter who made convincing Guardi oils, which, he swore, he never sold as the real thing. There was an aged gentleman called the Cavaliere, who was writing a cookbook about Venetian food with an exile from American wealth named Buzz Bruning, who had met his young wife, Leslie, as she chaperoned Finch College students through Italy. They lived in a house in the Sestiere di San Polo, where Buzz often cooked for the barman, the gondoliers, the Cavaliere and their families; that Christmas, he was preparing a bigger feast to include the 11 members of the Buck-O'Toole-Craig-Alexander party. The group was some 20 strong by the time we hit the cold wind on the Riva degli Schiavoni, skirted the Doge's palace and headed into the back streets with a single mission: to stand at the counters of small Venetian bars and knock back little glasses of red wine called ombrette and eat little fried and breaded things called cicchete, and then walk up and down bridges and through the gray streets to the next bar, and the next, until lunchtime, which would happen at about 3 p.m. and be an exact replica of what came before, only this time seated and with larger portions of fish. At 22, the three things I disliked most were eating, alcohol and walking. Sometimes there was a long detour through the ghetto, which was as cold as the rest of Venice and had no canals of its own. Ten years earlier, Peter and Sian had explored Venice as Peter prepared to play Shylock at Stratford. Now he was a star, but in the intervals between films and plays after ''Lawrence of Arabia,'' he and Sian came back to Venice to hide among their chosen friends. I had imagined there would be more presents and fewer plebes. Authentic, to me, was a way of tying a belt, not a way of living. I was a bad-tempered, self-conscious, fashiony 22-year-old in from Paris, and it showed. My eyebrows were plucked to a single arched line, my mouth set in a jaded moue. I wore a smock custom-made with scraps of striped cotton cinched tight over a long olive green skirt from Yves Saint Laurent and high-heeled boots that laced to the knee and hurt furiously. I smelled of patchouli, applied from a small vial when nervous, which was frequently. My coat's right lapel was covered with enamel pins advocating revolution and sexual disobedience; the rarer ones were sewn on so no one could steal them at a coat check. I knew the shock value of certain things but did not always get their meanings. I thought I was an adult, but my life had not begun. I worked as an underpaid stylist for the photographer Guy Bourdin, lived in a tiny room on the Rue du Bac, was fascinated by Chairman Mao, knew people who were making the sexual revolution, was in love with three wrong men and had a dealer who sold me just enough hashish every week to make me feel like I belonged. I imagined I was simply moonlighting as the daughter of a cigar-smoking movie producer in handmade suits who spent Christmas in Venice.

It’s Kosher in Rome’s Ghetto

The Ghetto period ended in 1870, and in the decades that followed, its ramshackle buildings were torn down and most of the Jews in Rome resettled elsewhere. Only a few hundred Jews remain living in the zone, but the area retains its cultural significance, and today it remains at the heart of Jewish life, home to two synagogues, three Jewish schools and a Jewish museum. Now, a growing number of kosher restaurants have sprung up on and around Via del Portico d’Ottavia, the main street in the Ghetto, with menus that have moved beyond fried artichokes and stuffed zucchini flowers. Among them is Ba Ghetto Milky (Via del Portico di Ottavia 2a; 39-06-6830-00-77; kosherinrome.com), a dairy kosher restaurant on the main street opened last December by Amit and Ilan Dabush, the sons of Tripoli Jews. The Dabush family escaped from Libya in 1967 and went to Israel before settling in Rome. The menu reflects their North African, Middle Eastern and Italian roots, and specialties like couscous, falafel and hummus share the page with Roman Jewish specialties like spaghetti with mullet roe and chicory. The Ghetto’s cuisine is inspired by the New World at Mamà Kosher Food (Via Portico d’Ottavia 14; 39-339-847-2084), where burgers and roast beef sandwiches are the signature dishes. Marco Spizzichino and Massimo Di Veroli, cousins, opened Mamà a year ago to fill what they saw as a void in the neighborhood’s offerings. “I worked in food service for eight years before opening this place,” Mr. Di Veroli said. “We thought people needed quick food that felt homemade, not like regular fast food.” Mr. Spizzichino said everything there was made to order. “Since most observant Jewish visitors stay in or near the Ghetto, we started offering Shabbat meals for them to reserve and take away,” he said. During the week, the small storefront is crowded with business people, students from Jewish schools and religious and secular tourists, all of whom stand around Mamà’s high communal tables for its popular hot sandwiches. There is an American influence, too, at the Ghetto’s newest kosher business. Il Mondo di Laura (Via della Reginella 8; 39-06-6880-6129; mondodilaura.com) sells parve cookies and baked goods, including brownies and carrot cake. Its owner, Laura Raccah, takes her inspiration from time spent baking in Tel Aviv, London and New York, and her tiny shop is filled with aromas familiar to all three hubs. S7heva (Via Santa Maria del Pianto 1b; 39-06-6880-1518), a cocktail bar with a patio, was opened in May 2010 by a young entrepreneur, Ilan Raccah. “I used to have a clothing shop, but with the crisis I saw that I needed to change direction,” she said. “The schools moving here brought more movement to the zone. There are parents, students, but lots of foreign visitors, too. Italians come here but there is strong international presence, as well.” Every evening except for the Sabbath, there is a happy-hour buffet offering kosher snacks like roasted, fried and marinated vegetables, falafel nuggets and pasta salad, which can be paired with cocktails or kosher wine. During the day, coffee, drinks and meals are served inside beneath exposed wooden beams or on a patio with an uninterrupted view down the main street.

Restaurant Review: Little Bird in Portland, Ore.

Little Bird is the second Portland restaurant from Gabriel Rucker, the 2011 winner of the James Beard Rising Star Chef Award for the best chef aged 30 or younger. Mr. Rucker won fans and accolades with his first restaurant, Le Pigeon, where he was known for daring French-inflected dishes that often involved tongue or sweetbreads. He shifted his focus slightly before opening Little Bird in December 2010. “Le Pigeon is about whatever I want, whatever is in my head,” he said. “Little Bird is more accessible for the everyday diner.” In the well-lighted dining room, which seats 70 comfortably, the ceiling is a shiny pressed tin, and lace curtains hang in the windows. Standards like soups and salads are served all the time, and so is the coveted Le Pigeon burger — a juicy patty topped with a mound of shaved iceberg and pickled and grilled onions that Mr. Rucker sells in limited quantities at his first restaurant. Erik Van Kley, the longtime sous-chef at Le Pigeon, heads the kitchen at Little Bird, with Mr. Rucker pitching in a few times a week. Mr. Van Kley makes his mark via smoked trout gougères with lemon-caraway dressing; roasted pork shoulder paired with sherried onions and topped with a crispy egg; and a sinfully rich cauliflower crepe with caramelized onions and Mornay sauce. And for dessert, the pastry chef, Lauren Fortgang, trots out conventional apple tarte Tatin alongside creations like a mascarpone ice cream sandwich paired with roasted figs. “The flavors, the techniques and the style of the food that we like is all here,” Mr. Rucker said. “It’s just a little bit simpler.” Little Bird, 219 SW Sixth Avenue, Portland, Ore.; (503) 688-5952; littlebirdbistro.com. An average meal for two, without drinks or tip, is about $80

In Zurich West, Feeding the Hip and the Hungry

Now the area has emerged as the city’s latest culinary hotbed, with serious new restaurants, interesting bars and Zurich’s first permanent covered food market. Their openings are fueled by rapid construction and new infrastructure, including 1.86 miles of tram tracks that made their debut in the district last month, making it easier to hop among the city’s most thrilling spots to eat and drink. Among the restaurants is Clouds (Maagplatz 5; 41-44-404-30-00; clouds.ch), an ambitious spot that opened in December with floor-to-ceiling windows atop the Prime Tower, a 36-story building that not only punctures the city’s low-slung skyline, but also ranks as Switzerland’s tallest. “Zurich changes all the time, and we’re part of the new Zurich,” said Magnasch Joos, Clouds’ general manager. On a weekday at noon in early January, diners savored delicate raviolone stuffed with buffalo ricotta and a perfectly runny egg (22 Swiss francs, about the same in U.S. dollars) and sautéed pike-perch with smoked-almond-crusted potatoes (46 francs) against a stunning backdrop of Lake Zurich. A layer of fog hovered over the water, with the snow-capped Glarus Alps beyond. A young crowd congregates below at the Hotel Rivington & Sons (Hardstrasse 201; 41-43-366-90-82; hotelrivingtonandsons.ch). The drinking establishment opened in October with one of the city’s quirkiest bottle collections, including spicy ginger wines from Scotland. But the scene-stealer is the painstakingly recreated speakeasy-style décor. The 80-year-old wooden bar, chicken-wire glass and six tons of white subway tiles were shipped from New York City to Hamburg, Germany, then trucked into Zurich, said Emil Looser, an owner. A block away, the 1,640-foot-long Im Viadukt (im-viadukt.ch), with 50 vendors, cuts a striking swath through the neighborhood; it opened in 2010 beneath century-old stone railway arches. Its intimate Restaurant Viadukt (Viaduktstrasse 69/71; 41-43-204-18-99; restaurant-viadukt.ch) operates with a civic mission, combining a youth job training program with live bands and a modern menu of dishes like meltingly tender boiled beef and sphered turnips and carrots, served with a horseradish-fig sauce (29 francs). At the complex’s heart is its covered market, which is anchored by another restaurant, the more casual Restaurant Markthalle (Limmatstrasse 231; 41-44-201-00-60; restaurant-markthalle.ch), where creative types and dot-comers dine on homey meat-centric dishes. Those include the restaurant’s signature veal meatballs that, on a visit in December, were luscious and still light-pink on the inside (19.50 francs). A communal ethos pervades the restaurant. Its lengthy wine collection, supplied by the wine shop Südhang (Limmatstrasse 231; 41-44-262-48-48; suedhang.com), located one arch over, includes small-production bottlings made from grapes grown around Lake Zurich. Its raw milk cheeses come from the cheese shop Tritt-Käse (Limmatstrasse 231; 41-43-366-87-88; tritt.ch), tucked under another nearby arch. A few blocks away on vibrant Josefstrasse is the Senior Design Factory (Josefstrasse 146; 41-44-440-46-46; senior-design.ch), a bright corner restaurant opened in October by Benjamin Moser and Debora Biffi, two young art school graduates whose entrepreneurial efforts epitomize Zurich West’s evolution. They already have a design shop farther down Josefstrasse. And now, in a space accented with a knitted light installation, the duo serve updated comfort dishes that Mr. Moser said are inspired by recipes handed down through the generations, like a creamy leek quiche topped with bright purple rutabaga strips; it is paired with a radicchio-mâche salad (17.50 francs). “People are more welcoming of new projects in Zurich West,” he said. “There are a lot of ateliers, a lot of design shops and a lot of restaurants. It’s the city’s melting pot.”