My stepfather’s law practice regularly requires him to work with lawyers in other countries. At dinner recently, he shared a key learning: One can never assume how things will be done; what might seem intuitive in one place can be totally different in another.
This is one of the great lessons we gain from interacting with cultures outside of our own. Far from home, we get a sense of the vastness and diversity of this planet. We see that our way of doing things is not the right way. It is not even the way. It is just one of many ways.
Travel gives us so much. If we’re lucky, one gift is humility: The world gets bigger; we get smaller.
Humility shares a root with “humiliation,” but it means something quite different. The definition I like comes from the Cambridge English Dictionary: an attitude that you have no special importance that makes you better than others. Humility is about being right sized, remaining teachable. It is about knowing how much you don’t know.
On the day I was to draft the editor’s letter for our Spring/Summer issue, I woke to headlines filled with doom, division, and outright animus. After reading the news, I sat down to write and found myself wondering how, in this world, I should talk about the merit of the stories we tell.
Our publication is not political, but it is values driven. And although it may sound old-fashioned, we don’t see those values as being particularly political. They are, rather, human, including: curiosity and decency, which allow us to forge connections with others, even (or especially) those different from us; respect for the many ways of being that exist; admiration for the thoughtful work people do; determination to seek out pockets of beauty in the world, because they always exist; consciousness of the impact, both positive and negative, our choices can have; and humility, of course — the humility to remain open to all that we have yet to learn.
Reflecting on travel, Anthony Bourdain said, “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts — it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”
As you read our newsletter and delve into our new issue, we hope you will take something with you, just as you would on any good trip: how big the world is and how little of it any of us can know, how many centers it has, how many stories there are to hear if we just listen. |
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If you ask someone to meet you at The Modern in New York, as we often do, you might need to clarify that — although it sits near the foot of MoMA (the Museum of Modern Art) — you do not mean you’ll meet them at the actual museum. Assuming they’ve never been to the acclaimed restaurant, a Relais & Châteaux member, they’ll be delightfully surprised to discover it’s as inspiring as the museum itself, because its Bauhaus-inspired design offers both art (via views of the museum’s Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden through floor-to-ceiling windows) and award-winning cuisine from chef Thomas Allan, who trained at both Eleven Madison Park and Le Meurice before helping The Modern attain its second Michelin star. For a recent Dossier coffee and catch-up with a number of our New York partners, he prepared everything from bacon, egg, and cheese flambé to pear pain perdu. His equally extraordinary dinner menus feature signature dishes, such as caviar hot dogs and monkfish roasted on the bone, in the restaurant’s Bar Room and ever-evolving, seasonal tasting menus in the dining room. The Modern also offers one of the city’s most serene, elevated tea or aperitivo moments, ideal for a late-afternoon meeting or post-museum musing. |
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When I was a kid, Natirar was mythological, at least in my mind. I grew up in a suburb near the sprawling, nearly 500-acre estate hidden in Peapack-Gladstone, New Jersey’s equestrian country and owned by the then-King of Morocco. My imagination created endless filmic escapes in which I ran away, hid in Natirar’s palatial hallways, and magically transformed into a princess. The end. None of that happened, obviously. I left the state at 18 and never moved back (said king also died without ever spending a night on his property). Now I return to New Jersey often to visit my mother, who lives in a senior community near Peapack. When I do, I feel nostalgic for a bygone version of home that is warm and full of life, that I can no longer access. On a recent trip, however, I stayed at Pendry Natirar. Combining past and present, fantasy with reality, the estate possesses a bucolic English countryside ambiance and retains the fairy-tale magic I conjured in my youth. The enchantment began as I turned off the area’s main road toward the property. Here, a single horse cinematically hung its head over a white wooden fence, and the mile-long drive wound upward through a pastoral postcard of flowering trees and trilling birds. The 1912 Tudor-style mansion at the end looked like a Gilded Age movie set, perched high enough to survey the entirety of the grounds.
Stepping through Natirar’s heavy oak door, I caught the scent of wood burning in the Great Room fireplace. Illuminated by the flames, the library’s soft, deep chairs seemed to glow, framed by wrought-iron windows looking out onto the hills, which were catching the last bits of the sunlight.
The Pendry collection’s influence is everywhere, in the best way. Refurbished interiors layer the estate’s original details — ornate plaster ceilings, limestone foyers, 31 fireplaces — with modern touches: deep green accents, gold fixtures, plush furniture, decadent bathrooms. Outdoors, guided e-bike tours, archery, hiking, fly fishing, and horseback trail rides traverse the sprawling acreage. In addition to a trout-filled river, there’s an apiary and an organic farm, which supplies produce to two onsite restaurants: Ninety Acres for fine dining and the more casual Ladd’s Tavern. In the expansive spa, seasonal ingredients are integrated into scrubs, oils, and mud wraps.
Yet, the estate’s origins remain in the mansion, which was created by architect Guy Lowell, who also designed the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. At the bequest of Natirar’s original owners, Walter and Kate Ladd, Lowell modeled the historic structure after Wroxton Abbey in England. But that’s only half the story, Kate also devoted her fortune to medical research and the care of women, turning a farmhouse on the property into a convalescent home for women who needed rest but couldn’t afford it. For a period of time after her death, the mansion became the Kate Macy Ladd Convalescent Home, a sanctuary for “deserving gentlewomen” recovering from medical conditions and surgery. Something about Kate’s spirit still seems to linger in this soothing escape, bringing peace to those in need of rest, including me.
Natirar may not be where I grew up, but it certainly feels a bit like home. |
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The summer after graduating from college, I worked in a Swiss boarding school. On the weekends, we would take high school-aged kids on outdoor adventures: canyoning, backpacking, boating. One weekend, we took a group of 12 students hiking to a remote hut in the Lauterbrunnen Valley, accessible only on foot, where we would sleep for the night. It couldn’t have been more than five miles from the trailhead, but the kids acted like we had brought them on a death march, griping they weren’t sure they could go on. We all made it to the hut, then later, in the middle of the night, we woke them and took them outside to see the stars. When I stepped out the door, I almost fell over. I was so stunned by the brilliance of the constellations. The kids were literally starstruck, gasping at the drama above them, suddenly transported out of their adolescent concerns into an awareness of a much wider universe and their own comparative smallness.
It felt like a message literally sent from the stars: Do things that make you feel like this. If I could expose myself to sights like these, I might keep a sense of what was important in life. Squabbles with my friends or parents, the loud world on my phone, blisters on my heels — not important. Connection to all living things — important. I knew then that when I had children, I wanted them to have as many experiences like this as possible.
Fast forward 10 years and I had a daughter, Lucy. You never really know if your kids will love the things you love, but five years in it seemed Lucy and I were very much aligned on the outdoors thing …
Here are a few of our favorite shared spots.
Claremont Canyon Regional Preserve: Berkeley, CA. This trail is short and tough, but worth the (steep) hike. It’s about a mile to the top, with a 1,500-foot elevation gain and rewarding views of the San Francisco Bay. I’ve watched Lucy build fairy homes in the grooves created by the January rains and pretend to be an ant marching up the fallen logs. Afterward, treat yourselves to an ice cream in the Elmwood neighborhood.
Morning Sun and Slacker Trails: Sausalito, CA. This is a gorgeous trail that offers views of Angel Island State Park on the way up, then runs alongside the Golden Gate Bridge. We play a game called “Who Can Spot the Golden Gate Bridge First.” Lucy always wins, and the prize is gummy bears.
Allmendhubel: Mürren, Switzerland. We took the funicular to the top of this spectacular little mountain, where an alpine restaurant, an adventure playground, and views of the Alps awaited us. My husband and I shared a drink and a bite on the deck while Lucy explored the playground (replete with a water maze). We then hiked back down to the car-free village of Mürren; in winter, you can ski or toboggan down, too.
Blue Hole: Charlottesville, Virginia. I went to college in Charlottesville, and jumping into a swimming hole there was the last time I really felt like a kid — until I did it again with my kid on a recent trip. The hike is short (about one-and-a-half miles) and easy. Bring a picnic and make memories in the dappled sunlight.
Great Bear Rainforest: British Columbia, Canada. Home to the rare “spirit bear” (or Kermode bear), this mystical land is an incredibly biodiverse protected area on the province’s north-central coast (the result of a historic agreement between First Nations tribes and the Canadian government) and only accessible by boat or seaplane. My husband proposed to me here after kayaking to a floating hot tub at Nimmo Bay Resort. We’ll head back with the kids for our 10-year anniversary.
Read the full essay and more close takes on a wide world in our Spring/Summer 2025 print issue. Order now.
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As the sun begins to rise, the darkness gently surrenders to the warm, golden hues that stretch over the clear waters of Greece’s Cyclades islands. The breeze carries a salty scent that blends with the day’s first light. An espresso freddo, fresh fruit, sweet pastries, and local cheese are the perfect way to start the morning.
My son Luca walks over the white, lunar-like rocks of Sarakiniko Beach, his small steps exploring the stark, sun-bleached landscape. He finds joy in the simplicity of the sun on his face, the sand between his toes, and the gentle push and pull of the tide. Lunch comprises feta cheese, ripe tomatoes, savory olives, and crisp lettuce paired with grilled prawns, tender octopus, and slow-cooked lamb. And then, the tree: a lone, weathered silhouette leaning over the cliff’s edge, gazing at the site where the Venus de Milo, the timeless symbol of beauty, was unearthed. A quiet witness to the passage of time, the tree is a reminder of the island’s history and the stories carved into its stones. |
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A Rare Bird. All of the elements that make for a superb theatrical experience — story, script, performances, staging — came to life in Seagull: True Story at New York's La MaMa Experimental Theatre Club. Inspired by the real-life story of Alexander Molochnikov, the play follows Kon, a director leading an experimental production of Chekhov's The Seagull at Moscow Art Theatre in 2022. Then Russia invades Ukraine. A wave of censorship demands ensue, so Kon flees to New York. But is it the artistic paradise he hoped it would be? There's laughter, heartbreak, reclamation, celebration … I haven't stopped thinking about it since curtain call. Catch it before it closes on June 2. –Jackie Risser
Just Landed. I recently turned down a side street in the Marais to visit Terra, a new restaurant from the owners of beloved Paris tapas bar Chez Nous. Its unassuming doorway opens into a dark corridor lined with glass-fronted coolers full of aging steaks, then takes you past an open kitchen into a dining space that looks like it was once an atelier. The roof is still made of iron-edged skylights, but the room is now filled with greenery, a wall of fine wines, and a handful of tables. The menu, which changes regularly, offers just four starters, four mains, and two desserts. In spring, white asparagus is on every menu in Paris; here it came from the Loire Valley, prepared with black garlic and calamansi (a small citrus fruit that tastes like a cross between lemon, tangerine, and passion fruit). Our mains included tagliatelle with morels and Jura wine, and one of those wonderful steaks. The service was as good as the food. Leaving, it felt like we were carrying a secret out onto that tiny street. –Skye Parrott
Eternal Flame. I’ve long struggled with what to do with candle holders after burning their inhabitants. Baobab Collection candles have definitively resolved the dilemma. The company’s wonderfully scented wax creations — based on travel fantasies or stirring stories — are housed in hand-blown glass vessels (often also engraved or painted) that take on an equally enjoyable second life as a vase, storage jar, or wine bucket. Yes, they’re large candles: The smallest can burn up to 60 hours while the largest can go for 800. –Alessandra Berge
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