Confessions of a Singing Tour Guide

Back in the fall, I was on a plane-ticket buying spree. Cheap airfare is my Achilles heel, and post-holiday flights are always irresistibly inexpensive; true to form, I couldn’t say no, booking tickets to San Francisco and Portland, Oregon, for two cross-country trips within less than a month of each other. (Irresponsible use of my credit cards? Perhaps. Proven method of combating SAD? Most definitely.) So when my oldest travel friend got in touch and invited me to crash her trip to Cuba, I was predisposed to politely decline—she would be traveling in between my two West Coast sojourns, and I’d already racked up enough debt to make my New Year’s resolution null and void before 2017 was even over. But true to form, I just couldn’t bring myself to say no, and that’s how I found myself skipping town the morning of a nor’easter and disembarking at José Martí International Airport a few hours later to bright sun, blue skies, and 90-degree weather. During the next five days, we wandered around Havana, lingering in plazas and browsing through museums and galleries, eating and drinking and taking in the rhythm of the city. (We also spent a day at the beach, because it was February and how could we not?) Here’s how it all went down. Day 1: Habana Vieja View from the Airbnb. (Maya Stanton) Our first two nights, we stayed in a casa particular (a room for rent in a private home) near Plaza Vieja, a square in Old Havana with eclectic architecture, bars with live music and towers of beer, and restaurants that cater to a tourist-heavy crowd. As we walked through the narrow streets in and around the square, we dodged groups of happy, noisy school children and peeked in the windows of all kinds of stores, from upscale chains to hole-in-the-wall souvenir shops.   A gussied-up gin and tonic at O'Reilly 304. (Maya Stanton) We’d read that O'Reilly 304 (O’Reilly between Habana and Aguiar) was vegetarian-friendly, which suited the third member of our party—we expected to be inundated with pork and seafood during the next few days, so it seemed smart to start someplace that had options for all of us. The bar is known for its gin drinks, and my G&T was suitably over the top, with a smattering of fruit and peppercorns in the mix, and a spiral of lime peel and a pink-edged petal for garnish. Our non-meat-eater gave two thumbs up for her veggie tacos, while my friend and I tucked into plates of octopus (extremely tender), lobster (a bit overcooked), and grilled vegetables (copious but pretty plain). Fishing on the Malecón. (Maya Stanton) We rolled out of the restaurant and ambled over to the Paseo del Prado esplanade, pausing to watch a small ensemble performing traditional tunes as couples danced and visitors filmed. From there, we made our way up to the Malecón, the seawall that separates the road from the surf and serves as a meeting place, a fishing hole, and a WiFi hotspot all in one. We took in the ocean breeze for a bit, admiring Cuban sculptor Rafael San Juan’s Primavera, a 23-foot-high ballet-inspired bust of a woman, created from recycled steel for the 2015 Havana Biennial and installed in front of a bright-green building, then continued our walkabout.   A colorful street in Habana Vieja. (Maya Stanton) We circled through the vibrant old town, its dusty streets teeming with people—tourists making the rounds, locals chatting with neighbors, running errands, and calling out from souvenir-shop doorways, sidewalk cafes, and pedicabs to earn some business. A woman with a baby strapped to her chest walked with us for a bit, asking for money, and as we wound our way through neighborhoods with dilapidated facades and sparse markets, dodging stray dogs and catcalls, the contrast between our fancy lunch and what we were seeing on the streets in front of us was striking. As the sun set and we grew closer to home, a nightcap seemed in order, so we made a quick stop at Siá Kará (facebook.com/siakaracafecuba), a café with cheap beer, good piña coladas, and a tempting menu, then made our way back to our casa particular.   Day 2: Habana Vieja, Centro Habana, & Vedado Museo de Arte Colonial, Havana. (Maya Stanton) The next morning, we woke to the sounds of roosters crowing and breakfast sizzling. Most casas offer a homemade morning meal, and for CUC$5 per person, our host provided a generous spread of eggs, fruit, rolls, plantains, and coffee. Properly prepared for our first full day on the island, we started off to explore, heading first to the Plaza de San Francisco de Asís, a 16th-century square that faces the Havana Harbor. After a quick photo op, we swung over to Castillo de la Real Fuerza, a fort built in the 1500s that stands guard over the bay. We decided against visiting the navigation museum housed within, instead rambling a block south to Plaza de Armas, the oldest square in the city. A group of exuberant kids played a variation of Duck Duck Goose in front of the statue of Carlos Manuel de Céspedes, the Cuban revolutionary who got the ball rolling on independence from Spain, as we looked around for the secondhand book market that’s reportedly there Monday through Saturday. But the vendors were nowhere to be found, so we consoled ourselves with a few minutes of eavesdropping on a guided tour, then moved on. Somehow resisting the siren call of baked goods from Panadería-Dulcería San-José (Obispo between Mercaderes and San Ignacio), we poked our heads into a store that carried a preponderance of white-linen dresses and guayaberas; a few steps further led us to their place of origin, an open-front workshop humming with sewing machines. As we wandered the cobblestone streets, lined with sherbet-hued buildings and dotted with shops and cafes, we stumbled upon Piscolabis (piscolabishabana.com), a boutique-cafe combo carrying unique apparel, accessories, and home decor, all made by Cuban artisans. I wanted to buy everything, then remembered my already-full suitcase, limited funds, and disinclination to carry shopping bags around the rest of the day, and left empty handed.   Havana's Plaza de la Catedral. (Maya Stanton) Finally, we arrived at Plaza de la Catedral, an 18th-century square in the northeast corner of the city with an asymmetrical stone cathedral at its heart. The entrance to the Museo de Arte Colonial (San Ignacio 61) faces the plaza; we took a lap around the gift shop and snapped a few photos of the canary-yellow courtyard, but we still weren’t ready to commit to a museum visit. A wood-block printing mold in the making at Taller Experimental de Gráfica. (Maya Stanton) Instead, we headed for the other end of the plaza, where there's a narrow alley awash with restaurants and a gauntlet of touts who gather at the base of the street, attempting to reel in customers. Past the tables of diners with stray cats begging at their feet, you’ll find Taller Experimental de Gráfica (Callejón del Chorro 6), a very cool space where artists create and sell their work—everything from painted tiles to carved-wood-block prints. I fell in love with a pastel-hued, old-school-style travel poster of the Malecón, but at CUC$300, it was out of my price range, so I settled on a small 8"x10” print for CUC$40 instead. It was the smart choice, but even now, months later, I’m still thinking longingly of the one that got away. Librería Victoria on Calle Obispo. (Maya Stanton) Our afternoon agenda included a visit to the Museo de la Revolución (Avenida Bélgica; CUC$8) in Centro Habana, and to get there, we had to pass one of the other vegetarian-friendly restaurants on my list, so we figured it was time for lunch. Before we could get there though, we were lured into Librería Victoria (Obispo 366), a dimly lit bookstore on the main shopping drag, with great silk-screened posters advertising Cuban films, Rolling Stones concerts, and classics like Singin’ in the Rain; a birdcage swinging above the door; and plenty of dusty old tomes. We browsed the stacks until our stomachs were rumbling too much to ignore.Lobster salad at Ivan Chefs Justo. (Maya Stanton) Luckily, we were just few blocks away from Ivan Chefs Justo (facebook.com/IvanChefsJusto), a brightly painted yellow townhouse with an antiques-jammed interior, every bit of available wall space covered with framed prints, paintings, and photos of varying sizes. We decided to forgo the visually busy dining room in favor of the shady rooftop terrace, accessed via a narrow spiral staircase. After consulting the chalkboard menus, we ordered a bunch of plates to share: a bread basket with dips; a salad layered with lobster, fresh tomatoes, and thin-sliced onions and doused with olive oil, tiny basil leaves, and a shower of cheese; golf-ball sized fish croquettes with plantains and a smear of tzatziki; and mixed seafood on a chunky, risotto-like bed of corn and pumpkin. Stuffed and fighting the urge for a siesta, we ordered coffee and headed across the street to the museum. My cortado must’ve done the trick, because as we made our way through the former Presidential Palace and gawked at glittering chandeliers juxtaposed with bullet holes dating from a student-led (unsuccessful) attack on then-President Batista, I didn’t yawn once. We took in the propaganda-loaded history lesson (let’s just say the Kennedy administration isn’t painted in the most positive light), then stepped out front to find a ride to our next destination. We were hoping to hail one of the city's famously photogenic vintage cars to take us there, but the drivers we spoke with were looking for passengers who wanted to hire them for the day, not a single ride. The regular cabs were a bit pricey, so we ended up squeezing into the back of a coco taxi (a yellow helmet-shaped scooter that seats up to three behind the driver) and holding on for dear life as our driver peeled out into traffic. A short ride later, we pulled up in front of Cuba Libro (cubalibrohavana.com), an English-language bookstore/coffee shop/community hangout in Vedado, a sprawling residential neighborhood to the west of the old city. We whiled away an hour in the shady, hammock-laden front yard, shooing away mosquitos, sipping iced tea, and flipping through the pages of a street-style book as the Sirius station streamed perfect sunny-afternoon soul tunes. (We especially enjoyed the cleverly labeled reading material in the restroom.) From there, it wasn’t a far walk to El Cocinero (elcocinerocuba.com), a rooftop bar and restaurant in a former oil factory, with a trendy, too-cool-for-school vibe. We showed up without a reservation, but the hostess eventually cleared us to climb the winding stairs up to the terrace...which turned out to be practically empty before the dinner rush. We opted for cold bottles of domestic Cristal (CUC$2.50) instead of something from the cocktail list, then headed for our dinner reservation at Río Mar (facebook.com/restauranteriomar), a seafood-centric restaurant on a tiny peninsula on the north coast. After a wrong turn through a neighborhood that didn’t seem to get many tourists and a detour past a burned-out, apocalyptic-looking seafront high-rise, we finally found the place. We ordered a few tapas-style small plates: ropa vieja on soft corn cakes, stuffed piquillo peppers, and another round of veg tacos for our non-meat eater. We’d planned to swing back toward El Cocinero to see what was on next door at Fábrica de Arte Cubano (fac.cu), a hipster-sounding arts and entertainment venue, but we were wiped out and instead opted for a cab back to Habana Vieja, where we ventured up to the plaza for a few glasses of wine, then called it a night. Day 3: Varadero We’d booked a taxi to take us to the beach at 8 a.m., and our driver was right on time. (At CUC$10 per person, it would’ve been less expensive to take the bus, but a cab offered a more direct route and a more flexible schedule, and since we didn’t have unlimited time to spend in transit, we sucked it up and paid the $100 fare.) The resort town of Varadero is a few hours by car, so we made a pit stop at a thatched-roof roadside plaza for a breakfast of coffee and ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Even at that early hour, a four-piece band was warming up, providing a serene yet slightly surreal backdrop, especially for those of us more familiar with the chaos of rest stops on the I-95 corridor.  A beachy beverage at Vernissage. (Maya Stanton) By 11 a.m., we’d checked into our centrally located casa particular and found our way to the patio of Vernissage (corner of Avenida Primera and Calle 36), a restaurant and snack bar conveniently situated between home and beach. After a round of piña coladas and a rib-sticking lunch of roast pork, rice and beans, seafood bisque, and vegetable lasagna, we were more than ready for an afternoon in the sun.  A glorious day in Varadero. (Maya Stanton) We walked the block to the beach and stopped at the first place we found, Hotel Los Delfines (Avenida Primera and Calle 39), where we rented lounge chairs for a few CUC and spent the rest of the day swimming, reading, and sipping mojitos. After the beach, we rode the complimentary tourist bus to the end of the isthmus and back (don’t do this—it stops at every all-inclusive along the way, and it’s a long trip), then went in search of dinner. Our first choice, a Spanish spot, was permanently shuttered, so we settled for the next place we happened upon, an open-air joint called El Rancho, for an utterly forgettable meal. As we were paying the bill, we heard the music ramping up across the street at the Beatles Bar (Avenida Primera and Calle 59), and as a lifelong fan of the Fab Four—albeit one with an ingrained dislike of Beatles cover bands—I felt compelled to stop by and check out the show. A quartet of a so-bad-they’re-good sculptures greeted us as we entered, and as the band began cycling through an odd mix of Beatles tunes and random ‘90s hits from the likes of Shania Twain and the Offspring, we found seats in the back and watched the very enthusiastic crowd from a safe distance. A little went a long way and we'd soon had enough, making our way home to crash hard before our early-morning departure. Day 4: Matanzas & Havana  Breakfast, casa particular–style. (Maya Stanton) With the help of our host, we arranged for a driver to take us back to the capital via Matanzas, about a 40-minute drive from Varadero, making a stop or two along the way. We just had time to finish our homemade breakfast before the cab arrived, and we were on the road by 8 a.m. Our first stop was Cueva de Saturno, a freshwater subterranean cave with a swimming hole and snorkeling gear for rent. Sadly, and contrary to the intel we’d gathered in the planning stages, it wasn’t open that early, so we hopped back in the car, rolled down the windows, and let the wind blow through our hair as our driver blasted the timba. Riverside in Matanzas. (Maya Stanton) Half an hour later, we pulled into the waterfront city of Matanzas, winding our way through town until we reached Ediciones Vigía, a small-batch publishing company with serious artistic bonafides. Its books, released in limited editions and beautifully crafted from handmade paper and found materials, have received international praise, featuring in collections from New York’s Museum of Modern Art to the Library of Congress. I could’ve lingered in the airy, plant-filled space for another hour, but we had things to do and places to be, so we made our selections (a notebook for me and a volume of poetry for our vegetarian friend) and got back on the road. An array of books from Ediciones Vigía. (Maya Stanton) Before long, we were hitting the outskirts of Havana. Our final casa was the best of the bunch, with high ceilings, a mini fridge with honor-system bottled water and cans of beer, and a great location a block or two from the Paseo del Prado. We dropped our suitcases and set out to cross a few things off our list. After a quick stop at Hotel Sevilla (hotelsevilla-cuba.com), where we grabbed cigars to take home for friends and spent a few minutes in the atrium listening to the band, we hailed a cab to take us back to Vedado for lunch. Arroz caldoso and Havana's best mojito at Decamerón. (Maya Stanton) Inside a nondescript townhouse on a high-traffic street is Decamerón (facebook.com/RestauranteDecameron), a privately owned paladar with a plain facade that belies a genteel, white-tableclothed interior and well-executed, vegetarian-friendly Cuban cuisine. (It also served the best mojito I had all week. The secret ingredient? A generous dose of bitters to cut through the customary sugar for a more balanced beverage.) We commandeered a corner table on the leafy terrace and proceeded to have a leisurely meal of green salads—our first in days—and, for me, a highly satisfying bowl of arroz caldoso, brothy rice with chicken, pork, and Catalan sausage. After lunch, we made a pilgrimage to Parque Lennon (not to be confused with Parque Lenin) for some quality time with my favorite ex-Beatle. Though his music was once banned in Cuba, John Lennon is now memorialized in bronze and patiently accepts visitors from his perch in the park. His glasses were missing, but other than that, the resemblance was uncanny. From there, we caught another cab, this time bound for the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes (bellasartes.co.cu). We started with the international collection, which was broad in scope and not super exciting, and took in José Manuel Fors’s Palimpsesto installation, but we spent the bulk of our time with the Cuban collection. I loved the ink-and-tempera illustrations from the 1930s, and the modern pieces on the second floor were stunning. Back in Havana. (Maya Stanton) With a few hours of daylight left, we spent the rest of the afternoon popping in and out of various galleries in and around the museum: The Merger (Monserrate 203), a studio directly across the street with contemporary sculptures and prints, and over on Obispo, the gallery of Ernesto Villanueva Morera (evillanueva.com), where I would’ve spent all of my money if only I'd had enough. On our way back to the casa to change for dinner, we came across a small collective in a gritty, ground-floor space just off the Paseo and spent a few minutes browsing and chatting with the artists. No matter where we looked, we seemed to find that creative spark.   For dinner, it was back to the Plaza de la Catedral for a meal among the touts. We’d made a reservation at Paladar Doña Eutemia (donaeutimia.restaurantwebexperts.com), the alley’s initial attraction; when the restaurant became popular, others sprung up in its wake to vie for its overflow, but none of them have the cachet—or the quality—of the original. Our table was out front on the terrace, which was lovely...until it started to rain. Relocated to the cheery dining room, we dug into plates of picadillo and roast pork (and garbanzo-bean stew for our vegetarian friend). The pork was dry, but the picadillo—seasoned ground beef sautéed with raisins and olives—more than lived up to the billing. The rain was still coming down when we left, and the streets had emptied out a bit. We made an impromptu stop on the way home, drying off a few seats on the balcony at Esquina de Cuba (facebook.com/esquinadecuba) for a farewell round of piña coladas and fancified gin and tonics. Day 5: Homeward Bound Definitely not waffles. (Maya Stanton) Lured by the promise of waffles, we chose Cuban fashion designer Jacqueline Fumero’s Café del Angel (cafedelangeljf.com) for our final breakfast. Sadly, it was false promise and there were no waffles to be found, so we settled for a colorful spread of eggs, toast, mango juice, and coffee instead. With our flights scheduled to leave in just a few hours, we had time for one more stop: the Saturday art market on the Paseo. My friend bought a print, but my last CUCs were reserved for the taxi to the airport; if I’d budgeted enough, though, I would’ve found room in my suitcase for a tiny watercolor or two.  Just off the Paseo del Prado in Havana. (Maya Stanton) Again, our host at the casa helped arrange our ride to the airport, and when we came downstairs, we were pleasantly surprised to find a vintage turquoise Plymouth waiting for us at the curb. I'd had mixed feelings about being one of those oblivious tourists gallivanting around in a classic car, and now that one had presented itself, it was like my internal dilemma had materialized before my eyes. I was still grappling with the disconnect between the cushy visitors’ experience and the poverty we were seeing on the streets; the two coexist in a way that’s troubling, to say the least. Though a recent survey puts the numbers slightly higher, Cuba’s National Office of Statistics reports that the average monthly salary is less than $30 per month—meaning many Cubans make less in a month than a visitor spends in a few days. They can’t eat at the same restaurants, take the same transportation, or spend the same currency, and the tourist restaurants get first crack at whatever produce is available, so food scarcity is a real problem. (More on this below.) Unsurprisingly, we felt some resentment during the course of our stay, but we also met people who welcomed us warmly and wanted to talk about everything from their day-to-day lives to their thoughts on America’s current political climate. As we slid into the Plymouth’s floral-upholstered backseat and passed through parts of the city most visitors only see through a cab window, I thought about the moments of beauty we'd experienced, the hospitality we’d received, and the creativity we’d witnessed, and let myself sit back and take in the ride. The Fine Print Though the U.S. State Department still forbids its citizens from traveling to Cuba strictly for tourism purposes, Americans can obtain visas under 12 categories of acceptable travel. You'll select one when you book your plane ticket, and then purchase and pick up the visa at the airport, so be sure to allow extra time before your departure.  Americans will need enough cash to last for the duration of the trip—our ATM and credit cards don’t work there. The country has two forms of currency, one for locals (CUP, the Cuban peso) and one for tourists (CUC, the Cuban convertible peso). Though it didn’t happen to us, we heard stories of people paying in CUC and getting literally shortchanged with CUP, so pay attention when you hand over those bills. Safety-wise, we never felt threatened, but as women, we were subjected the most aggressive catcalling I’ve ever encountered—and I live in New York. Also, as Americans, we got a bit of a mixed response from the locals, though I do think the lukewarm reception was due at least in part to my subpar Spanish.  If you want to get online, you’ll need a WiFi card, which should run around CUC$2 for an hour of access, and a hotspot, which probably won’t be well-marked. Your best bet is a property like the Hotel Sevilla, which sells cards at the front desk and has WiFi in the lobby. If you’d prefer an al fresco internet experience and you already have a card, try the Malecón, or just keep an eye out when you’re walking around—you’ll see clusters of people glued to their phones, which is usually the sign that you’ve found an access point. At night, it’s even easier: All you have to do is look for the glowing screens. Plan on buying bottled water while you’re there. The tap water isn’t potable, even for brushing your teeth. Accommodation in Cuba is a tricky thing. In November, the State Department declared 80-some properties with ties to the Cuban military off-limits for Americans, and all hotels there are majority-owned by the government—which, for my money, is even more reason to rent a room in a private residence. Known as casas particulares, these rooms vary in price and style, depending on the location and the owners themselves, but they’re not typically luxurious digs; they are fairly inexpensive by American standards, though, and while you might not be sleeping on high-thread-count sheets, you will be interacting with locals and getting a different perspective than a hotel would provide. Once upon a time, before smartphones and apps and Google Maps, the best way to book these casas was with a phone call or simply by showing up and ringing the doorbell, but it’s a bit easier these days: They’re all on Airbnb. Our favorite was Casa Meyly 2, which was centrally located with a wrap-around balcony and a private bathroom for just CUC$30 per night. Casa Meyly 2Consulado 203Havana, Cuba Finally, a word on the overall economic situation. While the Cuban economy relies heavily on tourism to bring in those dollars, euros, and yen, the influx of visitors is creating food shortages nationwide, with basic pantry staples and produce going to tourist restaurants and paladares instead of local markets. To say that it doesn't feel right to chow down on lobster sourced on the black market while citizens can't get enough to eat is an understatement. If you're going to visit, consider traveling with a volunteer organization, be mindful, and tip well (10% is standard, but more is welcome). 

Las Vegas has a Burlesque Hall of Fame, the Mob Museum, the Neon Museum (more on that in a minute), and all kinds of other institutions that focus on aspects of Sin City's heritage. There is, however, no official establishment that puts the city’s history on display. For that you can turn to the Golden Gate Hotel and Casino.  THE STORY The hotel, located off The Strip, has all the glitz and bravado of the familiar Las Vegas resort, but what makes it notable is not an elaborate theme park-like vibe or lavish fixings. Yes, it’s a tremendous property with 122 rooms and a sprawling 24-hour casino (as if you need reminding that a Vegas casino is 24-hours), but its main attraction is in the fine details. You don’t have to look too hard to see that property is a veritable time capsule and if you know where to look and who to ask, you can pick up nuggets of local history that are as captivating as watching the resident card shark clean up at the blackjack table. The hotel was built in 1906, and one of the regular visitors was none other than Dean Martin. He had a fear of flying, so he always came to down on the bus. Today you can still spot the Greyhound station across the street from the main entrance.  A display cases in the hotel lobby exhibit original betting ledgers and antique telephones, the latter in honor of the Golden Gate having the first working phone in the city. The phone number? “1.” In what we can only assume is a nod to its telecommunications claim to fame, the last four digits of the hotel’s main phone number today is 1906, the year is opened. HISTORIC BUILDING, MODERN QUARTERS When the Golden Gate first opened at the turn of the 20th century, there were 106 guest rooms. Then in 2012, having endured countless design styles and American movements, the hotel built an entirely new five-story tower. It’s connected to the original structure seamlessly in terms of design, but its forward-looking design and engineering elements are astounding. For instance, it was the first cement hotel in the country. And elevator in the addition runs on energy generated by the elevator itself on each trip downwards. It's the first of its kind in the state and 16th in the world. Additionally, the water in the rooms are heated by geothermal wells. The original rooms have all been renovated and outfitted with thoroughly modern amenities, motion-sensor climate control, like flat-screen TVs and iHome clock radios.    Rooms range from a standard set-up to luxury suites to two posh penthouses and they feature design touches that pay tribute to various styles that defined the 20th century. Art Deco accoutrements, for one, range from lamps to the pinstripe-inspired carpet patterns. And speaking of carpets, don’t miss the floor coverings in the casino. New carpeting, laid down in 2012, has a design reminiscent of Art Deco patterns.  THE NEIGHBORHOOD Any hotel on The Strip boasts The Strip as a main attraction. The Golden Gate is located in what’s considered Vegas’s Downtown, which is less than five miles from the Bellagio and the rest. But while you don’t get fountains that put on a Broadway-caliber show or buildings that make you feel like you’re at a World’s Fair, you don’t have to trade off any of the raucous, late-into-the-night revelry. One of the hotel’s entrances opens right out onto the Fremont Street Experience, a lively four-block-long pavilion-like street that features a 10-story tall video screen that shows jaw-dropping light shows at the top of every hour from 6pm to 1am.   The property is less than a mile stroll to the fantasy-tinged Neon Museum, an engaging institution that features, among other things, a “boneyard” of gargantuan signs of light bulbs, neon tubing, a study of the intersection of kitsch and class. They tell the story of iconic restaurants and hotels that have risen and fallen since Vegas became a destination for its flash and glamour and American soul. There’s The Golden Nugget sign from 1961, with neon reaching up to three stories in height. There’s the Moulin Rouge’s sign from 1955, marking the first integrated casino. Treasure Island Casino’s hulking pirate skull. When taken as a whole, the relics chronicle the joys and fears of a nation. You’ll learn, for instance, that when the Russians launched Sputnik in 1958, all things pointed to atomic testing, both in the news and in culture. Thus, all kinds of imagery of atomic-themed beauty contests and the 19-story sign for the luxurious, mobster-run Stardust, its name spelled out in jagged-edged letters like an animated explosion. The hotel was imploded in 2007. RATES & DEETS Starting at $55. Golden Gate Hotel & Casino1 Freemont StreetLas Vegas, NV 89101 (702)385-1906 / goldengatecasino.com 

Not 20 minutes from downtown Wilmington, North Carolina, on the barrier island of Wrightsville Beach sits the Blockade Runner Beach Resort, a family-owned property centrally located on a pristine oceanfront plot. The boutique hotel has been around since the mid-60s, but it’s received a contemporary facelift over the years, now boasting stylish accommodations, beautifully manicured gardens, and an unsullied stretch of white sand, where beach meets gentle ocean waves. THE STORY The Blockade Runner’s history begins some 120 years ago, when the Colonial-style Seashore Hotel, located at the same site, opened to the public in 1897. As with many buildings in the Wilmington area during this time period, it didn’t last long, falling victim to a fire in 1918. In 1922, the Ocean Terrace Hotel took its place, but it wasn’t long for this world either, hit hard by a hurricane in 1954 and burning down entirely the following year. In 1964, the current iteration opened, and you can see still elements of the original midcentury style in the blonde-wood ballroom, once the main dining room. Today, the resort is collectively owned by four siblings, two of whom have managed the property since 1984. THE QUARTERS Each floor of the Blockade Runner has a unique style—my third-floor oceanfront room featured two queen-size sleigh beds with pink accents, a set of white chairs cozily arranged in front of sliding-glass doors for optimal sunrise-watching or coffee-drinking, and a gold wall treatment reminiscent of glam fish scales—but its 147 rooms and three suites all come equipped with a king or two queen beds, flat-screen TVs, Keurig coffee makers, mini fridges, free WiFi, and plush terry robes. Harborfront rooms are the least expensive; they overlook the Intracoastal Waterway’s boat slips and offer great sunset views, but in the process, they also face the parking lot. Oceanfront rooms come with or without a balcony and cost a little more, and suites are at the top end, thanks to roomy digs, soaking tubs with ocean views, and loungy balconies with gas fireplaces. Also available: A two-story cottage (formerly a boarding house), adjacent to the hotel, that sleeps up to 26 people, with 13 bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, and a dining room that seats 20. THE NEIGHBORHOOD The beach is the neighborhood. Blockade Runner is a classic resort and it lives up to its billing, with enough attractions to keep guests on the property and happy about it, but it’s also centrally located on the island, just a brief walk from beach-town style bars, restaurants, and shops and a short drive over the causeway from Wilmington proper. No visit to the shore is complete without a stop at beachwear chain Wings, where you’ll find every conceivable accessory you’d want (and quite a few that you wouldn’t), and you’ll pass one on your way to the hotel, just as you exit the bridge. After you’ve had your fill of cheap t-shirts and toys, head around the corner to Hallelu, a cute boutique peddling bohemian, beachy clothes and inexpensive jewelry, or stroll a little further down Lumina Avenue to Sweetwater Surf Shop, where you’ll find a collection of cheeky Ts, bikinis, and boards, and Wrightsville Beach Art Company, the only gallery on the island, for nautical pieces made from recycled materials. THE FOOD On the property, East Oceanfront Dining serves coastal cuisine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, either in the sleek dining room or outside on the canopied garden patio, and there’s a poolside bar that opens in late March for cocktails and seafood-forward fare. (Breakfast is only included with certain packages, and if yours isn’t one of them, the a la carte menu is a more appealing option than the buffet.) Within walking distance, try the Trolly Stop for hot dogs (varieties include all-beef, smoked pork, and vegetarian) or the deli counter at Roberts Market for juicy, piping-hot fried chicken—but only before 3 p.m., when both local faves stop serving (on offseason weekdays, at least). The Workshop, tucked into a small space behind Wings, offers espresso drinks and premade sandwiches with a side of shark-teeth jewelry; further down Lumina, 22 North has a killer fried-alligator special that’s lovely with a glass of white wine. On Harbor Island, between Wrightsville and the mainland, try Poe’s Tavern for burgers; across the Intracoastal, grab a seat on the deck at the Fish House Grill for iced tea and fish tacos (expect a wait on sunny afternoons), or make a reservation at the Bridge Tender for a more upscale waterfront experience. And over the causeway, just a few minutes from Blockade Runner by car (my Lyft ride cost all of $4), is Ceviche’s, a Panamanian restaurant with strong tropical beverages and a menu that ranges from traditional plates like ropa vieja and arroz con pollo to the namesake selection of ceviches. Scoop up the corvina, sea bass classically prepared with lime, cilantro, and red onion, and the langoustine, marinated in citrus and coconut milk, with plantain chips and tostones, and wash it all down with a fresh-lime margarita (only $6 on Mondays!). ALL THE REST Blockade Runner’s ocean-facing gardens are beautifully manicured, with a pool and hot tub that open in the spring. Guests can take classes at an ASA-certified sailing school (good for beginners or intermediates) or charter a boat for an evening sail; rent a kayak and explore the sound, either on your own or with a guided tour of the salt marsh; or lounge by the pool or the ocean and let an attendant keep you in fruity umbrella drinks. In low season, you can get a great deal on accommodations, and though you might not spend much time lying on the beach, the area makes a good mid-winter escape, with average temperatures hovering around the 60s from December to February. The rates more than double during the summer, though, so if you’re looking for a peak-summer bargain, this probably isn’t it. Also, as is common with some beach locations, the tap water is sulfuric, so if you’re sensitive to that smell or taste, be sure to bring filtered water with you. RATES & DEETS Starting at $125. Blockade Runner Beach Resort275 Waynick BoulevardWrightsville Beach, NC910.256.2251blockade-runner.com

If you listen closely, you can hear the sound of winter 2018 melting (finally!) into spring, and with that warm weather comes spring road trips, big-city getaways, and hiking in the national parks. Budget Travel editor in chief Robert Firpo-Cappiello shares three great spring destinations on The Weather Channel’s morning show, AMHQ, on Friday morning, March 30, around 8:40am Eastern. If you miss one of our regular live broadcasts on The Weather Channel, you can often catch them on Budget Travel’s Facebook page, and, of course, you can learn more about each of these affordable spring trips right here at BudgetTravel.com. 1. SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO First of all: How does 300 days of sunshine per year sound? That’s what Santa Fe, New Mexico, enjoys, and you will too. The second-oldest city in America is also the highest state capital, at 7,000 feet above sea level. Santa Fe offers incredible history going back to the days when it was a hub for traders and pioneers in the Southwest. You’ll love the museums, galleries, and interactive art spaces, decadent spas, great food, and free-flowing margaritas. It’s a city that embraces its own quirkiness, earning its nickname, The City Different. 2. NEW ORLEANS New Orleans has a reputation for partying, and this year may be its biggest party yet. The Big Easy celebrates its 300th anniversary all year long, and spring - the sweet spot between Mardi Gras and summer vacation - may be the best time to find bargains and fewer crowds. You can hear authentic American jazz, blues, and other music all over town, try a classic Sazerac cocktail, explore the city’s voodoo culture, and kayak the bayou. 3. GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK With more than 11 million visitors each year, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, straddling the Tennessee and North Carolina border, is America’s most popular - it’s centrally located for a relatively easy road trip from much of the East, South, and Midwest. And admission is free, thanks to an agreement with the state of Tennessee when the park was founded (though we do recommend you make a donation to the nonprofit Friends of the Smokies. The park is bouncing back from the fires of late 2016, and it’s the ultimate budget escape with campsites for $20, amazing hiking, old-growth forest, and the kind of scenic overlooks that Instagram was invented for.