Trip Coach: March 22, 2005

The ancient Romans built seven major highways, two of which made a beeline south to key ports at the stiletto heel of Italy's boot. During the Middle Ages, pilgrims and Crusaders used the roads on treks to the Holy Land. These days, most travelers head to the region known as Apulia (Puglia, to Italians), only to hop a ferry bound for the Greek Isles. By scurrying straight along to sun and fun in Greece, they're missing out on the most wonderfully weird corner of Italy. Amid rolling, sun-soaked landscapes is a wild mix of architecture: cone-shaped roofs, entire towns carved into hillside caves, ancient villages all in white, and a city of baroque treasures adorned with dragons, Harpies, and other fantastical creatures. And although it may seem like the stuff of fairy tales, Apulia remains authentic and overlooked by the crowds. Alberobello: Trulli remarkable The Valle d'Itria is a storybook Italian landscape--stone walls dividing lush farmland into patchwork fields. Look closer and you'll see that, instead of standard farmhouses, many buildings are trulli: cylindrical homes of whitewashed limestone with conical roofs of stacked, dark-gray stones. Some say trulli were built that way so that peasants could pluck out a stone--and cave in the roof--whenever they saw the king's men coming, because "unfinished" structures couldn't be taxed. Others maintain that this was simply one of the easiest ways to put a roof over your head without using mortar. Whatever the case, they keep their owners cozy in the winter and cool during the baking summers. With more than 1,400 of the beehive buildings in two separate neighborhoods, Alberobello is truly trulli central. It's also where you can try one out for the night. About a decade ago, local entrepreneur Guido Antonietta bought a few dozen abandoned trulli and installed modern kitchenettes, chunky wooden furnishings, and cast-iron bed frames. He even revived the ancient custom of painting a Paleo-Christian good-luck symbol on the roof. "I was always a little different," says Antonietta, who recalls insisting on being the lone Indian when he played cowboys and Indians as a child in the alleys of Alberobello. His company, Trullidea, rents the one-room homes for $95 to $112 per night, less than what some nearby hotels charge. So what do you do in your trullo? First, open the shutters on the deep-set window to let some light in on the stone floors. Like the outside walls, the interiors are slathered in whitewash, even on the inside of the stone roof, though that's usually blocked off by a ceiling of wooden planks. Bathrooms and kitchens are tiny but usable, and shops are never more than a few blocks away. Then take a cue from the locals. Up and down Alberobello's steep streets, you'll see women stationed in doorways, sitting in cane-bottom chairs. They keep their hands busy--shelling peas, mending dresses, crafting toy trulli for their sons' souvenir shops--while chatting with their neighbors, each perched in her own doorway. (Italian men, on the other hand, traditionally congregate in public places--at the local bar, on a roadside bench, or in the piazza.) Follow the ladies' lead and drag a cane-bottom chair into your own doorway. Your only chore is to while away the afternoon, soaking up the sun and maybe reading. Although trulli are still sprinkled throughout the Valle d'Itria, the majority of architecture outside Alberobello is modern in a boring way. An exception is the area along an unnamed back road linking Alberobello with the town of Martina Franca. It's frozen in the Apulia of ages past, blanketed with olive groves, vineyards, and hundreds of trulli. The road is a devil to find, though: Do not follow the signs toward Martina Franca from Alberobello's center. Instead, follow signs to Locorotondo, and, as you leave Alberobello behind, look on the right for a white sign pointing to Agriturismo Greek Park. That's the road. It's narrow, fenced in by stone walls--scary when you meet the rare oncoming car--and it cuts right through the hidden heart of the Valle d'Itria. At some point, do continue down the main road to Locorotondo, a hill town of concentric streets lined with whitewashed buildings. Locorotondo's nickname is "the balcony on the Valle d'Itria" because of its stunning valley views. Within Italy, Locorotondo is even better known for its wine. The region of Apulia is Italy's most prolific wine producer, churning out 17 percent of the national total. For centuries, it was just the grapes that interested the world's wine industries. Turin imported them to make vermouth, and France would sneak them into their presses during bad harvest years. But Apulian wine now trades on its own merits, getting press in culinary magazines and showing up in U.S. wine stores. Robust, structured reds, such as Primitivo and Salice Salentino, are as rich and complex as anything you'll find in Tuscany, but they start at around $7 per bottle, a fraction of what you pay for wine of similar quality in Florence. A standard table wine in Apulia costs less than $3. For free tastings (and cheap bottles), head to Locorotondo's Cantina Sociale, a wine cooperative made up of more than 1,000 local vintners. The raw earthiness of even Apulia's younger reds partners perfectly with the strong flavors of local cooking, where stewed meats are a staple. In Locorotondo, try Giovanni Loparco's homey Trattoria Centro Storico, the locals' preferred lunch spot, kept cool by thick stone walls (important when southern Italy's powerful sun is out). Try the house pennette, a quill-shaped pasta in a hearty tomato sauce spiked with hot peppers, onions, and chunks of ham, or Giovanni's signature portafoglio--a "wallet" of lamb chops stuffed with cheese, parsley, and wild herbs. For an even more memorable meal, drive 15 miles east, up a 715-foot hill, to Ostuni. Known as the White City, Ostuni is a spiral of buildings layered with so much whitewash that they look sculpted from meringue. Inside one is Osteria del Tempo Perso. The front room is decorated with watercolors of Ostuni scenes, dozens of old farm tools, and, hanging in an alcove, an antique bicycle. Deeper inside, past pendulums of cured meats and garlands of garlic and red peppers, is a candlelit dining room in a cave that was carved out of bedrock 500 years ago. Stacks of colorful fruits and vegetables surround a central column; the chef occasionally pops out of the kitchen to pluck a few for his recipes. Sit at one of the thick wooden tables and, even before you receive a menu, the waiter drops off a dozen tiny plates laden with antipasti: stuffed mushroom caps and frittata wedges, falafel and steamed tripe, roasted vegetables in olive oil, and cheeses stuffed with other cheeses. For the main courses, try Apulia's Frisbee-shaped orecchiette pasta under a tomato sauce speckled with salty cacioricotta cheese or topped with bitter turnip greens laced with spicy pepperoncini. If there's still room, go for the arrosto misto, a platter of roasted sausage, lamb, and liver. Work off the feast by wandering through the White City's maze of alleys, which are too narrow even for Italy's minuscule cars. Peek between buildings for views over terraced vineyards and olive groves to the Adriatic Sea, less than four miles away. Matera: The Cave City There are cavemen in Italy, thousands of them. Cavewomen, too. They're the people of la civiltà rupestre, a "cliff civilization" that inhabits the instep of Italy's boot. For millennia, they carved cities directly into ravines and gullies made of tufa, a soft, porous stone that's easily cut and molded, then quickly hardens upon exposure to the air. These days, the people of la civiltà rupestre have slapped front-room facades onto their cave entrances, turning the tightly packed city centers into jumbles of houses stacked willy-nilly atop one another. Despite the squared-off front rooms, satellite dishes, and a few other signs of modern life, the homes inside are bona fide caverns. When Italy drew up its regional boundaries 140 years ago, Apulia's border sliced through this ancient culture. Most cave cities are in Apulia, including Ginosa, Massafra, and Móttola. But Matera, the most dramatic, lies five miles across the border in Basilicata. Up through the World War II era, some 15,000 people lived without electricity or running water in cave homes in Matera, a city built into two parallel ravines separated by a high ridge. In the 1950s, the population was relocated en masse to a modern town on a plateau, just above the ravines. The old town, abandoned by all save a handful of the most destitute squatters--who caught rainwater in discarded washing machines and planted meager gardens in old bathtubs--became known as La Città Fantasma. The Phantom City has risen from the dead: Revitalization efforts over the past decade have brought electricity, plumbing, and, slowly, the people into the old cave neighborhoods, known as i sassi ("the rocks"). In 1998, Raffaele and Carmela Cristallo bought a string of homes in the part of town known as Sasso Barisano and converted them into the Hotel Sassi. You can't go wrong with any of the 22 rooms, even if only three are full-fledged caves. Most have at least one wall of raw, honey-colored bedrock. The rooms with only modern walls have balconies blessed with panoramas of the Barisano, a particularly romantic setting at night, when warm yellow floodlights shine on the city. Another entrepreneurial pair, Umberto Giasi and Eustachio Persia, took a vast cavern underneath the modern town, slapped the rough walls with whitewash, and started serving pizza and Apulian dishes to hungry crowds. They called the joint Il Terrazzino because of its narrow terrace with views of the Barisano. Over the ridge from Sasso Barisano is Sasso Caveoso, the more rugged and untouched of the two cave-riddled ravines. When fixing up the sassi, Matera's town fathers left the far southeast end of the Sasso Caveoso alone. This decision paid off in 2003: Mel Gibson chose Matera--and this neighborhood in particular--as the perfect stand-in for ancient Jerusalem in The Passion of the Christ. Many people spend an entire day wandering the Caveoso, in part because they keep getting lost in the maze of alleys, stairs, dead ends, and blind courtyards. The cave churches scattered throughout the neighborhood are a big draw. Ten years ago, you needed to find someone with the keys and a flashlight for a look at the complex of a half-dozen churches known as the Convicino di San Antonio. These days the doors are thrown open and there are wooden walkways to guide you through the tiny, interlinked chapels. It's still an eerie experience--you walk down steep tunnels into dark, cramped sanctuaries. In the chambers above, sunlight streams through windows bored through the rock, revealing delicate medieval frescoes. Even more dramatic is the church of Santa Maria de Idris, carved into a huge rock pinnacle jutting from the lip of a gorge. Cave homes barnacle the lower reaches of the pinnacle, and a broad staircase continues above them to a terrace in front of the blank masonry facade of the church. Inside is an assortment of caves, spooky tunnels, and paintings on the rough tufa walls. Lecce: Arts, crafts, and Baroque quirks Lecce is a town of traditional craftsmen and virtuoso chefs, and its university lends the place a youthful, cultural edge that's missing from other Apulian cities. In the evening, throngs stroll past baroque churches and palazzi, crowd the sidewalk tables that spill out of every café, and pass the time in animated conversation until the 9 p.m. dinner hour. Not everyone is out and about. A community of Benedictine nuns--locals simply call them Le Suore ("the sisters")--lives a cloistered existence in the 12th-century convent of San Giovanni Evangelista on Via Manfredi. Although you're never allowed to see the sisters or meander around their convent, you can play a kind of culinary Russian roulette with them. Le Suore are almost always selling something to eat, though precisely what changes daily. Ring the bell at the door and a feathery old woman's voice crackles over the intercom, inviting you in. The bare front room looks like a bank counter, but with a solid wall instead of bullet-proof glass and a lazy Susan in place of a teller's window. No one will appear, so you have to talk to the lazy Susan. Ask whether they have biscotti di pasta di mandorle--soft marzipan cookies with pear jelly in the center. A tray of 12 costs around $7. Then again, they may be selling raw fish that day; you never know. (That the sisters speak only Italian makes the game even more interesting.) If you'd rather know what you're buying up front, visit the Mostra Permanente dell'Artigianato, a showcase for artisans from across the region. Inside a large, bland room are brilliant, hand-painted ceramics, wrought-iron candlesticks, stone carvings, and other handiworks. And, since this is a city-run enterprise, there's no markup. The sole craft in short supply at the Mostra Permanente is the one that Lecce has been famous for since the 17th century: cartapesta, or papier-mâché. Lecce's workshops do a brisk business cranking out life-size saints, crucifixions, and crèches for churches around the world. Artisans are at work all over town, and watching one can occupy an afternoon. First, they mold wet sheets of paper around giant, featureless mannequins made of wire and straw, then they stand the rough statues in the street next to a coal-stoked brazier. Iron rods are shoved into the coals until they glow, at which point the maestro plucks one out and uses it to burn delicate details into the clothing and faces. Every time he touches the red-hot iron to the figure, it sends up licks of flames and billows of smoke, not unlike scenes of hell so popular in medieval mosaics. The charred bodies begin to look holy only after thick layers of paint have been applied. Since a six-foot St. Francis won't fit into a carry-on, visit the tiny studio of Maurizio Cianfano, who specializes in foot-high figurines of 19th-century peasants. Constantly grinning under his close-cropped hair, Maurizio wears surgical gloves and a white lab coat spattered with the gray of papier-mâché. All around him are pots of paint, bowls brimming with clay heads, and regiments of unfinished straw bodies wrapped with thread. Onto these, Maurizio crafts papier-mâché clothing, paints in the details, and attaches the peasant's burden: a bundle of sticks across the back, a pile of wood under the arm, and a jug of wine for the free hand. Smaller figures start at about $25. Lecce has its share of artists in the kitchen as well. Concettina Cantoro presides over a trattoria so unassuming that it's named Casareccia (Italian for "home cookin'"). It's clearly a converted family dining room, but along the walls are magazine clippings of Concettina demonstrating Lecce cooking to chefs in Boston and New York. She's a bit of a surrogate mamma to the workers who lunch here and groups who come for celebratory dinners. She hates impersonal menus and instead offers suggestions: "Would you like a potato, mussel, and zucchini salad? How about meatballs for afterward, with pureed fava beans and wild chicory on the side?" By the time she's back in the kitchen, you realize that she's dictated your meal. Ah, well. Mamma knows best--unless she's suggesting an after-dinner shot of the digestivo d'alloro. It's a bitter, nuclear-green liqueur made from laurel leaves. Beyond food and crafts, Lecce is celebrated for its architectural quirks. In particular, the city has its own version of baroque, which meshes the curves and curlicues of that period with the iconography and mythological beasts associated with the Middle Ages, several centuries prior. The facade of Lecce's Santa Croce is a perfect example of the style: The building itself is curvy and baroque, but decorated with a mix of pagan references and Christian symbols, including dragons, cherubs, winged Harpies, and pot-bellied mermaids. Atop one column is an ancient symbol of Christ's Passion: a mother pelican pecking at her breast, the blood flowing down to feed her fledglings. For more oddball medieval symbolism, follow the coastal road south for 30 miles to Òtranto, an ancient city of twisting flagstone streets girded by a mighty wall. The mosaic floor of Òtranto's cathedral is a phantasmagoria of fantastical creatures: elephants, peacocks, cats with human feet, bow-brandishing centaurs, and a horse's body with three human heads. Near the cathedral is Ristorante Da Sergio, a good place to digest the wild assortment of images, as well as heaping plates of linguine with shrimp. Sergio, like Concettina, prefers reciting the day's best to you. He proudly presents an oversize plate piled with the day's catch. If you order the roasted sea bass, he'll insist it needs a couple of giant prawns "to keep the fish company on the plate." As with Concettina, it's best to go with whatever Sergio suggests. You're guaranteed yet another happy ending.

What you'll find in this story: day spas, spa tips, inexpensive luxury services, tips for affordable pampering, relaxing at a day spa Turkish baths! Expansive pools! Free products! Fancy spas secretly offer full access to their luxurious facilities--even if you've just come to have your nails done. Milk your next manicure by making a full spa day out of one affordable service. Below, find a variety of high-end spas around the country with particularly lavish offerings. Grab a plush robe, slide into some slippers, and stay awhile. Chicago Waves Spa, Manicure: $19What else you get: Entrée to the seven-floor Lakeshore Athletic Club, which is next door to the Fairmont hotel. LAC has a full-court basketball gym; a 1/11-mile running track; an eight-lane, 25-yard pool; and international-size squash courts. That's on top of free weights, Nautilus machines, and no-extra-charge classes (step, kickboxing, weight training). 211 N. Stetson Ave., 312/616-1087, lsac.com/illinoiscenter. Las Vegas Canyon Ranch SpaClub at The Venetian, Manicure: $45 What else you get: Prime lounging facilities in an Italian-style garden and a five-acre pool-deck area. Locker room includes steam room, sauna, whirlpool, and fully stocked counters of Canyon Ranch-brand products. (Fifteen dollars more gets you into the fitness center, with three-story rock-climbing wall and free classes, such as tai chi.) 3355 Las Vegas Blvd. S., 877/220-2688, venetian.com/canyon_ranch. New York City Bliss 49 at the W New York, Manicure: $23What else you get: Each of the manicure stations has its own flat-screen TV with DVD. Locker room has sauna and modern-day hammam, Bliss' twist on the Turkish bath (essentially a waterfall-walled, aromatherapy-infused steam room). Both men and women get free wine, cheese, and brownies, but the guys' room also stocks beer and Xbox. 541 Lexington Ave., 212/219-8970, blissworld.com/spa/location/49. Santa Monica Spa at Le Merigot, Manicure: $30What else you get: Locker room has steam room, sauna, and a full range of Pevonia Botanica products so you have all the supplies for a DIY facial. Just outside is a large pool and poolside cardio deck with elliptical machines and stationary bikes. 1740 Ocean Ave., 310/395-9700, lemerigothotel.com.

What you'll find in this story: Brazil travel, Brazil culture, Rio de Janeiro shopping, Brazilian beaches, South America fashion It's no secret that life in Rio de Janeiro revolves around the beach. So if you want to blend in with the Cariocas, your first step is to dress the part. Brazilian bikinis--which come in a dazzling array of colors, styles, and patterns--are most famous for their skimpy, sexy cuts. And chances are, every woman and her mother claiming a spot of sand will be wearing a teensy number, regardless of her age or body shape. If you're concerned about exposing your bone-white bottom to the searing Brazilian sun, you should be. So do something about it. After a generous waxing (a must!), apply some self-tanner before you go and load up on SPF 30. Here are the rest of the bikini basics. Sizing yourself up The smallest size is P (pequeno), followed by M (médio), and then G (grande). Generally, South American women are petite, so it's safe to assume that a U.S. small is about the size of a Rio M. Fit varies by brand; figure out what suits you the same way you do at home: trial and error. Tops come in bandeau, halter, and two-triangle styles, but if you're any bigger than a B cup, you're going to need a GG (our XL). The bottoms, though, are what cause American women to pray for rain. The style called tanga sports enough material to cover about half of each cheek. The asa delta ("hang glider") isn't much bigger than a thong, but it's downright prudish compared to the fio dental ("dental floss"). If you want some wiggle room to adjust the slope of the backside, ask for side-tie bottoms. In fact, be prepared to ask for everything. Shops display only a few samples of each style, often without prices. So be patient. Upscale stores usually have an English-speaking staffer, but it's smart to pick up a bit of Portuguese. Finding the right shop You'll dig through dozens of patterns and colors at Salinas or Bumbum in Ipanema and Kitanga in Copacabana. A slinky, well-made suit shouldn't cost more than $50, about half of what you'd pay in the States. Shy types should check out Rosa Chá or Lenny, whose suits offer slightly more coverage but still won't trumpet your tourist status. A cheaper alternative is to barrel dive for the bits of Lycra at Isla Pacifica. The bikinis rarely cost more than $6, but they're the most revealing. Beach vendors sell cool crocheted bikinis at low prices, but, as you'd imagine, the cheaper suits may not last and you'll take a risk with the fit. Suiting up the guys Men don't have it much easier, coverage-wise; they typically sport Speedos, or sungas ("briefs"), worn under surf-style shorts that they shed once they hit the sand. Few men look their finest while wearing a thin, white strip of cloth, so play it safe and stick with darker Speedos that cover a fair amount of bum. The best are at Osklen, or, for Polynesian-print cotton shorts and surf-inspired gear, Totem. Accessorizing A must for walking to and from the beach is either a bright, sarong-style cover-up called a canga or a pair of board shorts. Shops sell both for around $10 apiece. Pick up a pair of Havaianas (ah-vaye-ah-nash) flip-flops for a couple of dollars at the Kmart of Rio, Lojas Americanas. There are more than a dozen locations in the city. Translating the price tags Prices are often displayed in layaway installments rather than the full amount. So be prepared to do some mental math, or bring a calculator for double-checking. Note: Salespeople often add by hand and mistakes are common (though usually unintentional). Rio bikini shops   Bumbum 351 Rua Visconde de Pirajá, 011-55/21-2287-9951   Isla Pacifica 22/202 Rua Visconde de Pirajá, 011-55/21-2513-2707   Kitanga 70/204 Rua Santa Clara, 011-55/21-2549-9020   Salinas 547/204 Rua Visconde de Pirajá, 011-55/21-2274-0644   Lenny Forum de Ipanema 351 Rua Visconde de Pirajá, 011-55/21-2523-3796   Osklen 85 Rua Maria Quitéria, 011-55/21-2227-2911   Rosa Chá São Conrado mall, 899 Estrada da Gávea, 011-55/21-3322-1849   Lojas Americanas 622 Av. Nossa Senhora de Copacabana, 011-55/21-2548-5327   Totem 547/112 Rua Visconde de Pirajá, 011-55/21-2540-0661

Ten years ago, the idea of cutting-edge architecture as a massive popular draw was ludicrous--it was the domain of private residences and the occasional corporate headquarters. Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Bilbao changed everything: Now great buildings are popping up everywhere. What's even more remarkable, many are open to the public. We've picked the 12 best of the last five years. Auditorium Parco della Musica, Rome, Italy Architect: Renzo Piano, 2002 What it looks like: "Three giant armadillos."--John L. Walters, The Guardian Why people love it: The complex of three gently curved concert halls is a musical paradise. The roofs, covered in lead strips like traditional Roman buildings, curl over the buildings' sides--giving them each a bug-like carapace. Inside, the auditoriums, each a different size, are crafted of cherry wood. Even if you're not attending a concert, you can stroll the plazas and park, and lounge in an outdoor amphitheater. (The complex is north of the city center, behind the Stadio Flaminio.) During construction, workers found an ancient archaeological site; a new museum contains the artifacts. How to get in: Viale Pietro de Coubertin 30, 011-39/06-8024-1281, auditoriumroma.com. Open daily 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. (closing at 6 p.m. after October 31, when daylight saving time ends). To get there by metro, take line A to Flaminio, then take tram 2. Admission to the grounds is free. Guided tours of the grounds and music halls cost $9; tours in Italian run hourly Saturday and Sunday but must be booked in advance Monday through Friday. All tours in English must be booked in advance. The Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia performs classical and symphonic concerts from October to June. Parco della Musica also features jazz, pop, and rock concerts year-round. Buy tickets at the box office, online, or by calling 199-109-783 within Italy.Tip! A special Musica bus, the M, runs between the auditorium and Termini, Rome's main rail station, from 5 p.m. to after the last show. Greater London Authority Headquarters (City Hall) London, England Architect: Norman Foster, 2002 What it looks like: "A glass testicle." --Mayor Ken Livingstone Why people love it: Everything about London's new City Hall is innovative. Its strange shape is designed for maximum energy efficiency, with the most volume for the least surface area. The upper floors jut out slightly to shade the lower ones--that's why it leans--and it consumes about a quarter of the energy of a standard office building. How to get in: On the south bank of the Thames, near Tower Bridge, 011-44/20-7983-4100, london.gov.uk/gla/city_hall. Open 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Monday through Friday, and two weekends a month (the website lists dates). Admission is free, but you must pass a security check at the entrance. Weekdays, visitors can look down on assembly meetings from a second-floor exhibition space. Weekends offer access to some areas that are usually restricted, including the Chamber and London's Living Room.Tip! If you position yourself on the right spot of the lovely plaza, you can be photographed so that you appear to be holding up the tilted building, just like at the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati, Ohio Architect: Zaha Hadid, 2003 What it looks like: "A giant three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle." --Barry M. Horstman, Cincinnati Post Why people love it: The Rosenthal Center, new home of the CAC, is the only building in the U.S. by the Baghdad-born, London-based Hadid, who just became the first woman to win the Pritzker Prize. At first glance the building seems quite polite--it sits neatly on a downtown corner without overpowering its neighbors--but look closer. See how the concrete sidewalk unrolls right into the glass lobby, then curves up to become the back wall. Or how the boxy shapes on the outside cantilever and zoom. Inside, the floors aren't conventionally aligned: Galleries and performance spaces jig and jag, as if they weren't so much constructed as scooped out. Enormous black steel beams, containing the stairs, slash diagonally through the interior. Tough stuff. How to get in: 44 E. Sixth St., 513/721-0390, contemporaryartscenter.org. Open from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. on Monday (free after 5 p.m.); 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Wednesday through Friday; 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. Admission is $7.50, seniors $6.50, students $5.50, kids $4.50, under 3 free.Tip! There's a lull in the crowd from noon to 2 p.m. Also, most hotels and restaurants downtown sell tickets (a good way to avoid lines). Nasher Sculpture Center , Dallas, Texas Architect: Renzo Piano, 2003 What it looks like: "A noble ruin."--Renzo Piano Why people love it: In downtown Dallas--home of big boots, big cars, big buildings--this exquisite museum is a polished gem in a quarry of rough stone. Italian master Renzo Piano spared no expense in his building of butter-colored travertine and glass, with an innovative, light-as-air roof that lets you see the big Texas sky overhead. The structure houses small pieces from the collection of shopping-mall magnate Ray Nasher and his late wife, Patsy--it's arguably the finest assemblage of 20th-century sculpture in private hands. Outdoors, in a lovely walled garden designed by landscape architect Peter Walker, are some of the Nashers''big pieces, by artists such as Richard Serra, Mark de Suvero, and Picasso. Talk about Texas rich--this museum is more precious than black gold. How to get in: 2001 Flora St., 214/242-5100, nashersculpturecenter.org. Open 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday (until 9 p.m. Thursday); closed Mondays. Admission is $10, seniors $7, students $5, kids free. Docent-led tours of the architecture and the collection (included with admission) are offered Saturdays at noon; arrive by 11:30 a.m. to secure a spot. The audio tour is always free with admission.Tip! Arts District Friends leads a free architectural tour, the Arts District Stroll, the first Saturday of every month at 10:30 a.m. It starts at the Crow Collection of Asian Art, across the street from the Nasher. 214/953-1977, artsdistrict.org. Reservations required. Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, Fort Worth, Texas Architect: Tadao Ando, 2002 What it looks like: "A sprawling box sheathed in aluminum panels with vertical fins."--Paul Goldberger, The New Yorker Why people love it: East meets the Wild West in this oasis of serenity, a match for the elegant Kimbell Art Museum by Louis Kahn (1972) next door. The Japanese architect Ando--a onetime boxer who never went to architecture school--designed a series of pavilions in velvet-smooth concrete, then wrapped each one in glass and set them in a reflecting pool. The effect is luminous. Inside, the simple galleries are equally magical: The proportions are perfect. Ando also designed the landscape of the 11-acre compound. How to get in: 3200 Darnell St., 817/738-9215, themodern.org. Open 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Thursday and Saturday; 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Friday; 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sunday; closed Mondays. Admission is $6, students and seniors $4, kids under 12 free. Daily, docent-led tours of the architecture and collection are at 2 p.m. (free with admission).Tip! The first Sunday of every month is free--and packed. Instead, visit on Wednesdays (also free), when there are no lines. Jay Pritzker Pavilion in Millenium Park, Chicago, Illinois Architect: Frank Gehry, 2004 What it looks like: "The trellis holding a state-of-the-art acoustical system is stretched like a gigantic skeletal beetle over the pavilion's lawn."--Wynne Delacoma, Chicago Sun-Times Why people love it: Chicago is proud of its heritage of modern architecture, going back to Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright. Now it has a Frank Gehry structure, in the middle of downtown's new Millennium Park. An elaborate band shell, the pavilion can seat 4,000 people in permanent seating for concerts, plus 7,000 on the lawn. A sophisticated sound system hangs from an overhead, trellis-like roof--with a classic Gehry explosion of curling silver metal above the stage. It's the park's centerpiece, but also check out Lurie Garden, Crown Fountain, and the enormous, shiny silver sculpture by British artist Anish Kapoor. (It'll be covered for two months beginning September 13 while it's being polished.) How to get in: 100 N. Michigan Ave., 877/244-2246, millenniumpark.org. Concert schedules were not available at press time; keep an eye on the website for details.Tip! The Chicago Architecture Foundation offers one-hour park tours on Fridays and Sundays from May through October at 12:15 p.m. (Sundays only in October), $5. Meet at ArchiCenterShop, Santa Fe Building, 224 S. Michigan Ave., 312/922-3432, architecture.org. Prada Tokyo Epicenter, Tokyo, Japan Architects: Herzog & de Meuron, 2003 What it looks like: "An alien body with unfamiliar skin and a strange way of holding itself."--Clifford Pearson, Architectural Record Why people love it: Having known each other since kindergarten, Swiss architects Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron started out building with Legos; now they're famous for their search for new shapes, materials, and ideas. Their Prada store is a five-sided, six-story building with an off-kilter peak. The outside is covered with a steel lattice filled in with glass diamonds, some panes bulging, some concave. At night, the thing glows like a surrealistic lantern; in the daytime, you can glimpse the Prada merchandise inside. Horizontal, diamond-shaped "tubes"--big enough to stand up in"--slice through the interior, with spaces for browsing or trying on the clothes. How to get in: 5-2-6 Minami-Aoyama, Minato-ku, 011-81/ 3-6418-0400, prada.com. Open 11 a.m. to 8 p.m.Tip! The closest subway stop is Omotesando. The closest exit, A5, reopens in January. Milwaukee Art Museum, Milwaukee, Wisconsin Architect: Santiago Calatrava, 2001 What it looks like: "A futuristic ocean liner or a delicate bird poised for flight."--Stephen Kinzer, New York Times Why people love it: They love it for the drama of the huge white brise-soleil, or sun baffle, that looms above the entrance and overlooks Lake Michigan. The "wings"adjust to screen sunlight from the space below. (See our Contents page.) Beyond the structure is a vaulted gallery that Calatrava designed to connect his building (the Quadracci Pavilion) to the existing museum. The Spanish-born architect and engineer--known for his lyrical touch--lso created a graceful white bridge linking the museum and its shorefront park to downtown. How to get in: 700 N. Art Museum Dr., 414/224-3220, mam.org. Open daily 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. (until 8 p.m. Thursday). Admission is $8, seniors $6, students $4, kids under 12 free.Tip! To see the wings open, be there right at 10 a.m. To see the wings open and close, you'lll want to be there at noon. Walt Disney Concert Hall, Los Angeles, California Architect: Frank Gehry, 2003 What it looks like: "The hula dancer of the L.A. skyline, a sensual, pushy play for attention."--James Sterngold, San Francisco Chronicle Why people love it: For the same reason they like certain movie stars--sexy curves, gorgeous skin, and a sense of glamour and fun. It makes everything in the neighborhood, especially the dowdy Dorothy Chandler Pavilion across the street, look boring. Yet this stainless steel mélange of swoops and swirls isn't forbidding, but people-friendly, with a big stairway sweeping up to an entrance that's like an embrace. How to get in: 111 S. Grand Ave., 323/850-2000 (info), 213/972-7211 (box office), musiccenter.org. Audio tours--with no auditorium access--are available 9 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. on matinee days and 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. on non-matinee days, $10, students and seniors $8. Buy tickets to see the two resident companies--he L.A. Philharmonic and L.A. Master Chorale--laphil.com and lamc.org, at 323/850-2000 (Philharmonic) or 213/972-7282 (Chorale), or through the box office (Tuesday through Sunday, noon to 6 p.m.).Tip! For the Philharmonic: Call or go to the box office on the day of a sold-out performance: Tickets often get turned in. "Choral bench"seats ($15), behind the orchestra, are sold at noon on the Tuesday two weeks prior to a concert. And students and seniors can buy $10 rush tickets two hours before the show. Call ahead to check availability. For the Chorale: Rush tickets ($10), for all ages, are sold at the box office two hours before performances. The view is obstructed. Jewish Museum, Berlin, Germany Architect: Daniel Libeskind, 1999 What it looks like: "Some say the museum represents a broken Star of David; critics liken the building to a bolt of lightning striking the Jews."--Phyllis Meras, Washington Times Why people love it: A deeply haunting building of disorienting spaces, it conveys powerful messages in its architecture alone: For the first two years after it was finished, no exhibits were even installed. This was Libeskind's first important commission; he has more recently gained fame as the master planner of the World Trade Center site in New York City. The controversial structure is a zinc-covered zigzag, like a wound slashed across the site, its windows irregular slits in the walls. It took 10 years to get it built. How to get in: Lindenstrasse 9-14, 011-49/30-25993-300, jmberlin.de. Open 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Monday, 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday. Doors are shut an hour before closing time. Admission is $5, kids under 6 free.Tip! If you can, go on a Monday evening. Although other museums in Berlin are closed on Mondays, the Jewish Museum is open--until 10 p.m., no less. Plus, there's live klezmer music at the museum's restaurant, Liebermanns. Museum of Modern Art, New York, New York Architect: Yoshio Taniguchi, 2004 What it looks like: "A perfectly formed bento box."--Glenn Lowry, MoMA director Why people love it: MoMA's architecture had always been a vanilla backdrop to the art. So when the trustees decided to rebuild and expand the museum at its Midtown site, they bypassed avant-garde proposals and chose a quiet design by Taniguchi, famous in Japan but unknown elsewhere. (When the museum reopens next month, there will be an exhibition devoted to him.) His sleek, modern building increases the gallery space from 85,000 to 125,000 square feet, creates an atrium where daylight pours through skylights, and makes a centerpiece of the sculpture garden. The art, too, remains center stage: Taniguchi believes his architecture is successful if no one notices it. How to get in: 11 W. 53rd St., 212/708-9400, moma.org. Open 10:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Wednesday through Monday (until 8 p.m. Fridays); closed Tuesdays. Admission is $20, students and seniors $12, kids under 16 free, and free for everyone 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Fridays.Tip! The $48 CityPass gets you into MoMA and five other attractions over a nine-day period (buy at citypass.com or at the attractions themselves). The best part: You usually get to skip lines. Also, there will now be two entrances, on 53rd and 54th Streets. (Most visitors are accustomed to only having the 53rd Street entrance, so the 54th Street one should be quicker.) Central Library, Seattle, Washington Architect: Rem Koolhaas, 2004 What it looks like: "A Rubik's Cube cinched by a corset?"--William Dietrich, Seattle Times Why people love it: Weird as it is on the outside--with its honeycombed walls of glass and steel that cantilever outside, the library is easy to navigate. (To research the design, Dutch architect Koolhaas visited libraries to see how hard it is to locate a given book.) It has a big, bright lobby, lots of computers for the public, and open stacks. What's ingenious is that the shelves for its 800,000 books and other materials are arranged adjacent to a sun-filled atrium, along a snaking, gently sloped ramp, with the Dewey decimal numbers embedded in the floor. How to get in: 1000 Fourth Ave., 206/386-4636, spl.org. Open 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Monday through Wednesday, 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Thursday through Saturday, 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. Sunday. Admission is free. Free architectural tours are given Monday through Wednesday, 5:30 p.m. and 6:45 p.m., and Saturday and Sunday, 1:30 p.m. and 3:30 p.m. Sign up at the welcome desk at least 15 minutes beforehand. There's usually a line to get in when the library opens, and many people go on their lunch breaks--the afternoons are quiet. Tip! Near the top of the building is the reading room, with expansive views of downtown Seattle and Elliott Bay.