Trip Coach: March 27, 2006

Day 1: Grand Junction to Rico"It looks just like a museum diorama," I say, pointing at the grasslands we pass while heading south on Highway 50. Sitting in the passenger seat with my finger in front of her nose is Lisa; we've been friends since high school, so she's accustomed to my odd observations. "All that's missing are the little men on horses," she says, playing along. Born and bred New Englanders, Lisa and I both have somewhat romanticized views of the Rockies. Our arrival in Telluride, with its postcard-perfect brick and wooden storefronts framed by the San Juan Mountains, only reinforces our assumption that we're in God's country. Nothing's perfect, however: It's impossible to find a parking spot, so we drive partway up the ski mountain and leave the car in a garage. As dusk approaches, we take the free Telluride gondola on a peaceful, 13-minute descent back into town, which now glows with streetlights. The wooden walls inside Smuggler's Brewpub are tattooed with crayon and marker scribbling, beer steins line shelves above our heads, and conversations compete with the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young playing in the background. The combination of hefty burgers and homemade beer hits the spot. Stepping into the Last Dollar Saloon, we're convinced Telluride hasn't betrayed its scruffy ski-bum roots, even if Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes do own property in the area. Poorly lit, with a smell of stale beer and an eclectic decor of neon signs and chandeliers, the Buck, as locals call it, is the kind of place where people know the bartender--and each other--by name. I look on in wonder as a woman pulls out her checkbook to settle her tab. Spotting my stare, she raises an eyebrow and says, "Honey, when you've been coming here as long as I have . . . ." It's late June, and the annual Telluride Bluegrass Festival is underway. We can hear Béla Fleck's banjo as we wander toward the giant stage set over a baseball field. A crowd of over 9,000 people sprawls on blankets. Neither Lisa nor I started the evening as a particularly big fan of the main act, Bonnie Raitt, but by the time she croons "Angel from Montgomery," we're converts. Vacancies in Telluride during the festival are hard to come by, so Lisa drives us 30 minutes in total darkness--screeching to a halt twice for deer--to the Rico Hotel. Exhausted, we're grateful to find our room key taped to the hotel door. We wander through the lounge, where there's a deer head on the wall, rough-hewn wood beams overhead, and a huge fireplace. Our room is cute, with pink walls and rustic furniture. At that point, all we care about is the bed. Lodging Rico Hotel124 S. Hwy. 145, Rico, 800/365-1971, ricohotel.com, from $75 Food Smuggler's Brewpub225 S. Pine St., Telluride, 970/728-0919, burger $6 Activities Telluride Gondola970/728-0588, visittelluride.com, free Telluride Bluegrass Festival800/624-2422, bluegrass.com, June 21--24, day pass $60 Nightlife Last Dollar Saloon100 E. Colorado Ave., Telluride, 970/728-4800 Day 2: Rico to DurangoHotel guests sip coffee and eat scrambled eggs and bacon around wooden tables in the brightly painted breakfast room. The food is excellent, even if Eamonn O'Hara, the hotel's manager and chef of its acclaimed Argentine Grill, doesn't handle breakfast. Eamonn, a native of Ireland, and his wife, Linda Hackleton, an English expat, lived in Los Angeles--Eamonn worked for nine years at the Hotel Bel-Air--before moving to Colorado. "We didn't want to raise our daughter in L.A.," Linda explains, referring to 17-year-old Jorden. We regretfully leave without sampling Eamonn's cooking, but soon enough stumble on the Silver Bean, a 1969 Airstream trailer converted into a coffee shop. A white picket fence surrounds an Astroturf patio where people sip lattes next to plastic flamingos. Inside, postcards and snapshots from the travels of "Uncle Fred" and "Aunt Betty" line the walls; owner Gigi Schwartz invented Fred and Betty as a lark. Gigi and her friend Wendy Mimiaga have been working in the tight quarters since the shop opened in 1998. "We haven't killed each other yet," says Wendy, laughing. We drive 20 miles in the wrong direction, but it turns out that we're just 18 miles from the Four Corners Monument, so we keep going until we reach the spot where Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico meet. Sure, the marker is sort of arbitrary. We pay $3 admission and have fun in the hot desert air anyway. I snap photos of Lisa doing "the crab" on the four corners plaque, so that each limb is in a different state. The narrow roads carved into the steep canyon walls of Mesa Verde National Park have particularly beautiful views: valleys dotted with juniper trees and sagebrush in between giant mesas. Around one turn, we spot wild horses. The park's cliff dwellings are the real show. At Spruce Tree House, a 13th-century sandstone dwelling once home to the Ancestral Puebloan people, a ranger points out several kivas--underground rooms used for various ceremonies. We join a group tour of Cliff Palace, which has 150 rooms and 23 kivas. Our guide explains that an average Ancestral Puebloan man was 5'4", which helps us imagine how 125 people once lived here--and how residents managed doorways less than four feet tall and two feet wide. We climb a series of ladders to the top of Cliff Palace, passing three-inch wide grooves worn into the sandstone by human fingertips. I'm grateful for the ladders. In Durango, we check in to the Rochester Hotel, a red-brick Victorian building dating to 1892. A lounge area offers homemade oatmeal-raisin and chocolate chip cookies and a jug of iced tea--all with a help-yourself policy for guests. I'm thrilled with our room's little private patio, which opens into the side courtyard. At The Palace restaurant, where we're serenaded by a barbershop quartet over dinner. I can't manage to finish my mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwich, and Lisa hardly makes a dent in her plate of penne--because the portions are so big and because we stuffed ourselves with cookies back at the hotel. Waitresses at the Diamond Belle Saloon dress in 1800s period costumes, complete with peacock feathers in their hair, and more often than not there's someone playing ragtime on the piano. While we have drinks, I half expect brawling cowboys to fall from the balcony. Lodging Rochester Hotel726 E. Second Ave., Durango, 800/664-1920, rochesterhotel.com, from $109 Food Silver Bean410 W. Main St., Cortez, 970/946-4404 The Palace505 Main Ave., Durango, 970/247-2018, penne $9 Activities Four Corners Monumentnavajonationparks.org, $3 Mesa Verde National ParkHwy. 160, 970/529-4465, nps.gov/meve, $15 per car Nightlife Diamond Belle Saloon699 Main Ave., Durango, 970/247-4431 Day 3: Durango to OurayDurango attracts outdoorsy types who make the most of their days, and at 7:15 a.m., nearly every chair in our hotel's breakfast area is filled. After eggs, fresh fruit, and tea, we drive to Mild to Wild Rafting for a trip down the Lower Animas River. A family from Chicago with three boys shares our boat. The water level is fairly low--meaning the rapids are mild--so our guide, Roy Igo, a Harrison Ford doppelgänger, makes the ride more exciting by extending the initial lesson into a paddling clinic. Not to be shown up by the boys, Lisa and I furiously obey his commands of "Forward two, back one!" For lunch, we return to town, where the chicken wings at Carver Brewing Co. are messy and scrumptious. Then we stop at Honeyville, specializing in all things to do with bees; there's even a see-through hive stocked with live bees in the middle of the store. Lisa, who loves whipped honey, is delighted that the store sells it in flavors such as cinnamon and peach. We drive into the mountains on Route 550, a.k.a. the Million Dollar Highway. Just before Coal Bank Pass at 10,640 feet, we see the impressive Pigeon and Turret peaks, both well over 13,000 feet high. Soon after, we look down at the old mining town of Silverton, which is 9,318 feet above sea level. A man at Silverton's visitors center gives us a map to a nearby ghost town, Animas Forks, and assures us that our rental--a white PT Cruiser we've nicknamed Stay Puft--will do just fine. Half an hour later, as we bounce along a rocky dirt road with a sheer drop-off, we're not so sure. Still, we arrive unscathed to see rickety buildings and crumbling foundations in what 120 years ago was a town of 450 people. Silverton itself looks like a ghost town, as it's low season--in between the summer tourists and the winter skiers. We struggle to find a single store open. One window sign reads: we are not open, never, never, never. There could not be a more appropriate moment for a tumbleweed to roll by. Continuing on Route 550, we fight the urge to pull over every few minutes to take photos. One stop we can't resist is Red Mountain, a collapsed volcano with sides that are burnt orange and red, thanks to the rich iron deposits. Eventually we arrive in Ouray, dubbed the Switzerland of America for its position beneath snowcapped peaks. The area was populated after gold was discovered in 1875. Long before its mining days, however, Ouray--named for a Ute chief--was the summer home of nomadic tribes who came to soak in the mineral hot springs. After paddling the morning away, Lisa and I have the same idea. We check in at Box Canyon Lodge & Hot Springs and change into bathing suits. The lodge has four 6-person redwood tubs that are continuously replenished with geothermally heated spring water. As the sun sets, we soak and enjoy the mountain views. We get seated next to the outdoor fireplace at Buen Tiempo, a cute Mexican restaurant. While digging into a vegetarian quesadilla, I notice that the 15-foot-high ceilings inside are papered in dollar bills. Our waiter explains that they're donated by customers and taken down once a year to be given to charities. After we offer a dollar, our waiter shoves a tack through the bill, which he wraps around a roll of quarters; then he wings the package upward. The tack sticks the dollar into the ceiling, and our waiter catches the quarters and goes back to his job. Operators Mild to Wild Rafting50 Animas View Dr., Durango, 800/567-6745, mild2wildrafting.com, half-day rafting $43 Lodging Box Canyon Lodge & Hot Springs 45 Third Ave., Ouray, 800/327-5080, boxcanyonouray.com, from $75 Food Carver Brewing Co.1022 Main Ave., Durango, 970/259-2545, wings $9 Buen Tiempo515 Main St., Ouray, 970/325-4544, quesadilla $12 Shopping Honeyville33633 Hwy. 550, Durango, 800/676-7690 Day 4: Ouray to Grand Junction    Two blocks from our hotel at Box Cañon Falls & Park, we follow a walkway next to the falls, which fill the canyon with mist. We hike a steep half-mile to the bridge suspended over the cascade. A placard explains that the rock face in front of us is known as the Great Unconformity: For some reason, a stripe of rock representing 30 million years of geologic time is missing. I quickly give up trying to wrap my head around that and instead just admire the contrasting reds, oranges, and whites in the rock. In between ogling Ouray's adorable Victorian-era buildings and the surrounding mountains, we come upon Ouray Silversmiths. Opened in 1994, the shop sells silver and gold jewelry handmade by owner Melanie Kline and her son, Josh. Lisa buys her mother a ring with a golden horse in a silver paddock for her birthday, even though it's more than six months away. "When you see something this perfect, you just have to get it," she says. With a flight to catch in the afternoon, we reluctantly climb into the car and speed northward, leaving the mountains behind. Descending into the plains, we find that the sky opens up wider and wider, and fields dotted with split-rail fences seem to go on forever. We drive nearly an hour in silence, happy simply to watch the landscapes slowly roll by. Activities Box Cañon Falls & ParkOuray, 970/325-7080, ouraycolorado.com, $3 Shopping Ouray Silversmiths722 Main St., Ouray, 970/325-0097 Finding Your WaySouthwestern Colorado has some of the prettiest drives in the state, which is saying a lot. The mountain views north of Durango on the Million Dollar Highway (Rte. 550) are particularly gorgeous. Though it's easy to get distracted, be sure to keep your eyes on the road--it's often very windy, with steep drop-offs and not as many safety barriers as you might hope. If you're going to Animas Forks or anywhere else off the main roads, consider a four-wheel drive vehicle--and no matter what, take it slow.

Late in the day, my friend Jim and I walk down the stairs that lead to Elbow Beach, where the sand is so soft it's like sifted flour. Waist-deep in the blue-green water, we throw a Frisbee wide on purpose, forcing each other to dive awkwardly. Afterward, we sit on the beach, watching the waves glitter in the lateral light. I admit to Jim that Bermuda is pretty appealing--despite what I'd been telling him for years. NINE YEARS AGO, I went to Bermuda on assignment for another magazine and had a miserable time. Actually, I had two miserable times, as I had spread the reporting over two trips. I was new to travel writing, and my first two trips to the island were when I learned that travel writing is a vocation, not a vacation--though we're fortunate that our business trips tend not to involve conference rooms. The fact is, most travel writers don't simply wander the world jotting our observations in leather-bound journals. Most of us do what's called service journalism: We spend our days and nights looking for things to write about, always worried that we're missing some great spot. So while everyone else goes to Bermuda to relax, I was buzzing around on a moped (you can't rent a car), searching for shops and restaurants that felt authentic and not aimed squarely at tourists. Moreover, at that time the island was a poor value: I was spending well over $300--at a different hotel each night--for rooms that should've cost far less. The low point occurred when I got caught in a thunderstorm on the far end of the island and stupidly chose not to wait it out. Three hours later, it was dark, I was soaked (from the rain and from the cars' backwash) and lost (my map had totally disintegrated), and I might have been crying, but who could tell? I was that wet. When I paused at a bus stop, a kind soul saw me and led me to the turnoff to my hotel, where I ordered two gin and tonics from room service and took an hour-long bath. I have a T-shirt that says I SURVIVED THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE, and I don't wear it ironically. Worst of all, I was alone. The days were fine, but the nights were rough. Like most resort islands, Bermuda appeals mostly to couples and families. At dinner, they looked at me with pity, like I'd been jilted at the altar but decided to go on the honeymoon anyway. Soldier on, brave chap. When the island's minister of transport and tourism, Ewart Brown, persuaded JetBlue to fly to Bermuda, driving airfare costs down all around, I grew curious. Then came word that Brown (who has since been elected premier) was telling hoteliers they need to deliver more for the high cost of lodging. I thought Budget Travel should send a writer to find out if Bermuda was really a better value. The more the editors here talked about it, the clearer it became who that writer should be. I vowed to see Bermuda the way any normal person would--like someone actually on vacation. I invited Jim, who had never been to Bermuda, and who's far less critical than I am. I figured I'd avoid the high end--all the fussy-and-fusty hotels, the mediocre beef Wellington--and I'd absolutely skip the mopeds. I'd give Bermuda not just a third chance, but a fair chance. WHEN JIM AND I ARRIVE AT SALT KETTLE HOUSE, the first thing out of innkeeper Hazel Lowe's mouth (after a rather blunt "Do you want a king bed or twins? Just tell me!") is a litany of exactly what we should do on the island. She's lived on Bermuda for 37 years, and she knows what she likes: in particular, the chicken salad at Mickey's Bistro & Bar ("But only for lunch--dinner is too expensive"); Bistro J; a new Thai restaurant called Silk ("But you don't have to have Thai food"); the Lemon Tree Café ("Take your lunch and go sit in the park"); and the souvenirs at The Island Shop. After Jim asks about jewelry shops--he and his wife just learned they're having a baby--I tease him that he did so because he wanted to make sure Hazel understands that we aren't a couple. Not so, he says; he simply doesn't want to buy something at the wrong shop and then have to hear about it later. (Hazel has a forceful personality.) Personally, I find it a relief to take advice rather than worry about giving it. Hazel encourages us to walk over to the liquor store, so we can make our own happy hour; discourages us from renting mopeds--no worries there; and warns us that the ferries often leave early. Salt Kettle House is on a harbor peninsula, just down the street from a ferry landing, and when we miss the boat to Hamilton--it left early--Hazel offers a ride into town if we'll pick up some ferry schedules for her. Jim and I grab a bite at the Lemon Tree Café, and Hazel was right again. The sandwiches and salads are fresh and filling, and the back patio is so pleasant we don't even feel the need to go through the gate and into Par-la-Ville Park. We walk around a bit, and while there's charm here and there--the wind compass on city hall's tower, the single-room post office, the vaguely countercultural Rock Island Coffee--I start to get a familiar sinking feeling. Hamilton is where most of Bermuda does its business, and it's where cruise passengers and other tourists buy souvenirs, but I don't like shopping at home in New York City, so what on earth am I doing looking at shops here? I feel like I have to, even though I don't want to. We get back on the ferry and then go play that idyllic round of Frisbee at Elbow Beach. DESPITE ITS NAME, which has that Bahama-Aruba lilt to it, Bermuda is not in or even near the Caribbean, but out in the Atlantic, along the same latitude as South Carolina. As every guidebook notes, it's closer to Nova Scotia than it is to Miami. The high season is summer, not winter. And it's not one island, but about 300--it feels like one island, though, because eight principal islands are linked by bridges. Bermuda was discovered by Spanish sailor Juan Bermúdez in the early 1500s but was settled by the British a century later, after a shipwreck on the treacherous reefs. Bermuda is now a self-governing dependency of the U.K., and the British influence runs deep. Judges preside in wigs, everyone is mad for cricket, and the men really do walk around in shorts with socks pulled up to their knees. (Jim freaks out a businessman in Hamilton by stalking him for a photo.) The people can be polite to the point of stiff. Many of the supposedly finer restaurants ask that patrons wear coats and collared shirts--something I find hard to reconcile with a semitropical climate. In fact, I find it hard to reconcile the idea of wearing a coat on vacation at all. Regardless of the recent increase in airlift, a lot of visitors come by sea. The cruise ships used to dock only in Hamilton and at St. George, a town at the northeast end of the island. But in recent years, ships have grown so large that Bermuda created another port in the west, at Royal Naval Dockyard. St. George is the original settlement, with narrow streets and old buildings. Not much has changed since I was here 10 years ago, including the Bermuda National Trust Museum. It has a fascinating exhibit on the island's role in the U.S. Civil War. The Union was blockading Confederate ports, so big ships from Europe would sail to Bermuda, where the goods would be put on smaller, nimbler "runners" that tried to speed past the Union navy. Outside downtown St. George is the Unfinished Cathedral, the skeleton of a Gothic church that never got built because of a lack of funds; it makes for fabulous photo ops. And 10 minutes away by taxi--"You're going for some local food, eh?" asks the driver--is Black Horse Tavern, which still has the best fried fish sandwich I've ever tasted. As its name implies, the Royal Naval Dockyard is a former British naval base. The Brits started building it in 1809 and relinquished it only in 1951. The stonework--much of it done by slaves and convicts--is something to see. The Dockyard is now a full-on cruise ship port, with stalls selling souvenirs and the occasional band playing the dreaded "Kokomo." Both the Dockyard and St. George feel, at least to me, like Boston's Faneuil Hall or New York's South Street Seaport--impressive reclamations more than living, breathing places. While Jim and I are walking around Dockyard, growing kind of bored, we notice a playground. "That's what I want!" I tell Jim, who looks at me like I've just declared a desire to hop like a bunny. I want to have fun, I explain. I want to have an adventure, I want to clamber around, I want to do anything but look at shops. We turn a corner or two, and come upon a yellow bus parked on the grass: It's the "office" for Segway Tours of Bermuda. I sign us up for two days later. I try to keep that playground in my mind. It symbolizes what I crave in an island holiday. Nowadays, I spend most of my workweek behind my desk or in meetings. When I go away, I want fresh air and sunshine. We also sign up for a snorkeling and kayaking tour off Elbow Beach, with Blue Water Divers & Water Sports. We're supposed to be interested in the shipwreck--and it's cool enough--but what I'll never forget are the thousands of jellyfish, 99 percent of which are harmless. They're hovering everywhere, at different depths, as far as we can see. Some are a foot wide; some are so tiny you're sure they're floating into your ears. It's indescribably beautiful, even if Jim gets stung in the lip by the other 1 percent. That afternoon, we take a mammoth walk on the 22-mile-long Railway Trail. Once site of the island's train tracks, it's been turned into a path for joggers and bicyclists. For an hour or two, we walk and talk, looking at houses and the foliage and even a huge spider in its web; we laugh at a curious sign that says caution pee bump. (Someone vandalized away the s and the d, I guess.) Nine years ago, I didn't walk anywhere unless I had to, and I didn't admire much of anything. When you're 28, maybe you expect that you'll get to see every plant at some point in your life. I'm no longer so inclined to take such things for granted. After the Railway Trail, we continue walking, now along the South Shore beaches--all the way from half-mile-long Warwick Long Bay (with six people on it) to the island's most famous beach, Horseshoe Bay. In between are coves with waves crashing against the rocks and small beaches that are insanely romantic, if you're with the right person. Jim will be the first to admit that he can be a geek--he's a scientist--so he's not quite as mortified as I am by the helmets we have to wear on our Segway tour. Segways are those electric scooter-like contraptions that you move by shifting your weight. The guide, Rob Territo, makes me go first. I immediately get heckled by a teenager in an AC/DC shirt. "Yeah, rock it, man!" he says. I ponder running the twerp over, but he'd have to be impaired somehow for me to do any damage at 2 mph. Even then, the odds favor him, as I'm not exactly adept at maneuvering my "personal transporter." We have earpieces through which we hear Rob's spiel. The tour of the Dockyard, which includes admission to the Bermuda Maritime Museum, is surprisingly interesting. I say "surprisingly" because I hate being talked at, and I get frustrated when I have to listen without being given a chance to talk. Rob keeps apologizing for being so informal, even though we insist that we prefer it. Once he really loosens up, he fiddles with the Segways so we can access the faster speed--up to 8 mph. ON PREVIOUS VISITS, I was always rushing. This time, if we don't walk places, we take the ferry, or maybe the bus. Riding the ferry is so much more pleasant than driving a moped. We sit on the deck, savoring the air and the sun and views. Bermuda is shaped like a fish hook, so much of its landmass is shore line, either on the Atlantic or the harbor. Salt Kettle House has several nice places to chill out, including a front lawn with turquoise Adirondack chairs and a back lawn where a pair of ducks flirt with us, literally shaking their tail feathers. But we tend to hang out in our room, or rather, outside it. The only upstairs room, the Tower Room has windows on all four sides and a balcony overlooking the front yard and the harbor beyond. Each evening, we sit and watch the sailboats bobbing in the dusk, drinking Hatuey beer or gin and tonics. At $120 a night, the room is a steal, especially when we factor in the breakfast--the French toast is a revelation--and Hazel's wise advice. She knows when to ignore guests, and she knows when to engage them. I understand that on an island where pretty much everything is imported, food is going to be expensive; I just want it to be better than disappointing. Hazel's restaurant recommendations pan out nicely. At Silk, despite what Hazel says, the food is entirely Thai, and it's a treat to eat food with spice in it. (The only spice I recall from my first visits was found on curly fries.) We also eat at Bistro J, because we can see the blackboard menu from the window and I'm a sucker for sticky toffee pudding. I even recommend a lunch place to Hazel: Coconuts, a pretty outdoor restaurant at The Reefs, an upscale resort, where the lobster and mango salad is served in half a conch shell. I ate there in 1999 and loved it; Jim and I have lunch there, and the waitstaff is as chipper as I remember. A FEW MONTHS after Jim and I return to New York, we go to dinner with Laura (his wife) and Adam (my partner). Jim and Laura are thinking about a last child-free trip. They're talking about the Hamptons, the Adirondacks, Philadelphia. "Are you nuts?" I ask. "It's November! Go someplace warm! Go to Bermuda!" Jim nods his head--he's tried this already--but Laura is wary. I rave about how it's only a 90-minute flight from New York, how safe it is, how you can use U.S. dollars. I rhapsodize about the beaches, the sound of the rain on the roof at night, and the tree frogs chiming in their bell-like tones. I tell Adam and Laura about Mickey's, right on Elbow Beach, where the waiters look like Hare Krishnas with their shaved heads and loose white uniforms. I even explain how on the way home you pass through U.S. immigration at the Bermuda airport, getting the bureaucratic red tape out of the way early. In other words, I rave about Bermuda like a man who genuinely likes it. Getting ThereAirfares have dropped since JetBlue started flying to Bermuda (from New York JFK airport) last May. We paid $370, including taxes, to fly American from JFK, down from what I remember being more like $600 a decade ago. USA3000 also flies to Bermuda from Baltimore. Visitors arriving by air now need a passport; passengers arriving by cruise ship will need passports as of January 1, 2008. ExploringTaxis are expensive, with a $3.75 drop (initial charge). And they don't always come when you call, despite what dispatchers promise, so call early and often. Mopeds are easy to rent, but risky to drive (especially if you've never driven on the left). Keep your eyes on where you want to go, not on what you want to avoid--or you'll drive right into it. Transport passes, which cover buses and ferries, are a wonderful value and are sold at the Visitors' Service Bureau on Hamilton's Front Street (four-day pass, $35). Lodging and RestaurantsBermuda has many B&Bs and small inns; below are a few recommended ones. Another hotel worth a look is the relatively new 9 Beaches, a compound of tented cabins, some of which are overwater. Note: Many hotels and restaurants put a service charge on the bill automatically, so make sure you're not tipping twice. Lodging Salt Kettle House 441/236-0407, from $120 Greenbank Guesthouse & Cottages 441/236-3615, greenbankbermuda.com, from $125 Robin's Nest Guest Apartments 441/292-4347, robinsnestbda.com, from $150 9 Beaches 866/841-9009, 9beaches.com, from $185 Food Mickey's Bistro & Bar Elbow Beach, 60 South Shore Rd., 441/236-9107, chicken and mango salad at lunch $19 Bistro J Chancery Lane, Hamilton, 441/296-8546, entrées from $20 Silk 55 Front St., Hamilton, 441/295-0449, entrées from $22 Lemon Tree Café Queen St., Hamilton, 441/292-0235, sandwiches from $5 Rock Island Coffee 48 Reid St., Hamilton, 441/296-5241 Black Horse Tavern 101 St. David's Rd., St. David's Island, 441/297-1991, fish sandwich $9.25 Coconuts The Reefs, 56 South Shore Rd., Southampton, 441/238-0222, thereefs.com, small lobster salad at lunch $15 Activities Bermuda National Trust Museum 32 York St., St. George, 441/297-1423, $5 Segway Tours of Bermuda Royal Naval Dockyard, 441/504-2581, segwayofbermuda@yahoo.com, 90-minute tour $75 Blue Water Divers & Water Sports Elbow Beach, Bermuda resort, 441/232-2909, divebermuda.com, kayak-snorkel trip $50 Bermuda Maritime Museum Royal Navy Dockyard, 441/234-1333, bmm.bm, $10 Shopping The Island Shop 3 Queen St., Hamilton, 441/292-5292, islandexports.com

PÁROSHotel Petres Cléa Chatzinikolakis knows the island's secrets--and she can share them in five languages: Greek, English, French, Italian, and Arabic. Over a welcome drink, Cléa pulls out a map and tells guests where to swim if they want a little privacy ("Park here and follow the rope through the trees") and which taverna serves the best grilled fish (Mitsis, in Little Venice, one of three bays in the town of Naoussa). The only problem with following her advice is that it means leaving the haven she and her husband, Sotiris, have created--a place where it's very tempting to spend the day just lounging around the pool or playing tennis on the artificial-grass court. A former ad executive (Cléa) and production manager (Sotiris) at McCann Erickson in Athens, the Chatzinikolakises bought the property about a mile and a half outside Naoussa with the intention of building a summer home. But they decided they wanted to spend more time on Páros, so they opened Petres in 1994. All 16 rooms and the one suite have views of the sea. The couple's flair and attention to detail are visible everywhere, from the threshing boards they've turned into coffee tables; to the shells, icons, and evil-eye talismans in unexpected corners; to the fact that the Jacuzzi in the fitness center has a view of the sea and the steam room looks out to the mountains. Each morning, a buffet breakfast with homemade savory pies and strong coffee is served poolside. 011-30/22840-52467, petres.gr, from $98, includes breakfast, open mid-April to mid-October. Maryo Village A half-mile outside Naoussa, the 12-room Maryo Village is named for the owner's grandmother--but that's the only grandmotherly thing about it. First opened in 1986, the hotel was renovated in 2002 and is decorated in a Poseidon-meets-Philippe Starck vibe. The combination of Greek and chic is evident on the large terrace, where an infinity pool overlooks the countryside and sea. Next to the pool is an outdoor bar area with rattan sofas and white canvas cushions, colorful glass lanterns, and chess and backgammon boards. The hotel feels like a private club, not least because its entrance is at the end of a winding road, unmarked, and hard to find. "We had a sign, but it blew away so many times that after the last big winds, we felt bad for it," says manager Mania Simitzi, explaining why the sign was never put back up again. "Besides, most of our guests are repeat visitors, so they know where to go." Rooms at Maryo Village have televisions, mosquito-net canopies over the built-in beds, a wash of bright blue or red on the walls, and balconies. Katerina, a double, and Maryo, a minisuite (the chaise makes it suitable for three) have the best views of both the sea and the courtyard. 011-30/22840-51972, maryovillage.gr, from $104, includes breakfast, open April to mid-October. Heaven Naoussa Lennart Pihl, a hotelier and antiques collector, opened Heaven Naoussa five years ago near the heart of Naoussa. "It's more of a bed-and-breakfast, really," says Pihl, explaining that guests tend not to stay put during the day. Instead, they hop on one of the small fishing boats that make frequent runs from the harbor to nearby swimming spots, including Kolymbithres, a series of shallow bays created by volcanic-rock deposits, and Monastiri, a popular beach at the foot of a cliff that's topped with a monastery. Heaven's four rooms, five suites, and two maisonettes (two-bedroom apartments with kitchenettes and a shared plunge pool) have private balconies and are filled with antiques. Martina Blair, the manager, offers advice on where to eat and what to see and do. She also makes arrangements for the daily in-room breakfast (usually set up on the balcony) of yogurt, fruit, honey, muesli, coffee, and juice. 011-30/22840-51549, heaven-naoussa.com, from $98, includes breakfast, open June to October. Lefkes Village Lefkes was the original capital of Páros, chosen because its inland, hilltop location stymied pirates. It's one of the most beautiful towns in Greece, with views of the sea, the church of Agia Triada at the very peak, and windmills that dot the countryside. Lefkes Village resort, within walking distance of town, was built in 1995. The reception area and restaurant were modeled on Lefkes's neoclassical kafenia (coffee shops); instead of old men sipping ouzo, its pergola shelters guests as they lounge around the pool. In the evening, the restaurant serves local specialties (such as paximadokoulouro, cheese-and-tomato salad on rusk, a kind of biscuit), while George Pittas, who co-owns the hotel with a cousin, plays DJ. Lefkes Village also features a dovecote where grapes are stomped during the late-summer wine-making season and a folk museum with a collection of old photos, urns, and tools. All of the 20 rooms (14 doubles and triples, and six duplex family rooms) have either a balcony or terrace. 011-30/22840-41827, lefkesvillage.gr, from $117, includes breakfast, open April to early October. Albatross Bungalows "We want everyone to leave with the best impressions, not just of the hotel, but of Páros," says Stella Logaridou, owner of Albatross Bungalows, which her family opened in 1992 on the east side of the island, in the town of Logaras. To that end, she'll arrange sailing, fishing, sea kayaking, and more. Logaridou cheerfully oversees all the minutiae involved in running the property: making sure the TV room is stocked with children's DVDs, sourcing the yogurt served at breakfast from a small farm in northern Greece, and making note of guest preferences. "For the past six years, the Dimitriades family has wanted Room 317," she says, showing off the view from the balcony to the mountaintop monastery of Agios Antonios. All but 10 of the 36 rooms have sea views, but Logaridou notes, pointing at the village of Marpissa seen from Room 205, "The sea views aren't necessarily the best." Each room has a terrace and deftly combines old-world charm--evident in details such as the curtains embroidered by Logaridou's godmother--with modern conveniences like A/C and a television. 011-30/22840-41157, albatross.gr, from $75, open May to October. ANTIPAROSKastro Apartments If Páros is the perfect honeymoon destination, Antiparos (with only a thousand full-time residents) is the ideal spot to bring the kids years later. "It's a family island," says Magda Maounis, who runs Kastro Apartments with her husband, Markos. To say the Maounises are accommodating would be an understatement. They'll take the ferry across to Páros to pick up guests who are in danger of missing the last boat (they can cajole the captains into waiting). They insist on meeting visitors at the harbor, so they won't get lost on the two-minute drive to the hotel. They'll organize cooking classes and sunset cruises and even plan weddings. The eight studios and six larger apartments are sparely furnished, but all have sea views. The hotel is steps from two sandy beaches, and it's a short walk down a cobblestoned street from charming Antiparos town. 011-30/22840-61011, antiparosgreece.com, from $52, open April to mid-October. Oliaros Studios Oliaros is the ancient Greek name for Antiparos, so it's appropriate that the eight rooms at Oliaros Studios are very traditional, with terraces, whitewashed walls, embroidered curtains, blue doors and shutters, and folk art on the walls, as well as kitchenettes, satellite TV, and air-conditioning. There are three doubles and five duplexes with two beds downstairs and a master bedroom on a mezzanine (or vice versa). The owner, Vassilis Germanopoulos, runs the family hotel on property his grandfather bought right above Agios Giorgos beach at the southern tip of the island. Germanopoulos's youthful energy is evident in the popular sea-kayaking excursions he organizes from Oliaros out to the sea caves of Antiparos and the uninhabited satellite island of Despotiko, with its many archaeological excavations. 011-30/22840-25305, oliaros.gr, from $75, open May to October. Lilly's Island "Here, people really to come to relax," says Lilly Arber, describing both the Jimmy Buffett--esque vibe of Antiparos and the feel of her hotel. A Swiss interior designer who met her Greek husband, Derek, on her first night of a vacation in Greece, Lilly believes she was fated to build a home on Antiparos. "It was kismet," she says. "Even coming over on the ferry, I loved the feeling of escaping to this small island." The hotel's four doubles, five studios (one room with three beds), and three 2-bedroom apartments have verandas; several have two, "to catch both the morning and evening sun," explains Lilly. Views vary: Room 15 has a marvelous sea view, while Room 8 lacks one. There are also two freestanding houses within the complex: Romantic House, a snug double; and Sweet House, which sleeps as many as four in its bedroom and sitting room. In the morning, guests gather around the pool for a breakfast of homemade marmalades and cakes. Afterward, they walk five minutes to the beach or hitch a ride with Lilly and Derek to swimming spots farther away. At 9:30 p.m., after the pool bar closes, guests wander down the path leading to town, in search of the restaurants Lilly has recommended: Sifneiko for sunset drinks and "the best pizza anywhere," and Tsipouradiko for Greek mezes (small plates) enjoyed while looking over the harbor. 011-30/22840-61411, lillysisland.com, from $65, open May to October. Páros and Antiparos: Getting There and Around Olympic Airlines flies several times a day from Athens to Páros (olympicairlines.com, from $75 each way, 45 minutes). Lots of ferry companies make the run between the Athenian port of Piraeus and Páros harbor at least twice a day. Hellenic Seaways' three-hour superfast ferry is the quickest (hellenicseaways.gr, $57; book online, then pick tickets up in person at Piraeus). A seven-minute ferry ride brings passengers from the town of Pounta on the southern coast of Páros to Antiparos harbor, with departures roughly every half hour (no reservations are necessary, passengers 75¢, cars $8). The main drag in Antiparos town is home to several places where you can rent cars, mopeds, and bikes.

Magellan Maestro: It's the only car navigation system preloaded with AAA's TourBook, including info on attractions, campgrounds, approved auto-repair facilities, and rated lodgings and restaurants throughout North America. magellangps.com, from $400. Garmin Mobile: 10 Smaller than a deck of cards, the device plugs into a PDA, smartphone, or PC laptop to create a navigation system with detailed street maps and everything else that comes with a good GPS system. garmin.com, $200. Suunto X9i Watch: Plot hiking routes, and the digital watch coaches you on where to turn. It also tracks your speed, shows how far you've walked, and projects an arrival time. suunto.com, $500. Xplorer Sneakers: You set boundaries, and if they're crossed, the shoes send a message to a cell phone or computer. Best for backcountry hikers (and paranoid parents), the shoes go on the market this summer. gtxcorp.com, from $200. Gaper Guide: Starting June 1, visitors to the Yellowstone National Park area can rent a GPS device that doubles as a dashboard tour guide. 307/733-4626, gaperguide.com, $35 for full day. Go Car Tours: Drivers tool around San Francisco, San Diego, and soon Miami in three-wheelers that talk. In San Diego, the car says, "Can you spot the haunted house on the left corner ahead, behind the trees and iron fence? To hear more...drive across Island Avenue." 800/914-6227, gocarsf.com, $44 for first hour.